#:( no more flying but also :) what a silhouette

[thatsmylog]

30 Years of The Crow :: 30 moments that rewired my tiny mind

(part 7/9)

[4giorno]

its too much to ask that he keeps the coat when hes playable right......... AAAAAAAA he looks so gooddddddddd 😭😭😭😭💖

[thecherrygod]

I can't sleep

[anantaru]

GENSHIN + YOU SAY HE'S TOO SMALL

— ꒰ including ꒱ — childe, wriothesley, zhongli, alhaitham x fem! reader

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — [ex]plicit, bratty! reader, dom genshin characters, size kink & size difference, pet names used: dear, love, baby, doll, they're so confident i'm sick, alhaitham is a little mean in this one, cockwarming, rough teasing ⊹ ‧₊˚ ᰔ

— ꒰ CHILDE ꒱

as marvelous as it sounded to be nice to ajax, indulge yourself beneath his welcoming silhouette and paddle through the outbursts of sparks and bliss, you also loved being a little menace and make him question himself. it starts with a, "you're too small for me," then ends with a "but that's okay!" before putting a ribbon on it, becoming concerned by his drawn out silence before he changes up his demeanor, laughing and smirking sarcastically above you. 

"too small, hm?" childe grunts hotly before carefully inspecting how your eyes grow with fervor as he snaps his hips forward with one numbing snap of hips, his muscles visibly contorting at the movement, "you're so mean to me, baby, always so mean," as he completely stills himself inside.

if he's so small, you don't mind if he's not moving anymore, correct? in fact, the flaring stretch of your cunt shouldn't be that evident on your pungent expression. your skin grows warmer when you realised he doesn't have any plans of fucking you nicely tonight, if anything, the harbinger wanted to make this an important lesson for you.

buried deep, he felt so hot inside of you, burning a mark on your walls and exploring more and more of your skin as every part of your limbs and veins felt like he's set them on fire. every pulse of his erection in you, each grumble and deep, delicious moan sent you into a spiral until you couldn't breathe, not when you felt so full inside.

your hands fly to his hair as you tug him closer, struggling to keep the focus on his darling face with the obvious distraction of his shaft thudding within you, "move.." you bite and gnaw down on your bottom lip, yet he doesn't, much to your displeasure, he only drives himself a bit deeper until he couldn't anymore, roaming through your sensitive walls as a wet heave echoes from your lips.

"didn't you say i'm too small for you?" childe pouts apathetically as you feel a rush of defeat coarse over your spine, "this shouldn't bother you then baby," and he continues, he cannot stop now.

he begins to slowly grind his hips back and forth, yet only in small, little rolls that barely did anything, never pulling himself out.

— ꒰ WRIOTHESLEY ꒱

the duke was both pestering and infuriatingly sexy, and there was only one way to humble him by claiming he's not as big as you might've made it sound like in the past. sure, he can make you squirm if he really tries, beyond that? it's fine, nothing out of the ordinary though.

"I don't care that you're too small for me baby, you still have a big heart," you purse your lips together, suppressing an interrupting laughter, although unblinking with a devilish smirk.

"hey, now," wriothesley mumbles in soft tones, and he's gentle, squeezing your hips and tracing over your body as he drops lower to press himself close to you.

the duke rests his forehead against yours and kisses your bottom lip, knowing you love it, it's like a silent way of telling you that he'll be gentle despite his size, well, normally, now it's his method of warning you for what's about to come, "tell me that once i'm done, hm?"

"…with a straight face, stock-still," he felt excitedly elevated, so eager to sooth you and take the edge of brattiness from your voice— until you're bathed in sweat and his cum, desperately moaning out his name with a sound drenched in that of raw hunger.

in a blink of an eye, a ruthless rhythm manifested from wanting to burn that lie from your brain and the usual confidence rising from his body.

he holds your frame captive without a single route of near return, pleasure racing through your skin as he grumbles into your lips, makes your voice rise and hitch as he knocks the air off your lungs with another swift drag of him, his balls crushing against your puffy flesh before letting your walls constrict around his big length.

"shhh, not to worry, you hear? you claimed you can take it, didn't you?" a shudder was born at the ruthlessness in his words, your shoulders tensing and falling in an alleviation of feeling so full. the impact on how he's handling tonight was both totally unsurprising as well as exceedingly sudden at the same time.

you're slowly regretting your past claims, although not really— because you secretly enjoyed whenever wriothesley was rough with you, anytime he was so turned on by your presence that he had to show you in many different ways.

every thread and spark of your cunt constricts up at the close proximity he made you go through— the penetrating waves of his feverishness entrusting into your flesh as you lose yourself completely, needing more, needing him faster and better than each time before.

"you like that, doll? i'm so deep, fuck—" he slurrs his wording, making you shudder, "i love being inside you, i love when you do that… squeezing me," and the more you attempted to hide your precious whimpers from him, the more he made you gasp heftily in return as his hips carried on to rock back and forth your spongy insides.

— ꒰ ZHONGLI ꒱

believe it or not but in the beginning, it was supposed to be a little throw around inquiry to mess with your boyfriend's mind a little, just so you could see how he'd react to being called small. in truth, you didn't necessarily believe he'd actually care that much, maybe he'd even jester back. no one needs to tell you that morax had experience, and a special way of going around your body— so naturally, you expected him to simply laugh off the comment of being on the smaller side, especially his girth.

you can feel his cockhead nudge over your throbbing hole, ever so slightly inching inside until you'd gasp from both fullness and ache. zhongli was never too rough with you, he couldn't be, the idea of actually hurting you was sending numerous shivers into his body.

“i'm fond of this side of you, my dear, i love when you say nonsense like this,"

before you can form your words, his lips found yours, although rougher this time— teeth colliding together messily as his tongue laps across your own, exploring the inside and groaning when you tug roughly at his disheveled strands, his raw emotions enough for to lose a war you were never able to win in the first place.

zhongli hears you pant softly into his lips and he could cum just here and there if it wasn't for his self restraint, calculating his hot trails of touches as your walls glister beautifully around his hard and heavy shaft. your reactions excited him as much as reminding you that there's no point in lying to your lover, not when he always fucked you so nicely and left you breathless.

