#fic: flesh is the only virtue | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

caracalla-dondus · 2 months ago

Text

Suspicious Minds

Pairing: Emperor Geta/wife!reader

Summary: A senator informs Geta about the rumors surrounding his wife

Author's Note: This fic consists of pieces I took out from a much longer fic I had written. After reading what I originally wrote I didn't really vibe with the whole thing and so I took out parts I liked best to create this fic. Idk if it's better or worse because things feel a bit rushed in this fic now and not as cohesive as before but it's good enough I think ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I was partly inspired by Fire & Blood where it says that some in court found Queen Rhaenys Targaryen suspicious because she spent time with bards and singers and they were sure she must be having an affair on Aegon I. Also the title is from the Elvis song of the same name because it popped into my head while writing this because it's similar to the plot lol.

~~~

The late afternoon sun streamed through the marble arches of the palace, casting shadows across the floor of the Emperor’s private chamber. Emperor Geta paced restlessly, his jaw clenched tight, his fingers twitching. The rumors had come to him this morning, carried by a senator whose words had been carefully chosen, yet laced with venom.

“She is often seen in the company of poets and bards, my Emperor. Some say perhaps too often.”

The words echoed in Geta’s mind as he strode to the balcony. Below him, others strolled about, oblivious to the storm brewing in his heart. He had always known that his wife had a fondness for the arts. It was one of the things that had drawn him to her. The way her eyes lit up when she heard the verses of a poem she thought was interesting, the soft smile that graced her lips during the final notes of a ballad. She was a woman of intelligence and charm. Perfect qualities to be his empress.

But now those very same qualities and interests had become the source of his unrest.

Geta finds his wife out in the garden. “I had hoped to speak with you my wife,” he said, his tone polite but firm.

“What troubles you, my love?” she asked, her brow furrowing as she stepped closer to him.

Geta studied her, his gaze lingering on her face, searching for some sign of guilt. But she looked as she always did, serene, composed, and beautiful. “There are whispers in the court,” he began slowly, “that your affection for music and poetry has extended beyond mere appreciation.”

His wife’s eyes widened, and then she laughed softly, a sound like the chiming of bells. “Surely you don’t believe such nonsense.”

“I don’t want to,” Geta admitted, his voice low. “But the court is not kind to a woman who spends her days surrounded by other men, no matter how innocent her intentions.”

Her smile faded, and she placed a hand on his arm. “Geta, these men are poets, musicians and artists. They speak to me about the soul, not the flesh. My heart belongs to you, and only you.”

He wanted to believe her. He needed to believe her. But the thought of her laughter, her attention, her admiration being bestowed on another man gnawed at him. “Then why do others speak of you so?” he demanded, his voice rising slightly. “Why do they say you adore Bacchus so much that you have embraced his indulgences?”

His wife stiffened, her hand falling away. “Do you question my virtue?” she asked, insulted that her husband would believe such nonsense about her.

“I question the company you keep!” he snapped, the words sharper than he intended.

She took a step back, her expression conveying her hurt and frustration. “You have always known who I am Geta. I am not a woman content to sit idly in the palace, just simply gossiping my day away. I find joy in the divine chaos of creation. If that makes me suspicious in the eyes of our court then so be it. But I will not apologize for things I did not do.”

Her words hung in the air between them, heavy with emotion. Geta clenched his fists, his anger warring with his love for her. Finally he spoke, his voice softer. “I do not wish to stifle you. But I cannot bear the thought of others questioning your loyalty or your love for me.”

His wife stepped closer, her gaze steady. “Then let me reassure you, my emperor. I am as sure of my love for you as I am about Sol bringing us the sun each morning. But if you doubt me, then tell me what must I do to prove myself?”

He sighed, reaching out to cup her face in his hands. “Stay with me tonight,” he murmured. “Let the poets and bards sing their songs without you for once. Let Bacchus have his revelry elsewhere.”

She smiled faintly, leaning into his touch. “If it will ease your mind, my dear husband then I will stay.”

Geta pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as if to shield her from the whispers that sought to undermine them. But even as he held her, a shadow of doubt lingered, refusing to be banished entirely.

The grand halls of the palace echoed with the click of her delicate sandals against the marble floor. The weight of her husband’s arm on her shoulder was both reassuring and suffocating. For the past three days, Geta had not let her out of his sight. Where she went, he followed. Where he could not follow, he sent his guards to watch her every step. It was unlike him, and though his paranoia was silent, she could feel it in the way his fingers tightened around her arm, in the watchful, almost desperate glint in his eyes.

She had tried to comfort him, tried to reassure him of her loyalty, but it seemed no words could pierce through the suspicion that had taken hold of him.

During a feast, Geta watched his wife like a hawk as she entertained a visiting nobleman whose son had written a collection of poems. His wife listened to the man intently, her soft smile never wavering as the man recited a verse.

But Geta saw something else. He saw how the man’s eyes lingered on her, how her laughter seemed to light up the room. His fingers dug into the armrests of his chair, his jaw tightening. Was it admiration? Was it mere courtesy? Or was there something more? The thoughts churned in his mind like a storm, dark and unrelenting.

When the man left, Geta wasted no time. He rose abruptly, crossing the room to where his wife stood.

“You enjoyed his company,” he said, his voice low but laced with accusation.

His wife blinked, startled by his tone. “He was reciting his son’s poetry, my dear husband. That’s all it was.”

“You smiled at him,” Geta pressed, his eyes narrowing. “You laughed.”

“Am I not allowed to smile and laugh?” she asked softly, though there was a tinge of frustration in her voice. “Must I always wear a sour expression to please you?”

His hand shot out, gripping her chin and forcing her to look up at him. “You are mine,” he said, his voice trembling - not with anger, but with something deeper, something more fragile. “Your smiles, your laughter, they belong to me and no one else.”

Her eyes softened as she saw the flicker of insecurity behind his harsh words. She reached up, covering his hand with her own. “And they are yours, Geta,” she murmured. “Only yours.”

His grip loosened, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as if afraid she might vanish. “I will not lose you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I cannot.”

For the next several days, Geta’s wife’s world shrank. Where she once wandered the gardens freely, now her husband walked beside her, his hand resting possessively on her waist. When she visited the library, he went with her. Her gatherings with poets and musicians were no more, replaced by dinners where Geta sat her beside him, his eyes never leaving her.

She tried to be understanding, but his constant scrutiny weighed heavily on her. One evening, as they sat together in their chambers, she finally spoke.

“Geta,” she began, her voice tentative. “Do you not trust me?”

He looked up from the goblet of wine in his hand, his expression guarded. “Of course I trust you, you are my wife,” he said after a long pause. “It is everyone else I do not trust.”

“You cannot keep watch over me forever,” she said.

His jaw tightened. “You are my wife,” he said firmly. “My empress. And I will not risk anyone else taking you from me.”

“Even if it means suffocating me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Geta flinched, as if her words had struck him. He set the goblet down and rose to his feet, pacing the room. “You do not understand,” he said, his voice low and strained. “I have enemies everywhere. We have enemies everywhere. They would use you against me. They would take you from me. Take your love away from me”

“Who could take me when I am yours in both heart and soul?” she asked, rising to stand before him.

He stopped, his gaze meeting hers. For a moment, he looked like a man on the edge of breaking, his carefully constructed armor of intimidation cracking to reveal the fear beneath. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “But the thought of losing you terrifies me.”

She reached out, cupping his face in her hands. “Geta,” she said softly, “you will not lose me. I love you.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. “Promise me,” he whispered. “Promise me you will never leave me.”

“I promise,” she said, though her heart ached at the desperation in his voice.

He pulled her into his arms again, holding her as if his life depended on it. She sighed softly, resting her head against his chest. She understood that his possessiveness was not born of cruelty, nor out of a need to stifle her but it was of a fear he could not truly voice, a fear he could not truly reconcile with, and it had consumed him.

And so she stayed, tethered to him by her love for him, hoping that soon his insecurities would ease and he would see that she was his, not because he demanded it, but because she chose it. But she was not sure how much she could take of this suffocating behavior. Of every move of hers and every interaction being heavily watched.

She rarely let her frustrations boil to the surface, but this time was different. As she sat across from her husband in their private chambers, the weight of the senator’s venomous words and their impact on her marriage gnawed at her patience. For days and days now, Geta’s suffocating possessiveness had taken over every aspect of her life, and she could no longer bear the thought that this rift between them had been instigated by a man seeking to undermine her, a man seeking to replace her.

She set down her goblet with a sharp clink, her hands trembling, not with fear, but with barely restrained annoyance and anger. “I’ve been thinking, my dear husband,” she began, her voice calm but carrying an obvious edge to it.

Geta glanced up from his seat, his brow furrowing slightly at her tone. “What is it?”

She met his gaze, her eyes blazing with uncharacteristic determination. “The senator who came to you with these baseless rumors. I believe he must be punished.”

Geta blinked, clearly surprised. “Punished? For what?”

“For daring to speak against me,” she replied, her voice firm, slightly exasperated that he did not already know what she spoke of. “For poisoning your mind with lies and causing this… this chaos between us. He sought to undermine your confidence in me, to cast doubt on my loyalty, to possibly destroy my reputation. That is not something we should let go unanswered.”

Geta leaned back in his chair, studying her intently. “You surprise me, wife. I thought you were above petty revenge. You have always counseled me against such rash decisions before”

“This is not petty, nor is it rash!” she shot back, her tone sharpening. “He sought to disgrace me, your wife, your empress. By doing so, he has disgraced you as well. How can you tolerate such audacity?”

Her words struck a nerve. Geta’s insecurities flared, his mind racing as he considered her argument. She was right. The senator’s insinuations had not only called his wife’s loyalty into question but had also implied that Geta was a weak ruler, unable to control his own household. The thought made his blood boil.

“What would you have me do?” he asked, his voice low.

“Demote him. Remove him from his position. Let it be known that you will not tolerate slander against your Empress.”

Geta narrowed his eyes. “And if others see this as an act of weakness? A sign that I am blinded by my love for you?”

“Let them see it as a warning,” she countered. “Let them know that your loyalty to your wife is unwavering and that you will not allow anyone to sow baseless discord in your court.”

Her words appealed to Geta’s pride, and she could see the gears turning in his mind. After a long silence, he nodded slowly. “Very well. The senator will be dealt with. I’ll ensure his removal will be public and soon.”

Relief washed over her, though a part of her felt dissatisfied about simply just having the senator removed from his position. The senator had meddled in her marriage, made her husband watch every move she made for days now, and he deserved to face more severe consequences for it. The senator has a daughter around her age, she felt certain the senator was likely hoping to get her pushed aside to potentially make way for his daughter to get close to Geta, for her to be the next Empress of Rome. Geta’s wife seethed silently at the thought of someone replacing her, of someone attempting to steal her position. She thought about paying Caracalla a visit and informing him of the treacherous senator in their midst. He would certainly give her the dramatic reaction she wants.

Geta rose from his seat, crossing the room to stand before her. He cupped her face in his hands, his gaze softening. “You are right. I should never have allowed his words to poison my mind. You are my empress, my wife. No one will come between us again”

She smiled faintly, leaning into his touch and calming for a moment. “And I will always stand by your side Geta. But we must stand together, against anyone who seeks to divide us.”

Geta kissed her then, fierce and possessive, as if to reaffirm their bond. She let herself melt into the embrace, even as a small voice in the back of her mind wondered if she should push for more to be done about the senator.

~~~~

reader can't take out her frustrations on Geta so she will take it out on the senator who started all of this instead lol

#emperor Geta x reader #Geta x reader #emperor Geta x you #gladiator 2 #gladiator fanfiction #gladiator x reader

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 7 days ago

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A Single Tear

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!niece!reader Warnings: DEAD DOVE; DO NOT EAT (I am being serious when I tell you to mind the tags): dubious consent, anal sex, smut. Mentions of death. Forced marriage. Targcest/incest. Physical assault. Word count: ~4k

Summary: The Dance has ended, and Aemond and his niece are all that remains of the Targaryen lineage, until Viserys and Aegon come of age. Forced to marry, to ensure the continuation of their blood line, there may be peace in the realm but Aemond finds ways to continue to wage war within the marital bed.

Author's note: Chapter two of Tear Down My Reason, but also based on this request. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She averted her gaze, nausea roiling in her empty stomach as the carving knife rended its way through the roast swan, the sickening sound of cracking flesh and splintering bone making her screw her eyes shut momentarily, as though that would be enough to chase away the sight and sound. Though she had not been there to see it, her mind drifted to the thought of the blade of Blackfyre being brought down upon Cregan’s neck by the man that now sat beside her, putting an end to the life of her husband of less than a year.

Her appetite was non-existent. Watching the highborn lords of Westeros – what remained of them – stuffing their faces around the feasting table served only to disgust her further. Seeing such revelry when just months earlier the entire realm had been plagued by famine seemed like a cruel joke; a famine started by a war that had ended in her now deceased uncle feeding what remained of her mother to his dragon, while her younger brother was forced to watch. To think of it caused a hollow in her chest, to know that her mother had died screaming in agony. The pain spread, aching and suffocating, making the confines of her white lace bodice feel too tight, too restrictive, she could not breathe. Lucerys, Jacaerys, Joffrey, Daemon, her mother, Baela and Rhaena, they were all gone, and she was alone in the world, save for her two youngest brothers, both still too young to understand the fate that had befallen them all. She was left at the mercy of the uncle who had stolen her virtue prior to the war beginning, and the grasping, scheming woman that was his mother.

The realm feasted atop the ruins of House Targaryen. The entire farce of a wedding seemed as though they were trussing up what little remained of its corpse and parading it forth for the benefit of prying, morbidly curious eyes. In a sick sense, she supposed that having starved them, burned their lands and demanded their fealty, the least they were owed was a show. She chanced a glance at Aemond – her uncle who she had married only an hour earlier – and took a small amount of comfort in the fact that he appeared as unhappy as she was. His single eye remained fixed upon the table, the food on his plate untouched as his hands sat curled into fists upon either side of it. The war had lasted only two years, and yet it seemed to have aged him a decade. Hard lines were set into his brow, permanent dark circles sat vibrant as bruises on the pale skin beneath both of his eye sockets, and his jaw was set so tightly that she wondered how he had not yet worn his teeth away to dust.

Her breath caught in her throat as the toastmaster stood, announcing it was time for the king and queen’s first dance together.

