#valley echoes asides

[theambivalentagender]

Hi y’a’l’l’

So for various reasons, some likely obvious, the next comic in Valley Echoes is going to be delayed by…a bit.

While I’m reorienting my entire mental outlook on everything, I’ve still been drawing. I took the advice of someone on Bluesky to redraw old sketches, so enjoy these quick redraws I did of Shane in various modded SDV outfits.

Original sketches under the cut since right now I have no spoons in the tank to go find the original post.

[theambivalentagender]

Messing around with my pen settings again, I went and drew a bunch of Stardew Valley characters/Valley Echoes cast in quick little caricature drawings. Guess who is who if you want, these were fun.

[cloudtransprncy]

"One Night Only"

Word count: 11210 Jennie x Male reader

Consequence – That word reverberates through my mind, echoing off the plush walls of this hotel suite. Each decision, every whisper of action, carries its own shadow, trailing behind it. I know this, deep in my bones. Yet, life, in its fleeting dance, seems to mock the very notion of permanence. The only certainty we hold is the silent, inexorable march towards an end we'd rather not face. We push it aside, cloak it in disbelief. Life, in its relentless stride, continues until reality, unbidden, jolts us awake. So, we find refuge in the fleeting – in the amber embrace of liquor, the smoky tendrils of a cigarette, the heady rush of desire. For a night, just this night, we silence the whispers of tomorrow.

Jennie's breath, a ragged symphony, plays against my lips. Our kiss, a dance of longing, tastes of sweet cherries laced our sharp kiss. Her fingers, entwined in my hair, pull us closer, our bodies becoming one in the moon's silver gaze.

Commitment – that once-venerated word now feels like a stranger's tongue. The thought of being tethered, bound by invisible threads of promises stretching across a lifetime, seemed more a prison than a haven. I've always been a creature of flight, a heart unmoored. Maybe that's why she drifted away – a preemptive strike against a future steeped in resentment. In protecting us from the chains of unfulfilled promises, did I sever the only tie that mattered?

Her skin, a canvas of warmth under my fingertips, ignites a trail of desire. As I explore the landscape of her body, each curve, each hidden valley, I lose myself to the moment. Her whisper, a confession in the dark, "I've missed this," binds me tighter than any vow.

Beyond the confines of this room, the city stretches out – a tapestry of steel and dreams under the night sky. Each light, a star in this man-made constellation, speaks of what could be. Once, as a child, I found solace in the stars, in the steady presence of Virgo among the celestial sea. Jennie, like that favored constellation, has always been the light I orbit, the gravity I cannot escape.

In the lunar glow, her face is a serene oasis, her breaths soft sonnets in the stillness. As I trace the lines of her neck, her back arches, a silent plea etched in moonlight. When our gazes lock, in that infinite moment, I see it – the reflection of myself, of us, in the depths of her eyes, a constellation not in the sky but right here, in this room.

--

She'll come. She always does.

In my mind's eye, I knew she was entwined with someone new, a high-profile actor whose name evades my memory. Insignificant, really, in the grand tapestry of our story. He's but one of many, a star in the vast firmament of an industry pulsing with life. His mark on the world may be noteworthy, but in her universe, he's merely a passing comet, fleeting and ephemeral.

We had drifted apart, yet fragments of our souls lingered, delicately preserved within the vases of our hearts. Months had passed since our last encounter, since our fingers last brushed, our eyes last locked. Though a year had unfolded since our parting, the invisible threads that bound us remained unsevered. When she called, I became all ears; when I reached out, she was always there. Our souls, entwined through seasons of love, could not fully disentangle. She may have sought refuge in another's arms, yet a piece of her essence, like a sacred relic, remained eternally mine, as mine did hers.

The revelation of her presence in New York unfurled as I was poised to board my flight from Chicago to Toronto, the next chapter in my tour's melody. A spare day, a gift of time, whispered the possibility of a detour – a rendezvous in the city that never sleeps.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, bathing my suite in a golden haze, I reached out to her. The skyscrapers below sparkled like jewels under the twilight's caress as I dialed her number. She answered, a silence that spoke volumes, a canvas upon which our history was painted. Our conversations had become a dance, a playful chase of cat and mouse, with words unspoken yet understood.

"I'm in the city for one night," I murmured, the words hanging in the air like a promise, a temptation. Her silence lingered, a delicate pause on the other end, filled with the muted symphony of her world – the distant chatter of her entourage, the soft clicks of cameras capturing fleeting moments.

"I got a room for me and you," I continued, my voice a blend of hope and certainty. "This is for one night only." The details spilled out, coordinates to our secret haven, as the line hummed with the electricity of anticipation before falling silent. But my heart knew – she would be there, drawn to me as I to her, in this city of dreams and shadows.

A knock fractured the stillness of the midnight hour, a subtle intrusion into the suite where I stood, lost in thought. Above, the sky had donned its nightly regalia, stars scattered like diamonds on black velvet, while the moon – a coy dancer among the celestial array – cast a playful glow upon the city's silhouette. Clouds, thin as gossamer, shifted in the sky, their movements like silk curtains in a soft breeze, alternately veiling and revealing the moon's luminescence. The hour was ethereal, suspended between the remnants of the day and the possibilities of the night.

As I opened the door, she materialized before me – an enigmatic vision at the threshold. She stood there, robed in a chic, form-fitting black dress that gracefully embraced her figure, ending mid-thigh in a delicate declaration of allure. Encircling her legs were knee-high socks, culminating in a daring thigh garter – a subtle yet bold statement of her unique style. Her presence was a striking contrast to the muted opulence of the hotel suite.

Her hair, a cascade of dark, silken strands, framed her face in a perfect balance of elegance and wildness. It fell around her shoulders like the night itself had woven a mantle of shadows to adorn her. The dress clung to her form, outlining her slender arms and the gentle curves of her body, a testament to her poise and the understated power of her presence.

Her makeup was an artful composition, her eyes highlighted with a subtle precision that spoke of distant lands – a hint of an exotic narrative told in the language of beauty. It was understated yet impactful, enhancing her natural features with an artistry that suggested a story deeper than what the eye could see. Her lips, painted in a soft, natural hue, invited a second glance, a lingering focus.

As her gaze met mine, it was electric, a current of shared history and unspoken understanding passing between us. Her eyes, dark and inscrutable, held a depth that was both inviting and impenetrable. The air around her was perfumed with the rich scent of roses, intermingling with the sweet notes of her perfume, creating an aura that was at once intoxicating and comforting.

Her smile unfurled, a familiar softness that painted her features with an intimacy known only to those who had once shared everything. It was a grin that reached back through time, stirring a sea of memories within me.

"Hey," I found myself saying, my words emerging with a hint of a smirk, a reflex born of countless shared moments.

"Hey yourself," she echoed, her voice a melody laced with history. Her fingers, delicate yet assertive, found my chest, pressing gently, urging me backward into the realm we had once known so well. The sensation of her touch was like a key turning in a long-locked door, opening pathways to a past we had carefully navigated.

"It's been a while," her words floated through the air, a statement hanging between us, laden with unspoken narratives.

"Indeed it has," I replied, my voice a soft echo of our shared past. The click of the door sealing us within the suite marked a threshold crossed, a silent herald of a journey into realms both familiar and uncharted.

In that simple exchange, a current of anticipation began to build. The air between us became charged, a palpable tension that spoke of things unsaid, of paths once walked and now revisited. The weight of our history and the uncertainty of our present wove together, creating a tapestry rich with possibility and fraught with the complexity of our intertwined past.

In the soft, muted light of the suite, it didn't take long for our reunion to transform into an entwined embrace on the couch, a fusion of longing and familiarity. The kiss was a deluge of suppressed desires, a fervent torrent that left no room for ambiguity in our intentions. Her body against mine was a juxtaposition of the known and the novel, a comforting familiarity found on unfamiliar terrain. Our tongues, engaged in a private waltz, rediscovered a rhythm that pulsed with both nostalgia and excitement.

My hands roamed her form with an eager curiosity, tracing the familiar yet rediscovered contours of her body. The sensation of her skin under my fingertips was a tapestry of memories and new sensations, each touch reigniting a forgotten connection. The urgency in our movements was palpable, a frantic energy that surged against the sands of time since our last entwining. We were an orchestra of motion and sound, a harmonious blend of sighs and soft moans, a tempest of passion and need. The air around us was thick with the scent of our mingled perfumes, a heady aroma that enveloped us in a cocoon of intimacy.

She dug her fingers into my hair, pulling me closer with a forcefulness that stoked the flames of my arousal. The pressure of her lips on mine intensified, her tongue dancing with increasing urgency. A soft whimper escaped her throat, sending shivers of pleasure down my spine. Our tongues fought for dominance, fueled by the heat of our desires.

A sharp intake of breath escaped Jennie as my hands found their way, cupping the curves of her ass with a gentle firmness. The motion drew her closer still, eliminating any space that lingered between us. Through the thin fabric of her dress, I could discern the outline of her response, her nipples hardening under my touch. A physical testament to the charged atmosphere that enveloped us. Her body’s reaction, tangible and immediate, sent a wave of anticipation coursing through me.

The texture of her dress under my palms was a subtle contrast to the warmth of her skin, a reminder of the thin veil that still separated us from total surrender. Each breath she took was a melody, harmonizing with the quiet symphony of the night around us.

Jennie's retreat from our kiss left a tangible, connecting strand, a fleeting bridge between us that shimmered in the dim light. Her eyes, dark and enigmatic, bore into me with an intensity that felt as if it could unravel the very fabric of my being. Those eyes were like portals to uncharted depths, brimming with unspoken tales of desire and yearning.

"I've missed this, Owen" she whispered, her voice a soft rumble, resonating with every fiber of my being. She grinds against me, her hips moving back and forth, a tangible expression of her yearning that seeped through the barriers of our clothing. Her fingers, entwined in my hair, drew me back into her orbit, our lips crashing together in a kiss that was as fierce as it was profound. The intensity of our connection, raw and unbridled, engulfed me.

Consumed by her presence, the taste of her lips, the feel of her pressed so close, my hands roamed with a mind of their own. They journeyed beneath the hem of her dress, venturing over the smooth, warm terrain of her skin, each inch revealed a revelation in itself. The sigh that escaped her, a breathless affirmation of the moment, reverberated in me like a symphony.

Our bodies moved in tandem, a harmony of action and reaction, each caress, each undulation building on the next. Slowly, inch by inch I pushed her dress upward, revealing the subtle, sensual landscape of her form. Jennie's breath quickened as her hips rolled, grinding with an increased fervor against me, her nipples stiff and pronounced, brushing against my shirt, an exquisite combination of restraint and liberation. Her arms stretched upwards into the air as I pulled the fabrics of her dress, away from her, lifting its grip from her form, and over her head, which she then tossed casually to one side.

As Jennie's dress slid away, her figure, a stunning tapestry of curves and lines, was unveiled in the lunar glow that seeped through the windows. The moonlight played upon her skin, casting it in an ethereal shimmer, transforming her into a vision of porcelain radiance. She stood there, an embodiment of confidence and sensuality, a modern-day deity framed in a chiaroscuro of shadows and light.

My gaze lingered on her breast, tracing the contours of her physique – the gentle slopes and the pronounced curves that defined her form. Each aspect of her body, from the graceful arc of her waist to the delicate structure of her shoulders, spoke of a silent grace, a beauty that was as natural as it was captivating. Her skin, smooth and luminous, seemed to capture the very essence of the moon's glow, reflecting it back in a soft luminescence that highlighted her every move. My hands, acting with a fervor born from deep within, eagerly explored the expanse of Jennie's skin, a landscape I had once known intimately. The sensation of her beneath my fingertips was exhilarating – a cascade of textures and warmth that set every nerve ending alight. Her skin was soft, yet firm, yielding under my touch with a gentle resilience that beckoned for more exploration.

As I traced the contours of her body, every curve and dip spoke volumes. The softness of her breasts contrasted with the smooth, firmer feel of her abdomen, each sensation a paragraph in the story of her body. The way her skin responded to my touch, with subtle shifts and sighs, was like conversing in a language of sensation, each caress a word, each touch a sentence.

As my hands continued their journey, Jennie's responses turned into a symphony of their own. Her moans, soft yet resonant, were like notes rising from a well-tuned instrument, each one a melody of pleasure and surrender. The sound of her voice, humming in contentment, filled the room with a music that was deeply personal, an intimate concert shared between two souls.

Her moans ebbed and flowed with the rhythm of my touch, crescendos of sound that matched the increasing intensity of our connection. They were not just expressions of pleasure; they were communications, telling me without words how each caress, each gentle stroke was received. Her hums, low and melodic, were the bassline to the higher notes of her moans, creating a harmonious blend that was as compelling as any melody.

After savoring the sensation of Jennie's skin beneath my hands, an innate longing surged within me to delve deeper, to explore her with the intimacy of my lips. I began at her collarbone, a spot often overlooked yet brimming with delicate sensitivity. My lips traced its subtle contours, each kiss eliciting a gentle sigh from Jennie, her skin warm and soft under the tender pressure.

As I journeyed to her shoulders, the texture of her skin subtly shifted, becoming smoother, more resilient. Her responses grew in intensity, her moans a testament to the changing sensations my lips invoked. The scent of roses from her perfume grew stronger here, mingling with her natural fragrance to create an intoxicating aura.

Gliding down her arm, I reveled in the silkiness of her skin, each kiss a discovery of her unique topography. But it was at her armpit where I lingered, captivated by the uniqueness of this hidden enclave. The texture here was more intimate, the skin softer and imbued with a deeper scent that was unmistakably Jennie - raw and personal. Her reaction was more pronounced; her moans louder and filled with a depth that spoke volumes of the pleasure she felt.

As my lips finally reached the crest of Jennie's chest, the change in texture was profound. Her breasts, tender and full of life, responded to each kiss with a symphony of sensation. The delicate softness beneath my lips felt like the most luxurious satin, each touch deepening our connection. The subtle firmness of her nipples, aroused and beckoning, contrasted with the yielding flesh around them.

Gently, I let my tongue dance over the stiffened peak, and Jennie's reaction was immediate. A shiver coursed through her, a physical echo of the pleasure that resonated within. Her breathing became a series of rapid, shallow waves, a delicate soundtrack to our intimate ballet.

Meanwhile, my hand ventured to its twin, mirroring the actions of my mouth. The sensation of rolling and lightly flicking her other nipple elicited from her a chorus of sensual sounds, each moan a note in our crescendoing duet.

When I enveloped her sensitive peak with my mouth, Jennie's moan - "Oh my god" - reverberated through the room. The meticulous circling of my tongue around her was a focused ritual, each motion deliberate and attuned to her responses. The flavor of her skin was a delicate blend of sweetness tinged with the saltiness of her arousal, a tantalizing taste that drew me deeper into the moment. Her chest pushed forward, eager to meet the onslaught of stimulation with an intuitive abandon.

"I forgot how good you feel," I murmured, my voice tinged with a deep arousal, the words escaping almost involuntarily.

"I want to feel you too," Jennie responded, her voice a breathless mixture of playfulness and desire, sending a jolt of longing straight through me. Her eyes, deep and enigmatic like the midnight sky, held mine with an intensity that spoke volumes. Her hand traced a path up my arm, gliding over the contours of my shoulder, then wrapping around to my back with an electrifying touch that felt like a firebrand on my skin.

With an urgency that mirrored our rising passions, she tugged at my shirt, a silent beckoning for me to shed the last barrier between us. In a swift, seamless motion, Jennie peeled my shirt away, her hands immediately finding the warmth of my bare chest. Her initial feather-light touch quickly intensified, her fingers becoming more assertive, tracing and exploring my skin with a growing fervor that matched the beat of our racing hearts.

As Jennie began to mirror the way I had cherished her body, the intensity of the experience magnified. Her lips traced a path down my neck, each kiss a delicate imprint that seemed to sear into my memory. The sensation of her mouth moving across my skin was both soft and fervent, a contradiction that sent waves of pleasure through me.

Her hands, emboldened by her desire, explored the landscape of my torso. The contrast of her delicate fingertips against the firmness of my muscles created an exhilarating dance of sensations. The pressure of her touch varied, sometimes feather-light, other times more assertive, mapping the contours of my body with an attentiveness that was almost reverent. Each caress seemed to speak volumes, communicating her appreciation and desire in a language beyond words.

As she reached my chest, her exploration became more intense. The sensation of her lips against my skin was like an electric current, each kiss a spark that ignited deeper, more primal feelings within me. Her breath, warm and uneven against my skin, her soft murmurs and occasional sharp expletives, added to the crescendo of sensations, making every moment feel more heightened, more vivid.

In the midst of this exchange, a thought flickered through my mind, unbidden yet insistent. I wondered if her nights with her boyfriend held the same intensity, the same unbridled passion that we were experiencing. Was there the same depth of connection, the same exploration of senses? The thought was a sharp contrast to the immediacy of our encounter, a jarring reminder of the reality beyond this room.

Yet, as quickly as the thought came, it was swept away by the tide of our passion. The here and now was all that mattered - the feeling of her hands on me, the taste of her lips, the sound of her soft exclamations. In this moment, nothing else existed but the intensity of our rekindled connection, a fervor that seemed to eclipse all else.

"Fuck! I need your dick in my mouth," Jennie's voice was thick with desire as she slid off my lap. Her hands, eager and insistent, found their way to the waistband of my sweatpants. With a swift, almost ravenous movement, she tugged them down, freeing my aching arousal. It stood, hard and throbbing, just inches from her face. Her eyes, alight with a fiery blend of lust and hunger, locked onto mine.

"You can have it tonight," I responded, my voice a deep rumble of desire, as her small, delicate hands encircled me. The contrast of her soft touch against my hardness only heightened the moment.

"All of it?" Her question was laced with a seductive confidence, her eyes burning with an intensity that spoke volumes of her desire. I could only nod, caught up in the moment's gravity.

Leaning forward, Jennie's lips parted slightly, and she drooled over a thick glob of saliva that landed precisely on the tip. The warm fluid began to trickle down, glistening in the dim light. She deftly used her fingers to spread it, coating me in a sheen that was both slick and inviting. My entire being was alight with sensation, every nerve ending attuned to her movements as she began to work her hand along my length. Her grip was firm, her movements measured, each stroke a deliberate act of provocation.

