#it reminds me so much of the things associated with my home in a way that doesn't make me wanna tear my own skin off
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the fact that rdr2's now part of my lists of things that make me insane, I just wanna apologize in advance for the amount of posts I know I'm for sure going to spam
#i've just been looking forward to playing it for such a long time and now that i am idk how to describe it#it reminds me so much of the things associated with my home in a way that doesn't make me wanna tear my own skin off#it's appropriate for the time yes#but it's still sm fun and endearing to me#I actually played at one of my family members houses and they were like âthis is probably my favorite out of all of themâ#after watching me play lol#anyway that's enough outta me#will's rambles#will's faves đ#red dead redemption 2#red dead redemption game#rdr2
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Transferring a twitter Dragon Age 4 theory to tumblr:
This is a theory about the very latest DA4 information that people were upset to learn about because they want to wait for the game rather than hear too much, so look elswhere if that is you. I suspect that Rook is called "Rook" for a reason. I suspect their color is purple for a reason.
Rook is associated with trickery and death, a bad omen.
Hmm.... that reminds me a little of a "dread wolf."
I, for a long time, thought the game was called "Dreadwolf" because the main character would be taking on the trials and tribulations and responsibilities of the Dread Wolf onto their own shoulders. This suspicion has expanded hugely in my mind when I think about DA4 because what exactly is the story set-up, here? What is the Dread Wolf?
Solas, who is playing the role in the story of Dragon Age of an ancient trickster deity, has claim and power over the functions that trickster gods. Namely, power over doorways, thresholds, boundaries.
It doesn't matter what Solas thinks about godhood if he has all the trappings and power of godhood. There is no material difference in a fictional story.
(I love that Solas in the prologue is demonstrating exactly what you would expect from a Trickster God in this situation - manipulating boundaries, and then being Just a Little Guy.)
So the game prologue opens on Solas, a trickster god, delicately manipulating the magical boundary between worlds, which is something that you would expect a trickster god to do. Then unfolds a scene in which a tiny figure (Rook) causes a larger-than-life god (Solas) mischief and, with Rook's foolish meddling, undoes the very fabric of normalcy, trapping the trickster god and throwing the world into chaos, upsetting the very balance of power between the gods, threatening the end of the world.
Rook then recieves power over the Veil the trickster god has, the sacred knife that the trickster god wields, the ability to traverse back and forth between the boundaries only easily traversed by the trickster god, the magical mirror teleportation network of the trickster god, the magical floating Lighthouse home of the trickster god, the responsibilities of the trickster god, etc.
Rook also recieves the advice of the trickster god, whether they want it or not (it seems).
Do you see what I'm saying?
"They call me the Dread Wolf, what will they call you when this is over?"
I think this game may be about Rook becoming a trickster god.
As Felassan tells Briala in The Masked Empire, "[Becoming a god] is for the stories to decide."
Tricksters in folklore are very often mortal, human heroes. Very often, they act stupidly and foolishly (like we are said to do by interrupting Solas in the prologue) and somehow win anyway.
And what more powerful figure could there be, to fight with gods? Only a little guy like Solas or Rook, could hope to fight multiple gods and win. A little tiny trickster hero who makes foolish mistakes but is unkillable like Bugs Bunny is actually the perfect challenger to all-powerful deities.
Anyway, so if we get all of Solas' powers and his responsibilities, if we're, in a way, in training to become a trickster god. We may be stepping into myth and doing his job for him, disrupting things the way he does, and there will be comparisons. (the articles tell us that Solas is comparing himself to Rook, and that he doesn't like what he sees of himself in Rook). People always acted like Solas' situation was incredibly easy, but imo we could never actually understand what his story was, or see it from his point of view, enough to judge him. But if we actually walk in his shoes, then maybe we can actually have a part of the conversation. And later, maybe part of the myth.
The little Rook-bird that tugged the Dread Wolf's tail and let the creators free again, the little trickster Rook that destroyed or saved the world. I wonder what kind of trickster they will call us, when it is all over?
#Dragon Age#DA4#DA4 spoilers#DA4 speculation#Rook#Solas#trickster gods are lords of in-between#elven gods are so terrifying#elf hell#mythology#long post#spoilers#Dragon Age: Veilguard
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Lead Me To The Garden
pairing: Peeta Mellark x best friend!reader
Synopsis: Peeta kisses you before going into the Games but then has an onscreen romance with another girl
âWho do you think itâll be this year?â
Peeta didnât look up from the dough he was kneading as he thought about your question. Reaping day always brought a lot of anxiety for the two of you and Peeta typically distracted himself by baking. In a similar fashion, you liked to distract yourself by hanging around the bakery and watching Peeta.
âI donât know. Maybe one of my brothers.â He said finally.
âDonât even joke. I better never hear âMellarkâ out of that crazy sparkly ladyâs mouth.â
âI told you, sheâs not crazy. Thatâs just how people dress in the Capital.â Peeta chuckled and held his hand out. You put some flour into his hand and he slapped in onto his dough.
âI donât care how much money you have. Nobody should dress like that. How does she even sit in those dresses?â You wondered and took a bite of one of the muffins he had made. You hopped up on the counter top and let your legs swing as you watched him put his bread into the oven.
âWhat would you wear? If you had Capital money?â He asked as he wiped his hands on his apron.
âA yellow sweater.â You said with a sheepish smile.
âWhat? Thatâs it?â Peeta chuckled and leaned on the counter that you were sitting on, boxing you between his arms.
âDonât laugh.â You gasped playfully. âYou can dye cloth but not wool. At least not in this district. And you definitely canât get any color as yellow as the dandelions that grow behind my house. So I would buy a nice, warm, yellow sweater. The kind with the fancy pattern that looks like a braid. It would be the first thing I own thatâs pretty. And thatâs new. I would be the first person to wear it.â
âIf I had any money, Iâd buy you one.â Peeta said with a soft smile.
âReally? You wouldnât spend your money on yeast or milk?â You teased him.
âBaking isnât my whole life, you know. I like other things too.â He said and leaned in a little. You inhaled his scent and could smell the baked goods heâd been baking all day on his skin. It was mixed with the scent that was just distinctly Peeta, a scent you had grown to associate with home.
âLike what?â You asked as you leaned in as well. Peetaâs eyes dropped to your lips for a second before he reminded himself that best friends werenât supposed to think about each other that way.
âStealing food from you.â He said to cover up his fondness and took the muffin from you hand. He held eye contact with you as he took a bite of the muffin which made you laugh and smack his arm.
âYouâre really good at it.â You humored him.
âThank you. I try to be.â He said and hopped up on the counter beside you. He handed the muffin back to you and you mouthed âthank youâ before taking another bite.
âSo what would you really buy?â You asked once you swallowed.
âIâd buy a house.â He said without having to think about it.
âReally? But you have a house.â
âI know. But I want my own house. With a nice oven and a book shelf for your books for when you come over. And it would be nice and quiet inside. And Iâd have a garden so I never had to go to the market if I found a new recipe I wanted to try.â Peeta said as he traced the outline of a carnation on your leg. You slipped your arm through his and ran your fingers up and down it in the way he once told you his mom did when he was a little boy.
âThat sounds really nice.â You said quietly. He looked into your eyes and smiled softly.
âYou could live there too.â He told you.
âWhy? So I could take care of the garden for you?â You teased.
âSo we could be together everyday.â He said, making your laughter stop. You didnât realize he was being serious and felt guilty for making a joke. You rested your head on his shoulder and continued to run your fingernails up and down his arm.
âThat would be nice.â You agreed. âWe could get a little house by the meadow. We could decorate it the way we wanted, like with your drawings and paintings. And there would never be shouting because weâd always talk to each other with love.â
âI think weâd be really happy there.â Peeta said as he lifted his head off of yours to look at you. You kept your head on his shoulder and stared straight ahead.
âBut what if they call my name later?â You said quietly.
âThey wonât. Thereâs dozens of girls in the district. They wonât call you.â
âWhat if they call you?â
âTheres even more boys in the district. And if they did call me, one of my brothers would probably volunteer.â Peeta shrugged but you could tell he didnât believe himself.
You sat in silence for a little longer until his bread was ready. He took it out and brought it outside while you grabbed a blanket. You ate out on the grass in comfortably silence as you stared out at the mountains. A horn soon sounded in the air, signaling that it was time to go. You walked to town together and saw girls and boys getting into their respective lines.
âSee you after?â You asked him with a nervous smile. Peeta nodded and pulled you into a tight hug. He kissed the side of your head before joining the rest of the boys. You got your finger pricked and joined the girls in a massive group that faced that stage. A younger girl from distract was called first and her sister immediately volunteered to go in for her. Your heart was finally started to calm down when you heard the worst two words you could possibly imagine being said into the microphone.
âPeeta Mellark.â Effie said with a poised smile. Youâd never know she was giving s death sentence by the tone in her voice.
You froze as the crowd was swept with shocked murmurs and people looking at you. Your head was stiff as your eyes slowly followed Peeta emerging from the crowd and walking on stage. He was just as catatonic as you were on that stage and kept his eyes low. He shook hands with the girl who had been picked and was led backstage which was when you started screaming. You pushed through the crowd and ran towards the stage but were caught by two Peacekeepers. You thought you were about to be executed but they actually brought into the back to where Peeta had gone. You passed his brothers and parents in the hallway before getting shoved into a room. Peeta was inside with red eyes and a pale face.
âPeeta.â You choked out and threw your arms around him. Peeta hugged you as tight as he could without hurting you and buried his face in your shoulder. You stroked his hair and whispered comforting words in his ear until he calmed down.
âIâm so sorry.â You said into his ear.
âItâs okay.â He sniffled and pulled out of the hug. You stared into his teary eyes for a second before grabbing his hands.
âWe can run. We can sneak out of here and head to the woods and just run.â You whispered.
âWe canât. Theyâll catch me and kill you first trying.â He shook his head sadly.
âBut we have to do something. They canât do this to you. They canât take you away.â You urged. Peeta put a hand on your face and wiped your tear with his thumb.
âThereâs nothing we can do.â He whispered. You nodded your head and knew there was no use spending the little time you had left trying to come up with a plan that would never work.
âI guess youâre right. So Iâll see you when you come back, okay?â You said and cupped his face.
âOh, honey.â He smiled sadly. âIâm not coming home.â
âShh.â You covered his mouth. âYes you are. Youâre gonna come home to me and weâre gonna build the house with the garden like we said we would.â
âThereâs never going to be a garden. Iâm gonna die in there.â Peeta choked up so you pulled him back into a hug.
âNo youâre not. Youâre not gonna die. I wonât let you.â You promised him as you stroked his hair to calm him down.
âOur district can barely afford to feed themselves. We have no money for sponsorships. And I have no skills outside of the bakery. I canât hunt or protect myself. Iâve never even killed an animal. Iâm gonna die in there.â Peeta cried into your shoulder.
âShhh. Donât say that. You can still win. Maybe a miracle will happen.â You said but even you didnât believe it. A Peacekeeper then pounded on the door to signal that your time was almost up. You froze in Peetaâs arms before gripping him tighter. Peeta pulled away suddenly and cupped your face in his hands.
âI need to tell you something.â He said hastily.
âWhat is it?â You worried when you saw the panic in his eyes.
âIâm in love with you. I always have been. Since we were kids.â
âPeeta, what?â You whispered and wrapped your hands around his wrists.
âI have always loved you. Iâm sorry it took me until now to tell you. I wish I told you when I first felt it. But I needed you to know before I left.â He said as he stared into your eyes. You were speechless as you stared back but before you could say anything, a Peacekeeper burst in the door. He grabbed your arm to pull you out of the room but you just yanked your arm away. You threw your arms around Peeta and kissed him for as long as you could before you were pulled away by the Peacekeeper.
âNow you have to come home.â You said to him as you struggled against the Peacekeeper trying to pull you out of the room. Peeta grabbed your hand and held it as long as he could until the Peacekeeper picked you up.
âI love you!â Peeta shouted after you with his hand still outstretched.
âIâll wait for you!â You shouted back as you were carried out of the room.
You watched the broadcast everyday with your eyes peeled for any glimpse of Peeta. You were shocked to see him on fire in the tribute parade and even more surprised at the sight of him in a suit for his interview with Cesar Flickerman. Youâd only ever seen Peeta in colorless, wrinkled, cotton clothes from your district which was a sharp contrast to the shiny black suit adorned with sparkly red flames on the sleeve. You smiled shyly as if he were right in front of you and tried to touch the projection of the broadcast but your fingers just went through. Peeta was surprisingly charming in his interview and it made your heart yearn for your best friend. You missed spending the day with him and him making you laugh in person so this was a nice substitution.
âIs there anyone special at home?â Cesar asked Peeta. Peeta smiled shyly and looked into the camera, making you feel like he was looking directly at you.
âActually, yes. There is a special girl from home that Iâve loved for what feels like my entire life.â Peeta said with a bashful smile. You grinned and clasped your hands under your chin as you watched him talk about you.
âWell thatâs great. If you win the games, sheâll have to go out with you.â Cesar said and patted his shoulder.
âUnfortunately winning the games isnât going to help me.â Peeta said with a sad smile.
âOh no? Why not?â Cesar asked him.
âBecause she came here with me.â Peeta answered.
Your stomach dropped. Your jaw dropped. Your felt like you were going to be sick. He wasnât talking about you. He was talking about the girl he got reaped with. You turned away from the broadcast and held yourself in your arms as you ran to your room. You slammed your door before throwing yourself on your bed. You cried yourself to sleep and when you woke up, you realized you had missed the start of the games. You lingered around areas that were broadcasting the games to keep an eye on Peeta. Your anxiety was at an all time high day in and day out as you prayed heâd live to see another day. It was a few days in that he got cut with a sword by one of the boys from district one. You cried yourself to sleep again that night since Peeta wasnât shown on camera for a while after that. Finally, you heard from a girl in town that Peeta had been found by the lake by the girl from your district. You ran home as fast as you could and turned on the broadcast right in time to see him kissing Katniss. You let out a shocked squeak and quickly turned the games off. You did your best to avoid any information about the games after that but the romance between Katniss and Peeta was all anyone in your district could talk about. It was rare that people from your district lasted this long in the games, let alone two of them, so you couldnât blame people for talking about it. To add to that, the romance was something that had never been seen in the games before and made for very entertaining television for every single person in your district besides you. You were rooting for Peeta, of course, but you could not bear to watch him cuddling with another girl as he fought for his life.
Finally, the last day came. You watched Peeta and Katniss win after nearly killing themselves in front of the world so that they didnât have to kill each other. You felt your anxiety deplete for the first time in weeks when Peeta put down the berries. You didnât even care that he was hugging another girl after nearly killing himself so that he didnât have to lose her because it meant that he was coming home. He was finally coming home.
On the day the winners were set to return home, you waited in the crowd beside Gale Hawthorn, a boy from your district, and Katnissâs little sister. You and Gale were eyeing each other curiously and had no idea that you were in the same boat. Peeta and Katniss were brought out on stage and you felt tears come to your eyes the second you saw Peeta. You clapped for him like everyone else in the crowd but froze when you noticed that he was holding her hand. Peeta was scanning the crowd for you and when he finally spotted you, he dropped Katnissâs hand and waved to you. You weakly waved back but couldnât shake the mixed emotions brewing inside you. You were beyond relieved and grateful that he was home safe. But that didnât mean it didnât deeply hurt you to watch him with another girl after he told you that he loved you. You and Peeta stared at each other from your places on the stage and the crowd and both began to cry without relaxing it. You wiped your face and put on a smile for him despite the pain you were feeling inside.
After Peeta and Katniss gave their speeches, the crowd dispersed and you followed Peetaâs brothers back to his house. You bounced your leg as you sat at their kitchen table and waited for Peeta to come home. Finally, the door opened and he walked inside. He was dressed in fancy Capital clothing but had the same old smile that you knew so well. You watched him hug his mother first, then father. His brothers hugged him all at once and patted his back or rubbed his hair, touching him in any way they could.
Then, he looked at you.
Peeta looked startled to see you at first but his eyes immediately softened. You stood up from your seat and your legs felt like jelly as you slowly walked towards him. His eyes were brimmed with tears and he could not believe you had come to see him after what he made you watch him do in the games. You were hurt and confused by his actions but you put on a brave face for him now that he was home.
âYouâre here?â He asked in a voice that was barely above a whisper.
âOf course Iâm here. Youâre here.â
âI thought youâd be mad.â He said in a weak voice. He was looking at you as if he was expecting a lecture or a blow out fight, but thatâs not what you came for.
âI still had to see you.â You said simply.
Peeta gulped when you didnât deny that you were mad but nodded his head.
âSo whereâs Katniss?â You asked him with fake politeness.
âOh, I donât know.â He shrugged. âWith her family, probably.â
âOh.â You nodded and an awkward silence fell between you. His family exchanged looks and Peeta was fully aware of it.
âDo you think we could talk? Just the two of us?â He asked hopefully. You nodded your head and he lead you to his bedroom and shut the door behind him. A black box on his dresser caught your eye as you sat down on his bed. He noticed it too and went over to it to open it up. When he turned around, he had a soft yellow knit sweater in his hands that made your jaw drop.
âI, uh, I brought you this from the Capital.â Peeta said as a shy blush covered his face.
âYou found a yellow sweater?â You gasped and touched the sweater with gentle hands as if you were afraid your damage it. Youâd never seen clothes that color in person before and it was even better than you imagined.
âI tried to but I never found one like the one you described. So I asked them to make it for me. They made four of them, actually. They can just do that there. They know nothing about want.â Peeta laughed shortly but neither of you found it funny.
âItâs beautiful. Thank you.â You smiled gratefully and took the sweater. The fact that he had remembered the sweater you told him about despite everything he had just gone through. You felt guilty for being mad at him now that he had given you the sweater and realized you hadnât even hugged him yet. You folded the sweater and left it on his bed before standing up. Peeta tensed up and wasnât sure what you were about to do. You stepped towards him and wrapped your arms around him, to which he immediately responded to and hugged you back. He instantly broke down and cried in your arms just like he did the day of the Reaping. You stroked his hair and cooed in his ear until he calmed down enough to talk.
âI didnât think you were ever gonna talk to me again.â He sniffled. You pressed your cheek against his blonde hair and took in his scent for the first time in weeks. Underneath the expensive cologne the Capital had dawned him in, you could still smell Peeta.
âOf course Iâll still talk to you. Iâm sorry I was so cold to you. Iâm just confused.â You admitted as you pulled out of the hug.
âI know.â Peeta nodded. âAnd you have every reason to be. I told you I loved you and then I professed my love to another girl with the whole world watching. If the roles were reversed, Iâd be devastated. But you have to understand, that wasnât what it looked like. It was all an act.â
âAn act?â
âYeah. We pretended to be a couple so people would send us food and medicine. I had no way to tell you that it wasnât real and Iâm so sorry about that. You donât know how badly I wished I could tell you.â Peeta professed as he cupped your face in his hands.
âYou were just pretending?â You smiled in surprise.
âOf course I was. What did you think? That it was real?â He laughed softly.
âWell, yeah. Thatâs what it looked like. I thought guys fell for each other during training and your love got you through the games.â
âOur acting got us through.â He corrected. âHaymitch told us to do it the day we met him. You really thought I fell for another girl that quickly?â
You didnât share in his smile and shook your head instead. Peetaâs eyes softened and he rubbed his thumb on your cheek.
âIâm sorry, honey. I canât imagine how confusing that must have been to watch after how we said goodbye.â Peeta said with a sympathetic pout. Your anger towards him melted away as you wrapped your hand around his wrists.
âSo you donât love her?â
âNo. I never did. Iâve only ever loved you.â He answered with a soft smile. A smile tugged on your lips as well so you rested your forehead against his. Peeta let go of your face and wrapped his arms around your waist to keep you flushed against him.
âYou know, the thought of coming home to you was the only thing that kept me going. I thought about the way you kissed me every night.â Peeta said as he stared into your eye.
âYou did?â You smiled shyly at the memory.
âI did.â He nodded. âIt was the only thing keeping me warm.â
You stared back into his eyes before tilting your head to the side and connecting his lips in a kiss. He kissed you back slowly and tightened his grip with one hand while moving the other up and down your back. All your anger and confusion melted away into the kiss now that he was yours again. When you pulled away, you stayed in comfortable silence in each others arms.
âWill you come live with me in Victors Village? We can plant our garden like we said.â Peeta asked you.
And so you did. You moved in with him and hung his paintings on the wall to decorate the place. You planted the garden in the backyard and put you in change of the vegetables while Peeta tended the flowers.
But you didnât feel at home when you walked through the door each day. It was only when Peeta got home everyday with a fresh loaf of bread that the house became home.
#peeta mellark whump#peeta mellark x reader#peeta mellark fluff#peeta mellark fanfic#peeta mellark angst#peeta mellark x you#peeta mellark fanfiction#peeta x reader
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Never in my life did I think that re-tweeting resources for SA, and supporting victims would be considered problematic or performative.
I should not have to bare this, but I'm going to tell just one of my stories, because I need you to understand where I'm coming from. TW // Sexual Harassment
--
When I was 15, I had my wisdom teeth removed. I wanted to avoid using the pain medication they prescribed. I struggle a lot with sensory issues, medications and substances made it worse.
However, my surgery was for impacted teeth, and only two days in one of my stitches fell out. I was in so much pain, and couldn't eat solids w/ out pain for up to three weeks.
So, a week into my recovery, one of my friends invites me to their house. They were having our friend group over, it was just a little bonfire get together kinda thing. I took my pain meds a few hours prior, and only half a dose, but I was out of it to some degree, and somehow still in pain.
I was sitting on a lawn chair outside, when one of my close friends came over and asked to sit on my lap. Honestly, I said yes at first, because this was my childhood friend, someone I trusted, and I thought our relationship was incredibly platonic. Then he started to shift/grind about in my lap, and I started to feel things of theirs I did not want to. They made a noise that deeply unsettled me, and I told him to get off, they didn't. It was only when I told them that he accidently triggered the emergency call shortcut on my phone (it was in the pocket of the lawn chair, yes they were moving that much and I was moving trying to push him off) that he finally got up.
I was bewildered, and a bit confused, and also embarrassed that my phone nearly called 911. I claimed I wasn't feeling well, and went home early.
That was the first time someone touched me in a remotely sexual way, but I didn't dare to label it until I talked to my therapist. It made me dwell on a lot of experiences with this person as well. How obsessed they were with being taller than me, how often they'd grab me and force me to see if they were stronger than me. At the time, I was in a friend group of predominately non-men, and they were all friends with this person.
However, when I told them about this, when I expressed the discomfort it brought me. I was brushed off. "He's just like that!" oh "He probably didn't mean it" etc.
I didn't feel comfortable in the same room as this person. My friends would continue to invite them to hang outs. One of my other friends told everyone about what happened without my permission. I started having breakdowns in my classes with him. I had panic attacks all the time. I felt as if I had to continue this façade of being nice to him, or else I would lose my friends of years and years.
I was happy when covid started, because for the first time I had breathing room, but by then so much of my trust was dismantled.
Due to my friends association with this person, and the fact that not being their friend excluded me. I eventually got over it, and told myself I'd grown past it.
Three months ago, this same person admitted to me they hold extreme grudges against me, that they projected their "mommy issues" on to me, and quite literally said the words, "Yeah yeah, you're a woman who's outspoken and challenged me and that bothers me yeah yeah." in regards to that. They said it with sarcasm, like it was something they knew, and their mother was reminding them for the 12th time.
--
I bring this all up, not to make you feel guilty, but to discuss the harm of not supporting victims, not listening to them. It puts them in a position of isolation, and in a position to potentially be hurt again.
So yeah, I'm gonna be a little upset when people say I'm being "performative" about supporting victims of sexual harassment and SA. I'm not doing this because it benefits me, in fact it's caused a lot of backlash, horrible dms, and very triggering memories.
I'm doing it because I was once not heard, and i've sat with Caiti behind the scenes for months watching her lose passion for something she loved (content creation).
I didn't do this because I'm secretly sniveling behind the scenes tapping my fingers praying on peoples downfall. I'm not a Disney villain dude lmfao.
Honestly, this narrative that is being pushed, that people are doing it "because it benefits them" is quite ironic, considering most of the people talked about within the last 72 hours were under Wilbur's weird ass apology doing just that.
I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. I hate how people are okay with this narrative, the misogynist undertones of it. I've seen people admit that they didn't like me or my friends the entire time, while simultaneously "calling us out" about this, so I ask you,
Are you calling us? Because it benefits your motives? Your feelings?
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Shaaloani: The Land of Enchantment Part One
Hello again! It's another lore-adjacent post from me about a niche special interest of mine. This time it's Shaaloani, the American Southwest/Northern Mexico inspired zone in FFXIV's Dawntrail.
I want to disclose a few things right at the start just to temper people's expectations: I will not be definitively ID'ing any of the indigenous-inspired structures or visuals as inspired by any specific tribe. That's not my lane! I'm going to link to things that they remind me of, for sure. But otherwise my hyperfocus is going to be on the physical environment, some animals, and the ceruleum as petroleum industry. It's what I recognize best! And what I know best, truthfully.
"Hon why are you doing this?" A variety of reasons honestly. After DT dropped I saw a lot of folks who did at least one of the following:
Commented on the Old West theme park aspect
Called it "miqo'te Texas"
Generally just called the whole map "Texas"
And if I'm honest... it bugged me! Not because I thought anyone was being malicious about it (it's mostly pop culture saturation I'd suspect), but to me it stung a bit that this zone, which I grew up on the fringe of, was... kind of flattened by a lot of people?
I don't know, the response to me just felt like people assumed they knew everything about it because they'd seen it already in movies or TV or Red Dead Redemption rather than the same open-mindedness about what was presented in places like Urqopacha.
This zone isn't just Texas -- yes there are some bits and pieces here (because it's pulling from the Chihuahuan Desert and the Sonoran Desert), but so much of it reminds me of New Mexico, Mexico, and Arizona. There's some Colorado, Utah, and Nevada there too! And the background story going on there is something that still happens in a lot of those states, by both the government and corporations alike.
That variety deserves to be celebrated! So come learn with me about the inspiration for Shaaloani!
Shaaloani Geography
Shaaloani has three major regions in the zone -- Eshceyaani Wilds, Pyariyoanaan Plain, and Yawtanane Grasslands. To get this out of the way, I'm going to tell you the one that reminds me most of Texas.
Ready?
Lake Taori of the Pyariyoanaan Plain.
It's river-fed, with canyons on both ends of the Niikwerepi. The trees crowding around it are cypress trees, as you can tell by the little nubby off-shoots called knees. To compare, here is a photo of cypress trees along the Frio River:
This is also reminiscent of places along the Rio Grande and Pecos Rivers, two significant water sources in West Texas. I also would not call them bayous! Bayous typically have brackish water, are slow-moving, and are way too far east.