Surely not.

A feast had been frivolous enough, but to make a further spectacle of them in this way was like rubbing salt in the wound. She had not even danced at her wedding to Cregan – they had had a simple ceremony, just the two of them, beneath the heart tree in the Godswood of Winterfell. When the Northern lord had draped his cloak around her shoulders, the fur of it had sat heavily upon her frame, and she had never felt safer, more protected. When Aemond had placed his upon her earlier that day it was done with all the care of someone discarding their undershirt over the back of a chair when readying themselves for bed.

She did not move, her fingernails dug crescent moons into the wooden tabletop as her eyes darted around the room in panic. She could not dance with Aemond. She would not.

“Come,” Aemond’s voice whispered smooth as silk next to her, “we must present a united front to those we rule over.”

He did not wait for her response, simply stood, pushing his chair out behind him, before extending his hand to her. Her eyes lifted to meet his piercing stare, and she swallowed thickly, seeing the subtle flare of his nostrils she knew that his patience was wearing thin, and it would be unwise to refuse him. She fought the urge to recoil as his larger hand enveloped hers. There was no warmth to the gesture, he may as well have been holding the pommel of dagger, in fact she knew he would derive greater pleasure in that simple act than he ever would from touching her.

They moved slowly to the centre of the room, and it was eerily silent, though the atmosphere had not been one that could be described as lively even before that point. The scrape of cutlery against plates had seemed louder than any of the dinner conversation, drowned out only by the soft melody played by the musicians in the corner. Aemond kept a hold of her hand, placing his free one upon her waist, and did not look at her as they began to awkwardly sway. His seeing eye remained fixed upon the farthest point on the wall, the brown leather of his eyepatch prominent against the sharp lines of his face, partially obscuring the ragged scar that bisected the left side of his face. She kept her gaze fixed upon the silver dragon head clasp of his tunic, attempting to find some enjoyment in the gentle drumming of the tabor accompanied by the subtle plucking of the lute.

If keeping up this farce was what she had to do to keep Viserys and Aegon safe then she would do it, there was little else she could. She had remained in Winterfell when Cregan had marched south with his Winter Wolves, and when they had suffered a crushing defeat, those that remained had been given the choice of being sent to the Wall for their treachery, or being put to the sword. Northerners were proud people and, as such, all had chosen death, her husband included. It had been Aemond who had relieved Cregan’s shoulders of his head, something she was sure he had delighted in. She had felt terror stricken when Alicent Hightower had sent for her, commanding that she return to King’s Landing. She had been convinced she was to meet the same fate as the rest of her family; Lucerys, snatched out of the sky by the jaws of Vhagar. Rhaenys, Jacaerys, Corlys and Baela all lost in battle. Daemon, swallowed up by the God’s Eye along with Caraxes. Rhaenyra, burned alive and then devoured by Sunfyre. Joffrey, thrown from the back of Syrax. Rhaena, drowned in an attempt to flee to Pentos. What gruesome death would await her, she had wondered.

The former queen had surprised her when, instead of sentencing her to die, she had offered her a marriage proposal to her only remaining child. Alicent had always been a vibrant beauty, but as she had stared at her, she had been struck by the same look of loss that she often saw in her own eyes, reflected back at her. There were grey streaks at the temples of her auburn curls, and her large, dark gaze was haunted. She wondered if Alicent regretted not accepting her mother’s proposal to betroth Jacaerys to Helaena all those years ago. What bloodshed could have been avoided had they simply set aside their resentments and mended the rift within their family?

“You would wed your favourite son, your only son, to one of Rhaenyra’s plain featured bastards?” The words were bitter and dripping with resentment as they left her mouth.

She fought the urge to smile triumphantly as she saw Alicent wince involuntarily, reminded of her own cruel words. The dowager queen placed her hands upon the surface of the writing desk she stood behind, bracing herself as she drew in a steadying breath, before meeting her unwavering stare once more. “Targaryen blood runs through your veins. You must pass that on, for the good of your House, for the good of the realm. We will wed you to Aemond, and when the time is right, Aegon will marry Jaehaera. It is what your mother would have wanted.”

Anger flashed through her as quick as a lightning strike, and her hands curled into fists at her sides at the mention of her mother. Her eyes widened, her skin heated with rage as she took a perfunctory step forward, biting out her words. “My mother would not have wanted to die, she would not have wanted her children to die, she would not have wanted any of this!”

What little remained of Alicent’s restraint snapped, as she slammed her palm upon her tabletop, her loose curls falling over her shoulders to frame her face as she had leaned forward, angry tears gathering upon her lash line as she had shouted back her own rebuke. “No, but she wanted to behead my grandson, to have the other torn apart! You speak of loss as if your own family have not contributed to mine!”

She took a step back, away from the older woman, swallowing thickly as she watched the rage drain from her, replaced by sad and bitter resignation. Alicent spoke again once she had composed herself, this time her voice was calm, though the remnants of her outburst caused it to tremble slightly. “Your mother may not have wanted this precisely, but she would not have wanted to see House Targaryen crumble into ruin either. She fought bravely to ensure that her children inherited the throne, as did I. You would be queen. You cannot say she would not have wanted that.”

Her shoulders sagged. She knew that Alicent had the right of it. Rhaenyra would sooner have slit her daughter’s throat than allow her to marry Aemond, however, if it meant securing the dynasty that their family had torn itself apart to rule then she would have begrudgingly accepted. And she had no choice but to do the same.

She and Aemond stood in their shared marital chambers, the wedding feast mercifully at an end. The room was larger, more opulent than the simple guest bedchamber she had occupied the last time she had visited The Keep – when Aemond had stolen her maidenhead with the promise of marriage, and then cruelly retracted it. What bitter irony that she now had the husband she had once so desperately pined for, and could not bear the sight of him. Her eyes moved about the room, taking in the large four poster bed with its heavy crimson velvet canopy, the rich, mahogany tables and chairs, and the plush couches set before a grand, roaring fireplace. It was every inch befitting of a king and queen, and yet none of it made up for the loss she had suffered at the hands of the man that now stood before her, his eye fixed dully upon the flames that leapt within the hearth, casting long shadows against his face. He had taken so much from her; her virtue, her brother, her grandmother, her husband. She wanted to hurt him, to wound him as gravely as he had hurt her. They would be expected to produce heirs, but she had no intention of making it enjoyable for him. She wanted him to be reminded of just how much she hated him each time he slid inside of her.

“War has made you weak it seems, Uncle,” she taunted, cocking her head as she laced her fingers in front of her, “it did not take you this long to take what you wanted the last time we were together.”

Aemond turned his head slowly to face her, something feline in the movement of it, his eye appraising her without any emotion. “I do not want what I have already had,” he told her cooly, “there is no rush when I have already wetted my cock with your maidenhead.”

He smirked then and the prideful look upon his face enraged her. She wanted to throw herself at him, to claw out the eye that her younger brother had left untouched, but she knew she was the weaker of the two, he would best her if she attempted to challenge him physically.. Instead, she allowed her fury to embolden her words as she flashed a cruel smile of her own, all sharp white teeth – she would not let him forget that blood of the dragon coursed through her veins too. “I suppose virtue is of little interest to you, considering the months you spent warming your bed with that withered old witch. I wonder how many men she had between her thighs before–”

She gasped as he lunged for her, cutting her off mid-sentence as his hand closed around her throat, squeezing tightly and restricting her airway. He forced her backwards, white hot fury blazed in the brilliant blue of his iris as the back of her skull made harsh impact with the stone of the wall behind her, making her yelp with pain as the dull thud reverberated through her body, the pain almost ringing in her ears. Not satisfied with the hurt he had inflicted upon her already, he dug his fingertips further into the delicate flesh at her throat, hard enough to bruise and shook her roughly, so hard that she felt her teeth chatter together. Her hands flew up to his wrists, clawing at him as she desperately tried to pry him off of her, but he did not budge. “You will not speak of her,” he hissed, more beast than man, “do you understand? If you utter so much as a word about her again, I will cut off your fucking head the same as I did your traitor husband.”

Terror overwhelmed her. Aemond’s absence from her life had caused her to forget how cold and calculating he could be. War had made a murderer of him, and icy tendrils of fear crept along her spine as she realised that if she continued to push then he would just as easily murder her too. As her vision began to swim, growing dark at the edges, he loosened his grip, leaning in close to whisper to her. “Slicing my sword through that northern cunt’s neck almost felt better than pushing inside of you for the first time. But perhaps it is time I reacquaint myself with the sensation.”

Just as quickly as he had crowded into her space, he stepped back, and she gulped down huge lungfuls of air, the sudden rush of blood to her head making her feel faint as she was able to breathe again. With trembling hands she touched her fingertips to the doubtless bruised flesh of her throat, and her chest heaved, her eyes wild with fright, but Aemond ignored her, turning towards the bed instead, as he began to unbuckle his tunic.

“Disrobe,” he commanded flatly, not looking at her, “let us get this over with.”

She could run, she supposed, but would she make it to the door before he did? And if she did, who was there to save her? She resided in a nest of vipers, any person she could run to within the castle would promptly return her to her uncle, turned husband, and the retaliation for her disobedience would be far worse than whatever he inflicted if she were to simply just lay there and endure it.

Kicking off her slippers, she divested herself of the necessary garments, removing only her stockings, smallclothes and the outer layer of her wedding gown, leaving herself in her white cotton shift. He would have her body, but he would not look upon more than was necessary.

As she laid upon the bed, she was surprised to see that he had stripped entirely naked as he advanced towards her. He had not undressed when they had first lain together, only unfastening his trousers enough to free his erection. She did not mean to stare, but the sight of him fascinated her. Where Cregan had been broad and solid, muscular but not defined, and covered with a light dusting of hair, Aemond was the polar opposite. He was long, lithe, a weapon personified as every muscle was visible beneath the pale skin pulled taut across his torso. He was hard already, and she shivered at the idea that any potential harm he may inflict upon her aroused him. Now rid of his eyepatch, the sapphire that occupied the empty socket glittered malevolently in the glow cast by the fireplace, the scar that covered that side of his face pulling the features down into a mask of near sorrow.

She trembled as he knelt before her on the bed, his touch uncharacteristically gentle as he grasped the hem of her shift, rucking the fabric up and around her hips. Dexterous fingers grasped her knees, prising them apart, baring her to him.

“No, there is no need,” she whispered, her heart drumming a panicked rhythm in her chest, attempting to squirm away from him as he lowered himself upon the bed, settling his face between her thighs.

His palm landed upon the soft meat of her inner thigh with a sharp slap, the sound echoing off of the vaulted ceiling with a loud crack, making her yelp. She stilled, and he held her firmly by her hips, preventing any further movements. “This will make it easier,” he told her, before leaning in to drag the flat of his tongue against her sensitive flesh.

She whimpered at the sensation, her hands balling into fists atop the thick quilt of the bedcovers.

Easier for you, she thought, as she twitched beneath his ministrations. He had no desire for her to feel pleasure, he simply did not want it to hurt when he forced himself inside of her. In spite of herself, she began to pant softly, her hips started to roll greedily of their own accord against his face as he lapped greedily at her, squeezing her hips appreciatively as she began to respond to him. The pleasurable ache grew more insistent, gradually building towards an edge she did not want to give him the satisfaction of pushing her from.

I hate you, she thought, biting her lip to hold back a moan.

His hand moved from her hip as he pulled his face away, his chin glistening with arousal, and he dragged his fingers through her sticky wetness. She squealed as he trailed them lower, spreading her slick around the puckered ring of muscle that lay further below.

“What are you doing?!” she cried, lifting her head to stare at him, wide eyed with horror.

He chuckled, the sound a low rumble in his throat. “It is customary for a husband to take his bride’s maidenhead upon their wedding night,” he explained as he worked a finger inside of her. The stretch took her breath away, the foreign sensation felt wrong, but the hold he still had upon her hip was too strong for her to buck away from it. “As you are aware, I unburdened you of that long ago. But this part of you–” he pumped his finger for emphasis, “remains untouched, I am sure, so I shall stake my claim there tonight instead.”

Dread gnawed at her insides, her heartbeat erratic as she pleaded, her voice shaky, bordering on a whine. “Aemond, no, please…”

“Let this be a reminder to you of what happens when you speak out of turn, talus,” he uttered, removing his finger from her to lean across and grasp a vial from the bedside table. He uncorked it with his teeth and spit the stopper towards the floor, before coating his fingers in the viscous yellow liquid inside, and spreading a generous coating over his manhood.

He pushed his finger back inside of her, quickly joining it with a second, and she screwed her eyes shut, humiliation washing over her in a wave of warmth as she turned her head away. The only surviving daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, and this is what she had been reduced to, a mere toy for the whims of her cruel uncle.

She tensed as she felt him pull his fingers from her once more, this time replacing them with the blunt head of his cock.

“No,” she whimpered pitifully.

“Yes,” he breathed insistently, pressing forward.

She felt as though she was being split in two. As much as he had done to prepare her, it hurt – much more than when he had stolen her virtue, though that she had given willingly. This was a test of endurance, and she felt she might crumble under the intensity of it. It was unnatural to be stretched so, and Aemond grunted once he finally bottomed out within her.

“Fuck,” he hissed quietly, “you need to relax, you are making this more painful than it has to be.”

She would have scoffed at the irony, if he had not been defling her. As he began to thrust, she allowed her eyes to open, her vision watery as she stared up the blood red canopy. The silver curtain of Aemond’s hair moved in her peripheral vision as he grunted and panted, using her body for his own pleasure.

The pain subsided, and she was unsure of whether it was because she had become accustomed to the feeling of being fucked somewhere so forbidden, or if she had simply grown numb to it. As her body slackened beneath his, Aemond’s movements grew quicker and more intense.

“Yes, better,” he muttered, moaning softly.

It sickened her the way that her body responded to his – her untouched cunny clenched around nothing, her pearl practically throbbed with the need to be touched. She attempted to ignore it, not wanting him to know that there was any part of her that liked this. This was not about her pleasure, he would not grant her relief if she drew his attention to her desire, he would simply use it to humiliate her further.

As his hips began to stutter, his movements becoming more erratic, he pulled free of her, stroking himself to completion as thick ropes of pearly spend landed warm against her belly accompanied by his groan of satisfaction. Finally finished, he collapsed beside her, panting heavily.