Jennie's movements became more intense as she tilted her head, sweeping her hair to one side with a free hand while maintaining her fervent stroke. Her gaze remained locked with mine, a fiery blend of intensity and curiosity as she leaned down. The first sensation was the heat of her breath, a hot, moist whisper against my skin. Then came the slow, deliberate touch of her tongue, tracing a circle around the tip. The electricity of her touch sent a tremor through my body, a visceral reminder of our past intimacy.

As Jennie's lips enveloped the crown, the sensation was both familiar and overwhelming. Her tongue skillfully danced and teased, each movement deliberate and laden with sensation. The warmth and wetness of her mouth enveloped me further, each motion a blissful exploration. Time seemed to stretch and warp, the world outside our bubble ceasing to exist in the wake of her expert ministrations.

Her soft moan, vibrating around me, amplified the sensation, sending shockwaves through my body. I was caught in a spellbinding haze of pleasure, each movement she made bringing me closer to the edge of surrender. The combination of her lips, tongue, and the soft vibrations of her moans created an indescribable tapestry of pleasure, leaving me utterly enraptured.

"Holy Shit!" I couldn't hold back the moan as I found support against the couch's frame, my arms stretched out for stability. The intensity of Jennie's movements sent waves of pleasure through me, causing my head to thrash back in ecstasy. My heart raced uncontrollably, every beat echoing the mounting need within me.

Jennie's hair, a dark cascade, framed her face as she moved with a precision that was nothing short of masterful. The sensation of her lips, sliding rhythmically along my length, was unparalleled. Her ability to take me fully, her breath steady through her nose, spoke of an expertise that was both awe-inspiring and deeply arousing. The way her cheeks hollowed, the hungry suction, the repeated swallowing of my length – it was a dance of intensity and passion.

She occasionally paused, deliberately choking on the tip to gather saliva, which she then used to lubricate my entire length, enhancing the ride with each slick, smooth movement. Every action, every technique of hers was a testament to her skill, her dedication to the act transforming it into something akin to fervent devotion. The pleasure she bestowed was not just physical; it was an experience that transcended the mere act, elevating it to a form of worship.

As I felt the tide of climax beginning to rise within me, I instinctively wanted to prolong this intense experience, to savor more of Jennie's body. Gently, I tried to guide her head away, signaling my intention to pause, but she was resolute. Her determination was clear; she was intent on bringing me to the edge right then and there.

My attempts to ease her off were met with a firm slap of her hand against mine, a silent but emphatic message that she wasn't done yet. "You're giving this to me now, and you're giving me more later," she declared with a commanding tone that brooked no argument. Her eyes, alight with a fierce desire, locked onto mine, leaving no room for misunderstanding.

Jennie intensified her movements, her lips and hand working in perfect tandem. The sight of her, so engrossed in the act, her hair framing her focused expression, was utterly captivating. Each movement of her head, each stroke of her hand, was a masterful balance of pressure and rhythm, pushing me closer to the brink.

The sensory overload was overwhelming - the sight of her dedication, the feel of her mouth and hand, and the sounds of our shared pleasure filling the room. Jennie's technique was a perfect symphony of movements, each one bringing a higher crescendo of sensation, making it impossible to think of anything but the imminent and intense climax.

As the moment approached, a feeling akin to a tempestuous sea churned in my stomach, a wave of pleasure building, threatening to crest. Jennie, attuned to my nearing edge, let out a moan that mingled with the surge within me, intensifying the inevitable release. Overwhelmed, I succumbed to the climax, an eruption of sensation, met by Jennie's unwavering embrace. Her lips formed a perfect seal around me, her rhythmic strokes ensuring not a single moment was lost.

Her gaze remained locked with mine throughout, a mirror of pure satisfaction as she swallowed, taking in every part of the experience. In her eyes shone a prideful gleam, a recognition of her own prowess in guiding me to this point of surrender. Her delight was palpable, a silent celebration of the control she wielded, the pleasure she had drawn out.

As the waves subsided, leaving a trail of bliss in their wake, Jennie finally drew back, the connection gently severed, leaving us both in a state of breathless reprieve. She then picked up my shirt from the floor, using it to delicately wipe away the remnants of our encounter from her mouth and hands, her actions as deliberate and composed as they had been in the height of our passion.

Reeling from the intensity of my climax, I found myself being gently but firmly drawn back to the present by Jennie. Her lips met mine in a kiss that was soft yet charged, the taste of myself on her tongue adding a complex layer to our connection. This was more than just physical; it was an exchange of unspoken promises, a dance of intimacy and understanding.

"I'm not done with you. You brought me here, we're gonna make the most of it," she whispered against my lips, her tongue playfully darting out to trace my bottom lip. With a sudden shift, she grasped my hand and led me towards the bed, her movements fluid and purposeful.

As we moved through the suite, the sounds of the city outside filtered through the windows – the distant hum of traffic, the soft murmur of voices, the occasional siren. These were the symphonies of the night, the backdrop to our unfolding story. The room's lighting cast a soft, ambient glow, painting everything in a hue of warmth and intimacy.

As Jennie gracefully made her way onto the bed, her back presented a captivating sight. The arch of her spine flowed into the gentle swell of her hips, each movement accentuating the allure of her lower back and hips. Clad in a small black thong, her hips were teasingly framed, the fabric nestled seductively in the crevice, hinting at the hidden treasures yet to be revealed.

As she reached the center of the bed, Jennie slowly maneuvered herself into a captivating position. Her legs, long and elegantly toned, were raised and folded in a 'W' shape, an enticing display of both vulnerability and invitation. This pose accentuated the length of her legs, the curvature of her hips, and the delicate symmetry of her figure. The knee-high socks she wore added a contrasting element of innocence and playfulness to her otherwise exposed form.

Then, as if compelled by a force beyond her control, Jennie's hands embarked on a tantalizing exploration of her own body. They traced the contours of her breasts with a languorous care, each touch a study in self-adoration. The slow, deliberate movements of her fingers were hypnotic, accentuating her allure in the dimly lit room.

The transformation in Jennie's appearance since our earlier encounter was striking. Her makeup, now smudged and spread, lent her an air of wild abandon, while her hair, disheveled and untamed, framed her face in a chaotic halo. This raw, disordered state only heightened her appeal, lending her a captivating, almost intoxicating aura of realness.

Reclining gracefully, she ran a finger tantalizingly over her lips – lips that still bore the evidence of our previous passion. She continued her seductive journey, her finger tracing a path down her neck, over the gentle swell of her chest.

"come here..." she gestured over for me to join her on the bed, her tone both commanding and inviting. She turned to lay on her back, the sight of her body beckoning me forward.

Still covered by a black thong, her most intimate area was teasingly concealed, yet the way she moved hinted at what was to come. As I stepped closer, drawn in by the magnetic pull of her presence, Jennie reached down with a tantalizing slowness. Her fingers hooked onto the thin fabric of the thong, sliding it off in a motion that was nothing short of seductive. The removal of this final barrier revealed her in full, a breathtaking vision of desire laid bare before me.

In a move that was both deliberate and revealing, Jennie reached down, her hands delicately pulling at the skin on her inner thighs. This gesture was an open invitation, a welcome for my eyes to feast upon her most intimate self. As she gently parted her skin, the hidden beauty of her entrance was unveiled, a sight that was both intensely private and undeniably captivating. Her entrance glistened, its moist perfection a testament to the intensity of her arousal.

As I crawled forward onto the bed, the sensation of the soft, plush sheets against my hands was immediately noticeable. The fabric was smooth and fine, a stark contrast to the fervent energy that filled the room. Each movement I made caused the sheets to shift ever so slightly, creating a subtle but distinct sensation against my skin.

The bed itself was an island in the midst of our passion, its surface both yielding and supportive, a perfect backdrop for the intensity of the moment. As I found my place between Jennie's legs, the bed seemed to embrace us, its softness enveloping us in a cocoon of comfort and intimacy.

Jennie's body was a canvas of desire, painted with the colors of her own passion. Her skin, creamy and fair, glistened with sweat and moisture, reflecting the soft glow of the lamp on the bedside table. Her hair framed her face in a halo of darkness, accentuating her delicate features. Her breasts, small and plump, rose and fell with each shallow breath she took, their nipples hard and erect beneath the thin sheet that covered her.

As I looked at her from my position between her legs, I couldn't help but marvel at the sight before me. She was naked and vulnerable, yet there was a strength in her that spoke volumes. It was as if she had shed all pretenses of modesty and embraced her true self - a woman who knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to go after it.

Jennie's hands moved with purpose across her body, tracing lazy circles around her nipples before dipping down to explore the sensitive flesh between her legs. Her fingers were long and slender, each one ending in a sharp claw that seemed to dig into her skin with every movement. She moved with an intensity that was both mesmerizing and intimidating - a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and wasn't afraid to take it.

As I watched her touch herself, my own body began to respond to the sight before me. My heart raced in my chest as I felt my own erection begin to stir beneath my sweatpants. The thought of being with Jennie again - of feeling her body against mine - was enough to send waves of pleasure coursing through me.

I couldn't help but feel drawn to her entrance - that intimate place where she had given herself so completely to me before. As I crawled closer between her legs, I couldn't help but feel a sense of reverence for the sight before me. It was as if I were witnessing something sacred - something that belonged only to us two.

Jennie's entrance was like nothing I had ever seen before - a perfect blend of delicate petals and firm muscle. The pink flesh was soft yet firm beneath my fingertips as I traced them over the surface. The scent of wetness mingled with the aroma of sweat and lust as I explored every inch of this intimate place that belonged solely to Jennie.

As I teased her entrance with my fingers, Jennie moaned softly - a sound that sent shivers down my spine as it echoed through the room. Her body tensed beneath me as she reached out for me - drawing me closer until our bodies were pressed together in an intimate embrace that seemed to transcend time itself.

I couldn't help but marvel at the sight before me. Jennie's entrance was like nothing I had ever seen before - a perfect blend of delicate petals and firm muscle. The pink flesh was soft yet firm beneath my fingertips as I traced them over the surface. The scent of wetness mingled with the aroma of sweat and lust as I explored every inch of this intimate place that belonged solely to Jennie. As I teased her entrance with my fingers, Jennie moaned softly - a sound that sent shivers down my spine as it echoed through the room. Her body tensed beneath me as she reached out for me - drawing me closer until our bodies were pressed together in an intimate embrace that seemed to transcend time itself.

I closed my eyes and let out a low moan as I savored the scent of her pussy, allowing it to permeate my senses and fill me with a desire that was both insatiable and exhilarating. My tongue darted out, eager to explore the fleshy depths of her entrance, and I licked the outer folds with a gentle, exploratory motion. The taste was unlike anything I had ever experienced before - sweet and salty, with just a hint of tanginess that spoke of her natural chemistry. It was intoxicating, addictive, and I found myself wanting more and more with each passing moment.

As my fingers delved deeper into her fleshy thighs, I felt a surge of pleasure course through me. The sensation was electrifying, sending shivers down my spine with each lick and suck. Her body pulsed beneath me, her hips undulating in rhythm with my movements, as if we were two dancers in perfect harmony. The sound of her soft moans filled the air, adding to the sensory experience. I could feel the heat radiating from her skin, the texture of her flesh beneath my fingertips, and the taste of her juices on my lips. Every sensation was amplified, every detail was vivid, and I found myself completely immersed into her.

I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe for the view before me - it was as if I were witnessing something holy - something that belonged only to us two. With each flick of my tongue, a symphony of sensations unfolded, like a tapestry of flavors and textures. I navigated the labyrinthine depths of her crevices, discovering hidden chambers and secret alcoves that ignited my senses. The taste of her essence, both sweet and musky, mingled with the salty tang of her sweat, creating a heady elixir that intoxicated me. The warmth of her body radiated through my skin, enveloping me in a cocoon of desire. The taste intensified, the sweetness fading into something richer and more intricate - a taste that spoke of depth and complexity that mirrored our own bond.

As I delved deeper into her entrance with my flicking tongue, I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in what we were doing together. The world outside faded away, leaving only the raw, unapologetic sensations that coursed through our veins. Our bodies were connected by desire and passion, and we explored each other's with a sense of freedom and abandon. The taste of her essence was intoxicating, and I couldn't get enough of it. The salty tang of her sweat mingled with the sweetness of her body, creating a heady elixir that left me dizzy with pleasure. The warmth of her body radiated through my skin, enveloping me in a cocoon of desire. It was a moment of pure sensory exploration - an exchange of pleasure that transcended words or actions. It didn't matter that she was with someone, all that mattered was what we both wanted - needed..

"Oh my God!" As her slender fingers delved into the silken strands of my hair, a guttural moan escaped her lips, echoing through the dimly lit room like a siren's call. Her touch was a symphony of sensations, each caress sending shivers down my spine. It was as if she was weaving a spell, ensnaring me in a web of desire with every delicate pull and tug. "You're so good at that, Owen" Her teeth sank into the softness of her lower lip, drawing a crimson bead of blood. The skin of her neck tightened, corded muscles standing out like delicate ridges beneath the surface. A low, guttural growl escaped her throat, a primal sound that reverberated through the room.

My tongue, a fervent explorer, ventured beyond the silken folds of her womanhood, tracing the contours of her hidden desires. Each delicate stroke ignited a symphony of sensations, a chorus of whispers reverberating through her core. Her body, a finely tuned instrument, responded with a tremor, a ripple of anticipation coursing through her limbs. She writhed in agony, her limbs trembling with the intensity of her pleasure. Her stomach twisted and churned, a maelstrom of emotions swirling within her core. Her head lolled back, her eyes rolling with ecstasy as her body surrendered to the sensations coursing through her veins.

Her head arched back, a gasp escaping her lips as my tongue ventured forth, seeking the epicenter of her desire. My lips moved in a circular motion, teasing and tormenting her sensitive nub, each revolution igniting a fiery burst of pleasure that rippled through her body. Her legs tightened around my head, her toes curling in ecstasy as her hips bucked involuntarily. One of my fingers slipped down between the silken folds of her entrance, circling and probing, adding an extra layer of stimulation. The combination of my tongue and finger was too much for her, sending her spiraling into the abyss of ecstasy.

The room filled with the symphony of her moans, a primal melody that echoed off the walls. Her body writhed beneath me, her curves undulating like waves crashing against the shore. I could feel her heat and her wetness, taste her desire and her passion. I was lost in the moment, consumed by the sensations that swirled around us like a maelstrom. My finger continued its relentless assault, tracing the contours of her entrance, teasing and probing at its delicate folds. My tongue flicked and danced across her clit, each touch sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. She was a marionette in my hands, her body contorting and twisting at my every whim. Her fingernails dug into my back, leaving moon-shaped marks on my skin. I basked in the pain, a manifestation of her unyielding passion.

Diving deeper into Jennie's silken depths, I felt her body tremble beneath me, her breath hitching in ragged gasps. My tongue danced across her heated folds, swirling and teasing like a mischievous sprite. Each touch sent shockwaves of ecstasy rippling through her core, her moans escalating into a desperate symphony that filled the room. Her hips arched involuntarily, seeking more of my fervent ministrations.

With one hand buried between her legs, I reached up with the other, exploring the smooth expanse of her toned stomach. My fingers traced the contours of her abs, teasing and tormenting her sensitive navel. She arched her back, her hips bucking wildly as my tongue danced across her clit. I could feel her heat and her wetness, taste her desire and her passion. I was lost in the moment, consumed by the sensations that swirled around us like a maelstrom.

As I continued to lick and suck at her clit, I slipped a finger inside her. It slid in easily, coated in her wetness. I began to pump my finger in and out, matching the rhythm of my tongue on her clit. Jennie's moans grew louder, more frenzied, her body trembling with anticipation. I could feel her muscles clenching around my finger, a sign that she was close.

With my free hand, I reached up to cup her breast, squeezing gently as my tongue continued its relentless assault on her clit. Her nipple hardened in my hand, a dark, erect bud that begged for attention. I pinched it lightly between my fingers, eliciting a sharp gasp from Jennie. Her hips bucked wildly, her body writhing beneath me as I continued to finger and lick her.

I could feel her heat and her wetness increasing, a sign that she was on the brink. With each relentless thrust, I quickened the tempo of my finger, driving it deeper into her slick, welcoming depths. I could feel her body responding, her muscles clenching and unclenching around my eager digit, a symphony of anticipation and surrender. Her breath hitched in her throat, a soft gasp escaping her lips as I continued my relentless assault on her pleasure center. My tongue danced across her clit, teasing and tormenting her sensitive nub. Jennie's moans grew louder, more desperate, a symphony of pleasure that filled the room.

In the hallowed chamber of our love, anticipation hung heavy in the air, pregnant with the promise of ecstasy. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, her whispered words barely audible above the fervent rhythm of our bodies. "Owen," she breathed, "I'm so close," and I could feel the trembling of her body, the clenching and unclenching of her muscles.

We were dancing on the precipice, so close to the edge, and I couldn't resist the urge to push her over. My fingers slid deeper into her slick, welcoming depths, the tempo of our love growing faster, more intense with each passing moment. The air was thick with the scent of passion, the taste of lust, and the sweetness of surrender.

As I continued my relentless assault on her pleasure center, I could feel the tension building, the anticipation growing. The air was thick with the scent of passion, the taste of lust, and the sweetness of surrender. My fingers slid deeper into her slick, welcoming depths, the tempo of our love growing faster, more intense with each passing moment. The rhythm of our bodies was in sync, our movements fluid and graceful, as we danced on the precipice of ecstasy.

I could feel the heat radiating from her skin, the beat of her heart echoing in my ears. Her whispered words of desire were like music to my ears, fueling my desire to bring her to the edge. I could sense the trembling of her body, the clenching and unclenching of her muscles, as she surrendered to the pleasure.

As I felt her body convulse around me, I knew that I had pushed her to the edge, that I had brought her to the point of no return. The intensity of our lust was overwhelming, a whirlwind of emotions and sensations that left me breathless. I could feel the warmth of her skin against mine, the softness of her hair, the taste of her lips on mine.

