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tahliafox · 2 months

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Can't Stop.

Natasha Romanoff x Reader.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, Mommy!Nat, choking, spitting, slight clouded consent that turns into clear consent, dumbing down, scissoring.

Word count: 2992

The window was open ever-so-slightly, but every word spoken and every noise made seemed to ring within Natasha’s ears. Everything was you, all her thoughts were just you. She could frame the way you were laying on your stomach on the grass, leaning on your elbows so you could continuously flick the page of the Oxford Classic in your hands. Little stars shimmered in your eyes from the sun, you’d been out there for hours so it had moved to shine directly onto your face - how you could see Natasha did not know, but she was oh so thankful for the clear view of you front on because the tank top seemed to shimmy down just enough to have a clear view of your cleavage, and with your arms pushed together Natasha was practically drooling. The white linen shorts you had on had ridden up as you fidgeted from the itchiness of the floor and she could see - if she looked hard enough- the little indents of grass blades pressed into the sides of your thighs.

She stared at you intently, drying a porcelain plate with a blue-chequered towel had become a mindless movement- as had everything else dissipated in her brain because, oh God , your lacy white bra was just peaking above the pretty pink tanktop you were wearing and her mind was spiralling. Your father stood besides you, looking down, talking about something that caused your brows to furrow into confusion and look away from the book you were reading - Roxanna by Defoe.

Natasha put down the plate that was completely polished at this point, cleared her throat and brought a bitten-red lip between her teeth. If your father wasn’t standing there she would have taken the silver digital camera on the kitchen shelf and started treating you like her little model, positioning you in all the poses that were flashing throughout her mind. Pricks settled in her stomach as the realisation that you still lived with your father sobered her dirty mind. You were a teenager, at only 19. Not even that, you were her best friend's daughter.

Steve’s daughter.

She’d only met you last year, why he kept you a secret from her she would never know but it was certainly a good idea. The corruptive thoughts that clouded any rational judgement being able to form in her mind had slowly gotten worse, and worse as she got to know you more. The first time you’d stayed round Natasha’s was practically a test of self control for her- which she’d partially lost from stealing a pair of your lacy, baby-pink underwear and keeping them for activities she hoped only you’d imagine her doing. Not that she’d admit to anyone, but the sheets you’d slept in were never washed, nor used again, and sitting in the same house that you now lived in. The thought of setting up a camera in the spare bedroom was maybe a thought too far in her head… she only wanted to see you.

After her and an ex-girlfriend broke up she moved away from the tower and stayed with Steve in his countryside retirement house- the fact that you also lived there totally had nothing to do with it. With every week you got more comfortable with Natasha, the naivety of her actions never faded. Consistently testing the boundaries, she’d sit so close to you as you watched a movie, when she’d talk to you her hands always found a way to your thigh, or shoulder, or neck, or any skin she could see. Steve never thought anything of it, after all you were both girls- for all he knew Natasha was much of a motherly figure to you.

Rolling over onto your back, completely abandoning the book in your hands, a loud, exacerbated sigh left your mouth - stopping Natasha’s whirling train of thought.

“I told you I had to go away for the week! I cannot help that.” Steve spoke sternly.

You groaned and threw your hands over your eyes to finally shield them from the sun. a smile creeped up on Natasha’s face at your teenage ignorance. Your movements seemed to freeze for one second and you arched your back to look at Natasha in the window upside down.

“Natty! Come here please.” You spoke so sweetly, with a menacing grin on your face. She immediately stepped out onto the patio and went to stand in the shade. Steve smiled at her sheepishly, then looked back at you.

What on earth you were going to ask her, she did not know. Nonetheless, she’d do it with no hesitation.

“You’ll be here to take care of me, right?” You sat up onto your ass and asked, giving Natasha your best puppy-dog eyes. She blushed so obviously, then walked over to stand behind you. You lent back onto her shins and looked up at her as she looked directly at your father.

“Not quite sure about that, my love. Maybe I'm going with Steve.”

You gasped and lent away from her.

“How dare you!” You stood up. “I cannot be here all by myself, I beg… please you know I hate the dark.” You whispered the last bit only to Natasha.

And of course, two days later Steve had gone and you and Natasha sat comfortable in the living room watching TV. The idea of going with Steve to visit the squad never even crossed her mind. A movie that Nat had let you pick was playing in the background. Recently, you had been obsessed with Cate Blanchett so you picked Carol. It was an innocent choice, knowing nothing about the movie itself. Natasha, however, knew everything about it… the sheer glee that ran through her when you brought it to her was slightly shameful.

A pale, thin hand slowly stroked a pattern on your thigh, red acrylic nails tracing forwards… then backwards, then down to the inside of your thigh, then back up onto your knee, then over and over again. A soft flutter beat inside your ears, cheeks flushed a continuous red and little breaths kept pattering out your nose. If Natasha had any idea the way her hand was affecting you, you were sure she would laugh at you.

The pattering of the rain on the window matched your heart beat, fast and irregular. Summer showers were common, and you knew that within the hour there would be some thunder.

Natasha had her hair in a loose bun, pulled through the hair tie and just left in a knot. It was like silk anyways so Natasha probably had no worries of it becoming tangled, you could tell how soft it was from the way little face-framing pieces fell against ivory cheeks. Her freckles seemed to stick out more today from a rosey-blush against her cheeks, when Nat removed her makeup it must’ve irritated her skin a little.

She was sitting there so beautifully, and… God her hand was on your thigh, and you were hardly breathing, and if you could you knew she wouldn't want you, there was no way, and oh my god were you a pervert thinking of her hand like this, and you were wet, so, so wet and she was just sitting there so innocently, so motherly-

“What's up?” the groan of her joints was practically audible as she turned to face you, interrupting your slow cascade into a swoon-induced panic attack. She figured it out, she totally must have figured out what a creep you were-

A soft hand groomed its way through your hair. “Sweetheart, talk to me.” Natasha soothed, her voice dripping with honey.

The juxtaposition of an empty house and a motorway in New York was personified by your racing mind and the words coming out of your mouth. Why was it so hard to form some sort of coherent sentence?

Natasha just waited patiently, somehow she knew that something was up, maybe your dad being away freaked you out, or the movie was too much. She tried something that, dear lord, did not help the situation.

The hand that was once stroking your thigh scooped around the underside of both your legs, pulling them across her own lap. She guided your head to lay against her neck, resting her own on top of you. A loving kiss was pressed against the parting of your hair, and in that moment you stupidly wished you were bald just so you could feel the tenderness of her lips against your skin.

“You don’t need to talk to me if you can’t. I promise I understand, my sweet girl. I’m right here, ok.” as she said the latter of the sentence her hand pulled yours against her cheek, framing her face as to prove that she was, in fact, right here. And she knew you understood by the way you nestled into her without response.

This stayed fact for a while, your eyes barely staying open as you fell into a comfort-induced sleep.

Natasha was restless watching you. The wrong message had gotten to her head, that maybe her hand on your thigh was not a comforting movement, but something that made you uncomfortable. Pulling you into her, and forcing you to sink into her was the only way she could think of avoiding the possible confrontation.

Of course, to you, it was not force, nor was it unease you were feeling from her hand, but a heat inducing bother in between your legs.

Your thighs tightened against Natasha’s chest, and she moved her hand to rest just above your forehead. She fluttered gentle kisses against your hair, then your forehead, then nose. God, your skin was so soft. Natasha’s heart picked up and immediately she was hot. Eyes squeezed tight together and a strained breath was brought through her nose. The vanilla musk of the sweet, innocent perfume that you wore everyday was sucked into her veins.

She couldn’t stop.

The kisses got wetter, pecking your cheek over and over, so quickly. Her tongue started to get involved, she licked down to the corner of your mouth and pecked there some more. If the older woman's head wasn't absolutely deluded with a sheer need to keep her lips over your hot skin she would be concerned about how rough she was being.

You were asleep, it kept her going.

It was finally when she had to shift her whole body to get at you when you were woken up. Something wet and sharp was digging into your neck, your body convulsed away but Natasha was strong, so strong, and there was no way that you could shift away. She was not forceful, nor would she be, but to the older woman you were still asleep. A soft groan came out of her mouth, so close to your ear and you realised what she was doing.

Her teeth were sinking into your neck, and there was surely a hickey there.

A shrill, scream-like moan came out your mouth, and Natasha whined. Oh god, you were awake.

She still couldn’t stop.

Her hands were gripping your thighs, leaving white rings where her fingers were clutching at you. And, god she kept going -licking, sucking, doing everything she could at the grove of your shoulder. The red, blood-splotched mark that she saw did not foster her self control, her mark was on you. On her baby. The moans coming out her mouth were nothing but desperation, dripping with need.

You had to be dreaming, there was no way this woman was keening into you like she was. Her forehead was sweaty, and there was sweat sticking on her back from the adrenaline that was going through her. Natasha was finally on you, she was all over you and she was not going to get off.

“Natty, what… what are you - oh my god” Her teeth sunk in another spot and your hands gripped into ginger hair, “please, I dont- Nat!” You were moaning in an out of breaths and words and by some miracle she was able to pull away.

Calloused, rough hands cradled your face. Her sweat-dripping forehead came to press into yours and her eyes were locked shut. She was panting like an animal and all you could do was stare. She’d moved you so you were laying underneath her against the couch, her body locked against yours.

And the movie- oh God the movie was still playing and if Natasha turned her head she’d realise that the scene where Carol and Therese are together for the first time was about to come on and the room would fill with moans other than hers.

“Baby.” She whispered like a dirty secret. You nodded. “Tell me to stop, baby. I’m sorry. Tell me to stop and I will. You need to tell me”

Her lips started pecking at your lips. You wanted to beg her not too, please don't stop, don't ever stop, but the words didn't leave your mouth. You parted your lips to draw in some air as you were suffocating in the need that was reverberating off of Natasha but all this did was give her the opportunity to properly kiss you.

Her tongue swiped at your lips and her hands squeezed your face together tighter. Another shrill moan hit the walls, but it wasn't you. If anyone was listening to Natasha without realising what was happening, they’d think she was overdosing by the noises she was producing. All she needed was you.

“Baby, you need to tell me to stop.”

Her tongue was in your mouth again and you sucked at it, she could’ve come.

And she couldn’t help it.

“My dumb, little baby. Tell mommy to stop.” Her voice was so sultry and low. The words were hush against your lips and your eyes closed with a sharp moan. The title hit you and your hands gripped at her biceps.

“Mommy.” You moaned. She nodded her head and kissed at your mouth again.

“Oh, fuck- baby… say it again.” She moved her hands off your cheeks and started to unbutton the shirt, her shirt, that you were wearing.

“Please don’t stop, mommy. Please, please, please.” You begged, over and over. She kept nodding and whining. The buttons were too much, so she just ripped the shirt open and got you undressed underneath her. Her hands were on your skin, and she still couldn't stop. She wouldn’t stop.

“My dumb little girl, keep begging mommy. I’ll give you whatever you want, baby. Anything.”

You kept whining and begging, she had to lean away from you to get her shorts and tank off- you took your underwear off yourself. It felt like forever, but her hands were back on you again and you forgot she ever left. Her words clouded your head, consuming you entirely.

“Come on, baby. Talk to me.”

You stayed silent, unable to form a thought and Natasha smiled down at you condescending.

“Oh, is my little angel to dumb to talk?” She cooed. “You just need your mommy don't you. You need me to tell you what to do, huh? Oh, sweet girl.”

She got back on top of you, and oh dear was she wetter than you were. Her cunt pressed against yours and both your eyes shut. Her mouth opened and she started rubbing herself against your pussy. Moans filled the room and you realised it wasn't just yours.

As her hand came and gripped at your neck, you turned your head to look at the television. Carol was going down Therese’s body, going to eat her cunt. You looked back at Natasha and she leaned forward into you, your tits pressing together. Her nipples were so incredibly hard and you could feel them against yours. A gush of wetness came in between your thighs and the older woman could notice.

“You like that, angel.” You couldn’t tell if she meant what you and her were doing, or what Carol was doing to Therese but you nodded. “I’m going to eat you out so good one day, mommy is going to make your body hers.” Your moans started to get shorter and higher as she humped against you faster, a hand cradling the back of your head so your foreheads were together again. “Maybe i'll do it when your dads home , make you all quiet for me. Are you a naughty girl for me, baby?”