They did not utter a word to each other, simply laid there in silence as her mind raced with all the ways she would get him back. Perhaps she would place a pillow over his face as he slept, then claim he had simply stopped breathing during the night. They were supposed to produce an heir, and nothing that had transpired this evening would result in that, which meant she would have to endure this all over again. The idea made her stomach turn, and the sensation of his now cold seed splattered against her bare skin felt unbearable. She needed to wash it off, to be rid of the evidence of her defilement. Aemond’s breaths had evened out, so she assumed he had fallen asleep. As she rose up on her elbows, preparing to climb out of the bed and clean herself off, she looked over at him, her throat constricting at the sight that lay beside her.

Aemond lay flat on his back, silver hair fanned out across his pillow. One hand lay over his heart while the other stretched out towards the edge of the mattress. His eye was unblinking as it stared up at the canopy, but it was not that that drew her attention – instead, it was the single tear that tracked its way slowly down his unscarred cheek, leaving a trail of wetness in its wake.

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accioscarheadthings · 8 months ago

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heyy, i love ur fics and love you so much 💗💗💗💗

can you give us a more of switch! kenji, begging for fem!reader's attention from the ultramine series?

i loved him in the series and wanna see more of him

thank you smm😩💖of courseee, i hope you enjoyy <33

Dirty Monologue

after the events of ultramine series

warning: smut 18+, use of petnames (baby, darling, sweetheart), switch!kenji, breast play, edging, cum eating, slight degradation

summary: post Giants afterparty, you and kenji take a cab home and kenji gets needy for you.

masterlist !

after a big party that was hosted by the baseball team, you and kenji clambered into the backseat of a taxi.

you were wearing a beautiful satin dress with a slit that opened at your thighs, while kenji was in formals, covered from head to toe in black.

you both were giggling and whispering to each other, but the driver was patient and didn't seem to mind the pair of you.

You snuggled closer to Kenji, resting your head on his shoulder as the city lights flickered past the windows.

while you were more quiet and introspective in your drunken state, satisfied with little touches, kenji was the complete opposite.

he was clingy and affectionate, his arm around your shoulders and his body pressed against yours. he nuzzled his face against your neck, murmuring sweet nothings in your ear and occasionally planting sloppy kisses on your cheek.

"you have no idea how much i want you,"

"patience, handsome," you chided, pressing a smooch to his nose, " y'know patience is a virtue,"

kenji scoffed, his face flushing from your tender kiss, "i don't care about virtues when it comes to you," his voice dropped an octave, eyes drooping and raven locks falling all over his forehead.

you brushed them back out of habit, hand caressing his flushed cheeks.

"want you. now. here. please," he mumbled, emphasising each word, leaning closer to your lips.

you met him in the middle, ghosting your open mouth over his as your ring clad fingers cupped his chin.

you pulled back without a word, smirking down at him.

kenji looked like he was splashed in the face with cold water. your teasing had hauled him out of his drunken state.

"prove it, then," you leaned on your seat, eyes fixed ahead on the road.

what you hadn't noticed was kenji's cocky smile spread his face.

you stiffened when you felt his breath on your neck one second; the other, his tongue tracing a drunken path to your ear.

"I want to touch you, to taste you, to make you moan my name,"

one of his hand settled on your bare knee, rubbing circles.

"I want to lose myself in you, to forget the world for a moment, and exist only in this moment, with you,"

kenji's mouth travelled down your collarbone, his hair tickling your skin. you squirmed in place.

"I know what you like," he simpered, sucking on your sweet spot again. "I have every inch of you memorized,"

his hand slid up your thigh through the slit of your dress, squeezing the flesh slightly as he placed kisses along your jawline, his scruff tickling the column of your throat.

you gasped, slapping your hand over his, "kenji,"

"shh, don't interrupt me," he caught your hand and brought them to his lips, kissing each knuckle with such care, "or i'll be forced to punish you," his other hand slipped behind your back, grabbing your ass possessively, "you know i don't have a problems about putting you over my knee and spanking you until you can't sit right for a week,"

"fuck," you whimpered, eyes dazed at it had nothing to do with the alcohol you had consumed.

"all the pretty little sounds that leave these lips," he thumb traced your lips, tugging your bottom one and watching your lips part.

by now your breathing was ragged and came out in gasps.

he withdrew his hands from you, causing you to shrink in your place.

desperate for more, but too prideful to ask for it.

and kenji knew it. that's why he enjoyed getting you all soft in his hands.

kenji pressed the button that closed the blind betwen the driver's seat and back seat, turning back to you with all his attention.

"now, back to my promise," he loomed over you, one hand caging you between the door and his body.

his other hand slipped betwen your thighs, fingers cold.

hissing at his touch, you clamped your legs around his fingers, our core clenching around nothing.

"ah-ah, none of that," he spread your legs lightly, enough for him to access, "want you all spread for me, baby,"

his fingers circled on your clothed cunt, tracing your puffy lips.

"I want to feel your skin against mine, your body against mine, to be so close to you that I don't know where I end and you begin."

you noticed his hard-on through his pants, and the awkward position he was sitting on.

without thinking, you touched him, cupping roughly.

kenji whined, face settling into the crook of your neck, "darling-"

"keep talking," you cooed into his ears softly, rubbing your palm against his groin.

two can play this game.

"mmph," his voice was muffled against your skin. his teeth caught the strap of your dress and he slipped it down your shoulder, revealing more skin to pay attention to.

kenji kissed all over your shoulder, groaning against your skin when you gripped his length.

"I want to take you to the edge," he continued, his voice dropping even lower, "And then bring you back, again and again, until you're breathless and trembling and unable to form a coherent thought,"

his finger rubbed against your sopping core, catching on your clit with the right pressure.

you hand fell from his crotch, caught off-guard by his actions.

kenji was back in control now.

he cupped one of your breasts, thumbing your nipple and feel it erect under his touch.

"I want to make you mine, to claim you and mark you so that you'll always remember this moment, and always know who you belong to,"

pushing your panties to the side, he pushed two fingers into your pussy.

kenji groaned at how wet your were, "so wet and ready," he shuddered against you, "s'taking everything in me to not fuck you against the window for everyone to see what a needy slut you are," he emphasised with a curl of his fingers.

you gasped aloud, goosebumps rose in your skin as a result of his words.

he felt you clenching around his fingers and added another, "taking me so well, my love," he rasped.

"mine. all mine," he traced his tongue up the column of your throat, licking your sweat, "mine to love, mine to worship,"

he squeezed your breast, palm slipping to your hip, thumb caressing your pudgy stomach.

"mine to fuck," he increased his pace, and when you moaned, he smushed his lips against yours, swallowing your whines.

he increased his pace, pumling his fingers in and out vigoursly. you gripped his hair, kissing him so hard you were sure your lipstick was smudged.

"k-ken," you panted, "m'close," you felt your orgasm build, rising steadily in you.

just before you could come, kenji pulled back.

he withdrew his hands without a words and brought them to his lips, locking eyes with you as he sucked them clean.

he settled into his seat beside you, adjusting his clothes and tugged at his pants to conceal his painfully hard-cock.

you lipstick was smeared all over his mouth, and he brandished them proudly, chin lifting with a grin.

he adjusted your dress and faced forward, leaving you all hot and bothered.

tit for tat

you stared at him in bafflement, eyes wide and blinking, "are you kidding me?"

"patience is a vitrue sweetheart," he parroted your words, "you taught me that,"

you deadpanned at him, "jerk," you turned away with a huff, watching the passing city through the window.

kenji pouted at you teasingly, wrapping his arms around you and pulled you on his lap, "just wait till we get home, my love," his mouth pressed to your ear, sending a shiver down your spine, "gonna ruin you tonight," he thumbed at the lipstick smudged on your mouth.

you turned and gripped his face, squishing his face. his glassy eyes, your lipstick across his mouth and cheeks, his chest rising and falling, his fluffy raven hair...

you could just eat him up.

"you better make it up to me for all the teasing, kenji sato," you spoke in a low voice, eyes demanding.

kenji captured your lips in a soft kiss, conveying his promises for the night, "yes ma'am,"

#ultraman rising #kenji sato x reader #ken sato x reader #ultraman rising x reader #kenji sato #ken sato #kenji sato x reader smut #accioscarheadthings

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divine-misfortune · 7 months ago

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The hoes asked for more virginity kink Aether, with a side of corruption kink, and honestly I fully blame @iamthecomet because of that fucking Aether/Phantom fic from a while back (comet you know what you DID!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I haven't been okay and or normal since.)

I made a post a long while ago about Alpha being Aether's first, just had to take the fresh quint after seeing him so painfully and obviously lusting after Omega for so long. Had to dangle every filthy detail he knew about his mate over Aether's head. It's Alpha's fault he's like this, taking such visible glee in pushing Aether into every new feeling. His new vessel is so sensitive, so unexplored, and he tells him as such.

Aether realizes it with Dew, when he moans into his mouth and flinches from his big hand palming at him through his slacks. The feeling is surprising and it confuses him, Dew looked like a deer in headlights that day - flushed and panting, straining and leaking in his boxers, brows pinching upwards as he stares back at Aether. The naivety in his pale blue eyes makes something dark and sick claw at the back door of his mind, a beast fighting for its way in to wreak havoc on the water ghoul trapped between his body and the wall.

He shushes the surprised whimper Dew questions him with, the doubt muffled in a kiss fueled by greed. A desire to take what can never be given back.

Promises of 'I'll take care of you' 'I know exactly what you need', and 'you'll feel so good' to soothe away hesitation. The final nail in the coffin is when he squeezes Dew's cock and begins to stroke him through the suffocating fabric, his little body twitching and reacting without his permission as Aether whispers 'you trust me, don't you droplet?' Dew's dick jumps in his hand and he knows he has him even before the shaky, feeble nod.

The first time is intoxicating. He wishes he could defile Dew's innocence over and over and over. Dew indulges him sometimes, plays demure and sweet the way he once did genuinely. It scratches the itch for the most part - Dew is a good actor after all.

But sometimes the greed rears it's ugly head.

Aether tries to keep himself in check but it's hard. All the siblings he passes in the hallways reeking of virtue yet to indulge in the most pleasurable cardinal sin. His teeth itch to become acquainted with all of that unsullied flesh.

The hardest, most strenuous test of his will is when they bring the new summons to him after their arrival. Still unaccustomed to their bodies, moving awkwardly and carefully like they don't quite understand why every part does what it does. He's tasked with assuring they're healthy, that nothing went awry in their arrival, and of course he does. It's his top priority after all! He's been professional each time but his mind wanders on him, that he can't help.

He eyes the warm untouched body with a hunger that none of them pick up on at the time. New summons hold no shame, no learned sense of modesty yet, unknowingly teasing him with every inch. There have been a few times he's dared an inch too far, brushing softened cocks in passing or kneading more than necessary at breasts under the excuse of examination. Makes his heart race and his body ache with desire, horribly aware of the way his dick sticks to his thigh, a feeling becoming more uncomfortable by the second.

The second they are whisked away Aether is fumbling with his zipper. Growling as he tugs at himself, hunched over his desk with a hand flat to the surface, nails digging into the wood. The idea is wrong and he should be ashamed for wanting it but all Aether can do is want.

He wanted to take them, all of them. Introduce their bodies to addicting sensation. Mold their wants to align with his own as they simply don't know any better.

Aether knows the position he's in, how trusted he is, and truthfully it only makes the desire to corrupt more voracious.

He spills into the waste basket with a groan, and the beast is satiated briefly with fantasy, but for how long it will remain that way he can't tell.

#its 2 am help #is cold medicine fueled void making sense do i sound insane be honest #spicy tag #void rambles #aether ghoul #nameless ghouls #the band ghost

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pursuitseternal · 6 months ago

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Unholy: a Priestarion fic

Dawnmaster Ancunín x Jenevelle |E| 3.4K

Summary: Before she can be ordained as Mother Superior and Chosen of Selûne, Jenevelle Hallowleaf must past trials by a Dawnmaster of Lathander. Is purpose is nearly secret, and his methods are… unholy.

CW: Massive corruption kink, Never-kidnapped-by-Sharrans Shadowheart, the irony of an undead Dawnmaster of Lathander, vaginal fingering, oral male receiving…

Ao3 link | Masterlist

To be a Chosen was to be alone. To be silent. To be submissive.

To be holy.

Jenevelle knelt on the cold stone, bathed in silvery light from the lanterns and crystals of her chamber. It was a chilling light, one meant to keep her attentive and alert so as not to fall into sloth during her prayers. For the prayers of Selûne’s Chose were the sweetest of all. No lapse in attentiveness would suffice, especially if she wished to be deemed worthy of the title Mother Superior for her Cloister.

It was humble, this small group of buildings that made up the Selûnite convent outside of the Baldur’s Gate. But the woods were always bathed in moonlight, the forests so dense, barely any sunlight breached the foliage. It was a haven of serenity for the Moonmaiden and her most devoted followers. Those most perfect.

Those like Jenevelle Hallowleaf and her bright shining heart. Even from her birth, her parents had known her value, raised her in tradition apart from the world, sparing her the darkness and suffering that was of the enemy. Even sparing her the knowledge of matters of the flesh, keeping her spotless to be an offering to Selûne.

All her life led to this night, the eve she would prove her worth and virtue, to be named the new Mother Superior in the moon’s glow at its descent in the morning light.

Fitting it was one of the Dawnmaster of Lathander that would be her adjudicator and confessor then.

She hadn’t heard his name before, this Dawnmaster Ancunín, and the rest of her order had assured her it was merely because he was unique, an almost secret Dawnmaster, the one they trusted most with flushing out clerics for their impurities and sin.

He was the expert, after all, at least that was the rumor.

“He has arrived,” Mother Isobel Thorm whispered into Jenevelle’s ear, “I have seen the wonders of the Moonmaiden from Moonrise to here, and I must say, you will need to pray with extra fervor, Sister. This Dawnmaster is… not like the others. Be wary, and be mindful of your vows.”

With that, she departed Jenevelle’s cell, leaving her kneeling on the stone floor by the hearth, her silver hair tied up neatly at the crown of her head.

Vows… Jenevelle steadied her resolve. Chastity, Silence, and of most importance, Obedience.