However, it could be partly considered a ciénega -- which according to its wikipedia article:
"Ciénagas are usually associated with seeps or springs, found in canyon headwaters or along margins of streams. Ciénagas often occur because the geomorphology forces water to the surface, over large areas, not merely through a single pool or channel."
As a caveat, ciénegas generally don't have trees around them, but I also know that you can't really drown a cypress and they love sunshine. Regardless -- if you see trees in the desert they are typically growing along a water source. Balmorhea State Park has some cottonwood trees native to the area that are going strong.
Yawtanane Grasslands reads as a mix of the Chihuahuan Desert and the Eastern Plains of Colorado. Both are rather arid and home to a variety of grasses that can thrive in such a climate -- which has historically made both areas home to large cattle industries (whether or not this was ever a good idea is debatable, since cattle are very thirsty animals).
Meanwhile the Eshceyaani Wilds looks similar to the Sonoran Desert -- the red-hued soil and rocks, the abundance of cacti with the scrub brush and some drought-tolerant grasses. Here's a shot of the Sonoran within Saguaro National Park in Arizona:
Saguaros also only grow in Arizona in the States! As well as the organ-pipe cactus, which you see in Tender Valley. And prickly pears grow just about anywhere they can get a chance -- as well as barrel cacti, both of which we see in Tender Valley (along with what could be agave!).
You could probably make a case for it being a piñon-juniper scrubland -- everything's very short compared to those cypress trees, including the juniper trees! Piñon-juniper scrubland's found throughout the Southwest. There are also piñon-juniper savannahs and persistent woodlands intermixed in the same places. The difference lay in what plants you find with the piñon pines and junipers.
Visually, aside from the Sonoran Desert, I can also see a lot of New Mexico, like the Ghost Ranch in Rio Arriba:
It matches up with the mountains you can see, and both Yowekwa Canyon and Tender Valley. And of course, Tender Valley is likely a Grand Canyon reference, going by the sheer height of the cliffs. But you could also make a case for Canyonlands National Park in Utah.
There's a shot from Grand View Point Overlook within the park -- the closeness of the canyon walls and the warm earth tones also evoke Tender Valley!
There's also a lot of these sandstone formations in Utah that better fit Shaaloani -- like here in the Valley of the Gods:
Shaaloani Structures
I also at this point want to call attention to one of the two sites with cliff dwellings & adobe structures. We just saw Tender Valley above, which is confirmed to be old Yok Huy structures. But check out these Tonawawta buildings below.
As I stated before, I don't want to state which tribe these two styles remind me of. But I do want to say this again strikes me as another New Mexico and Arizona callback; both the Gila Cliff Dwellings and the Puye Cliff Dwellings are found in two different areas of New Mexico. And the GĂusewa Pueblo, also in New Mexico! Montezuma Castle is found in Arizona, and is pictured below! Look at that rich reddish earth color.
I also want to call attention to the place of worship for the Tonawawta in Yowekwa Canyon:
When I saw it my kneejerk response was to call it an ofrenda. But that's ultimately an incomplete response -- that was just the vibe I felt after seeing them during my life! What it also reminds me of are pictographs and petroglyphs. You find these all over the Southwest (the climate helps preserve them!), but I'm going to link some really great examples. I won't provide images to all though!
Crow Canyon Petroglyphs:
Piedras Madras Canyon at Petroglyph National Monument (New Mexico) Petroglyph Point Trail at Mesa Verde National Park (Colorado) Petroglyph Panel at Canyon Reef National Park (Utah) Nampaweap at Grand Canyon-Parashant National Monument (Arizona) Horseshoe Canyon at Canyonlands National Park (Utah) and the Hueco Tanks State Park (Texas)
In contrast, I don't want to spend a ton of time on the boom town structures in this zone; they are pretty straightforward references to mining towns during the different resource booms (gold, silver, copper, oil).
Similar blocky shapes, built out of wood. One thing I noticed as a neat addition are the decorative patterns painted on it -- again, I don't want to presume if there's a specific tribe tied to this. But I do think it's a neat touch and I want to think that's a design choice to convey the underlying theme that this is a zone at odds with advancing technology and wanting to keep hold of important traditions.
I WILL talk about the ceruleum wells and pumping though. Mostly because I'm impressed that they went with structures that so closely resemble early 20th century oil derricks. Those were also predominately made of wood (including the barrels, yikes!). The pump part of what's called a pumpjack were covered in the old days -- the ones we're most used to seeing now are made of metal and are thus left uncovered.
However, as you can see from this century old rig, even the wheel's made of wood:
I don't think ceruleum gushes the same way oil did -- it seems to behave more like natural gas. However, most natural gas pipelines do burn off excess, which can be seen as a little spout of flame atop.
Oil's occupied an awkward spot in the Southwest, and still does. Aside from the heinous crimes committed in Killers of the Flower Moon (where members of the Osage tribe were murdered for their oil shares in Oklahoma) and the Teapot Dome Scandal, oil is just... well.
Bear with me, I'm about to rag on Koana a moment.
The people who make the most money and have the most power over the average roughneck's life never live in the Southwest. They work in the c-suite and have more money than sense.
I find it very fascinating that DT chose to recreate this dynamic, this uncomfortable push-pull of a region rich in a resource, and it's being harvested at the suggestion and behest of a power that is physically removed from the area. And to some NPCs it's with a certain level of disregard to traditions and practices in place before, with the focus on the nebulous quantifier of 'progress'. Progress how? It depends!
But the folks at the highest seat of power never have to grapple with those questions, because to them it's a fairly cut and dry answer. This is the way to proceed, and if they want to take this nation into the "future", then this is the clear way to do it. It speaks to Koana's fixation on foreign technology to the point he de-values his own (partly due to his childhood trauma, which kind of prepped him to be susceptible to it).
Meanwhile the locals are the ones grappling the most with this change -- how it affects their plants and animals. Sometimes pits open up in the earth and ceruleum burns (which, Santa Rita New Mexico sank multiple times into the earth thanks to copper mining). On the map there's even discolored plants -- and they only occur in the vicinity OF the bulk of the ceruleum pumps.
This is at odds with core beliefs, keeping up with traditional practices. It puts people in the place of 'do I participate in this system, which promises work and the means to take care of my family, even as it pits me against my cultural heritage?'.
Growing up in West Texas, one of the weirdest things to me (to this day) is how many people will claim they love the land. They do! They love the outdoors, they worry over how certain species of animals have become scarcer. But they also work in the single most damaging industry because it pays the most money. It lets them cover bills and give their kids what they never had.
That same push-pull is in Shaaloani narratively; when progress has been thrust upon you, how do you survive it? How do you make sure what's dearest to you comes along with you?
In Conclusion
I want to call it here for Part One -- Part Two after this will cover more observations I had regarding flora and fauna in the Shaaloani zone, and how that also shows the attention to detail given this zone! It's a good time! There will be dinosaurs!
#FFXIV#ffxiv dawntrail#dawntrail spoilers#zone spoilers#shaaloani#ffxiv lore#lore speculation#long post
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voicemails sim jake leaves you while heâs on tour â fluff, established relationship, tiny bit of angst
heeseung | jay | JAKE | sunghoon | sunoo | jungwon | ni-ki
one. weâre on our way to the airport right now, babe. new york is next on the list, ah, iâve always wanted to go. maybe next time we can go togethâ shut up! no wait, that wasnât for you baby. wait, give me a second. sunghoon, if you donât stop mocking me right now, iâm pushing you off this car! okay, hi babe. where was i? oh, yeah, airport. i miss you! iâll call you when we land.
two. ah, the views here are so pretty. well, of course, youâre prettier than them, but their beauty will have to suffice because youâre not here with me. i should take you here someday.
three. everything reminds me of you. what have you done to me? iâm so in love with you, and i have no plans at all to leave. iâm having that forever with you.
four. today was your interview right? how did it go? i know you prepared so hard for it. good job, princess. now, get some rest, okay? and i trust youâll treat yourself and eat well. i love you.
five. not much longer, my love. i canât wait to hold you and kiss you. and, oh. speaking of coming home, theyâre giving us a week long break. how do you feel about meeting my family? and layla? theyâll love you. would that be okay? i just want them to meet the person iâm planning to spend the rest of my life with.
six. i miss you so much. today was very hard, but thinking about you helped me stay strong. i miss you.
seven. we played a game earlier in jungwonâs room. some sort of word association game? like, someone would say a word, and you had to answer with something you associate with that word. the boys asked me what comfort was like and i said you right away. of course, they teased me right after but i just thought i should tell you. i love you. thank you for being my comfort.
eight. you make me feel at ease just by existing.
nine. are you tired my love? hey hey, itâs okay. just relisten to this voicemail everytime you need to. youâre doing well, okay? and youâre so so strong. iâm sorry you have to go through this, and iâm sorry that the path to healing hurts this much, but itâll get better okay? iâm so proud of you and all your efforts. hold on a little longer. iâm almost coming home.
ten. thereâs so many things to smile about, but darling, youâre my favorite. i canât wait to give you the biggest hug when i come home.
#enhypen x reader#k-labels#jake x reader#sim jake x reader#enhypen reactions#enhypen fluff#enhypen imagines#enhypen scenarios#enhypen jake fluff#enhypen jake x reader#sim jake x you#jake x you#kpop imagines#kpop scenarios#jake drabbles#enhypen drabbles#enhypen blurbs#sim jake blurbs#sim jaeyun x reader#enhypen fic#enhypen fanfic#enhypen oneshots
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Why does Raphael hate Mephistopheles and why does he live in Avernus?: Raphael as an outcast
(It has been a little while since my last analysis post. I would like to remind everyone that what Iâm talking about is purely my own theories and I always love to hear other peopleâs thoughts on them no matter if you agree or not <3.)
As we know, Raphael lives in Avernus and not in Cania where Mephistopheles rules. All devils essentially somehow serve an archdevil. The Nine Hells is a super hierarchical place and everyone below the archdevils are basically little worker bees who live to serve their respective archdevils in one way or another.
Raphael collects souls, so one can expect that his job is to some extent to harvest souls for whoever is above him. One would expect that the archdevil he serves is Mephistopheles, but he indirectly helps us rob his father of quite a lot of souls by telling us about Cazador's ritual. That seems like an incredibly stupid and risky move if he worked for Mephistopheles, so I am not quite sold on the fact that he serves his dear old papa.
We know from the Archivist that Zarielâs people keep a bit of an eye on him and comes and goes in his house. Given he also lives in Avernus, it would make more sense that he is forced to serve Zariel at least to some extent. My money is on the idea that his official superior (or his boss, if you will) is Zariel and not Mephistopheles, though I think he might have once served Meph.
Here is a super interesting piece of information that I found about Avernus (this is from the Fiendish Codex II):
âAvernus is home to the outcasts of Baator, also known as âthe rabble of devilkin.â Few lesser devils survive more than a few moments as outcasts, so this group is composed almost exclusively of unique devils who are equals of any duke.â
My theory is that Raphael is an outcast and thatâs why heâs in Avernus. Perhaps his father got tired of him and got rid of him, fully thinking that he would not survive. I am almost certain that cambions would fall under the âlesser devilsâ category, or at the very least they are not on the level of dukes. I feel like itâs also often said that Raphael is pretty OP compared to a simple cambion, which is most likely the only reason he has survived (Iâve also heard people talk about him as a duke, which fits into this little theory as well).
Thereâs more though, and this is where it gets really kind of speculative:
âSome outcast devils, such as Azazel and Dagon, have been stripped of their original names to reduce the chances that they will be summoned to the Material Plane.â
Now, Raphael is a cambion, so he can move between planes regardless, but it would still be a very shitty and dehumanizing thing to strip someone of their name. Mephistopheles being Mephistopheles probably would do something like that if he was pissed at someone.
I have always thought a lot about his name. âRaphaelâ is a name that we would mostly associate with angels, and not devils. It furthermore does not really sound like any other devil names Iâve come across. It literally means âGodâs healerâ or something along those lines.
Wouldnât it be so in character for his dramatic ass, who loves to play human and to play benevolent savior, to choose an angel name for himself? At the Last Light Inn, he literally says that Mol would not believe that heâs a devil because of his âangelic complexionâ.
Finally, thereâs this:
âTreacherous and scheming, the outcast dukes constantly seek ways to either reclaim their former positions or ranks in the Nine Hells or to destroy or displace the current order. [âŠ] Either way, they serve as important pawns between feuding archdukes and dukes.â
Now that definitely sounds like someone we know. I would very much say that wanting the Crown of Karsus to take over the Hells falls under âdestroying or displacing the current orderâ. However, Raphael still has mentions of his father around his house and he has a portal to Cania.
It would not surprise me that Mephistopheles started to show interest in him again after he survived and thrived in Avernus. It would also not surprise me if Raphael, despite all the hate for what his father has done to him, licks Mephistopheles boots to gain favor with him behind closed doors (or at the very least to gain information to give to Zariel behind his fatherâs back).
Thank you for coming to my TedTalk.
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what do you think sixth wave emo will sound like?
gonna be honest i feel like even the definition of fifth wave emo is a little flimsy. it includes a mix of artists that are just continuing emo revival (4th wave) without rly changing it as well as artists who are so far removed from emo that putting them under the umbrella is a little reductive. but emo is just such a polarizing genre that if there is 1% emo in a band's sound they immediately become for emo fans only.
just real quick for any followers who don't know the waves (this is off the top of my head so might not be perfect):
1st wave (late 80s): Washington DC emotive hardcore, not very far removed from post-hardcore at all, just more focused on emotions whereas post hardcore tended (at the time) to be more political. ie rites of spring, moss icon
2nd wave (90s - early 00s): the start of "midwest emo" - develops the sound further through the influence of post-rock among other things, tends to use less distortion & gentler singing. some bands became minor successes through the post-nirvana alternative rock gold rush but many were not appreciated til way after they were active. american football, capn jazz, sunny day real estate, the promise ring, mineral, etc etc etc
3rd wave (00s): what the average person knows emo to be. often known as mall emo. crosses over with pop punk frequently. this wave saw the greatest commercial success due to strong pop songwriting and slick production. spoke to a general malaise among teenagers post 9/11. my chemical romance, AFI, the used, brand new, also includes the whole "scenecore" wave towards the end of the 00s
4th wave (late 00s - mid 10s): the "emo revival". largely a reaction against the commercialization of the genre that occurred in the 3rd wave, and a revival of a more 2nd wave sound. bands in this wave tended to put out one album on a tiny label before fizzling out, and largely found success online. they also all REALLY hated 3rd wave. the world is a beautiful place and i am no longer afraid to die, snowing, the hotelier, algernon cadwallader, modern baseball (honestly i could list 4th wave bands forever it's the wave i'm most familiar with lol)
5th wave (late 10s - 20s): online, postmodern/post-postmodern, lots of influence from genres far removed from the first four waves of emo (jazz, hyperpop, folk, noise), bedroom production, digital sounds, synthesizers, odd instrument choices, autotune, pitch shifted vocals. two of the biggest influences here are Heccra and The Brave Little Abacus (i will go to my deathbed insisting TBLA is NOT an emo band though lmao). the thing is, there are bands lumped into this wave like Home is Where or awakebutstillinbed who generally have a much more 4th wave kinda sound & very few of the traits associated with 5th wave. or Origami Angel & Mom Jeans who remind me more of later 4th wave "weed emo" bands like Jank (fuck that band tho). AND THEN there's also bands here who sound more 3rd wave, like Jhariah. i'd say the bands most emblematic of a uniquely 5th wave sound (aside from the aforementioned TBLA and Heccra) are MEEEEEEEEEEEEE (glass beach), stomach book, lobsterfight, your arms are my cocoon, nouns, weatherday.
tbh the only real common thread with 5th wave is that all of these bands are friends lmao. there are very few bands I listed there that I do not know personally, some are very close friends, and the rest are like, one degree of separation from me. i believe Bea from Home is Where was the one to codify it but critics really latched onto the term because it's every critics dream to be the first to write about a new genre right as it emerges. 5th wave's variety is largely indicative of the breakup of monoculture that's been going on since the dawn of the internet, with this sort of postmodern genre collage aesthetic that has been facilitated by the increased ease of access to ALL styles of music for everyone in the world & micro-categorization of genre on sites like rym for example. i think it's going to take putting this all into historical context to really know what comes next. any new development in emo will inevitably fit under 5th wave's very broad umbrella, and as a result MANY bands in the genre reject the term. hell, the dividing lines between all of the existing waves are extremely arbitrary and there are countless exceptions to this generally accepted categorization going all the way back to the start of emo.
at this point it is genuinely impossible for there to be a 6th wave. i'm sure we'll see some new developments, some albums that shake things up, but it will take literally redefining the genre for there to be a Next Era of Emo.
if i can try to be a little deleuzian on main i predict we will see bands push the genre forward by using the components of the more uniquely 5th wave sound while not overtly referring to fifth wave (or ANY wave) at all. it'll probably take a different setting too, possibly less bedroomy, more live, maybe a more longform classical kind of approach rather than pop structure. small ensemble orchestra + autotuned screaming? tapping guitar over endlessly looping 190BPM 909 beats? otherwise by-the-numbers midwest emo bands with vocaloid singers? rapid oscillation between all of the waves, Naked City style? emo vocals with no instrumental accompaniment whatsoever? screamo jazz? 5th Wave: The Musical? Rites Of Spring meets The Rite Of Spring? fags in skinny jeans burning american flags while Courtesy of The Red White and Blue plays on a boombox? a band that's actually a tech startup that's actually a huge ponzi scheme? Talking Heads reunites but Jerry Harrison only plays in FACGCE now? drum stems from The Black Parade echoing through an abandoned parking garage? another 9/11? Emo bands that don't play music at all and just make out with each other on stage? who fucking knows. all i know is whatever comes next, online music nerds will be crying out "this isn't emo"
sorry for the essay LMAO
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â ⧠idubilu
pairing. xu minghao x reader
description. obligatory company dinners are never much fun, but you understand that your husband has to go through with them at the end of each month anyways. luckily, he knows just how to make it up to you once you two get home.
genre. smut (18+ / mdni) tags under the cut, ceo & husband minghao, fluff
w/c. 2.8k
a/n. yk i donât rly like pwp but i needed to pay homage to the idubilu choreo. that's it.
â tags. oral (f receiving), petnames (princess, pretty), they're just rly horny 4 each other lol, reader wears a suit and she is SEXY! â taglist. @synthetickitsune @ixayjun @leejihoonownsmyheart @dahliatopia @gyuswhore @hoeforcheol @5xiang @hajimelvr @miriamxsworld @blinkjunhui @lixiel0ver @josefines-things @mimisxs @ming-h0e @kawennote09 @bbyjjunie @rubyreduji @marzmeltdown @todorokiskitten @98-0603 @hipsdofangirl @nikkixpenguin @minnie-mouser22 @minhui896 @whippedforjihoon @yunjinified @nishloves @woozarts @ellesmoon @blurryriki @maknae00 @jjjzzzz @marzmeltdown @peachyaeger @shoulietaro (strikethrough could not be tagged) join my taglist here!
A tight lipped smile is the only thing youâre wearing tonight. Well, that and a stiff pair of dress pants and button up shirt; usually you opt for wearing dresses to these sorts of things, but the one youâd picked out earlier was itchy in all the worst spots and really, you couldnât bother to choose another one so you settled for this suit. Itâs definitely more comfortable, but your feet still ache in the confines of your heels as you wrap your fingers around the cool glass of champagne.
Your husband is in the corner of your vision, talking to some associate as you stand by the buffet table, as you contemplate if you even have the stomach to eat anything right now. Youâre overreactingâyou know you areâbut after long hours at work and an even longer hours trying to clean up the mess your cat had made at home, youâre not the least bit thrilled to spend your evening hours (the ones you usually spend curled up by Minghaoâs side) here.
The champagne fizzles out on your tongue when you take a sip, sighing as you lean against the wall. You want to leave, that much is obvious. Minghao can sense it from across the roomâthe way your arms are crossed over your chest and you look down at your shoes, only glancing up to flicker your eyes at him and then the clock.
â45 more minutes,â you mutter to yourself when he finally excuses himself and walks over with a plate of food in his hands.
âIâm sorry,â is the first thing he says lowly when heâs finally within ear shot. âI know you hate coming to these.â
You let your shoulders deflate a little when you hear the sincerity in your voice, reminding yourself that this is your husband. âNo itâs ⊠itâs fine, these shoes just hurt,â you tell him honestly, shifting your weight from leg to leg as Minghao hands you his plate.
âSit down and eat. Iâll wrap this up in half an hour and then we can leave.â You frown, taking the plate from his hands. âAnd remind me to get you new shoes if these ones suckâyou know I hate seeing you in pain.â
You roll your eyes as he follows you to the nearest empty table in the hall. âSimp,â you tease, slipping into a seat and begrudgingly stuffing your face with one of the hor dâoeuvres.
âWhatever you say princess,â he sighs, stepping back. âIâll be back in a bit, and then weâll get going, âkay?â You nod and he walks off with a final wave, just as bored as before but a little less bitter. After all, Minghaoâs sweet words and kind promises always leave a warm feeling budding in your heart.
Still, the next thirty minutes are long. You watch him not too discreetly now, getting lost in yourself as the night progresses. Minghao has long ditches his black coat, and is instead donned in a simple set of black pants and white shirt, nearly perfectly matching you. Itâs a kind thought that occupies your mind for the remainder of your timeâthe fact that you and Minghao match each other perfectly.
Youâre left with you and your thoughts, and although itâs a long wait, relief waves over your form when you hear Minghao thank everyone for coming. You make your way to his side while he does so, his arm secured around your waist as the two of you bow and wave everyone out as they shuffle out the room until itâs just the two of you left.
âOh god, I thought Iâd never get to take these off,â you huff, sitting on one of the round tables once everyoneâs gone, slipping the tight heels over your sore feet. Your husband watches you sympathetically as he tucks his phone back into his pocket, workers making their way into the hall to clean up.
âI told you, we can go get new ones. Letâs go home now though,â he says, holding a hand out as you reach down to pick up your shoes. Minghao scrunches his nose up when you put your bare feet on the ground. âEw. Donât do that!â
You frown. âWhy not! My feet hurt and I donât care if itâs dirtyâI canât stand it anymore!â
Minghao sighs and shakes his head, and for a moment you think youâve won this battle but then heâs turning around and tapping at his back. âCâmon, letâs go.â
âI am not gââ
Minghao shoots you a warning look, and you suddenly realize youâre too exhausted to care that much anyways. âIâll give you a treat.â
Your tummy tumbles, and youâre glad heâs turned away so he canât see the shit eating grin that creeps onto your lips. You donât exactly understand what Minghao means by a treat as you climb onto his back, but when he secures his arms under your legs, you learn that you donât need to.
You trust Minghao, more than anyone if youâre being honest, so as you curl your face into his neck as he carries you out of the company building and to the car, finally driving you home, you sit and smile because you know whatever heâs going to give you, youâre going to love it just as you love him.
So yeah, youâre not exactly surprised when Minghao pushes you onto the soft covers of the bed as soon as you enter your house, but then again, youâre not complaining either.
âYou look really sexy in a suit,â Minghao murmurs, climbing on top of you as his fingers find his way up your pants and by its waistband.
âYou donât like it when I wear dresses?â you muse, shuffling up onto your elbows so you can lift your hips, Minghao yanking your pants down as you do.
âI do,â he says casually, sitting back on his heels as you kick the pants off and onto the ground, leaving your legs bare as Minghao settles between them. Slowly, he runs his fingers over them, the ghost of a touch as he traces over the inside of your thighs, circles around your knees, and smooths over your shins before finally curling them around your ankles.
You grow limp under him, letting his strong arms lift your legs up high as he runs his soft lips over the flesh of your calves. He whispers into your skin, the hot breath sending a ripple of shivers coursing through you. âDresses are nice ⊠but suits ⊠fu-u-uck,â he draws out, placing open mouthed kisses down the inside of your legs.
You whimper when he shuffles down the bed and presses his face between your thighs, lips moving rougher and more fervent as he nips and lips at the skin. Minghao wants to drown himself in youâwants you to be the only thing he can taste on his tongue, wants you to be the only thing he can smell as he buries himself in the beauty between your legs.
âFuck,â he groans, peeling himself away for a moment to stare down at youâyour shirt is half unbuttoned, revealing the peek of your cleavage, and your lips are puffy, eyes blown out and hair all strewn as you await for more.
There arenât words exchanged as Minghao starts to tug at his tie thatâs starting to feel all too tight, the silk fabric tumbling between his deft fingers as he pulls it to the side and lets it fall onto the bed. Heâs working through but buttons next, starting by the collar and working his way down, and you find yourself growing lost into sight of him.
From the way his adamâs apple bounces and jaw clenches when you whimper, to the way his shirt falls from his shoulders and leaves his pretty chest on displayâyouâre fucking entranced. Minghao rolls his neck back once, flashing you a hint of his chiseled jawline before craning his head back down and sucking your lips into a deep kiss.
His hands smooth under your shirt and press against your stomach as you grip at his firm shoulders as he mumbles against your lips, âLemme eat you out.â God, the way he says it is so crude and so dirty, but fuck, if it doesnât have you nuzzling your nose into his and nodding as your eyes flutter shut âŠ
Minghao moves slowly, and itâs around now that youâd usually start to get impatient; youâd start to whine and squirm, chanting his name in hopes to get him to speed it up. Something in the air is different tonight, and as you close your eyes, you bask in the feeling of his body moving down yours.
You drink in the sounds of his soft pants and echoes of his mouth sucking against your exposed skin. Minghao is meticulousâhe always is. Itâs how he rose to the top in practically everything he did, and itâs how heâs making you crumble beneath his palms right now.
Your limbs move together in tandem, like you were both built for each other and each other only, bodies intertwining in a heated yet perfect mess as Minghao wraps his arms under your thighs and over your hips when you pull your soiled panties off. Heâs done this more times than you can count, but not once has not left you in awe when he licks the first fat stripe.
Minghao knows you wellâso, so wellâbetter than yourself, you would add with no hesitation. He knows how to make you smile, knows how to make you laugh, knows how to make you writhe beneath him.
When his tongue delves between your folds and he sucks against the sensitive flesh, Minghao knows exactly what heâs doing. You glance down, finally parting your eyes, and are met with the sight of Minghaoâs own heavy lids, and your stomach churns in the realization that he truly is enjoying this as much as you are.
Moans break free from your throat as he slides his tongue up and down, flicking against your clit and making out against your gaping cunt. The words on your tongue come out in a mangled mess, and Minghao canât really understand what youâre saying, but then again, he doesnât need to because he loves it.
Loves the way youâre whining from just a few subtle movements, loves how you chant his name like itâs the only word you knowâfuck, Minghao loves everything goddamn thing about you and itâs driving him fucking crazy.