Her body, a symphony of rapture, throbbed beneath me, her cries of ecstasy echoing through the room. I had taken her to the precipice, and now she was free-falling into the abyss of pleasure. Her face, a canvas of desire, contorted with delight as she surrendered to the sensations that consumed her. I watched, enraptured, as she arched her back, her body trembling with the intensity of her climax. It was a moment of pure bliss, a communion of souls that transcended the physical realm.

As she finally descended from the tempestuous heights of her orgasm, Jennie lay there panting, her body still trembling like a leaf caught in an autumn gale. The aftershocks of ecstasy rippled through her, her skin flushed and damp with the nectar of our lovemaking. I moved beside her, my heart thrumming in my chest like a war drum, its beat echoing in the silence of the room like a primal chant. As I gazed into her eyes, I felt a raw, primal energy crackling between us, an electric current that coursed through our veins and ignited our souls.

After a moment, Jennie gathered herself, her breathing slowly returning to normal. She looked at me with a mix of desire and longing, her eyes locked onto my erection. Without a word, she reached out and spit on it, her saliva glistening on the tip as she began to stroke me. I moaned softly, my body responding to her touch with a fierce intensity.

"Now, for the real thing," Her breath, a warm caress against my ear, whispered promises of forbidden pleasures, unspoken desires. In the hushed tones of a seductress, she confessed, "I've been thinking about this"

My heart raced as she climbed on top of me, her body pressing against mine with a force that was both

exhilarating and terrifying. As Jennie descended upon me, I was captivated by the sight of her pussy swallowing my length whole, her muscles contracting around me with a ferocity that left me breathless. The feeling was ineffable, a surge of ecstasy that coursed through me like a tempestuous storm, electrifying every fiber of my being. Her gaze bore into mine, a mixture of passion and rebellion, as she claimed my cock in her body.

Jennie's body was a sight to behold, her curves accentuated by the soft, ambient light that bathed the room in a moody, atmospheric glow. Her breasts, full and firm, swayed gently with each thrust, their dark, rosy nipples standing erect against the cool air. Her hips moved in a hypnotic rhythm, her muscles flexing with each deliberate motion as she rode me with a fervor that left me breathless.

The view was breathtaking, Jennie's face a picture of pure, unadulterated pleasure. Her lips were parted, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she lost herself in the moment. Her eyes, dark and expressive, were filled with a raw, primal hunger that was both intoxicating and terrifying.

As we moved together, the room was filled with the symphony of our bodies slapping against each other, the wet, slick sounds of our flesh meeting in a frenzied dance of desire, like waves crashing against the shore. The air was thick with the scent of our arousal, a heady mix of sweat and sex that filled my senses and heightened my pleasure, intoxicating me with its primal allure. The rhythm of our lovemaking echoed through the room, a percussive symphony that pounded in my ears and set my heart racing with each thrust.

"Oh fuck, you're so tight," With a guttural moan, I plunged further into Jennie's depths, my body consumed by an insatiable hunger.

"And you're so big, you're stretching me out," Jennie moaned in response, her hips bucking wildly as she rode me with a fierce intensity.

"Do you like that? do you like my cock inside you? you've missed it dont you?" I asked, my voice thick with desire as I looked down at Jennie.

"yes! yes! Yes! Fuck!" Jennie cried out, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she lost herself in the moment.

In that moment, time seemed to stand still, and all that mattered was the intense sensory experience that was unfolding before me. Jennie's body was a symphony of pleasure, her every movement a testament to the raw, primal power of desire. And as I lost myself in the rhythm of our bodies, I knew that I was experiencing something truly transcendent, something that would stay with me long after the last echoes of our passion had faded away.

As she began to move, I felt myself being drawn into a world of pure sensation. Every thrust, every movement, was a symphony of pleasure that seemed to resonate deep within my soul. Jennie's eyes never left mine, her expression a mix of desire and determination as she rode me with a fierce intensity. I could feel her muscles clenching around me, a tight, wet heat that seemed to pull me deeper into her body with each passing second.

With a sudden surge of energy, I flipped her onto her back, guiding her legs apart as I positioned myself above her. Our eyes locked in a heated gaze as I plunged deeper into her, my body responding to her cries of desire with a feral intensity.

In this newfound position, I was able to control the depth and pace of our lovemaking, driving myself into her with an insatiable hunger. The headboard creaked against the wall in time with our frantic rhythm, the room filled with the wet sounds of our passionate union. Her hands gripped my back, nails digging into my skin as we moved together as one.

With each thrust, our bodies collided in a symphony of sensations – the slickness of our skin meeting in a primal dance, the soft moans escaping Jennie's lips as she arched her back to meet my every movement. Sweat glistened on both our bodies, beading on our skin like liquid diamonds under the dimmed lights. Her breasts bounced with each impact, nipples hardened and begging for attention. I reached down to tease them roughly, eliciting a gasp from Jennie that spurred me onward.

I could feel every ripple and fold of her wet heat enveloping me, clenching around my length like a vice. The scent of our arousal hung heavy in the air – musky and intoxicating – fueling the fire that burned between us. As I watched our reflection in the mirrored ceiling above us, I marveled at the sight: two bodies entwined in an age-old dance, seeking solace and release in each other's arms.

As I pushed into her further, I raised Jennie's elongated, slender limbs by their ankles, spreading them outward for my access. The visual before me was captivating - her toned thighs glistening with perspiration, her delicate toes curling and uncurling as I kissed and licked upon them. Her thin arms quivered with ecstasy. One hand clung tightly to the bedsheets, the other meandering down to manipulate her breasts, pinching and tugging at the firm nipples that stood upright against the cool atmosphere. Her eyelids were shut, her visage a blend of pleasure and agony as she yielded herself to the overwhelming sensations coursing through her entire body.

Jennie pulled me down to kiss her, her lips soft and warm against mine. Our tongues danced together in a frenzied rhythm, mirroring the movements of our bodies below. I could feel her heart pounding against my chest, her breath hot and heavy in my ear as she urged me onward. My thrusts did not stop, my body driven by a primal need to claim her once more.

Her nails raked down my back, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, fueling the flames of our passion even further. Our bodies collided with an intensity that belied the passage of time, as if we were two souls trapped in an endless loop of desire and need. The room was filled with the sound of our moans and gasps, a symphony of lust that echoed off the walls. The scent of our arousal hung heavy in the air – musky and intoxicating – as we raced towards that elusive peak together.

In this moment, there was only us – two people lost in a sea of passion, seeking solace and release in each other's arms. As I looked into her dark eyes, I saw the same longing and desire that burned within me.

Soon after we switched positions, Jennie was on all fours, presenting her luscious ass to me as I entered her from behind. I couldn't help but admire the view before me – her toned backside, the delicate dip of her spine, and the way her hair cascaded down her back in a waterfall of ebony silk. Her skin glistened with a sheen of sweat, accentuating every curve and contour of her body.

As I positioned myself behind her, I marveled at the sight of my cock sliding into her wet heat once more. The sensation was indescribable – hot, tight, and wet; it felt like coming home. With each thrust, I could feel every ripple and fold of her inner walls clenching around me, as if she were trying to hold onto me forever. The sound of our bodies colliding filled the room, a primal symphony that echoed off the walls.

In this position, Jennie's body took on an even more alluring form –  hips curved in invitation; and thighs spread apart in wanton display. Her back arched gracefully, accentuating the perfect curve of her spine and emphasizing the delicate line of her neck. It was a breathtaking sight, truly awe-inspiring - this beautiful creature beneath me, her body glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, her breath hitching with every thrust I made. Her moans, they were like sweet music to my ears, filling the room with an erotic symphony that echoed off the walls. They were desperate pleas for more, whispers of pleasure intermingling with the rhythmic crescendo of our bodies colliding. The sight and sounds of Jennie in the throes of ecstasy was intoxicating, pushing me further to the edge.

Every thrust was a desperate attempt to fuse our bodies together, to become one with this woman who held my heart captive. Our bodies collided with a force that belied the tenderness of our earlier lovemaking, a raw and primal display of unrestrained passion.

I reached down, my fingers tracing the delicate line of her spine, feeling the soft texture of her skin beneath my fingertips. Her body trembled beneath my touch, a mixture of pleasure and anticipation. I leaned down and kissed her neck, my lips trailing a path of fire down to her collarbone. She moaned softly, her head tilting back to give me better access.

My hands slid down her body, cupping her firm buttocks. I squeezed gently, feeling the muscles tense beneath my touch. Her hips moved involuntarily against mine, a desperate plea for more. I responded by thrusting into her with renewed vigor, my body driven by a primal need to claim her.

Jennie's body trembled beneath me, her muscles tensing and relaxing in a rhythmic dance of ecstasy. Her moans grew louder, more urgent, as she neared the precipice of release. Her body was a canvas of pleasure, her skin glistening with sweat as she writhed beneath me.

I could feel it too, the heat and tightness building between us, the overwhelming need to explode in a symphony of pleasure. It was like a volcano ready to erupt, the pressure building and building.

"Owen," she whispered, her voice a desperate plea. "I'm so close."

Her hushed murmurs were barely perceptible over the symphony of our pounding hearts and the wet slap of our bodies colliding in a rhythm as old as time itself. The scent of sweat and sex hung heavy in the air, intoxicating me with every breath I took. I carefully parted the supple curves of her ass, my gaze transfixed on the provocative sight before me: myself buried deep within her slick, welcoming folds.

"I'm close too, fuck! I'm gonna cum" I surrendered to the primitive instinct within me, my hips driving against her with newfound urgency. The soft, supple curves of her back molded perfectly against the harsh angles of my chest and abdomen. Her skin was a living flame beneath my fingertips – hot, slick, and glistening with sweat that clung to her like a second skin. The intoxicating taste of salt and woman filled my mouth as I pressed kisses along the graceful arch of her neck, each one drawing a gasp or a moan from her lips in response.

Such sweet music she made – soft sighs and whimpers that danced in harmony with the symphony of our bodies colliding in rhythmic unison. They were notes on an erotic sonnet, each one resonating deep within me, igniting sparks that threatened to consume me whole.

As the intensity of our coupling began to overwhelm me, I felt my legs quivering, the pressure mounting and threatening to spill over. With a firm grip on her shoulders, I channeled all my strength into thrusting against her - plunging into Jennie with an urgency borne of pure desire and unbridled lust. Each thrust resonated deep within me, stirring up a tempest of emotions that swirled in harmony with the rhythm of our bodies colliding. The sweet friction generated by our union was as intoxicating as it was maddening.

The intensity of her orgasm was like a tidal wave, crashing over me and pulling me under. I could hear her screams of pleasure, echoing in my ears as she came undone beneath me. Her body trembled and quivered, every muscle taut and tense as she rode out the waves of ecstasy. Her nails dug into my back, leaving crescent moons etched into my skin as she held on for dear life. The sensation of her walls clenching around me, milking me for all I was worth, was almost too much to bear. I felt myself losing control, my own climax building rapidly as I thrust into her with abandon.

"Fuck, you're so tight," I groaned, my voice strained and desperate. "I'm gonna cum."

"Oh my God, Owen!" She cried out, her voice a desperate plea. "Fill me up!"

With a final, desperate thrust, I let go. The pleasure exploded outwards from my core, a blinding white light that consumed me whole. I felt myself spill into her, my release warm and thick as it filled her to the brim. Her body shook beneath me, her walls milking me for every last drop as she came undone once more. With a surge of desire, her inner walls gripped me tightly, milking every inch of my throbbing cock as she pressed herself against my groin. Her body trembled beneath me, the rhythmic motion causing her juices to mix with the heat of my own release, filling her to the brim with my essence. The sensation was overwhelming and intoxicating, a swirl of pleasure and wetness.

The culmination overwhelmed us, a torrent of delight that teetered on the edge of being unbearable. This peak, an oft-experienced sensation, was a mass consumption of joy that stemmed from my very essence. It was like a dazzling white glare, a flood tide crashing over me and pulling me under its swell. The impact nearly felt scary, but in the most positive way. It was as if each sensory neuron in me had been ignited, a harmonious symphony of sensations that left me breathless and quivering with fulfillment.

As the waves of pleasure began to subside, I collapsed onto the bed beside her, my body spent and satisfied. I pulled her close, my arm wrapped around her waist as I pressed kisses to her neck and shoulder. Her body was still trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she tried to catch her breath.

I looked into her eyes, and what I saw there was a mixture of pleasure and longing, a deep emotional and physical satisfaction that mirrored my own. I held her in my arms, her body still trembling from the force of our climax. Her hair was plastered to her face, sweat sticking to her skin in a way that only added to her allure. She was breathtaking – a sight that I knew I would never grow tired of. As she lay there in my arms, panting and heaving, I couldn't help but think about what could have been between us.

The intensity of our connection flooded my mind with memories and regrets. I thought back to our time together years ago, when things were different. When the possibilities between us seemed endless. Back then, I had felt the magnetic pull towards her – the urge to give myself to her fully, to commit everything I had. But the fear always held me back, gripping my heart like a vise. I was terrified of losing myself in her, of the vulnerability that comes with true intimacy. So I held back, keeping her at arm's length even as we shared our bodies and souls.

She had wanted more, I knew that even then. I could see it in her eyes whenever she looked at me – that simmering desire for the whole of my heart. But the fear was too strong, the habit of self-protection too ingrained. And so she eventually moved on, leaving me bereft and full of remorse.

Now here she was again, trembling in my arms like she belonged there. The old longings came flooding back, mingled with regret. If only I could go back and choose differently, give her the love she deserved. But it was too late for that. The best I could do was cherish these stolen moments together, even as I knew deep down that I would inevitably pull back again. She was my North Star, my guiding light – but one that I could never fully reach no matter how hard I tried. The thought filled me with equal parts bliss and anguish. I held her tighter as she drifted off to sleep, wishing I could freeze this moment forever. --

I draw an elongated, languid pull from my cigarette, allowing the nicotine to seep into my bloodstream as I linger on this balcony, my perch above the dazzling, pulsating cityscape of New York. The night air is sharp, a crisp contrast to the lingering warmth that still clings to my skin—a souvenir from our passionate interlude.

Inside, Jennie is nestled in the land of dreams, her petite frame delicately cocooned in the luxurious hotel sheets that still bear the scent of our shared desire. I ought to join her, to envelop her in my arms and surrender to the beckoning call of sleep. However, a restless energy pervades my being, my mind a volatile whirlpool in the aftermath of our tempestuous coupling.

Jennie, a beautiful enigma, belongs to another now—Yet, tonight, we merged in a wild conflagration of raw desire, our bodies entwining in a dance as old as time itself, lost in a sea of ecstasy. I staked my claim on every inch of her, driven by a primal need to etch myself into her memory, an indelible mark she'd never be able to erase. Her nails etched a path of fervor down my back, her cries a symphony spurring me forward as we hurtled towards the precipice of oblivion. And when that moment of release arrived, it was a cataclysm—a searing flash of divine perfection that shattered us, only to rebuild us anew.

Commitment has always been my Achilles heel, a specter I avoid with the agility of a seasoned matador. It terrifies me, this concept of vulnerability and surrender. The lessons life has imparted have taught me that nothing golden remains, so I seize my moments of joy with a fierce grip, refusing to hold too tightly lest they slip away. I prefer to exist in a world of beautiful fragments, a mosaic of fleeting moments, rather than be tethered to a monotonous eternity. These thoughts weave their way through my mind as I exhale the ashen smoke from my lips, the remnants of my vice liberated from the confines of my lungs.

I flick the cigarette over the edge, its glowing cherry tracing a fleeting arc in the obsidian night, a dying star lost in the city's neon abyss. Jennie, she is my Polaris, an immutable point of light guiding my aimless wanderings even when she's a universe away. The distance between us may stretch into miles, yet I find myself perpetually ensnared in her cosmic pull, tethered to the irresistible gravity of her radiance.

Perched high above the city, I cast my gaze downwards, drinking in the nocturnal theater below. A ceaseless ballet of headlights, the urban arteries throbbing with life—cars darting like metallic fish, blaring horns that sing a discordant symphony of the city's pulse. Amid the clamor, a melody tiptoes into my consciousness, a haunting siren's song birthed from the events of the night. My next creation, a symphony of sentiments woven into delicate prose, stands ready to unfurl. It's an intimate piece of my soul, a whisper of my essence, something to bare and share with the world. A tapestry of words dipped in the hues of my deepest longings, a lingering echo of my heartbeat, yearning to resonate in the hearts of those willing to lend an ear;

I'm in town for one night, one night only

I came around to put it down, for one night only

Just one night

Got a room for me and you, for one night only

You wanna ride for a lifetime, this is one night only

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My first fic, hope you guys like it.

[rafecamerons-national-anthem]

𝐿𝒪𝒰𝒟𝐸𝑅-𝒟𝑅𝐸𝒲 𝒮𝒯𝒜𝑅𝒦𝐸𝒴

𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕤𝕞𝕦𝕥

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪 While laying in bed, the two of them can't help but overhear their upstairs neighbors going at it rather loudly. Drew Starkey turns to Y/N after a while, and asks, "You wanna fuck louder than them to establish dominance?".

✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮

The room was bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, casting a warm light over their intertwined bodies. The air was thick with the sweet scent of their shared laughter and the promise of a lazy Sunday afternoon. However, the peacefulness of the moment was suddenly pierced by the unmistakable sounds of passion emanating from the apartment above.

The couple had become accustomed to the occasional cacophony of their neighbors' love making, but this time it was more persistent and more…enthusiastic than usual. Y/N, blushing at the intrusion of sound, rolled over to face Drew, her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink. "Wow," she murmured, trying to suppress a giggle, "they're really going at it up there."

Drew's gaze darkened with a hint of mischief as he studied her expression. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, the way she squirmed slightly under the covers in response to the auditory assault. He knew she was as turned on by the sounds as she was embarrassed by them. With a smirk, he leaned closer, whispering in her ear, "You know what that means, don't you?"

Her eyes grew wide, and she playfully swatted his chest. "What? That we should get some earplugs?"

Drew chuckled, his voice a low rumble against her skin. "No, baby," he said, his tone dropping an octave, "it means it's time for us to show them how it's really done." He took her hand and placed it on the bulge growing in his pants, his eyes never leaving hers.

Y/N's pulse quickened at his words, and she felt a thrill of excitement mingle with the embarrassment. She knew Drew well enough to recognize the challenge in his eyes. He wasn't one to back down from a dare, especially one that involved outdoing someone else's performance. And she had to admit, the idea of being louder, more passionate, and more in sync than their neighbors was incredibly arousing.