In the silence, she shifted her robe over her shoulders, the neckline just a bit too wide so as to let it slink off the curve of one, baring her pale skin to the moon…

Or to the eyes of the Dawnmaster who entered her cell noiselessly. His voice dripped with honey, smooth as silk and swirling like embers on the night wind. “Why, I feel almost blessed to be in the presence of the Moonmaiden’s Chosen,” he purred, robes of blackest night billowing as he shut the door behind him. A quiet incantation, and a thickness filled the air as he cast Silence. Only then did Jenevelle look up at him.

She wished to the Maiden she hadn’t.

No… no this couldn’t be… she thought, screaming to herself, unwilling to break a single vow. He was… handsome, devilishly so, his deep hood dropping back to reveal a face etched by the heavens themselves, skin like pearls and eyes that glowed crimson, catching the moonlight of her chamber. He was sharp, exacting, and intense, staring down at her with that subtle smile on his twitching lips.

“Do you feel ready, child, to be your Lady’s Chosen?” he asked, to the point. A few steps closer to where she knelt, the image of devotion, and she inhaled his scent. Citrus… and smoke, incense and sandalwood.

Far too sensual to be a simple man with an eye for nothing but his prayer book.

Moonmaiden, why did her mouth start to water… and why did she have to swallow so loudly. Jenevelle caught herself before she so much as considered cursing at the thought. She shifted on her knees, her insides fluttering and warm, her breathing growing ragged like she had just run uphill.

And Jenevelle could only look into his eyes at his queries, her tongue locked at the bottom of her mouth by her vow of silence.

The Dawnmaster tilted his head, chilling fingers gripping her chin to angle her pale face into the moonlight. “Oh yes, that’s right, your Lady demands a vow of silence to help prepare yourself for her merciful light.”

He giggled. High pitched and breathy, short and… gods… humorless.

But why did it still make her smile, her chin yet resting in the cool bed of his grip.

“It’s been some time since I’ve been asked to test a maiden of Selûne, your goddess is far more demanding and stricter than most. But that’s my duty as Advocatus Tenebrae…”

Advocate of Darkness.

Jenevelle might have been young, naive in the ways of the world and devoted to serving on her knees, but her studies had been thorough.

A rare ministry of the Lathanderites, a single priest, bound to test those deemed most chosen in the service of the deities of Light and Dark, of Death and Life.

“I can practically hear the wheels in your brain grinding, little Cleric,” he whispered, even as his voice drew closer, lips pressing against her ear as he bent down. Was… that his thumb on her neck? The single stroke of that thumb pad traced down the vein of her pulse.

A pulse that was rapidly accelerating to a full blown gallop as she felt his breath on her skin, ice cold.

Something in her body screamed to run, a primal instinct like the times she had been in the forest, too close to beasts that could devour her in one gulp…

A predator, hungry for slaughter.

She grunted at the faintest pressure he put around her neck.

Grunting was allowed, surely, she reasoned. Like sneezing or coughing.

But the Dawnmaster only tutted his tongue as he withdrew. “Already such little sounds from your delicate voice box. You’re failing to impress me, Chosen of Selûne. You better stay on your knees if you’re going to withstand my darkness, for it is my vocation to try and break you.”

She shuddered as she met that crimson gaze… as she saw the flash of his fangs behind those smirking, plush lips.

“Ahhhh,” he cooed, “the special little girl has pieced it together.” He gave that damned giggle again. “I don’t need to hear your words to have enough insight and read your thoughts as they run rampant across your pretty face.” His hand strayed from her neck, tracing the arc of her cheek before leaving her skin entirely. Leaving only the residual burn of his corpse cold touch. His tone was mockingly innocent as he widened his eyes and falsely softened his smile into surprise. “A vampire? An undead servant of Lathander? How could it be?”

Fuck, if he didn’t almost read her thoughts word for word. Perceptive arse.

Jenevelle dug her nails into the tops of her thighs where her hands rested, using the pain to offer atonement for such crude cursing.

But those keen red eyes caught that too.

“Now now, darling, don’t be hard on yourself. Being so easy to read only makes my job here all the easier. And that’s what we both want, isn’t it? We want this to be… easy.”

Fuck, the way he purred that last word. As if she were the one that was easy…

“The sooner I break you, the sooner you can go about your much needed preparations and atonement.”

Jenevelle glared at him as if to say: And if I should succeed and resist?

But the Dawnmaster only giggled once more, darker and deeper in his broad chest this time. A sound that made some inner muscle in her lower belly clench and burn.

“Don’t lie to yourself or to me. I know you’re not ready, not pure enough to resist me.” Then he did something that made her gasp aloud, he knelt before her too, his robes of blackest cloth draping over her bare knees where they peaked out from her silver muslin wrap. That cursed hand trailed a finger across her pulse point again, “I can hear every rap of your unbridled pulse…” That cold touch caressed over the fabric of her gown towards her hips, sliding over the naked skin of her knee, her thigh, before he stopped his advances just shy of her hip.

Of where she burned with something… unholy.

“I can smell you, you know…”

Jenevelle shifted on her knees, and suddenly she realized that the burning heat in her belly wasn’t just inside… Her sex was wet, so dripping and so slick from this man’s presence and ghostly touches that it squelched as she moved.

That sweet damp sound only made him give the widest, most fang baring smirk yet.

“Shall we begin, my child?” he whispered, that little epithet only making Jenevelle wriggle more on her knees to squelch her wet thighs louder this time. His thick silver brow arched at the noise, and he gave that bone rattling chuckle again. “Not off to an auspicious start, darling…”

Jenevelle shuddered, shivering as his cool touch swept slowly higher, a soothing balm promised for the burning. She didn’t even notice when or how she parted her knees, letting his fingers creep over the soft plush of her thighs to soothe her ache.

“Mmm, good girl,” he hummed, keeping his frame at a distance to observe and note every twitching reaction. “You’re lucky you know, Selûne likes her chosens extra bright and shiny, which means…” he paused, fingers sinking into her folds as he watched her face silently screw tightly in pleasure, “you’ll have to withstand my darkest desires.” The smirk on his face dripped with sin as he licked his lips, playing his fingers in and out, twisting them and crooking them to draw extra wet and lewd sounds from under that silvery gauze shift. “I do so love my calling, and it’s sweet, innocent darlings like you that I enjoy testing the most.”

Jenevelle bit her tongue until she tasted blood, fixing her gaze on the window slats in her ceiling that let in the moonlight.

She fought every instinct screaming at her to move as his finger played inside, their damp exploration widening her channel, three fingers wide now, pushing her apart.

“Oh, darling, I doubt you’ve ever been wetter. Certainly makes my task easier,” he gave that rolling chuckle again. “How else am I to verify your vow of… chastity?” Those crimson eyes had dilated almost to pitch black now, his lips quirking at random… or was it in time with the rhythm of this hand pushing up into her cunt?

Those wicked fingers thrust and curled, over and over again. Something burned, called forth by his touches and summoned by every wash of his chilling, undead breath as it fanned down her neck. She felt his lips purse and press a kiss beneath her ear, and it took all her strength to keep the moan in her throat locked away.

Then his thumb brushed something hard and aching right at the crest of her sex. A grunt struggled free from her control, her hand splaying back to catch her as she crumbled. Whatever spot that was he circled now set an unholy fire in her body, every limb, every muscle shaking and tightening to a state of pure… ecstasy. Yes. That was it. Ecstasy. Rapture.

This wave of bliss so intense, it stole her breath as she shook on his hand, it was surely divine. A boon given so intensely, her mouth watered, her eyes wept, and her sex flooded with slick….

…slick he began to suck from his lithe and pale digits as he stood once more. Those black robes fluttered, heavy and loud through the strange haze that had swallowed her.

“Can you feel it, my little Chosen? The fire in your veins, the heady intoxication of how your body craves more of my touch?” His voice was soft, dripping… sweet like honey from the comb. His sticky fingers pushed under her chin to force her eyes to meet that crimson stare. “You have proven yourself once chaste,” he chuckled, dark and dangerous, that sharp implication of something lost, never to be reclaimed sent an unholy tremor down her spine.

And gods, did it make her belly coil again so soon.

One cool thumb slipped between her lips, pulling her jaw down. “Now, my duty says to push on,” he chuckled again at his words, “Obedience or silence, that is the sweetest of questions.” He growled, sliding his thumb deeper inside the warm cavern of her mouth, the tang of her own juices still coating it as she unknowingly sucked it. “Or both at once…”

His red eyes flared, smirking down at her, at the way her body responded so automatically and innocently. She’d let him do anything… anything for the sake of testing her light against his darkness. And by the Dawn Lord, would he make certain she was thoroughly tested….

His thumb skated over her teeth, opening that silent mouth for him. “Oh yes, let’s move on to a trial fit for both your vows at once. Think you can keep this tongue occupied with worship in place of those sweet little grunts you’ve been making?” That free hand of his reached for the buttons of his robes, opening just a few at his waist. “Think you can give me your full obedience?”

It was then she noticed that bulge protruding under their billowing lengths. Something long, pale, and hard stuck out from the gap, his hand wrapped around it as he stroked it lazily.

She knew not why, but her heart raced. Her mouth drew more spit that she had to swallow loudly before she choked on it. Of course she had seen animals rutting in season, but this…. This made her whole body hum with an unfamiliar need. A heat that needed to be cooled. And all she could think of was the cool of his touch.

“Never seen a manhood before?” He laughed, fingers gripping around him as he beat up and down… “Further proof of your chastity, I suppose.”

Those green eyes widened as he stepped closer. “Now, keep silent and obey, and perhaps you’ll be a pleasing offering to your Moonmaiden.”

So many questions ticked her brain… what it was, what it would do… and his crimson eyes drank in the sight of her confusion, a wicked smile on his lips. “Oh, if only your queries could be voiced, my little Chosen,” he purred. “I guess you’ll have to go on blind faith and trust me when I command you to open your lips.”

Her body snapped to attention and obeyed, a mind of its own that craved being told just what to do…. Obedience was a virtue after all. And virtues came with so many graces.

Her pink tongue jutted out just a bit, and his hand deftly guided his cock, brushing its weeping head over it. That pearl of precum coated her, her wide eyes wincing at the unusual taste as a little breath left that gaping mouth.

“Hush, child,” he soothed, hand in her silver hair, carding in the loose tendrils until his grip rested as the back of her head. “Show me true obedience, demonstrate for me your silence, and you’ll earn your place as Mother Superior and Chosen of Selûne. Fail and the consequences…” he trailed off for a moment, head rolling back as he slowly thrust his cock deeper into her mouth, “the consequences could be most dire for you and most delicious for me….”

Fingers held fast suddenly in her hair, his hips snapping forward in surprise. And Jenevelle gasped, her voice box rough and strained from neglect as she suddenly mewled. Her hands pressed into his thighs through that wall of black cassock, and it was all she could do to keep her wits about her. He pistoned in and out of her mouth, her lips closing around his cock out of some long suppressed primal instinct.

“Yes, good child,” he groaned, his breathing labored and huffing, “Obey me. Use your tongue, your lips, your throat and please me.”

The floodgates opened, and a deluge of desire consumed her every action, her every thought. She suckled and licked, her throat straining and gagging around his length as he rammed into her mouth over and over again.

It was numbing… hypnotizing, the repetition of his flesh over her tongue and down her throat. The growls and grunts he made as he thrust into her was like a never-ending chant. And her own voice couldn’t help but to give answer—high pitched whines and deep moans summoned with almost every tickle of his cockhead against the back of her throat.

“So needy, so untrained,” he groaned as he slowed a moment, keeping just that bulbous read on the tip of her tongue. “Lick the tip, little Selûnite, and taste the fruits of your obedience.”

Again, she obeyed, savoring the sensations of him between her lips. Her gaze was fixed now up on his face, those glowing red irises boring into her face. His mouth parted in a slack-jawed grin, revealing the glistening points of his teeth.

His fangs.

And for all of her that feared the dark, that should have been repulsed by an undead vampiric Dawnmaster, all that should have forced him away for the heresy of it all… she just grinned and whined and sucked him deep into her mouth again.

“Nine bloody hells,” he groaned, his breath catching as he hissed through those gritted teeth. “Come on, girl, make me come. Make me come now.”

The words barely registered in her lust-hazed brain. Her hands ran to the back of his legs, keeping his body pressed against hers as close as she could handle. Her cheeks hollowed, her throat strained, eyes running with tears as she couldn’t get enough of the feeling. She wanted more, wanted all of that smooth, hard cock in her mouth.

His thrusts slowed, keeping his depth just as persistent as he snarled. His hand held her head tightly, and that thick shaft began to pulse and twitch as something filled her mouth. It was bitter and sweet, thick and oily as she swallowed it, whatever it was that came from him in full, throbbing bursts. Whatever it was of him that was now part of her.

He held still in her mouth, that grip in her hair easing, his breathing rough as he tried to steady it. “Well,” he chuffed, pulling from her slowly, “I haven’t given such a thorough examination for a long while. I must say, you’ve done enough to please your deity and mine…”

Jenevelle gave a long sigh, even as part of her echoed in… disappointment.

“Ah,” he hummed, tilting his head as he caught her chin and bent low to hover just out of reach. “Am I right to see that this… displeases you?”

She nodded her pretty little head in his grip.

“I must say, I concur. Personally, I find myself yet to be totally satisfied by your virtues.” He purred, his thumb stroking her bottom lip, savoring the way it swelled from his aggression. “Perhaps you must suffer the consequences of failure. If I deem you unworthy, then I return in a tenday for another… examination… on behalf of our god and goddess, of course.”

The way his voice dripped with need, the quirk of his own full and smirking lips made her sex clench.

“If you wish to succeed today, say nothing, but if you would rather accept failure… say anything…”

The offer hung heavy in the air. Temptation. Its corruption was already as deep in her belly as his essence that she had swallowed.

Leaning forward, she placed the chastest of kisses on his softening cockhead. “Yes, Dawnmaster,” she whispered.

“Good girl,” came his stilted reply. His fingers left a fire in the wake of his corpse-cold touch. “Until next tenday, then, my child…”

With that, he fixed his robes, replaced his hood, and left with nothing more than the echo of his deep and wicked laughter in the air of her cell.

For my lovely betas/coven sisters @nyx-knox and @marimosalad

And for my lovely degenerate writers @lets-just-daydream and @astarionancuntnin

🎨 📸 by @casualya

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throwaway-yandere · 1 year ago

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Ansy maybe I can send an idea about this. Maybe this yandere is turning into a zombie/monster, Reader sacrifices or willingly let's the yandere eat reader so the yandere wouldn't hurt others. Other idea, Yandere is a monster/cannibal and reader has a flesh that is very addicting to eat so yandere feels guilty for eating their darling but can't as darling tastes so delicious.