"zhongli— please please don't tease me now.." you whimper, words muffled beneath him as you attempt to reason, "i was just joking, really," and your voice? so deliciously at his mercy, sounding so pathetically weak that it strengthens the turmoil in your belly.

he breathes out a laugh, his musky scent lingering all over you, "you forgot your earlier statement already? that's not how it works."

you continue to mumble out precious pleas, unable to answer with words anymore as his dripping dick buries balls deep into your hot warmth before he grabs onto a fistful of your ass, "you feel so good, my dearest," he says wetly, pulling out of you and grinding back in immediately after as the bed drags against the wooden floor.

oh well, zhongli would be lying if your claim, even with how extremely amusing it was, didn't turn him on in the end.

— ꒰ ALHAITHAM ꒱

propped up on your elbows, you watch alhaitham get rid of his shirt before he attempts to go down on you, in fact, it was a sweet, little habit of his because he knew he had to prep you enough so it wouldn't end up feeling uncomfortable to you taking his bulky cock.

yet this time, you gaze up at him in open expectation, before stopping him from shuffling between your thighs, "no.. i want you now," you softly feel up his stomach as a sign of desire before smirking, "it's not like it makes a difference with your size, come here," before quickly wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him down.

you kiss and lick over the slight confusion on alhaitham's face as he props your soaked hole with his middle finger breezily, "didn't i say you're not supposed to lie?"

"and what was that about always being honest in a relationship?" he affirms, stilling the movement of his finger before dropping his body on the mattress, the sheer impact of his weight falling to the bed making you tumble slightly.

"come on then," he urges you confidently, snaking his arms towards your hips before lifting you above his pulsing erection, your wet folds sitting gently against his cock throbbing between, "if that's what you believe, you can ride me tonight, correct?"

"..uh, sure," your voice wasn't anywhere near his confidence and you didn't believe it was even possible for you to reach that level in the first place. although your rhythm was hesitant at first, you begin to lift yourself up as alhaitham wraps his palm around his aching shaft, giving it a good stroke and making you line yourself up alone.

you don't mind, do you? not under any condition could it be difficult if what you've said was the truth and nothing but the truth.

his fingers dig into your hips as you take his cock head, the stretch of it slightly burning. but you're determined, in fact, you never achieved victory against alhaitham and perhaps, that was your secret time to shine.

breaking the silence, you wince before a dozen of soft, silken moans gash from your mouth, not making it any easier for you. nevertheless, you carry on to move your hips, thighs shuddering and your hands finding support by leaning against his toned abs.

"f-fuck—" a needy whine echoes and finds alhaitham's ears as the glow of shyness in your gaze refuses to meet his intense, sweltering one.

he hums, making you whimper, "you need help?" as his fingers compress into your skin to shift his hips up and hold yours down at the same time, forcing your cunt to take a couple inches more.

your head immediately lolls back as he bottoms up again, again and again until he's filling the space in your hole, sliding his palms over your ass and kneading a fistful of flesh before dragging you up and down his length. alhaitham can make out the beauty of your figure even better now, he might become addicted to this position presenting him your bothered face, your erected nipples and your beautiful tummy all for his eyes to relish in.

"too slow," but you melt into his touch regardless, shivering above him, "didn't expect anything else," yet it was so amusing to him— because watching through alhaitham's pair of eyes, you should certainly do this more often, in fact, there was nothing that turned him on more than proving you wrong.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[redcherrykook]

── ‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ delicate seashell - beach vibe, hotel sex req.

────୨ৎ────

content: friendgroup beach trip, hotel sex, penetrative sex, sweet loving, kind of body worship, established relationship, oral (fem), "gguk" bc its hawt

note from cherry: ignore the typos pls it's late 😭

────୨ৎ────

summer hit seoul like a ton of bricks, the usual rainy weather turnings into 40 degree Celsius heat, living without aircon? Impossible.

For the first week of vacation that your work has granted, your far less busy friends and boyfriend all gather up for a trip

Fuck it, let's fly to jeju and enjoy the seaside while the sun lasts

Although blaring and someone unbearable from sweat drenched clothes, noting beats a beach day with enough suncream and fruit to cool off

"Soojin, are you gonna be ready soon?" namjoon calls out, your best friends boyfriend being just as impatient as she is,

"Seriously? We just started getting ready!" She shouts back, rolling her eyes at the closed door,

Sully who's also your childhood bestie, and you share a giggle at Soojin's typical behavior

"Baby?" a soft voice calls out for you, sticking his head into the small gap of the huge hotel bathroom, three girls still in pj's that are busy with skincare and waterproof mascara or the perfect bun all inside

His eyes only land on you, if the other two didn't speak, you're sure he wouldn't even have noticed

"Kook? You okay?" You turn, caressing his head with your hand,

"Yeah, we're gonna ahead though, if that's cool with you? Like, set up the chairs and drink station" he says, now stepped fully inside the doorframe, his hands finding your tshirt covered waist immediately

"If you promise not to look at girls in bikinis?" you raise an eyebrow, cracking into a smile shortly after

And my god did he look irresistible, already in swim shorts with that white muscle shirt that did nothing but show off his ripped body, big arms fully on display and his abs peaking out from the side of the opening

He tsk's , kissing your forhead softly

"You're crazy ma, you know damn well i only care for you" his voice is delicate when he speaks,

"Ew gross get out already" sully yells, even though she's 3 meters away from him

"Grooooosss they boutta start fucking in here" Soojin adds, making a disgusted face for you to see in the mirror

Jungkook laughs, "Sure ladies, take your time" surrendering to the fight against two very protective best friends, he leaves the room

Leaving you to continue your grwm session, 30 mins later, all three off you leave in your bikinis, bags stuffed with change of clothes, hairbrushes and something to keep you distracted

"what the fuck" your boyfriend mutters when he spots you from afar,

Even while laying on a foldable chair, just being able to make out your silhouette in the distance is enough to make him drool, willing to drop to his knees for any taste of you he can get

The dirty thoughts only become louder urges when you stand in front of him, setting your bag down,

As if the tiny, red triangle- tie up bikini doesn't already reveal enough to him, the way you bend down right there, tits almost falling out of their hold, pushed together by the bikini throws him off even more

He's sweating, nervously thinking how he would be able to keep his dick soft for hours if you're gonna walk around like that

"Baby" he says sternly, the look in his eyes letting you know that you're playing with fire, but you don't seem to care, smiling at him when you lay down on the chair right beside his,

"Ahhh, the breeze is so nice" you hum, closing your eyes momentarily to take in the roaring waves and rays of sunlight

Unable to stop himself for devouring you with his eyes, he just allows it

Tracing over your collarbones, the way your waist dips in before the squishy roundness of your hips, how your thicker thighs press up against the chair, making the string bottom appear even smaller on your covered cunt

It cant get worse, right?