You screamed and opened your mouth so she could get one of her hands to hold your jaw open. Her tongue licked at your lips and she spat directly into your mouth.

“Mommy needs to cum on you first, wanna cum in you, baby Oh, i wish i could cum in you, fill you up with me. Mommy needs to be in her sweet girl, make you all mine. You wanna be mine don’t you, all mine. Let mommy think for you.”

You were so close- her words only spurring you on. “Want you to fill me up mommy. Wanna feel you inside me.” You choked out.

Natasha was close as well, her body was convulsing against yours quicker, and even more desperate. “Cum with me, baby. Be a good girl and do as mommy says.”

Screams resonated in Natashas mind and she swore the orgasm that just hit her like a train would never end. Her teeth marked your forehead as she bit into you to try and curve the sheer overwhelming pulsing inbetween her legs. You were no better off, tears seeping through the corner of your eyes as you came against her pussy.

“Fuck, fuck- fuck. Oh shit, mommy is coming so hard. That's it.” She spoke you through your orgasm, one hand pressing against your lower stomach. “Oh baby, that’s it - keep coming for mommy.”

Your moans slowed down and she wiped the tears away from your eyes. “Such a good girl for me, aren't you? Mommys baby.”

#natasha romanoff #older!nat #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x y/n #mommy k!nk #mommy natasha romanoff #mommy!nat #mommy natasha #tahliesfics

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jessica-problems · 4 months

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Seeing @thydungeongal constantly wrestling with people interpreting her posts about D&D in ways that seem completely alien to me has convinced me that there are actually multiple completely distinct activities both being referred to as "playing D&D" Before we begin, I want to stress that I'm not saying one of these groups is Playing The Game Wrong or anything, but there seems to be a lot of confusion and conflict caused by people not being aware of the distinction. In fact, either one works just fine if everyone's on the same page. So far, I think I've identified at least two main groups. And nobody seems to realize the distinction between these groups even exists. The first group of people think of "Playing D&D" as, well, more or less like any other board game. Players read the whole rulebook all the way through, all the players follow the instructions, and the gameplay experience is determined by what the rules tell each player to do. This group thinks of the mechanics as, not exactly the *whole* game, but certainly the fundamental skeleton that everything else is built on top of. People in the second group think of "Playing D&D" as referring to, hanging out with their friends, collaboratively telling a story inspired by some of the elements in the rulebooks, maybe rolling some dice to see what happens when they can't decide. This group thinks of the mechanics of the game as, like... a spice to sprinkle on top of the story to mix things up. (if you belong to this second group, and think I'm explaining it poorly, please let me know, because I'm kind of piecing things together from other people saying things I don't understand and trying to reverse engineer how they seem to be approaching things.) I think this confusion is exacerbated by the fact that Wizards of the Coast markets D&D as if these are the same thing. They emphatically are not. the specific rules laid out of the D&D rulebooks actually direct players to tell a very specific kind of story. You can tell other stories if you ignore those rules (which still counts as "playing D&D" under the second definition, but doesn't under the first)And I think people in both groups are getting mad because they assume that everyone is also using their definition. For example, there's a common argument that I've seen play out many times that goes something like this:

A: "How do I mod D&D to do [insert theme here]?" B: "D&D is really not built for that, you should play [other TTRPG] that's designed for it instead" A: "But I don't want to learn a whole new game system!" B: "It will be easier to just learn a whole new system than mod D&D to do that." A: "whatever, I'll just mod D&D on my own" And I think where this argument comes from is the two groups described above completely talking past each other. No one understands what the other person is trying to say. From A's perspective, as a person in the second group, it sounds like A: "Anyone have some fun inspirations for telling stories about [insert theme here]?" B: "You can't sit around a table with your friends and tell a story about that theme! That's illegal." A: "But we want to tell a story about this theme!" B: "It's literally impossible to do that and you're a dumb idiot baby for even thinking about it." A: "whatever, jerk, I'll figure it out on my own."

--- Whereas, from B's perspective, the conversation sounds like A: "How do I change the rules of poker to be chess, and not be poker?" B: "uhhh, just play chess?" A: "But I already know how to player poker! I want to play poker, but also have it be chess!" B: "what the hell are you talking about? What does that even mean. They're completely different games." A: "I'm going to frankenstein these rules together into some kind of unplayably complex monster and you can't stop me!" ---

So both people end up coming away from the conversation thinking the other person is an idiot. And really, depending on how you concieve of what it means to "play D&D" what is being asked changes considerably. If you're only planning to look through the books for cool story inspiration, maybe borrow a cool little self contained sub-system here or there, then yeah, it's very possible to steal inspiration for your collaborative story from basically anywhere. Maybe some genres are kind of an awkward fit together, but you can make anything work with a little creativity.

If, however, you are thinking of the question in terms of frankensteining two entire board games together, then it becomes a massively difficult or even outright nonsensical idea. For example, for skill checks, the game Shadowrun has players roll a pool of several d6 at once, then count up how many rolled above a target value to see how well a character succeeded at a task. The whole game is full of specific rules about adding or removing dice from the pool, effects happening if you roll doubles, rerolling only some of the dice, and all sorts of other things that simply do not translate to rolling a single d20 for skill checks. On a basic level, the rules of the games work very differently. Trying to make them compatible would be much harder than just learning a new game from scratch. Now, neither of these approaches is exactly *wrong*, I guess, but personally, I find the rules of TTRPGs to be fascinating and worth taking the time to engage with all the weird little nuances and seeing what shakes out. Also, the first group, "TTRPG as fancy board game" is definitely the older and more widespread one. I kind of get the impression that the second group largely got into D&D through actual play podcasts, but I don't have any actual data to back that up. So, if you're in the second group, who thinks of D&D as basically a context for collaborative storytelling first and a game second, please let me know if I'm wildly misunderstanding how you approach D&D. Because I'm pretty sure it would save us a whole lot of stupid misunderstandings.

#aj oc #dungeons and dragons #D&D #ttrpg

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genderkoolaid · 4 months

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expand on ur "mental asylum Marxism shit" thing about children & grief?? from what you've said im pretty sure i will relate from my own experiences as a grieving child. also it sounds interesting!!

so i was thinking about how weird it is that, when a child has to deal with the death of a loved one, they say something like "no child should have to go through this! no child should have to even think about death!" which strikes me as weird because i was a child who dealt with the deaths of multiple close family members, very close together. the first was my great-grandmother, who i lived with and who was my best friend. death was never foreign to me (my mom has always been very death-positive on top of all that). grief was just part of my life like everything else was.

but i realized that its because people think childhood should not have any flaws. you should be 100% happy and fulfilled all the time. any time a child experiences anything painful, its bad. not "children should have access to love and support," but "children should not have basic life experiences because the idea of childhood being anything other than fluffy purity scares me."

because children in society are fundamentally not people. especially in a society structured around christian beliefs in natural law theory, that what is natural = what is good, healthy, and Divinely commanded. so on top of children being the property of adults, they are also forced to be the symbols of Nature. whatever is the most useful to whoever needs them. which means we built up this idea of children as tabula rasas, pureness incarnate. like a magic mirror where if we look into it, we'll be able to catch a glimpse of the true face of humanity. every single thing children do can be scrutinized for some grand truth about humans as a whole. and then, the ways children are treated also reflect how we think humanity should interact with its own nature.

example: the idea of humanity as inherently sinful and wicked, with that urge needing to be suppressed through state violence (hello hobbes) = the idea that children are annoying and shitty on purpose and need to be forced via punishment into being Good Citizens.

this is also why children cannot be trans, even though all trans people must prove that we were trans children. being queer must be unnatural; and even if not, its inherently sexual, and sexuality is dirty and bad. so children can't be trans, and they also can't read books on puberty until their parents decide when and what exactly they are allowed to learn. child victims of sexual assault only matter to the extent that they can be used as a symbol of a cultural threat; calling Jewish or trans people pedophiles means saying that they are foreigners attacking basic human nature, and indirectly, Divine command. if you aren't the right kind of victim, or when you inevitably reveal yourself to be A Person with complicated experiences and opinions, you are no longer of use to the agenda.

it sucks that bad things happen to anyone. aspects of youth can exacerbate the pain sometimes, but sometimes it does the reverse: I wish I could have spent more time with the family members I lost, but I know other people who are glad they loss family members young, because they weren't really hurt by it. I think the main thing is that, even sometimes when we talk about our past selves, we project this cultural idea of Child As Purity and ignore the actual person having the experience. when we "empathize" with children by projecting Purity onto them, we aren't actually connecting with them.

#m.#ask box #csa tw #youthlib

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nymphia-tarot · 8 months

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Your relationship with them [18+] PAC

pile 1 ----> pile 2

pile 3 ----> pile 4

🍂 meditate on the pics and pick whichever one calls to you the most. this reading is divided into two parts: your general life dynamic and your sex-life. you might feel drawn to more than one pile, which means you may have messages in other piles for you as well! if you don't feel particularly drawn to any pile, the messages in this reading might not be intended for you. since this is a general reading, take what resonates! 🍂

🍂Pile 1:

ᯓ★ General:

I'm getting your person is somewhat ambitious and a planner. They may have come from humble beginnings and thus, they know the value of hardwork and pragmatism. There's probably a lot of LGBTQ+ individuals in this pile. I'm getting a lot of sapphics in particular?

I'm getting your partner embodies the more "dominant" or active energy in the dynamic here. They're probably just used to being the one who does most of the doing in their life. I'm getting workaholic vibes as well. Your person feels like you really pull them off their balance. Or like, you can easily shake them off even when they try to hold themselves together. I feel like for a lot of you it's probably unintentionally too which kinda frustrates them lol.

If you lived together, they might probably be really busy all the time due to their nature as well as circumstances. I feel like work and responsibilities may be overwhelming in the relationship. There might even be arguments due to a clash of values or perspectives about some matters. They might not be able to meet your emotional needs at times due to them generally being more head-oriented. I'm getting warnings from spirit regarding communication. All relationships are built on trust and healthy communication, so don't be discouraged! With time, I feel this could be a very mature and deep relationship based on security, trust and hardwork overcoming obstacles together. However, if issues exacerbate and you find that they're not the right one for you then the choice to decide on the future is always your right.

ᯓ★ In the bedroom:

Your person finds you extremely tempting and irresistible. They may even have been lusting after you for quite a while before you guys got together. I'm getting that they were pining after you heavily and being extremely downbad lol. They love watching you and they may even start fantasizing about you midday whenever they look at you 😭💀 They might do it solo a lot with you in their mind. They might be lowkey afraid that others might feel the same about you and it makes them a bit anxious even though I feel like they might hide it outwardly.

There's a lot of passion in the bedroom between the two of you. Their feelings towards you are very intense, almost as if they're directing it all at once with a laser focus. They might get very consumed in the bedroom, like nothing else exists in the moment except the two of you. They might like receiving oral from you a lot or at least they fantasize about it quite a lot of times. They might even be dominant in the bedroom and have fantasies of you submitting to them. I feel like they're the possessive type, and this might even show from subtle things in the moment like the way they grip you just a bit harder, almost as if they don't want to let you go.

A lot of yall in pile 1 might be pillow-princesses. I feel like you also love teasing your partner, not usually in an overt way but through more subtle mannerisms. Your partner notices this and it drives them craaazyy lol. Overall, I feel like you really satisfy each other in bed and you might also subconsciously soothe a lot of each other's insecurities and deeply-rooted fears. Sometimes, the sex between you two might get so intense that you both lose sight of everything else-- maybe you leave your room/house really messy everytime you do it too. They might like to get rough with you in bed but there's also aftercare and I feel like a lot of you really enjoy the aftercare sessions a lot, almost like that's the main "treat" you're after even though the sex is good.

🍂 Pile 2:

ᯓ★ General:

I feel like quite a lot of my pile 2 individuals are very idealistic people and hopeless romantics. Maybe some of you are even inexperienced in the matters of love and might have a lot of ideas and fantasies about the perfect relationship, which might even be unrealistic at times (hey, nothing wrong with it as long as it's not negatively interfering with your life). I feel like this relationship will be nothing like you've dreamed of, and that's not necessarily in a bad way. In a way, it'll teach you valuable life lessons and give you a more grounded and mature perspective about the reality of relationships.