A/n: I'm actually currently writing the prompt I got earlier so here's some short ideas. also, what's up with me writing cannibalism fics for two older brothers with blue-white color schemes?? *shrug*. I'll go with the 2nd idea-ish (I'll tweak it again) in this one. First time doing headcanons so... I'll adios lol.

Content Tags: hello its yandere cannibalism lmao + Whodunit spoilers

YANDERE CANNIBAL!SUNDAY who strangely takes too long to respond to his childhood friend's messages. You're starting to get worried that he's spending too much time inside the dreamscape. Although your race greatly differs from his- being an ordinary human resident and all- you heard numerous stories that Halovians tend to carnally seek glamorous feasts after hosting series of events.

YANDERE CANNIBAL!SUNDAY who finally replied to your recent message, telling you "DON'T COME, PLEASE." with bold capital letters. You can only raise an eyebrow, considering you're already on his front door with a fruit basket at hand. In hindsight, perhaps you should've considered giving him a heads-up beforehand instead of rudely announcing your visit. But you are genuinely worried for his overall wellbeing, especially given what happened to his sister.

And perhaps, you were also just looking for someone who could understand your grief as well. He wasn't the only one stripped of their family so suddenly. The thought of your friend starving himself had pushed your own sadness away in favor of sheer platonic worry. That was how strong your bond was.

YANDERE CANNIBAL!SUNDAY who shook, mortified at the knocks on his front door. As much as possible, he can't let you in. The current nightmare he calls "HUNGER" was an unforgiving beast. He leaned against the other side of the closed door, breathing heavily.

"(Y/n), n-now is not the time for a visit! Forgive me for this crudeness, but I shan't open the door at present." You hear him inhale shakily. "To have you see me like this undermines all the work I've put in our... friendship."

You sighed. "Alright, I'm sorry. But... can I please just leave this on your porch?"

"... I will not bar you from doing so..."

"Thank you."

YANDERE CANNIBAL!SUNDAY whose hands refused to stop trembling. You're so close. He can almost taste you behind that door. A chill runs down his spine as he noticed just how much his mouth was watering at the thought of taking a bite.

YANDERE CANNIBAL!SUNDAY who thought himself most detestable for his cravings. The Odes of Harmony preaches honesty among its many virtues, and he would drown himself for omitting the grim truth from you. THEY will not be happy with this relapse of his.

YANDERE CANNIBAL!SUNDAY who bit his thumb, drawing blood. THEY wouldn't endorse this behavior from a representative of the Family.

YANDERE CANNIBAL!SUNDAY who looked at his bleeding finger and laughed sorrowfully at the lingering question on his mind.

Whose blood was it? His... or THEIRS?

Sunday could never be at ease after committing this crime. A Halovian like himself would never allow their vision to be clouded in red, and it appears the devil had saw an opportunity to hurl at two birds with one stone. But that would be an inaccurate way to describe it. His wings had not been clipped; he had brutally torn it away himself.

Penacony's most shrewd man lied to the arrogant fool that evening. There were four murders in that timeframe. One was a stowaway, the other was his precious sister, and the last pair was both your father and mother.

THEIR vision of a happy future for you did not welcome HIM.

All he recalls now was their polite disapproval turned screams when he made an attempt to ask for their blessing. Sunday only realized what he had done the moment he had sunk his teeth down your mother's arm, noticing how your father was already but boney remains of himself.

This Halovian ancestry's secret... it served him no good.

Why was he born into this race and why wasn't he raised just like you?

"Watchmaker... How can I ever forgive myself for this...?"

How can he dare proclaim to mete out justice when he deserves to be served the same sentence? "Sunday" himself is a transgressor, unworthy of yielding Harmony's name.

What heathen he was, to partake in flesh and blood that was not for his stomach simply because they both smelled just like you. What heretic he was, to place anger and hunger above his better judgement.

What karma it was, to find out his sister has been killed in his moments of guilt.

What retribution it was, to face that what he had done to others, will be done unto him.

#ansy-writes #yandere sunday #tw: cannibalism #yandere fic #yandere hsr #yandere sunday x reader #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere honkai #yandere #yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere x you #tw yandere #male yandere #yandere headcanons

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fiendishfables · 1 year ago

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Can you make a top Lute x fem reader nsfw?

a/n: I most certainly can; love my girl Lute. Definitely going to try and write some more for her in the future. Enjoy!

warnings: nsfw, fingering, eating out, cursing, Adam being a funny lil' guy, mention(s) of killing

words: 1.5k+

characters: 8624

additional notes: thanks for 20+ followers, y'all! More fics are on the way; requests are always open!

format: Oneshot

"L-Lute!~"

"Tsk. Stay still, brat."

Your girlfriend had just come back from the usual annual extermination. Being an exorcist angel under Adams command was quite stressful, as she often took it upon herself to make known to you. Having her come back to you all irritable and angry was a normal occurrence on many days, but she did have her good days in between.

But, you'd have to admit that you liked getting to be subjected to Lute's bitter attitude sometimes.

Especially if those times happened to turn out like this one.

Lute currently had her hands purchased on the plush, supple flesh of your thighs, using her very evident strength to keep them apart from one another; keeping you exposed to her. Your legs would never be closed for as long as she had her head between them. Crush her skull all you like. She was determined to get what she deserved; claim what was rightfully hers.

Her tongue lapped at your sopping folds, nose just barley bumping your clit to provide that extra shock of pleasure. You had your fingers tangled in her short, silver hair, which she would normally scold you for, claiming it took her forever to get it to look so nice. This time though, she says nothing, as she knows you're only doing it due to the immense amounts of pleasure she is causing you to feel, the euphoria swirling throughout your body like a rapid whirlpool, ready to suck you into its deep, dark depths. Never to be seen again.

Your heavy breathing mixed with the sounds of her tongue in and around your pussy; the pace of her skillful tongue bringing you spiraling towards the edge. It was all so pleasurable, yet beautiful.

One of her hands moved upwards to your lower stomach, applying gentle force to keep your hips from bucking upward towards her mouth in an attempt to get more friction. Her tongue delved even deeper into you as she got a soft moan in response to her dominating action, exploring every spongey wall, every sensitive nerve.

Every damn place her tongue could reach in order to mark you as hers.

The shaking of your thighs, the heat of your breath, all must have been a sign for Lute to switch tactics. She never let you get off that easy. She wanted, needed, to have her fun with you; her little angel.

As she lifted her head from between your legs, your own slick covering her lips, you could've mewled. As the cold air now hit your pussy lips, it made you miss her skilled tongue almost immediately. It took most of your will power to refrain from pulling her back to you and pushing her head back down between your thighs where you both knew it rightfully belonged.

But that wasn't how things like this worked.

At least not with Lute.

She had taught you that patience was a very valuable virtue when it came to getting what you wanted. Especially if you wanted that specific something from her.

"Good girl. Seems like you can learn after all."

Lute spoke surprisingly soft, even with that smirk still playing on her face. The same smirk she always adorned whenever she knew she had denied you that sweet release; the one she had been helping to build for the past half-hour now.

At this point, you were surprised that Adam hadn't come busting into the room looking for his lieutenant. Lord, it was a miracle in itself that the two of you had managed to get this much time to yourself without the fucker interrupting you. The amount of times he had walked in on you, either with Lute's face between your thighs, or her fucking the living daylights out of you with a strap on.

Adam being Adam, he had tried multiple times to try and convince Lute to let him stay and watch, or even join in on the action.

Not surprisingly, he had failed each of those times and often left with a new bruise added to his face; the result of Lute blasting him with a beam of light and cursing at him, yelling at him to leave before she got up and made him leave.

The threat usually worked, because neither one of you wanted to know what that would look like.

You were instantly snapped out of your thoughts, feeling Lute's nimble fingers now rubbing heavily pressured circles onto your clit, sending rakes of pleasure running up your spine. A choked moan left your lips as she then proceeded to add a finger, then two, into your gaping hole, so eagerly sucking her digits in.

"Such a tight little pussy you got, babe." She cooed, fingers picking up their pace, movements becoming relentless in their pursuit of making you cum.

"Nice to know you haven't been touching yourself whenever I'm out for the evening. All because you know I'm the only one who can make you feel like this, huh?"

You only gave a weak nod in response, stars and spots beginning to fill your vision. It felt like the whole room was spinning around you.

"Y-yes, Lute. Fuck, yes. Only y-you."

Your voice sounded almost hoarse, as if you had been screaming to your hearts content only hours prior. But your mind was quickly put back on track as your girlfriends nimble fingers sped up their pace, both on your clitoris and inside, pumping those digits vigorously in and out of you in a steady pattern that had you on cloud nine.

Before you had time to fathom anything currently ongoing, you let loose a strangled cry of pure bliss from your throat, as Lute let her fingers continue to fuck you through your orgasm.

Your entire body seemed to go through a series of tremors, showing the real effect Lute's fingers had been having on you. Your thighs shook; your chest rapidly rose and fell.

It was like a whole new heaven.

Once you had calmed down a bit from the intense wave of pleasure that had just so recently washed over you, she removed her fingers from in between your wet folds. She seemed to carefully inspect them before bringing them up to her lips, which already happened to be glossy with your slick from earlier, and licked the juices right off of them, as if she were a starving woman and this would be her last time ever tasting you.

She licked her lips, looking quite satisfied as she smirked down at you. She then gave you a gentle, affectionate kiss on the lips, letting you taste your own produce on her mouth.

"Mm. Damn. Sweet as always, angel."

You were busy catching your breath as she said this, swallowing the spit that had collected in your mouth and around your lips, thanks to the disheveled state your girlfriend had reduced you into. Even your hair was in a fray and she hadn't even touched it.

"Lute, do you want me to...return the favor? I know you're bound to be stressed from extermination earlier-"

You were cut off by her scoff, almost as if she had been offended that you would even begin to offer such a thing.

"Heavens no. What do you take me for, some selfish bastard?" She asked, lips pulling down into that signature grumpy frown she normally wore.

"What- babe no. Lu, its not selfish for wanting your partner to return the favor for you, especially if you just gave them an orgasm as good as that."

She huffed, looking almost cute with her face scrunched up in a scowl. But it had wiped clean off her face, eyes softer now, as she looked back towards you.

"Whatever. But I'm fine, babe, really. Tonight was about you, and you did so good for me. Thank you for letting me get to taste you."

She seemed to think for a second before adding:

"It was even better than getting to slaughter those demon bitches down in hell today."

You offered Lute a tired smile and let out a soft laugh at her attempt to compare your pussy and killing demons in the same sentence. Eventually, she too ended up chuckling, though still holding the statement to be true, no matter how much you seemed to want to laugh or disprove it.

At the end of the day, you both loved one another more than either of you could ever bring out into words or actions.

So many emotions came to surface when loving the fierce-spirited, exorcist angel known as Lute.

It was rough.

It was different.

It was maybe even a bit playful.

But by all the angels and their beautiful wings, was it fun.

(Bonus + featuring the 'original dick')

…Though of course it could never last too long, as the sudden booming voice of Adam rang out throughout the room as he practically kicked down the door, no doubt looking for his favorite lieutenant and her girlfriend.

"Guess who's back , bitchesss! Ey, Lute, looks like your party here is missing some of the 'original dick'! All ya had to do was ask-"

He never did get to finish his sentence, for there was already an angelic spear being flung at his head, resulting in a high-pitched scream from Adam, which was enough for him to go silent in shame that his lieutenant could manage to evoke such a noise from him.

He never did seem to walk in on you two much after that.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel lute #hazbin lute #lute #adam hazbin hotel #hazbin adam #hazbin hotel adam #lute hazbin hotel #xreader #female #fem reader #oneshot #hazbin hotel oneshot #exorcist angel #exorcist angels #adam x reader #adam x lute

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voxofthevoid · 3 months ago

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Chapters: 1/10 Fandom: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Itadori Yuuji/Nanami Kento, Gojo Satoru/Itadori Yuuji, Gojo Satoru/Itadori Yuuji/Nanami Kento Characters: Nanami Kento, Itadori Yuuji, Gojo Satoru, Ieiri Shoko Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Pre-Kyoto Goodwill Event Arc (Jujutsu Kaisen), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta Nanami Kento, Alpha Itadori Yuuji, Omega Gojo Satoru, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Caretaking, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mildly Dubious Consent, Guilt, Altered Mental States, Hinge Polyamory, Past Relationship(s), Threesome - M/M/M, First Time, Anal Sex, Frottage, Oral Sex, Knotting, Rough Sex, Marathon Sex, Voyeurism

Summary:

Kento opens his eyes to nuclear blue.

“You know, Nanami,” says Gojou Satoru, “when I told you to take care of Yuuji, this is not what I meant.”

“Gojou-san,” Kento rasps, voice thick with sleep and worse, “I assume Shouko-san told you about the situation.”

“Well, she left out a few key details,” Gojou says, that scimitar of a smile widening. “Or did she? You didn’t tell her, did you? For shame, Nanami.”

“I take it you came to fetch Itadori-kun.”

“I sure did,” he confirms, all faux cheer. “Now I don’t know. I’d hate to do that when Yuuji seems so…attached.”

Every word is serrated and suggestive, but even worse is the way Gojou’s eyes flicker to Kento’s groin, a pale eyebrow rising in some foul blend of surprise and mockery. Kento knows with damning certainty that Gojou’s seeing more than he should, those cursed eyes not limited by line of sight.

It’s impossible, then, to ignore the cock inside him and the boy it’s attached to.

- Stress and trauma trigger Yuuji’s rut a few years too early. Kento’s too kind for his own good, while Satoru’s too curious for anyone’s good.