Unless you decide on what you're doing right now, letting your beautiful hair out of the bun's restraint, shiny stands flowing messily over your chest area

You notice his obvious staring, looking at his needy eyes and spotting the suspicious looking bulge inside his swimmers,

Jaehyun shoots Jungkook a look as if to say "you cannot be serious" once he also notices the effect your innocent swim attire has on the younger friend

You stand up from the chair abruptly, while looking at Jungkook's dick you noticed how muscular and comfortable his thighs look,

"Baby please" he whispers into your ear, your ass planted down right on his bulge, the tiny string doing nothing to create an extra barrier

His hands move to caress your thighs, his chest pressed up against your back while he's trying his best not to grind you down on him in front of your whole friend group

"Namjoon, you need to cover my back well" Soojin says to her boyfriend when turning around and jungkook is sure he will thank her for this to the end of time, something in his brain lights up,

"Oh shit, i totally forgot about sunscreen. Lets go grab it" his finger nudges your side, a clear clue for you to agree and get up with him,

Why would you ever deny him anyways?

Your friends watch you leave hand in hand, rushing back for... the sunscreen..

"They're gonna fuck aren't they" Sully says, looking over to the rest with an annoyed look,

"Yep" Soojin answers, popping the p at the end,

"Whatever i'm going in" jaehyun announces, dragging sully up with him to push the unsuspecting girl into the water

"Fuck baby this bikini is too sexy, i can't take it" Jungkook says against your skin, immediately attaching himself to your neck the second the door shuts

He's gentle but desperate in his kisses, moving along messily but not putting on too much pressure, kissing his way all along your jawline, down to your neck and collarbones where be begins to nibble,

"So pretty, this body of yours is driving me crazy" his soft moans make your skin react, goosebumps spreading fast while you run your fingers along the muscle of his shoulder

He unties your top in no time, kissing and licking at your nipple while his hand stimulates the other one, groping and tugging on the pink flesh ws gently as he can

"Feels so good gguk" your nails dig into his shoulders, chest arching into his mouth with loud whimpers of pleasure flowing from your lips,

He responds by moaning, biting down on your nipple softly before switching sides, teasing and kissing with so much love

"I love your tits so much, they are perfect so perfect" Jungkook stops, big doe eyes looking up at you with need, one hand moves down to cup your pussy,

"let me eat it please , i wanna taste you so bad baby, please let me eat that sweet little pussy out" the way his desperation becomes evident in his pleas instantly weakens your will to tease him, nodding to him with a small bite to your lip

He wastes no time carrying you to the soft silk of the hotel bed, spreading your legs with his hands and dragging the string down from your hips,

"Mnhmm baby you smell so good" his kisses trail down your abdomen until they halt on the outside of your pussy, moving to your inner thighs instead, his hands working to caress you in the meantime

"Gguk please" you whine, squirming under the soft touch of his hands running down the inside of your thigh,

He smiles, leaning his head down between your thighs, right in front of your glistening cunt,

Thumbing your clit side to side, he takes a second to admire you, back arched just for him

"Cute pussy, all mine"

"Mghmm yes!" your high voice cries out, fingers finding his small locks and engulfing them into you, tugging at them while simultaneously pushing his head further into your neediness

"Just like that" you continue rambling, grinding your heat against his skilled, warm tongue that's working hard to lapp up all your juices

His tongue is tireldessly pushing into your hole, fucking you until you can't help but shake,

"You taste so good pretty"

"Prettiest girl" he whispers, blowing some air on your swollen clit, his cock throbbing inside his swimshorts as much as your soaked entrance

"Want your cock please baby!"

He stops, pressing a kiss to your cunt before crashing his covered lips onto yours, your hands busying with his shorts, pulling his hard on out with a sigh

Then, you turn sideways to kiss his neck, licking over his sweet spots and making him moan until he can't wait anymore, gently lowering your back on the bed and aligning his stiff dick against your entrance

"God so tight" he whines, hands getting lost in the flesh on your hips, you moan from feeling so full,

His bicep flexes while he begins thrusting into you, as needy and hot as it is, he's slow and firm nonethelss, keeping his eye contact with you

"You're beautiful" he smiles, referring to so much more than your tits slapping against each other erotically, than your little cunt drenched in slick or your soft face in the sunlight, he means everything, every little detail on your skin, that mole on your neck, that sound from your lips, the way you touch him, the way you love him

"You feel so so good, so pretty too ggukie" your moans are genuine and long, not hasty or in a rush to release

He does feel himself get close when you begin touching his torso, abs flexing with the little touches and his cock becoming more and more desperate to paint your gummy walls white

Savoring the moment with a passionate kiss, he caresses your hips and listens carefully to your moans,

"Almost there pretty, cum for me" his encouragement drives you up the edge, the, getting pushed over it by his finger drawing small circles on your oversensitive clit

You cum blissfully, coating his cock in your essence while he paints you with his, smiling into ths open mouthed, messy kiss

"Mhm.. i love you" he breathes out, kissing your cheek repeated, his softer cock remaining inside you

"I love.. you too jungkook" you reciprocrate, pressings a tiny kiss to his nose

The romantic moment is disturbed by your phone buzzing,

Soojin: did u find the suncream or did he cream you instead?

Both of you giggle, sending a selfie that shows both of you are probably naked, happy and definitely naked.

── ‧ ୨୧ @luvismenu

[meanbossart]

I LOVE DU drow and I love your art style! I also really like how you draw Astarion's hair, it looks flowy but still with his trademark curls.

Can you give any advice on drawing Astarion's hair? I find it a nightmare to draw. Whenever I free hand it, it just doesn't have the amount of curliness I want, and when I try to use a reference it ends up looking rather stiff.

Take care and thanks for the art 😊

THANK YOU though to be honest I'm shocked to find this ask in my inbox because every time I draw Astarion a war is waged between me and his hairdo. But sure, lets give this a shot!

First of all I feel like its a good idea not to be too attached to his in-game model hair when drawing unless your style is very realistic. The only reason why that dry-noodle helmet looks so regal and bouncy is because of the high-detailed graphics. Like you mentioned yourself and many of us have experienced, if you try and stick to it too closely in most art-styles it just ends up looking terribly stiff.