Minghao watches you grind upwards to meet the pace of his tongue and lipsâitâs perfect. âThe best,â he groans, parting his lips from your cunt for a moment so you can hear him better, although heâs not sure youâre even paying attention.
Your neck is thrown back and one hand is threaded through his hair, the other gripping at one of your exposed tits as white noise rushes through your ears. âCould live here,â Minghao says, not really to you but more to himself as he gazes down at your shiny folds before diving back in.
You, you, you, is all Minghao can think, and as he snakes one hand up your stomach, gripping at your other unattended breast, fingers flexing and clenching around the bouncy flesh. âOhâHao!â you whine out when he pinches your nipple. Itâs not rough or harsh, but youâre so sensitive all over that even the brush of his hair against your skin has you jerking into his touch.
The cry of his name only eggs him on, and Minghao finds his eyes shutting tight as digs his face deeper and deeper into your slobbering core. Through the sucking, through the lapping, through the borderline making out with your cunt, Minghao starts to talk.
He tells you how good you taste, how pretty you sound, how fucking hard he isâhis princess, thatâs what he calls you. His pretty, pretty princess. Minghao doesnât even know if you can hear him, but he also knows it doesnât matter.
Youâll understand.
Minghao knows youâll understand because everytime you moan his name, his hold on your tits tightens and his lips move with more and more vigor until youâre pulsingâfuck, he hasnât even stuck anything in yet and youâre already being driven damn close to insanity.
It comes out in broken sobsâââm gonna cum, H-H-Hao! âm gânaâfuck!â
And he responds with equal passion, mutter into your wetness to, âDo itâfucking do it.â
Minghao devours you through the high that permeates your body, and you feel he might as well swallow you whole with the way his hands are all over you and the way youâre tugging at his hair (itâs painful, but Minghao concludes that this is the best kind of pain).
And then heâs kissing you, your sweet arousal mixing in a mess of both of your saliva as your tongues clash together. Your cheeks are wet as they press against each other and there you two are, rolling around on the sheets until your head is spinning, partly from the buzz of your orgasm but mainly from the pure passion that surges through your blood.
Your hands are in his hair, on his chest, sinking into his back, fumbling with his pantsâtheyâre everywhere because, fuck, you just need to feel him. Minghao is no different because heâs also everywhereâunclipping your bra but still keeping your shirt on, sliding his hands over your tits and pressing against your neck, grinding into you as you shove his pants and boxers down.
Youâre on top of him when heâs finally kicked his pants off, grinding down on the massive hard-on heâs wearing, swiveling your hips as he grips onto your tits as if they were a lifeline. âPut it in pretty,â Minghao moans, tweaking one nipple between his fingers as he uses his other hand to tap his thick, leaking cock against the base of your stomach.
He doesnât need to tell you twice, and youâre pressing forward and lifting your hips. Again, Minghao knows you well. So well that it hardly takes him a second to find your dripping hole, aligning himself with you before jutting upwards.
You cry out at the sensation, sinking down on him almost immediately as your lips meet for another fervent kiss. Itâs maddening, really, the way your clit rubs against his pelvis as you carefully rock your hips forward once you get adjusted to his side.
You moan into each otherâs mouths and drink up the pleasure because thatâs all you two knowâin this moment, itâs only you and Minghao.
Itâll only ever be you and Minghao, because no oneâs gonna be able to carve the shape of their cock into you like heâs doing so well right now. No oneâs gonna lift their hips and swivel right back down, sucking him in and clenching him so tight like youâre doing so well right now. No oneâs gonna ever share a moment like the two of you do right now, and as Minghao paws at your waist and threads his fingers into your hair, you both donât need to say it, but you know.
Skin against skin echoes in symphony with your broken gasps and choked sobs as you begin to bounce over Minghao. Heâs got you in a grip like a vise as he murmurs, âPrincessâfuck, my pretty princessâfeels sâgood,â he slurs, to which you can only furrow your brows in pleasure and nod dumbly. You feel like youâre on fire, sweat all over as you chew down on your lip, trying to shake off the soaked dress shirt, but Minghao stops you with a firm hand on your arm.
âKeep it on pretty,â he whines, âPlease.â
Something about the desperation in his voice has your heart strings strumming, and let your hand fall back onto him, shifting so his cock hits even deep inside of you. Your squeezing is more than he can handle, and Minghao wraps his arms around your waist and holds you close, lips ghosting over your neck and teeth sinking into your skin.
Through mangled whispers and hot skin, tangled limbs and melting lips, you two move through sheets languidly. For how long, you canât say, but when you two reach your peaks together, itâs with words of love pushed through gritted teeth hard kisses.You two probably wonât be able to understand what the other is saying, but thatâs okay because you donât need to. Youâll know and Minghao will knowâI love you.
#minghao x reader#minghao smut#xu minghao x reader#xu minghao smut#svt smut#seventeen smut#đ writing
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can u please do another smut for luna?? just discovered your works today and they are gems!! its rare for writers to write lunaâs uniqueness well and you did so freaking great with yours!!
Sure thing! I appreciate the compliment
Luna Lovegood x Fem!reader
Warnings: Smut, cunnilingus, fingering, orgasm, aftercare, oral sex reader receiving, fluff
Eucalyptus. That was the scent that always stuck with you when you showered because of the intense amount that Luna had in your bathroom, and you'd come to associate her with it, even when she wasn't there... It was nice, other than making your mind wander to when she was there, to the feelings of her fingers, her tongue, her lips-.
"Love?" Ah! She was home.
Fuck yes.
"In here." You called, turning off the shower as you cleared your throat, trying to push the thoughts down as Luna pulled the door open.
"You showered without me?" Luna sounded almost betrayed, and you chuckled, not opening the shower curtain yet, not even bothering to grab your towel.
"Sorry, did you want to join me?" She paused, really thinking that over. That was something that you liked with Luna; she seemed to be deliberate in everything that she did.
"Well, I quite like it... But we do get distracted, which defeats the whole purpose of our shower." She said, and you chuckled, shaking your head as you restacked everything you used in the shower, wanting to keep the space as neat as possible.
"Baby, that can be the purpose of the shower." you reminded her, rubbing the towel through your hair with a sigh... It felt good to be clean.
"Right... But you wanted to get clean, right?" She asked innocently, and you nodded. This time, yeah.
"Mhm." You crawled out of the shower, feeling her presence behind you.
"Then it's good I didn't join." That made your cunt throb. "Mmmm." She licked lightly over your skin, making you shiver.
Fuck.
"What're you doing, Lovegood?" You felt her teeth dig lightly into your shoulder, pulling a gasp from you. "Ah." You'd let her bite you, you'd let her consume you if that was what she wanted.
"Did you know that your skin is sweet?" Luna asked, and you chuckled, leaning back into her as you cupped her cheek softly, feeling her fingers explore your skin, still damp from your shower... Part of you worried that you felt too rough, sometimes she commented on how your skin felt different right out of the shower, but she didn't seem to mind right now.
"I mean, I've never tasted my skin, so I can't say that I've really thought about that... What does it taste like?" You asked, and Luna tucked her face against your neck, inhaling again.
"I don't know... You... But you if you were a sweet." You furrowed your brows, chuckling as you shook your head... Luna had such an interesting way about her.
"Careful there, you're making it sound like you wanna eat me." She paused, her hands pressing softly on your waist to turn you around, easing you against the wall... You were realizing just how much you hadn't dried off now, how much her clothing was probably damp
"Not in a cannibalistic way, no... But I do want to go down on you." Your eyes widened as you felt her lick across your collarbone, moaning at the taste of your skin. "So... In a way, I do want to eat you right now." Oh my god.
"I..." You had no idea how to respond to that other than saying hell fucking yes, but Luna read you too quickly in her own way.
"Sorry, is that not something you want right now? We can lay down and I'll hold you, we don't have to-." You pulled her into a messy, frantic kiss, careful to hold her face the way that she liked before you let go, gesturing for her to get down.
"Get on your knees, Lovegood." Luna's cheeks pinkened as her lips gaped open, clearly shocked by what you'd said... You sometimes struggled to talk like that to her, even though she'd asked that you do sometimes... You just didn't wanna make her uncomfortable.
"Oh." She immediately followed your directions, and then you paused, grabbing her arm... There was something she'd said last time...
"Wait. Do you still get that weird feeling when you're kneeling like last time? You said it felt like your bones were moving wrong, like..." You trailed off, unsure of exactly what she'd said, but Luna caught on quickly, nodding.
"Nargles in my skin. Yes, I think I do." She said, and you pushed off the wall quickly - the last thing you wanted was for Luna to have any discomfort during this, and that had caused her a lot of discomfort last time and had really taken away from it.
"I'll be right back." She trailed her hand on your body as you walked off, only letting it drop once you were out of range of her touch, like the idea of her fingers leaving your skin was tragic. You smiled to yourself, shaking your head as you grabbed a pillow from your bed, walking back in with it triumphantly. "This'll help." You said, crouching down so that Luna could readjust herself on the pillow. She leaned forward, kissing your cheek softly in a way that made you blush.
How funny was that? She was about to go down on you, but her kissing your cheek made you blush like a schoolgirl... Small things, always small things.
"Thank you." Her beaming smile as you sat up was enough to make your knees feel like they had turned to jelly. "Now nothing can take my focus off of you." She said, sounding so determined that you really did believe her, but there was one thing that you wanted to make clear.
If she saw anything, she did have to say something.
"I mean, if there's a Nargle near me, I expect you tell me so that we can move... I don't want any peeping Toms."
"Currently... They are nowhere near you. I promise." She said, and you smiled down at her, brushing her hair out of her face as you let out a content sigh... You couldn't see them, obviously you couldn't, but you knew that Luna could, which sometimes?
Not what you wanted to have around you... You liked the private moments with her to be private like this. It was nice to get away from it all, even away from the unseen creatures.
"Good, because that would be-." Luna leaned in, licking a stripe up your cunt, pulling a gasp from you as you tried to not let your legs close around her head. "Awkward, fucking hell..." You whimpered, seeing Luna's smile when she pulled back.
Oh, you did that on purpose.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you... I just... You taste so good, I got distracted by my urge, you can keep talking if you'd like-." You let out a breathless chuckle, grinning down at her.
She was so sweet with you, fuck.
"Luna, I think you know what I'd like right now, go with your gut, baby." You murmured, and Luna frowned, shaking her head.
Why not?
"The gut isn't always the most reliable..." That didn't matter... The gut was right with you.
"But with me it is, we're in love, your gut can be trusted." You promised, pushing her hair out of her face as she sat there for a moment, looking at you with such vulnerability that it made you feel breathless.
"Promise?" She asked, and you nodded... She didn't need to ask, but you understood why she did. She was used to people messing with her, even if she didn't acknowledge it as that there had to be something in there that had absorbed that.
"Promise." She leaned in, her tongue tracing over you again.
Fuck me.
"Mmmm..." Your eyes rolled back as you felt her hum around your clit, a move that never failed to make your head spin... You weren't sure how you were staying upright, but God, you were gonna do you best.
"Luna... Oh, fuck..." You breathed, fighting the urge to just push her down and ride her face... you knew she liked it like this, that she liked you like this.
"You taste amazing, love... Always." Luna mumbled, spreading your folds with her fingers before she buried her face in you, like she wanted to consume you whole. You gasped, clamping a hand over your mouth as one found her hair, your world feeling tilted when her tongue found your clit.
Merlin, she always felt so good.
"Oh... Fuckfuckfuck... Yes..." You whined, grinding against her face even as you tried not to, her arms looping around your thighs to pull you closer, making you nearly lose balance.
Careful there, baby.
"Merlin, you're so fucking good." Luna was the best you'd ever had, and she just kept getting better. "So good." You whined, hanging your head back as two fingers slid deep inside you, making your mouth drop open as she curled them.
Oh fuck me... Fuck me, please...
"Luna..." Your voice was hardly above a whisper, but that was all that Luna needed to hear to know exactly what was going on, to know that you were frantically nearing the edge... You always finished fast with her.
"Are you close?" Luna asked, and you nodded frantically, biting on the back of your hand to keep from collapsing as she continued to toy with your clit, two fingers buried deep inside you.
"Mhm! Almost... I'm almost there, don't stop." You whined, your voice sounding completely unlike you as Luna grinned up at you, sweet and gentle even as she worked quickly inside you, making your legs turn to jelly and your mind melt.
"Perfect." She murmured, sucking your clit back into her mouth as you let out a high whine, scratching down the walls as you felt the heat in your stomach snap and you fell over the edge.
"Cumming, holy fucking shit... Luna!" You gasped, riding your orgasm out before falling into your next one ridiculously quick, making your head spin as you pushed her face away, wincing when you felt her fingers leave you.
Damn.
"I really like how my name sounds leaving your lips." Luna said, pressing kisses up your body as you let your head thud against the wall, heart still thumping as you fought hard to catch your breath. It was crazy that she managed to stay so calm while giving you such pleasure.
"That's wonderful, baby..." You murmured, feeling Luna's arms around your waist, pulling you to slump against her.
"Here." She traced up and down your spine, making you sigh as you tucked into her. "You need to steady your breathing, let me hold you up." You smiled lazily, leaning over to press a kiss to the side of her head... You could rally if she wanted something.
You wanted to rally if she wanted something.
"Do you want-." You started, but Luna just held you closer, effectively cutting off your communication.
"Not right now." Oh. "I will want something later though, but right now, holding you is good." Oh... God, that made your heart feel warm as you sighed, letting yourself fully be held up by her.
"Mmm... Protecting me?" You asked, enjoying the way that she seemed to hold you tighter the second you said that, like you were some precious thing that she didn't want to let go of... That she couldn't let go of.
"Always."
#harry potter fanfiction#harry potter smut#harry potter#harry potter fanfic#harry potter x reader#harry potter imagine#harry potter fluff#harry potter x y/n#harry potter x you#harry potter x yn#harry potter x fem!reader#hp imagine#hp#hp fanfic#hp smut#hp fanfiction#wlw smut#sapphic smut#luna lovegood#luna lovegood x reader#luna lovegood x fem!reader#luna lovegood imagine#luna lovegood fanfiction#luna lovegood fanfic#luna lovegood smut#luna lovegood fluff#luna lovegood x y/n#luna lovegood x you
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An Ode to Ruination | T.S.
SUMMARY: Tommy was addicting. Chronic. His aura was intimidating. He was callus to those close to him. And yet, there was that desire to sink below that murky waterâdrown in him entirely when his want was so clear in his breath.Â
PAIRING: Tommy Shelby x f!reader
WORD COUNT: 2.5K
WARNINGS: ANGST, swearing, smoking, drinking, semi-preoccupations with thoughts of death/suicide, mutual pining, meanish tommy because his feelings are hurt, canon-typical things, protective!tommy, rushed ending, etc.
A/N: Yeah, yeah, Iâm back on my bullshit. This is inspired by @zodiyackââs request/post (here). HAD to get it out of my system, I mean look how pretty he is. This is a mix of Old writing I had to dust off the cob webs for mixed with new stuff, so be kind. Enjoy.
âYouâre leaving.â
Tommyâs tone was sterile. It left little room for interpretation or defiance. The statement came without hesitation but held pent-up sentiment veiled by familiar poise. You vetted his blank gaze for proper determination of his upset. Â
The cracks behind his exterior were so deeply concealed you hadnât thought anything could slip between. Yet, standing before him, your decision was the ice-pick thatâs pressure had shattered him.
âAda told you?â You hummed with formality; his presence clearly a response to the question. âLondon will treat me well.â
Tommy tracked your movements. You envied how he filled the space better than you. Perhaps it was the vulnerability in his presence. Regardless, you felt like a guest in your own home. You felt caught, exposed.
The air was thick, causing Tommyâs deep breaths hard to hide behind a crackling record that you had on a continual loop, never able to stand too much silence. Your bags were organized beside the door for the morning, causing your heart to echo against the empty walls.
There was an odd sense of pride you felt with his presence. It confirmed the distant admiration that Tommy held for years. That the shared affection wasnât something fabricated but complex. You respected his drive, but your desires fell elsewhere. He carved space for you despite your protests, but you could never be the one to fill itâyou could never be his.
âA better life, eh?â Tommy mocked you, cigarette rolling over his lips with habit. âFucks sake.â The confidence in his demeanor faltered. But he regained it quickly with a bitter laugh, â...Iâve given you everything, and here you are asking for more.â
With an instinct to comfort him, you wanted to reach for him. It spoke of your ability to read him and how exhausting it had become to interpret. He would miss you.
âTommyââ You began. The calmness in your voice was deceiving. You could see it in his face, how expectant he was for you to tell him youâd stay. ââIâm not safe with you.â You paused, letting your admission sink in just as harshly as his words had, âIâm going to London.â
â
The bliss was idyllic.
Your wrist balanced on the windowsill as you lazily tapped the ash of your cigarette. The cool air caressed your arm and gave you goosebumps that reminded you that you were still alive. Human. Your senses were perked. The city outside kept you attentive as your head rested back. The day was long, but hearing the taxis carrying bubbling people made it worth it. You imagined how some were on their way to find warmth in their home while others were dressed for an endless night of laughter. Â
The living room was empty and quiet. You could no longer hear Adaâs shuffling feet above you, ushering both her and Karl to sleep. It was odd that you found such freedom with them. Protection of sorts that you could rely on as a necessary stepping stone. It caused a headache to form at the back of your head, reminding you of your lack of sleep.
Privilege came with the name associated that made your stomach churn. Â It was simple to push Tommy into a subconscious level. The task became daunting; an ache emerged from so deep within that it took months to realize from the start he was responsible. Â It was as though you could feel how his eyes were still on you.
It became a habit to remind yourself of your newfound safety. The distance created life: happiness and tranquility. You traded bloody nights for bedtime stories, sewing razor-filled caps for gin-filled gatherings, and Tommyâs scarcity of communication for peaceful nights like tonight.
A disruption was overdue. You answered the phone after the third ring.
âAda?â The voice was unmistakable, even if it was whiskey drenched. It took him a beat to realize you were on the other end. â... âm callinâ for Ada.â
Chewing on your lip, you debated silence and pretended like the call had never begun. But that incessant ache begged to be relieved.
âI can wake her.â Your voice was soft, promising something you were unwilling to do. It was nicety that filled the quietness you were met with.
âIâuhââ Tommy sighed deeply. The words were lost, jumbled behind an always racing mind. You could picture him well; his crisp shirt no longer having life as it was rolled up by anxiety, his tie no longer present, but still suffocating him, and everything around him reflecting how he moved with an intemperate haze. ââIâm drowningââ
âTommyâŠâ You refused to burst, but his name on your tongue tattered between warning and heartbreak. When he drank, he opened up to you, a foolish cycle. âLet me get AdaâŠâ
The dark chuckle on the other end forced you to press yourself closer to the phone. âSometimes, I wish I were dead so you'd think of me.â
A frown perked your lips. You were made out to be more heartless than the most heartless man you knew. It was a naive guilt trip that you almost slipped on. âBe fair to me, Tommy.â
There was a crackle on the other end, a cigarette lit purely by regret. The drag was long, trying to pull something thoughtful from a blurred mind. The reports he received from those he paid off werenât enough. Â You were thriving with his absence, seen with a mix of people who, even acquaintances, valued you better. It elicited resentful envy. However, out of arms reach, you worried Tommy endlessly. The London associates sought blood, no matter who provided it. The paranoia was ruining him, and no answer could reassure him.
âYou a communist yet?â Tommy cleared his throat with a vulnerability that was only reserved for this night. Maybe, you thought, it was an effort on his part.
âAlmostâŠâ The teasing comforted a dodged homesickness. âThink my card got lost in the post.â
âShame.â He tutted with a gentle wit. There was a tender sadness he carried with him. It was almost as volatile as his anger. It was easy to blame it on the war, but it had latched onto him long before, never planning to let go.
You imagined how his exhaustion mapped along his body. His body probably mirrored your own; head back, limbs weakly sprawled, heavy-lidded eyes imagining the other beside each other, and a mutual worry that bounced between you.
âI am happy, TommyâŠâ Your promise was delayed, hardly believable. âAda and I do miss everyone.â
I miss you.
Tommy hummed, â...have a funny way of showinâ that.â
âYou havenât seen our smoke signals?â
The laugh you were met with was small, light, and barely there, but it rushed through your limbs and heated your chest. You had a moment to catch your breath and slow your heart rate. Tommy was addicting. Chronic. His aura was intimidating. He was callous to those close to him. And yet, there was that desire to sink below that murky waterâdrown in him entirely when his want was so clear in his breath. Â
â
You knew Tommy would be there. For Adaâyou reminded yourself. Yet, seeing him so closely caused your heart to lurch, your blood leaving your extremities with such fascination that you became light-headed.
âDrink.â Ada all but scolded you, crystal pushed into your hand. The instruction was welcomed, but it wasnât enough to settle you. âOtherwise, youâll clam up if Tommy bothers to find us.â
Tommy worked the crowd well. It was a feigned charm that he played into only for advantage. Although he claimed to be here for family, business always loomed. Ada hadnât cared either way, the glitz far too intriguing to question his sudden presence in the city.
âGive him timeâŠâ Ada spoke openly to the air, her nightâs indulgence tracing her words. â...always time with that oneâwastes it, and yet, expects you to be there when he hollers. Does your head in, it doesâŠâ
The champagne bubbled down your throat. The night was meant to be celebratory, but youâd be lying if you said you knew why. It was a part of your distinction from the Shelby family that you questioned if ignorance truly brought you bliss.
âSurprised he came himself. Thomas Shelby in the flesh,â Ada continued with ease, mocking her brother. âSurprised he even lifted a pinky. Typically one of his goonsââ She looked to you, her revelation cutting her off. âYou do understand what you do to him, donât you?â
âI donât want to.â Your words were sharp. Your eyes filtered the crowd for the gloved waiter to replace your glass. âThereâs nothing that IâIâve put all that behind me.â
âThat?â She pressed with practiced bits of patience. Adaâs smile grew comically. The shy glancing took years to turn into full sentences and Ada knew firsthand how to read her brother, and the way he lingered spoke volumes. He was past smitten.
It was all or nothing; you were it.
You were grateful how her attention shifted to her own relationship. You never tired of hearing how Freddie treated her and loved her since they were children. There was somberness in her eyes, but devotion carried in her words. You saw how she carried him with her; certain mannerisms mirrored not only in her but Karl. Love withstood.
There was a point in your life you believed youâd find something similar. You hadnât faulted your growing mind; it was natural to romanticism your future at such a young age. Those around you promised there was something fruitful to look forward to. However, life proved difficult; men remained boys, and the only person that you regarded stalked toward you as if you were nothing more than a stranger.
âAda.â Tommy approached his sister as if she were alone. Heâd visited her in the city multiple times but never once shared the air with you. âEnjoying yourself tonight, eh?â
âMothers can still have fun.â She teased him with a peck on the cheek. Even in her state, she ridiculed her brotherâs behavior. With a shoulder pushed against his, Ada encouraged Tommy to acknowledge you. âHave you no manners?â
To others, his expression may have appeared vacant. However, Tommy wrestled with himself, unsure how to maneuver in uncharted territory. Stalling, his eyes danced the crowd as he languidly out his matches and carton. It denoted how natural his icy illusion became, and now he seemed able to practice it on you. Once he landed on you, you realized why he struggled to meet your eyes. It was his only form of self-defense.
âLondon suits you.â Tommy nodded, his greeting muffled through the newly lit cigarette. The small rush it gave him was enough to stay vigilant.
âIt has its moments.â Â Your chest perked from the attention and chill, but Tommyâs eyes never faltered from your own. You were daring him to take your body in. It was the sole reason you chose a dress that cut low both front and back.
Tommy was never a blind man.
Nor was his sister. Ada excused herself, claiming whatever âthisâ was, she wanted no part. You are no fun, she said. However, you werenât sure who it was directed to. You held back from following her, but your shoulders remained open; you wouldnât fold into yourself.
âI didnât know communists could have funâŠâ Tommy mumbled to himself, eyes going to the crowd once more. Adaâs self-imposed isolation rippled through the family, only fracturing the stress of everyoneâs well-being.
A scoff bubbled in your throat, âAnd what do you know about pleasure?â
âPleasure?â Tommy became focused and pointed with his words. âPleasure doesnât exist.â
Eyebrows cinching with frustration, you stepped closer to be heard, âDonât pretend like your pleasures donât have names.â
That drunken call all those nights ago was a mistake. It showed you insight into a dream. In that dream, Tommy was free of what haunted him, light and present. Faithful. There his voice wrapped you in warmth with fulfilled promises. You never were as skilled at hiding your emotions. Your heart was broken on your sleeve.
âIâm going toâ
There wasnât a need for a protective air as those around Tommy knew never to challenge him. However, far and few between, there were those men self-entitled with such idiocy; they couldnât recognize they were prey.
âThomas Shelby. Birmingham man in London.â A hand clapped down on his shoulder, breaking the forming bubble around you. âThought that was you! This must be the missusâŠâ
âNot quite.â Your tone was bare, your hand extending with trained expertise. You could handle pleasantries. But the man was bold, leaving a damp kiss on your knuckles as if marking you.
Tommy was subtle, moving his body to act as a buffer. Fingertips brushy feather-bare against your lower back. You thought it would end there but held back a flinch when Tommyâs warm palm flattened where your back curved.
âAh, understood!â The man replied with a boisterous cackle. It reflected years of unfiltered nicotine and a wet and sick penchant for bourbon. âIâll have one of you warm my bed once all of this shit is over.â
You pinned your breath to the roof of your mouth. Your loss for words wasnât due to the ill-mannered man. It was from the brush of Tommyâs thumb against your skin. It was a comfort and an apology for how he would have to agree with the man to keep him at bay.
It was all a part of the plan you were slowly catching onto.
âA good lay is a good lay, isnât it, Mr. Shelby?â The man prompted again, a gauge to know if the future alliance would be worth it.
âExactly right.â
You could storm off, cause a scene. Your anger steeped deeper than that. It lived in your bones, morphing into something vindictive. You stayed the course and played your part willingly. The morals you lectured Tommy on didnât matter anymore when all along he had the upper hand.
To the man, you were a plaything, someone who the conversation held no standing. The information would be forgotten, implied confidentiality, Â as youâd move on to your next client. However, the further you orchestrated the conversation to continue, the more you learned.
The night was a business move, another party dosed in secrets and danger. You took in the manâs features, noting how he was aging, greys just starting to filter through his scalp. Your stomach turned, knowing there would be a bullet between his eyes by the end of the evening. The interaction was a courtesy.
Once alone again, you didnât hesitate to move from Tommyâs shield. You felt dirtied.