#nanaita #nanami kento #itadori yuji #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #my fic #fic: flesh is the only virtue

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canon-gabriel-quotes · 1 year ago

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I have a fic where Gabriel's true form is more similar to Virtues but that he's strong enough to shape shift into a more humanoid form almost as a show of power and he can wield weapons with his hands unlike Virtues who can only use light to attack people. So he has like skin and flesh and blood but only because he willed it into existence.

there's 2 types of gabe opinions

Option 1 (see above)

Option 2

both are good

#this is a based take and i agree #i think he could transform into a freak if desired #asks #ask #non voice post

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smilingformoney · 1 year ago

Text

The Eternal Summer

I. Welcome to Australia

Summary: Your husband, Lord Turpin, has been instructed by the Queen to bring the British judiciary system to Australia. You travel with him, and and on arrival you meet his cousin, Elliott Marston, who invites you to stay with him while your husband make arrangements in Melbourne. In return for his hospitality, Turpin offers you to his cousin, and although you're reluctant at first, you come to find you're rather fond of the gunslinging pastoralist.

Sequel to Sins of the Flesh.

AN: Yes, I have started another fic. Yes, I will still finish my other stories (eventually). No, I didn't see a Sweeney Todd/Quigley Down Under crossover coming either, but my pussy is horny and my imagination is wild.

Content/warnings: sharing, non-consensual touching, oral sex, period-typical racism (specifically against Aboriginal Australians), gun violence, consensual infidelity, vaginal sex

Read on Ao3 or below the cut:

When your husband told you that the Queen herself had asked him to work temporarily in Australia to assist in the establishment of the British judicial system, you went through multiple emotions over the weeks leading up to your departure. You mourned at first that he would be away from you for so long, until he told you that you were to come with him. Then, you had been daunted by the prospect of moving to such a distant place. A small part of you registered that your brother was in Australia too, but the chances of seeing him were slim.

Finally, as the day of your departure approached, you began to feel excited. You had never even left London, yet here you were travelling to the very end of the world as the lady wife of Lord Turpin, the formidable English judge who would bring peace and justice to Australia just as he did England.

The journey itself was difficult. You spent just over two months at sea, and learned quickly that your delicate stomach wasn’t made for such journeys. You had the greatest of luxury that you could, of course, and the inside of your cabin wouldn’t look out of place in a manor. But even the finest of luxury couldn’t contest with the rage of the sea, and you spent more time than you wished churning your meals back out when the seas were rough.

The worst part was, the onboard doctor advised that to fall pregnant on the journey would be unwise, as your frequent nausea meant your body was lacking nutrients enough to keep a baby healthy, so you were forced to suspend your attempts to have a child. That didn’t stop your husband taking you regularly, however - only that he spilled elsewhere, but you sorely missed the warmth and satisfaction of feeling his seed filling your womb.

It felt like an eternity had passed when you docked at Melbourne, and to feel solid ground below your feet at last was both discombobulating and a relief. You stayed at a hotel for the first night, where your husband was finally able to spill his seed inside you again, and for the first night in a long time you slept through without being woken by your churning stomach.

In the morning, you woke to find your bed empty, so you got yourself dressed and headed down into the parlour in search of your husband.

You found him sitting at a table with a coffee and a plate of breakfast, accompanied by a man whose face was obscured by virtue of having his back to you. William spotted you and smiled, waving you over, and his companion turned to look at you.

You hoped your face didn’t blush when you locked eyes with the man and you were immediately struck by how handsome he was. He had a moustache and the shadow of a beard, and he looked somewhat like your husband, maybe a decade or so younger.

“There she is! Come sit with us, darling. I didn’t want to wake you during your first night on land. Elliott, this is my wife, [Y/n]. [Y/n], this is my cousin, Elliott Marston. He’s a - what was it you called yourself, Elliott?”

“A pastoralist. I own a lot of land and farm it. A pleasure to meet you, Lady Turpin.”

Elliott took your hand and kissed it, his moustache tickling your knuckles slightly, and you gave him a small curtsy.

“Likewise, sir,” you said politely. Elliott laughed and released your hand, letting you sit in the seat that had been left open for you next to your husband.

“You’re not in England anymore, my Lady. No need for sirs, I’m not a knight. Just Elliott will do.”

“Ah, well… in that case, you may call me [Y/n], if my lord husband permits it.”

“Of course I do!” William said with a smile just as a waitress brought you a plate of food. “We’re all family here. Elliott’s father, my mother’s brother, was my favourite uncle.”

“I apologise, my love, I - I must have not heard you say we were meeting your cousin.”

“Well, of course you didn’t hear it, because I didn’t say it. I knew Elliott had moved here, of course, but I hardly expected we’d run into one another in such a large place. Simply a case of good fortune.”

“Yes, well, I heard from Major Ashley-Pitt that they were bringing in a judge from London to establish the judiciary,” Elliott explained. If he was of a similar class to William, he had lost all table manners long ago - he was currently sat slouched on his chair, his legs spread out, a cigarette in one hand. “I mentioned as an offhand comment that my cousin William Turpin was in the London judiciary, and as luck would have it I was told he was the very judge, so when I heard when you were docking I thought I’d come to meet you. Unfortunately, you docked quite late last night, and I was already drunk in the saloon. I came in here to wait for the two of you to awake, only to find William already at breakfast. You should have seen, [Y/n], the look on his face when he recognised me!”

“I almost didn’t recognise you with that moustache and the ridiculous hat. I won’t be made to wear something so outlandish, I hope,” said William, and you decided not to mention how very garish his own judge’s garments were.

“You’ll find yourself choosing to wear the widest brimmed hat you can find once you’re out in the midday sun. It’s nothing like London out here. I always say, the natives are brutal and so is the wildlife, but Australia itself is the greatest killer of them all.”

“Elliott’s invited you to stay with him for a few days while I attend to administrative matters here, darling,” William said to you, as if he were offering you some great prize and not suggesting you leave his side for several days. “Once I’ve ironed out the paperwork and so on, got us a place to live, I’ll join you for a while, then we’ll return to town to move in properly and I can begin my work. How does that sound?”

“Must I go on without you, William? If you’re to stay in town, I’d much rather be by your side.”

William chuckled. “Until we have somewhere of our own, this hotel is all we have to live, and I won’t have my darling [Y/n] resting her head here every single night. Elliott assures me he has a much more comfortable lodging for you with him.”

You bit your lip anxiously. The thought of being away from your husband for even one night was enough to make your stomach churn as if you were back on the ship all over again. You hadn’t ever spent a night without him, not since that first day you came to his house in exchange for your brother’s life.

“But, sir —”

“Are you questioning me, wife?”

“No, sir,” you said quickly, ducking your head slightly. “Only… well, I worry that we may miss our, um… window. For my… medication. We already missed two months!”

William laughed and wrapped an arm around you. “Her womb is struggling to take my seed,” he explained to his cousin, and you blushed to hear him speak so publicly about such private matters. “The doctor prescribed that I should spill inside her often, but her sensitive stomach didn’t agree with sea travel, so we had to suspend our attempts until we reached land. We continued to make love, of course, but last night was the first time I spilled inside her since London.”

“William! We oughtn’t speak of such things —”

“Nonsense! We can speak freely in front of Elliott. Do you have a wife of your own?”

“I did, but she passed a few years ago before she could give me any children. I take the occasional whore back from town, but otherwise I sleep alone.”

“Well, that won’t do. I’ll tell you what - since you’re being so kind as to put [Y/n] up while I stay in town, she’s yours to do as you please until I join you.”

Your eyes widened in shock, and fortunately you had no food in your mouth in that moment, else it might have dropped from your mouth in a rather unladylike manner.

“But William - I can’t - I can’t lay with another man! You are my husband!”

“And as your husband, I am to be obeyed, am I not?”

“Well, yes, but —”

“Then you’ll do as I say and keep my cousin’s bed warm. You’re not to spill inside her, of course, Elliott. She’s only to take my seed.”

“Of course. Very generous of you, William, thank you.”

You could scarcely believe what you were hearing. Your own husband, who had claimed possession of you the very day you met, who had wedded you in the eyes of the Lord and promised faithfulness, was now offering you up for warmth as if you were nothing more than a spare blanket!

And yet, he was also right that your wedding vows had included not only a promise of fidelity, but a promise of obedience too. And here he was, commanding you to lay with his cousin or… whatever it was the stranger wanted you to do. Suddenly you felt like that scared young girl again, who had knocked on Judge Turpin’s door begging for mercy and ended the night surrendering your maidenhood in exchange for your wish. Although your husband had been cruel at first when you resisted, once you accepted that you were his he became kind and you even grew to love one another, and you had almost forgotten that you were simply property.

You tried your hardest not to cry when the time came to depart. Your single bag of belongings was loaded up onto a wagon, and for once William allowed you to publicly embrace him before you climbed into the wooden contraption yourself.

“I shall miss you every moment, William,” you said, holding onto him tightly, as if trying to memorise the feeling of his body against yours.

“And I you, my love. It will be lonely not to share a bed with you, but I’ll follow you as soon as I’m able. Elliott will take good care of you, I’m certain.”

You sniffed, not wanting to think of what kind of care the stranger had in store for you.

William pulled away from the embrace and looked into your eyes.

“I love you, bunny.”

You smiled. “I love you too, teddy bear.”

Reluctantly, you let him go, and Elliott gave you a hand up into the wagon. It was hard and uncomfortable, nothing like the carriages that you shared with William when you travelled around London, and already you understood what the stranger had said about Australian weather. You wrapped a bonnet around your head, and as the wagon departed, you kept your sights set on your husband, watching him shrink into the distance until he was nothing but a speck on the horizon, and then he was gone, leaving you alone with only Elliott, two of his men, and the burning Australian sun.

You were a long way from home.

Elliott’s station was very far away. You were tired of travelling all the time, so when you were told it would take “only” a few days to get there, you resigned yourself to complete and utter boredom.

When night fell, the men made camp for the night, and you gathered around the fire, sitting in silence as the men told stories about hunting dingos, whatever they were, and Aborigines, whatever they were. Although the day had been sweltering hot, as night drew on the air became colder, and you shivered slightly. Elliott, who was sat next to you, shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders.

“Thank you,” you said politely, speaking for the first time in hours, although you didn’t look at him.

“Hey, if you’re cold, I got a way I can warm ya up,” said an Irish man who’d introduced himself as O’Flynn, and his laugh with the other man, Hobb, was quickly interrupted when Elliott tossed a rock at him and bounced it off the Irish man’s head.

“[Y/n]’s no whore to be passed around,” Elliott said firmly as the disgruntled O’Flynn rubbed his head. “She’s my cousin’s wife, and back in London she’s a Lady. No one’s to touch her, you got that? Don’t even look at her.”

The men mumbled their apologies, then went back to the game of backgammon they’d brought along for the journey.

“Sorry about them,” Elliott said to you quietly. “With your husband being a judge, I’m sure you know that convicts get sent out here to work off their debts to society. A lot of them come to me, and most of them become honest men, but they’re still scumbags.”

You paused.

“My brother was sent out here,” you said quietly, frowning as if you’d only just remembered.

“Hmm? What was that?”

You looked up at him.

“My brother. He - he was a thief. William was going to send him to hang, but I begged him for mercy so he sent him out here instead. It’s how we met, I… I showed up on his doorstep begging for mercy. He said he’d spare my brother if I gave him my maidenhood. Then he kept me.”

Elliott raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Your brother was a thief?”

“Only bread. We were hungry… our parents were dead and I didn’t earn very much. But a crime is a crime, my husband says, no matter the reasoning. I’m very grateful he showed my brother mercy that day. Now my brother is working to become a better man, just like your men, and I have the most devoted husband.”

Elliott was looking at you with a strange expression on his face, as if you were a curious puzzle he was trying to solve. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut short when Hobb let out a whoop of victory as he won his game.

“Well done, Hobb. Now, keep it down, I’m going to bed.”

The men mumbled their discontent and folded away their game. Elliott, meanwhile, stood and offered his hand to you. You took it gratefully, and followed him into the tent he had set up to share with you. There wasn’t a whole lot of space, especially with there being two of you, and you blushed when he began undressing in front of you.

When he was down to his undergarments, Elliott looked over at you, and chuckled when he saw that you were pointedly facing away from him, struggling to get out of your corset on your own.

You twitched in surprise when you felt his hands reach around to assist you in untying the lace that held the corset together. You let him take over, his movements surprisingly gentle for hands so large and calloused, and you kept your head turned away from him, trying to ignore the tickling of his breath on your neck.

“My men may be scumbags, but I’m certainly not,” Elliott said softly. “I think we both know what your husband meant when he offered you to me, but I like to think Australia hasn’t completely beaten the English gentleman from me. I won’t deny, [Y/n]… you are a beautiful woman. William’s a lucky man. But I won’t take anything from you that’s not freely given. Do you understand?”

You nodded tentatively, and Elliott helped you out of your dress, leaving you in only your underthings. You climbed under the blankets, and the feeling of the hard earth beneath you reminded you of the days before you’d met your husband, when you’d sleep on the floor because you could only afford to rent one bed for your brother.

True to his word, even though he laid next to you, Elliott made no move to touch you. You were cold, though, and so you scooted closer to him, and although you couldn’t see it in the dark, he smiled when he wrapped an arm around you and held you tight, glad to have the company of a woman who wasn’t a whore, a kind and sweet lady, with an innocence that seemed vastly out of place in the harsh terrain of Australia.

William was a lucky man indeed.

The next two days passed without much event. You started to wonder if Elliott’s station even existed, or if anything existed. Perhaps you’d simply imagined London, the ocean, life outside the barren desert that was Australia. By day you sat in the back of the wagon, and every few hours Elliott would move you to a different seat. It took an embarrassingly long time for you to realise that he was keeping you in his shadow, blocking you from the harsh rays of the sun with his own body.

The heat made you sleepy, and so you napped for a lot of the journey, and for the time you were awake you watched the world go by, marvelling at the wonders of the outback and listening intently as Elliott told you about the different creatures that you passed.

The strangest creatures you saw were called “kangaroos,” which hopped around on overly large feet and although their arms were short, Elliott assured you that they were stronger than men, and extremely dangerous to approach.

A dingo, you learned, was a type of wild dog, although they looked more like foxes than dogs, you thought. When dingos were spotted, the wagon was stopped, and the men got out to hunt the poor things. You winced at the loud gunshots, and you thought that Elliott was trying to impress you with his gunmanship, but really you were just worried for the poor animals.

The men loaded some of their kills in with the luggage, covering the bodies with blankets to stop the heat cooking them prematurely, and left the rest to rot in the sun. You gave false pleasantries to the men for their impressive hunting skills, and Elliott seemed pleased when you told him you’d watched him the whole time.

“What are the other creatures you said you hunt? Aborigines?”