Instead, I suggest just keeping growth-direction and shape in mind and applying as much movement as you want to it when you draw it. Here's some things to remember that might help you with that:

-I employ the liquify tool a lot when sketching his hair because I never get it big enough on the first try, lol. This can also aid you with "distorting" more curliness into your lines if you aren't used to doing that right off the bat, just try not to become too reliant on it!

-I usually leave the areas around the ears and back alone but imply a lot of movement with the top and front of the hair, taking as many liberties as I want even if it's not entirely faithful to the model. I feel like the impression of curliness comes entirely from the silhouette of the hair and little fly-ways that I add, and everything else I just try to do without overthinking it too much for a more natural look.

In truth, I feel like a lot of times we get stuck on things like parting-placement, right amount of curl, which brush we're using yada-yada when in reality we are neglecting what actually makes a character's hair recognizable: Hairline, growth pattern, and shape. If you get these three things right I feel like everything else is entirely just stylistic choice. It's worth pulling away for a moment and checking on these things if you feel like you're continually unhappy with your outcome!

-Astarion has a hairline capable making most men over 30 cry. It's very low on the forehead and tight on the temples with the slightest hint of a widow's peak. As someone who drew a lot of big-foreheaded characters with receding hairlines prior, this was a STRUGGLE for me to get used to and a big reason why I felt like I couldn't get his hair to look "right" for the longest time.

-His hair swoops to the right side of his face in a fanning kind of shape and is the longest at the front and top. You can imply a strong part if you want, you can split it into sections, you can have it falling over his forehead or not at all - as long as it's going in the right direction you will probably be fine.

-A mistake I would catch myself making often was getting the shape totally wrong - making it too slick at the top and putting all the volume in the back when that's pretty much the exact opposite of what his hair does. IT'S ALL AT THE FRONT AND TOP, REPEAT IT TO YOURSELF LIKE IT'S A MANTRA: IT'S ALL AT THE FRONT AND TOP.

And lastly, if you absolutely hate how his hair looks or hate to draw it, you can forego all of this and just do whatever you want. These tips are only worth something if you like how I draw his hair specifically.

Hopefully this was helpful at all!

[euthymiya]

hero’s compensation ft. diluc ragnvindr

in which you’re walking home, unaware of the news of a pesky samachurl that’s snuck into the city. luckily, the darknight hero is there to rescue you. except one thing: you didn’t expect him to be such a familiar face

contains: female reader ; childhood friends to lovers ; reader is attacked by a samachurl ; references to diluc’s story quest as the darknight hero ; so much tension lol ; lots of kissing ; confessions ; getting together ; this is a late bday offering for the first man that every genshin player falls for

in your defense, you hadn’t heard of the news to avoid this part of the city until the knights could take care of the little…threat that happens to lurk around the streets. you hadn’t noticed the samachurl at first—it noticed you, caging you with thorny vines in a small enclosure.

you’re doomed, you think—samachurls are small, yes, but still dangerous.

you dodge as the staff in its hand swings at you, a quick yet clumsy effort as you start to get tired. running away isn’t an option—not only because you’re trapped, but also because you wouldn’t want to risk bringing the monster deeper into the city. it’s rare for them to find their way past the gates, but it happens every once in a while. not often enough, however, that you’re prepared to handle this situation.

and then there’s a flash—something quick and sharp that swings past you towards the creature.

but unlike the samachurl’s staff, this particular object seems to purposely dodge you, hitting the creature square on its head as it stumbles back and shrieks. a dark (but very familiar) silhouette lunges past you, picking up what you realize is a claymore before swinging once more, the small body of the samachurl sent flying at the impact before slumping onto the ground, limp.

your hand is clutched to your heart, fisting at the material around your collar as you heave labored breaths, in and out. in and out. in and out.

it’s over. your savior is a man who vaguely tickles at a part of your brain incessantly, but you’re too busy with the adrenaline and fear pumping through your veins to fully grasp why that is just yet.

it’s not until a gloved hand settles on your shoulder and a voice calls to you, do you break out of your daze. “are you alright?” a low whisper asks you.

diluc. you look up, shocked and still slightly panicked as you blink at him. “wha—”

“this way! i saw a figure, i’m sure it’s the darknight hero for certain this time!”

the sound of footsteps and a distant voice interrupts you, and before you can figure out what’s happened, diluc has pulled you away, pressing you against the tight space between a stone wall and a staircase and caging you as the pounding footsteps run past you. he lets out a shaky sigh as the sounds become more and more distant, relief sagging into his shoulders once he’s sure the knights hadn’t seen you.

you’re not too worried about that, though. there are more pressing matters on your mind.

like that fact that he’s close. so close, that you can make out the small, ghost of a scar on his forehead from when you were kids. when he’d cut himself from the gravel as he chased after you and kaeya, fallen face first. you remember that day fondly—most of your memories with diluc are fond. some a little bittersweet, of course. long gone are the days where you could run freely with both brothers and have a good time, but memorable all the same.

the man you’ve grown up with is supposedly the same mysterious man you hear about whispered on the streets. the darknight hero—some praise him, in awe of his abilities and his work. others, not so much. the knights, for example, don’t take to his vigilante role too kindly.

you inhale sharply, still pressed close to him as you stare at him with wide eyes.

“so it’s you,” you murmur, stepping closer in the already tight enclosure and invading his space. he doesn’t mind, not really. it’s a slippery slope to press yourself against him like this, but you’ve never had a track record for taking easy routes.

“it’s me,” he confirms, eyeing you carefully, like he’s making sure that’s alright with you.

it is. nothing diluc does could be a problem for you, not when he’s saved your life and not when he’s so close you can practically feel him as he breathes in front of you.

“how did you know to find me?” you ask, looking him in the eyes until finally, he breaks, casting his gaze anywhere else but you as he clears his throat.

“i heard there was a samachurl in the area and—”

“diluc,” you say unimpressed, “i know you better than that.”

you know the answer. you know him better than anyone, in fact. you’ve grown up knowing him, knowing what he loves and hates. what makes him laugh and cry. the softness that still lingers underneath the hardened exterior that the world’s cruelty has layered over his innocence. nobody knows diluc like you do, just like nobody knows you like him.

he knew you were here, not because of some samachurl or some mild threat. you. because somehow, diluc has always made himself present, made himself available at even the most inopportune times when it comes to you.

that time you almost drowned at the lake by the winery as kids. that time you strayed too far and ran into a cryo slime by accident. that time you fell trying to pick grapes and twisted your ankle. that time you walked home late at night and got cornered by a drunk man from the tavern.

he’s always there, somehow, for some reason, always knows just when you need someone and makes sure it’s him who steps up to be the person.