Your person is a very free individual and they're the type who doesn't hold anything back. Maybe their boundaries are very expansive, and they might appear extremely open and accepting. They might be very materially prosperous and abundant as well. I feel like your person is very sociable and might be someone who belongs to "high society". I'm getting Gatsby vibes-ish outwardly. Very composed, elegant and smooth as well in their exterior-- almost like they have it all together, a social chameleon and a charming influencer.

However, I'm getting that there might be a duality to them. They might even be depressed lowkey. They might not have the healthiest relationship with their emotions. It's like, they were never really taught how to handle pain and they might even keep that aspect of themselves neglected, which might lead to detrimental consequences as a result. Perhaps my pile 2s were drawn to the outer brilliance of this person because they do appear really bright, like a treasure. They seem like the ideal prince of your dreams who could fulfill all your needs initially. However, as the relationship progresses, you discover more and more aspects of them that aren't entirely beautiful. This relationship comes with struggles, especially mental health struggles for a lot of you, and it might even be harder than you initially expected. However, at the end, you will also find a lot of growth individually. Also, I'm getting that some people here in this pile were attracted to both pile 1 and 2 and found overlapping messages relevant to their situation in both piles?

ᯓ★ In the bedroom:

Your person might have some kinkier desires when it comes to the bedroom that they don't just allow anyone to know. I'm getting it might be a bit shameful for them to admit, that's why it's mostly secret. They might even take you to a sex dungeon to do it at times so that you can fulfill that desire.

For your person, sex is a very intimate thing and they might really like privacy in the moment-- in the sense that they're allowing you and you alone to see something noone else is allowed to know. It takes a lot of trust for them to open up, and I'm getting that a major overarching theme in the dynamic between you two is the merging of boundaries and letting yourself go, as if holding nothing back out of a decision to trust and find security in each other.

I'm getting that they might think of themselves as "hideous" deep down, not necessarily in appearance but just as a general feeling. They might see you as something "pure" that they're tainting (kinda depressed vibes yeah). Reminds me of that one Nine Inch Nails song: Closer. Perhaps they even see you as "above" them and might feel undeserving of you deep down. I'm also getting that they really like your chest. They really enjoy sucking them too. Perhaps you might take a more nurturing role in the bedroom for them, soothing them and making them feel loved and safe. You might take control more often than them in the bedroom and they also enjoy getting tied up while you're free to do anything to them. They might like being more on the receiving end of sex. They might also idolise you a lot.

🍂 Pile 3:

ᯓ★ General:

For my pile 3s, what I'm getting is that when you start a relationship with your person you might be in somewhat of a pinch financially. Maybe you or your partner might be having a hard time finding employment or maybe your job will face some problems where it'll be difficult to get by with simply wages. I'm getting that you guys will start a creative partnership. It'll be something decided on a whim, maybe you will just decide to go "fuck it" and take a leap of faith to see where fortune takes you and start a creative outlet, perhaps a new business venture. You (plural) might be full of ideas and innovative spirits.

This relationship will be more of a mutual partnership and you guys are like best friends who are also lovers kinda deal. There are a lot of different people here... for some, I'm getting that you might get an offer for help from the other but you will reject it due to a possibility for imbalance in the relationship and you will choose your freedom and pursue an independent path, which you'll be successful at in the end anyway.

This relationship will lead to a sort of rebirth for both of you as individuals, mostly your person though. They might go through a major transformation in the future of this relationship. In the future, there's a lot of worries and anxiety coming from your end regarding your ability to manifest your dreams. A lot of you are people who like to dream big and have high hopes. So maybe you're afraid that you might not succeed and the circumstances surrounding you will start to weigh on you a bit more than you can handle. However, I'm getting that the hurdles present in this relationship are not only yours to carry alone. This relationship seems very balanced mostly and it's one of those relationships where you both go through troubles together hand in hand to support each other through thick and thin.

ᯓ★ In the bedroom:

I'm getting a lot of emphasis on your bottom. Maybe it's your person's favourite part of your body for them. They really enjoy giving you oral, doing it while watching you from behind or just watching that part of you. The sex between you two might be something that feels really transformative. You might do it a lot to release mundane stress and tension from daily life and it really helps soothe you at the end of the day. They might also enjoy giving you oral from below while you're preoccupied with some work at your desk.

You guys might also indulge in semi-public sex. You might do it in situations where there's a risk of being seen by others. I'm also getting sex in the park lol. You or your person might be into voyeur fantasies as well where there's a third party involved to watch. Or maybe they'll introduce a third party in your sex life as well. However, the focus is more on pleasing you than them and that's what the third party is for. Sometimes, they might even show up at the workplace secretly and have sex with you lol.

I'm seeing that your person genuinely has a lot of deep feelings for you and wants you to be cared for and happy with them. They might express this through sex where they'll focus more on your satisfaction than theirs. It's like, your satisfaction makes them satisfied and turns them on. Sometimes, they might even be really worried that you don't want them as much as they want you. They have a tendency to not voice their discomfort and it might lead to some repressed resentment so an advice I'd give out is communicating your boundaries with each other in a healthy manner. Honestly, deep down what they really want is your attention while you forget about everything else and just focus on them. They lowkey love being pampered and are kinda needy.

🍂 Pile 4:

ᯓ★ General:

For my pile 4s, I'm getting that there's a certain sense of imbalance in this relationship. Your person might be in a position (whether socially, financially, professionally or elsewhere) where they're above you and you guys aren't on equal ground. This might create somewhat of a power dynamic and they might hold more than you do. Be careful, because for some of you I'm getting that there's a potential for abuse here, or some other form of exploitation due to how severely skewed the dynamics of the relationship are.

I'm seeing there's also a good potential for marriage. They might come to you with a marriage offer and do their best to woo you. You're like a wish-fulfillment to your person and they really desire you as someone that seems special and magnetic, like a distant star. For some, I'm getting that you might even be younger than them, or you have a more youthful and bright energy to you that they really admire and look at fondly. It's because you have this spark to you that they find really rare and you pull them in with your brightness. I'm also getting that your presence gives them a lot of hope.

For this relationship, I'm getting that your person likes to hold control over the dynamic. They might lowkey have a manipulative streak in that they make situations go a certain way in subtle manners so that it leads to the ideal outcome they want. I'm getting that a lot of my pile 4s are very intelligent and you might discern them more easily than they think. You two might enjoy playing mind games with each other a lot as a form of stimulation. I'm getting that one anime "kaguya-sama" vibes where the couple did a lot of silly shit to get each other to fall for them lol. Maybe a lot of yall are sapiosexuals as well.

ᯓ★ In the bedroom:

The two of you have really intense chemistry and the sex is extremely passionate as well. It's like when you're together, you tend to drown in pleasure and forget everything else. Really rough sex, intense positions and hot and heavy movements, etc. You guys really get into the moment when you're together and due to that you might end up somewhat sore or just really tired afterwards when you're done.

In a way, I feel like both of you are more focused on your own sensations and pleasure and focus everything to whatever you're feeling in the moment. Not that you don't please each other or don't care about each other at all, but it's more like the feeling of pleasure is the main focus when you're in the bedroom. Something lowkey Dionysian about the moment you're together. You two might both enjoy how messy it can get in bed. You're both very downbad and like to do it anywhere.

Your person enjoys it when you ride on top of them or when you wrap your legs around them. They also really enjoy watching you move violently or roughly while your face is twisted in pleasure while they're going at it. It's the animalistic impulse that really turns them on. Sex for them is a way of touching upon that primitive part of yourself and letting it lose. That's why your sessions can be a bit uninhibited. They might even enjoy gripping you tightly and get stern during sex. They'll always make sure the both of you orgasam and achieve pleasure though. They also love embracing you and touching you in general. They think of you as a queen/king in the bedroom and might even treat you like one in their own way. They're also really into spanking and punishments (either to you or for themselves). Both of you can be very vocal during sex. A lot of people might even gossip about yall.

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cherryredcheol · 3 months

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little guy shelf

tldr: what the hell is a 'little guy'? an: i literally do not know where this came from.

when jihoon hears you huff for the fourth time in just as many minutes, he knows something must be wrong. after pausing the music coming out of his speakers and minimizing the tabs of production software on his monitor, he turns his chair to face you and is not surprised to hear you huff again.

“bee,” he waits for you to look up at him before he asks, “what's the problem?”

you huff again, but quickly pull yourself together and explain to him, very calmly, “there’s too many little guys on my shelf.”

jihoon blinks, sure he misheard you he asks again, “what is the problem?”

you’re starting to get exacerbated, he can see it in the way you take a deep breath before explaining yourself, “my shelf, where i keep my little guys, there’s too many of them and now i can’t fit this one but this one is perfect! it has to go on my shelf.”

“i’m sorry, bee. i’m still confused. what is a ‘little guy’? and why does he have a designated shelf?” you two were still on opposite sides of the universe factory, and although the room was not big, he could not see the self in question from where he was, leaving him even more confused.

“just come over here and look at my shelf, zi. you’ll get it if you can see it.” you could see the hesitation in his eyes at the thought of taking a break from production, but you were not above guilt-tripping. “come help me, zi. i need you,” you hoped your puppy-dog eyes still worked on him.

turns out, they do. he got up and shuffled over to where you had squat down next to the second-to-bottom shelf on his wall. he’d never noticed before but the little shelf he’s offhandedly told you could be yours many, many months ago had been filled with little trinkets, or ‘guys’ he guessed. he wasn’t sure why you were so upset about this, though.

“bee, i’m still confused. what exactly is the problem with your…guys?” he gestured vaguely to your plastic army.

“they’re all you! little tiny versions of you. and i’ve been collecting them but this one,” you lifted your hand to jihoon’s face. a tiny green man, bent over a barbell was staring back at him, his eyes were almost crossed trying to look at it. “this one will not fit! they all keep tipping over and then i stand them back up and then they tip over again! but he belongs here with these other little guys, zi. he belongs.”

he gently pushed your hand out of his face, “yeah, bee. he totally belongs.” jihoon was still confused, but a little less so and terribly fond, “who else is there? who else represents me?”

you lit up, clearly excited to explain your thought process to him. you turned, hand gently reaching into the molded infantry and remerging with a…grumpy penguin?

jihoon was still confused but was ready to listen intently to your enthusiastic explanation, “tell me everything, bee.” he was doing this mostly to humor you, but he was intrigued.

holding the little penguin out in front of you, you said, “this is badtz-maru. he is a penguin. he’s perpetually stuck in the first grade and wants to be the big boss of everything when he grows up.”

jihoon plucked the little plastic toy from your hand, turning it over to inspect it, “that's nice. but why is he me?”

“well, he has black spiky hair, like you do,” you paused, looking at his long black hair, “sometimes.” you smiled sheepishly before continuing, “and penguins give rocks to their partners to show love. and you wrote ‘ruby’ and a ruby is technically a rock so…” you trailed off, embarrassed about your ramblings.

jihoon had never thought you cuter. he reached the hand not holding his penguin self onto the shelf and pulled out a pokémon. “why flareon?”

“oh! other than the sheer cuteness?” you were really on a tangent now, “‘flareon tends to isolate. and it’s in their nature to be lonely, so–”

jihoon interjected, “i am not lonely. nor do i isolate.”

“well, that’s not true. you do isolate, don’t lie. and maybe not lonely per se, more of a loner. which again, you kind of are. plus, this little guy is spitting fire, which again, you do, so yeah. flareon, obviously.”

“obviously.” jihoon was thoroughly amused. he had no idea any of this was in his studio. you’ve been hoarding toys here. toys that reminded you of him, “show me one more, bee.”

you pulled out, “a little baby, with a vegetable hat?”

“no, zi. this is not any baby with a vegetable hat. this is the cabbage sonny angel. technically it’s the wrong kind of cabbage to make kimchi with but i’m choosing to let it slide because it’s little face looks just like yours!”

you were very passionate about these so-called ‘little guys’ and although jihoon didn’t really get it, he loved you. and he loved that you thought about him so much that you would collect these little toys in his honor.

“here,” he grabs the green weightlifting one off the discard pile on the floor and stands up. he rounds the corner to his desk and, “it can live here. since it’s ‘me’ and all.” he places it right next to his monitor, right in his line of vision, but not blocking anything important.

you got up from the pile, leaving your little guys on the floor to see where this little guy had been placed.

coming up behind jihoon you siaid, “zi! he looks perfect there!” you leaned over and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.

he blushed but still said, “you don’t have to keep the little guys just on that one shelf. use the whole wall, bee. my space is your space.”