âI canât believe you.â You spat. âYouâre incapable ofâ
âEnough.â Tommyâs words were low. He pinned you with a look alone, keeping you steady. âYou want to run from me, but you canât.â You battled with him until you lost. His face hardened like you were another associate. âIt was him or you.â
#q#tommy shelby#tommy shelby angst#tommy shelby fluff#tommy shelby smut#tommy shelby x reader#tommy shelby x f!reader#thomas shelby#thomas shelby fluff#thomas shelby angst#thomas shelby smut#thomas shelby x reader#thomas shelby x f!reader#peaky blinders#peaky blinders fic#cillian murphy#cillian murphy x reader
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Heyy! May i request dottore x fem!reader who is a Porcelain doll(a puppet like scara but she's made out of Porcelain instead) and likes all those cute feminine stuff and collecting stuff like bows, Porcelain dolls and more. And I wonder if dottore would like the reader being pretty feminine and what's his opinion on Porcelain dolls (don't mind when i did any mistakes, English isn't my native language)
~đđ§·
Dottore with a doll reader
ââ àšà§ïŒil dottore x reader
àšà§ïčsynopsis :: silly rambles about Dottore and doll reader being cute
àšà§ïčgenre :: fluff
àšà§ïčcontent :: fem reader (no gendered terms really used tho tbh), soft dottore (listen it's my guilty pleasure), reader has the properties of porcelain, not proofread
àšà§ïčwords :: 950
THIS ACTUALLY reminds me of one of the very very first drafts I wrote even before Tartaglia's little brotherfication (coincidentally also of Dottore) so this is very fun. That doll was one of Sandrone's creations and I've decided so is this one
this also may hit close to home did I ever mention my slight obsession with dolls (it's worse than slight)
Dottore has fixed you many times, much to his inconvenience.
He has warned you many times against becoming reckless, but you never seem to listen, at least in his eyes. You are by no means fragileâporcelain is hard to chip away atâyour habit is simply that of finding danger. Finding it, throwing yourself at it, and landing yourself here in the darkest corners of the Fatui's headquarters so the doctor can carefully string you back together.
A gentle touch is not his forte, the practised hands of a doctor toiling away in his effort to put you back together. You prefer him to Sandrone any day for how much less pain you associate with him. He can scold you all he likes, but it may never work. You'll keep coming back and asking for his help when your strings come loose, and he will oblige your request for reasons that escape even him. It is a simple process now performed practically from memory.
Your habit of collecting frankly worthless items is certainly something. The bows, frilly dresses, and varying spools of lace you always claim you'll do something with and never do all feel normal. The porcelain dolls, on the other hand, are...interesting.
You are a living porcelain doll, and yet you collect them like novelty items. Isn't that like your equivalent of collecting human babies? Whatever it is to you, people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, so he keeps quiet as you fuss over their placement and hair, straighten their clothes or whether you're willing to sacrifice the careful styling of their hair to a pretty hat. It keeps you happy and away from everything dangerous that you seem to always run into.
The truth is, you are not in the slightest delicate despite making yourself seem that way. What you are is heavy, too heavy to always be lifting onto an operating table and too heavy to be lugging your pieces aroundâporcelain is not light.
However, there is interest to be had in the workings of your construction, which he is reminded of each time he takes you apart and watches you divide into inanimate pieces. You talk to him sometimes, pleasant background noise, or maybe just annoying when you start asking foolish questions he can't possibly answer. He can handle every "What are you doing?" and "Why are you doing that?" but when you begin to show your ignorance regarding your own creation and try to turn to him for answers instead of Sandrone, it frustrates him.Â
You're supposed to answer his questions.
"She doesn't like my questions,"Â you reason, and he never has to wonder why that is. Your incessant prodding and curiosity would irritate her, as does his indulging of your curiosity. She will complain that you're becoming restless and not as quickly satisfied, but really, nothing much at all has changed.
He can deal with your gravitation toward the things that make you happy if that's what keeps a smile on your face. One might even say he doesn't mind it, even when you pester him to help you tie your bows when they come loose in your hair or listen to your ramblings as you try to get him to help you with your dolls. He's better at tying knots than you. His hands have friction to keep the strings in place, unlike your slippery porcelain hands.
Your habits are endearing in their own way, the satisfaction with things that make you feel...human. You will never be, but the illusion of humanity and the yearning to chase it is not unlike the Segments. They think of themselves as human, believe they are, and exist as though they are human, yet they will never be as human as Prime. The only idea that makes sense is that you are displaying the same behaviour.
It is how Sandrone made you to be.
He can't say he especially blames you for following what your creation dictates. Your presence could bother him more than your interests could, namely a result of your many, many questions. It's not that you're sheltered or ignorant of the world around youâfar from itâbut most people don't know the nature of the things he works on, and you are no exception. You learned everything by asking, and he presents a wormhole of knowledge that you seek to understand by having him explain everything he's doing to you in great detail.
There's a bargaining that comes with it. Dottore will give you things so long as you stay out of the way, and you'll inspect them with a curious eye because he presents you with what Sandrone keeps you from. That is the only reason he can accept as to why you're talking to him, not that you like his voice and his smile, nor that you find the things he says fascinating or enjoy the light brush of his fingers against yours as he passes you your little 'distrations'. It's enough to watch him.
He complains his hands are always cold, and supposedly so are yours, but you've never felt temperature before. You like the faint glimpses of his scars, soft as his skin. They're not like yours, the closest equivalent being jagged cracks in your limbs that someone has to eventually fix before they worsen into breaks.Â
Things are comfortable around him. He is used to the odds quirks of sentient, inhuman beings, and a benefit of being around them is that they don't mind how weird he is by most standards.
You are something he can easily get used to lingering around. Despite your similarities to the segments, he must admit that you are far less of a bother.
#⥠â đ𧷠anon.#⥠â anon visit.#⊠â headcanons.#⊠â fluff.#dottore#il dottore#dottore x reader#il dottore x reader#dottore x female reader#il dottore x female reader#genshin impact#genshin#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#genshin impact x female reader#genshin x female reader
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...so you just threw this beautiful idea of Fyuuture kid, and left me with a brainrot? Especially after you answered one ask with i quote "he loves his parent so much and was really fighting it to keep it together when he saw them alive again" end of the quote. WHAT DO YOU MEAN AGAIN? WHAT? HOW?
ask 1 and ask 2
Oh đđ? I wasn't expecting to get an ask about this au ever again actually, but I am so glad you did, I like it a lot. I mentioned Fire Emblem Awakening in the first ask I got about it but for those of you who haven't played the game, the plot features the children of your army traveling back in time to try and prevent the end of the world. That's more or less what happened in the fyuuture kid au, at least in my first draft... I always end up associating the "future kid meets their parents" trope with either FE: Awakening or I guess Golden Sun? Which I think is the name of the jrpg where something similar happens idk I just like there being a reason for the kid to need to meet their parents.
In my original draft of the au, Yuu was told by Crowley there was no way home for them, so they settled down with Yutu's father and started building a life together. This turned out to not be true, as the Magical Marshall's office began investigating the overblots that happened while Yuu was in school and came to the conclusion Yuu had something to do with them; so they were secretly arrested, cursed to forget everything about Twisted Wonderland, and sent home. The curse was meant to trigger every time Yuu vaguely remembered their time in the otherworld, with the idea their brain would prevent them from thinking about it after a while. They would have justified it, if anyone had been there to ask, by saying Yuu wouldn't know they were missing anything and would be able to live a happy life. When Yutu was born that made that outcome impossible, but the Marshal's office didn't think to check if Yuu was pregnant...
Shortly after they did that though strange things started happening. Monster attacks got more frequent, blot levels started rising, not to extremes immediately but still enough to be concerning. Reports of a strange, abyssal magic using beast, started pouring in to S.T.Y.X. suspiciously close to Grim's description. While Yuu was busy trying to put their life back together in their world, Twisted Wonderland slowly began to fall apart drowning under an ink colored sky. The overblot phantoms they fought come back and begin hunting in their respective homelands, and rumor has it they can turn certain mages into their thralls...
The curse slowly eats away at Yuu's brain, every time they see something that reminds them of their friends, their time at NRC, every time Yutu does something that would make them think about how much he takes after his dad, they feel a great deal of physical pain and temporarily lose the ability to function. It's killing them, and no doctor or specialist can figure out the cause, so Yutu just has to sit there and watch his parent slowly die and not be able to do anything about it. I was uncertain of where exactly I wanted Yuu to die in the story, but it always was around when Yutu gets isekaid to NRC, either before and he had to leave them behind or after when they both get to go home finally! But Yuu doesn't completely make it, they're able to have one moment of peace with their son and Professor Crewel before passing on.
Yutu's dad changes depending on who you want it to be of course, as does whether they met before he and his friends decided to go back in time to prevent this version of the future from ever happening, but his feelings about Yuu never changes. Yutu really admires his parent, he did even before he learned about them facing down overblots! They were really close and the more he learned about their curse, the more responsible he felt for their death. He's very determined to keep Yuu alive and safe in Twisted Wonderland in this timeline, even if it costs him his life.
His opinion on his dad really changes depending on who it is and what he learns about them. Like can you imagine learning your dad was known for being obsessed with teeth and no he had no intention of being a dentist? Clown behavior đđđ His friends were all ocs I made but never really developed... I do remember that one was a younger sibling of Kalim's (who could be his aunt if you like Kalim and absolutely embraces that role), her retainer, Crewel's son who also sees himself as Yutu's uncle (the feeling isn't mutual) because he is old enough to sort of remember Yuu and thinks of them as a sibling, and a random oc I based off of the kid from Up for no reason other than I like the movie. They also came back in time, but only Yutu ended up in the right place, just like fire emblem awakening.
idk I should probably do something with it. like writing the reactions for the other dorms...
#<3 asks#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#future kid au#i am so sorry if you wanted more domestic moments w yuu and yutu and got a lore dump instead#if you want those feel free to ask i need a distraction from the long fic i am writing ha
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Hourglass ft. Saerom
length ⊠15.6k
genres ⧠anal; fwb!Saerom
âŠâ§âŠâ§âŠâ§
Your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth, lips parched. Though you asked Saerom for water, you didnât need to be directed. You remember the important things. Cups in the third cabinet from the right. The water pitcher in the fridge. Everything else about her home is slightly off in your memory. An experimental flick of a switch, so she has yet to replace the lights in the range hood, and now they blink instead of being merely dim. Turn that back off. A different blender, no doubt more robust for all the shakes she makes. New polaroid photos of Saerom and her members on the fridge. Even pictures with Gyuri, but nothing recent as nine as you expected. So thatâs what one year looks like.
"Are you gonna hang out in my kitchen all night?" Saerom asks as she walks in, arms crossed and smirking. For all that's changed in Saerom's home, how little has changed with the woman herself? The blunt bangs are new and of course, youâve never seen this outfit, the flattering blue tube top and denim skirt, but you expected as much with all the clothes she went through. Beneath it all, though, was the same supermodel-esque Saerom. Emphasis on beneath. Beneath, what you were most intimately familiar with. Beneath, what youâre imagining at this very moment.
"Wasnât planning on it. just taking in how long itâs been," you say. "I like the new painting in your living room, the one with the flowers."
"Thanks. I made it, actually. Little hobby I picked up in our⊠downtime. But yes. You're right. It has been long." Her words are sharp. The next one is sharper: "Bedroom."Â
Saeromâs eyes fill in the rest of the directive. Now. Weâre going to fuck. Stop wasting time. Dumbass. You didnât realize how many words could fit in a gaze. Or some of those meanings are conveyed through her narrowed eyelids. You werenât fluent in the language of the unspoken, but that wouldnât stop you from trying.
In the time it takes to decrypt the whole one-word message (sheâll at least let you grab that drink, right?), you realize youâre gazing back.Â
Saerom shakes her head and laughs to herself. "Itâs like youâre doing this on purpose."
She walks away, but this lingering look of yours is deliberate. Saerom knows it as she looks back and now her smile is much naughtier. She might not know that youâre first staring at her bare shoulders. You want to touch them, massage them, lick them, kiss them, everything.Â
Water wouldnât help your thirst anyway, so you follow Saerom to the bedroom. The familiar last room of the hallway, on the left, its location is seared in your brain. Youâd know it sober but horny, and drunk but hornier, so you path in the same footsteps you always did. You only lag behind Saerom for self-evident reasons, your eyes on the target of desire, her pert rear. This time, with the close fit of her skirt, you can make out the shape of your favorite shape to make out with. Her cozy, pillowy thighs look perfect as ever to rest your head upon as well.
The mere act of walking into the room stirs heat in your core. You canât help but associate this room with the carnal. The only lights in the room are the moonlight filtering through the window and the warm lamp in the corner, and the dimness reminds you of your many restless nights.
Saerom sits on her bed, those thighs settling down and squishing in just the right way. Heat turns to pressure, in turn, turns into a cock imprint on your pants.
"I still donât like how you just stand there," she says.
Her words make you shift weight from one foot to the other. You should sit, approach, anything, but no, you continue to stand. "You leave me speechless sometimes. I canât help but watch."
"Thatâs sweet." Saerom gets up and walks up to you until thereâs barely any space between you and her. "But I need you to do more than watch. Especially since youâve taken this long to see me again."
"You changed your number," you say. But you already knew this was a flimsy excuse.
"And you couldâve DMâed me. Texted any of the other members." Saerom scoffs. "You couldâve tried. Anything. Apparently it took us literally bumping in the mall to meet again."
A centimeter from making out, minutes away from sex, this wasnât the time or place to bring it up. However, you had to bring it up at some point. When you hold her hand, Saerom freezes, caught off guard.Â
"Iâm sorry," you say. "You know me, how I overthink things. Itâs not like we were dating or anything. just, you know, friends that did a bit more than friend things."
"In that case⊠" The vexing half-smile, half-frown on Saerom confirms your self-awarenessâat least you know that youâre overanalyzing the shape of her lips. "You couldâve been a better friend."
Why do you talk at all? What a mistake speech can be. As you look down, away from Saeromâs eyes, your grip on her hand loosens. Despite being in this beautiful and blatantly horny womanâs bedroom, you think about walking away in shameâ
But her fingers clasp.
"Not this time."
Words into actions, Saerom grabs your shirt with the free hand and pushes you toward the wall. No, there is no escape, when you look down into the intoxicating image of her cleavage, when her breasts press up against you. Your cock hardens in your pants and pushes up against her waist, turning the rest of you into a melting painting (in which youâve become modern art and donât care to debate your artistic merits). All the worries disappear in a heartbeat as you recall this exhilaration. At one point, this was an addiction for the two of you: you were both in the middle of promotions and found time to fuck every day for a week straight. You learned her body inside and out.
Time to relearn.
Itâs 9:03, the clock above her bed.
You gently place your hand on the back of her head, the other hand between her tube top and skirt, feeling the warmth of her back.Â
You lean in.
The lesson starts with the taste of her lips. It might be sweeter than usual, or it could be time twisting the taste, though either way, the flavor honeys you in deeper. The focus of your touch is split between melting into her mouth and gripping, relearning, the various parts of her perfect body. What was a gentle hold becomes a clingier clasp of her hair, and she does the same to you. Another pull, Saerom grips the neck of your shirt, clamoring for you to somehow get closer (space between the two of you is at a premium). Your hand on her back follows the groove of her spineâno, make a detour to get a feel of the muscles in her lean back, lats, and all that. You end up under her top where you tempt to pull it off, but no, not yet, youâre getting a feel of things, reacquainting yourself. Warm skin becomes warmer, becomes the canvas for subtle beads of sweat. Get used to that too, because youâre guaranteed a full-body workout tonight.
Warmth spreads to her breath, or at least you gain a keener awareness of its heat on your lips, its subtle nostalgic taste. Awareness becomes a small thorn: you and Saerom need to breathe, so you draw back.Â
9:07, but it feels like 9:03 and thirty seconds give or take leaning on the side of give. When you look into her eyes instead of the clock, itâs not a matter of seconds or minutesâmonths that have passed you are coming back in these familiarly firing nerves, where spikes of bliss rewind you to the visceral parts of your memories.
With how Saeromâs hands are latching onto your clothes, under your clothes, she might as well rip them off now. While your lips return to hers, your hands are taking a more subtle approach, your fingers drawing and memorizing the lines and curves of her body. Starting at her forearm, you track her muscles, from her svelte but sturdy biceps to her firm delicious shoulders, the sum of her efforts working out. You remember her habits as a welcome contagion thatâs spread to you, the stretches sheâd do after an intense session of fucking, the ungodly huge jug of water sheâd gulp downâsimple things in your daily life that you took for granted. Then, her eager tongue slides into your mouth and youâre back in the moment, your digits moving toward the crook of her neck. She always had a particular sensitivity here, a simple press of your fingertip into her skin earning a surprisingly loud moan, though it might also be your tongue pushing back into her mouth.Â
You want to pretend that you can keep up this momentum of appreciating the small details, want to remind Saerom of your dexterity; however, your hands find themselves on her tits, over her tube top. Your squeezing and groping are only recompenses for Saeromâs mounting lack of restraint. Sheâs rubbing her crotch against your erectionâdoes she want to make you unload in your pants? Because she could, easilyâshe has one leg hooked around you, and sheâs making your massaging of her breasts seem tame in comparison to the nails starting to dig into your back.
Saerom and you have never kissed like this. Never kissed like you were trying to escalate from a little scrap to an all-out battle royal. Itâs not tongues sliding, but tongues dancing, not hands feeling, hands taking and sinking and grabbing as if you might lose yourselves another yearâwhy bother with what was lost, but instead, the things you will lose. The time, your mind, all control. Donât try. Let go.
Youâre only kissing, so why is there so much saliva? Each escape for air is made a mess by more and more thin bridging strands of spit between your lips, and more is exchanged when your mouths converge again. And you only take breaks for Saeromâs jaw or her cheek or her nose, giving each sculpted feature the kisses they deserve, and Saerom only takes breaks with her thumb on your lipâshe sticks out her tongue, showing off the bubbly spit sheâs pooled in her mouth, and youâre happy to receive before these breaks have to take a break: you need to kiss her again/she needs to kiss you again.
Youâre only kissing, so why is there so much noise? A deep guttural noise nearing growls from out of your mouth meets the unexpectedly cute high-pitched moans out of Saerom at the lipsâ points of contact, maybe amplified by the meeting of tongues or the lewd exchange of spit. But the erotic makes way for the romantic, and the two of you resonate in a shared low hum as you slow your pace, control your breathing, trade smiles and giggles and longing looks, no need to rush.
But then, thereâs no need to rush, and youâre only kissing, so why is your heart racing out of orbit? And this isnât close to the first time youâve kissed, so why can you feel Saeromâs heart beating the same hurried way? The answer is obvious in hindsight. The past is an eternity and the present is infinitesimally small, contained to a single point; that is, your hearts are making up for the lost time.
(Only kissing, yet pulses inside you already threaten to end it here, how embarrassing. (But then on second thought, absolutely nothing to be ashamed of with Saerom's unfair allure.))
All this in a kiss, in a pair of lips upon another. Two selves are reduced to two bodies, flesh and all. Look at Saerom when you pull away, and youâre back to two selves, mind and all. Swipe away the long hair thatâs fallen on her face, and help fix her thick bangs. She smiles at you.
Glance at the clock again, and itâs 9:18, closer to 9:04 in your mind. You might have discovered time travel.
She pulls you off the wallâyou didnât notice that you were sagging against it, that youâve lowered yourself nearly face to face with Saeromâand then she brings you toward her bed. A light push knocks you off balance, though you land on her mattress.
"Smooth," you say, and Saerom giggles.
You reposition so that youâre sitting on the edge of her bed. Soft, springy, doesnât make too much noise even when two people are testing the limits of its suspensionâyou remember all that well. The sheets always dried surprisingly quickly if you hung them outside overnight. Plus, itâs the exact height for you to place your feet on the ground, and for Saeromâs head to lean against your thigh. There, kneeling, as if home inside her home, she watches your cock twitch under your pants when she paws at it experimentally.
"And youâre frustrated when I watch," you say.
"Hey, you canât say Iâm just watching." Saerom rubs you up and down over your pants and your jaw clenches. "But youâre right."
When Saerom gets a hold of your shirt, you raise your arms.
"Youâre still in good shape," she says, smiling proudly.
"Thank you. I definitely donât miss the diets, but Iâm happy they got me in the habit of working out. Plus, you gave me plenty of motivation."
"Mhm." She traces your abs. They aren't washboard muscular (read, photoshopped) since youâre not lifting your shirt for audiences anymore, but they are decently taut, hinting at a six-pack. As you said, you were over the sort of daily sweet potato diet to keep that up. But for this reaction, Saerom's half-lidded eyes gazing at your midriff, youâll gladly keep up your other routines.
Saerom then tugs your waistband, taking both your pants and boxers an inch down, then another, teasing you with the incremental progress. You can only sit still and keep your hands on the mattressâ edge. When your cockhead pokes out, she smiles, then forgoes any inhibition, stripping you straight down to your ankles. Your shaft springs free, and it nearly hits her face, but Saerom instinctually dodges it. Saerom ducks under your dick, centering it over her face, and she lets out a long exhale. Warm air flows around your length, though the jolts racing up your body are cold.Â
"I miss this cock. None of my toys compare." With a light frown, Saerom rests her head on your thigh again. She lightly and playfully traces your shaft with one finger.
"You really know how to boost an egoâahh." Your jaw is wide, breaths ragged when her fingertip circles around your frenulum, the spot sensitive to her agonizingly light touch.
"Oh. Is that precum? Already?" Saeromâs narrowed eyes change focus from the slight pulses of your cock to your transfixed gaze, and that alone earns another white drop. Her finger traces up, and now sheâs drawing circles at the top of your cockhead, smearing stickiness around.
"God, Saerom. Youâre so fucking hot." Her touch pulls the truth out of you. It didnât need to be spoken, but by her smile, itâs always worth stating the obvious.
She licks her lips, cleaning a bit of drool. Breathily, Saerom says, "Fuck. Should I just make you cum like this? With my fingers? Itâs only fair. Itâs only been me and my fingers all this time."
As much as you want to fuck her every hole open, you canât deny that the prospect of being brought to the brim with her deft touch alone is tempting. "I said Iâm sorry."
"Maybe if you say sorry enough, we can fuck." Saerom puts one hand around your cock and sheâs barely doing anything, a lazy twist here, a half tug there.
"Sorry," you say, your upper teeth latching on to your lower lip. "Seriously. I miss you. I shouldâve at least tried a little harder."
"Oh, weâre getting sappy now?" Saerom adds another handâone isnât enough to wrap fully her fingers around youâthough itâs still awfully insignificant motions, sending erratic sparks throughout your body.
You shiver, hiss, and tense up. "Sorry. Please."
"Fffuck, I like the sound of that. the way your voice catches in your throat." She reaches down for your balls, jumpy at the faint graze of a nail. "What if I just milk out everything? I know how much you can cum. That would be so hot. When was the last time you came? Were you thinking about me?"
A week ago, and yes. Of course. You donât want to admit those, and neither will you admit that a whine is coming out of you, yet even if you were silent, your hips are bucking on their own as you fuck yourself into Saeromâs hand.
Saerom says, "Oooh, are youâ"
"I canât take it anymore." You pull her up then push her back down onto the mattress, then youâre on top of her. You support yourself above Saerom with one arm and look at her carefully. Her face is a masterpiece, her body the work of a master craftsman. At your obvious overflowing lust, she looks to the side, bringing her wrist up to her mouth in a gesture of embarrassment youâve never seen from Saerom.
Saeromâs reactions renew your confidence as if time never happened, so doubtâs seed could not have grown how it did, and you carry a sure smirk inspired by the cockiness once found on stage. Youâre reminded that despite your indecision everywhere elseâwhy the two of you never progressed past mere acquaintancesâyou were a man of action in the bedroom. Thatâs what Saerom wanted out of you. Saerom being shy might be an act, might be sincere, but it works either way. With this new upper hand, you grab Saeromâs wrist to unblock her face, too pretty to be shy about.
"Weâve done this plenty of times," you say, pinning Saeromâs arm to the bed.
She turns her head toward you but she canât make eye contact. "Itâs been a while."
"You're right. It has been long." You go in for a kiss, and she closes her eyes; however, you dodge her face.
"Fuck you." Saerom hits your chest and pouting. Then, her lips transform to a different contortion when you go straight for the neck. "Hnn, not too much. Remember last time you left hickeys on me? My makeup artist wouldnât stop teasing me about it."
"Maybe I should mark you enough that makeup wonât be enough," you say, and her eyes go wide. "Iâm kidding. Just a little payback for teasing me with your hands."Â
So instead, you aspire to leave your small marks on the other parts of the body. Where no one else but you will see. First, a softer kiss on the end of her collarbone right under her neck. With the floral notes of her shampoo mixed with the fainter sweetness of her body wash on her soft skin, your nose is tempted as you kiss along the rest of her collarbone up to her shoulder; from there, youâre led down to her armpit.
"Your body is perfect, Saerom."Â
Sheâs already ticklish from the playful kisses of her armpit and her ribs, but something about that crook under her arm compels you to lickâitâs the scent of her body wash once again, as well as a hint of vanilla, possibly from deodorant. Saerom is also starting to sweat, lending a barely noticeable musk and salty taste, and that only fuels your tongue further.
"Stooop, nh, nuh, no, why do you keep licking there? Itâs dirty," Saerom says, squirming and laughing. This high-pitched tone is unfamiliar, easier to imagine coming from one of the maknaes such as Jiheon or Nagyung instead.
"Itâs not." Youâve slathered her armpit in saliva by now. "Kisses arenât enough. Every part of you deserves to be worshiped. What if I worshiped your whole body with my tongue? Gave you a tongue bath?"
Saerom canât look at you anymore, yet she canât stop smiling. "Wh-whatever you say."
You soon leave her armpit to fulfill your promise. Youâre leaving a light trail of saliva down her arm, you suck each of her fingers, the knuckles, the interdigital folds, leaving no stone unturned. Returning up to Saerom's shoulder, you realize your folly of asymmetry, having only licked and kissed the right side of her upper body. You swipe your tongue across her neck.
"I donât know what it is, but I canât stop thinking about your neck or your shoulder or your collarbones. Should I take my cock out right now and jerk off onto them?"
She bites her lips, and her thighs rub together.
"Just imagine your neck and shoulders all drenched with cum. Dripping down to your tits. I swear I could leave a whole river of thick white semen down your cleavage, make a mess of your tits just as collateral damage," you say as you finish your job of licking up Saeromâs left arm, shoulder, armpit.
With your rising initiative, Saeromâs hands canât lie inactive by her sides. She first adds to the rubbing of her thighs with her handsânot enoughâreaches between her legsânot enough. You know this, have seen this, enough to understand sheâll be on a tortuous brim for as long as youâre not inside her. And so be it, her decision to make, because youâre happy to let her dance on that dizzying outskirt as you pull her top down to her midriff and kiss and lick her breasts. Going in a circle around each one, you find yourself lingering much longer here, again covering her skin with saliva as you sense every goosebump with your tongue. Here, on her sizable tits, youâll leave the marks that sheâll think about when sheâs on stage. Under whatever stage outfit sheâs wearing will lay your claim, your worship, and no one else will know but you and Saerom. Sweet secrets, another unspoken language.