“i was following you,” he admits, tense as he avoids your gaze.

“following me?” you gasp, “how scandalous! do you follow all young women as they walk the streets?”

“of course not,” he frowns, looking mildly bewildered, “i was following you.”

“i see,” you nod slowly, “worried i was incapable of walking myself home, were you?”

neither of you mention that you were incapable of walking yourself home tonight. his face twists into a sheepish expression as he rubs his neck awkwardly.

“it’s not that i find you incapable—i just…it’s just a precautionary measure for the sake of ensuring—”

“oh diluc, would it kill you to say you were worried about me?” you snort.

“quit being difficult,” he grumbles.

“forgive me,” you sigh dramatically, “i thought i could perhaps be clever and hear you admit you care about me. alas, it seems such a day won’t come any time soon.”

he flushes a light pink. it contrasts beautifully with his red hair, making your fingers itch to reach over and pinch his cheek. but he rolls his eyes, finally looking back at you and looking right into you with his piercing gaze as he says, “i was worried about you. does that satisfy you? not one day goes by that i’m not worried about you. you keep me up at night, enough that i’ve taken the safety of this city into my own hands.”

he stuns you into silence. it’s been so many years, so many years since he grew from that young boy you met. his hands became rougher, his shoulders became broader, his arms became stronger. he’s gone from practicing with a wooden sword to wielding that heavy greatsword of his. he’s not naive anymore, far less trusting and far more stoic. his dreams have changed and his ambitions aren’t what they used to be—but he’s still the same diluc that stole your breath and suffocated your throat even as a child.

you love him deeply, so much that it aches between your heart and lungs, in a spot only he can fit. a spot where he can squeeze against both organs, stop the beating in your chest and knock the air out of you. it’s dangerous, leaving you uncomfortably vulnerable.

so you do what you know best to counteract that strange pressure in your chest that makes it difficult to breathe, to speak, to do anything. you throw on a smile on your face and tease him to get under his skin, so that maybe, if he rolls his eyes at you, they won’t pierce into your soul as harshly.

“well it’s lovely to meet the darknight hero,” you grin, batting your lashes, “who’d have thought the city’s beloved master of the dawn winery was saving people from the shadows?”

“please don’t call me that,” he sighs, looking at you tiredly. the expression on his face makes you giggle. “it sounds awfully derivative to me.”

faintly, you’re aware that you’re still hidden in the corner behind the staircase, dead quiet in the middle of the night with just a sliver of space between you. you could just reach up and brush the bangs out of his face, maybe trace that scar you know so well, or even press the tip of your nose to his if you lean closer.

he seems to be aware of the proximity too, because his eyes dart to your lips for just a moment, inhaling sharply as he realizes just how close they are from touching his.

“what would you prefer i call you then?” you whisper.

he doesn’t say anything.

neither of you do, for a bit. just his eyes trained on yours as you both take shallow breaths, narrowly missing each others chests from grazing against one another as they rise and fall, rise and fall.

finally, he clears his throat.

you think he’ll say something—but he doesn’t. instead, he kisses you. enough is enough, he decides, and you’re compelled to agree. enough dancing around the wobbly line that separates you from friends and more than friends—you think it’s been enough years that neither of you do a good job of hiding the built up feelings anymore, anyway.

his lips are chapped. you can feel the stark difference between his and yours as they press up against your soft ones, disrupting your delicate existence with his roughness. it’s not unwelcome, though.

kissing diluc is blazingly warm. his lips, his body, his gloved hands, his breath, all of it is unbearably hot—enough that you feel like you’ll combust at any second. the pyro vision he keeps hung at his waist must make his body run warm, you think. you crave more heat, though. no matter how close you feel you are to the sun, you want more, so your arms wrap around his neck and tug him closer, tangling your fingers in those long fiery locks of his as he groans.

his hands roam your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you flush against his sturdy chest as his lips hungrily mold against yours. air is limited—there’s a burning in your lungs that slowly but surely builds until you pull away, panting for air.

his forehead presses to yours when you do, chest rising and falling as he catches his own breath with lips that are glossed and slightly swollen.

“if i told you what title i’d prefer you used on me, i’m afraid there would be no going back,” he mumbles against your lips.

you’d laugh if you weren’t so breathless and dizzy against him. you’d laugh at the fact that after such a shameless kiss in the dark, hidden corner of the city, he thinks anything he could say would change things more than this kiss has. they couldn’t—not when all your feelings have been laid bare without having said anything at all. a few mere words could never shift anything the way feelings his lips has.

not when you’ve gotten a taste of him, so sweet and hot against your lips, it’s like drinking rays of sun in the sheer cold of dragonspine.

“who said i want to go back?” you challenge, reaching over and tracing your finger along his cheekbone. he closes his eyes, letting out a soft, breathy laugh as he leans into your touch.

“then call me your lover,” he says instantly, “call me yours and i’ll consider us even.”

“even for what?” you raise a brow, looking at him in mild confusion.

he grins as he opens his eyes, leaning closer and kissing against your jaw until he works his way up just beneath your ear lobe, breath trickling the shell of your ear and making you shiver.

“for saving your life, of course,” he teases.

“hero’s don’t require compensation for their noble actions,” you huff, lips curling into a small pout—he pulls away to admire it before kissing it too with a short peck. (he’d tell you that you look adorable like this, but he doesn’t want to sour your mood any further). “and i was perfectly capable of handling that myself.”

“without a weapon?” he asks, looking at you knowingly.

“of course,” you say indignantly. “but if it should truly kill you to be mine, then…” you trail off, leaning to press a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth, making his fingers dig into your hips slightly as he fights the urge to take more, to turn his head and get a proper kiss out of you.

“then…?” he rasps, impatient.

“then i suppose i can call you my lover,” you hum, finally giving into that overwhelming urge of brushing his bangs back, tracing the scar from your past with your thumb. “would that satisfy you, master diluc?”

“just diluc is fine,” he mutters, heat returning to his skin, “i’ve told you that plenty.”

“diluc,” you murmur, voice softer this time, “thank you for saving me. for always saving me.”

“of course,” he swallows thickly, “i will always come to rescue you. i promise.”