#seventeen #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #svt #seventeen scenarios #svt x reader #woozi imagine #woozi #woozi x reader #woozi imagines #jihoon imagine #jihoon #jihoon x reader #jihoon fluff #jihoon imagines #woozi fluff

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daegu-based-terrorist · 28 days

Note

genuinely very curious, im not korean and don't know much about korea, what is bad about daegu specifically? also, if its ok for me to ask, a while ago i heard that north koreans are sort of discriminated against in SK when it comes to stuff like work opportunity etc. idk if thats true. but i am curious if thats your experience. im assuming this might vary depending on if someone is "obviously" north korean like having a nk accent too etc. and overall what it is like to live in SK as someone from NK

I wrote a whole very long response to your first question but then tumblr deleted it so I’ll just give dot points

• very gray/brown and depressing, lots of urban decay

• wealth gap is noticeable

• very conservative city + DMC only has one non people’s party member

• super fucking hot and exacerbated by the fact that this entire city is concrete with little green spaces

• fucking American soldiers EVERYWHERE

Being north Korean in South Korea sucks because they will clock you based on your accent, skin colour (weird perception that North Koreans have naturally darker skin) or just doing a thorough background check. People don’t like to rent to North Koreans or hire North Koreans. My mother has worked jobs and been incredibly good at them only for her to accidentally let slip that she was from the dprk and get suspiciously fired the next day.

I was hugely bullied my entire middle and high school years. Most years the teachers of my social studies and Korean history classes would pull me aside and basically ban me from speaking the whole year, which included presentations. They were so worried about me indoctrinating my peers that I’d have to go and do my oral presentations in private after school when I was meant to be studying with everyone else. I got hugely down graded on basically every subjective assignment, my teachers would find vague reasons to take off huge numbers of points despite the fact that we were graded on a rubric. It’s actually one of the reasons I got into mathematics, my teacher wasn’t able to randomly fuck with my grades because in high school math everything is objective.

#south Korea #dprk #north korea #korea #random

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undertheorangetree · 1 year

Text

Pomegranate Seeds

Summary- A retelling of the abduction of Persephone.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Hades and Persephone AU. Star-crossed lovers vibes. Uncle/niece incest. Making out. Angst. Fluff. Titty sucking. Handjob. Cunnilingus. Vaginal fingering. Soft smut. Mild praise kink. Mildly OOC Aemond.

Author's Notes- Yeah I was a Percy Jackson/Greek mythology kid, thank you for noticing. I'm still playing incredibly fast and loose with the mythology tho so we're gonna have to make our peace with that. This is a beast btw, it's like 9.6K and you can find the rest on AO3 with the link below :)

divider created by @firefly-graphics

It is moments like these, she thinks, that she loves most.

Alone in the meadow, surrounded by wildflowers, the babbling of the creek as it flows over the rocks. Everything green with the exception of the purple, white, and yellow flowerheads but lush and everbearing and alive, the sun little more than a hazy warm glow, not yet hot enough to be overbearing. It is peaceful here, so much more than she is used to. She had come to an agreement with her step sisters, Baela and Rhaena, that they allow her a few hours on her own in this meadow, undisturbed by anyone else. Though her mother much preferred to that she remain alongside her sisters whenever she is out of sight, she, Baela, and Rhaena had come to an agreement that what her mother didn’t know couldn’t hurt her. And besides, they were never too far away from her. Being water nymphs, they could be by her side in less than a moment if she really needed them, so long as she doe does not stray too far from the river. And she has never been more grateful for it than she is right now.

Stretching her arms high above her head, she stretches out along the grass, enjoying the feeling of every blade of grass, the sweet smell of the blooms wafting on the breeze. Admittedly, this meadow had not been quite so plentiful when they had found it, following along the winding river, but she is the goddess of spring. Flowers bloom at her word and sun shines with her will. It had not been too difficult to turn this meadow into her own personal paradise, away from the chaos often wrought by her mother and brothers and stepfather.

There is a sudden change in the wind that causes her to sit up. Colder than it had been before, something more akin to winter than spring. The ground seems to rumble beneath her, shaking as if the sudden cold has sent it to shiver. Curiously, she turns her head toward the tree line, where the birches and willows keep the meadow shielded from view, only to find a man standing among them. Dressed in all black- breeches, cloak, and the shred of his tunic she can see beneath it- his platinum hair is almost jarring in contrast. He is not a big man, long and lithe, but there is an air to him that feels dangerous, dangerous enough to give her pause. He has not noticed her yet, face turned away, but she can see the long, stern plains of his face from where she sits, looking incredibly serious. That seriousness is only exacerbated by the dark leather eyepatch covering the eye closest to her, a deep red scar carved beneath it.

She does not think she has ever seen anyone here before, not outside of Baela, Rhaena, and herself, and his presence here is almost incongruous. Still, there is an air about him, one that makes it clear that he is a god just as she is, and that alone should make his surprise appearance less shocking.

“Hello.”

The sound of her voice seems to catch him off guard. Quickly, he turns toward her, shoulders tense, but they relax when he takes her in. She cannot imagine that she is intimidating, sitting flat in the grass all alone. “Hello.”

But it is that reminder of the grass that brings her pause. What is this man doing here? Where had he come from? It is not as if this meadow is easy to find, hidden amongst the trees as it is. She feels her brows furrow, head cocking in question. “How did you find this place?”

She had not put a glamour over this meadow, but she did not feel she had too. The forest, though light and airy, was a labyrinth of trees that seemed deterrent enough to keep any unwanted guests away. They were incredibly difficult to find your way through and she had been convinced it would be impossible to try- for God or mortal.

Near impossible, it seemed then.

His eye darts back to the treeline, taking half a step back. “If I am intruding, I can leave.”

“No.” She says it far too quickly and she can see the way his eyebrows raise in response to it, but she can’t find it in her to be ashamed. She is intrigued by this man, more so than she likely should be, and finds she wants to know more. To learn how he came to find this place. “Just because this place is unknown does not mean it is mine alone. You may stay. Beauty like this should be enjoyed.”

“Wise words,” he agrees, coming toward her. He hesitates at the end, torn on whether or not to truly join her, but it seems courtesy wins out as he lowers himself to the ground, joining her amongst the flowers. He looks entirely out of place, black against the blooms, but she says nothing, keeping her observation to herself.

They sit in absolute silence but she does not mind. He sits stiffly, as if uncomfortable, while she continues to take in all that is around her. From here, she can see the way the willows sway with the wind, the white puffy clouds floating by in the soft blue sky.

“I did not mean to,” he says. She looks at him, head tilted once again. “To find this place. It was not my intention. Though I admit I have never seen anything quite like it.”

She smiles, though he could not possibly know that he had complimented her. “It is a rare thing.”

“It feels almost as if it were from a painting,” he adds, looking around the meadow to take it in further.

She joins him in it, finding no shame in admiring her own work. It is a pretty place, though that had always been her intention. Olympus was beautiful in and of itself, but it was stark in that way. Ethereal and otherworldly, but cosmopolitan. Bright white marble, painted statues, stained glass. Everything beautiful, to be sure, but not in the untamed way that she seemed to crave. She preferred the beauty that was found in nature, in heavy branches filled with green leaves, tall grasses and wildflowers and crystalline waters.

“Do you know much about art?” she asks to fill the silence.

He seems caught off guard again from her question, but answers it anyway. “Not as much as I would like, but I can appreciate the beauty in something as well as any man. Though do not tell anyone. It would ruin my reputation.”

She laughs. “You needn’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. Which periods do you prefer?”

They talk for hours, the conversation unfurling as naturally as a bird’s wing. Art, history, philosophy. There is no subject they do not indulge in. He becomes less awkward with time as he grows more comfortable around her and she almost pulls a laugh from him not once, but twice. It seems quite the feat, for a man as serious as this one seems to be, though she does not let her pride get the better of her. When she asks him how she managed to find her well kept secret, he had simply said that one always finds the best things when you are not looking for them. A non answer, but that was alright. She was sure she could coax the answer from him eventually.

“Forgive me, I never asked you your name,” she says after what must have been hours, half appalled by her lack of manners.

He does not seem to mind, a good natured half smile making its way onto his face. “My friends call me Aemond. You may as well.”

It is not uncommon, for Gods to prefer more earthly names. She is often the same. There is power within a name and for such an innocent encounter, she does not feel the need to have him call her Persephone or Kore or any of those that strike some rumination of power and fear. So she gives him her common name, the one she feels is more true to who she is, and he smiles in response to it, repeating it back to her as if to test it. She likes the way it sounds when he says it, the way each letter seems to roll off him tongue, and somehow hearing him say the word alone is enough to make her flush.

She turns her head to hide it and only then notices that the sun has dipped below the trees, leaving the sky a hazy orange. Her mother will be expecting her home soon and there is no telling how poorly she will react if Rhaena and Baela return home without her. She doesn’t doubt that Rhaenyra will send her great serpent Syrax after her should she be even a moment late.

“I have to go,” she says, unable to keep the apologetic tone from her voice.

Reluctantly, she stands, brushing the dirt from her skirts. His lips had parted at her announcement, but now he ducks his head in an understanding nod. She smiles at him, not truly wanting to go yet, and makes her way toward the creek to call upon her sisters to come and fetch her. She does not make it two steps before he is calling after her.

“Can I see you again?”

She turns back to look at him. The insecurity on his face does not seem to match his features, looking almost out of place there. Still, she finds it entirely endearing and she realizes that she would absolutely like to see him again.

“Yes,” she agrees softly.

“Tomorrow?”

She does not bother to fight the smile itching its way onto her face. “Yes.”

He matches her smile then before standing. He comes forward and takes her hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips and placing a chaste kiss there. “Then I shall see you on the morrow, my lady.”

She can do nothing but hope he does not notice how hot her face has become.

“On the morrow.”

Read the rest here

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon

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arabellasleopardcoat · 8 months

Text

No masters or kings (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Aemond has issues around sex. The thought of being married to you, an angel, it's not helping.

Warnings: Angst (w/happy ending) Religious guilt, repression around sex. Kissing. Thoughts of sex, but no actual smut. Just angst and fluff.

Requested: Yup! Modern reader falls into Sept x Aemond

For as long as he could remember, Aemond had been alone. He had been an outsider to his siblings and nephews, all with a dragon. He had been an outsider to other noble children, marked apart by his distinctive features. He had been an outsider to his father's family, Rhaenyra and her children.

The loss of his eye had only exacerbated that. The girls at court were frightened by the sight of him, and he often worried about how he could secure a match. No longer activities he had found solace in, like studying and swordplay, came easily. Everything, from reading to being able to walk down the stairs without tripping, had to be relearned.

His faith in the Seven had permeated all of his childhood. His mother was the only person to pay attention to him, even if it was sometimes in a way Aemond could not appreciate. When he thought of her, his mind's eye always conjured her with a seven pointed star hanging from her neck.

Aemond had tried his best to keep her happy. She was all he had. So instead of running from his lessons and incurring on indecent behavior, Aemond had closely listened to the Septons that educated them. He had prayed daily. He had read the Seven Pointed Star and annotated its passages, committing them to memory.

Paradoxically, the time when he felt closer to the Gods was after the loss of his eye. It had been then he had truly understood what it felt like to be favored by the Seven. His faith demanded sacrifices, but always rewarded them. An eye for a dragon. The biggest dragon in Westeros.

Sacrifice will bring good things. It was a very simple lesson, but one he committed to memory regardless.

As a child, Aemond had not prayed for a dragon. Nor had he prayed to the Warrior to make him strong and able to defeat his enemies. When Aemond was a child, he had often prayed for a friend. Asking for the Maiden to send him someone kind. An angel. He had never spoken it out loud, afraid of appearing weak. Children were such cruel creatures, after all. But Aemond never forgot to ask the Maiden for it.

Aemond prayed. And suffered. And prayed, and suffered, and thought that at least this life he was leading, of loneliness and desperation and so much fear, would finally account for something. For the Gods favored those who suffered and sacrificed, and if his reward didn't come in this life, it would come in the next one.

His prayers were always the same. Each morning, before anyone else could rise except for the lowliest of servants, Aemond went to the Sept. He spent equal time in front of each of the Seven's effigy and lit a candle for them. He prayed in silence, asking of them simple things. Aemond knew he already led a privileged life, so he did not dare ask for more.