The noises that come out of Saerom when you suck on her nipples arenât speech but theyâre too loud to count as unspoken. Your tongue, lips, teeth, and every part of your mouth partake in playing with the nubs as they harden but before long, you pull the top back up. Youâre carefully slow because you want to see her breasts squish against the deep neckline of the clothing before itâs hidden.
Slow breaths and raised brow, Saerom glances at you with your sudden intermission.
You tell her frankly, "Itâs a cute top, and I want to watch how your tits jiggle when you ride me."
Her quiet, acknowledging "mm" becomes a longer hum when you move downward. You take time leaving a kiss on each rib before worshiping her perfect abs with your tongue. Though you can feel Saerom writhing under you, youâve been too focused on your task, so you look up to see her reaction. However, as you tongue at her belly button, she doesnât look down at you in return; instead, Saerom is arching back and looking straight up at the ceiling. Her hands flatten on the bed, right by her head, elbows up. Every muscle is stretching, tensed.
"I didnât think youâd like this as much as you do."
At your words, Saerom finally looks at you, her eyes unfocused, and she only nods, lips tight.
When youâre done with the upper half of her body, you decide to multitask. If she could form words, sheâd be begging for you to move up instead of down from her thighs, but youâre also removing her skirt while you move down to her feet. After you unbutton and throw the skirt off to the side, you give her toes the same treatment as her hands. A thorough tongue washes each ridge, each sole, until her body is tongue-bathed top to bottom as promised.
All except for one part. Looking at the dark spot on her blue panties, itâs safe to say your mouth has plenty of cleaning left. You donât mind doubling back with your trail of kisses up her leg, especially since it earns more cute strained noises from Saeromâs lips, and then itâs a third and final path down her legs.
"Saerom, watch."
She mouths "fuck" as you bite the waistband of her panties and gingerly pull.
From her waist to her knees, the panty-pulling with your teeth was careful and teasing. You want to say you kept your eye contact the whole way through like a suave playboy, but a glint in the corner of your vision steals your attention. Saerom is immersed in the whole range of lightâs temperature, the cool ambiance of the moon, the dim yellow of her small lamp, yet it seems all of light has collected onto her dewy slit. The thought of tasting her nectar hurries you. You stop using your teeth, your now feral hands damn near tearing them off from her ankles.
"Woah, careful withâ"Â
Then Saeromâs mouth seals when you seal your mouth around Saeromâs pussy without hesitation. This feels right, home, the past in the present, between Saeromâs thighs with your face right at her crotch. You donât feel a drop of shame because thereâs too much dripping already. Two dark pink wavy foldsâyou set your thumb on one, index finger on the other to hold them in place. The destination of your voyage of kisses and licks, you give plenty of passes of your tongue to the swelling nub of her clit, passes of your lips to her lips. Are you drooling? Or is that Saeromâs boundless juices? Either way, they mix in your mouth, the salty flavors, the addicting musk, and the slightest metallic tinge.
"Fuck, thatâs delicious," you say while you gauge her response. You didnât notice until now that Saerom has two hands in your hair, or that sheâs pulling and pushing you to return to your station. You delay a moment to tell her: "Am I remembering wrong? Iâve never seen you this wet."
Saerom first works through her ragged breaths before she can talk. "Yeah, agh, I havenât cum in a couple of months. Youâd be surprised. How busy Iâve been. And, I guess, I was hoping, this exact thing would happen."
"You know you couldâve called too, right? DMâed me, whatever." Youâre surprised you had the wherewithal to bring it up while Saeromâs slick is on your chin and lips.
Saerom whispers, "Iâm sorry." Then she closes her mouth. Her grip on your hair loosens.Â
Of course, itâs too late for regrets and apologies now. You revisit your favorite place to taste in the worldâfuck a restaurant, fuck a bar, everything you need to taste and drink is right here. And quickly, thereâs no way Saerom can keep her mouth closed or her hands off your hair with all the oral pleasure you give.
"So, so good, good, ahh, fuck." Saeromâs tongue canât stay in her mouth, dangling casually as her jaw opens wider in bliss.
As your right hand spreads her folds again, your lips suction and your tongue laps at the top of her cunt, servicing her clit, as well as below, digging deeper at the source of all the wetness. You lick exhaustively, collect every drop you canâyou can't. Too much leaking fluid to avoid making a mess of her sheets.
"Fuck, fuck, goddammit, fuck."
Though your free left hand is mindlessly on your cock, stroking, thereâs no actual need to touch yourself. You could be as hard as steel as long as youâre eating Saerom out. You heighten Saerom's stimulation, sinking your fingers into her thighs, kneading and massagingâearn a few giggle-infused moansâthen you move to where your face is being turned into a canvas, a girl-cum rag. There, you add a finger, then two into her slit. Now your mouth and digits are working in tandem, pumping in and out, exploring her pussy, relearning, to turn Saeromâs brain into mush.
You couldâve been doing this for two minutes or two days, fuck the clock, fuck worrying about time and its immaterial decay on the world. Itâs only when you hear Saeromâs profanities die down that you slow down too.
She works up the ability to talk again: "S-stop. I love how you eat me, but I need to ride you. Now."
One last kiss on her pussy lips. "I was thinking the exact same thing."
In honesty, you were also thinking about how your jaw is tired or how your neck is strained, but those wouldâve been fine sacrifices to make for Saerom. If you needed to stay there an hour to make her cum three times, you wouldâve done itâmaybe that wouldâve made up for a lost week? So just over two straight days to make up for a whole year? No matter.
Saerom nudges at your shoulder and gestures for you to get up. It takes a while for you to reorient yourselfâright, sheâs just lying in her bed as if it were any other night, except youâre in between her legs. She sits up and scooches over so that you can replace her reclined position. Listening to Saerom recollect her breathing and watching her stare at your erection pointed straight at the ceiling, you realize sheâs also reorienting herself. Donât give her time: you grab Saeromâs hand and she falls right on top of you, hands at your sides. A mirror of your stances moments ago. Sheâs surprised at first, her mouth in a circle, and then her smile grows. This smile deserves awards, and more light, if only you had a floodlight on your face. All you get in this room is a dim ambiance, but youâll take every photon you can get.Â
Traveling in time, you think about when you and Saerom fucked the first time. Five years ago, you were both rookie idols without the luxury of a bed. Far bolder back then, Saerom was riding your cock in the dark corner of an empty sound stage, and your hands and back were meeting the cold hard floor, the two of you risking your careers for a spontaneous fuck.
Now the two of you are in different places in your life, yet you end up in the same place regardless.Â
Guess itâs 9:34:40âyou canât actually look at the clock above and behind your head as you lay in bed, and Saeromâs hair is in your face.
A breath, and then youâre overwhelmed by Saerom, her tongue in your mouth, her hand on your cock. Youâre happy to lose control at this moment. For the rushing thrill of the idea of this beautiful idol fucking you, or for the physical manifestation of this desire, her pussy embracing your cockhead in the first penetration and the weight of her body and her kiss all crashing into your heart, you gladly sacrifice this exact minute for the compressed eternity to compress further, too much to contain, and it uncollapsesâwhat was a single point containing all the beauty and warmth in your head becomes a cascading chasm, a pointillistic cloud, each little dot a snapshot of all the sensations. Beyond thrust for thrust, your thoughts flash ripple by ripple.
Saeromâs cunt slowly slides down as she pushes against the girth of your cock. Your hands are trying to compete for tightness of grip on her asscheeks, but theyâll never compare to the closeness with which her labia grasps around your cock. The tangy taste of her juices lingers on your tongue, mixes with her mouth's taste when you kissâmostly the saltiness of saliva at this point, though youâll drink up every last drop. You smell sweat and the trace of sex against the sweet scents of her skin and her hair. Listen to the slow squelch of her soaked hole because for once youâre both silenced by this kiss, deeper than before; open your eyes, watch Saeromâs need in action, and take in that every stimulated sense is but a small part of the single motion of Saerom lowering her ass into your crotch.
It was never that deep was it? It was just sex, just a basic carnal act. There was longing, there was the low light of the room, there was a closeness you forgot, and none of it mattered. For all this thinking, there is no real thought or purpose. Thereâs nothing so profound about it except for how much happens all at once, and in that inundation of self, the simple profane is newly profound. Balls slap against her ass. It is that deep.
Guess itâs 9:34:45, and it doesnât matter what the time really is for the rhetoric either. The seconds have been stretched like Saeromâs pussy around your dick. The dots have danced.
She takes in the feeling of your length all the way inside of her, her eyes wide when she looks at you as you stop making out. You have to resist the urge to spank her ass, to start pounding up, upside-down jackhammer, so your hands slide up to her waist holding her.
Saerom feels her midriff, and you notice the slightest bulge of your cock against the slimness; she rubs it. "Fuck. I miss this. I miss you."
Somehow you find it in yourself to snark: "Weâre getting sappy now? While Iâm this deep in you?"
She growls quietly and holds your jaw. "Shut up." And if her words werenât enough, sheâs back at it with her tongue finding residence in your mouth.Â
Saerom then pulls away from Earthâs gravity, lifting her ass. It isn't nearly as slow as the insertion, but it's just as serene a sensation. All the pulling and pushing, itâs everything you remember with Saeromâitâs more. Riding your dick becomes effortless for Saerom, gravity barely a nuisance as her bouncing hastens. Second nature returning in seconds.
Youâre becoming less of an active agent, more of a recipient of pleasure, barely holding on by Saeromâs waist. While you certainly feel like you're pounding her pussy, sheâs the one putting in all the work. You can imagine itâs tiring for Saerom, but if itâs half as good as it feels for you, then any amount of exhaustion doesnât matter.
Her unbridled passion eventually subsides though, replacing the forceful slams of her butt with slower and more conscious motions. Though she still has her lips on yours, itâs a lazy placement. Not as much of a kiss. You'll take it. Saerom also isn't bothering to support herself with her arms by your sides, opting to lay on your chest instead. Your cock goes in, tick, tick, tick, out, tock, tock, tock. Many beats, many seconds, and many breaths between each plunge. Then, even the slick sliding of Saeromâs cunt on your cock gives way to more of a grinding motion. She twists her hips, bringing her ass around in erratic ellipses. A whole new host of euphoric sensations on your cock. Youâre reacquainting with her tender inner muscles, clenching on your shaft. Your fingers around her midriff press into her skin, your eyes roll back, and you have to tense your jaw.
A grinding halt.Â
Saerom is inert, warming your cock. Her head is on your shoulder, mouth on your neck (while not actively suctioning, the sensation of her plump lips sends shivers throughout your body regardless). She stirs, straightening her back again. Thereâs no way you want to let go of her waist, want to have her stop kissing you, want to remove the weight of her tits and whole body on top of yoursâSaeromâs curves are ergonomic with how well they fit on youâhowever, she sits up, her knees on each side of your waist, back straight. Your dick is a stanchion, its tip poking at her entrance, and you donât mind trading the feeling for the image.
A grinding start.
Instead of only feeling the twisting and the back-and-forth movements of her hips, now you get to watch it, doubling the thrill. Saeromâs eyes are filled with lust and sheâs biting a finger, her other hand on your shoulder. Everything about Saerom hypnotizes you, and you canât keep your hands idle. You return to sinking your fingers into the mass of her ass, then youâre exploring her curves again in this new context.
There's a large mirror leaning against the wall across from you, right in position to show off Saerom's backside. This is the first time this year and this night that you've got a good view of her bare butt. Perfectly round (you'll redefine circles to be second place if you have to) and ample enough for your digit to make a significant crease. Her ass is a famed masterwork, lusted over by many but not seen in true pure form except by the incomparably fortunate you.
Upon your renewed vigor and thirst, Saerom restarts her ride, the chaotic grinding becoming a focused lifting and dropping of her whole self. She has to hoist her knees up to squat on your cock. The image is accompanied by sounds, making the trade worthwhile. The flesh of her ass slapping and slamming against your crotch echoes her bedroom, some slick noises in there too. Her hands clench into fists by her side as she savors the stretch of her pussy.
This brings you back to the last time you fucked: a year ago, in a love hotel, a careless drunk hook-up. Saerom rode you cowgirl expertly then, and it seems sheâs only gotten better now. Youâd think the self-admitted lack of practice would showâbut once more, she proves that time hasnât passed between this year and last.
While Saerom seats herself into your perfectly plumb penis repeatedly in her cowgirl ride, not missing a beat or bounce, you get exactly as you wish: the hypnotizing view of Saerom's tits jiggling in the confines of her blue tube top. You get the most beautiful demonstration of physics with each bounce of her breasts. Then you take physics itself into your own hands, grabbing each breast and squeezing over the fluffy fabric. At your rough fondling, Saerom lets out some higher-pitched whimpers in between her constant pleasured groan. She rides down into your cock harder, and you let go to see how wildly her breasts can bounce. Saerom's mouth is open in bliss; yours is more in awe, her breasts bouncing up and down as if wanting to be freed of the top themselves. You'd be inclined to agree.
Thus, with a grunt that gets Saerom's attention, she stops bouncing and lets your dick rest guts-deep inside of her. She shudders. You sit up, a burn in your abs that you cast aside. Saerom raises her arms and you pull upward, watching her boobs squish, then pop out from under the tube top. You're tempted to re-clothe her just to see that again (squish, pop, boing, immature sounds accompanying the sight in your head). However, with the article of clothing already around her elbows, you might as well finish the job. No more hesitation, you toss the blue top right into her laundry basket (nice shot).
Saerom pushes your chest, returning you to your recumbence. You don't mind her forcefulnessâin fact, you cherish whenever Saerom handles you roughly. You know exactly what that leads to. She lifts her entire body up, unsheathing your glistening cock, then drives herself back down. This first bounce is deliberate. She's watching your reaction, no doubt giving you a satisfied smile because of your weak groan or your face twisting with pleasure before she restarts her ardent riding.
Yet again, all these places for your eyes to land uponâher thighs jiggling as she springs up and down, your cock appearing and disappearing inside Saerom, the thin sheen of sweat covering the entirety of her flawless skinâyet there was only ever one possibility after flashing through those equally addicting sights. You're fixated on Saerom's soft tits, unrestrained by the shackles of clothing. They freely ripple, rise, fall, rise again, her nipples drawing some invisible erratic path in the air like the chaos of a double pendulum. There is no predicting the movements, but you're staring as if you're trying your damnedest, knowing that you'll fail. Happy that you'll fail.
"What do you like better, hmm? Watching my tits bounce with or without clothes?"
What an intriguing question. (You're jealous of her ability to form cogent thoughts in this situation.) You're not sure. Obviously, seeing her tits completely exposed, her brown nipples in plain view is a sight you never want to relinquish. However, the bounce of her tits within the tube top is oddly compelling. It's the sort of view you could get equally as an audience member or as an average fan replaying the same three seconds of a fancamâyou get the privilege of getting to see this Saerom from a whole new angle.
Not even the most advanced camera can capture the full extent of your senses being. The perfect POV video of Saerom riding cowgirl will never convey the heat of Saerom's core, the constant clamping of her cunt around your cock.
But then, if you had a camera and had to hold it right now, you'd have to let go here in confusion.
Saerom leans forward and places her hand palm down on the bed by your sides.
You're surprised at her action and, at her hitherto wordlessness, you're also surprised at her saying "I'm going to ride you as hard as fucking possible."
What an intriguing declaration. Wasn't she already doing that?
She lifts her ass and does not lie and rides you as hard as fucking possible. Never doubt her. You knew intensity came in the form of horny Saerom, didn't know it could lift your soul past the stratified layers of atmosphere above this very home, where jet streams blew past and didn't compare to her speed or didn't compare to the air knocked out of your lungs.
Wanting to hold back from cumming, you slow downâwell, you want to slow down, but it's not really up to you, judging by Saerom staring off into space with a slack jaw, by the insistent motion of her hips. Maybe she'll ride your cock until you both die or neither of you may die and she'll be fucking you cowgirl until heat death? She's in a trance, cock-drunk, lust clouding her brain, and you have the same fog, though the fog is also pulsations that you want to delay. Now a dynamic duo, heat and pressure cook inside of you, and you could unload and breed and fill Saerom any second now. You have to physically hold her from fucking into your cock.
It isn't until your fingers grip hardâyou might even be leaving traces of nail marksâthat Saerom is pulled out of her rhythm, panting. She whines and pouts and after brushing her long hair aside, looks at you with an empty-headed expression. "Wh-what?"
You try your best to maintain composure, but really your whole body is dedicated to clenching every muscle so that you don't orgasm on the spot, despite her now sitting still. "Reverse cowgirl," you say, keeping up your false resolve.
Saerom nods mindlessly, raising her ass. It's more honest of her, commendable, to eschew the pretense that she had anything in her mind. She gets into position for reverse cowgirl, kneeling with her legs hooked under yours, her ass placed right in your lap. Instead of a reflection a few meters away through the mirror in her prior cowgirl stance, now you get a perfect close-up. Sweat, pores, goosebumps, all that texture in the dim lighting of her bedroom. More than ever, you want a spotlightâhaving no such device, you aspire to paint bright red with your handâsmack, a loud one, like a whip on her right cheek, and at once you get the vividness you want.
She gasps and looks back, the vixen smugly grinning as if to say "one more".
It's too easy to fall in, to give her what you want, and her left cheek recoils nicely in the same way. It's tempting to keep going, to keep submitting to the little diversion that makes this moment and night last forever. But if the shape of her ass is tempting, her tight asshole is a drug to an addict, and you've unknowingly abstained for far too long. Right now, do it, take your cock, align it with the entrance, and thrust into her. You want to⊠but you also know better than that.
Besides, Saerom takes the matter into her own handsâhand, as she reaches back to hold your cock. She softly places your shaft between her supple cheeks and after a quick wiggle of her hips to situate herself, she starts sliding her ass up and down your length. This buttjob alone is enough to make your balls twitch, to make you jumpy at the prospect of cumming early once again.
Her rhetorical words don't helpâ"You know how many times Iâve thought about you and fucked myself in front of this mirror?"âbecause now, you're picturing it, and the images overlap in your mind. In the mirror and in your imagination alike, her deft fingers are teasing herself, crawling between her legs, and rubbing her clit. In this imaginary world, the juices from her cunt are being wasted on the floor or on the sheets or on a towel if she were so poised; in the real world, there is no waste, as this nectar finds its way onto your cock, whether it be dripping right into you or by her moist hands reaching back to keep your shaft in place.
The undulation of Saerom's hips is much gentler than her previous rideâshe must have recognized why you wanted her to stop in the first place. You'll happily take the sparks of pleasure that this lazy friction gives you, your cock neatly nestled in the crack of her backside.
"I can even show you later," Saerom says.
"Show me what?" you ask.
"Ahh, don't worry about it." Once more, she grabs your cock behind her, but this time she's twisting her whole upper body to look at you. There are so many targets for your inevitable cumshot: her arched back has the perfect valley for your seed to run down, toned muscles to paint white; the thought of cum streaking down her tits could make you bust on the spot; and sullying Saerom's alluring face is naturally a favorite pastime of yours, especially making her sharp jawline drip with cum as you feed your load right onto her lips, or maybe you should make a mess of her bangs.
Anyway, what were you supposed to be worrying about? Whatever it was, it wouldn't matter compared to Saerom aligning your cockhead at her entrance, plunging your whole length at once, at twice, at thrice, and then it's a blur of bliss.
You want to say it's the same as a few minutes agoâafter all, what's the difference except turning aroundâbut her velvety walls surrounding your cock feel completely novel to the regular cowgirl position. Your shaft is pointed at an angle different enough to give you whole new sensations of pleasure, and if not for the momentary reprieve of the teasing buttjob, you'd climax in the first few thrusts. That doesn't include the whole new visual stimulation of her perfectly perky ass lifting and dropping in rhythm, its fleshy weight ricocheting with each downward collision.
Again, you feel inert, more like a toy being used than a person having sex. In a way, it's fine, natural even with Saerom's eagerness. There's only so much touching and fondling you can do until it seems a waste of energyâyou don't need to do anything to keep Saerom bouncing on your cock as long as it's hard. And for your part, you're getting sweat and moans and jolts of pleasure extracted out of you without any effort. However, naturally, you want more participation, to feel more involved.
Therefore, your first course of action is to sit up, breaking Saerom's rhythm, and she looks back at you, her breaths heavy and sporadic. It reminds of you the classic ending fairy, her chest rising and falling, but you get to watch her breasts in their full bareness moving with each exhalation. Then, you grab her with two hands by the waistâby now, a gesture you've repeated a hundred times, and thus you know exactly where to put your fingers to have her held still, like her hips are handles. Keeping up this tight grasp and never fully unsheathing your cock, you reposition the two of you until you're both kneeling, with you behind Saerom.
Her back rests against your chest, and her long hair is right in your face. You take a moment to smell Saerom. Maybe her shampoo is lavender or roseâyou're a Flover, not a floristâbut for certain, you havenât smelled it before. Then, you brush her hair with your fingers, all disheveled by the continuous bouncing and riding.
You take a nibble of her ear, and you can see the whites of Saerom's eyes for a moment in the mirror, your face next to hers. "My turn," you whisper into her ear.
Saerom gulps, barely maintaining eye contact in the mirror.
This position, inspired by JAV, is perfect for your goal: repay Saerom's passion by getting the leverage to piston into her pussy as hard and fast as possible. It starts by taking her arms, hanging listlessly at her sides, and pulling them behind her back.
Caress her face one last timeâcall it the moment's final tranquility. The silence save for the air passing your lips. The darkness save for glimmers of light, the night in the window.
Your hips snap into place, back and forth, cock going in and out, rhythm accelerating all at once, drag racing. You're already at your top speed, your peak strength, fucking your whole soul into Saerom. Clap, clap, clap, the audience and the performers on the stage of the bed are the same. The uproarious applause cannot be conceited because neither of you has your hands free.
Saerom yelps and moans, and you can't tell which is wider between her mouth and her eyes. The observational task through the mirror becomes harder as her hair swings wildly, long dark strands haphazardly strewn about her face, plus you get distracted by her breasts swinging even more wildly.
At least you now have an answer to Saeromâs previous open question.
Each of your words is punctuated by one or two or three thrusts (actual punctuation omitted for readability): "Canât believe I havenât fucked your tits yet or your throat or your tight littleâ" Well, these plunges are powerful enoughâCLAP, CLAPâto merit the interruption, as it completely breaks the flow of what you were saying "âasshole. Fuck!"
Asshole, fuckâyou want nothing more than to do that Saerom right now, temptations and jitters and dry throat as you look down and see that vulgar entrance, and it completely breaks the flow, slows down your thus-far dogged pace.
Her hands are shaking so you let her wrists go, and you expect her to fall forward (youâre looking forward to that, arenât you? Saerom face down ass up, a lucid dreamâs image); instead, her limbs limp at her sides, and she leans into your chest, returning the warmth and sweatiness and softness of her backâfirmness of her lats and shoulder blades.Â
She takes a deep breath. You nuzzle your chin onto her neck, and Saerom gigglesâthen sheâs silenced when you wrap your arms around her: one arm around her tits, compressing them while you toy with a nipple in your hand, with the other arm around her neck in a stranglehold. You aren't aiming to asphyxiate Saerom (the force of your cock can make her as light-headed as you want her) but rather, to have her whole body in your complete control, manhandling her like a plastic sex doll.
Itâs fair play to how she rode you mere moments ago (or maybe itâs been much longer; the clock might tick above you, but its count is worthless in this situation). You didn't need words to know how much she enjoyed this push and pull. You could hear it, see it, every sense attuned to your mutual pleasure. Youâre not just fucking Saeromâs plush cunt. Youâre pinching and rolling her nipples. Youâre sucking on the back of her neck.
Emboldened by the few weak moans that escape Saerom, youâre back to that ardent rhythm, though long and deep strokes of your cock are replaced with quicker and shallower drives. Two people canât get any closer than this. Your dick is repeatedly entrenched in Saeromâs cunt while the rest of Saeromâs body is held tight in your embrace. Close but thereâs distance: she canât look at you, her pupils rolling up.
This hold becomes tedious, even with Saerom having the defined abs to give her core strength for days. What would be a relaxed positionâthe two of you kneeling, Saerom in your lapâbecomes tiring when it involves the exercise routine of sex. You take all the pillows from behind you, place them in front of her knees, then push her down with a hand on her back with the pile of pillows for support. You're positioned perfectly so that her face is at the edge of the bed, more importantly, visible to the large mirror opposite to the bed.
Look at yourself. You're exhausted, crease lines on your face, sweat on your brow.
Saerom's exhaustion is more beautifulâif not beautiful, compelling (it is beautiful, donât philosophize now). It makes you want to pump harder, to find out if you can drain her of her stamina first. A tall task, you've seen the woman's more intense workout sessions too, experienced it first-hand in your past marathon weekends of fucking.
Hissing, you carefully extract from Saerom, then smack her reddened sore buttcheeks with your shaft. Her fucked cunt gets some cock-slaps too, a tactical delay that earns a few cute yelps from Saerom. If youâre going to cum, youâve decided itâll be here, with Saerom face down, bent over pillows, her ass up for you to squeeze, watch jiggle, and plunge into. Doesnât mean youâll cream her cunt in one more stroke. Savor this as long as you can.Â
One more hit of her pussy lips with your dick. A dripping string of her juice flicks off.
A fistful of hair, you pull while you begin slamming your hips forward. You shove your cock inside, again and again, a slow rhythm, no rhyme, like there's a point you're trying to make by fucking Saerom into the bed. If there had to be a point, itâs that your dreams materialized too easily because even your lucid dreams didnât go this well. And further, though not much further, following this logic, you fuck Saeromâs pussy with thoughts of another hole. An even tighter hole, somehow. Too tight. Visions of Saeromâs anal grip have your fingers digging into Saeromâs back, have you pushing too hard for this denouement. You have to be measured about your penetration, needing to pull her into you. If nothing else, ensuring she doesn't slump past the edge of the bed. Saerom is the pile of pillows underneath her, soft and lifeless and you wouldnât mind spending all day in her.
Burying and unburying yourself into Saerom, your dick is soaked in slick and raw, sore. All this pounding is getting to you. A heady mix of hormones and heat. Youâve done your job. Saerom can barely keep her eyelids up, her every breath heavy and slow. She doesnât even move.