“and i love you for it,” you confess, just barely audible, “i always have. since before i knew what love meant.”

even in the dark shadows of the dim corner he has you pressed against, light breaks over his face as he smiles, so charming, so boyish, you think he’s reverted back to the boy you met when you were so young.

“and i have always loved you,” he whispers, leaning down and kissing you one more time, just to remind himself how you feel, “you taught me what love means.”

oh i miss mondstadt and the winery and my first joy of genshin 🥹 diluc the man that you are. you have not gone forgotten in my mind i promise

[gutterfuuck]

Can I request a mark drabble w/ breeding kink 👉👈 I'd love either bff mark or sinister mark but if you go the sinister route can I be a bit of a coward and ask that he be a little. Softer. Maybe specifically for the reader bc I am a little pansy and I get unrealistically offended when I'm condescended or treated like property, and while it would be hot if this man talked down to me I would also be inclined to punch him in the baby maker and then we'd all suffer bc no smut would ensue 😭

Sorry, I just dumped a bit of unwarranted baggage on u there but you come off as really sweet in all your posts so I hope it didn't bother you too much! Thank you for all of your posts btw your writing is delicious! Also your English is very good, you have a great grasp of the language and I respect and appreciate all the effort you must put into making all of your writing so articulate. English especially is said to be very hard to learn so I immensely respect the effort that goes into it, regardless of any/how much help you require/accept to do so. Manifesting a mild inconvenience to that anon a while back who accused you of faking for some reason I hope they step on a wet kitchen tile while wearing socks or something and rethink how they choose to speak to people online. 😊♡

hello anon!! thank you so much for your considerations, maybe it is because i am emotional since i get very choked up when it is birthday season but this had made me cry happy tears 😭😭 also, i agree!! if anyone was to talk to me like i am disposable in real life, i think that i would break down and disintegrate haha!! it is not cowardly to ask for things, do not be swayed!! baggage is never unwanted here, i am the baggage 😂!! i will do the upmost of my best ability, as i have been waiting to write for s!mark again 🤭🤭 also, i do agree people should be more mindful about what they say to others! you never know what anyone is going through, just because you can hide behind a screen mask doesn’t mean you should or can be mean to people!! i do not judge those who do though, they will learn as months and years pass, people do learn and change!!

cw: mdni, smut, breeding kink, just a little drable to warm up my fingers hehe!! minor injury, reader patches him up

you could hear your husband come crashing through the juliet balcony of your bedroom, bumping into the bed and waking you up fully. you bolted up, scanning the darkness of the room and staring at the silhouette of your lover, crouched over in the shadows. “mark?” you peep, eyes still adjusting as you clicked on the bedside lamp, your eyes instantly closing when the brightness took you by surprise.

he looks back at you, pulling his mask with its flimsy broken black goggles off of his face and discarding it to the floor with a heavy sigh. mark always found it so cute how you’d gasp with your hands flying to cover your mouth when he returned with an injury, your worried eyes looking him over as you jump out from under the covers, hands flying up to cover his cheeks and observe his cut nose bridge, one of his eyes squinted due to the budding bruise on his upper cheekbone, “gonna nurse me back to health, baby?” he asks, smiling down at you and placing a kiss to your forehead. he listens to you lecture him about being careful when visiting other planets, rolling his eyes like he’d really just die like that. you knew he was tough, but it didn’t hurt to be concerned.

he sits on the side of the bathtub in the bathroom, tilting his face to the side so you could rub his injuries down with antiseptic solution, mumbling something about how he was still half human so he still had to be a little careful. he didn’t know how many times he’d had to tell you that even though he was still half human everything else was 100% brutal alien. each time he told you, you ignored it. maybe you liked patching him up, placing cute bandages on his face to stop his bleeding. he was hardly injured but he’d be damned if he didn’t let his cute little wife dote on him like this, the sleeves of your fluffy gown he’d bought home for you rolled up your arms as you fiddle with the first aid kit.

“y’know what’d me me feel better?” mark says, taking your hands into his. god, he could just crush you right now, you were so adorable. you hum in response, intertwining your fingers with his as he brings them to his lips, trailing kisses up your arm and pulling you closer, inching towards you slowly. your mouth hangs open with a breathless silent mewl as his lips stop just by your jawline, finding it hard to hold himself back from nipping your skin and marking you up. you nod at his earlier question which draws a chuckle from him, hands moving down to grip your hips and pull you onto his lap, “let’s go to bed, then.”

you’ve got your face in the crook of his neck, holding onto his back as he pistoned his hips in and out of your tight heat, never being shameful of your moans. music to his ears, he thought, letting you cry out so desperately into the night. if you had neighbours you’re sure they’d complain. he groaned when he felt you clench around him, muscled thighs stuttering for a moment as you suffocated his cock within your walls. “oh, babygirl-“ he tilts his head back, holding you firmly as your legs wrap around his waist, practically bouncing you up and down on his dick himself, “m-mark..-!” you squeal, voice raspy and throat dry when you feel him buck up into your g-spot, weeping head poking at it repeatedly, trying to pull your orgasm out of you. you whine loudly, holding onto him like you’d fall apart if you let go.

“shhh, s’okay, hold onto me like that, there we go.” mark comforts you, such a strange comparison from when he’s out causing mayhem to now. if those who opposed him were to see him right now, they’d think he’d be a different person. he was so soft with you, treated you like you were made of porcelain and you loved it. you were glad that you’d somehow tamed him in a way, molded him into your perfect husband as he made you into his perfect wife. domestic bliss.

you stifle your noises with his shoulder, softly biting on it as he snapped his hips up into yours vigorously, his own orgasm approaching hard and fast. you could feel the way his cock throbbed inside of you, the way he slowed his hips a little before trying to keep up his pace. “so tight, always so perfect n’ tight f’me, aren’t you?” you nod brainlessly into his shoulder and he coos at you, eyebrows furrowed together as he gasps lightly.

“i’m gonna cum, princess.” he says breathlessly, humping against you for his own orgasm, “inside…” you whisper to him and he almost loses it right there, almost falls over when he thinks about the implications it might have. “inside? yeah-fuck, gonna let me cum inside, just for me?” mark pants, pussydrunk figure caging you in under him as he chases his orgasm, “gimme a kid… f-fuck, gimme a baby, wanna make you a mama… g’na look so perfect— fuh-uck..!” he babbles, vision blanking as he cums inside of you, wave after wave of his warm seed spilling into your cunt, seeping into your womb. he canted his hips a few more times, almost fucking himself into overstimulation as he continued talking, “..gonna give me a mini me, huh? complete our little family?” he asks as you nod in agreement, too fucked out to even process what he’d said to you just now.