Hobb and O’Flynn exchanged glances, and Elliott tensed slightly. He’d taken recently to throwing an arm around your shoulder when he sat next to you, and you felt his hand on your upper arm tighten slightly, pulling you in closer, as if to say the very word was to summon the elusive Aborigine, and he had to keep you close to protect you.

“Creatures is one word for them. But they’re people, supposedly. Backwards, primitive people, still stuck in the Stone Age. The Americans have their own primitives too, but they’ve tamed theirs, more or less. But Australia’s one great failure is our inability to domesticate the Australian Aborigine. So her Majesty’s government allows settlers to deal with the matter in their own way. ‘Pacification by Force’, it’s called.”

You frowned, trying to understand. “So you hunt… people?”

“They’re hardly people, love,” O’Flynn interjected. “They might look like people, but they can’t even talk. They just grunt. Stuck thousands of years in the past, they are. Only language they know is violence. Some you can domesticate, and you’ll find some back at the station. But some of ‘em resist, and those, we put down. Survival of the smartest, you see.”

You weren’t sure that sounded right, but you knew not to contradict men, so you kept quiet, though the thoughtful frown remained on your face. The wagon trundled on, and you found yourself relaxing against Elliott, who was still firmly holding onto you, ready to protect you from any stray Aborigine or kangaroo that might appear.

After an eternity had passed, Elliott woke you from a nap to point you towards a speck on the horizon he told you was his station.

“How far have we travelled?”

“About 300 miles,” Elliott replied proudly, “most of it mine. And we’ve hardly made a dent into Australia. Do you know, it’s estimated that Britain could fit into Australia thirty times with room to spare.”

“Wow,” you gasped, wide-eyed, peering into the distance to make out the station growing nearer. “I always thought London was big, but it’s just a dot on the canvas of the world. Is your land bigger than London?”

Elliott chuckled. “Much bigger. I’d offer you the tour, but it’d take longer than you have. Even I haven’t set foot on every square inch of my own land. But I can give you the tour of my station, and perhaps I’ll even take you out to meet some of the animals. Would you like that?”

“Oh yes!” you replied eagerly, looking up at him with the most adorable wide-eyed excitement he’d ever seen on a young woman. “Do you have sheep? I’ve always wanted to meet sheep.”

“Plenty of sheep, so long as the Aborigines haven’t tried to steal them again. Perhaps you could help shear one - cut its coat, I mean. I don’t suppose you see much animal life in London, do you?”

“Only the rats,” you said with disgust. “Stray cats and dogs, I don’t mind them. But the rats are horrible.”

“Well, I can’t promise no rats here, but at least we have the guns to shoot them.”

You glanced down at the gun on Elliott’s waistband - a “revolver,” he’d called it, on account of the revolving barrel containing the bullets - and your stomach twisted with anxiety. Guns were only owned in London by the upper classes - or by the lower classes, if obtained illegally. William had a few of his own, but you never saw them, as he brought them out only for hunting trips and he hadn’t been hunting since you’d met him. And yet, every man out here seemed to have a gun - for protection, Elliott assured you, against wild animals and Aborigines.

That didn’t stop them from making you feel uneasy.

The wagon pulled into the station at last, and Elliott helped you down from the wagon. A few of the men milling around shot glances at you that you recognised only too well, and you instinctively stepped closer to Elliott, as if his proximity kept you safe.

“Don’t you worry about them,” Elliott assured you, wrapping an arm around your waist protectively. “They’re used to the only women arriving here being whores. I’ll make sure they know you’re nothing of the sort.”

Weren’t you? William had offered you to his cousin as payment for his hospitality, after all. It seemed that no matter where you were in the world, you had nothing more to offer men than your body.

Elliott saw you into his house, one arm firmly around your waist while the other carried your bag over his shoulder, and gave you a quick tour of the house before depositing your bag in the bedroom you were to share with him.

“I hope you don’t mind sharing - there’s only the one bed, as there’s only the one of me.”

“That’s alright. I don’t like sleeping alone. Some nights William comes back late, I can’t sleep until he’s home and in bed with me. You’ve been a fine sleeping companion in the tent, I’m sure you’ll be as much of a gentleman in the bedroom too.”

“Don’t be so sure of that, sweetheart,” Elliott smirked, looking down at you with a twinkle in his eye. The arm around your waist pulled you in closer, and his other hand traced your shoulder along the edge of your bodice slowly, as if trying to restrain himself from ripping it off. “I restrained myself in the outback, but here in the comfort of my own home, sleeping next to such a beautiful woman…” He sighed. “I can’t promise much gentlemanly behaviour.”

You knew you should be revolted at such brazen flirting from a man who wasn’t your husband, but you couldn’t deny that Elliott was a handsome man, and you’d spent more than a significant amount of time during the journey wondering what it might be like to kiss him… and your husband had ordered you to keep his cousin warm…

Your eyes flitted down to his lips, as if daring yourself to kiss him, and he smirked.

“It’s been a long journey, sweetheart. Would you help ease my tension with a kiss?”

“I… I’ve never…” You gulped. “I’ve never been with a man other than my husband.”

“Of course you haven’t.”

“I’ve never wanted a man other than him…”

“But?” Elliott prompted with a raised eyebrow.

“But I find myself… wanting to kiss you.”

“Then kiss me, [Y/n]. This is Australia, after all. We take what we want here.”

You leaned up on your tiptoes to kiss him, and he met you halfway, lips crashing against yours hungrily. Elliott wrapped both arms around you to hold you tight, and you responded by threading your fingers through his hair, holding him firmly in place as your tongues danced, the desire that had built up over the last few days of travelling finally coming to a head.

He was different to your husband. He was slimmer, stronger - clearly a man who knew physical toil, whereas William had always known a life of luxury. His moustache tickled your skin slightly, and you longed to know what the coarse hairs felt like between your legs if he granted you that boon.

Their passions were similar, though, and you could feel his pressing into you - unless it was another gun.

Elliott’s hands travelled down to squeeze your bum, a cheek in each hand, and you squealed in surprise, causing your lips to part. He chuckled.

“I told you, [Y/n]… when a beautiful woman like you whips me into a frenzy, I can’t promise I’ll be a gentleman. I’ve been —”

But whatever he’d been would have to wait, because someone was knocking on the front door.

“Marston! You in? Just got back with some news about that sharp-shooter.”

Elliott sighed, and reluctantly pulled away from you. “Sorry, sweetheart, this is important. Why don’t you go to the kitchen and get yourself something to drink? Plenty of water there for you, you must be parched.”

You’d been far too hypnotised by him to notice, but you were indeed desperately thirsty, and the kiss hadn’t helped. You were relieved to discover that Australia wasn’t so backwards as to not have plumbing, and there was even a water tap to which you gratefully helped yourself as, behind you, Elliott spoke to the man at the door.

“He’s coming up with Coogan, maybe a day behind us,” said the man. “Already got himself in a fight, defending Crazy Cora of all people.”

“He can fight whoever he wants, so long as he gets the job done. Get the lodge ready for him.”

”Yessir.”

Elliott closed the door and turned back to you with a smile.

“Well, today’s been good all round. I’m off the road, I’ve got my new rifleman coming tomorrow, and best of all, there’s a beautiful woman in my kitchen.”

“It’d be even better if there was a beautiful woman in your bed.”

Elliott grinned. “It sure would. I’ll just go get one of them whores, then.”

He turned to leave, and when you made no move to follow him, he paused. Looking back at you, he saw that you were looking dejectedly down at the floor, and he laughed.

“I’m just kidding, [Y/n]!”

He walked back towards you and lifted your chin up to force you to look at him.

“The only woman I want in my bed tonight is you, if you’ll join me.”

You blushed, embarrassed that you’d taken his joke seriously. “…I’d like that.”

“Excellent. Come on, then.”

With surprising strength, Elliott lifted you from the ground and threw you over his shoulder. You squealed in surprise and he laughed. When he deposited you on the bed, your hands immediately flew to your bodice, trying to untie it as fast as you could. You’d decided to let him take you, and you wanted to fulfill your task before you changed your mind.

“You waste no time, huh?” Elliott remarked, his eyes firmly on your loosening bodice.

“Neither do you,” you retorted, noticing the way he was already unbuckling his trousers.

“I told you, I’ve been resisting taking you since we met. The hard earth isn’t the most comfortable place for fucking, and I don’t want you to think poorly of Australia because of it. I won’t deny, though, having a little grope before you woke up in the mornings. How could I resist when your tit had fallen out of your garments in the night? Rock hard nipples pointing right at me, just eager to be touched, licked… you may think I’ve been a gentleman on the journey, sweetheart, but I’m anything but.”

Your dress was on the floor now, his gun on the bedside table, his trousers pooled at his ankles. Elliott pulled your bloomers down, exposing you to the air, and you felt a sense of relief. You’d been wearing undergarments again since William had told you you were to sleep next to another man, but you’d gone so long without them that now they felt restrictive. You pulled the rest of your garments off, leaving yourself fully naked before him, and Elliott looked you up and down hungrily.

“Oh, look at you… whatever did my cousin do to deserve you? No matter. We’ve still got a few days before he arrives. We’d better make the most of it, hadn’t we?”

“Yes, sir.”

Usually when you let a sir slip, he corrected you, but he seemed to let it slide this time. Perhaps he liked it, or perhaps he was distracted by the way you dropped to your knees in front of him and reached out to take his cock in your hand.

“Oh, fucking hell,” Elliott hissed, then he let out a small moan when your tongue began teasing at his tip. He was big, but not as big as your husband, and it was no challenge at all for you to wrap your lips around his full width.

“I confess to touching you in the night, and what do you do? Get on your knees and suck my cock. I should have told you much sooner. Should have - ah - taken you on the earth after all. It’s God’s creation, isn’t it? He made the earth, and he made us for fucking… beds are man’s invention. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll take you to see the sheep, then we can fuck out in the open air like God intended.”

You hummed your eagerness around him, sliding him further into your mouth and down your throat, and Elliott gripped your hair tightly as he groaned. Once he was fully hilted inside you, you stayed still for a few moments, adjusting to the feeling and getting used to breathing through your nose.

When he decided you were ready, Elliott began thrusting into your throat, holding your head still as he tugged on your hair. You looked up at him, hardly able to see his face as his head was thrown back in pleasure, but you could see a red flush beginning to form underneath his tanned skin, and his chest was moving up and down rapidly in time with his panting.

Elliott couldn’t remember the last time he’d fucked a throat this good - if ever. You were an expert, more skilled than any whore he’d found in town, and if you weren’t already married he might have proposed to you there and then just to keep you around. If you’d truly been with no one other than William, then either you were a natural-born expert cocksucker, or he’d taught you well. Who’d have known his strict, pious, law-abiding cousin would have such a perfect slut of a wife? Your talents were wasted on him, and clearly if he hadn’t got you pregnant yet, he was doing something wrong.

With that thought in mind, Elliott just had to know if your cunt was as greedy as your mouth. He tugged on the back of your head to pull you off him, and you whined when you became unstuck, as if you’d been getting as much pleasure from it as he was.

He lifted you by your shoulders and sat you on the edge of the bed. You spread your legs instinctively, and he could have cum there and then when he saw just how wet you were.

Elliott didn’t usually bother to pleasure women, but he felt drawn to you, as if some otherworldly force pulled him to his knees to taste you, his tongue exploring everywhere he could, the coarse hair on his face rubbing against your skin sending you wild. You bucked your hips involuntarily, and Elliott responded by probing his tongue further into your folds, searching until he found your entrance and rested there, mere millimetres away from penetrating you with his tongue.

After teasing you until you could be teased no further, he came up for air, panting, and you glanced at him, his facial hair glistening with the desire you were secreting for him. He grinned at you, a hungry look in his eyes, and, so quickly you hardly had time to register what was happening, Elliott stood and slid his cock into you. You cried out in surprise, which quickly turned into moans of pleasure as Elliott began thrusting into you, holding your ankles over his shoulders. His jaw, which was still covered in you, dropped open to join you in a cacophony of moans, matched only by the slapping of his skin against yours, the unabashedly loud squelching of his cock pummelling in and out of your cunt making it clear to anyone that might pass by exactly what was going on.

Any concern you might have had about the morals of taking the cock of a man other than your husband quickly melted away. After all, it was on orders of your husband that you were here in this other man’s bed, and far be it from you to disobey your husband.

Elliott pulled out of you suddenly, and you were about to protest when he grabbed your hips and flipped you over. You instinctively stuck your arse in the air, and Elliott slipped back inside you, resuming his desperate pace, except this time he was pushing into your G-spot with every thrust, his balls slapping against your clit, and when you moaned, the noise was muffled by the mattress beneath you.

Elliott grabbed a pillow from the top of the bed and slid it under you, and you gratefully took it to rest your head on, clutching onto it like it was a life raft.

“Fuck, I could stay inside this cunt all night,” Elliott groaned.

And you’d happily let him, but you could feel your climax building, and you wanted desperately to milk him, to squeeze his cock dry as you came around him and he came with you.

As if he knew what you were thinking, Elliott leant down over you, dropping his weight to his elbows, and you could feel his heavy pants against your neck as he too felt his peak threatening to explode inside you.

“El - Elliott,” you moaned, and hearing his name from your lips only spurred him on, his hips slapping against your arse almost violently. “Elliott, I’m - I’m gonna cum —”

“Yes, that’s it, sweetheart, cum for me, let me hear you…”

“Ah - fuck - El - oh my god, I - I - Elliott!”

Your muscles tensed as your orgasm hit, causing your legs to spasm, and if it weren’t for Elliott’s strong body crushing yours firmly against the mattress, you might have lost your footing.

Your sweet moans and your tight cunt were too much for him, and Elliott cried out your name into your ear as he came, seed filling you with warmth and comfort, and it was only when he collapsed on top of you, both sweaty and panting, that either of you remembered your husband’s firm instruction that he wasn’t to spill inside you.

You let out a small whine when Elliott sat up and pulled himself out of you, and you could feel the mixture of his spend and yours leaking from between your legs.

“You’d better get to the bathroom,” he advised you, his voice still heavy, and you quickly followed his instruction, dashing across the hall to try and push out as much of his seed as you could into his toilet.

When you came back, Elliott was already in his undergarments, although he’d forgone the shirt and wore only the lower briefs. He was sat up in bed, cleaning his gun, which he put down when you crawled in next to him.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

You nodded, avoiding his gaze, but he cupped your face and forced you to look at him.