With a smirk, she leaned in closer to him, her breath warm against his neck. "Alright," she whispered, "you're on."

Drew's eyes lit up, and he sat up with a sudden burst of energy, pulling her closer. He kissed her, deep and slow, tasting the sweetness of her lips, his hands roaming over her body, setting it alight with anticipation. The sounds above grew more intense, almost a rhythm to which their bodies began to sway.

Pushing the covers aside, Drew revealed her bare skin to the fading light of the day. He took his time exploring every inch of her, his fingertips tracing the curves and valleys of her body with a reverence that made her feel like a work of art. His mouth followed the path of his hands, leaving a trail of kisses and nips that made her squirm and gasp.

Y/N's hands weren't idle either. She tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head, and ran her nails over his muscular back. Her fingertips danced along the waistband of his pants, hinting at the need to remove the barrier separating their bodies.

Their neighbors' passionate cries grew louder, and the bedframe above them started to knock against the ceiling in a steady, rhythmic beat. Drew paused, his eyes dark with desire, and turned to Y/N with a smirk. "Ready to show them what we've got?"

Her eyes sparkled with the same challenge, and she nodded, her breath hitching in anticipation. Drew leaned in to kiss her once more before standing up, his pants pooling at his ankles. He reached for her, his hand sliding around her waist, and pulled her to the edge of the bed.

Their eyes locked, and with a silent nod, they both knew the game had begun. They were going to be the soundtrack to the evening, their cries of pleasure echoing through the walls, leaving their neighbors to wonder who the real stars of the show were.

Drew's hands roamed up her thighs, his thumbs brushing against the damp fabric of her panties. "You're so wet, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with need. "Are you thinking about how much louder we're going to be?" His words were hot against her skin, sending shivers down her spine.

"Fuck, yes," she breathed, her voice almost as loud. She could feel the ache deep inside her, begging for release. "I want you so badly."

He hooked his fingers under the elastic and pulled her panties aside, exposing her to the cool air. He dipped his head, his tongue tracing a path up her slit, making her arch her back and let out a moan that was music to his ears. "Tell me how much you want it," he demanded, his breath tickling her sensitive skin. "I want to hear you scream for me."

"More," she panted, her nails digging into his shoulders. "I want all of you."

He didn't need any further encouragement. Drew slid into her, filling her completely, and she cried out his name as he began to move. Each thrust was deliberate and deep, setting a tempo that matched the sounds of passion from above. He whispered dirty words in her ear, telling her how sexy she was, how tight she felt around him, how much he loved watching her come apart.

Their bodies moved in perfect harmony, their skin slick with sweat as they chased the crescendo of their shared desire. Y/N wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him deeper, her voice rising to meet the crescendo of their neighbors' cries.

The sounds grew more frantic, their bodies moving faster, the headboard of their own bed now colliding with the wall in a symphony of passion. Drew's hands found her breasts, his thumbs flicking over her sensitive nipples as he drove into her. "You're so close," he groaned, his eyes never leaving hers. "Let go, baby. I want to feel you come around me."

Her eyes rolled back, and she bit her lip to stifle a scream. The orgasm crashed over her, her body convulsing as he pounded into her. The neighbors' noises grew fainter as she lost herself in the sensation, the only sounds that mattered now were their own.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Drew leaned in to kiss her neck, his breathing ragged. "We're louder," he murmured, his voice filled with triumph.

Y/N's laugh was breathless. "You think?" she quipped, a grin playing on her lips. "I'm pretty sure they heard me in the next zip code."

He chuckled, his chest heaving with exertion. "Good," he said, his voice a low growl. "They know who the real winners are."

They lay there for a moment, their hearts pounding in unison, basking in the afterglow of their victory. The room was filled with the heavy silence of satisfaction, the only sound being their intermingled breaths.

Drew pulled out slowly, and Y/N felt a twinge of loss. He leaned over to kiss her softly, his eyes filled with love and amusement. "Ready for round two?" he asked, a playful smirk on his lips.

"Always," she replied, her voice still a bit shaky from her climax.

And with that, they were off again, their bodies tangling, their whispers growing louder, their passion igniting the night. The neighbors had unknowingly set the stage for an intimate battle of love and noise, but Drew and Y/N had turned it into a celebration of their own fiery connection, proving once again that nothing could ever come between them.

Drew's hands moved to her hips, holding her in place as he began to thrust again. "You feel so good," he groaned, his voice raw with need. "So tight, so wet." His words were a sweet symphony of dirty talk that played into her ears, turning her on even more. She responded with her own set of screams, telling him how much she loved feeling him inside her, how he filled her up in a way no one else ever could.

Their kisses grew more fervent, their tongues dancing together as their bodies moved in a rhythm that was all their own. He could feel her tightening around him, her legs trembling with the effort of staying still. "Come for me, baby," he urged, his voice a raspy growl. "I want to feel you come apart again."

Her eyes fluttered closed as she focused on the sensations building within her. "Drew," she whimpered, his name a prayer on her lips. "Yes, yes, yes." The words turned into a scream as she shattered around him, her body writhing with pleasure.

He followed her over the edge, his hips bucking against hers as he emptied himself into her. The room was alive with their cries, the sound of their bodies slapping together, the headboard banging against the wall in time with their frenzied lovemaking.

As they lay there, panting and sweaty, the sounds from above had faded into the background. The neighbors had finished their performance, but Drew and Y/N were just getting started. They were in it for the long haul, ready to outlast and outdo the competition in the most intimate of ways.

Drew rolled onto his back, pulling her with him so she was straddling him. He slid back inside her with a sigh of pure satisfaction, her wetness making it easy for him to move. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his hands cupping her breasts as she began to ride him. "I can't get enough of you."

Her eyes met his, dark with desire. "I'm all yours," she whispered, her hips rolling in a sensual dance that had him gripping the bed sheets. The headboard thumped rhythmically against the wall, each impact echoing through the room.

"Ride me, baby," he encouraged, his voice strained. "Harder. Fuck me like you own me, yeah?"

Her cheeks flushed, but she obeyed, her movements growing more erratic. She leaned down, her hair a curtain around them, her breasts bouncing with each bounce. She whispered dirty words into his ear, telling him just how much she wanted him, how good he felt, how she never wanted it to end.

Their bodies moved together like they were one, their hearts racing as they pushed each other closer and closer to the brink. Drew could feel his orgasm building again, and he knew she was right there with him. "Come for me," he urged, his hands moving to her ass to help guide her. "I want to feel you come all over me."

And come she did, her body tightening around him as she screamed out his name, her eyes wide with ecstasy. He let go, his own orgasm tearing through him like a wildfire, leaving him spent and utterly content.

For a moment, they just lay there, panting and smiling at each other. Then Drew leaned up to kiss her, a gentle press of lips that spoke volumes about his love for her. "You're amazing," he murmured against her mouth.

Y/N grinned, her eyes sparkling. "We should challenge them to a rematch next weekend," she teased, already eager for another round.

Drew chuckled, his arms tightening around her. "Oh, you're on, baby," he said, his voice still husky with passion. "But for now, let's just enjoy the quiet."

They lay there, their bodies tangled together, listening to the sound of their hearts slowing down. The sun had set, leaving the room bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. The sounds of the city outside had grown quieter, the world seeming to hold its breath as if it knew not to disturb the lovers in their post-coital bliss.

As their breathing evened out, Drew rolled them over so he was on top, his weight pressing her into the mattress. He kissed her again, a soft, lingering kiss that promised more to come. "I love you," he whispered, his voice filled with a tenderness that made her heart flutter.

"I love you too," she murmured back, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. They lay there for a while longer, their bodies entwined, the only sound in the room the quiet murmur of their love.

But the silence didn't last. Soon, the neighbors started up again, their passionate cries drifting down through the floorboards. Drew pulled back, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Ready to go again?"

Y/N laughed, her eyes sparkling. "Always."

And with that, the battle of the bedrooms resumed, their bodies moving in a dance of love and lust, each trying to outdo the other, their cries of pleasure a challenge to the couple above. The walls of their apartment trembled with the force of their passion, their love a declaration that could not be silenced.

Drew's hands moved to her ass, his fingers digging in as he drove into her, her nails leaving trails of fire down his back. They were lost in their own world, the sounds of the city and their neighbors fading into a distant hum as they focused on each other, on the feeling of skin against skin, of hearts beating as one.

The neighbors grew louder, their rhythm increasing, but Drew and Y/N were unfazed. They had each other, and that was all that mattered. They moved in a silent challenge, each thrust, each kiss, each gasp a declaration of war in the battle of the bedrooms.

Their love was a force to be reckoned with, a crescendo that built and built until it shattered through the walls, until their neighbors could no longer ignore the fiery passion that burned between them. And as they reached their peak, their voices melding into one loud, triumphant shout, they knew they had won.

The night was long and filled with love, their bodies speaking a language that needed no words, their hearts beating in a rhythm that only they understood. And when the sun began to rise, painting the sky with shades of pink and orange, they collapsed into an exhausted, sated heap, their breathing finally evening out.

They had claimed their dominance, not just over the sounds of their apartment, but over each other's hearts. And as the city began to stir, they fell into a deep, contented sleep, their bodies still entwined, the echoes of their love reverberating through the quiet apartment.

𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 @nicholaschavezslut69

[theambivalentagender]

So this is the post I did this sketch for.

Farmer at 3am nudging Shane awake: Hey, would you still love me if I was a worm?

Shane disoriented from sleep: Wtf no

[rroseselavyyy]

vespertine - myg

pairing: yoongi x female reader

warnings: smut

As soon as you locked eyes with his, he slammed you against the door before you could even greet him. He didn't need to talk about how stressful his day had been because he knew you could see right through him from the moment he walked into your apartment.

You whimpered like a wounded deer as he pressed his body against yours and kissed you with his mouth open as if he wanted to steal the air from your lungs. He lifted you off the floor by wrapping your legs around his waist.

You didn't say a word to each other as he carried you up to your room. You unbuttoned his shirt as he climbed the stairs. His breath caught in his throat as you drew your face closer to the nape of his neck, giving love bites to his sensitive flesh.

He tasted like the pomegranate seeds you willingly ate to exchange your freedom for his kingdom of darkness.

You fell onto the bed with him on top of you. You were both panting heavily when you finally locked your eyes with his. He was more than emboldened to make you shy under his heated gaze as your crimson-red cheeks made you look even more beautiful.

He could never be more in love with you. Your mere presence was enough to enthrall Yoongi.

"You're so beautiful, angel." After removing his clothes, he took his place between your legs, trapping his frame between them on either side of him. He took a moment to brush your hair away from your face with his slender fingers. His free hand landed on your knee to spread your legs further apart. You closed your legs around his hand, inviting him to follow it to your most private parts. "You're beautiful too, daddy."

You whimpered as he pulled your panties aside and stretched your pussy with his middle and index fingers, your slickness making it easy for him to slide inside your walls. "Fuck- baby, you're dripping. Is it all for me?"

"Yes, daddy." You breathed through your nose as his thumb stroked your clit in a way that made your vision blur when the pleasure was too consuming for you to think straight. “It’s all for you.”

Though he had only asked the question to tease you, your sweet declaration sent shivers down his spine. You were like a delicate flower in his garden, he wanted to corrupt you until he had you all to himself.

“Do you think you're ready for my cock, angel?”

Your manicured fingers scratched his neck as you nodded feverishly. He slipped his fingers out of you and a whimper escaped your lips as if you missed the feel of his fingers filling you. 

He teased you with the tip of his cock as you let out a sob as if you couldn't wait any longer. You felt like you were about to lose your mind as he sank into you inch by inch.

His lips felt soft against your skin as his kisses traced a path down your throat to your breasts. He sucked on your nipples through your sheer floral bra as if tasting the sweetest honey. He whispered sweet nothings in your ear about how good you were to him as he made you see stars under his weight.

He picked up a pace that made loud thumps as he fucked you into the mattress, causing the bed to hit the wall. His raven hair fell into his eyes and sweat dripped from his forehead. He left kisses on your cheek as loud moans came from your mouth.

His thrusts became more brutal and his animalistic grunts echoed in your ears. You felt tears streaming down your face as you murmured to his lips how much you loved him. He finished inside your heavenly walls as your pussy gripped his cock tightly. His warm cum filled you to the brim, triggering your orgasm right after him.

He didn't pull out, but instead he lay down on top of you and rested his head on the valley of your breasts. His hands were on either side of you, caressing your skin in a soothing way.

"Yoongi, you can tell me what happened." He sighed as you played with his damp hair. "Your dad's giving me a hard time at work."

"Do you want me to talk to him?" You pulled his hair slightly so he could look at your face. He looked intently into your eyes before kissing your worries away. There was a look of amusement on his face as he pulled away from the kiss that you had shared with him.

"Don't worry about me, angel. I think it would be enough to give him a heart attack if I told him that I take my frustrations out on her daughter's pussy every time he makes me mad."

--

[spurbleu]

mouth, reprieves ♛︎

[ken sato x afab reader]

S. Ken Sato is a bitter loser. And you are patient- if not a little giving.

warnings: mdni, blowjob

word count: 2k

࿓༚︎︎‧⁎︎✳︎⁎︎‧︎༚︎࿓︎

A pity bloated between your lungs.

The loss wasn’t significant, only by a point. But you supposed that’s what made it sting - the stain of ‘so close’ and ‘almost’ near wicked in the grooves of the bat hold, or the home plate- plastic patched in rifts of dust and dirt (hard to swallow, all of it). Its grief was visible- slumped shoulders and buckling knees stuck to the grime on their uniforms, the announcer’s voice coming in- static and lame.

“And that is a wrap for the Giants 3rd game of the season. First loss this year- what does it mean for the future?”

It rattled the stadium- the echoing disappointment. It folded in the gaps of the chairs, salting the air in a bitter, frustrated sigh. You were unsure if you wanted to join the chorus or curse it.

The memories seeped through- distinct. The pull of his lips when they met yours. The twitch of his knuckles when he held his liquor. His light heels after his last physical therapy session (when magnified- wings. Stamped on the bone of his ankle- fluttering- impatient). The thrum of his snore, thick with anticipation- and expectations (never met).

Kenji’s first game of the season- a loss.

You didn’t take the frigidity personally. You knew the clouds in his iris, the roll of thunder from the back of his throat and off his tongue, was just an indication he cared. The breakage of his indifference, esteem cracking through its steel walls. He had learned to remove blame from his teammates- but as a result the weight on the breadth of his own shoulders grew immense.

It simmered- his insecurities. Boiling beneath the thin patches of skin where he slid on his knees- tender and spiteful. Drives home were borderline silent, aside from the heavy breath against his philtrum and the shifting of his shirt as you rubbed the tense muscles connecting his shoulders. Sometimes, it felt like talking to a wall- resistant to reassurance- as if the letters in ‘you did just fine’ and ‘I’m proud of you’  were venomous (fearful of the gentleness in cyanide).

But it was how he was. Equally as accepting of praise as he was averse to it. A paradox at home base.

You stood on the balls of your feet, swallowing dry air in timid gulps, watching the entrance to the locker room doors. Other wives and girlfriends- some children- and family members stood there in tense guilt- hands itching to embrace the men in a hug that promise ‘next time’.

Eventually, the belly of the stadium spit the players out, slick in its drooly chagrin.

There was a drop to the regular sharpness of his cheeks, ending at the base of his lips- dry and cracked. His hair stuck to his forehead- wet with outlines from the notches of his helmet- which was tucked under his arm (it looked more like a burden than a prize- its frequent glimmer dimmed by dust). The valley under his eyes a depressing shade of plum- his eyes dimmer yet festering.

But it was his brows that exposed the loss of immunity. Pleats in the center of his face, furrowing so low, that if you weren’t close enough, they would have looked joint with the shadow they caused.

When he found you amongst the hushed comfort, the rigidity in his shoulders collapsed into a softer word, striding towards you like a kid who broke a window (baseball myth, but maybe you’ll let him live in it for now).

“H-“

He curled into in gap of your shoulder and your neck, arms lazily embracing the small of your back and pulling you into his chest. You felt the hairs of his brows sink deeper into your shoulder, his breath fanning on your collar bone.

Your hand came to fill its gaps with the tangle of his hair, palming his temples. This embrace was familiar- not because he lost often, but because you found it somewhere in every day. The mornings during breakfast, pillow talk under plains of insomnia, the after-sex glow. Touch tugged a heart string in you both, and although there was no proof, you swear you could feel his heart slow when it kissed yours.

(He made you a romantic, and even after years the shoe still feels too big)

You pull away, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. He didn’t kiss you back, but you didn’t mind. It was more of a reminder anyway- a way for you to say I’m here.

“Let’s go home.”

▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎

Looking from a doorway in the movies always appears more tranquil than it actually is.

There is nothing peaceful about watching your partner blister under their own defeat. The bounce of his knee, a desperate attempt to relax the tension that mends his muscles to the bone. You, left in your own uncertainty, bit the bumpy flesh behind your bottom lip, legs flinching with the impulse to do.  

Comfort, rally, motivate. Your mind searched for a better plan of action in the rise and fall of his shoulders, as he scrutinized the recordings of the game in dim light under a magnifying glass (ants in summer heat).

The body talks. Yours was saying thousands of things at once- none resonating. Dry hands, calloused by hourglass sand and the gruff reality of your own exhaustion, would do nothing but stir him from his own brood then bring him deeper into it. Your mouth would say filtered words with little connotation, leaving you both in a spell that felt purposefully blundering.

Then a spark, somewhere lower than your hips. A blushing growth- spoke in deep tones of arousal and charity.

Alone, your hands and mouth proved useless.

But together…

You pushed yourself off the wide wall, shuffling over in your pajama set loud enough that he could hear you coming. He didn’t move, eyes still trained in silent remorse as he watched his tapes. Your heart dragged on the surface of your ribs- pity.

You came to stand in front of the television, reaching behind you and grabbing the remote before forcing his chin up with your other hand. His jaw rested on your curled fingers, vulnerable. His eyes looked burned at both ends, the wick of his iris without fire, or rebuttal.