[achaoticeternal]

bewitched.

AEMOND TARGARYEN X FEM!READER

summary: more word has arrived to you regarding your husbands infidelity. as he returns to you, you present him with a choice.  word count: 2k warnings: drinking. strong language. angst. adultery. pain. a/n: see end of the piece for author’s note

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

choose your own ending...

— ending 1.

— ending 2.

— ending 3.

— ending 4.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“My lady,” Your chambermaid spoke from the doorway, returning with a fresh pitcher of wine as you had requested, “Should I see the children to bed?”

“Please do,” Your voice was soft, the words fragile in your solemn state.

“It might be best for you to rest, rather than await the return of Prince Aemond.”

Her words were gentle, simply advising you to take care of yourself. But the fires of hurt and betrayal were already lit. 

“What makes you believe that I am awaiting my husband?” With words more venomous than you intended, you bid her leave.

At the sound of the door shutting, you stood and moved toward the pitcher and chalice left idly by the fireplace. You poured the deep red liquid and lifted the cup to your lips, taking a generous gulp.  The dull burn allowed some relief to your heightened senses. But you also knew that the alcohol only added fuel to your fire. 

Rain began to pour over King’s Landing, softly thudding against the windows and stone of the castle walls. Usually, the rain would lull you to sleep, but it seemed the thunder of the skies only spurred you to continue drowning away the ache in your heart. Your eyes flickered over the second chalice that had been placed on the silver tray with your pitcher. It seemed that the servants expected Aemond to return to the Keep tonight. You were not sure if you wish for him to return or for him to drown in the heavy rains that poured from the sky. 

As if the fool perfectly timed you, you glanced out the window to see the silhouette of Vhagar descending toward the Dragon Pits. In a drunken frenzy, you pulled the curtain to cover it, instead, the velvet fabric came down at your harsh tug. 

The frustration would nearly boil over, but you did not allow the simple issues to push you over the threshold. As the Queen had often advised you, it was important that a lady bite her tongue and keep her composure even when she is by her lonesome. If someone saw the illusion of a proper lady shatter, it would be nearly impossible to recover from. She even revealed to you how she had come by this knowledge, sharing with you the events that occurred the night Aemond became the one-eyed prince.  

Swiftly, you moved back toward the fireplace, picking up the parcel that a raven had delivered directly to you just this morning. It appeared blank to the simple eye, but when you hovered the note over the fire, the message revealed itself. The contents of it were simple, but completely shattered something inside of you:

She is with child. 

Though the news had shocked you, the existence of the other woman did not. When Aemond and Daeron laid siege to Harrenhal and the Riverlands, word had traveled through the courts regarding the princes bedding other women. At the time, you had bit your tongue, excusing your husband’s infidelity as you convinced yourself it was just something he used to relieve his stress from battlefields. 

But even after the marches through the Riverlands were claimed to be successful and at an end, Aemond would sometimes fly off to Harrenhal. He would say that he was just ensuring the hold that the Greens had on the region, yet you never believed his lies. 

It was said that Harrenhal was cursed, blood mixed into the stone that built it. You believed the stories true after the great fire took the lives of Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin when you were a child yourself. But now a curse had attached itself to your husband and kept him crawling back to the towers of Harrenhal. 

The door cracked open, the hinges creaking as he entered, exhaustion painted over his face. Aemond was completely drenched, his hair now scrunched into waves rather than falling perfectly straight. Most of his leather overlayer had been discarded for the servants to see to, leaving him in a black tunic and pants with his riding boots.

It took him a few moments, but Aemond quickly came to realize that you were resting by the fire rather than fast asleep in your shared bed. 

“Should you not be sleeping, dear wife?” Aemond called out to you while readying himself to turn into bed. 

“Sleep has… escaped me recently,” You replied, eyes remaining on the fire. Only at his words did the nerves begin to spur inside you. How would he react when you told him? What would tomorrow bring? None of it really mattered, you supposed, as long as you didn’t allow your nerves to get the best of you. 

Now in his proper bedclothes, Aemond began to approach the fireplace. He noticed the half-empty pitcher of wine, slightly shocked that you were partaking this late at night. Usually, you would reserve yourself to only enjoying wine at dinners or feasts, not in your marriage chambers. His eye flickered to the second chalice that sat empty on the silver platter. His slender fingers reached to grasp it, “Would this cup be for me?”

You turned your head, looking between the pitcher and chalice but never into his eye, “The maid brought it with her, probably as a formality. No one expected you back tonight.”

Aemond’s brow furrowed at the tone you spoke with, and it caught the prince off guard when you returned your gaze to the fire rather than continuing to speak with him. He poured his own chalice with wine and allowed himself to enjoy it. He stayed in place, unwavering from his position as he looked down on you.

The air went still… the taste of the wine began to sour in his mouth. He sensed something to be out of place, yet he could not pinpoint it. Usually, you would be elated to see him, but recently you were far more reserved from your husband. Aemond was not sure if he should be upset or concerned, but did not ponder on the thought too much as he allowed himself to attend to his duties rather than his wife. 

With a sigh and a light cough to clear his throat, the prince finally spoke once more, “Come to bed…”

The pause settled again before your soft chuckle hung in the air. Quickly, you stood from your seated position and drowned the remainder of your chalice in one swig. You moved to the table and refilled your cup till the pitcher ran dry. Instead of crossing to your bed, you remained standing, only turned away from the man. This behavior caused Aemond to clench his jaw, subduing his urge to correct such disobedience. 

“Will you not come to bed with me?” Aemond summoned you again. 

Once more you chuckled at him, not sparing him any sort of look from you. Just the cruel chuckle of your acknowledgment. 

“Your husband demands—”

“My husband demands me of nothing,” You interrupted him, “And he would do well to find another bed to sleep in or find himself in tonight.”

At your words, Aemond crossed toward you, attempting to snatch the half-drunk chalice of wine from your hands, “It seems you have overindulged yourself. It would do you well to sleep before—”

“Before what? Before I continue to act out of turn?” With a fierce determination, your fingers clutched down onto the chalice so that Aemond could not separate it from you. Your words dripped with poison, “Or before you return to Harrenhal and bed the whore witch?”