This is your final ramp-up, the pace almost numbing, and then the internal throbs come out of nowhereâyou canât delay your end much longer. These past few minutes have been completely devoted to your stimulation, so it was only a matter of time. You push your knees down into the mattress now, having to hold onto yourself as much as Saerom. (What part of self youâre holding onto is a question you wonât or canât answer.) feeling the familiar pulses of climax in two of your strokes, you're tempted to clamp down on her waist and keep your cock buried inside.
But then, you look at her ass. The roundness is so perfect and, like with her face, the only thing worth doing to perfection is to flaw it.
Here begins the end of all journeys.
Here, in this beautiful moment, you understand, the dots, tiny prickles of pleasure were grains of sand. They return in an overbearing way. Your mind is an infinite beach, where time stands still and then gives way to waves and the tangy orange sunset. This is sweet and fruitful perfection, the orgasm temporary but more real than any existence can claim. The shape of Saeromâs body, the sandcastles, the nostalgic memories, youâre damn near tears at the thought, but this is a cry of bliss as you moan and let everything out.
A long first short of semen lands on her back, creamy white streaking down the dips. With Saerom bent over, the cum runs down toward the back of her neck in the central valley of her spine. You're tempted to keep unloading there. But, after seeing her ass rise and fall, you then aim for her buttcheeks, giving each one an equal amount of love, mixing sweat with seed. You watch them clench as Saerom feels the warm sticky load, watch them ripple as heavy breaths make her whole body lurch back and forth. How hypnotic the pendulum. You cum more ropes than you expected, absolutely drenching her backside. You only know that Saerom is awake because she brings her hand to her neck, where your semen collects, then licks her hand to taste.
The two of you catch your breath. You want to sit against the back of the bed, your body slack and lacking energy, but you take the initiative to grab a big handful of tissues and clean the mess you've made on Saerom's backside.
Eventually, you and Saerom lie on the bed. She holds your hand. You look at her and let quiet wash over you both for a while.
To break the silence, you ask, "You okay?"
The end of the journey is only the start of a new one. Cyclic. Possibly infinite. Saeromâs answer to your question is a question: "Do you want to fuck my ass?"
You pause. Definitely infinite, judging by time's nonmovement. The answer is obvious, your "yes" breathless and nearly the neediest you've found yourself.
"Iâm gonna shower," she says. "Also, Iâll need you to get hard for me again."Â
"Iâll help you clean up then." After all, what could re-spark your erection more than soaping Saerom down, watching water drip down her curves? But when you get up, she places a hand on your shoulder.Â
"I have a different idea." Saerom grabs her phone, opens up photos, and goes to the hidden album.
Your jaw drops while she smiles, stands, and heads to the bathroom.
Top left of the screen, 10:04, but never mind the time. Youâre not sure where to begin, so you open the latest. A simple selfie in her bathroom with naught but a towel around her waist, the steam of a hot shower in the air. You didnât think a selfie could be art, and then you see her wet hair and the droplets of water making trails down her tits, and youâd proudly have a print of that hanging in your living room.
Careful, donât go crazy stroking yourselfâwait, when did you even start doing that?âkeep a casual pace of your hand up and down your shaft.
Spoiled for choice, you tap the gallery at random and find a video of Saerom on her bedroom floor. Her clear suction dildo is attached to some large book, weighing it down. Clever. (Note that the proxy cock is about the same size and shape as your real one.) She aligns its silicone tip, looks at the camera, wasnât lyingâyour nameâs but a whisper as she sinks down into the toy. Then she starts riding, and you understand her practice was studious. Itâs like a dance perfected, how she makes her body move on her knees, tits bouncing, eyes unwavering. The same way she was riding your cock earlier. So thatâs where she got the practice.
There are plenty more racy images, particularly artful ones of her nude silhouette as a shadow against her wall and less than artful pictures of fingers spreading her perfect pussy lips. Other short videos arouse you equally: a 2-second video of Saerom pulling her jeans down to her thighs, enough to show off the squish of her butt cheeks; an 8-second video of Saerom taking off her shirt in a public toilet to flaunt her bralessness to a mirror before running to a stall at the sound of the door opening; and an hour-long video of a cheerful Saerom dancing to various songs, nude in her living room. Actually, that video was only 7 minutes long. Felt like an hour though.
The sound of water flowing from the bathroom stops. Saerom should be coming out soon. You didnât realize how tightly you were gripping your shaft.
Itâs unbelievable the sheer number of pictures and videos there were in the phoneâs gallery. Had to be at least one for every day since you last met her. Itâd be difficult to quantify which was your favorite, and which one you would masturbate to the most.
However, the answer was clear. The hottest video, or set of videos, was yet another dildo. This one isnât as girthy as the clear suction dildo, as she holds it in her hand. Two key differences. First, this pink phallus had little marks on it. Each subsequent video had another mark, a centimeter deeper. In some of the videos, sheâd be fully nude while in other videos, sheâd have a hoodie or oversized shirt on, but nothing else, leaving her bottomless. Sometimes itâd be daytime, birds chirping, sun shining into the room, and other times, it was at night, dimly lit as the room is now. Second, and more importantly, is that every video had the same format: she sat comfortably in her bed, legs spread, then she took lube, coated her fingers (initially one, but then it became two, three), and slid them in her assâthe fingers were only the start though; afterward, she kept her anal entrance relaxed as she spread lube onto the pink dildo, then slid the toy inside herself at an extremely gentle pace.
She had already been able to take your dick in her ass, though it wasnât the most pleasant experience back then. You enjoyed it visually, but seeing the strain and discomfort on Saerom put you off of it (not to mention the wrenching tightness for you, barely inserting a third of your length). You thought youâd have to save the anal experience for another day. Didn't think it'd be today. Plus, the mere concept of progress here, the enjoyment sheâs having, is somehow making you harder than ever, as if you didnât just cum five minutes ago.
You can even find where Saerom hit a plateau in the middle of the collection of anal training videos. She had a pout on her face and rolled her eyes when she couldnât push the pink dildo deeper inside her asshole. In the next video, she tried the same length but with a bullet vibrator on her clitâeven used tape to hold it. Not only did it help, to get the toy deeper inside, but she also squirted all over her phone camera.
The door opens, greeting Saerom to the sound of her moans from her phone until you quickly pause it in surprise. Nothing on but a towel. Picturesque. In her hand, a bottle of lube.
"Oh, hey. I remember buying that," you say, pointing to the bottle. "Did it expire?"
"I didnât think about that." Saerom examines the bottle. "January 2024. Should be fine."
She stands in front of you, drops her towel, and you thoroughly examine her figure. The hourglass curves, you want to make her toss and turn, forget the time. The sole sure sign of the time's passage is that night falls differently, moonlight mixing with the small lampânow on the ground, not sure when that got thereâcasting subtly new angles of shadows on Saerom. In all lights, she looks ethereal, contrasting her casual attitude. A light smile, she dusts off her bookshelf. A light step toward her desk, she readjusts a potted plant. Like she forgot you were here for a moment, a light giggle as she remembers your presence and takes her phone back.Â
"I take it you liked what you saw?" Saerom declares, rhetorical.
Right, you should nod here. So nod. But youâre holding your breath too, nodding emptily. Youâve decided she doesnât look ethereal; she is ethereal, immaterial, of another world. You canât touch her even though you did, consequences of ethereality you can hardly endure. Endure you shall because you must. Her nude form is unmatched. Her ass is unmatched. Your hands on her ass were a ghostly dream.
Saerom walks around the room, cleaning more. Youâd offer to help but youâre simply awestruck, your eyes like a hawk. She fixes the lamp, the pile of pillows, and the clothes laying around on the floor.
Returning your gaze, she eyes your erection. Saerom points, and youâre back in position, and she's back to the floor, lube still in hand.
You sit on the edge of her bed. Soft, springy, doesnât make too much noise even when two people are testing the limits of its suspensionânow you're sure of it. With the wet mess, hopefully, the sheets dry as you remember. Your feet are right on the ground, but there's something different this time. The tension and doubt of earlier are silent; if you had to take a stab at it, you've never seen this sort of raw hunger from Saerom as she's kneeling between your legs. Your cock twitches, free in the air, when she licks at it experimentally.
"You donât have to do this. Your pics kept me hard as a rock." Look, a statement as dumb as not contacting Saerom.
You're fortunate that Saerom is set on getting your dick in her mouth. "Shut it," she says, "you know how much I love sucking this dick."
"Right⊠but remind me."
A smirk tugs at the corner of Saerom's lips, then a soft exhalation. The warm breath sends tingles through your cock to the rest of you. What is there in the rest of you? You can only wonder when Saerom starts to give the same licking worship to your cock as you did to her whole body, spending as much time bathing you in her saliva. Her tongue is soft, wet, and all over your shaft, and the smooches on your cockhead plant your feet down into the ground. Your fingers curl. Five into the air, five into her hair. Let her go. She has work to do.
Saerom, relinquishing her momentary trance, opens the lube bottle. She squeezes a dollop onto her hand, can barely match the amount of saliva that sheâs already drooling. Saerom tries her best to go to work, to give you a blowjob while applying the lube at the same time. Her palm rubs the cool lubricant onto your shaft, fingertips work all the half-viscous fluid around your whole cockâmakes sure plenty is under your tip (does that part even need to be lubricated like that, or is she just toying with you?)âthen she uses her dextrous tongue to spread the lube further. Pulling back, Saerom seals her lips on your cockhead, cheeks hollowing as she sucks and uses both hands to stroke you up and down. Sheâs diligent, but all that lube ends up being washed away by the excess of spit from her eager mouth bobbing down into your length, impulsively taking you into the back of her mouth. A waste, though youâre going to buy new lube for her soon. She has work to do, and youâre not stopping her for now.
You can tell that taking you into her throat isnât on purpose; however, Saerom is so captivated with sucking your cock that she ends up gagging a couple of times. You're worried at first, pulling your hips back, but Saerom looks at you with puppy eyes and a pout on your cockâas if to ask why you took away her favorite toy, and imagine a harrumph for theatrical measure. At the unexpected, unspoken brattiness, you raise your hands. If she wants saliva streaming down her chin to get your full length into her throat, so be it. So be it that she wants her eyes to water.
A question Saerom wonât answer, too busy: you've already given her what she wants, so why is she whining and humming on your cock like it isnât enough? Then you realize she knows what she's doing, knows how the vibrations are getting from your cockhead to your real head. knows how the foamy slobber makes her lips feel extra soft and pillowy. Amen to all the fluids, holier than water can get.
Having eaten her out however many minutes ago, you empathize with how tiring oral service gets. When Saerom finally pulls back from your dick, she exercises her jaw, moves it side to side, and stretches it.
Fix the thick strands on her forehead, putting the bangs back in place. She might have just showered, yet you could easily have mistaken her damp locks for being wet with the mess sheâs made in her blowjob.
Saerom wipes the excess of saliva and licks her palms, then grabs the lube. This time, sheâs more careful. More handiwork spreading lube than mouthy work as she kisses and tongues your tip with greater restraint.
In such a sensitive stateâyour previous orgasm wasnât that far in the pastâeven the faint grazes of Saeromâs tongue draw out involuntary moans from you, and your mouth is a tight contorting curve. Something of a smile, something of a frown. You manage to ask regardless, "How does it taste?"
"The lube? Itâs a little sweet, but not the best flavor. Here." Saerom squeezes a drop onto her hand and offers her finger to you.Â
You wrap your lips around her middle finger, and you forget you were supposed to be tasting something as you made eye contact with her. Saerom smirks back. Is it a fruity flavor? Maybe itâs flower yet again, to match her shampoo. Doesnât matter. You keep her finger in your mouth, and she laughs when you give it a soft bite before she takes her hand away.
"I, for one, prefer the taste of this cock." Saerom licks in a circle. "Itâs musky and sweaty and salty, and I love it. Especially when pre-cum comes out like thisâ" she tongues at your cockâs slit, and you shudder.
Pretend that time is unwavering, a force inerrant, yet your mind can do so much to trick you, to make the past/present/future all toys in the same room converge. Turns to dots, to visions. You could be sitting here as you are, a passive man for the rest of your life (for all you know, this night will be the rest of your life), or you could be making good on promises.
You have work to do. This is the unthinking reverie of a man possessed by visions of a single thing youâve been waiting for, for a year, for a lifetime, for dreams eternal. Donât call it a reverie. Your actions are not light. You pull Saerom up from her kneeling stance, a hint of unnecessary rabid strength. This force is used in place of words, forgoing language in a new way. Your grip on her hand says something. If only you could say what it is. And she never liked when you just stood there silent, but her mouth is open and her eyes are needy.
Her brows are raised when you shove, and her yelps are unsurprisingly filled with surprise when you bring her to her desk, unforgiving in how you lever her arm back, grab wrist, animal thoughts, smack, one, two, the orbs of her ass jiggle. Youâre in a human place, a human still. Posthaste, clearing the haze in your head, you clear out the stationery from the middle of the desk. Thereâs the rest of her, perfect, yet it middles to the true perfection of her asshole. You lay your cock between her asscheeks, left hand cupping their heft.
Saerom needs something from you, but sheâs so beautifully compromised. Her arm is bent back, her wrist tight in your grip. Her legs are straight, but you see the buckle in her kneesâitâs taking active effort from Saerom to keep her ass lifted in the air for you. All the while, her face is right on the desk, and she twists her head to look back. Sheâs pleading with her eyes. Put it in, put it in. Why say it out loud when the soft whimpers tell you as much.
Despite all the primal force and exhibition, youâre no animal. As much as you want to dive straight in and impale your whole length at once, she needs to acclimate even with her diligent practice with toys. Besides, it gives you an excuse to admire her ass when you push your lube-covered cockâs tip against her tight sphincter. Leave it there, for a breath, for two. Deep breaths. Long breaths. Breaths that let you stare at Saeromâs ass until time ends because youâll never tire at the shape outlining sublimity, the weight so perfect, the firmness of the glute muscles, the smooth and light skin marked red by your hand and beginning to bead with sweat, the crease into her equally ample thighs. Your tip is at the start of anally penetrating Saerom, and all you can think about are the two surrounding cushions. You will never tire of staring at Saerom's butt.
You do tire of having only your tip in the chokehold of Saeromâs tight entrance. So eventually, you push in, a glacial rate, a tectonic rate, eras, timescales for scientists. The minutes dilate like youâre pushing against a law of physics, a speed limit, even if your length is plunging into Saeromâs ass as slow as it can. New paradoxes, record it. The waves propagating throughout your body, at one inch, at two inches, three, four, five, etc, record them. The snug ring of her asshole is almost at the base of your shaft, yet thereâs a complete saturation of bliss, record it. All this pleasure must be recorded rigorously in your mind as charts and tables flash by in an attempt to put numbers down to the innumerable.
Saeromâs back arches on this first penetration, her eyes rolling up into her head, where she isnât thinking about anything, and now you arenât either. Saeromâs anal walls are built like a cocksleeve to hug and clamp around your shaft. With this inexorably tight hold, you canât move, a statue, marbled by pleasure.
Looking back at you, Saerom frowns, her thinking returning. She doesnât speak but she says why the fuck arenât you totally inside, and you can hear it out loud in the bedroom only filled with ragged breathing. In frustration, she lifts her ass higher by tiptoeing, and you have to grab something, the edge of the desk, her waist, whatever you can. You look down, and her legs are trembling now. Long groans escape you and Saerom when youâre finally guts deep, finally inside her ass with your whole length. Never have you gone this deep inside Saerom; the last anal attempt was more half-assed. Now you're stretching Saerom in places she didn't know she had, content with her warming your cock.
You pull back, squeeze a bit more lube on your cock for good measure, and begin anally fucking Saerom in earnest. Canât let patience rule you. Her pussy is tight; this ass has a complete throttlehold. To ram into Saeromâs asshole means you succumb to the constriction and thus what would be a torrid rhythm is turned spasmodicâfierce, yet subject to fits of paralysis, where you return from fleshly lust to scientific observation. Metrology in mind, you measure the precise amount of your dick inside of Saerom's butt, calculate the forces with which her asscheeks jiggle.
Nothing so surgical about your hands as you pull by her hair bundled in your fingers, enough to lift her head off the desk. Saerom looks at you with a nearly crazed frownâno, thatâs her smile upside downâmad lust in her eyes, and teardrops every time her asshole is impaled by your shaft, down to the balls.
As much as youâre fucking Saerom, Saerom is fucking you. Regardless of her submissive position bent over the desk, she backs that ass up into you, and her smile shifts from smug to wild to docile and pliant with every thrust.
Thrust back and you see her gaped asshole, the width and consequences of your cock's pounding. Itâs winking, at a rapid rhythm somewhere between her breaths and her heartbeat.
Who cares that you're in the middle of fucking Saeromâs unmatched assâyou can't help but get on your knees.
"Oh, fuck," Saerom says, "what are youâohhh."Â
Your tongue finds itself in Saeromâs used and stretched-out hole. One hand is holding an asscheek with a firm grip while the other hand is teasing her pussy lips. You drive your tongue deep enough that her asshole canât just relax, canât just ungape itself from being this well-fuckedâitâd be a waste of effort and time, and you havenât eaten out this perfect ass yet. The flavor is foreign but welcome, or whatever. Your lips refuse to release from her widened hole regardless of taste, and your tongue will rival Gluttonyâs sin in your relentless analingus. If you do release, itâs only to kiss each of her plump cheeks, to give them the love they deserve, but her anus deserves more love with the bliss it sends to you. Give that love, and romance is returned in a thrumming moan, vibrating through the wood of the desk on which Saeromâs head lays.
In search of deepening that pleasant noise, you fully focus your handsâ attention on her leaking cunt. There were already clear strings leading from her slit to her thighs, from between her legs to the floor, but when you begin to insert fingers into her untongued hole and circle her clit, the leak becomes a whole-hearted drench. Saerom near crumples, slumping at the desk, your active hands keeping her from totally sliding off. The pitch of her voice heightens, and her whole body shakes.
"Iâm f-fucking, cu-cumming!"
Your fingers are battering into her pussy, your tongue is sloppily tending to her asshole, and youâre kneeling next to a puddle growing as the spray from her cunt reaches its maximum pressureâ
Catch her. As she shudders and limps into the floor as you envisioned, you hold Saerom as you two sit and inhale and exhale and inhale andâand slowly now, exhale.
"Slowly now, exhale," you say.
Saerom turns her head, eyes like a stray cat fed. Look deeper, and itâs more like thereâs nothing there past the scleraâs white, the irisâ dark brown, dim of her pupils. The colors and shapes are all in the right places, sure. Nothing. Stroke her cheeks, its high bones, and her nose and her jaw. Be careful with those. Donât get a cut on their sharp edges. The thought evolves: how sharp can she be? Her words and glare can cut, at times. Here, sheâs feathers. Sheâs clouded; no, she's clouds. Sheâs fur. Looks back at you, the quietest smirk, like this one doesnât say anythingâshe can be a cat, sure.
Though your breaths are now steady, you have to carry her as you relocate your two bodies to the bed. While Saeromâs orgasm has racked her, you are not faring much better. Truly flagging, it takes a whole minute until youâre both lying on the mattressâthe clock you forgot or pretend not to care about said 10:28 with its longest hand up, then 10:29, longest hand up again when you look again.
Your arm under her neck, Saerom looks at you. "So weâre done for the night?" she asks.
You laugh weakly. "Youâre asking like weâre not."
Saerom rolls her leg over your waist, hooking your erection between her calf and thigh to make a point.
Again, your laugh has little air to it. As much as you want to go on forever, spend all the moonlight fucking Saeromâs ass, you donât have the energy left to move. You close your eyes, sorry in your heart for ignoring her succubine advance for a final round.
Youâre going to sleep. One or five or thirty minutes pass. Canât tell. The internal hourglass is too tired. Sand wonât even fall. There should be an ending here regardless.
Weight. Instead of an ending and empty darkness of sleep, weight, and heft, the now intimately familiar but always welcome warmth and plushness of Saeromâs butt against your crotch. You feel her hair scattered on your face, tickling and itching, and you half open your eyes, but you stay stock-still. Instead of next to you, Saerom is lying on top of you.
You shouldâve known this would happen. Itâs not the first time sheâs done this to you, not even the first time on this bed. When you were stressed from the responsibilities and the changes of your new non-idol occupation, you answered a Saerom booty call, expecting to have fucked out your tension and worry. However, the moment you lay on her bed, you fell asleepâthen woke up to Saerom sliding down onto your cock like it was a bomb that would explode at the slightest bump.
You didnât complain then, and when you watch Saerom apply lube on her thighs, making them shiny and wet, you donât complain now. The muted glimmer of her pale skin, her thighs giving way to your cockhead as it pokes out with each slide, yet those donât compare to the loving caress of her flesh on your shaft.
Saerom must know youâre awake. Thereâs no way you can ignore the coolness of the lube on your tip, or her finger smearing the small beads of seed on your slit. She carries on yet, the sluggish up-down motion of her legs becoming a back and forth: she moves forward to slide your length against her pussy lips, then moves back to give your shaft her thighs' full embrace.
You buck up into her labia, her thighs, and thatâs when she gives up the game, a chuckle as she shakes her head, moving hair off your face.
"Look at you," she whispers, "pretending to be asleep."
You groan when she grasps your shaft carelessly. "I didnât want to interrupt."
She sits up, grabs the lube, applies more to your length by stroking and twisting, then guides your cock into her asshole before leaning back into your chest.
Kiss her neck. Lightly, with pecks, you didn't forget. It matches the verve with which Saerom fucks her ass into you.
That is to say, none.
Unlike with the desk, this is the laziest anal sex youâve ever had. Every few seconds, a deliberate rolling of her ass. In, out, this piston couldnât drive a toy car. Thereâs purring like a car anyway: guttural sounds from deep within your throat, Saerom matches them, still not used to the brute stretching of her asshole. If her pussy is a natural moist velvet that enveloped your cock, her asshole is the closest thing you can imagine to a sex toy, made to wring your cock out, lube fully necessary for the tightness. She's almost stuck on your shaft, making each act of pulling out a whole grippy ordeal.
After enough of this lethargic penetration, you endure the ordeal and unsheathe fully.
There's only one way this can end. You truly understand how this night is a cycle. The giver becomes the receiver; the subject becomes the agentâthe push and the pull are bound in sequence.
Never any words to communicate the time to switch where they aren't needed and are a waste of oxygen by now. (You, the liar or the fool, must know you're fluent by now.)
You peel Saerom off your cock, setting her aside on the bed. You're not so gentle when you flip her over. She sits up, kneeling, facing away from you (facing the dear enemy, the clock, above the head of the bed). Hands on knees, she wiggles her ass and looks back at you. The soles of her feet are equally inviting, toes wiggling. (You want to bite them.) She bites her finger. Never fails to make you act.
You're quick to your feet, standing by the edge of the bed, and then grab Saerom's waist and pull her toward you. Falling forward, she gets on all fours.
Push.
If the rest of your life could be defined by pushing and pulling with Saerom, that would be fine by you.
Cock in her asshole, nothing more.
Fine, there's a little more. You're holding your shaft, your thumb on your tip, and you tease Saerom's anal entrance one last time. even if this hole has acclimatized to the exact mold of your dick's shape, evidenced by its continued gape, you can't help but savor a final time. You rub your tip around in a circle.
Enough of that. You push an hour into a minute, pull a minute into a second, push a second to the wayside. There is no truly timing in the animalistic act of doggystyle, especially not with Saerom. Hands in her hair, hands on her back, hands spanking hard against her ass, hands cupping her breast as you bend over and kiss where your fingers dug in, every thrust consolidating into one. You're under some self-made thrall, and Saerom is in that same complete thrall. With her feet keep kicking up at the sheer bulldozing force into her very guts, you take one moment of not having her ass in your hands to knead her soles. Then you're back inside, making sure that mold-tight hold of her asshole is perfectly set, or whatever was there is being rearranged. How you're fucking Saerom on all fours, it's like you're rushing for an ending, and you get what you want soon enough.
A single fiber of your being and your soul (in other words, hormones and nerves) becomes a quivering fire, then two fibers, then four, and the pretty pattern flowers into something equally pretty in its chaos.
As this night can't last forever, the doggystyle position canât last either.
She falls back down, face onto the mattress, and she spreads her legs in a split. You keep pounding, your false energy like the retreating soldiers of a battle sounding off their final shots, and as you do, you massage her ass. Saerom shouts into her pillow at your throes, though it's equally spaced with satisfied hums at your unfailing handiwork. Hands are the only part of you that fail to fail. You want to fill her insides with cum, to destroy the crumbling dam of your restraint. Want to paint her guts white. Want becomes need. Youâre fucking her hard enough to turn the necessary into the truth.Â
"Saerom, IâmâŠ" Finish your sentence. You canât.
Saerom has her own idea about this ending anyway.
She pulls herself off you. Her tight anus is reluctant to let go of your pulsating cock (you empathize). Saerom rushes to your waist, crawling down to the floor and onto her knees in front of you. It gives you a second to breatheâno, it doesnât; Saeromâs lips are sealed around your cock already. By the look in her eyes, she wants to suck your soul out. All uncertainty thrown aside, she pushes herself down into your length with a repeated rhythm. Each loud and forceful gag of her self-throatfucking comes with a mess of spit that stains her bed, waterfalls onto the floor.
However, you have the final say.
Grab her hair, pull your cock out of her mouth, and stroke yourself as you aim down.
The first shot hits her chin, dripping, but the other jets of cum cover her neck, her shoulders, and her collarbone, exactly as promised. There are no revelations in this orgasmâunfortunately, you havenât been superhumanly recharged. The edge of your sight blackens and your knees halfway give out. For this is purely physical. Pure hormones and static sparking pleasure to your body as you stroke your cock to Saeromâs visage and form, and quivering fire is jittery lightning when you cover all that unblemished skin in sticky cum, vulgarizing, fulfilling promises sexy.
Your mouth is dry. Everything else too.
A phone is handed to you. A picture is taken. A smile is on her lips. (A final lesson, smiles don't drip the same way cum does.)
There should be an ending here, but see, climaxes are the true ending, and the true ending is just a necessity. As you and Saerom cuddle, there is an understanding. Comfortable, but uncomfortable. The future, a future, between the two of you exists in some uncertain state. The two of you might find something deeper in this bond, or might never know anything more than friendship and sex. Donât think too hard for now. It exists unspoken, for now. Whatever would exist is far away from the confines of this bed, and this hold on her body, and eyelids lowering with the understandings between you intertwiningânot solved, but trying; if it were solved, then you would just say it right now. Weâre together. Weâre not together. Weâre just fucking. Who cares. If it were solved, there would be no ambiguity to the ghost touch of Saeromâs fingertips on your back and a breath trying to let a word out but letting that warm air become past sand in the glass bulbs and the upper bulb is damn near empty.
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AFF, AO3
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Love & Ruin 2
Synopsis: After being hidden away for most of your life your mother decided to stop being protective. However, there is one rule you cannot break, DO NOT associate with your uncle Aegon. Of course, it's the first thing you do, and you both quickly realize you will be each other's inevitable downfalls.