You took a seat on his lap, wrapping your arms on his slumped shoulders. A beat, before he caved into you, pulling you into the crook of his hips. You molded into him, taking a moment to turn the television off, dowsing you both in a dark, somnolent ease.

You familiarized yourself with every version of this pose. In his lap, drowse eating at both of your guts, limbs pulling each other closer still. It wasn’t a planned routine- just comfortable. You’d heard the line ‘we were made for each other’ about a dozen times in different movies and books- and although you found it cliché- there was a truth to it.

Good love can be cliché. Done over and over because it feels right. Kenji- his arms and his heart- feel right to you and they always have.

(Again, he makes you a romantic).

“You were amazing today, baby.” You said into his ear. He huffed- but you took his grip on your thighs as encouragement.

You kissed his cheek, then his jaw, and with each purse of your lips you tried to make a point. “You are the best baseball player in the league,” you continued down to his neck, hands coming to rest on his collar bone, “one game doesn’t change that…”

You felt his throat rumble, and it took you a few kisses to realize he had spoken.

“Keep…going.”

Fuck.

It was embarrassing to be aroused when you’re supposed to be comforting someone, but God. The timbres of his voice, their effortless depth and coon, pleading you of all people to do more was enough to make you start riding his thigh.

You reminded yourself that tonight was about his pleasure, and your own would have to be on the back burner.

You slipped your hands under his shirt, cool flesh meeting his hot abdominal, twitching under your nails. You traced the shadows of his muscle, enjoying the mumble that shook his adams apple as you kissed under his jaw.

“You’re talented and everyone knows it,” down the dip between his collarbones, “you’ve carried the team and brought them together…” your hands made your way to his chest, where you could feel his heart beating under the grooves of your palm. Good. You tapped his shoulder from underneath his shirt, and he understood, immediately shedding the shirt and throwing it carelessly into the dark.

You continued down his stomach, sending occasionally glances up. His face was veiled in something rounder now- the earlier layers of woe and its harsh lines drawn by the furrow of his brow replaced by something a little more sanguine. It peaked from behind the whites of his eyes and glowed under the plush of his cheeks in a blooming pink.

You dragged your lips further down, navigating the narrow of his waist, “You’ve got a handsome face to match your wit,” you kissed the band of his sweats, before you curled the digits of your fingers over, peeling it back to reveal the near painful tent spring from the cotton of his boxers, “and…fuck your big…”

You swallowed, massaging the cusp of his cock, feeling as he curved his hips into your palm, a soft moan breaching the clench of his teeth. You looked up at him- beautiful in the light of his own rousing. His throat bobbled; words caught in his tonsils.

You didn’t need him to speak- you knew what they were.

You brought back to his boxers, cock slapping the underside of his stomach. He sucked a breath through his teeth above you- desperation in the discoloration of his bottom lip- bruised. The shroom cap was weeping your name in a pearl of pre-cum, which you massaged with your thumb. You slowly pumped his length in your hands, hand moving in slow, tight swells at the base of it.

You knew it well- you had felt it a dozen times over. The vein that crawled from its root on the right side- thick- spelling your name in morse. The deepened pink as it ran up to his tip, the glans warm in hot colors of desire. The velvet that patched its stiff underside was particularly memorized- molded in the walls of your cunt.

But there would always be that stutter in your breath- your body talking in haphazard beats- a need he fills to the brim. It wasn’t shock, it wasn’t admiration, but you settle for somewhere in between.

“You’re so strong- from your injury, to protecting the city,” if felt somewhat strange- authentic compliments paired with the pumping of his cock, the tip of his jaw and buck of his hips begged your fruition in low moans, “there is no other man like Kenji Sato…”

A gruff groan from the pit of his lungs made your own sex thrum with a familiar density, and you let a soft moan escape your own lips as you slipped them down his cock.

Hypoxia bloomed in the back of your throat- bright purple capturing oxygen. You let your maw clench and reel at the pressure- familiar but desperate for accommodation. Your breath came out in a single syllable against the base of him, nostrils flaring.

He moaned above you, the tremble of his ecstasy rolling down his shoulders and to the bridge of his cock, rattling your tonsils with an unflattering gag. His hands came to hold your hair, grip massaging the back of your scalp with a needy grip.

“Hah…shit…you’re too good to me…”

You bobbed your head in protest, tongue flattening to cup his front. Your fingers worked what your mouth couldn’t, fondling the sensitive bonds of his groin- slick in saliva. He let out a gruff growl, holding your head with a fatal grip- pushing you down to swallow more of him.

You held his thighs for balance you kneeled between them- tears pricking your eyes. You swear you feel him at the ends of your tongue as he rolled his hips into your mouth- hollowed cheeks to take the grit of him- avoiding grazing teeth.

You glanced up at him- met with the bend of his jaw- mouth open as he moaned your name like a mantra. It was so melodic- and for something so lewd it was sweet. Honied in the places that we were taught filthy- buried beneath the stickiness of arousal and sex was something warmer.

You sped up your pace- promising a song from him as you pushed your tongue to the roof of your mouth, tightening the plunge of your throat.

“Ohshit- fucking hell you feel so good baby…so good to me,” His ruts were becoming sloppy, breaking under the weight of his own overstimulation, “I’m gonna cum down that perfect mouth of yours…”

You loved him like this. Goo in your hands, the sharper edges of his jaw and his tongue softened when laid next to you. Saying your name like he’d forget it- hoping it brands into his flesh, maybe his bones. It brought your own weeping hole thrilling pleasure- the puff of your heart rapid.

Lost in rapture- the smaller moments and the forgotten words- somewhere in the craters of your bodies. You’d accepted it- becoming idyllic- eased into a life where love could mean so many things at once and all be right.

As in- the kiss goodnight is just as important as the blowjob after a loss.

You were made ugly- snot drippling down your lips in blunt weeps, tears wetting your lashes in asphyxiation. You were positive the round of your cheeks was rosed- glossed by the precum and spit that wetted your lips as you slipped up and down, tandem rhythm with his hips.

You could feel strands of your hair being ripped from the sensitivity of your scalp- his hands gripping hard enough it felt as though he’s trying to hold your skull. His moans were restless now, a wet and sickening chorus to the hymn of your nose hitting his stomach.

“Shit-shitshitshit oh fuck I’m cu-cummm uhmm…”

It painted the cave of your throat, the cap of your tongue, the roof of your mouth- ruthless. Filled your throat in hues of stress, lost to the compassion of your molars and the crest of your mouth. You could feel the excess ropes peel back the corners of your lips as it bubbled to meet his pelvis, which was still fucking your mouth in a noisy, orgasmic frenzy.

It slid from your fissure with a quiet pop, and you took his wrists, pulling them limply from your head as you stood, sitting back on his lap, softening cock resting behind your ass. You kissed his throat, feeling the shuddering breaths that fogged the air around you, catching his expression- knotted brows and tight nose- compressed in a vague expression of lust- and thanks.

You ran your fingers through his hair- kissing up to his ear, “I meant everything I said, earlier, y'know.”

You felt him nod shakily. “I know…sometimes I just like to hear you say it.”

You snorted- there he was. “Cocky bastard.”

He chucked, pulling you into his chest, smile soft against the indent of your shoulder. “Well, you had it down your throat.”

You pulled back, giving him his first real kiss of the night. Admittedly, it was to shut him up, but when he pulled you closer still, lips molding to yours in the way they always do, you both knew it was because you wanted to.

You pulled away, eyes opening to his face- lips pursed and eyes closed (adorably stupid, stupidly adorable- somewhere between the two) you laughed, pressing a kiss between his brows.

“Okay Mr. Romance let’s get you to bed.”

You began to slide off his waist before he pulled you back down, eyes open and revealing something much more earnest. The harsher edges of his face seemed to smooth over (rock eroded, calmed), and he leaned his head to your chin.

“Thank you.”

You sighed into his hair- deep down you wanted to say he didn’t need to thank you. But he had enough about him tonight.

“You’re welcome- my throat is going to be sore because of you.”

His head came up to meet yours, and you knew he was back when you saw his classic smirk pull at the corners of his lips. “Should I loosen it up again?”

You rolled your eyes, sliding off his waist before grabbing his hand and pulling him up. You wrapped your arms up to base of his shoulder blades and he returned the embrace, body molding to the shape of your front.

The sensitive part of you wanted to stay like this forever- pushing into him- held- safe. If you closed your eyes, you could, and somewhere in your forever you heard,

“I love you.”

[theambivalentagender]

I've been messing around with my line art style a LOT recently. Hopefully it'll look good when this is finished.

[theambivalentagender]

I split the difference with Gridball in Valley Echoes and turned it into some kind of Ultimate Sports Nightmare where a game of "soccer" and a game of "American football" meet in the middle of the field and whatever happens happens.

I love how gridball is played like an American football vs everywhere else football thing in Stardew but also it's so confusing???

Like Shanes jersey is based on the Seattle Sounders jersey and he has a collectors soccer ball in his room, so I think when he's referring to liking gridball he's talking ab something closer to soccer. Alex likes a more American style version, given he has a football and helmet in his room, and he throws a football around outside. Photos for reference:

But when it comes to gridball related events they're seen together a lot?? Like Alex shows up to the Tunnelers game and Shane uses the game room Alex gets set up in the Saloon which is VERY obviously American football themed. Is gridball some kind of weird ass combo of the two different types of football???? Are there two teams named the Tunnelers that do different sports?? Do we have a canon explanation for this?

[brewed-pangolin]

"Yer starin' again, love."

Soap's smooth, baritone voice called to you in the vastness of your enraptured stare. Subtle memories of a smile returned into the lines of your lips, pulling yourself back into the realm of existence with a languid whisper rolling off your tongue.

"Sorry, John. Still getting used to them."

"Aye. Take it ya like 'em then?"

Your cheeks burned with the unending affection for the man you had grown to love. Gaze lingering on the newly adorned carbon fiber rims surrounding his eyes, drawing ever more attention to the cerulean stare within.

"Yeah. I like 'em."

"Hm. Still getting used to 'em m'self, lass." He muttered, repositioning the frames on the bridge of his nose to regain focus on the writing in his hand.

"Perhaps you need better reading material," you interjected with a cracked smile.

His blue eyes rolled above the black rim like a current over a pebbled stream. His expression accentuated by a prominently arched brow as he laid the morning paper aside for something much more appealing.

"And what would you have in mind, love? Enlighten me."

You bit the inside of your mouth to keep the smart comment at bay. Preferring a more elusive method of enticing him rather than the usual gritty temperament.

"I think you know what I mean, John."

He shook his head with a heavy brow, a drawn out sigh parting through his lips as his fingers grasped at the arm of his glasses.

"Yer 'opless, lass. Y'know that?"

You raised a hand to halt him mid removal.

"No. Keep them on."

Soap paused. His eyes narrowed, brimming with glorious intent with a curl to his lips that sent a shockwave straight to your core.

"A'right. I'll keep 'em on. But if ya break 'em with them thighs, I'm gonnae break yer back."

"Promise?"

His eyes darkened like an incoming storm within the black, polished frames, a distant rumble echoing deep in his chest as you gingerly hiked up your night gown.

"Heid yer weesht"

Rising from his chair to his full stature, a towering mogul of a man as he marched, knelt down, and prepared to please his most adoring fan.

"Is this gonna become an'ther fetish, lass?"

"Don't know yet. Didn't think I had a thing for an old man in glasses until now."

"Old?"

You had to refrain from letting out a laugh as his growing scowl scolded you. Removing it from his features with the sight of your glistening cunt while he brought himself between the valley of your thighs.

"Do yerself a favor an' keep that smart mouth shut fer five minutes, an' let this old man take care a'ya."

Captain MacTavish Masterlist

[novaursa]

Between Pride and Fire (the tour)

- Summary: It was a challenge of the hunt that drew the lion to you, but it was your fire that made him yours.

- Paring: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: west

- Next part: heirs of a lion

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @punk-in-docs @barnes70stark

The steady jostle of the carriage wheels against the dirt road was almost hypnotic, though it did little to soothe your temper. For days you had refused the comfort of the carriage Jason insisted on having prepared, preferring to ride alongside him as any Targaryen should. But the morning of your departure from the Tooth, when you’d woken with a pounding headache and nausea that made the very thought of sitting astride a horse unbearable, you had begrudgingly accepted the cushioned seat and drawn curtains of the carriage.

The inside was comfortable enough—lined with velvet, the cushions soft, with sunlight filtering faintly through the curtains. Yet the isolation grated on you. You hated being kept apart from the open air, from the procession of knights and banners that marched steadily through the Westerlands.

Jason, of course, had been insufferably smug when you’d finally climbed into the carriage. “A wise decision, wife,” he’d said with a grin, leaning down to kiss your cheek before riding off on his stallion. You could still hear the laughter in his voice ringing in your ears.

Now you sat with arms crossed, glaring faintly at nothing in particular as the clattering of hooves and faint chatter of guards filtered through the wooden walls. It was only when the carriage began to slow that you sat up, frowning. Outside, the steady rhythm of the procession broke, replaced by murmurs and the distant sound of men shouting.

And then, a roar.

Your heart leapt as the sound echoed across the valley, unmistakable and primal. The ground itself seemed to tremble beneath you as another, louder roar followed—a sound that could only belong to her.

“Morrath,” you breathed, your irritation forgotten. You shoved the curtains aside just in time to see the procession halt completely, horses rearing in their harnesses and guards craning their necks to look skyward.

Above you, Morrath swept into view, her massive wings outstretched, casting an enormous shadow over the road as she descended in lazy, spiraling circles. Her black scales gleamed like polished obsidian in the sunlight, the faint amber undertones catching like fire with every beat of her wings. Her eyes—tawny, molten and alive—scanned the ground below until they found you.

The carriage lurched to a stop as Morrath released another triumphant roar, the sound shaking dust from the road. Men ducked their heads instinctively, though they’d done nothing to earn the dragon’s wrath. Jason, seated at the head of the column, turned sharply in his saddle, his expression unreadable as he watched Morrath’s graceful descent.

You didn’t wait. Throwing the carriage door open, you stepped out onto the road, ignoring the protest of your legs as you stood. Morrath’s shadow passed over you, her wings beating steadily as she slowed and hovered just above the ground. The wind they kicked up sent your cloak whipping behind you, and the horses snorted nervously.

“She came,” Jason called, riding up beside you, his face flushed from the wind and sun. There was no smugness in his tone now—only something between relief and amusement. “The Dragonkeepers must have received my message after all.”

You didn’t look at him, your gaze fixed on the massive creature as Morrath finally landed with a thud that made the earth tremble. She folded her wings against her body, the leather membranes rustling faintly, and lowered her head toward you with a low rumble, her breath warm against your skin.

“I thought you were still sulking in Casterly Rock,” you murmured as you stepped forward, brushing your hand against the smooth scales of her snout. Morrath’s chest rumbled with a sound that might have been affection—or agreement.

Jason dismounted, handing his reins to a nearby squire before approaching you. “It seems she missed you. Or perhaps she missed all of this.” He gestured broadly to the gathered knights and guards who were still recovering from the shock of a dragon suddenly joining their procession.

“She does love a crowd,” you replied, smirking faintly.

“And you doubted I could have her summoned?” Jason teased as he came to stand beside you. “You wound me, wife. When have I ever failed you?”

You turned your head to look at him, arching a brow. “You’ve failed to stop speaking more times than I can count.”

Jason grinned, undeterred. “Fair enough. But look at her. She’s made quite the entrance—no one will forget this tour of the Westerlands now.”

You shook your head, though a faint smile tugged at your lips as Morrath released another low growl, turning her massive head toward Jason. Her eyes narrowed slightly, studying him as though weighing his worth.

“She doesn’t trust you yet,” you murmured with a hint of satisfaction. “Wise of her.”

Jason chuckled, though he eyed the dragon warily. “I’ll earn her favor eventually. Perhaps once she realizes how well I care for her rider.”

You shot him a look, your smile softening slightly despite yourself. “Perhaps.”

Behind you, the guards and lords began to regroup, their voices rising in a mix of awe and trepidation. Morrath, for her part, remained motionless but watchful, her massive tail curling lazily around her.

Jason stepped closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “She’ll follow us the rest of the way. I’ll have the men ensure the road is cleared for her—though I’m not sure how welcome we’ll be with a dragon at our backs.”

You tilted your head, looking up at him with a hint of mischief. “If they fear her, they’ll fear you by association. Isn’t that what you wanted, my lord?”

Jason grinned, his hand brushing lightly against your lower back. “True enough. You see, wife? I told you we’d make a spectacle.”

You shook your head, turning your attention back to Morrath. The dragon shifted slightly, lifting her wings before folding them again, content to remain close. Jason had been right: the message had reached the Dragonkeepers, and Morrath had come as if summoned by instinct alone.

As the procession slowly began to move again, this time with Morrath pacing along the hills above, you allowed yourself to feel a measure of calm. Morrath’s presence, though overwhelming to others, was a comfort to you—a reminder that no matter how far you traveled, you were never alone.

Jason walked beside you as you made your way back toward the carriage, his voice low with amusement. “Admit it—you’re glad you listened to me.”

You glanced sidelong at him, the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Jason laughed softly as he helped you back into the carriage, though his gaze lingered on Morrath’s shadow overhead. “Too late for that, wife. Much too late.”

The light of the late afternoon bathed the rolling hills near Ashemark as the procession finally came to a halt. Tents were being raised, banners planted into the earth, and campfires lit, the smoke curling lazily into the clear sky. The horses were being tended to, but all attention had turned toward Morrath, who had perched herself majestically on a rocky outcrop overlooking the camp. Her black scales looked brilliant in the sunlight, her wings tucked neatly against her body as she watched the lords and ladies below like a queen surveying her court.

It didn’t take long for the crowd to gather. Lords, ladies, and their children swarmed closer to the dragon—though not too close—whispering and gawking as they marveled at the creature. Morrath, for her part, seemed to preen under the attention, tilting her great head and letting out a rumbling growl that reverberated through the ground, startling the bolder onlookers.

Jason, ever observant, took note of the distraction and wasted no time. He appeared at your side, his expression both satisfied and conspiratorial. “Your dragon is a show-stealer. She’s giving me a run for my coin.”

You arched a brow at him, though you didn’t miss the glint of amusement in his eyes. “Jealous, are you?”