His prayers were so ingrained, he recited them with little thought. Yet, when he came to the Maiden, Aemond always fumbled. With the other Gods, he knew exactly what to ask for. But with Her, he only felt unease. So he rapidly mumbled his childhood prayer, and moved on. It had become a tradition, even if he was no longer the appropriate age to pray for friends.

Aemond knew it was the wrong thing to do. When you were praying, you were supposed to be present. To think of all the aspects of the Seven with the devotion they deserved. But when you are taught as a child to pray, it turns into instinct.

Just as someone who has trained enough with the sword barely thinks about his next move, someone who prays enough doesn't need to think about what they will ask next. It's too ingrained.

At this hour, the Sept is quiet. Aemond enjoys praying here instead of in the one inside the Red Keep. There are no court ladies around to bother him, nor an Aegon making mocking noises while he tries to pray. Despite wanting to join his mother in prayer sometimes, he just couldn't take the royal sept. It lacked the peace septs were supposed to make you feel.

He leaned down, lighting a candle before each effigy, and muttering his usual prayer.

“Warrior, give me strength.” Aemond whispered. He lit the candle and moved on. “Mother, protect my sister and my mother. Father, bring your justice upon my enemies. Maiden, bring me someone kind. An angel.” And as he kneeled to light her candle, something hit him from above.

The weight of the thing was too great for him to remain upright. Aemond was sent sprawling to the floor. His head slammed on the stone floor of the Sept, making him grunt. A woman screamed. Probably, one of the commoners visiting the Sept. They were few at this hour, most having already begun their labors. Her scream was echoed by one of another woman, and soon, hurried footsteps were nearing him.

Aemond tried to sit up, reaching a hand out to move the weight aside. What he gripped, made him fall back down.

Cloth. Cloth covering something soft, something that yielded under his hands. An arm. You. The Gods had answered his call. There was a woman right on top of him, eyes closed and expression smooth, as if in peaceful sleep. The Maiden had sent him an angel, after years of solitude and sacrifice. You were his reward.

Aemond lifted you and set you aside, on one of the benches of the Sept. A couple of the commoners hurried forward, to gape at you, but Ser Criston stopped them.

“A miracle! A miracle!” Someone was screaming, and you twitched. More and more commoners started to pour through the entrance of the Sept, all gawking and murmuring about the woman who had appeared out of thin air.

The people were bright-eyed, frenzied by the demonstration of the Seven's power. They started pushing at Ser Criston, and trying to touch Aemond and you.

Cole and Aemond exchanged looks. If no one controlled the crowd, they might very well end up being torn to shreds by them, in their frantic attempts of touching the holy being they were guarding.

Aemond unsheathed his dagger.

“I think… We need a Septon.”

You were being carried somewhere. You could tell because your head swayed with the movement, unsupported. It was giving you terrible neck pain.

“If she has fallen out of the sky, and there is no hole….”

“A miracle! A miracle! The Seven have…” Fuck, your head hurt, and the woman screaming was not helping things. You flinched, trying to curl into yourself. This felt like the worst hangover ever, and you had no leverage to avoid the noises, since you were hanging in midair.

“The Prince must be held in high regard, for clearly the Gods favor him. Thousands of people pray here daily, yet the Maiden herself answered his plea.” The man from before continued speaking.

Someone else scoffed.

“Surely, this is a bit much. The Prince is hardly…”

“Shut up, Cole.” The person who was carrying you barked. The movement his chest made when he was talking made you fearful of falling down. Despite the strength in his grip, you weighted more than a few sacks of flour or a gallon of milk. People were not supposed to carry other people for long, unless they were frat boys attempting to impress girls or some sort of soldier.

You tried to sit up, the movement making all your body ache. Where were you? Why were you being carried? The last thing you remembered was going into an occult museum with a friend.

Everyone has that one friend. The slightly witchy one who believes in ghosts and crystals and whose favorite month of the year is October. The one who likes terror movies, and scary podcasts and dragging you to haunted houses and escape rooms.

It will be fun, they said. It's an occult museum, what could possibly go wrong?

Where the fuck were they? You were so going to strangle them for getting you… Wherever you were.

“My Lady.” The man holding you said. You looked up and met a pale blue eye and an eye patch. You startled. He looked straight out of a low-budget pirate movie, all in leather. “Are you alright?”

“What happened?” You lifted your head, noticing everyone was cosplaying as medieval priests and knights. There was a sinking feeling in your stomach. The man holding you looked an awful lot like Aemond Targaryen. You would recognize that ensemble anywhere. You had read enough fanfics for it. “Is this a renaissance fair? A comic con?”

It was worth the shot. Perhaps something happened to you and you had stumbled into a comic con? But was it so easy to stumble into one? You thought the tickets for those were expensive, they surely wouldn't just let you in.

Something had happened to you and these kind cosplayers who were… Doing something decided to help you? That seemed more likely.

“No, my lady. This is Westeros. The earthly one.” The man dressed in the more expensive costume of a priest was speaking. He had an elaborate head accessory, billowing robes and some strange pentagram with way more points than usual. His voice was the one which had been muttering about a Prince, and being favored.

“What is a renaissance fair?” The man had the oddest combination of a white cloak and armor. You looked at the man and froze. He was… Oh, what was his name again? Oranges guy!

“Something they must have in the Seven Heavens.” The expensive priest answered, in a matter of fact tone. “Clearly. The Prince asked for an angel. Angels reside there.”

Your mouth was hanging open. They thought you were an angel. Holy shit. You looked down, at your scuffed sneakers and clothes. You didn't feel very angelic, but like hell if you were going to miss the opportunity of receiving royal treatment in Westeros. If you truly were here, you would rather not learn how the lower class lived.

Another priest turned to you. He was dressed as expensively as the first one, but he lacked the head accessory.

“Tell us, young lady. Were you an attendant for the Maiden? What are the Seven Heavens like?”

You panicked. Perhaps pretending to be an angel from a religion you had no clue about was not a good idea. These questions would continue, you knew it.

“Don't be ridiculous, Eustace. Everyone knows that angels can't divulge that sort of thing. It's basic theology. They come to fulfill their purpose, not to entertain fools.” The man with the head accessory spoke, as if talking to a child.

You did your best to sit up. Aemond held you more firmly, and raised his arm on your back, encouraging your head to loll towards his shoulder. You were moving inside a prehistoric looking building, corridors made from stone and decorated with tapestries. The Red Keep, perhaps.

“And what do you believe the being’s purpose to be?” Eustace asked. You did not like being referred to in such a manner, and you fought Aemond's grip a bit harsher. He merely settled you against him and kept walking, this time going up a stairwell. You squirmed.

“The Prince's wife. He prayed for a companion. That must be it.” The expensive priest, Septons they were called, now that you remembered, seemed to have become an expert on all things you. Wisely, you kept your mouth shut.

“Is that why her attire is so immodest?” The oranges guy spoke, reaching for you. He clearly noticed his Prince was struggling and hoped to relieve him of the burden. You clung to Aemond more tightly. You were honest enough with yourself to know you had many impure thoughts about him, and were not going to lose your chance.

Aemond grunted. Encouraging him to keep carrying you beyond his capabilities might not have been your best move.

“You can put me down. I can walk.” You spoke softly, trying to sound your most angelic.

“We are nearly there.” His voice sounded agitated from the physical exertion, but his tone screamed danger. It would wound his pride putting you down now, you realized. He wanted to look strong. “There is no need.”

“The Gods see all, and angels are pure beings. They do not know of such earthly concerns, for they have not been exposed to the sins of the flesh.”

“What the fuck.” You whispered to yourself, sure that you were dreaming. This was turning crazier by the second.

“That is a crass word here, my lady.” Aemond whispered to you. “You shall not repeat it.”

Safe to say, you were learning your lesson. When an occult museum artifact has a sign that says, “Do not touch” you DO NOT TOUCH.

Marrying an angel was not a part of Aemond's plans. Begrudgingly, he admitted he may have to reconsider his more violent revenge plots. Aemond had to prove himself worthy of you, and for once, worthiness did not mean prowess with a sword or riding a dragon. It meant piety.

Piety. Kindness. All the virtues that the Faith enforced and that you were made of. All the virtues Aemond felt he lacked, sometimes.

Taking his nephew's eye would not be kind. You had explained so, as if you could read his mind. You also said that Aemond should not attempt to force him to pay his debt. It had been an alarming show of clairvoyance.

That you were privy to his most secret inner thoughts should not have surprised him so. It was only further proof of your angelic nature.

Your arrival had the Kingdoms in an uproar. The Citadel had wanted to record the circumstances around your appearance, the Faith had made you pose for a portrait. Some even dared utter that perhaps Aemond was better suited to be King, since the Gods clearly favored him.

The King was displeased, but your miraculous arrival had been witnessed by too many to deny it. Aemond had been authorized to marry you, only out of sheer pressure from the High Septon. You were a hero to the man. Families who had been worshiping the Old Gods for generations now rushed to convert. Only House Targaryen remained stagnant.

Even after your marriage, Aemond struggled to catch a minute alone with you. Anywhere you went, people were currying for your attention. If it wasn't his other asking you to join her in prayer, it was some Septon asking you questions, or near mobs awaiting outside the Red Keep for you to appear on a balcony. People thought your touch was magical, that you could heal the sick and bless the innocents. Aemond had to fight to keep their hands off you.

As the wife to a Prince favored by the Seven, all thoughts of going back were stomped on. You had mentioned it once or twice, before he had married you. Going back home, you had said. Aemond understood that the earthly world was much different than where you had been from, and the homesickness that came with it, but he hoped you forgot such silly ideas. There was no way for you to go home, and if there was, he would not allow it.

In hopes of distracting you, his mother had suggested expediting the wedding. Aemond had agreed, but he had soon realized that it was not enough. While sweet and kind to him, and clearly loving, your mind still drifted to thoughts of your life before. Something stronger was needed. And there was only one stronger bond than marriage. He had to put a babe in you.

Such thing, unfortunately, was much harder than expected. To produce a child, a couple needed to lay together in ways Aemond and you had not. You were loving, pressing kisses to his lips and cheeks every chance you had, but it was a pure kind of affection. You had been told that you were his wife, and what that entailed, innocent being that you were. It didn't mean anything. You were only trying to do what you thought was needed.

Aemond didn't dare touch you. It was his right to do so, but he was unsure if it was the moral thing to do. You probably weren’t too sure of the connotations of the act and all that it entailed. Besides, was it really his right? You were no ordinary woman. You were an otherworldly being, an angel, a perfect woman carved out by the Maiden herself and sent to him to love and cherish. You were not meant to be hurt or tainted in any way.

Intercourse was dirty. It hurt maidens, and it was a sin when practiced outside the marriage bed. Despite always pleasurable to him, and sometimes to his companions, Aemond was not too sure he should submit you to it.

You were heavenly. Asking you to have intercourse with him would be asking you to roll around in the mud while wearing a white dress. It would make you earthly, change you. And you were perfect just the way you were.

Yet Aemond could not contain these… Urges. When you kissed the corner of his lips, all he could think about was grabbing you and deepening the kiss until he got to know every inch of your mouth. When you hugged him close, letting him curl around you at night and hide his face on your neck, Aemond thought of kissing and bitting and sucking the supple skin until you were writhing in pleasure. When your hand innocently grazed against his thigh, he thought of his hands squeezing your own thighs, pulling them apart to reveal your core.

It was a sinful way of thinking. He knew it was wrong of him, but he could not stop. He could not control it. If only his waking thoughts were sinful, things would be different. Waking thoughts could be controlled. Dreams could not.

Every night, without fail, Aemond woke up drenched in sweat, breeches uncomfortably tight. He saw you in his dreams, in all sorts of lurid positions. Your pretty lips parted, your thighs fluttering open and closed like the wings of a butterfly. You on your knees, back, your bosom spilling from your bodice, your pretty breasts, nipples puffy. His mouth, his hands, his cock, on you, in you.

The dreams were pleasurable while they lasted, but as soon as Aemond woke up and saw you sleeping peacefully next to him, the guilt returned. You let out the tiniest puffs of air when you breathed, and always chased his warmth on cold nights. Adorable being that you were, you curled into him, unaware of the turmoil you caused.

Aemond could no longer take it. At first, he tried looking for answers to his dilemma inside of books. He soon found out his studies of philosophy and history had not prepared him for the monster that was theology.

So he asked for advice. To the only person who had to be an expert on the topic. The High Septon.