Pairing: Aegon Targaryen x You (daughter of Rhaenyra) Warnings: cursing, smut, dubcon, more smut, manipulation, possible murder, obsessive tendencies, incest, SEVERE mental illness, helaemond is canon, failed plots, a disaster wedding, just targ things, too many warnings to count honestly Word count: 10k Note: I am a bad person. Im sorry it took me so long to finish but my life is a cluster fuck of bad and worse and it is a blessing I havent yeeted myself into hell. Pt three is alr in the works unlike this one. PS Helaena's and Aemond's plan did work. I just didn't directly mention what it was...yet. Anyway, I hope you enjoy (if you're still interested) Tags: @lovelykhaleesiii @caffein8me @llearlert @introverbatim @ladybug0095 @yazzzmints @heavenly1927 @rinirinse @aelora-a (srry it didn't let me tag some of you.)
âBe quiet,â Aegon growled into the ear of the whore he chose to warm his bed this morning. The squelching sounds of his thrusts slamming into her cunt echoed throughout the room. She stifled a moan and dug her teeth into the pillow below her head. Her voice did nothing, only reminded him he wasnât you. Aegon tried to get girls who resembled you but none pleased him the same.Â
Today was an especially bad day for Aegon and mayhaps he was taking it out on the whore too much. Her cheeks were stained red from his slaps and surely her cervix would be bruised by how hard he was pounding himself into her. He had good reason though; you were returning home.
It took five years, but he almost was able to move forward with his life. You still plagued him in his dreams and there was a constant tugging at his heart everytime your name was brought up. You simply existing reminded him of the only time he was ever happy, and he clung to the memory like a baby clings to their mother's tit.Â
His family was very determined to keep you away. It worked successfully, he hadnât heard nor seen from you at all. Every letter, every flight, every potential unsavory way of stalking your whereabouts was immediately dispelled. That was only within the first year, at some point he gave up. Aegon knew you would come back at some point; you were in love with him. But days, weeks, months, and years passed and still he received nothing.Â
The idea they had turned you against him murdered the last bit of hope he had. It was one of the many things that formed him into the âmonsterâ everyone believed him to be. The first was being born the first son yet being ignored for his elder sister his entire life. The night at Driftmark was the second trauma that seared a mark into his heart and brother's face forever. The third was the forceful marriage to his sister.
Aegon scarcely remembers that day or the night afterwards. He used milk of the poppy to ease his mind to the point he could hardly stand during the vows⊠he doesnât know if he actually attended the first dance. He does remember the bedding and it makes his skin crawl.Â
He was forced to walk into and perform his own rape. He didnât want it and would never want it. There was no daydream or drug strong enough to make him forget. It was awful in every sense of the word. Aegon cried during it and then he cried after it. No matter how much he scrubbed himself in the bathing chambers he could not free himself of the feeling of disgust. Then there was the overwhelming guilt that came after.Â
Aegon never touched her again, never really interacted with his own children. Why would he? He was an accomplice in her suffering as much as his own. She didnât want to marry him either, she didnât want to bear his children. He could never be a good husband, lover or anything of the sort to Helaena. She deserved it, he thought, to have someone who could care for her. Someone who could love her like a wife⊠not like a sibling.
But that would never be him and it ate him alive like the disease killing their father. She was too kind, too pure for him or any other man at court. She was stupid, yes, but with a larger heart than any of the women heâs met combined. Yet, he never brought himself to do his duty to stay loyal and cherish her like Alicent told him to. The only good thing he ever did for Hel was leaving her alone, it made her happy to be free of him. In truth, it would make everyone happier if the world was rid of him completely.Â
Maybe his life wasnât over yet, maybe there was still a shred of hope for him left in the world. The reason he used to be happy was returning to him. Even if it was to marry another man⊠He could sort that out easily enough. When Aegon first heard the news, he wasnât as calm. HeÂ
He could take back what was his and become the man everyone wants him to be⊠Or heâll drag you down into his depravity with him. It didnât matter, either option was a severe improvement from the existence he was currently suffering.Â
âAre you ready to be back?â Jacaerys inquired whilst trying to tame the loose curls on his head. The carriage ride from the doc to the keep had proved to be dreadfully long and boring. Luke was seeping anxiety that made the entire car tense. âAemond, Aemond, Aemond, heâs gonna take my eye! Heâs gonna kill me if I go back!â The chants of a scared kid really did threaten to send you over the edge. âJust apologize, Lucerys... Heâs not going to do anything while grandsire is alive. Nothing is going to happen, just say sorry before it does.âÂ
Everything you said fell on deaf ears. His fear was expected, he took his uncle's eye and received no punishment. Granted, after hearing both sides it seemed inevitable for someone to get gravely injured. You still genuinely believed or at least convinced yourself a simple apology might just keep Luke alive for a few more years. âNo brother, I would rather be at home,â you muttered in a near whisper.Â
Jace, always the obedient son, was oozing confidence completely unbothered by the situation. He learned that from Daemon, never let them see you falter, especially the Hightower cunts. âItâs because of him, isnât it?âÂ
Your heart clenched, a sorrowful reminder of your childhood beginning to boil to the surface. A whirlwind of memories threatening to break you.Â
You learned how truly codependent you were on your uncle. Without him you had become a shell of whatever it was you once were. Your insecurities reigned supreme as you had an insatiable need for approval from everyone. That meant doing everything you were asked and then some to become the greatest version of yourself you could be. You took care of people, especially your brothers whom you felt the full burden for. You were the eldest and you allowed them into a situation that got them hurt and another child maimed.Â
It wasnât just your insecurities; your moods would take a turn quicker than before. At the drop of a hat, you could be raging or hysterically crying. Sometimes you didnât even understand why. You became obsessive over little things that didnât matter in the grand scheme of things. For example: how your dresses were fitted, how your hair was styled, and what you ate and drank. It wasnât in the front of your mind at the time, but you did things in the way he always preferred.Â
Without him, deciding on things became hard. You never needed to think before because he did it for you. Not only that but you became a chronic liar. It wasnât on purpose, sometimes things would just slip out. You were great at denying any problems you had and chalking them up to your blood moon. You denied any relationship with Aegon and defended him more than he deserved. Especially since he so carelessly abandoned you. No letters, no visits, he left you with fucking nothing. You started to convince yourself you never loved him; it was just pity. You had a burning desire to rescue him and mistook it for genuine affections.Â
Four years ago, almost to this very day the invitation to the prince and princessâs wedding had just reached your doorstep. You learned that day just how much you did love him because when the letter was read you cried so much you vomited. You stopped eating, stopped sleeping, stopped doing all the things you love and rotted in your bed waiting for the pain to subside⊠Or for the stranger to take you.Â
The image of him touching her the same way he did you, the idea of him whispering the same things he did to you, the way she would cry out his name like you did⊠It made you want to rip your hair out and peel your skin off. She probably had an extremely elegant dress; the throne room was probably filled with music and guests, and they would ride their dragons together to show off their union⊠You tore all the clothes he liked to shreds and punched a hole in your mirrorâŠÂ
Originally, you never had any disdain for your exceedingly kind and misunderstood aunt but now it was pure untamed hatred. The jealousy was incredible, truly you would be confined to a prison cell if you acted on the things you thought up.Â
You could kill both of them and end the war before it even started. You prayed she would miscarry the twins, it didnât happen. You prayed he would get too drunk and die from alcohol poisoning, obviously it didnât happen. You prayed the entire keep would be set on fire and everyone within it would die burning in flames just as your father did⊠it did not.Â
You were never good enough for him. He abandoned you and left you to rot after taking something so important from you. You were a fool, a naive idiot. The fear of being abandoned personified ever more when your mother gave birth to two legitimate children. Everyone was going to abandon you and it was driving you insane. You had mastered the art of pretending, no one was able to tell what was underneath the surface.Â
Jacaerys was really the only person who noticed the change. He was the only one who saw through your lies and facade. And he was the only one who genuinely helped you overcome the complete insanity you had sunk into. He pulled you out from drowning in a sea of madness and kept you afloat ever since. In turn, you felt a little guilty for your wicked thoughts and desires, but you were atoning for them by good will and actions.Â
Still, sometimes late at night when you were alone, he would come back. The memories would come flooding in and sleep would evade you. He had burned a scar into your heart that never fully healed and probably never would. According to your mother who said the first heartbreak is always the worst and most memorable. You didnât want to come back. You didnât ever want to see Aegon Targaryen again.Â
âNo, itâs because- â You hit your head on the back of the car, knocking the air out of your lungs. The carriage came to a halt, catapulting Lucerys forward into the other seat. Jacaerys bursted into uncontrollable laughter as he rubbed his forehead from the impact.Â
It was a great start to a visit, a crash landing. Surely, not foreshadowing the rest of your adventure. As you unpiled from the carriage a welcome party stood there waiting for you. It was unexpected, seeing your grandsire there in decent health, you heard he was much worse.Â
Then there were the Hightowers, looking as if they wanted to be anywhere but here. Your eyes scanned over them one by one, Alicent wore her plastered fake smile as usual, Otto stood too stiffly and only looked at Daemon, Aemond looked ready to murder you all. He was far different from what you remembered, tall, slender, and handsome even with one eye.Â
Then there was Helaena⊠Completely disassociated from whatever was happening and mumbling under her breath. You smiled, the rage you felt before when you imagined her was gone. You had actually healed and successfully moved forward. This was good, so great you could even hug herâŠÂ
Until your eyes moved to her left. The sunken feeling in your chest blossomed into a new monster threatening to devour you. Your smile faded; your heart began erratically pumping blood to all parts of your body. Your knees locked in place trying to keep your balance.Â
Aegon⊠Aegon was only ten feet away and yet there seemed to be miles between you. It was a joke, a great joke, he looked more gorgeous than he ever had. His hair was cut to frame his face perfectly, his jaw was more defined, his dark circles brought out the beautiful sea blue that surrounded his pupils.Â
The smile that adorned his face was larger than any you had seen him wear prior. His eyes twinkled with childlike glee. The corset you wore became suffocatingly tight and the heat in Kingâs Landing began to make your head spin. Your breathing was rapid, a million emotions coursing their way through your head.Â
Aegon took a step down the stairs, your body wanted to flee but you were frozen in time. Another step, all the air in your body left you. A third step made all the bile in your stomach rise to your throat. His feet touched the ground, and he strode towards you, the world started to spin, your mind racing with the worst possible outcomes.Â
You blinked, for a mere second. You reminded yourself it had been five years; he had no hold on you anymore. He was a monster, a terrible man and a worse son. Aegon was not going to get under your skin, you were not going to falter in front of him. You were better now, you moved on, you were mentally healthyâŠÂ
You opened your eyes, inhaling a deep breath. He was one pace in front of you, âNiece.âÂ
Disappointment, Aegon was riddled with it every day and today was no expectation. He was so excited his soul wanted to jump out of its skin. But no, the second he approached you passed out and all the sudden he was the villain. What could he have possibly done a foot away to make you faint?Â
Unless you were too excited to see him, your heartbeat too fast and you fainted. It would make the most sense, reuniting with the person you truly love would send anyone over the edge. It almost made him faint when he first laid eyes upon you.Â
Gods you were so much more beautiful than he could have imagined. You had grown into a gorgeous woman, easily the prettiest one at court. Your eyes sparkled like diamonds, your hair flowed perfectly down your face, and your cheeks still flushed bright pink when you saw him. Â
Your dress hugged your figure in all the right places and the things he imagined laid beneath made him insatiably horny. Control, he had to remind himself itâd been years and he needed that. It was hard considering the two days youâd been here he had only seen one glimpse. One quick glimpse in the courtyard before you were stolen away again.Â
Your chambers were only a few hallways away and he could see you anytime he wanted. And yet, Aegon had to plot when to corner you. There was not only a hoard of guards following you around every step you took but Jacaerys clung to your skirts like a lost orphan.Â
So, he waited and waited⊠and fucking waited until he was practically ripping the hair from his skull. The lack of your presence was okay on the first day, the second it was tolerable but by the third day it became suspicious. Impatient and spoiled, his motherâs words rang true more and more each day.Â
It was increasingly clear that it wasnât just them keeping you from him, but you were putting extra care into avoiding him. What did he do wrong? The stalking? The letters? The gifts that were never opened. It was all obvious professions of love⊠Why would you be uncomfortable with that?
Aegon was nursing another goblet of wine as he sunk to the floor. His face felt wet as if he were crying⊠Was he crying? His body to the point of numbness he could not tell any longer. Sadly, it seemed the wine was not working to cure the ever-disheartening thoughts in his mind.Â
You were going to get married and forget all about him. They hadnât given him a single opportunity to attempt to carve his way back into your heart and most likely werenât going to. What was the reason for living at this point? The one thing he yearned to touch was so close yet so far.Â
He scoffed at himself. Aegon was no tragic poet, but he was beginning to sound like one. It was the alcohol, a new type probably causing his episode. He went to grasp the corner of the table to stand up, but his legs could no longer withstand his weight. The contents on the table along with his own body fell to the floor.Â
Not one of his proudest moments to date. Â
âYouâre pathetic,â an irritating voice laced with superiority drew him out of his head. âBrother, have you come to visit your- I mean my children? They arenât here.â Aemond clenched his jaw once, twice until he let out a deep breath. There was no point in arguing with Aegon, there was no winning against someone fueled by pure delusions.Â
He would never come to see his- Aegonâs children in his room. They would be with their sweet mother far away from the monstrosity they called dad. âWeâre all being forced to attend her wedding tourney.âÂ
âWhen?â Aegonâs eyes lit up and the sunken expression finally lifted. âAt dawn,â Aemond took a step back before the smell of wine, sweat and uncleanliness of three days seeped into his nose. âFor the love of the seven take a bath!âÂ
Hope, there was still hope left in the world! All of the sudden he had awakened, the whimpering pathetic mess he was a few moments ago was long forgotten. The gears in his brain began turningâŠÂ
As Aemond strode out of Aegonâs chambers a new plan formed into the mind of the monster himself⊠âLittle brother,â he sang with a cruelty only Aegon could possess. âWill our dear uncle Gwayne be participating?âÂ
-
Aemond did not loathe his brother as much as everyone believed he did. Yes, he was jealous Aegon the wastrel was first born, and he was not. Yes, he was jealous Helaena was forced to marry the pig instead of him. No, he did not blame his brother for any of this. Solidarity was exceedingly important in times like these, future succession wars and all.Â
What he learned was, Aegon hated being married to Helaena as much as she did. Aegon didnât want to be king and would gladly give it to Aemond if the time came. Lastly, as sad as Aegon could be he was fiercely loyal to his family. If it came down to it Aemond knew his brother would die for them⊠or take an eye instead.Â
âHas he stopped wallowing in his sorrow?â Even when she insulted people Helaenaâs voice sounded like angels in his ear. âNo, though he has come up with another borderline war crime plan.â She let out a deep sigh as she fiddled with the needle she used to sew. âShould I ask?âÂ
âHeâs urging Gwayne to kill the Fiance before they have a chance to wed.â Helaena stifled a laugh; she should be offended he would dishonor her or even vengeful since her husband dare tried to intervene on another womanâs affairs. Instead, she bit her lip from smiling, âI should be glad she is not as deranged as him or I may not be here today.âÂ
Aemond rose from his seat and sat down next to her. His long fingers gently caressed the side of her face, pushing back the strands that obscured his view of her violet eyes. âI would kill her before she could ever lift a finger.âÂ
Helaena gently tugged Aemondâs hands away from her face, cupping them in her lap. âAems you are far too serious. Sheâs still as sweet as a rose I hearâŠâÂ
There was a sudden silence between them, not uncomfortable in the slightest but eerily still, nonetheless. If Helaena was being honest with herself, she felt terribly for you. She couldnât imagine what pain he had caused or what exactly he had done to cause you to faint at the mere sight of him.Â
She could imagine, Helaena simply wished not to burden herself with those thoughts. You were her savior in a weird sense of the word. Because of your existence her brother did not attempt to bed her or force heirs upon her, he did not touch her, he did not bother her unless requested of him. You kept his mind preoccupied, so she wasnât completely trapped in a horrid marriage such as her mothers. Aegon was a good brother and only a brother⊠Sometimes she worried what would happen if you ceased to exist.Â
Still, she was trapped in a marriage. Aemond and Helaena had two vastly different reasons for wanting you around. Helaena wanted to see Aegon content, happy even if they were lucky. And if things happened the way it did in her dreams⊠Their marriage would be annulled and you two could wed and she could continue to do as she pleased with the father of her children. A fairytale but she was known for being the dreamer.Â
Aemond simply wanted his brother to get off his fucking ass and do something with his life. He wanted him to stop whoring, to stop pushing away duties, and to start taking matters seriously. The only way he was going to do that was if his favorite toy was promptly returned to him. You also kept Aegon far away from his beloved Helaena, that was merely a bonus.Â
If he had to choose, obviously he would have not chosen his brother to become obsessed with one of the bastards, it couldnât be helped anymore. The seeds of whatever drug Aegon made you take to enjoy him had already been planted. The spell you used to seduce him had already begun working.Â
At the very least you defended them⊠somewhat. It was enough to make him wish you were dead even less. He had to remind himself, though you were a bastard and related to his sworn enemy, you were also just a woman. As his mother once said, âall women are created in the image of the mother and to be spoken of with reverence⊠And to be treated as such!âÂ
Aemond let out a breath he didnât realize he was holding. âWeâre going to find a convoluted way to help him, arenât we?â Helaena hummed to herself for a moment, was there any way they could really help you? âDo you believe she is distant because she believes he abandoned her?âÂ
They gazed at each other for a moment, a silent agreement. You were easy to read, at least to the dreamer herself⊠âYes Aems, I think we are.â
The dress you were forced into was unbearably tight, the summer sun had seeped through the red fabric and your blood felt as if it was boiling. The royal stand was too crowded, too many unwelcome faces and bodies suffocating you. The noise of horses and knights preparing to show off for your favor made your ears ache. Unbearable, that was the best way you could describe your current predicament.Â
The fainting spell was enough to have your mother confine you to chambers. She knew, your brothers knew, the Hightowers knew, everyone in the entire keep could see through you both. At every single turn you were specifically swayed far away from your uncle. Absolutely no contact, especially since you were to be married.Â
Thatâs what the entire day was for, to celebrate you being sold off to a son of Dorne. If the heat in Kingâs Landing doesnât kill you first, then surely the sun there will do the job. You hoped your death would come sooner rather than late.Â
If the day could not go any worse the sound of someone taking a seat next to you caused you to flinch. You could smell him, practically taste the wine emitting off of him. Then there was the seat to your left, the scent of flowers filled your nose. Your eyes stayed glued to your hands. You didnât dare move or breatheâŠÂ
A gentle hand that was as soft as a feather pillow touched yours. âDonât be nervous.â Helaena, of all the people in the world you did not expect her to say such. Especially now, since you were separating husband and wife or did, they purposely do this to torment you further? âIf Iâm sitting in your place I can move, princess.âÂ
You kept your head turned to her, trying your hardest to ignore the one sitting far too close to your right. Where was your mother? Your brothers? Where was your family to rescue you? âNonsense! I purposely asked Jacaerys to let me sit next to you.â To the right, you could feel two violet eyes burning holes into the back of your skull.Â
âHow lovely,â you muttered out trying to find your family from the corner of your eyes. How in the seven hells was he next to you? You turned your body towards the crowd, an invisible shield in your mind blocking you from turning the other way.Â
Behind you, your entire family was in the row above staring daggers into Aegon. Of course, he stole Lucerys seat before he had a chance to protest. The sound of trumpets blaring, and the weakened voice of your grandsire distracted you, momentarily from the hell you were living in.Â
A warm and soft hand was placed over your own. Dragging your nails from tarnishing the skin around them. âAfraid your husband to be is going to lose?â It felt as though a bolt of lightning shot down your back. You bit your lip, no you wanted him to lose and potentially be stabbed in a duel. You actually want to be stabbed too right now.
Milk of the poppy was your savior. Thatâs what had been prescribed to keep you grounded. Itâs why youâre not currently on the floor unconscious. It's why you decided to engage in conversation instead of keeping your mouth shut. It's why you let his hands caress your own and bask in the warmth they provided. It wasnât you; it was the medication.Â
âWhy arenât you participating in the tourney?â You could feel a smile curve onto his face, though you swore not to look. âWhy would I? Do you want me to compete for your favor?â You turned to look at him, shocked by the accusation you would want him of all people competing for you. That was a fantasy of children, a dead one at that.Â
A mistake was made when you glanced at him. Gods, he was beautiful in the most pathetic way possible. The dark circles, the smug smile, the unruly hair, the piercing eyes and the jaw with just a tad of baby fat encompassing it. You forgot his lady wife sitting next to you, you forgot your family watching you. For a moment, it was just you looking at the pretty monster who ruined you. A shimmer of hope, a memory of childhood championship bubbled to the surface.Â
âNo Aegon, I think you would lose,â you jested. His eyes sparkled; his subtle grin turned into a wide blinding smile. âI think I already have your favor.â Your mouth parted to speak, cheeks brimming red from the implication.
Down below the sounds of cracking shields and screams of pain stifled by armor were becoming the loudest noise. A Blackwood had just begun a duel with a Bracken and⊠his entrails were staining the tan colored sand a dark shade of crimson. You felt bile rising up in your throat as you unconsciously tightened your drip on Aegonâs hand. An act that didnât go unnoticed and was quickly returned.Â
âNot a fan of bloodshed?â His voice sounded softer, almost kind versus his usual unserious tone. He was staring at the side of your face and his eyes shone with mild concern combined with amusement. Aegon was always one for violence, not you. By no means were you against it, seeing the insides of someoneâs stomach simply didnât suit your fancy.Â
âAnd the day grows uglyâŠâ Helaena let out a deep sigh as she gazed at the scene below. Her voice made you quickly realize how disrespectful you were being towards their marriage. In a second, your hand was ripped out of his grasp and placed firmly on your lap. Avoid, you avoided both of their looks and your gaze moved strictly forward.Â
You could have sworn you saw a flash of Aemondâs eyepatch and his fingers patting at her knee. Oddly enough, you were very suspicious of brother and sister relationships considering the family you were born into. Thank heavens you were amongst the normal ones⊠almost.Â
âYouâre not wrong, Hel. Youâre not wrong.â Aegonâs voice had lost all its original sympathetic tone as his lips formed into a pout like a spoiled brat. âPrincess! Your favor would surely help me win this tournament if you could be so kind.âÂ
The sound of your fiancĂ©s voice made you want to sink into the abyss of your mind and let it swallow you. Maybe even feed yourself to Vhagar much like your late aunt Laena did. Aegon looked worse, enraged and annoyed to the utmost level.Â
His body moved slowly towards your fiancĂ©e, and you swore if looks could kill he would be dead. You didnât flinch or falter this time. You no longer frowned at the sight of the man you were supposed to marry. In fact, you were bubbling with joy.
The second Martell son held a huge smile while he waited for you to place your favor on his lance. You did your best to make a spectacle out of it, wishing him luck as loudly as you could. Your mother was smiling proudly, surely congratulating herself on a fine match she had made.Â
She didnât understand, you werenât happy because of him. You were happy to see Aegon leaking envy from his pores with the most miserable look on his face. Now he was feeling exactly what you did and it felt fucking fantastic. You gracefully sat back in place with a smile that went ear to ear.Â
âWould you like to place a bet on who will win, uncle?â He shifted in place, his eyes following the black mare your fiancĂ©e rode. âI donât intend on betting coins, niece.â An awfully smug look creeped onto his face. âWhat are we betting?âÂ
Aegon leaned into you, so his mouth nearly brushed over your ear. His breath was heavy and laced with confidence. His whispers sent a shiver up your spine that glued you in place. âIf Gwayne Hightowers knocks your beloved husband off his horse I get to claim you in front of everyone.âÂ
ââŠâ
Your breath hitched in your throat as the world paused. Heat rose from the tips of your toes to the very top of your head, radiating in all directions. The drugs were no longer keeping your very unstable emotions at bay. Your cheeks were not just flushed by the idea but from the crushing reminder he was not yours to claim. He was stolen from you and didnât mind until you showed back up. No letters, no secret rendezvous, no gifts on name days or holidays⊠To Aegon it was always just a game.Â
A game he was still fucking playing at your own expense. Could he not see he had done enough? He had ruined what sliver of self-respect you had years ago? What else was there for him to take besides your life. Your original despair turned into something hateful, âMy husband will win and when he does you have to stay away from me for as long as Iâm here.âÂ
His mouth hung agape as he was trying to debate this completely unfair bet. Aegon was going to make a jest, defend himself or anything really before the trumpets blared loud enough for the deaf to hear. âHmph,â you turned in your seat, stone faced, chin held high, completely ignoring his presence to watch the knights begin to mount their horses.
Ser Gwayne Hightower was wearing a suit of armor and a green cape. Gwayneâs helm was in the shape of a lantern⊠It looked completely ridiculous. His horse wasnât stupid, it was a powerful white charger, and his lance appeared to be held firmly in his grip. From all the stories youâve heard, he was an amazing knight. Heâd won many tourneys in the past and nearly knocked down Daemon once.Â
Your fiancĂ©e was on the other side, and he certainly did stand out⊠The golden decor on his armor was perhaps a bit much and he refused to wear a helm. His horse was beautiful albeit not as powerful as the charger. It wasnât looking very good.