“I’m sorry, I was too caught up in the moment to remember your husband’s instructions not to spill inside you,” Elliott murmured. “I swear I’ll spill outside next time.”

You smiled shyly, and Elliott thought his heart might just melt. How did you do it, acting a cockhungry slut one moment, a shy lady the next, and making both acts completely believable?

“I won’t tell him,” you promised. “He spills inside me thrice daily and still my womb hasn’t quickened, so I doubt once from you will cause any trouble.”

“Thrice daily?” Elliott repeated. “Are you certain?”

“Quite certain. I’m there when it happens, after all, and usually awake.”

Elliott chuckled and shook his head. “Well, I’ll be damned. I didn’t know he had it in him.”

You nodded and bit your lip. “My husband’s quite insatiable. He has been since the day we met. I struggle to keep up with him sometimes, but he’s my husband and I love him, so I let him take me whenever he wishes. Sometimes, if I’m very tired, he’ll let me go to sleep and take me then, although sometimes he does wake me.”

Elliott’s heart skipped a beat at the thought of it. He had thought about it so many times in the tent, taking you in your sleep without you even knowing, but he’d not wanted to risk alarming you if you woke up. And here you were, telling him you were quite used to being taken in such a manner.

“Would you allow me to do the same? If I find you looking particularly delectable in your sleep, might I take my pleasure from you?”

You hesitated, but you nodded. Truthfully, you weren’t overly fond of being woken to find your husband already inside you as it was usually painful, but as kind as Elliott was to you, you were frightened of the gun that lay just feet away, and your husband had instructed you to please him. You’d already disobeyed him once by taking Elliott’s seed - you didn’t want to disobey him again. At least Elliott was asking your permission.

Elliott stayed up a little longer than you to read his book, and he found it endearing the way you nodded off curled up against him like a cat, one arm around his waist, and he knew you were sleeping when your grip on him loosened.

He put his book down next to his gun, blew out the lamp, then settled in next to you, holding you close. He estimated he had another week before his cousin arrived at the station, and Elliott was determined to win your heart in that time. After all, this was Australia, and Elliott was a man who took what he wanted - and by God, he wanted you.

#alan rickman #quigley down under #sweeney todd #judge turpin x reader #elliott marston x reader #the eternal summer

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presidenthades · 7 months ago

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Who is your favorite TargBro ?

I answered this question last year, but I never saved the post to my masterlist so you all get to read my answer again!

I don’t think it’s a secret that I have a big soft spot for Aegon. And for all of S2’s issues, they did a pretty good job fleshing out Aegon’s character (I need to give TGC credit for his acting, of course).

It’s kinda funny because I started in the fandom more as an Aemond fan and didn’t care for Aegon. But some really good Aegon fics (I have recs somewhere on my masterlist) won me over.

I have fun writing about Aegon, especially his POV/internal monologue, because he doesn’t take himself seriously. He has a sense of humor and self-deprecation, which is an excellent base to work with when writing dramedy. He also has a volatile temper, so his mood can shift quickly.

This means that Aegon is very interesting and entertaining to write. That is the most important quality in a character: they have to be interesting. A character could be the paragon of virtue, but if they’re boring, then they’re not a character I’m drawn to.

Aegon has the advantage of being the Targbro whose POV I’ve written the most. I’m still early in Aemond/Luce’s fic, and Daeron has gotten zero POV time thus far. So maybe my preferences will change as I continue to write fics. But at this very moment, if I were forced to pick only one Targbro to write about forevermore…

#my writing #ask me anything

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muirmarie · 2 months ago

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don't mind me, just making a list of my accidental Star Trek OCs in case I ever want to re-use them, I'll probably edit this in the future unless I immediately forget about it (very possible), am I forgetting anyone, I don't think so, hmmmmm

Iratha & Larissaya - Iratha ESPECIALLY is my gender-neutral babe, I love them soooo much, and I love Larissaya as well, just in a more aloof away, as Larissaya is a little aloof by virtue of their position, but I do desperately want a chance to write more about them and their world - they'd really only come up in a direct sequel, though, so no cameos for them, alas.

Dr Diane Marshall - She's SO much fun. I'd absolutely bring her back if I ever have a place to put her and her unnamed assistant. I was REALLY thinking about how much fun it would be to have her interact with Hayes, but alas, both of those stories are getting-together stories, so it wouldn't make sense. But yeah I'd absolutely love to bring her back in a cameo (aka not a direct sequel)

Admiral Gene Hayes - okay but I love him!! I've been thinking more and more that I do wanna write a sequel (maybe for my banquet bingo prompt) where I get to bring him (and the other Avery crew) back. Again for him, though, because what they went through is SUCH a Big Deal, I think it would have to be directly addressed, so: no cameos here, either, I think.

Dr Peterson/Bryant/Vaughn/Dura - they kinda all fall under a subheading of Hayes - they're not nearly as fleshed out as he is, but same sort of issue. I DO think they'd be easier to cameo though if I wanted, because I think I could get away without addressing the baggage with them in a way I wouldn't be able to with Hayes. (Well, maybe not with Vaughn or Bryant, either, tbh. PETERSON though could absolutely just be a doctor he's corresponding/doing research with)

Mhairec (off-screen but I love her) - I could absolutely bring Mhairec back!!!! All I'd need is for it to be an established relationship story, with maybe a couple subtle references to how goddamn big on cuddling Jim is lmao, cameos would absolutely be okay!!! I have no idea what she or her species look like, but I ABSOLUTELY know what type of person she is, to go head-to-head with her government and make them invite McCoy. She's a firecracker and she and McCoy get along SO WELL. I'd looooove to actually have her in a story.

Seras (and his off-screen brother Dyri) - listen Seras might suck but he genuinely saw himself as the love interest of the week trying to woo the good doctor lmao, he would absolutely help them (but especially McCoy) out again, I don't know a specific situation that would come up because their planet's government sucks and is probably on pretty bad terms with the Federation after what happened, but!! Who knows lmao

Dr. Ed Torian (awful, but like. he Exists.) - I mean if I need a random mass murderer with a specific grudge against the trio, then sure, I guess, but he's not very interesting, he's just your run of the mill piece-of-shit abuser, so. Probably not. Maybe as like. A name-check. But even then, pretty low chance.

Ehrew & Wretho - ehhhh they're not at all fleshed out, and they seem pretty happy on their planet, so I doubt they'd show up again unless the trio returned to said planet. I do like their violet skin and pink eyes!! But yeahhh, probably not

The difficulty is that I almost always write getting together fics, and to cameo any of them it would kind of need to be an established relationship fic, but! Maybe I'll branch out! Who knooooows.

I have at least a couple established relationship ones planned out, and my plottier ones could easily go either way tbh, mostly it's just personal preference, so maybe!

okay someone remind me to actually update this if and when i eventually end up with another npc! As you can probably tell, I don't end up with too many of them, so I'm absolutely gonna forget by the time I need and/or have another one lollll /sigh

#tos writing ref #tos ocs

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gascon-en-exil · 4 months ago

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AO3 Wrapped (Writers' Edition)

Found a list for this here, and following in the vein of a mutual on another platform I thought I'd go ahead and answer all the ones that I can to commemorate my first year as an actual fic author.

1. How many words have you written this year?

209,263...on AO3, anyway. I'm not counting my blog or YouTube scripts for any of this.

2. How many works did you publish this year?

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

Hard to pick. What Burns Between Us kicked everything off and has been the blueprint for all the stories that have followed, but I think I might actually like To Make as Much of Vices as Virtues a bit more. I somehow wrangled an even longer fic laden with flashbacks and relatively dark content out of two NPCs who don't even have official art. Also, because of this fic I can say that I've written the only Papp/Roque smut currently on AO3.

4. What work of yours has the most hits?

What Burns Between Us

5. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

To Make as Much of Vices as Virtues, because it's as mentioned such a tiny pairing. A lot of those comments came from just two people, but still.

6. Favorite title you used

Children Believe What We Tell Them is such an ironic twist on a classic film line (in translation, anyway). Given the subject matter of that fic I was tempted to go for a more familiar reference to Disney's Beauty and the Beast, but Cocteau worked a lot better for me in the end.

7. If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most?

I don't, but I do pull titles and original/incidental character names from literary sources: Wilde, Whitman, Chopin, Faulkner, and even Freud among others.

8. Pairing you wrote the most for this year?

Osvald/Partitio, a.k.a. the first of the many ships I've had that managed to inspire me to write fic. I'm still not entirely sure how that happened.

9. Favorite pairing you wrote for this year?

It's either them or Papp/Roque, and while I had to fill in more substantial gaps in canon to flesh out the old man yaoi I do think I'm going to have to say Osvitio again for this one.

10. What work was the quickest to write?

Through the Long Moonlit Night, which I rushed out in roughly ten days to get it done in time for Halloween. That was on me for getting inspired to write a monster fic with less than two weeks to go for it to be timely.

11. What work took you the longest to write?

To Make as Much of Vices as Virtues was around three months total, and it also took more initial planning compared to What Burns Between Us which largely follows the motions of canon.

12. How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year?

Oof, I don't even want to think about it. Eight or ten, at least...including a couple of non-Octopath ideas.

13. What’s your longest work of the year?

To Make as Much of Vices as Virtues, at over 77K words.

14. What’s your shortest work of the year?

Polymorphous Perversity, at just over 6K and my first actual oneshot.

15. What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

I do have both a short Papp/Roque piece as well as my first stab at Temenos/Crick (with Osvitio) in the works that I may or may not finish before the end of the year. The big one in the planning stages currently though involves Osvald trading places with himself in a different universe to explore weird new facets of his character...and also to make Partitio cry some more, because that's what I do.

16. What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag?

Alternate Universe, unsurprisingly. My first fic establishes a partial AU running alongside but still distinct from canon Octopath Traveler II, and all the rest follow it in one way or another.

17. Your favorite character to write this year?

Roque Brilliante, because he's such a humorously terrible person and yet isn't hard to wring pathos out of either because at the end of the day he's a sad old queen who got dumped on so much he decided not to have any morals. He absolutely doesn't deserve the happy ending that the game gives him, and I've kept it that way by never writing a proper redemption arc either...but he has a husband and son who love him in spite of his many, many flaws so he gets that ending anyway.

18. The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?

Osvald Vanstein, especially for his PoV segment of Wooing That Drifting Imagery. Canon doesn't offer much in the way of post-revenge flaws for him, so coming up with some that both matched his in-game character as well as the time period while also maintaining his relentlessly analytical voice was quite the challenge. I've gotten feedback on how off-putting Osvald's "benevolent" sexism comes across that I have ideas for how to tease at in future fics, so that's good. Additionally, I've received two comments calling my Osvald autistic/autistic-coded which...I guess? That definitely wasn't my intention or even anything I was thinking about. Canon Osvald is coldly rational to a fault and struggles with expressing himself even when he's saving the day with magic laser beams made of the Power of Love, so I just ran with that. (Him having a colossal dick on the other hand is purely for the comedic value.)

19. What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

I've already mentioned that I want to try out Temenos/Crick for at least one fic. Hikari/Agnea may show up in some of my projects as a background element too. Aside from that, more of the same - although I've always thinking of strange new ways to explore those ships.

20. Which work of yours have you reread the most?

I reread my fics a lot, but proportional to their length I think I've looked back on Wooing That Drifting Imagery the most. It takes a lot of risks on the conceptual level: Partitio in full drag getting some kind of partial gender euphoria, Osvald's PoV, the kinky sex scene that goes sour, the prominence of my OCs.

21. How many kudos in total did you get this year?

148

22. Which work has the most comments?

What Burns Between Us, both in quantity and in number of unique commenters.

23-25.

All regarding collaborations and gifts, N/A

26. What’s your most common category?

Does this mean fandom category? Octopath Traveler II is currently my only category then. That may or may not change next year...although if I do get pestered into writing Fire Emblem fic it's probably not going to be exactly what anyone expects.

27. What do you listen to while writing?

Nothing specific; I'm not a very musically-oriented person. That's the main reason I don't do the whole Spotify Wrapped thing.

28. Favorite work you wrote this year?

Probably Wooing That Drifting Imagery, because of the risk-taking and all the New Orleans references I got to slip in.

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

Hard to pick. Possibly the ending of Chapter 5 of Wooing That Drifting Imagery:

Stepping forward, Partitio places his arms around Osvald’s neck and leans gingerly against the man’s shoulder, careful not to smudge the powder on his face. “What are you doing?” His hands are on Partitio’s waist, but he seems unsure. “Only…seein’ what it feels like to hug my husband.” Above him, Osvald’s breath catches. He wonders if they’re feeling the same thing. Partitio closes his eyes and inhales deeply. There are memories of sweat and dirt and darkness and the shame of need, of clinging to a muzzled prisoner with fire in his eyes and heart for protection from the unrelenting elements and the cruelty of man. Those memories are set aside – not wholly out of sight, but off in a corner. In their place emerges not one of Shrevelin’s fabrications, but something else both new and strangely familiar. There’s Osvald and his solid, gentlemanly warmth, and the faint fragrance of springtime that enfolds them, and the layers of fabric that separate them solely as a matter of modesty and not of the scorn of the world. Perhaps, when it’s only the two of them in this moment – which will fade like sunlight vanishing behind the trees into dusk, but linger still in the mind – he can be she. Osvald is her husband. She is his wife. “I’m ready.” Osvald takes up his hat and his cane, and offers his arm. Together, they stroll into the New Delsta sunset.

I liked writing this subtle transition where Partitio "sets aside" the memories of the start of his relationship with Osvald, internalizes the Mrs. Vanstein role to match how he's currently dressed as a society wife, and starts using feminine pronouns for himself...even if it's dropped several sentences into the next chapter out of anxiety over being in public. This is also the first time that Partitio refers to Osvald as his husband, when both of them had rejected marital labels for each other in the previous fic specifically because they're firmly stuck in the heteronormative mindset that they can't marry because Partitio isn't a woman. Well, now he sort of is.

30. Biggest surprise while writing this year?

That I wrote fic at all? If not that, then how well my fics have been received in this corner of an already small fandom. I love getting to read comments and bookmark notes and so forth saying how much people like my writing even though I'm still technically an amateur.

#Octopath Traveler II #Osvald/Partitio #Osvald V. Vanstein #Partitio Yellowil #My fics

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