By the end of the day, a panel with four Maesters and ten Septons had been formed to discuss the issue.

“She is a pure being. The Queen and a Septa have confirmed that she has female anatomy, but having it does not mean she should be defiled.” One of the Maesters spoke, frowning. Aemond nodded along. It had been like he thought.

“It's hardly defiling if the Maiden gifted her to the Prince. She blessed the union.” The High Septon argued, sitting straighter in his chair. He clearly was uncomfortable at the thought of Maesters, of all people, interfering in these matters. What Aemond could not figure out was why the man had invited them if they clearly ruffled his feathers.

“The Maiden is a maiden. That's the whole point.” Another Maester rolled his eyes. It was a sound logic. Aemond felt even guiltier after hearing that. Thinking about you in such a manner was impure. You were a representative of the Maiden herself, here on Westeros. Even thinking of such dirty things near you was disrespectful. It was as if he were thinking them about the Maiden herself.

“Well, yes, but if you ask for a wife, is it not implied?” Septon Eustace chimed in. Aemond had never particularly enjoyed the royal Septon, but he was proving to be very useful. “I do not presume to know how the Prince words his prayers, nor do I think I can know his intentions, but…”

A companion. Someone kind. The prayer had started innocent enough, a child asking for a friend. Aemond had kept it worded exactly as it had been back then, when he was eight years old and dragonless. But he had grown, and so had his intentions. When he spoke of a companion, did he still think of a friend? Or rather, a wife?

The word companion indicated someone that assisted, that served to cater to a necessity. Not quite a friend, but someone to ward off loneliness. A somewhat inferior being, even. It was a term used to refer to pets, after all.

Women were precious beings. Images of the mother, to be treasured and protected, but never equals. Wives were, after all, lower than husbands. It was why they must be obedient to them, why they should mind the children and the home. They were not made to stand on their own. Women were made to stand next to a man.

Besides, wasn't it interesting? The Gods could have sent him a man. A boy. A dog. But instead, they had sent him a woman near his age, with pretty eyes and a tempting mouth.

“Hardly.” A Septon interfered. “There has been precedent of marriages that…”

“Marriages declared null.” The High Septon snapped. His mood was a reflection of the room. The conversation was starting to turn more and more heated, murmurs breaking out among the gathered. It brought uncomfortable memories of the day Aemond had met you and had to fight a frenzied mob. He had the feeling this was going to turn into that quickly.

Perhaps sensing the same, another Maester spoke.

“Why don't we ask her? She must know the Seven's will in the matter.”

Neither of the fourteen other men in the room had thought of that.

When Aemond asked you, timidly, if you wished to consummate the marriage, you could have danced from joy.

You had decided early on that if going back was not an option, you were going to make the most of your stay here. You missed your family and friends, but your life here was so pampered that you didn't feel so bad. Any quirks of behavior that you had were excused as part of your angelic nature, and you had the biggest crush on the man who had married you.

If only Aemond didn't refuse to even touch you. So far, you have tried everything. You have kissed him. Stroked him. Cuddled far too close to him, so you are nearly on top of him. Groped his thigh, almost his cock. Your behavior has bordered on indecent even by modern standards, yet Aemond dismisses it all as innocent. He is either the most oblivious man on the planet or he doesn't want you.

That suspicion had given you pause. If Aemond did not want you, you weren't about to force him to do so. You had stopped with your insistent touching, and went back to light kisses on the cheek. Instead, you had made the mistake of looking around.

You are so horny it's driving you mad. Being married in Westeros is not what you thought it would be. You expected much more sex. Besides, everyone here was insanely good-looking, especially the man sleeping next to you and waking up every morning with a raging erection. Anyone with a sliver of a libido would be frothing at the mouth and clawing at walls from horniness.

In your other life, you had watched HOTD and understood the message clearly. Despite being a common occurrence, cheating was not a good idea. There were no reliable contraception methods and no way of preventing STDS.

Even if you were not aware of all the possibles consequences of cheating from your knowledge about the show, you now knew Aemond. He was terrifying, devout, and hated his bastard nephews. You did not want to see what he would do if he caught you cheating.

So here you were. Into forced chastity and perpetually horny, with your husband asking you if you thought it was a good idea to consummate the marriage.

You could have jumped from the bed in your haste to show him exactly what you thought. But you had to maintain your air of an otherworldly being. Which you technically were, since this was not your world.

“Whichever you think best, my Prince.” You answered, voice soft and patient. Just as you had always spoken in his presence. It had done wonders to make Aemond seek your company. He found you soothing, or so he said.

Aemond reached forward. His hand cupped your cheek, very gently. You looked up at him with your most innocent eyes.

He lowered his hand, shoulders slumping in defeat. You tried not to let it show how much it hurt you to have all you wanted dangled in front of you and then taken away.

“I cannot touch you. Nor should I lust after you. You are…” Aemond’s eyebrows pinched together. His face showed an inner conflict that made your own heart soften. Perhaps he had grown to care for you, in the ways you wished he did. He just didn't think it appropriate.

You stepped closer. This time, it was your hands that cupped his face. Aemond's eye closed, briefly. He seemed to be enjoying the touch, committing it to memory.

“Kiss me.” You whispered, pulling him close. Aemond went into the hug, nuzzling your hair. Despite the sweetness with which he responded, his frame was tense. “Please. I beg it of you.”

“I can't. I can't defile you.” He sounded truly strained. You rubbed his back, gently. “ A perfect being, such as yourself, does not deserve this.”

“It won't hurt. I know how to do it.” You explained, softly. Perhaps he worried about hurting you, you thought. You were no blushing virgin, but Aemond did not know that.

“Of course. You are an enlightened being. But it does not mean you have to put that into practice. You must know of the mysteries of death, yet you have not hurt anybody.”

“Because killing is wrong.” And truly, it was a ridiculous comparison. Sex had not killed anyone, at least that you knew of. It was not meant to hurt.

“Sex is, too. It's only for making heirs, and I am a second son. I don't need heirs.”

And by the look of his face, Aemond really believed what he was saying. The thought of him suffering, of being so deeply repressed, hurt you. You understood well how damaging thinking about sex in that way could be.

It hurts you more to think it might have been exacerbated by you. The thought of you being this perfect soul, someone so pure and easily hurt, and then the thought of tainting you. It said a lot about his mental health.

You vowed then you would aid you in any way you could.

“It's not wrong.” You whispered, and moved slightly back from his embrace. “Let me show you.” And you were kissing him, and Aemond was kissing back. His lips were soft, and he held you as if you were the most delicate glass vase he had ever held. You understood him now. And one day, Aemond would understand this too.

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bioethicists · 1 year

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beer killed my father . he had a disease which destroyed his body and strained his relationships with his wife, his friends, and his children. Alcohol destroys everything it touches, theres a reason you see so many liquor stores in poor neighborhoods. don’t be fucking obtuse. Prohibition obviously doesn’t work, but I wish alcohol was taxed higher. And i want the CEO of Heineken on the guillotine right after Jeff Bezos.

before anything, i want to let you know that i am incredibly sorry about your father. alcohol has decimated entire generations of my family, played a crucial role in the neglectful family structure i spent the first 19 years of my life suffering under, + played a minor but not insignificant role in my brother's death. i would never undermine or dismiss that in anyone.

i used to feel very similarly to you, in large part because my mother is a recovering alcoholic who raised me to believe that alcohol is a magic poison which turns people into monsters + i, being her child, probably inherited a disease which would also turn me into a monster if i chose to drink. it's a deeply painful + understandable response to the pain that alcohol can cause.

my first question is, does alcohol really "destroy everything it touches"? are there not millions of people who engage with alcohol, in varying degrees of recreational use, who experience minimal or no negative impacts? or do you believe that everyone who drinks alcohol in any capacity is experiencing severe destruction in their lives as a result? does the existence of people for whom alcohol enriches their lives (or is a neutral presence) at all invalidate your experience, or your father's?

my second question is, you've identified that there are 'so many liquor stores in poor neighborhoods' (i would add there is a lot of alcohol in rich neighborhoods, just distributed in less stigmatized ways, like boutique wineries + fancy bars), do you think that companies are strategically attempting to create alcohol dependencies among poor people, or do you think that poverty creates the pain, hopelessness, + desperation which can fuel an alcohol habit (which is then exacerbated by intergenerational trauma + community alcohol culture).

i feel no allegiance to liquor companies- they absolutely do make the bulk of their profits off of people who are drinking in a way that is destroying their lives (unsure if i trust the exact scope of the research in that link but i trust the gist). however, liquor companies love the disease model, because it exempts them from responsibility. if alcoholism is truly a genetic disease, then liquor companies, bars, package stores hold no fault in the development of destructive drinking habits + community norms (natasha Schüll discusses this in her book about gambling addiction)- the people were already sick + would be getting it somewhere else, anyway, right? but as you have correctly identified, liquor companies help create the structures which turn alcohol use into an accessible + normalized mode of self-destruction.

my third question is, will taxing liquor help the real problem? yes, it reduces alcohol consumption, but does it reduce addiction? or does it make cheapskates like me say "i'm not fucking paying for that" while individuals who consume alcohol compulsively either eat the cost or turn to more illicit ways of obtaining alcohol. or, rephrased, is the problem that alcohol is too accessible? is alcohol a magical poison which turns 'normal' people into 'alcoholics'? alternatively, is alcoholism a genetic condition, unrelated to any outside circumstances, which is triggered by drinking?

or: is alcoholism one of many ways in which people who are experiencing hopelessness, pain, grief, poverty, trauma, etc use to numb themselves, harm themselves, + make life feel more bearable? at this point, i do believe there is at least a temperament factor which makes people more likely to use substances over other forms of escape (hence why my brother used substances while i turned to anorexia + do not struggle with substance use). are we actually addressing the problem if we make it more expensive (thus, mind you, further impoverishing people with alcohol addictions!)? or are we shifting the pain these people are experiencing to either other avenues (opioids, other drugs, totally different ways of coping which are often just as destructive) or an unregulated, underground alcohol market.

the way you are viewing alcohol, alcohol is a unique substance which is manufacturing or feeding illness in people in order to make them behave in ways which destroy their lives + the lives of others. the way i am viewing it, alcohol is a presence which can fill a void that is being created in people's lives as a response to structural, communal, or social suffering. when alcohol is painted as the cause of this pain, we are able to look the other way from a which world is structured to cause an immense amount of people to suffer needlessly. at the same time, the common sense observation that many of us engage with alcohol in ways which do not destroy our lives, as well as the knowledge that prohibition does not work, prevents the erasure of alcohol from public or private life.

who benefits from the belief that alcohol is a uniquely corrupting substance? what lessons did we actually learn from prohibition- is trying to do it to a lesser degree (make alcohol less accessible) actually going to do anything? when the price of opioids went up due to dea crackdowns, did people stop buying opioids or did the market flood with cheap + deadly fentanyl? is the problem that people are drinking or that they are suffering?

#substance use #harm reduction #drugs //#alcohol //#death //

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sapphic-serenade · 11 months

Text

Selfish

pairing: Atsushi x AFAB!cat!reader plot: You ask Atsushi to leave work early to help satiate your heat, and he does just that. word count: 2.2k contains: Reader has a cat ability similar to Atsushi's, reader and Atsushi are both in heat, reader and Atsushi are both using their abilities, established relationship, missionary, mating press, biting, tit sucking, unprotected sex, possessiveness, breeding kink, probably a lot of inaccuracies (virgin moment, sry), lmk if I missed anything a/n: Well well well my first one! I hope you guys enjoy it~ feedback is appreciated and encouraged!

Atsushi would never want to admit this, just because of how terrible it sounded, but he was being selfish. So, so selfish, but also so selfless at once.

He did what he always did when he had to leave for work before you'd woken up- plant a small kiss on your forehead, leave a small note on the table, grab his pre-packed lunch that you'd prepared the previous night and leave. Yet, he felt off. Everything at the Agency was business as usual too—his coworkers, the clients, even down to the workload—still, he couldn't shake off the physical discomfort he was experiencing.

Atsushi knew it probably wasn't the best idea to try and go to work during his heat, especially since you were also going through it at the same time, but neglecting what he considered to be one of his moral duties just felt scummy, especially for the sake of his own lust.