“Hardly,” Jason scoffed, offering you his arm. “She’s just done me a great favor. Everyone’s too busy worshiping your dragon to notice that I’m stealing you away.”

Before you could protest, Jason was already guiding you through the maze of tents and campfires, moving toward the edge of the camp where the hills dipped into a quiet glade. The air here was cooler, softer, as the sounds of camp began to fade behind you. When you reached a secluded spot under the shade of an old oak tree, Jason finally stopped, turning to face you.

“There,” he said smugly, as though he’d just won a great battle. “Finally, some peace.”

You folded your arms, smirking faintly. “And what exactly are you planning to do with this ‘stolen’ time, my lord? Should I be concerned?”

Jason stepped closer, his green eyes gleaming as he brushed a lock of hair from your face. “I thought I might remind you how nice it is to be far from all those lords and ladies who never stop talking.”

“And what about you?” you shot back, though his touch made you falter. “You never stop talking.”

“Only to keep you entertained,” Jason said smoothly, his hands now resting at your waist. “Admit it—you’d miss me if I didn’t.”

You sighed, feigning exasperation, though your lips curved into a small smile. “You’d have to give me the chance to miss you first.”

Jason grinned, his confidence unshakable. “Perhaps I’ll take that as a challenge.”

You rolled your eyes, though the warmth of his hands and the soft rustle of the leaves above you tugged at something quieter in your chest. Jason, for all his arrogance and endless prattle, had a way of finding these moments—moments where the weight of your title and his pride fell away, leaving just the two of you.

“I thought you were meant to be watching over the camp,” you said softly, tilting your head as you regarded him. “What would your bannermen think if they found you hiding out here?”

Jason leaned closer, his voice dropping to that infuriatingly soft tone he used when he knew he was winning. “They’d think I’m a man who knows where his priorities lie.”

“And where’s that?” you asked, though you already knew the answer.

Jason’s lips quirked into a smile as he bent his head to brush a kiss against your temple. “Right here,” he murmured. “With you.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, enough to still your usual retort. For a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into him, letting the quiet of the glade settle around you like a blanket. Morrath’s distant rumble reached your ears, a reminder that the world hadn’t quite forgotten you yet.

Jason pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb tracing gently along the back of your hand. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his earlier mischief tempered by genuine concern.

“Tired,” you admitted, though there was no bitterness in it. “The tour is more taxing than I expected.”

Jason nodded, brushing his fingers lightly over your knuckles. “Then we’ll slow down. I’m not parading you across the Westerlands just to have you collapse on me.”

“You say that as though you didn’t plan this entire journey as a parade,” you teased, a flicker of your usual wit returning.

Jason laughed softly. “True, but even lions know when to rest.” He tilted his head, his smile softening. “I want you to enjoy this—us. We can see as much or as little as you like.”

For once, you didn’t argue. The steady warmth of his presence, the rustling of the leaves, and the distant murmurs of the camp all conspired to ease the tension you’d been carrying for days.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you murmured, allowing Jason to pull you closer until your head rested against his chest.

“And I’ll hold you to that carriage for the rest of the trip,” Jason replied with a smirk, though his voice was softer now, teasing but tender.

You closed your eyes briefly, letting the quiet of the moment linger as Jason’s arms wrapped around you. For all the demands of the road, for all the expectations weighing on both your shoulders, you realized that Jason, in his own relentless way, was trying to make this life easier for you. And in that quiet, shaded glade, you allowed yourself—for just a little while—to let him.

The space beneath the oak tree felt impossibly still, as though the world itself paused to witness this fleeting intimacy. Jason tilted your chin up gently, his green eyes searching your violet ones with an intensity you were slowly learning to understand.

“You’ve gone quiet,” he said, his voice softer now, the usual teasing edge dulled into something warmer. “What’s on your mind, my fierce dragon?”

Your lips parted, but the words caught somewhere in your throat. He always called you that—my fierce dragon—and it was maddening, arrogant, yet somehow… endearing. You shook your head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Nothing,” you whispered. “Nothing at all.”

Jason’s fingers traced along the side of your face, tucking a lock of silver hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek. “That’s a first. You, quiet. Should I be one concerned now?”

You let out a small laugh, the sound breathless, as Jason stepped closer, his broad frame almost eclipsing the sunlight filtering through the branches. “Perhaps you should, my lord,” you replied, meeting his gaze with a challenge. “Or perhaps you’ve finally stunned me into silence.”

Jason grinned at that, though his voice held a softer weight when he spoke next. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” His thumb brushed against your lower lip, lingering for a moment as he tilted his head. “I’ve been waiting all day for this.”

“For what?” you murmured, though you knew exactly what he meant. The air between you was alive, charged with something urgent and unspoken.

“For a moment where it’s just us,” he said simply, before leaning in to press his lips against yours.

The kiss began gently, deceptively so, as though Jason meant to savor every second of it. His lips were warm, coaxing, and firm, leaving you breathless as he tilted his head to deepen it. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic as the kiss turned more fervent. Jason’s hands, strong and deliberate, slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him.

When he finally broke away, his breathing was uneven, and a wicked grin tugged at his lips. “If you keep kissing me like that, wife, I may have no choice but to scandalize the entire camp.”

You swatted at his chest, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. “Jason,” you warned, glancing over your shoulder toward the distant tents. “Someone could see—”

“Let them,” Jason interjected, his grin softening as he cupped your face with both hands. “Do you know what they’ll see? A man completely mad for his wife.”

“And what would your lords think of that?” you countered, though your voice lacked any real protest.

Jason leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmured, “That I’m a very lucky man.”

You shivered at the low timbre of his voice, your body betraying you as warmth pooled deep within. Before you could respond, Jason’s hands were already tugging at the ties of your cloak and the lower laces of your gown. His movements were unhurried, but there was a purpose to them, a need he didn’t bother hiding.

“Jason,” you said again, your voice breathy, even as you allowed him to undo the fabric pooling around your hips. “This is—”

“Necessary,” he cut you off, his eyes meeting yours with a hunger that stole the air from your lungs. “It’s been days, Y/N. Days of nothing but courtesies and lords who think their words are more important than this.”

You gasped softly as Jason slid his hands beneath your gown, lifting you just enough so your back pressed against the rough bark of the tree. He was careful despite his urgency, his hands supporting you as though you were something precious. The contrast of the solid oak at your back and Jason’s heat pressing against you sent a shiver down your spine.

“Are you certain?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your throat as he held you steady. “I won’t risk hurting you—or the babe.”

“I’m fine,” you said hurriedly, your hands gripping his shoulders as you shifted slightly. “We’re fine. Now, Jason—please.”

Jason groaned at your words, and with your guidance, he pressed himself into you. The sensation made you cry out softly, the sound swallowed by his kiss as he captured your mouth once more. He stilled for a moment, his breathing ragged as his forehead rested against yours.

“Gods,” Jason whispered, his voice rough.

You couldn’t form a reply; all you could do was cling to him as he began to move, each thrust measured at first but quickly growing desperate, needy. The sound of your breaths mingled with the rustle of leaves and the distant crackle of campfires. There was no gentleness now—only fire and longing, days of restraint turned to ash as Jason’s grip on you tightened.

“Tell me,” he rasped against your ear, his voice edged with rough affection, “tell me you want this—me.”

“I do,” you managed between gasps, arching against him as pleasure began to coil deep in your belly. “I want you, Jason.”

His response came in the form of a growl, his pace quickening as he buried his face against your neck, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin there. “Mine,” he murmured fiercely, as though marking you with his words alone. “You’re mine, Y/N.”

Your fingers tangled in his golden hair, pulling him closer as you felt yourself begin to unravel. Jason seemed to sense it, his movements growing even more urgent, his arms bracing you against the tree as though he’d never let you fall.

When release finally came, it was blinding, a wave that stole your breath and left you trembling against him. Jason followed moments later, his body shuddering as he held you close, his breathing ragged in your ear. For a long while, the two of you remained there, tangled together beneath the oak tree, the rest of the world forgotten.

Jason was the first to move, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple before gently lowering you back to the ground. He helped you adjust your clothing, his hands lingering at your waist as though reluctant to let you go.

“I’ll never tire of this,” he murmured, brushing his thumb along your cheek. “Of you.”

You smiled faintly, though your legs still felt unsteady. “I’ll remind you of that the next time you complain about being married to a Targaryen.”

Jason laughed softly, pressing one last kiss to your lips. “Complain? Never. I’d trade every ounce of gold in Casterly Rock just to keep you here.”

You rolled your eyes, though your heart warmed at the sincerity in his words. As the sounds of camp filtered back into your ears, you sighed, knowing this stolen moment was over.

“Come,” Jason said, offering you his arm once more, his usual smug grin returning. “Let’s get back before they send a search party.”

As you walked together back toward the camp, Jason’s hand never left yours, a silent promise that—for as long as he could manage—he would always find a way to steal you away.

From The Gold Honeymoon in the Westerlands as recounted by Mushroom in The Testimony of Mushroom and later corroborated by Maester Gerardys in The Chronicle of the Lions and Dragons:

Princess Y/N Targaryen, younger sister of Princess Rhaenyra and a daughter of King Viserys I Targaryen and Queen Aemma Arryn, embarked on a tour of the Westerlands alongside her new husband, Lord Jason Lannister of Casterly Rock. It was a marriage met with no small amount of controversy in its time, for the lion and the dragon were oft too proud to share a single den. Yet if one were to believe the words of Mushroom—and there are many who do, despite his crude tongue and exaggerated claims—it was no political union of convenience, but a match of fierce passion, born of lust and admiration.

The Westerlands had long been a place of splendor and stone, golden cities guarded by silver-clad knights, but never had their castles and halls seen such scandal as was whispered during the tour of Lord Jason and his Targaryen bride. From the Golden Tooth to Ashemark and all the way to Faircastle, the air was thick not only with the banners of Lannister crimson and Targaryen black but with rumors, giggles, and gasps of propriety abandoned.

On the Matter of the Golden Tooth

It was said that within the high walls of the Golden Tooth, Princess Y/N reminded all in attendance of the nature of dragons. Lady Ameline Brax, a foolish young woman with too much wine and too little sense, dared to mockingly inquire whether Lord Jason was “keeping the princess too occupied in her chambers.” Such boldness might have been praised in the courts of Dorne but was met with fire in the West.

The Princess, tall and proud as her Targaryen kin, silenced Ameline with a smile as sharp as a Valyrian blade, saying, “And what gave that away, my lady? Was it the child in my belly that betrayed my fondness for my husband’s company?” The ladies fell into a hush at her words, their mirth turned to murmurs of unease. Mushroom claims that Lady Ameline did not recover her voice for days, while Lady Lefford, the host of the Golden Tooth, quietly scolded her household for their lack of discretion.

Lord Jason, when told of this later (for what wife keeps such a tale secret?), was said to have laughed until tears ran down his face. Mushroom reports that he kissed his bride soundly that evening and declared her “a she-dragon in her own right.”

On the Dragon Morrath at Ashemark

The most thrilling tale of their tour—and one that rippled across the Westerlands for months—came upon the road to Ashemark. At Jason’s summons, the princess’s dragon, Morrath, descended from the skies like the gods’ judgment, a beast of black scales and burning amber eyes. Mushroom, who claimed to have been hiding in a baggage cart to avoid the march, described her arrival thus:

“The air itself grew heavy, the light dimmed, and the sound of wings louder than war drums filled our ears. Men ducked their heads, horses kicked, and carts tipped over. It was as if death itself had come to join us—but the dragon did not roar in anger. She landed with such grace that it seemed unnatural for such a beast of that size. Then came the princess, silver-haired and violet-eyed, stepping from her carriage like a queen returning home. She placed her hand upon Morrath’s snout, calm and unafraid, and the dragon purred like a great cat.”

The sight of the dragon following their procession as they traveled further west—swooping over hills and perching on cliffs—cemented the awe and terror the Westerlands held for their newest lady. While some whispered that Morrath’s presence was unnecessary, others said that Jason Lannister orchestrated the entire affair to remind his bannermen of the power he had wed into his house. If it were so, none could deny it worked.

On Scandals Beneath the Oak Tree

It was at a camp near Ashemark, during the late afternoon when the sun cast its light across the hills, that Mushroom tells of the greatest scandal of all. Lords and knights had gathered to marvel at Morrath’s presence, leaving Jason and the princess conspicuously absent. According to Mushroom (who claimed to have climbed a tree to witness what others did not), the couple had stolen away to a secluded glade beneath a great oak.

“There, amidst the shade, they fell upon one another like starved wolves. Lord Jason pressed her against the tree, his golden hair gleaming as his hands wandered where propriety would scold him. I dare say the Princess was no innocent lamb, either—she clung to him as though they were drowning together. They kissed, they whispered, and then—well, I shan't say it outright, but they ‘renewed their vows’ as passionately as any husband and wife ever did.”

Whether Mushroom’s account is exaggerated or not, the murmurs of their absence spread quickly across camp. What cannot be denied is that the princess returned with leaves tangled in her silver locks, her cheeks flushed, and her gown hastily straightened. Lord Jason, for his part, was far less discreet, striding back with a smug grin that infuriated his knights and amused his squires.

“Let them talk,” Jason reportedly said when questioned about his absence. “It is only fair they know how lucky I am.”

Maester Gerardys, in his more reserved account, wrote diplomatically that “Lord Jason and Princess Y/N were rarely apart for the duration of their tour, much to the scandal of their bannermen and the exasperation of their attendants.”

Of all the tales Mushroom spun regarding the Targaryen honeymoon through the Westerlands, the events at Ashemark, Fair Isle, and Crakehall were the juiciest morsels he brought back to court.

Ashemark – The Wager of the Spear and the Dragon

Ashemark, a proud fortress nestled in the hills of the West, had always been a place of warriors. Lord Marbrand, a man of stern demeanor and strong shoulders, welcomed Lord Jason and his bride with all the pomp expected of his house. Banquets were held, horns were raised, and tourneys were staged in their honor.

It was at one such feast, Mushroom claims, that Lord Marbrand wagered his best spearman could unseat Lord Jason in the joust. Jason, ever the arrogant lion, accepted with the confidence of a man who had never known shame. “A Lannister needs no champion but himself,” he boasted, to which Princess Y/N reportedly quipped, “And what of your wife? Perhaps I’ll ride in your stead.”

This remark, innocently made, was said to have thrown the hall into raucous laughter. Jason, for once, was struck silent. Yet Mushroom swears that later that evening, the princess proved herself a rider of another kind.

“That night, in the stables—aye, the stables—I caught them tangled atop a bed of furs meant for the horses. He lifted her onto his lap like the victor of a joust, calling her his prize, while the princess laughed loud enough to startle the grooms outside. Never has a mare in Ashemark been ridden with such fervor.”

Needless to say, neither Jason nor the spearman would compete the next morning. Jason blamed an injured shoulder from training, though Mushroom says he overheard a stable boy mutter that “Lord Jason looked far too pleased with his bruises to have taken them in combat.”

Fair Isle – A Lion and Dragon in the Waves

Fair Isle, the westernmost jewel of the Westerlands, stood surrounded by the crashing waves of the Sunset Sea. House Farman welcomed Jason and the princess with feasts of fresh oysters, sweet wines, and the music of minstrels whose voices rivaled even those at court.

But what happened at Fair Isle became legend—if only because Jason Lannister himself could not stop boasting of it. According to Mushroom:

“At dawn, the Princess Targaryen demanded a swim, as wild as any dragon might. Jason, drunk on love and wine from the night before, joined her in the surf. Naked as the day they were born, the pair plunged into the sea like seabirds, their laughter carrying on the waves. Fishermen along the cliffs claimed to have seen the princess kiss him in the shallows, as they caught a glimpse of her skin beneath the waves—smooth and pale as milkglass.”

While no one can say how much of this tale is Mushroom’s invention (for he claims to have seen it “from a hole in a fisherman’s net”), the aftermath remains irrefutable. That morning, Jason walked back to Faircastle dripping seawater, a smug grin plastered across his face, his golden hair sticking to his cheeks.

The princess, by contrast, was dry and regal as ever when she emerged—Mushroom speculates Jason carried her to shore, though he grumbled for days about “wet boots and sand in my breeches.” The people of Fair Isle, however, would not soon forget the sight of a dragon and a lion cavorting in the waves like lovers in a ballad.

Crakehall – The Roar of the Bear and the Lion’s Triumph

At Crakehall, the seat of House Crakehall, things took a turn that had even Mushroom blushing (or so he claimed). The Crakehalls were a gruff, hearty family of warriors and hunters, known for their love of the hunt and the drink. It was said the feast held in Jason and the princess’s honor stretched into the wee hours, and more than one lord found himself slumped in a puddle of spilled ale.

Lord Jason, emboldened by the revelry, reportedly challenged his wife to a game of “catch,” whereupon the princess, laughing and flushed, disappeared into the darkened halls of Crakehall. What happened next is said to be a tale Mushroom swore he only overheard:

“Lord Jason chased the princess through those stone halls like a lion after its prey. I could hear the echoes of their laughter—and her shrieks—followed by the unmistakable sound of doors slamming and wine goblets tumbling to the floor. When Jason finally caught her, there was a growl—aye, a growl!—and then silence. I dared to peek through a crack in the door and saw her pinned against a great carved table, her skirts hitched and his breeches halfway to the floor. They were animals in that moment—wild, untamed, and mad for each other.”

Whether or not Mushroom actually saw the princess and Jason in such scandalous embrace, it is known that by morning, the Crakehalls were too embarrassed—or too pleased—to speak of the noise that echoed through their halls the night before. Jason, ever unrepentant, claimed it was “the best hunt Crakehall had seen in a generation.”

Viserys's Joyful Response

When Mushroom finally returned to court with the royal procession, the tales of the Westerlands honeymoon had already flown ahead of him on the lips of merchants, knights, and travelers. King Viserys I Targaryen, for all his struggles and losses, was said to have laughed heartily upon hearing of his daughter’s adventures.

“Jason has done well to love her so,” Viserys reportedly declared, his wine cup raised high. “The girl is happy, and that is worth more to me than a thousand alliances. Let her scandalize the West if she pleases—it will remind them that dragons still breathe fire!”