You were too busy praying to the seven for mercy when the two horses took off. In a flash their lances connected, and poor Quentyn was nearly thrown off. You heard a snicker from the corner, and you whipped your head to stare at the smirk plastered all over Aegonâs face. âHeh look at that!â No fucking way, no way in the names of any god would he get to do anything with you. âFuck you, uncle,â the venom laced words seeped out of your mouth before you could contain them. Your perfect facade was beginning to break so quickly.Â
âThat can be arranged.â You gritted your teeth and your nostrils flared. Seeing him win in anyway made you want to snatch a sword and shove it right between his fuckingâŠÂ
âWe have a winner!âÂ
The crowd erupted into deafening cheers, and you forgot whatever your last thought was. You stood up from your seat to gaze at the ground and surely enoughâŠÂ
âQuentyn Martell has won the favor of the Princess!âÂ
Heh heh hehâŠ. You turned to look at him with a smirk only the divine could wear, âI win.âÂ
He miss stepped, Aegon had completely misread the situation at hand. Her mind had been completely poisoned by those⊠those cunts! And Gwayne completely fumbled the fucking tourney. This added more layers to the issues already at hand. Firstly, her husband needed to go and fast. Secondly, he had to untaint her mind. Thirdly, how the hell was he going to keep her here with him? Aegon only had a single day and night to do itâŠÂ
CRASH
Another empty goblet of wine was thrown into the wall. The small shards covered the floor like winter snow tainted by red droplets of wine. The prince was raging and drinking⊠ceaselessly. âFor the love of the seven will you sit down!â Aemond watched unamused, on the edge of storming out himself at this display. It was getting annoying how easily irritated his brother was becoming. Aegon stomped across, âWe have to kill him⊠Preferably sooner rather than late.âÂ
âWe could tell the truth about her virtue and have a Septon annul the marriage⊠avoid making any unnecessary enemies.â Aegon pivoted to stare at Aemond, face void of any signs of agreement. âYes, and besmirch her reputation in the process⊠Ha! That will surely make her crawl into my bed.âÂ
Aemond really fucking hated sarcasm above all forms of conversation. âOh, great manipulative tactician, what exactly were you thinking?â His steps paused as he toyed with the knife he kept on belt. He wasnât a genius nor was he overly capable of manipulation like his grandfatherâŠ
âIt can only work if she is obsessed with me again.â The younger brother let out a groan, rubbing his face with both his hands. âWhat exactly are you planning to do?âÂ
A wicked smirk curled its way onto his lips. His pupils momentarily turned dark, âNot I, dear brother, what are you going to do.â Aemond lowered his hands, so his eye picked through, raising an eyebrow.Â
â
âThis wonât do,â Rhaenyra declared as she tossed another necklace laced with jewels onto the floor of your chambers. âMother!â you gaped as the expensive piece fell to the floor. She pursed her lips together, fingers grazing the delicate jewelry laid before you. âMy first born, my only daughter is getting married⊠Tacky crystals wonât do.â You sunk deeper into your chair, twirling your wet hair in between your fingers.Â
Rhaenyra closely examined a few more pieces, none of which suited her exquisite taste. She turned to you, her eyebrows creasing together. âYou look more pale than usual.â You looked up at her and her eyes were laced with concern. One thing about your mother is that you could never lie to her. She knew you more than you knew yourself. The slightest bit of discomfort she could snuff out and exile it from your mind.Â
âI havenât been sleeping well as of late.â Her gentle hands went to comb through your hair. âIf you changed your mind and donât wish to get married, I could always have Daemon, take care of it.â You choked up a laugh, âthreatening murder on my wedding day? How very festive.âÂ
A small smile made her lips curve upwards. She let out a breath, plucking a necklace off the counter and holding it to your neck. âIs it him?â The dragon necklace made of diamonds laced with gold details seemed to taunt you. âNo, he hasnât bothered me at all.â A bold-faced lie that your mother could see through instantaneously. Rhaenyra wrapped the necklace around your throat and clasped it in the back. âReally? He seemed to bother you at the tourney.âÂ
The necklace seemed to be choking you though it wasnât tight at all. It would have been something you wore if you were getting married to him instead. A golden dragon paying homage to Sunfyre⊠âJust playful banter. Honestly it went far better than expected.âÂ
She looked as if she was about to contest what you said but three knocks at the door caught both your attention. It slowly creaked open revealing a maid no older than fifteen. She stood meekly in the entrance shifting eyes between your mother and yourself.Â
âI didnât mean to disturb you; the king requested your presence.â Your mother raised her brow, questioning the situation at hand. You gave a nearly unnoticeable nod, reassuring her everything was all right. She clapped her hands together, âYouâre not disturbing anyone! My love Iâll return shortly.â
Rhaenyra strided out the door with the confidence only a queen could possess. You envied the way she carried herself no matter the situation. You slumped back down into your chair staring at yourself in the grandiose mirror. Maybe it wouldnât be so bad having Daemon rid you of your husband⊠If anything, he would probably take pride in having something to hold over your head.
But a war was brewing, it was an inevitable fact that no one could deny and soon it would be impossible to ignore. You needed the dornish alliance, and you were the perfect bargaining chip⊠Curse the seven for making you a woman.Â
âYou look like youâre in agony. Already getting the wedding blues?â Itâs no use asking how he snuck in, itâs no use asking why he was here, and itâs absolutely no fucking use to start panicking. âUncle, I thought we had an agreement.â His steps were light, almost frolicking to stand behind your seat in front of the vanity. Aegonâs face was the ideal image of serenity, you couldnât say the same for yourself.Â
âItâs your wedding day! Surely, I can offer my congratulations on this joyous day.â There wasnât an honest way you could describe the pain within your chest. It felt as if a blade had carved a hole within your heart that refused to heal. A dark abyss threatening to swallow you whole. He wasnât meant to be happy; you were supposed to be cheery. Aegon was meant to pin after you until he died⊠Not move on and get married, have children, and celebrate your own wedding.Â
You didnât feel the tears quietly falling from your eyes or the way your lip was quivering. His hand moved to graze your shoulder, but you jumped out of your seat, snapping your head back to face him. âDonât touch me!â He put his hands up in mock surrender, âW-woahâŠâ
âDid you come here to torment me some more? Do you revel watching me be so miserable?â He stumbled back, muttering some incoherent apology that fell on deaf ears. âYou abandoned me! You left me like a dog and went to go playhouse with your perfect fucking family, perfect fucking wife and two perfect children.âÂ
One of the many things you were shouting must have triggered something within him. Aegon grabbed your shoulders with such force you almost buckled under their grip. He shook you like a child would shake their pet if it stopped listening. âPerfect? Have you become fucking delusional? What part of a forced marriage to your sister sounds perfect to you?!âÂ
âLet me go! Donât- fucking touch me!â You shouted in between sobs. âNo! Youâre telling me youâve been ignoring me for years because youâre fucking jealous?â You swatted at his face, attempting to grab him by his hair to pull him down. Poor idea, Aegon always thought violence was exciting. Somewhere amidst the fight you ended up wrestling on the ground shouting curses at one another.Â
âI hate you! I would never be jealous of you!â Aegon shiftly straddled you and began fighting to grab your wrists again. To make it all the more unbearable the bastard was smiling. âBullshit! Itâs seeping off of you.â You bit down on his hand that came just a little too close to your mouth. He growled, slamming on wrists behind your head. âSeven hells will you calm down and listen!âÂ
You writhed underneath him, albeit with less screams of curses. This rather pathetic display went on for only another minute before he forced his lips onto yours. It was rough, mainly teeth clashing together and lips fighting against one another. Part of you wished it could continue, to relive your past one more time before you were sold off.Â
The other part of you bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. Aegon relented, a droplet of blood staining his swollen bottom lip. Whatever spell he had put on you had worked; you were quiet and unusually still. âLook at me.â You turned your head to face the wall, refusing to be trapped by those damned eyes. âLook at me!â Begrudgingly, after being shouted at, you looked at him. âMy marriage is not happy. I swear on my own life I only bedded her once. I was so drunk I canât even remember if it truly happenedâŠâÂ
âMore lies⊠You have two children.â He scoffed, looking around the room as if asking the seven for patience. âOh, for the love of- Do you really think those are mine? Just look at them!â Aegon appeared unbelievably desperate for you to believe him. His eyes frantically searching yours for any comfortâŠÂ
The twins did appear more similar to one brother than the other⊠Jaehaera herself was a spitting image of Helaena only. âI donât believe youâŠâ His face dropped as if you had taken an arrow to his heart. âBut it wouldnât matter if I did. Iâm getting married tonight.â A foolish course of action on your part because you gave him hope. A dangerous thing if given to the wrong people and he was by far the wrong person.Â
He pressed his mouth against you once more, this time his soft lips caressed your own gently. The taste of wine and iron coated your tastebuds, and it wasnât at all displeasing. It was comforting, like a hug from an old friend. He pulled his right hand away from your wrist, almost giving you time to escape. But the second your arm moved he grabbed it with his left. A gentle, almost comfortable, kiss was turning into a desperate one.Â
Aegonâs tongue slid into your mouth doing circles with your own. Your breaths quickened as he began to nibble on your bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth and then kissing it before letting go again. His hands slid down to your thighs, cupping them firmly in his warm palms and massaging their shape. You shivered when his fingers brushed against your most sensitive area, it had been so long since anyone had touched you.Â
The wedding you were supposed to be attending today became a distant memory as he kissed you senseless. His lips trailed across your jawline and down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. When his nose grazed yours again you found yourself trembling with need.Â
âYou have missed me,â he whispered breathlessly. You wanted to say no, that your body was betraying you but when his fingers grazed your unclothed cunt all you could mutter was âah, ah, ah~â
His tongue flicked out and traced up the side of your neck, then back down. He slipped his tongue inside of your ear, and then swallowed down all of your words. His fingers began gently teasing at your clit, sliding between your wet folds, rubbing it painstakingly slow. You whimpered into his mouth, begging him to do more.
Aegon wasnât supposed to give it all to you so easily but⊠Forcing in a few fingers was far from all he could do. He began thrusting his fingers in and out of your slick folds, making sure to tease your clit each time. His eye had a wicked gleam to them watching you come undone underneath him, âyou think youâll be happy with another man? You think heâll be able to please you like I do?âÂ
You opened your mouth but all that came out was a muffled cry. âNo one knows your body like I do. No one can ever please you like I do.â His fingers moved swifter curling up to hit the sweet spot inside of you. Your legs buckled around him as you began to moan ceaselessly. A wicked smile took over his features, âbe honest with yourself everytime you try to fuck another man youâll be imagining me, my lips, my tongue, my fingers and my cock inside of you.âÂ
Your arms fell limply by your sides, the world spinning in circles as a delicious haze descended upon you. Your hips moved of their own accord, grinding against his fingers as he continued to push them deeper inside of you. âIâve already ruined you, what other man could want you? Who do you belong to? Say it!âÂ
âY-You! Aegon! I belong to you.â You cried out in pleasure, your voice echoing through the room. He pressed his lips against you once more, swallowing all the noises you made as your cunt tightened around his thick fingers. âThatâs a good little girl,â He purred as your orgasm washed over you.
âAegonâŠâ You breathed, your head lolling to the side as he pulled his fingers out of your quivering pussy. He sat up, face returning to its usual expression of complete nonchalant. âIâll give you time to get all dressed up, recite vows you do not mean with a stranger, dance until your heart's content and then Iâm taking back whatâs rightfully mine.âÂ
He leaped off of you swiftly, lazily fixing his hair and wiping the blood from his mouth. You propped yourself up on your elbows, âWhat in the seven hells?â Aegon smiled at you, but it wasnât one of genuine joy. It was sick with cruel eyes behind it. âYouâll see.âÂ
The seeds of doubt had been planted into your mind and had already begun to sprout. The once joyous occasion was quickly turning into a fucking nightmare. To be Frank, you really wish you were dead instead of standing up here reciting vows you did not mean. It was awkward, unbelievably awkward. For five years your beloved had been pining for you and you were too blind to see it.Â
Or it was all a sick joke being played on you. Which one was worse you did not know. Your entire family stood there, smiling, your mother nearly on the verge of tears seeing her only daughter preparing to start a family of her own⊠Gods, is this how Aegon felt all these years knowing he was the disappointment? You had been completely soiled and yet here you stand with your new husband⊠Aegonâs scent and markings werenât even fully off of you!Â
The entire ceremony was eerily calm. No random bursts of violence or protests to your union. Which means your uncle may or may not intend to murder and or maim this man tonight. Any sound of mind woman would be sick at the thought and run for aid⊠Obviously you were not at all that type of girl. Currently you were jumping out of your skin waiting for him to finally arrive and rescue you.Â
The only issue was, he never did show up. Not for the first kiss, not for the first dance, not for the speech his father was barely able to make or the feast itself⊠Did he intend to ignore you until it was all over?Â
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Aegon was unbelievably late to the wedding celebration. It was on purpose; he had a few loose strings he needed to tie before he arrived. For once he was sober and painstakingly polite as he walked in. It is fair to mention he had the servants meticulously fix his normal disheveled appearance so he could make an impression on you.Â
When Aegon first entered the great hall, his eyes were immediately drawn to the center of the room, where a grand table adorned in the finest gold sits on a raised dais. The royal table is flanked on either side by rich red tapestries, ornately embroidered with the sigils of the houses respectively. If only he could burn all of the dornish banners with Sunfyre.
As he moved throughout the room, Aegon was struck by the attention to detail. Everywhere you looked, you saw the sign of the union between two powerful houses, a testament to the joyous occasion for which this room has been decked out. It was fucking disgusting and Aegon wanted to puke on it.
The throne room was filled to the brim with Lords and Ladies alike from all across the realm. In the center, just in front of the throne sat the royal table. On the opposing sides of the room were the packed tables for the highly esteemed guests. The middle of the room was cleared for dancing and eventually the marriage itselfâŠ
He wished he could throw himself into the spikes of the throne. Instead, he had to slither his way through the crowds to make way to the table. Aegon was tired of waiting, He was tired of hearing your family gawk at the well-made match and he was especially tired of doing nothing. Your husband would be dealt with in due time, but he hadnât the patience to pretend not to be itching to speak to you, to touch you, anything but sit here and fucking watch.Â
He finally pulled himself up onto the podium and marched his way in front of you. You seemed stunned, miserable, in awe of his beauty. All of which were better than you being happy to be wed. "I'm insulted you have yet to ask me to dance, uncle." His lips twisted into his usual overly confident smile. âdidnât want to disturb the happy couple so soon.âÂ
Your eyes rolled into the back of your skull as you stuck out your hand waiting for him to take it. There were stares from certain people of course, those who knew what happened at Driftmark and potentially before. You didnât really care anymore.Â
For a moment, he was the perfect gentleman. Placing his hands in only the proper places and spinning you around the floor with ease. If you were a normal family, this would be a sweet interaction between relatives⊠But you were twisted and Targaryens. âYou know, Iâm putting more effort into this dance than my own wedding.â You scoffed, âOh joy, surely no one will find this suspicious at all.âÂ
Aegonâs face mirrored disgust as he glanced around you. âIs something the matter?â He rolled his eyes, "Your dearly beloved is gawking." You stood on your tiptoes to glance over his shoulder. Surely enough, the pretty dornish prince was smiling ear to ear watching youâŠ"Do something about it."Â
The mischievous look Aegon always wore as a child made its reappearance. It was quick, his hands grasping onto your face and pulling you so close you could feel his breath on your skin. âYou would let me dishonor you in front of all these people, bad princess.â You whined trying to lean up into his face, but he pulled back, âtsk tsk, canât let your husband see you so needy for my affection now, can we?âÂ
You wished he would stop referring to him as your husband. You wished he would stop reminding you of what waited for you after the night ended. âSister⊠Prince Aegon.â Jacaerys appeared from behind like a thief in the night. Immediately souring any positive mood Aegon could have been in. He stepped back, letting his hands fall to his sides. âNephew.â He gritted through his teeth with a subtle bow.Â
âPrincess, would you dance with me?â You glanced between the two and felt the humiliation of the situation beginning to seep in. Your mother was on the high podium with a faux smile and a death grip on her fork observing you⊠âOf course! Letâs go little brother.â
The dance was alright⊠But you couldnât get your mind off of the Lannister girl who was practically drooling at the sight of Aegon. He had slept with her before you knew this much. A secret part of you kept track of the whores he buried his cock inside, at least the rich ones. What happened next was honestly a blur, you couldnât remember a thing. Except that you may or may not have called her a whore and threatened her life if she dared to touch him⊠She scurried away with her hands on her and tears in her eyes.Â
You werenât jealous at all, only defending Helaenaâs honor.Â
____________________________________
âPrince Aegon, pleasure to finally meet you,â If the night couldn't get any better the man of the hour had just willingly approached the man plotting against him⊠âPrince Quentyn, nice of you to believe this is a pleasure.â He smirked, âYour wife looks very beautiful.â Aegon patted his shoulders, âas does yours.âÂ
Quentyn winced, a rather noticeable scowl growing on his face. âSheâll never be yours, my prince.â
âYouâll see later tonight whose name she calls out while your cock is inside her.â He smiled a crooked grin. Quentynâs fists balled up next to his sides, Aegon wasnât one to directly fight, he was more behind the scenes type of criminal. There was no denying that he was strong, strong enough to crack this manâs skull. But that wasnât part of the plan⊠His feet moved fast, swiftly connecting his fist to Aegonâs jaw.Â
The crowd erupted behind them, lords and ladies screaming trying to escape the violence. Suddenly, Aegon stopped trying to attack and let the dornish cunt take charge. He tackled him to the ground and landed hit after hit⊠Was this really worth it, he thought to himself as blood started to trickle down his face. âYou- fucking- wastrel-â Aegon was laughing hysterically whilst getting his face beat in⊠All according to plan, he told himself.Â
âGet off of him!â You screeched in horror pulling at the man assaulting your lover. It wasnât meant to take a turn like it did. Quentyn, not recognizing you, turned and landed a hit square to your cheek knocking you on your ass. âProtect the princess!â Some guard shouted from behind whilst dogpiling onto your husband. He stared in horror at what he had done, you were gripping your cheek mortified, and Aegon was laying there covered in blood laughing his ass off like a psychopath.Â
The maester was applying ice to your cheekbone as you nervously picked at the seams on your dress. âWeâll have the marriage annulled by tomorrow.â Rhaenyra paced inside the room. âOn what grounds? Aegon was obviously egging him on,â Jacaerys groaned from the corner. âI could kill him and fix this entirely,â Daemon muttered watching his wife rage on.Â
The rest of the argument was drowned out, the only noise you could hear was the sound of Aegonâs jaw cracking. You didnât feel despair that the wedding was ruined, you didnât feel depressed that your husband had hit you⊠No, you felt completely fucking enraged.Â
Seeing Aegon harmed had awoken something in you. It was hateful and could not be quelled by a simple apology. He fucking beat him to a pulp in the midst of your wedding then had the audacity to lay a hand on you⊠It may or may not have awoken something because seeing Aegon laughing whilst covered in his own blood made your core heat up.Â
âCould I be given some milk of the poppy for the pain, mother?â Rhaenyra looked at you with the most sorrowful expression she could muster, âoh my sweet girl.â She cupped your cheeks in her hands and rubbed at the bruise that was forming. âGo fetch some tea for my daughter, Maester⊠Now!âÂ
____________________________________
You were returning to your chambers in a rather dumbed down state. The medicine made your mind hazy, and your body feel light as a feather. It was like wine but far better with less of a hangover. The corridors were dark, all the excitement from tonight was far over. You hummed to yourself lazily, dreading the return to where your husband lay. Until you felt a hand wrap around your mouth and yank you into a hole in the wall you never knew was there.Â
You tried to scream but were quickly shushed by a voice that could only belong to one man. âAegon? What are you doing?â He smiled at you, rubbing the bruise on your cheek. âWill you go out for a walk with me?â You raised your eyebrow in distrust, âTo where?â Aegon grinned, almost too enthusiastically to trust, âthe dragonpit.âÂ
The most unexpected event of tonight wasnât the wedding brawl nor the injury that befall you. It was the fact you were riding on Sunfyre again, with Aegon holding onto your waist as you soared through the stars. It was a wedding gift, he claimed. As far as you knew Aegon never let anyone touch his dragon let alone ride with him, except you.Â
It was indescribable, the feeling of the wind rushing past your cheeks. The view of the city and the moon shining above you reflecting off his scales. You were giggling uncontrollably the entire flight listening to Aegon tell jests you hadnât heard in years. Whatever injury he had gained was long forgotten the second you took off. Whatever drama or chaos in the keep didnât exist outside. In the sky, you both were completely free.Â
You couldnât say how long you spent outside. Mayhaps it was an hour or two before Sunfyre descended onto a nearby beach surrounded by the most beautiful rock formations you had seen. âIs this your version of bridenapping me?â You teased while he helped you climb down the saddle. âItâs only kidnapping if you fight back.âÂ
He grasped your hand leading you across the sandy beach, showcasing the stars he supposedly, desperately wanted to show you. âI have an actual gift for you too.â You raised your eyebrows in disbelief, âIs it a ride home on Sunfyre?â Aegon laughed, genuinely laughed for the first time since youâve returned. He dug in his pocket searching for something⊠âI had it made years ago but never had the chance to properly give it to you.â
In his hand was the most beautiful golden ring in the shape of a dragon. âA ring? A Sunfyre ring?â Aegon grabbed your hand and slipped it on with ease, âIâm not that creative, you know this. it was meant to be something to remember me by when you left.â Tears were prickling your eyes once more. The fool kept the damned ring all these years and never mentioned it. âAegon⊠Be honest for once with me please. Do you still love me?âÂ
He paused, searching tirelessly for the right words to say. âI⊠There hasnât been a day in five years where I havenât thought about you at least once. There hasnât been an hour that something has not reminded me of you. There hasnât been a single night Iâve slept without seeing you⊠It isnât normal, itâs twisted and sick and cruel just like I am. No matter what you do to others, to me, to yourself. No matter if the world ends in a freeze or we are in the midst of a war of the ages⊠I believe Iâll always feel this⊠And I donât think Iâll be able to stop until the seven hells take me.âÂ
You sniffled; he always had such a roundabout way of saying things. âIâll always love you too.â He smiled genuinely, pulling you into a kiss so gentle yet so firm it made you forget all the dangers of the world, the drama, the potential war, your husband, everything was irrelevant except for you two, right now under the stars.
âWe still havenât done the bedding ceremony.â You whispered against his lips. His eyes lit up, âHave you always been so needy for me?â You didnât have time to protest before he was passionately colliding his lips against yours once more. You threw your arms around his neck and pulled him closer into you, making sure no part of you would ever be apart from him again.
His arms slipped below your waist as he lowered you onto the ground as gently as he could. Your legs fell open instinctively and his hands began to explore your body. It was vastly different from every other time youâve been together. It was gentle and loving, passionate and pleasurable without the pain.Â
Your bodies started to move in sync with each other, stripping away the clothes that hid your most intimate parts. His hands held you close to his chest, keeping you warm while you were exposed to the elements. You moaned into his mouth, kissing him passionately with a hunger you had forgotten existed.
He broke the kiss, gasping for air. You opened your eyes to see the moonlight reflected off his face, sometimes Aegon Targaryen looked more God than man. He moved to suckle on your neck as he ran his length against your slit.Â
âYouâre so beautiful,â He murmured huskily against your ear. He slowly pushed inside, filling you with his thickness. You gasped from the sudden sensation. He was so deep within you, so far reaching you almost felt like you could reach out and touch the stars.
His kisses trailed down your neck, nibbling, sucking, biting. He took his time thrusting inside of you with slow movements, appreciating every moment your bodies were entertained. He stopped mid-thrust, holding himself deep within you.
âI love you, Princess.â He whispered, his voice so tender and soft. You blushed like a child; it was silly to think his cock being inside you didnât make you feel as embarrassed as him telling you, his feelings. âAlways.â You murmured back. He kissed you deeply, his tongue slipping past your teeth.
You clung tight to his neck, your nails digging into his skin. He moved faster, his breaths coming in shorter and quicker. You moaned, your thighs trembling from the feeling of fullness. His fingers traced circles on your inner thigh, and then he moved to your clit.Â
He worked you effortlessly, eliciting soft whimpers and moans and love confessions. The world was a blur of fluorescent colors and smells, nothing mattered but you and Aegon. His climax came swiftly, almost right after your own. You begged for him to cum inside you, to fill you with his seed and he always did as you asked.Â
He collapsed on top of you, his weight heavy on your shoulders. You wrapped your arms around his back, feeling him relax. âAegonâŠâ You spoke his name softly, your head resting on his shoulder. âMhmm?â He said in a daze. âAgain?â You whispered, your lips brushing against his neck. He smirked, his cock twitching inside of you.
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Acorn, Chestnut, Pine Cone
(Link to ao3)
âJohn?â
John turned his eyes away from the trees, which were slowly changing their colour at this time of year, to look at Sherlock, walking next to him. âYes, love?â
âThey are eating gingerbread.â
âWhat?â John didnât see anyone eating gingerbread, nor did he understand what Sherlock wanted to tell him with that observation.
âThere!â Sherlock nodded to their left, and indeed, there was a couple sitting on a bench, happily munching, an open packet of gingerbread standing next to them.
John frowned. âOkay. And⊠what now?â
Sherlock turned to stare at him, his eyes wide, his expression almost shocked.
âJohn!â he called out in disbelief. âThey, are eating, gingerbread!â
âYesâŠ?â John really didnât get the point. âWeâve established that. What now?â
âItâs warm enough for them to sit on a bench in the park, yet they are eating gingerbread, John! Christmas is two months away!â
John blinked at the man, a little surprised at Sherlockâs outburst, then broke into giggles and nudged Sherlockâs hip.
âWow, I knew that you pretend you donât like Christmas, but that youâre so sensitive to people eating food thatâs associated with the season, wowâŠâ
Sherlock huffed next to him. âI do not pretend not to like it. I donât have to.â
John tilted his head. âYou seem contend enough when weâre decorating and having a nice time.â
âWell, you do like Christmas, for some reason that I cannot fathom, and since I like you there is some kind of⊠acceptance towards it.â
John grinned. âHm, yes. Acceptance.â
âBut only when itâs spend with you,â Sherlock added. âOnly you. Well okay, Mrs. Hudson can come up as well if she needs to, but more I just canât withstand!â
âHm, I think your mother usually starts calling you in early October to ask you to attend Christmas dinner, right? Shouldnât be long until her first call.â
âDonât remind me,â Sherlock grumbled in remembrance of the yearly tradition of her asking and him refusing until the last possible moment.
âYou know, it would be much easier if youâd just tell her, yes mummy, I will attend Christmas dinner, thank you for the invitation, yes I will bring John, yes, no gifts this year.â
âIt would be much easier if she wouldnât call me two times a week for almost two months to pester me about the same thing.â
âBut would you come then?â
Sherlock decidedly didnât answer that question, instead he kicked a chestnut that had the audacity to lay on the way.
âOi!â John blurted. âDonât you dare treat chestnuts like that.â
Sherlock looked up at him in confusion. âWhat?â
âWe used to build little figurines out of them.â
Sherlock only blinked at him. âWhat?â he repeated dumbly.
âDidnât you? In primary school? Theyâd give you chestnuts, sometimes acorns, some toothpicks, and then you could build little chestnut men. Iâll show you a picture when weâre home.â
âThatâsâŠâ Sherlock lifted his brows almost appreciatively and nodded. âThatâs surprisingly ridiculous. Bordering on hideous, even for primary school.â
John chuckled. âNo! It was a very serious matter for us. Once one of us had found the first chestnut of the year weâd look forward to the day our teacher would come to class with a bag of them.â
Sherlock eyed him with a strange look, shaking his head. âI canât believe that Iâm sharing a flat with you, let alone my bed.â
Johnâs grin turned to a soft smile. âItâs because you love me, you nutter.â
âYes. Yes I do. And Iâll never stop. Well, as long as you donât start building those chestnut things again.â
They stared at each other for a moment, then both doubled over with laughter.
The rest of the way home was without any more disturbances, chestnuts and Christmas forgotten for the moment.
--
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