Still, he was having a hard time. Though he knew that his job was an important one that absolutely demanded his full attention, the memory of your sleeping figure lingered in the back of his mind. The sweet scent that hung around your almost-nude, warm body, plastered in a thin sheen of sweat...the simple thought was enough to make him hard within seconds. He'd barely even held back from waking you up to have a quick round of morning sex before work.

He thought it would be best for the both of you if he tried to stave off his urges until he got home, difficult as it may have been. Unfortunately, nature doesn't quite like when you go against it so brazenly.

At home, you were curled up in bed, feeling lonely as ever. Your libido was through the roof, and yet you couldn't do a single thing about it. Your fingers, while being an adequate option at any other time of the month, certainly wouldn't be able to get you through your heat. You needed your partner; needed him to plunge his cock as deep into you as it could go and fuck you senseless until you were full with his seed. Atsushi's scent hung on the sheets on his side of the bed, and you rolled over to cuddle his pillow. You were hot, unbearably so, and all you could think about was Atsushi. You felt like you'd die if you weren't stuffed with his cum soon.

Panting heavily, eyes tearing up, you reached over to grab your phone from your bedside table, your clammy hand almost dropping it on the ground. Clenching your teeth, you opened messages and scrolled to Atsushi's contact.

You almost hesitated to text him. Would making him leave work just to come and fuck you be selfish? At the very least, anybody else would deem it unnecessary. But they weren't writhing in their beds, naked and yet sweltering, feeling like they could burst at any moment. They didn't have any abilities that only exacerbated the discomfort, making them even more sensitive to sound and touch. They didn't know what Atsushi was capable of.

Biting your lip, you clumsily typed in three simple words and pressed 'send'.

Atsushi, feeling his phone buzz in his pocket, pulled it out and saw the singular notification.

i need you

Atsushi, in what would have certainly been considered unusual by everyone else, stood up without a word and made his way to the door, taking nothing and nobody else with him. It was as if he couldn't hear the objections of everyone else, or even the simple 'Where are you going's.

He was probably gonna get in trouble for it, but he'd long since tuned out any common sense by that point in favour of thinking about you and you alone.

This was selfish of him. Though he knew that coming home and having sex with you would undeniably make you feel better, it was ultimately for himself that he'd left work that day. He craved the feeling of your welcoming, wet pussy far too much, wanting nothing more than to completely fill you to the brim. He needed you just as much as you needed him.

The trip wasn't far, thank god. Atsushi didn't even take the time to remove his shoes when he got home, instead pulling them off haphazardly on the way to your shared bedroom.

When he soon burst through the door and laid eyes on you, he could have came right then and there.

You were stark naked in bed, desperately rutting against his pillow as soft whimpers left your mouth. Your feline ears and tail were on full display, twitching as if you were about to explode from the discomfort. Your red face was half buried in the blanket, your fangs sinking into the material like a teething toy as your catlike eyes were slightly glazed over beneath furrowed brows. When they saw him, you lifted your head and let out a small mewl.

"Atsushi..." you wailed, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. "I'm sorry-"

"Y/N," he choked out, before shaking his head and approaching you. "Don't be sorry."

"I just...ngh-"

"I'm here, baby," he huffed as he yanked at his tie, climbing onto the bed. "I'm here now."

"'Sushi..." you whined, rolling over and exposing your sore, swollen tits to him. “I need you…”

"I- god, I need you too-" Atsushi hurriedly replied, crawling so that he was hovering over you. He immediately smashed his lips onto yours and your arms wrapped around his neck, effectively keeping your faces trapped together. You quickly parted your lips, allowing his tongue inside your mouth, and already you felt as if you could cum from his hungry, possessive kisses.

Atsushi finally pulled off his tie, and the pair of you hastily unbuttoned his shirt and trousers, pulling them all off until he was only clad in his underwear. His erection wasn't at all hidden, especially not when Atsushi grinded it against your wet cunt as he kissed you. The friction of the now-wet fabric made you whine into the kiss.

"C'mon, Atsushi..." you murmured, reaching down to grab the waistband of his underwear. "Please fuck me."

When you opened your eyes, you were met with Atsushi's golden, tiger ones staring back at you. His ears, tail, claws and fangs had appeared too, making him appear larger as he hovered above you. Atsushi obliged, helping you pull down his underwear so his cock sprung free, before tossing them somewhere across the room. You took his already-leaking dick in your hand, earning a hiss from your partner, and pumped it a couple of times. The tip was red and would have been very sensitive, but you didn't have time to tease him today. You just wanted him inside you as soon as possible.

Atsushi pulled back so that he was perched in between your thighs, and lined up his cock with your entrance. He prodded your pussy with his tip, gathering some of your slick, before looking into your eyes.

"Are you ready?" His grip on your hips tightened slightly.

"Yeah," you nodded, swallowing. "Please..."

You both let out loud moans as he finally sank into you, your wetness acting as a more-than-adequate lubricant. Atsushi did his best to savour the moment, slowly pushing his cock deeper, but the feeling of your pussy clenching him was too much to bear. You wailed as he bottomed out, the sudden pleasure coursing through your veins and leaving you shaky already.

Atsushi wasted no time, pulling all except his tip out and then slamming back into you. Your apartment wasn't a big and nice one, so your walls weren't exactly soundproof, but your judgement was too clouded to worry about the repercussions of your loud, borderline pornographic screams.

It was messy. Your kisses were sloppy, sweaty bodies colliding against each other in the most passionate round of sex the two of you had had in a long time. It was always like that during your heats. Your claws dug into Atsushi's back, scratching at his skin, struggling to keep a steady hold. His hands had an iron grip on your waist, leaving little red marks in your soft skin.

"'Sushi- shit-" you groaned, tossing your head back onto the pillow, overwhelmed with pleasure. "Ah, so good!"

"Yeah? You—fuck—you like that, beautiful?" He breathed, his eyes locked on your gratified, fucked-out face.

"Please, more!" You managed to gasp in response. "Want more...!"

Atsushi's mouth made its way down your neck, leaving wet, open mouthed kisses and love bites all across your collarbones and shoulders. He focused especially on your sensitive areas, fangs grazing over your sweet spots before burying into your skin. You moaned and whimpered with each new marking he gave you, making his dick twitch inside of you.

"Mm, so fuckin' gorgeous, baby..." he muttered against your skin, "Gorgeous, and all mine, yeah?"

Usually Atsushi didn't talk like this, his tone being more gentle and less vulgar, but he simply couldn't help himself. Not as he watched the bites that he gave you blossom into pretty little hickeys, marks that indicated that you were his, and he was yours. He increased his speed.

"Yeah- ah- all yours, babe-" you were interrupted by another bite, which made you cry out in pain and pleasure. The combination of feelings felt amazing, and you found it getting increasingly harder to talk properly. You reached a hand up behind one of his tiger ears, dragging your claws over the area. You felt Atsushi's body tremble above you for barely a second before he hissed.

"Fuck, Atsushi, give it all to me," you moaned through his thrusts, "Gimme a whole litter, c'mon..."

It was as if something inside him snapped. It wasn't that he didn't like the idea, but rather that he might have liked it a little too much.

Before you knew it, your body was folded in half as Atsushi's cock prodded against your cervix, making you see stars. He was so deep, hitting all of the most pleasurable spots that nobody else would ever reach. His clawed hands pinned your ankles next to your head as he thrusted at an inhumane speed, courtesy of his ability. You couldn't contain your wails, barely able to form any coherent thoughts let alone speak.

"'Sushi-!" you babbled over and over in unison with the headboard slamming against the wall. Atsushi leaned down and took one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking on it. The pleasure was almost too much for your body to handle, and you could feel yourself getting close. "Right fucking there, yes...!"

"Gonna fill you up, baby," he lifted his head, his lips connected to your breast with a thin string of saliva. "Gonna fill you with my cubs, make us a family..."

You merely moaned in response, as you felt the coil in your lower stomach tightening further and further, until it finally snapped.

You didn't breathe for a moment as your orgasm washed over your entire being, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. You didn't think you'd ever felt so good before. From your cunt all the way to your fingertips and toes, the electric feeling rushed through you, making you writhe and gasp in pure satisfaction. Atsushi continued to relentlessly pound into you, and you could tell as you rode through your high that he was getting close too.

A few intense seconds passed by before he let out a guttural grunt and you felt his warm load shoot deep into you, painting your walls white. Your pussy fluttered around his cock, buried as far as it could fit, and he let out a raspy moan at the sensation.

"Ah, god, Y/N..." he whispered, as he slowly thrusted a couple more times, shooting out more cum before calming down from his own high. "Did so good f'me, baby..."

"Mmh..." Atsushi slowly helped you lower down your legs, but not before pressing a few sneaky kisses to your calves. He didn't pull out, not wanting his cum to spill out of your hole, but instead tilted his head back and let out a long sigh.

"Gonna stay inside, okay?" He asked, and you nodded. With the little strength you had left, you reached up and caressed his jaw with a sheepish smile.

"I'm sorry I made you leave work early."

"Hm?" He glanced down at you, taking your hand in his own. "Don't be- this was so worth leaving work for."

You chuckled at his words.

"Thanks, Atsushi, for this. I love you so much, you know that?"

With a smile, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. His fingers softly brushed over your stomach.

"I love you too." Atsushi breathed, his voice lighter than air. Feeling his breath fan against your swollen lips, you cupped his cheeks in your hands.

"Do you..." you paused for a moment. "Do you actually think that it took, just now?" Atsushi raised an eyebrow at your question, before his lip curled up.

"I don't know. Maybe, just in case..." he cut himself off by kissing you again, and you then noticed his cock inside of you, hardening once more. You smiled into the kiss, knowing that the two of you were gonna be there for a while.

MDNI banner: @/benkeibear

Tagging: @gettinshiggywithit @pillow-princess-diaries

(Please shoot me an ask or a DM if you'd like to join my taglist!)

#vanilla's pieces🍰#not vanilla~#bsd #bsd smut #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs smut #bsd atsushi #atsushi nakajima #bsd atsushi smut #atsushi smut #atsushi x reader #atsushi x reader smut #bsd x reader #bsd x reader smut #bsd fanfiction #bsd fanfic #bsd oneshot #smut

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degloved · 6 months

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the glass coffin is really a gift that keeps on giving, in that there are seemingly endless ways to pick it apart and just when you're thinking you've said everything that can possibly be said, something else jumps out at you. presently what's jumping out at me is the fact that nothing really went as it should have, y'know? hoffman had either spectacularly failed in anticipating human behavior (because he wasn't john, and could never be john), or his judgment had been clouded by the overwhelming desire to see strahm by his side—the only person who could truly know him, see him. he didn't account for the fact that strahm wanted to kill him more than he himself had ever wanted to kill strahm; he didn't account for the fact that strahm's hatred was unrivaled; he didn't account for the fact that strahm was perfectly capable of shoving him into what he'd assumed was a contraption that would kill painfully. a better man might have prioritized bringing him in—perez would have brought him in. but not strahm! because hoffman's love always trumped his murderous intentions, yet strahm's only exacerbated them

the coffin was supposed to be a victimless crime, an exercise in trust that shouldn't have ended tragically. and it might have worked on… quite literally anybody other than those two guys. it's quite a shame that one of them was so severely emotionally impaired that the only way he knew how to express love was via an elaborate death trap, and it's quite a shame that the other one was a rabid animal that only knew how to want something down to the marrow

#saw #saw v #peter strahm #mark hoffman #hoffstrahm #coffinshipping #n #thinkpieces

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pastanest · 1 year

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Spencer Reid x she/her!reader

A/N: this song is so post-prison reid coded, it was only a matter of time.

Shameless

The tension had been instantaneous, from the very moment you first met him. It was no more than a passing glance across the office to begin with, but you have been proud of the double take you caused Doctor Spencer Reid, ever since.

Emily Prentiss had been giving you a tour of the BAU offices on your first day; you had been listening to her intently, making as many mental notes as you could to avoid having to ask where things were and embarrass yourself further than you already feared you would, joining a team of seasoned profilers. When your gaze met the glance that had originally been absentminded, but was heated when it returned to you, all words lost their meaning. Hazel was the only colour you could recall the existence of for the next few minutes.

The tour of the offices continued, and you tried your best to keep your eyes to yourself, but there was a near gravitational pull to the attractive gentleman who you suddenly had a sixth sense for, acutely aware of just how far away he was at all times, until the very moment you were introduced.