The court erupted with laughter, though not all approved. Queen Alicent was said to have frowned, muttering that “a princess ought to show restraint befitting her station.” To which Viserys allegedly replied, “If my daughter rides her dragon and her lion with equal vigor, then the realm will be stronger for it.”

Mushroom claims the king later summoned him privately to hear the juicier details firsthand. Viserys listened with rapt attention, roaring with laughter at tales of the stable at Ashemark and the waves at Fair Isle. “I shall have to ask Jason for his secrets,” he joked, “for it seems my daughter is as much in love as she is with child.”

Thus did the honeymoon of Princess Y/N Targaryen and Lord Jason Lannister enter the annals of history—a tale of scandal, passion, and the marriage of dragonfire and gold that set tongues wagging from the Westerlands to King’s Landing. And if Mushroom is to be believed, it was not the last time the couple would shake the halls of castles to their very foundations.

As he so cheekily put it:

“The lion may roar, but only the dragon can make him purr.”

The wind off the Sunset Sea carried a cool bite as it swept through the open windows of Casterly Rock’s solar, tugging gently at the crimson and gold drapes. The chamber was bright with midday sunlight, reflecting off the polished marble floors and the rich accents that adorned every corner. In the center of the room, you sat near the hearth, cradling the gentle swell of your belly, your eyes drifting idly over the fire’s flickering flames.

You were high in your pregnancy now, the once subtle swell having blossomed into a clear and undeniable weight. While Jason had insisted you rest more frequently, you had grown restless in the days since returning from the Westerlands tour. The days were long, filled with a slow calm that seemed at odds with your usual pace. At least from your chair near the fire, you could watch the sun glint off the waves far below, where the sea stretched endless and unbroken.

A knock at the door broke the quiet, sharp and deliberate. Maester Ronnel entered a moment later, a roll of parchment in his hands, tied with the familiar black and red of Targaryen wax. “My lord,” he said, bowing his head toward Jason, who was seated at his desk in the far corner of the chamber. “A raven arrived this morning from King’s Landing.”

Jason, who had been skimming over maps of trade routes, looked up at the Maester with a brow raised in mild curiosity. “Another message? If it’s another request for gold, tell them our coffers are closed until my child is born. I’ll hear no more whining from the capital.”

Maester Ronnel’s thin lips twitched, though he said nothing as he held the letter out. “It comes sealed in Princess Rhaenyra’s name, my lord, and bears the king’s crest.”

At that, Jason straightened slightly and stood, brushing parchment dust from his tunic. He took the letter and examined the seal, his green eyes glinting with interest. “Rhaenyra, is it? Well, she rarely writes.” He shot you a glance, his tone light but teasing. “Your sister must have a great announcement. Perhaps she’s chosen a suitor at last.”

You hummed from your chair, a hand resting against the weight of your abdomen. “I imagine it’s far more important than that to warrant a raven sent to the West.”

Jason smirked as he broke the seal and unfurled the parchment, scanning the contents quickly. His expression shifted—brows rising first with surprise, then twisting into something closer to amusement. He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he folded the letter and turned toward you.

“Well, it seems your sister has made her choice after all.”

“What does it say?” you asked, shifting slightly to sit straighter, though Jason crossed the room before you could rise. He moved to sit on the low stool beside you, offering the letter with an air of dramatic flair.

“Rhaenyra Targaryen,” Jason began, his tone light with mock reverence, “heir to the Iron Throne, will wed Ser Laenor Velaryon of Driftmark. A match forged in the salt and flame of their houses—blah, blah, blah.” He waved his hand dismissively, though his grin betrayed his amusement. “A dull choice, if you ask me.”

Your brows furrowed slightly as you took the letter and skimmed its formal wording. It bore all the signs of courtly approval—prideful yet polite, leaving little doubt that King Viserys had orchestrated this match to secure House Velaryon’s continued allegiance. You sighed, rolling your eyes as you handed the parchment back to Jason.

“Laenor Velaryon,” you murmured, thoughtful but unimpressed. “It was inevitable. My father has always wanted to bind our houses more tightly.”

Jason leaned back slightly, propping one arm on the armrest of your chair as he regarded you with a smirk. “Inevitable, predictable—call it what you will, it is dreadfully boring. Your sister could have chosen anyone, and she settles for the Sea Snake’s son?” He shook his head. “Where’s the fire? The passion? It’s all too convenient.”

“She doesn’t have much choice,” you replied, though a faint smile tugged at your lips as you met his gaze. “A princess must consider her duty, must she not? Or do you forget that already, my lord husband?”

Jason grinned, his green eyes narrowing playfully. “Oh, I’ve not forgotten. But I seem to recall a certain Targaryen princess choosing me, and I am neither predictable nor convenient.”

You laughed softly at that, unable to help yourself. “No, you are neither of those things, Jason Lannister. I imagine my father would still prefer you to be so.”

Jason scoffed, running a hand through his golden hair as he leaned forward, his tone conspiratorial. “Let’s see how your sister fares. A match to secure the fleet, no doubt—but what of love? What of laughter? What of scandal?” He grinned wolfishly, teasing you as his voice dropped. “I imagine the Velaryon boy will be far too proper for her. Nothing like you and me.”

“And what are we?” you asked, narrowing your eyes in mock challenge.

Jason’s grin softened into something more genuine as he reached for your hand, curling his fingers around yours. “We, my fierce dragon, are exactly what the world never saw coming—a lion who wed a dragon and doesn’t mind the burns.”

You rolled your eyes, though you squeezed his hand lightly. “You always speak like this when you are amused by others’ choices.”

“And why shouldn’t I be?” Jason replied, his voice light, though his gaze lingered on you with an unmistakable warmth. “Your sister may be the Realm’s Delight, but you…” He reached up to brush a strand of silver hair from your cheek, his touch lingering. “You are a tempest. And I will remind you of that every day.”

You sighed, though your heart swelled at his words. The warmth of his hand, the soft rustle of the sea wind—it grounded you in a way no letter from court ever could. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered, though there was no heat in it.

“And you love me for it,” Jason replied smugly to the familiar jab, pressing a quick kiss to your knuckles before standing again. He turned back toward the desk, tucking the letter into his maps. “Come now, wife. I’ll send word of congratulations to your sister and include some wit to keep her entertained.”

“Do try to behave,” you called after him, though the smile lingered on your face long after he had turned away.

As Jason scribbled on a fresh parchment, his golden head bent low, you rested your hand on the swell of your belly again. Perhaps your sister’s match was predictable, but as you sat within the fortress of Casterly Rock, you realized you didn’t envy her in the slightest. Your fire had already been met by Jason Lannister’s—and gods be good, it burned far brighter than you ever could have imagined.

[twistiraki]

Hello, I see that requests are open? I just wanna say I really liked your "The Human Queen" fanfic between the reader and Malleus. Do you mind if I request a fanfic where Queen Maleficia explains to Malleus that another reason why she doesn't approve of his relationship with a human is because while fairies are strictly loyal and faithful to their partners, humans tend to cheat and be unfaithful? do you mind if she recounts an experience in her life when she was in love with a human man, only for him to cast her aside for a human woman?

I'm Alive!! Life decided to hurl everything at me work, existential crises, moving. But then I saw this message. Boom. Heartstrings tugged. My chest got all tight in that “I’m alive” kind of way. Suddenly, I needed to write, to share. Malleus deserve the world!! Thank you for the ask!

The Human Queen Part 2

Part 1

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗ TᗯIᔕTEᗪ ᗯOᑎᗪEᖇᒪᗩᑎᗪ Pairing Malleus x F!Reader Warnings None ‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

Malleus stood alone in the gardens of Briar Valley, the night air cool and still. His gaze was fixed on the statue of Y/n, lovingly crafted with his own hands after her passing. It had been several years now, and yet, the hollow ache of her absence had never left him. Her likeness was so perfect, her face frozen in youthful beauty, as she had been during their happiest days together. Though she was gone, Malleus could still hear her laughter echo in his memories, still feel the warmth of her presence that no amount of time could erase.

The stone figure of Y/n smiled softly, and Malleus traced a finger along its cold surface, wishing he could feel the warmth of her touch one more time. 

"I miss you," Malleus whispered to the statue, his voice barely audible in the quiet of the gardens. "Every day."

As he stood in his quiet reverie, he sensed a familiar presence approaching from behind him. It was his grandmother, Queen Maleficia, her aura unmistakable. Malleus instinctively straightened, preparing for the words he had long expected to hear. He imagined she would once again remind him of the consequences of his choice, that his love for a human had led to this unbearable loneliness.

He didn’t turn to face her. Instead, he spoke first, his voice low, carrying the weight of the years that had passed since Y/n's death.

“Grandmother, I know what you are going to say,” Malleus began, his gaze still fixed on the statue. “You warned me, and now here I am… alone. But I would rather have spent those fleeting years with Y/n, loving her, than to have spent a thousand years with someone I didn’t love.” Queen Maleficia rarely visited the garden where the statue of Y/n stood, and when she did, it was usually brief, and she would say little. Malleus assumed she would chastise him, perhaps for being too sentimental, or remind him of his duties as a king. He sighed, bracing for her sharp words.

But instead, her voice was soft, almost gentle. "You miss her, don’t you, my grandson?"

Malleus tensed, unsure how to respond. His grandmother was a stern ruler, known for her sharp wisdom and unyielding nature. He had never expected her to address his feelings, let alone acknowledge them. Slowly, he turned to face her.

Her face, usually composed and regal, seemed softened by time and the weight of something far deeper than Malleus had ever seen in her. What truly shocked him, however, was the glint of water in her ancient, powerful eyes.

"Grandmother?" he asked, bewildered.

Maleficia stared at the statue of Y/n, her hands clasped before her. "I must admit something to you, Malleus," she began, her voice steady but laced with a sorrow Malleus had never heard from her before. "When you first told me of your love for Y/n, I did not approve. It was not just because she was a human, though that played its part."

Malleus lowered his head. "I know. You always said I should marry someone of our kind, someone who could live as long as I do, so I wouldn't face... this."

Maleficia nodded but continued, "Yes, it is true. The lifespan of humans is but a fleeting moment compared to ours. I thought that by denying you this union, I would save you from this pain you are feeling now." She paused, her voice faltering slightly. "But there was another reason... one I have kept buried for many, many years."

Malleus looked at her, confused. "Another reason?"

"You may think I never understood your love for Y/n," she began, her eyes still lingering on the statue, "but once… long ago, I felt something very similar."

Malleus turned to look at her, his surprise evident. His grandmother rarely spoke of her past, and she had never mentioned any love of her own.

"It was beautiful," she continued, her voice soft, as if recalling a dream from long ago. "I fell so hard for him. He was human, yes, but none of that mattered then. I had never been so happy in my life. The love we shared was deep, real, and I believed it was unbreakable."

Her expression softened for a brief moment, as if those memories still carried warmth despite the pain that followed. She looked at Malleus, her dark eyes revealing a vulnerability he had never seen before.

"I trusted him completely," she said, her voice lowering. "I gave him my heart. I loved him with everything I had, and in return, I thought he loved me just as fiercely. For a time, he did. We were so close, so deeply entwined, that I thought nothing could ever come between us."

Malleus watched her, stunned by the quiet pain in her voice. This was a side of his grandmother he had never known—a woman who had once loved with the same intensity he had felt for Y/n.

"But then," Maleficia continued, her tone darkening, "he betrayed me."

Her fingers tightened around the small ring she had been absently twirling. "He took something from me. Something so dear to me that it shattered my very soul when he left." She paused, and her voice became bitter. "He cast me aside for a human woman, Malleus. After everything we shared, he chose her."

Malleus could hear the raw emotion in her words, the hurt that had never quite healed. The betrayal his grandmother had experienced was a deep wound, one that still bled, even after centuries. He couldn’t fathom the pain she had endured—how much it must have hurt to be discarded so cruelly by someone she had loved so deeply.

"I was mad," she admitted, her voice barely more than a whisper. "So broken, so full of hatred. The pain consumed me, and all I could think of was revenge. I wanted to make him suffer, to take back what he had stolen from me. I was blinded by rage, Malleus. I almost made the gravest mistake of my life."

She fell silent for a moment, her expression shadowed by the weight of those memories. Malleus felt a knot tighten in his chest, his heart aching for the pain his grandmother had suffered.

"But," she said softly, "in the depths of that despair, something else found me. Another kind of love. A different kind of love that healed what was broken."

Malleus furrowed his brow, unsure of where she was going. Queen Maleficia gently touched the ring she wore around her neck, its pink and blue gemstone gleaming in the dimming light.

"It wasn’t the same kind of love as the one I had with him," she continued, her voice lighter, warmer. "But it was just as precious. It gave me strength and reminded me of my worth. It was a love that came from something... someone more important than he ever could be."

She turned to Malleus then, her eyes softening as she reached out and placed a hand on his cheek. "That love," she said quietly, "is the same love I feel for you."

Malleus’s breath hitched. He had never heard his grandmother speak like this, with such tenderness. For so long, he had only seen her as a stern ruler, someone driven by duty, someone who had little time for sentiment. But now, he saw that there had always been more beneath her cold exterior.

With surprising gentleness, Queen Maleficia leaned forward and kissed his forehead. The gesture, simple as it was, carried a warmth and comfort.

"I didn’t want you to suffer the way I did," she whispered as she pulled away. "I feared that Y/n might hurt you, that she might betray you as I was betrayed. But... she didn’t. She loved you until the end, and for that, I owe her my gratitude."

Malleus felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He hadn’t expected this. He had thought she would forever see his love for Y/n as a mistake, but now, for the first time, he realized she had been trying to protect him from her own pain.

"Grandmother..." he began, his voice thick with emotion.

She raised a hand to silence him. "You made your choice, Malleus. And I see now that it was the right one, for both you and for our people. Y/n was a remarkable woman. And while she may be gone, her memory will always remain in this kingdom... and in our heart."

She gave him one last long look, then gently took his arm. "Come, my dear. It’s growing late. Let’s go inside."

Malleus hesitated for a moment, casting one last glance at the statue of Y/n, her image bathed in the soft glow of twilight. His heart ached, but there was a quiet sense of peace that came with knowing that Y/n’s love had not only changed him, but had, in its own way, healed something in his grandmother as well.

He nodded, letting his grandmother guide him back inside the castle, the memory of Y/n still burning brightly in his heart, just as she would remain, forever, as his one true queen. Even in death, she was his and always would be. The fae only loved once, after all—and his love for her would endure through the ages, just as hers had for him.

“The fae only loved once, With a heart fierce and true, A bond that the ages could never undo.

Though lifetimes may pass, and the stars may fade, The fae’s single love will never evade.

For the fae only loved once, with a passion so deep, That even in death, their promise they keep.”

Masterlist

[theambivalentagender]

I know the secret note 11 thing is debated. I feel like it's like with many things in Stardew Valley, kept vague and open to interpretation. I love the transmasc Shane theory/headcanon for the note, but it's not quite the direction I plan to go with my canon.

(I also don't plan to go in the Jas direction either though, but a Secret Third Thing)

shit i feel like y'all forget about shane

he's an atheist and he's pretty open about it

he is a gamer and supposedly cheats a lot

he loves carbonation, it's the whole reason why he exchanges beer for soda and sparkling water

he is somewhat meta, mentioning how nothing really changes in the valley

he's really close to emily, even going to her clothing therapy without being grumpy or anything

he loves jas but he is pretty clumsy about it

it's implied he's trans with secret note 11

he's a jock AND punk

he voice stims with buh

he loves his routines, which is why when joja mart closes, he's so depressed about it

he goes to sam's eight heart event, just hanging out in the back

he's a dork. like he's incredibly silly

[owlespresso]

ais/reader. warnings: spice beneath the cut, dubcon, predator/prey

You don't remember what you said. 

The conversation is all hazy, stuffed in the back if your mind behind the memory of his sharp smile, the cold glower he gave you before you ran. Something had shuddered in between the air between you, and whatever it was awoke some ancient instinct within you. Long forgotten fear spurred to life by the sight of those sharp fangs, bared to you by his displeased grimace.

Your body decided the rest for you. A cold sweat broke over your skin as you tore from the Seaspring's towering double doors. The grey skies above remained unbroken. Blood thundered in your ears with each frantic step you took, bumbling down the stairs and onto the flat, empty stretch of land which laid between the slope of the Seapspring and the borders of Eridia. 

At the edges of your vision, blackened shapes squirmed and writhed on the crests of nearby hills. Soulless—the decrepit army Ais had at his command. While you heard them—low snarls and inhuman, moaning noises which echoed through the valley, they didn’t seem to give chase. They remained still, merely watching, as if keeping some sort of solemn vigil.

Behind you, heavy footfalls kicked up dirt and slammed through cakes of brown-grey mud. You could hear Ais’s heavy pants, his thudding steps as he came closer and closer, the sound of your own pulse as it ricocheted through your body. If he caught you—if he caught you—

But there was no time to think, not with him breathing down your neck. No thoughts but momentary flashes of his big hands wrapped around your neck, his teeth buried in the column of your throat and your blood—your limbs splayed out in a gruesome trail from here to the hills, to the Seaspring’s gaping maw. Your body caught itself with frantic wheezes, cold breeze rolling hot, fat tears from the corners of your eyes. Your lungs rattled, the back of your throat burned, and your aching muscles howled for some sense of relief.

His hand fisted in the back of your hood, leaving you to squirm and flounder and kick up dirt as he reeled you in. The world whooshes by in one muddled vision of grey as he tossed you upwards and over his shoulder. The impact knocks the wind out of you, fingers feebly scrambling for purchase on the fabric of his kimono.

You’re shocked frozen, vision dipping in and out as he ferries you back to the Seaspring. You don’t even realize you’ve returned until he drops you onto the planks. He handles you with a swiftness and an indelicacy of a wolf bent over a fresh corpse, undoing your cloak and bringing his open maw straight to your mouth. He gives a quick nip to your bottom lip before he’s delving downwards. 

He lays wet, open-mouthed kisses across your throat. They’re more bite than kiss, and you shove at his shoulders as he sinks home particularly deep, sucking on the crook of your neck, lavishing his hot tongue over the stinging patch of skin. He noses your jugular, and your pulse rockets, the extra surge of adrenaline renewing your struggles. You’re shaking, you realize, trembling as he pulls you open.

“Ais,” you rasp. 