“And this is Doctor Spencer Reid.” Emily had introduced you, exchanging a smile with him that told you the two of them were good friends.

“Pleasure to meet you…?” Spencer held his hand out to shake yours, a smile curling at the corner of his mouth when you looked up at him, your eyes widening ever so slightly on being close enough to appreciate his full height, his wild curls, and your new favorite color.

“(Y/N).” You had answered, meeting his hand with yours, an electricity passing through you that was unlike anything else you’d ever felt, from such simple contact.

The way his much larger hand squeezed yours, how gently he shook your hand, and the slightest twitch in his smile; you knew that he felt it, too.

“Pleasure to meet you, (Y/N).” Spencer reiterated, tasting your name for the first time and deciding there was no other name he liked the flavor of more. Your name swirled around his brain like whiskey in a glass that he nursed for a little too long, savoring each sip like the finest critic, not missing a single note of you.

From that moment, everything Spencer did exacerbated your situation. Naturally, you went out of your way to avoid talking to him; any close proximity was a risk to your health, but that didn’t matter. The way he stood, the way he sat, walked, leaned, frowned, smiled, breathed - it was all too much for you. What did he expect? You are just a girl with hormones that you are certain he could sniff out from a mile away, given the look you’d see in his eyes during instances where you caught him staring at you. Or rather, instances in which Spencer’s gaze deliberately lingered long enough for you to notice.

He was a quiet man, and an observant one. A seasoned profiler, yes, but his time in prison had given him a fresh insight to people, particularly their primal instincts. Survival had been a focus of his during his time behind bars, but it seemed that living in that wild mindset had tuned him into other primal instincts, too. While Spencer had no scientific evidence to support his theory, he was certain he could hear your heart rate pick up whenever he passed you.

Having never felt like someone that women fawned over, Spencer took great pride in your attraction to him that was so obvious even he could not deny it. He almost felt cruel, impacting you to such an extent, but he came to find that this was the conclusion no matter what he did; it was simply a result of him, to you.

The tension between you thrives during cases where the two of you are forced to work together. Spencer has even been known to volunteer to assist you when you are set specific tasks, and you have always been too flustered to politely dismiss him. Conversations between you are minimal, mainly spent with Spencer smiling to himself and you avoiding looking in his general direction; an experience you’d wager to be more painful than pulling teeth.

Of course, when working together, you do have to talk to him on occasion, but everything feels far too charged. The subtext is blinding to both of you, even in small talk.

“Good morning, (Y/N).” Spencer greeted you when you had arrived to the office this morning, not long after him. He was still unpacking his bag, leaning over his desk in a way that made you want to scream, and you couldn’t even consider the smile he gave you as he looked over his shoulder.

His greeting was as generic as it always was, but the subtext told you more.

I’m pleased to see you.

“Morning, Spencer.” You had answered, smiling at him in turn, but your breath caught in your throat, making your subtext just as obvious as his.

I’m pleased to see you, too.

In a moment of self-awareness like you’d never known, you and Spencer simultaneously acknowledged that there was nobody else in the office. At the same time as your eyes widened with the realisation, Spencer’s gaze softened, settling on you.

“Did you sleep well?” He asked, his voice quieter, more tentative - another object of small talk that you understood loud and clear.

Did I cross your mind last night?

“Yeah, thanks. Did you?” You returned the question, words casual but voice rising in pitch steadily, something a profiler couldn’t possibly miss.

Of course. Did you think of me?

“Yes, thank you. I tend to be quite lucky, in that regard.” He paused, letting his words sink in before he added, “I don’t struggle with sleep as much as I used to, when I was young.”

As Spencer spoke, you noticed he was slowly walking towards you, crossing the small amount of space between his desk and yours in no more than three paces. He stood purposely close to you, leaning against your desk as your shaking hands continued to unpack your things from your bag. He could hear your sharp intakes of breath, and he couldn’t wipe the grin from his face.

A notepad fell from your trembling hand as you retrieved it from your bag, a soft thud against the table. With only half a second’s delay, you put your hand on it, intending to pick it up, but finding Spencer’s hand was already there, acting as a barrier but applying no pressure in holding your notepad against the desk, no resistance, because he didn’t need to apply that to you. Centimeters separated your fingers and his, tiny bolts of lightning sparking in the space between.

Eyes wide like a deer in headlights, you lifted your head to find him already smiling down at you, exuding charm and another sensation rolling off of him in waves that you dared not clarify.

Silence.

Seconds.

You couldn’t even breathe.

And then the elevator doors opened, the rest of the team beginning to file in for the day, and Spencer broke eye contact to look over at the office entrance. He noticed the deep breath that you took the moment he looked away, of course. As he walked over to the rest of the team, he took the chance to drag his fingers across the small of your back when he passed behind you; a deliberate act of sabotage. Had it been anyone else, that touch had been so light you’d be surprised if you even registered it, but from Spencer? Your senses were heightened like that of a small animal in a clearing, face to face with a creature that wanted to eat you alive.

It is completely unsurprising that you have failed to recover from the events of this morning, which have been replaying in your subconscious for the entire day while you have filed case reports. What would usually be a welcomed distraction has, today, been nothing short of a curse. To make matters worse, you have felt his gaze on you from across the office, periodically throughout the day. Monitoring the results of his varying hypotheses based around the growing impact he can have on you, and you on him - though he is far better at concealing that than you are; a long standing career as a profiler has its advantages in replicating calm behavioral signs with absolute precision. Still, he would admit that he has been struggling to catch his breath since the events of this morning, too. If you asked.

However, the rest of the team are just as good at maintaining their composure in the wake of the obvious, and they are not as unaware as they pretend to be. In fact, they are excruciatingly aware of the tension between the two of you that, actually, weighs heavily on everyone, wherever you go. It is almost as suffocating to them as it is to you. Almost.

That is why not a single member of the team is surprised when, at the very end of a day spent filing without any computer troubles, your laptop receives a particularly well timed virus from a specific technical analyst, that does not allow you to log out or shut down your system as quickly as everybody else manages to. The rest of the team pile into the elevator with giddy smiles, having noticed much like you have that - to your absolute dismay - Spencer is deliberately packing his bag at an excruciatingly slow pace, to keep him in the office just a little while longer, his gaze fixed on your frustrated countenance as you argue with your laptop while it simply follows the list of commands sent by Penelope Garcia in the form of a calculated delay.

The sound of the elevator doors closing and the team’s voices fading beyond its closed doors, make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up on end. Mere seconds later, your laptop completely fixes itself, logging out and shutting down at its usual speed, and you let out an exasperated sigh.

“It’s finally let you go?” Spencer jokes casually, his tone teasing and his subtext as clear as ever.

You have no excuse to avoid looking at me when I’m talking to you, now. Can’t risk being impolite, can you?

Swinging your bag over your shoulder, you begrudgingly lift your gaze to meet Spencer’s, your heart skipping a beat when you acknowledge just how close he is to your desk, for the second time today.

“Yeah.” You answer, not having the capacity to verbalize anything more, but Spencer hears the rest.

Yes. You are always right, and it is infuriating.

“Ready to go?” He asks lightly, his smile having evolved into a smirk filled with secrets and unspoken desires.

“Yeah, are you?” The voice that passes your lips is barely recognisable as yours, it’s so strained.

“Definitely. It’ll be nice to sleep in my own bed, rather than a hotel, for once.” Spencer chuckles airily, the sound making your chest tighten even more, because you know exactly why he’s laughing.

You’re thinking about my bed now, aren’t you? Wondering if there’s enough space for you. Of course there is, you’re such a small, sweet thing.

“Agreed. I need an early night!” You joke with Spencer, intending to throw his own sultry subliminals right back in his face.

Perhaps I’ll spend some time in my own bed, waiting for you to cross my mind again.

Reaching the elevator, you press the button, standing at Spencer’s side and waiting for the metal box that will force you to linger in close proximity, to return to this floor.

“You’re in need of that? I thought you said you slept well last night?” He catches you out, his knowing smirk looking down at you.

Making your motivations even more clear than usual, I see.

“A girl can never get enough beauty sleep! Trust me, I need it.” You chuckle, but your heart is in your throat.

“What a nonsensical implication.” Spencer murmurs as the elevator doors open, and the two of you step inside, not daring to force anymore space between you.

Centimeters between your hands again, your opposite hands holding the straps of your bags to your shoulders, your free hands hanging loosely at your sides, those tiny bolts of lightning causing an instinctual pull, until you feel his pinky finger brush yours ever so lightly.

Your breath catches, and you bite your lip.

Your eyes and his dart up to the top of the elevator doors, watching the floor numbers tick down, and you can almost hear Spencer calculate exactly how long the two of you have as his gaze lowers to you, pulling yours to his.

The pace at which he leans down to you is premeditated, you are certain of it, and against your better judgment, you find yourself standing on your tiptoes without an ounce of free will.

His breath fans your nose, and for the first time you can detect the shakiness in him that he’s been able to read so easily in you from the moment he saw you; the impact that this same tension has on him is not so easily hidden in close proximity, either.

If Spencer speaks now, his lips will brush yours.

And then the elevator doors open, the entrance lights flooding in and forcing the two of you to part from each other.

“I should…walk you, to your car.” Spencer says, his voice huskier than you’ve ever heard it, the subtext louder than before.

This isn’t over.

Your head is spinning, but you manage to nod it. Admittedly, it is darker than you had anticipated when you walk out into the parking lot, and had you been with anyone else, you likely would have asked them to walk you to your car, given that fact. But Spencer’s hand at the small of your back is making you forget the very ground beneath your feet, let alone how this could have played out if he had left with the rest of the team. But he has waited, since your very first day, for a moment like this.

Seconds.

Silence, save for your equally hurried footsteps towards your car. Stopping when you reach your car door, you swallow, hard, and turn to face Spencer.

“Thank you.” The words match the comprehensive size of your voice as you speak them.

I’ll never forget this. Not a microsecond.

And the look in his eyes mirrors your subtext.

His large hand stays at the small of your back, despite you having turned to face him, and he is closing in. Closer, closer, and closer still, until that deliciously familiar sensation of his shaky breaths flutter against the skin of your face.

“Is this what you want?” Spencer whispers into the dark, your body now pressed against the door of your car as his other arm cages you in, his palm flat against the roof of your car. His whisper is heavy, and for a moment your delirious mind wonders if you are hearing the subtext aloud, rather than feeling it in between the lines of your gestures, glances, small talk.

All you can do is nod, but that is not enough.

Spencer shakes his head, some of his curls brushing your forehead.

“Need to hear you say it.” His voice is still a whisper, but it’s more desperate now. The mask has fallen, the yearning beneath it felt in full force, unconcealed before your eyes for the very first time.

“I want this…you.” Despite your best efforts, your voice is no more than a whisper, either; the tension holding you both by the throat, squeezing every last breath from you, until there is no other choice.

Spencer’s lips fall onto yours, the his hand at the small of your back instinctively moving to claim your hip, squeezing, grabbing, pulling you closer when his body is already flush against you, holding you against your car. He breathes life into you, and you return the favor, granting him passage to foreign lands that he’s been dying to explore, to taste, to master. And he does, in a matter of seconds. While his tongue does not hold a separate brain, Spencer’s eidetic memory carefully notes every detail of you that his body learns, every instinctual reaction you give him. Your shaking hands card through his wild curls, tugging him down to you as if to pull him into you, to become one with him. In this moment, and in every moment since the day you met, you have wished for nothing more. His lips move with yours in a dance unknown to both of you, but you are two partners across the floor that have eyed each other all night, rehearsing with each other in your glances for far too long, and practice makes perfect.

Losing himself in you, Spencer’s hand that was once at your hip is now at your thigh, lifting it to hold it up at his own waist, gripping the soft flesh through your suit trousers. Only when you whimper into his mouth does he come to his senses and pulls away from you, but barely.

“Can’t do this here.” He utters between breathless kisses, unable to stop himself, unable to get enough of you.

“My bed or yours?” The question comes with a smirk that you press into Spencer’s lips, and he chuckles darkly against yours in turn.

“Bad girl.” He teases, and he loves saying it, too, but he doesn’t answer your question with words. Instead, Spencer releases your thigh in favor of wrapping an arm around your waist from behind, leading you across the parking lot, to his car.

And, interestingly, his answer to your question is the one word swirling around his mind like whiskey in a glass when he looks down at you.

Mine.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #x reader #imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #headcannon #headcannons #Spotify

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