He digs his hands into the sides of your waistband and shoves down, shoving your panties aside. The chilled air of the Seaspring ripples a shudder down your spine. Humiliation warms your cheeks, and you buck underneath him, curling your hand around his wrist as he lowers a hand to the crux of your inner thighs. The muscles of his forearms flex taut, but for a moment, he freezes.

And then he runs his palm over your inner thigh, like he’s petting you, He warms you, cold and panting on the floor, held there by the heavy weight of his body. You’re ashamed of how it makes you clench up. Your fear, your the metallic sweet of adrenaline, the feeling of his hands and his tongue and his teeth—all of it rushes straight to your cunt.

“It’s pretty,” Is all he has to say. Indignance flares beneath your skin, hot as iron, and you open your mouth to tell him to go fuck himself—

But then calloused fingers pet at the core of you. Your cunt, already wet and wanting, flutters at the prospective touch, forcing you to smother a moan. He pauses. His hungry eyes twitch wider, just for a moment, before he leers at you, corner of his lip hooked into a smug sneer.

“You got wet, just from that?”

You feel like you could die. You want to disappear into the Seaspring, want to be swallowed whole by its smoky waters so you never have to see his stupid, smug face again. “It’s a natural response—!” you spit. It’s just the adrenaline. The rush of fear running straight to a part of yourself that’s never been in proper order. You want to tell him as much, but he’s already looking at you like you’re pitiful, like he adores you. 

“Sparrow,” he tuts, honey sweet with false sympathy. His red eyes bright with twisted mirth. “If I’d known a little run is all it takes to wind you up, we could have played sooner.”

[sanjoongie]

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕊𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕟: 𝔹𝕠𝕕𝕪 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕡

🥀Pairing: Choi San x Reader (f)

🥀Genre: Smut

🥀Rating: 18+, Minors Do not Interact

🥀Au: Sweet Sorrow of Evil au written with @thelargefrye , Medieval Au, Fantasy au, royal au

🥀Trope: male consort x queen

🥀Summary: San shows that you deserve to be spoiled like the queen you are, and why exactly he was the one chosen to be your first consort

🥀Kinks: body worship, oral (f), breast play, penetrative sex with no barrier, dry humping, switch! Reader, switch! San, cum play, cum eating

🥀Word Count: 2,229

🥀Betas: n/a

🥀Day Sixteen: Cockwarming 🥀Mini Masterlist 🥀Day Eighteen: Size Kink

You were up to your nose in the copper tub, wondering how long San would let you soak in there. It was your night with your consort but you weren't looking forward to giving yourself to the man whose duty it was to please you. You’d rather cuddle up with Jongho right now, while he read his nighttime book of choice.

“My queen?” San held out your robe.

You stood up and stepped out of the tub, allowing him to hold open the robe and wrap it around you. He tucked his head into the crook of your neck from behind while he tied up your robe. “Your skin is delectable,” he murmured.

You felt his rough tongue on a patch of skin. “San… Did you just lick me?”

San giggled into your neck and then released you but grabbed your hand instead. “Come to bed.”

The bed had been scattered with red rose petals and you laughed under your breath. “Is all this really necessary, San?”

San cocked his head. “Of course. You are the queen. And you should be treated as such.”

“San,” You ducked your head in embarrassment.

San brought your hand to his lips and kissed it. “It's my night with you. Let me spoil you.”

You let San lay you back on your bed, the dark sheets lit up with the rose petals. The perfume permeated your nose as you looked up at San. His billowy white top only highlighted his beautiful bronze skin. He smiled down at you and leaned down to run a hand against your cheek. “You're so beautiful.”

San climbed on the bed, remaining on his hands and knees. He began to kiss your face starting with your forehead and cheeks, nose and jawline. “Each part of you is precious to me,” San whispered with each kiss.

You moaned softly when he began to kiss down your neck. You moved your head to the side to allow him easy access. It made San chuckle against your neck. “So good for me, my queen,” he said.

You whimpered as he pushed aside your robe to kiss down the valley of your breasts. His tongue came out sneakily, licking up stray droplets of water that the robe had not absorbed. His hands skimmed the side of your breasts but he didn't cup them or touch your nipples. You arched your back for more but San simply continued to kiss down your torso.

“Please,” You whimpered, digging your hands into San's hair.

“I'll take care of you, my queen, you don't need to beg,” San replied impishly.

Your hands tightened, pulling back hard to look San in the eyes. “I don't beg for anything, San,” You growled.

San simply smiled. “There she is. The evil queen they all whisper about when it's dark and they fear you'll focus on them.”

Concern echoed in your gaze and San pulled at your hold on him, pressing a kiss where your eyebrows were furrowed. “I'm not scared of you, of course.”

You smile slightly. “Of course.”

“That's because I know if you kill me, you'd have Jongho to answer to.” San grinned cheekily.

You grinned eerily at San, making him gulp loudly. “You'll still be dead.”

“Luckily, I know a few tricks to convince you to not kill me.”

Your robe was undone and San finished his descent down your stomach to kiss your mound. He pushed your thighs apart, hands heavy on your inner thighs. You closed your eyes, anticipating that San would begin to pleasure your cunt, but instead he began to kiss down your thigh.

You sighed heavily, opening your eyes to see San's eyes in gleeful half-moon crescents, quite aware of your disappointment. “Are you trying to drive me wild?” You demanded.

San made his way down to your ankle, kissing it, and then said, “Yes. But I'm also trying to worship your body, like you deserve.”

You raised your hands and beckoned San back to you. San followed, cupping your face and kissing you thoroughly. His tongue tangled with yours, a messy kiss full of enthusiasm for you. His hands eventually moved down your torso again, sliding your robe completely out of the way so he could play with your breasts. His hot palms pressed against them, sliding and giving way so that his thumbs could flick across your nipples and make them pert for him. His lips looked wonderful around your nipples, eyes making contact with yours to watch the faces you made while he licked your nipples inside of his mouth.

He grinded his clothed lower half into your bare core, making you moan. “Give me everything, San,” You commanded him.

San grinded even harder into you, the friction toeing the line between pleasure and pain. The both of you looked down to see your slick had smeared the front of his pants, and the lewdness of it made you both curse. “I have to taste you,” San mused out loud and immediately lowered himself back down your body again.

“Worship your queen,” You purred. You felt rather than saw the shudder travel through San’s body.

“Yes, my queen,” San promised, eyes solely on your wet pussy.

San ate you up like a starved man. He could have gone straight to the bundle of nerves that would have given you instant gratification but instead licked your wet folds with a pointed tongue. He tasted every crevice that was available to him. He sucked your lower lips into his mouth and traced your hole delicately. He even shoved his tongue inside of you a few times just to get you to buck up into his face, smearing your wetness evenly across his face. His nose nudged your clit and you pushed his face further into your aching cunt.

“There isn’t a part of you I don’t want to kiss,” He groaned. You could see his lower half grinding into the bed, his hips moving back and forth to give himself some relief to his cock that was probably twitching to get inside of you.

“San, San,” You said his name to get his attention. “Don’t move your hips like that if you aren’t going to move inside of me.”

San bit down on his lower lip, slowly letting it pop out. “Your highness…”

You didn’t want San to withhold anything. This feeling of being a delicious morsel for San was heady. “Tell me, San.”

“Please let me fuck you and come inside of you,” San begged. “I’ll show you the stars but please, let me come inside of you this time.”

Previously you had been getting San to pull out and come on your stomach. Of course royal heirs were important, but you had agreed to San being consort in order to get the council off your back, simple as that. You still had more ruthless moves to make against your enemies and you did not need to be fat with child while doing so. Not to mention, you didn’t have the best parents in the world, and didn’t want to inflict that on another child.

“Please?” San begged and then he began to flick his tongue along your clit.

You grabbed the sheets under you and arched your back. San had your lips spread so that he had direct access to that sensitive bundle of nerves. He had you coming undone for him quickly, thighs shaking with pleasure coursing through you.

And with that messy face, he kissed his way up your body, smearing your wetness all along your body until he tangled his tongue with yours again. You could taste yourself on his tongue and yet you still let him kiss you like you were the cook’s prized dessert. “Please,” San said with a growly voice, full of desire for you.

You moaned and cupped San’s face. “If Jongho asks you, you’ve been coming inside of me every night, do you hear me?”

San smirked, slow and satisfied. “Why would Jongho ask me that?”

“Because he knows me,” You sighed. “You can come inside of me tonight, San, you have my permission.”

What passed between San’s lips next was caught between a chuckle and a hoot. “You won’t regret it, your highness.”

In the candlelight of your royal bedchamber, San stood on his knees and pulled his shirt off with one firm yank behind his back. His dimples showed as he grinned to your reaction of pure adoration at his bare upper body. He was a man worth gazing upon. Next went his pants, in which one wrong step almost sent him face first into the fur rug under him until he caught himself against the bedpost. The clumsiness only made you adore him that much more.

San slowly fucked his way into your cunt, hands gripping your thighs and hips as he did so. The squeezes were appreciative of the flesh there. He manhandled them to hold himself back from simply hammering into you. San was your consort and he was here for the romance of the moment and not to fuck you.

His eyes traveled over your body as if he looked to memorize it. “You are beautiful and I will smother anyone in their sleep that dares to say otherwise,” San vowed.

“How romantic,” You teased.

San leaned down to brace himself above you with his arms caging you in his embrace. He waved his body between your legs. His pelvis rubbed against your puffy clit and you moaned at the extra stimulation. “I will spend hours here. It’s my job, you know? To keep my queen pleased. Do I please you, your highness?”

“Gods,” You whined. “Is that even a question?”

“Being sheathed inside of you is a feeling not many men of this realm, let alone the world, will experience. And yet, my purpose is to be here. Do you even know how lucky I am?” San asked.

You looked up into San’s eyes and you found only the genuine look of adoration from San. His eyes were dark with lust but also wet with sincerity. You wanted to believe him. But this was his duty, you knew that, not his choice.

San must have sensed your hesitance because he bent his arms so his forearms braced himself on the bed now, inches away from your face. It was intimate, San fucking you like this. It was simply himself swallowing your vision of the world right now. “I choose every night to make love to you. You are not who I thought you’d be. Your highness--”

You pushed a finger to San’s lips. His eyes widened, surprised you’d cut him off. “I do not require you to spill your heart to me, consort of mine. Leave a little mystery between you and I.”

If there was a ghost of sadness that floated through San’s eyes, it was chased away with a confident look. “Yes, my queen.”

San picked up your legs to hook around his arms, holding you open for him so he could thrust more quickly inside of you. You could hear the cacophony of skin slapping against skin and also the wet noises of San’s cock moving in and out of you. Your breath was catching in the back of your throat; the intenseness of the pleasure he was giving you was making you breathless.

“Sa-san,” You stuttered, feeling your climax approach.

“I’m close too. After you, your highness,” San said with a teasing tone.

Your toes curled as your body tensed from the pleasure coursing through your nerves. You cried out his name, knowing full well who made you feel this good. It was soon after that San came as well, holding himself deep inside of you, giving you everything, just like you had asked of him before. His nose scrunched up, his hair clinging to his hairline with the exertion of making love to you. He looked every bit the debauched consort and for a moment, you were glad he was yours.

“San, that was..” You didn't even know if there were words to shed light on how you had felt just now.

“The pleasure was all mine, My queen,” San giggled.

You groaned as you realized you had bathed for your night with San but you were even more dirty than you had been before you had entered the bath. “We should call the servants back, we’re going to need another bath drawn.”

“What's wrong, your highness? Can’t endure a little messiness?” San teased, quirking an eyebrow at you.

San could barely contain the glee that was spilling from his lively eyes. “Should I clean you up myself then?”

You laughed under your breath. Considering your origin story, how you became queen in the first place, the irony of that statement was hilarious. But still, you played into the entire theme of the night. “I am a queen, San, and deserve to be treated as such.”

Your mouth went dry as he moved down to your core. Was he really going to undo the good work he did? His tongue played with the skin between your puckered hole, avoiding his cum and your hole. You had a long night ahead of you and you no longer felt like you wanted to avoid it. In fact, you wanted to embrace it head on.

“Clean up the mess you made, Choi San.”

🥀Day Sixteen: Cockwarming🥀Mini Masterlist 🥀Day Eighteen: Size Kink

[honey-crypt]

hi hello me again with request because my brain cannot stop thinking abt elliott stardew,,

so elliott discovering that his farmer was planting pomegranate trees just for him bc I've been doing that.. like, there's a special area for pomegranate trees. My man would die on the spot cuz i know i would if someone did that for me LMAO

a/n: another addition to the ferzia & bee elliottverse LMAO it’s kinda short but i think it works haha, enjoy!!! and follow my moot!!!!

word count: 1.1k

summary: it’s just another day on the farm, the fall season settling nicely in the valley, when elliott finds a surprise on the farm from his beloved (y/n).

★ orchard - elliott x farmer ★

The crisp fall breeze ruffled Elliott’s hair, as he stepped out to the porch of the farmhouse. He inhaled the fresh air and exhaled deeply, admiring the little farm before him. The chickens clucked and the cows mooed, the fragrance of sweet corn and sour grapes coated the air, this little farm was truly home for the writer.

Elliott plopped down on the porch’s rocking chair and whipped out his notebook, “Another beautiful day to work,” he hummed softly to himself, as his pencil made contact with the paper and began to write. Camelia Station, Elliott’s first novel, managed to garner a dedicated fan base and his publicist informed him that getting another romance book on the shelves would only make his image as a writer better. Elliott didn’t mind his image, but he cherished his fans just as much as writing. Thus, he spent the last season or so on the porch, brainstorming and planning the next novel.

However, today wasn’t the day to write, as Elliott stared down the words he wrote out, a series of incomprehensible gibberish masking as literary genius. He huffed and set his notebook aside, Don’t let this end you, Elliott reassured himself, It’s okay to have a block. It happens to the best, but he couldn’t shake off the frustration bubbling up to his throat. However, a small meow greeted him and Elliott visibly relaxed, as Lobbie the grey cat leapt onto his lap and made herself at home.

“Oh, sweet Lobbie,” the redhead whispered to the cat while stroking her back, “I think today will have to be a lazy day for you and me,” the cat purred happily and kneaded on his thigh, “It seems that you’re in agreement, as well,” Elliott continued to pet Lobbie, his eyes fluttering with exhaustion. It was only seven in the morning, he shouldn’t be tired already. Yet, the amount of all nighters he pulled, anxiously writing out idea after idea at his writing desk, was enough to make the most energetic of people tired.

The sound of a rickey wheelbarrow echoed from a distance, the volume increasing as it got closer and closer. Elliott cracked one eye open and noticed you, his spouse, wheeling a pile of dirt towards an unused section of the farm. You unceremoniously dumped the dirt on the ground and returned the wheelbarrow to the nearby shed before noticing your husband on the porch. A smile graced your lips and you waved at him, which he returned with a smile and a wave of his own. What a hard worker, the ginger watched you head off to a different section of the farm, I wish I had their work ethic, his smile morphed into a frown, Maybe then I would have a solid idea of what to write next.

Lobbie hopped off Elliott’s lap and trotted off, perhaps to catch a mouse or one of the chickens. Elliott took the opportunity to stand and stretch out his long, wiry arms. He looked around the farm for you, seeing if he could be of some use for you, but to his surprise, you were nowhere in sight. Elliott knitted his eyebrows together, I swore I just saw them. Did they head off to visit Pierre’s or Robin’s?

He walked down from the porch and onto the farmland, rich soil beneath his loafers. Elliott checked the barn, the coop, the cave, and the greenhouse, but there was no sign of you anywhere. The writer lowered his shoulders in defeat and turned on his heel to return to the farmhouse when he heard the sound of water being poured. Elliott followed the sound, past the greenhouse and into the woods, “(Y/N)?” he called out to you, “My love, are you there?” the ginger scanned the wooded area before his eyes fell upon a simply spectacular sight.

An orchard, it was an orchard covered in a pheltora of fruit trees. They weren’t just any fruit trees, though; no, they were pomegranate trees, the sweet plump fruit hanging from the branches. It had to have taken months for these trees to mature to such a size and to bear such gorgeous pomegranates- and there you were! You were watering the closest pomegranate tree with the burgundy watering can Elliott gifted to you on New Year’s Eve. Elliott watched in awe, as you set the watering can down and reached for the lone pomegranate on the tree. You tugged at the fruit until it broke free of its branch and examined it for any irregularities. Once satisfied, you gently placed it in your wicker basket and moved onto the next tree.

“(Y/N)?” the writer appeared behind you, nearly making you jump out of your skin, “Elliott!” a yelp escaped your throat, “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” you scolded your husband. Elliott gave you an apologetic smile, “My mistake,” he eyed the surrounding pomegranate trees, “What’s all this, my love?”

“Oh!” your face heated up, “Damnit, I was going to show you this in a few days as your birthday surprise,” you pinched your nose with a sigh, “I guess I wasn’t that sneaky, huh?”

“You were pretty sneaky,” he answered, “It must have taken months for you to grow all these trees.”

“I started working on the orchard when we got engaged last summer,” you confessed sheepishly, “I wanted to have a piece of you as part of the farmland,” a nervous smile formed on your face, “I know how much you love pomegranates so I thought Hey, why don’t I grow some pomegranate trees? and next thing I knew, I had twenty or so planted and bearing fruit.”

“You did this all for me?” the writer’s expression was a mixture of surprise, bewilderment, and joy. You nodded, “I thought it would be a good birthday surprise since the trees’ maturity and fruit bearing overlapped with your birthday.”

Elliott suddenly pulled you into a tight embrace, nearly knocking the wind out of you, as he held you as close as he could in his arms. You hugged him back and felt his body shaky, as Elliott began to sob quietly in your arms, “You did this for me, all for me? You truly are a gift from Yoba, my love. This is the greatest act of love I have ever received or bore witness to, I- Oh, (Y/N)-”, you rubbed his back while he blabbered on and on how honored and overjoyed by your dedication to the orchard.

To you, creating the orchard was simply a gift, something you wanted your husband to enjoy, but to Elliott? The orchard was a sign that you were his soulmate, that the bond and love between you two was enough to foster great trees upon trees of delicious pomegranates.

After all, the pomegranate symbolized a rich, fulfilled life.