At the mention of Alys, both you and Aemond let go of the goblet at the same time and simply watched it fall to the ground, red liquid covering the tile floors. 

“It would do you well not to speak of things you do not know or understand.”

“I understand it quite plainly that my husband is now an adulterer, just like his eldest brother and his damned uncle. It seems that disloyalty to marriage is quite a common trait among Targaryen men.”

Quickly, Aemond’s hand came to your throat, gripping the flesh to show how serious he was being, yet not hard enough to asphyxiate you, “Did you not understand my words before, my stupid little wife? It would do you well not to speak of things you do not know…”

“Oh? But I do know…” Your hands grabbed at his forearms, nails sinking into the flesh so that he would release you, “And it would do you well to learn just how smart your wife is…”

“I have known… I have known about Alys since your first rampage through the Riverlands. For moons, I remained confined to the Red Keep from your orders, and when they came to deliver news of you and your victories, I cheered. I still cheered when the maids told me the rumors between you and Alys, because I was grateful to the Seven that you were alive. Because I was still foolish enough to love you far more than you deserve.”

Tears threatened to spill over, but you swallowed them back. You would not allow Aemond the pleasure of your tears, only the fire of your anger. 

“She promised me security for my life and the lives of my men,” Aemond attempted to justify himself, “I could not risk it—”

“You could have offered her gold, offered her a title, or anything else besides your body! Instead, you break your vows. And you did not stop there, because you continue to fly back to Harrenhal whenever you desire the witch’s cunt to the point where your son and daughter could not even recognize you if they ever saw you!” You huffed out, scanning his face for any sign of emotion, anything at all.

“You have allowed your lust to overcome you, disappointing your wife, your mother, and the Seven. Worst of all, you shall now have your own bastard. At least this bastard will not be raised of the Street of Silk as your brother’s bastards have.”

“How did you know?” Aemond’s voice cracked while he asked the question, “How do you know she is pregnant?”

A smirk played on your lips at the question, “It seems that the Master of Whispers is a very devoted friend of the Queen, and with the Queen being your mother, she deemed it important enough to share the news with me, your faithful wife.”

His face went pale at the realization of how many people were aware of his infidelity. While Aemond remained silent, you twisted the knife deeper into his chest. You had been tortured with this knowledge for so long that you now enjoyed the pained expression on his face.

“I have always been good to you, devoted to you. Where others cowered from you, I loved you. Despite the warnings of your blood lust and deformity, I loved you and gave you two perfect children who study just as diligently as you once did. So while you found yourself in the arms of another woman, I tried not to curse your name and assure our children that all was well, even if their father would not be present for them. But now, I look at you like a curse upon my life. You have allowed yourself to be corrupted outside our marriage, and I can no longer offer you salvation for your selfishness…”

“What would you have me do?”

You laughed mockingly at his question. Instead of providing a proper answer, you only glared further into his good eye.

“Please,” Aemond gritted his teeth, hating that he allowed himself to beg an answer from you, “Just tell me what I should do!”

“I can not simply tell you what to do. That would be to easy - what lesson would you have learned?” You shook your head and a shuddering breath escaped you.

“You have to make a choice, Aemond,” Your hand gripped his wrist, forcing him to remain attentive to your words, “Either you atone for the sin your committed and the hurt you’ve caused or you reside in Harrenhal for the rest of your days…”

“This is a choice only you can make — a wife or a witch?”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

a/n: I am considering making a follow-up to this one-shot, a blurb about the outcome of the options that Aemond has... maybe...

[ronearoundblindly]

Some Steve for you to enjoy 🥰🫶🏻

Gurl, this f***ed me up! I wanted to try to make it a snippet of Item 107 or The Cinder King, but the muses were just like "you know what you need? emotional damage." So now here we have my first semi-legit period piece (which has zero useful era detail eh) and truly is just the carrier for skinny!Steve love. Hint: It's thirsty, smutty love with hardly any plot ANGST.

Hello and welcome to Lexi's most self-indulgent fic ever. It's got everything: crippling insecurities about my real-life stuff, horniness unmatched even if there were sex pollen shot directly into their faces, and everyone is touch-starved. \o/ Enjoy! WC probably close to 3k but idk because I'm too afraid to look back at it. *slams post button*

Turned away again, Steve "4F" Rogers steps out of the recruitment center to see you standing there, staring up at the posters promising glory.

People hustle around you, several even knocking into you, but you remain transfixed, invisible. You're clutching your purse like a lifeline.

Down one step, worn-through shoes barely hiding every seam in the cobblestone, Steve has to get closer because that's the direction of home and a lonely, empty apartment he can hardly afford. He has to pass by. He has to, but then he sees the amber light reflect on trails of tears down your cheeks.

He has to stop.

"Miss?" Steve clears his throat, his own arm smacked by a rowdy man who then swats at your ass just as Steve tries to get your attention again.

You jolt and turn to him in surprise, hand flying up to cover a sob, sweeping to wipe the evidence of emotion from your face.

Fast--faster than Steve really processes--he's shouting for the guy to apologize before the guy makes to advance, Steve presses himself between you and the asshole still laughing at disrespecting you, and then he--Steve--is getting shoved into the alley with you still at his back.

It's dusk. The alley is nearly black. Steve can hear you crying but he's slipped on the stones wet from an afternoon rain. He scrambles to right himself.

Amidst the cries, he hears grunts of anger and resistance, terror creeping into his chest as Steve thinks you're being assaulted.

"Piece of shit," you bite out. The silhouette of you hurling your bag at the man's face repeatedly is clear from where Steve crouches, backlit as you are by the movie theater marquee.

Then the guy is down on the ground, too, being stomped on by your two-inch heel. "Piece of fucking shit."

"Woah," Steve jumps forward to hold you back. "Woah, language, ma'am. Let's go. Just leave him."

He has a weak arm around your waist, but you kick at the man one more time for good measure, hissing "liar" before turning to follow.

Your hand in his, Steve hurries through the streets, picking the ones he knows are busier but maneuverable to make sure you're not being pursued. Each time he looks back, he sees your sinking face, more tears, more exhaustion, and he makes a flash decision.

He doesn't stop until he locks the door of his apartment behind you both, and you break down on the bare wood floor.

"You hurt? Did he hurt you?" Steve's boney knees land a few inches from yours and he leans over, his long fingers brushing over your pinned hair and stiff curls that dislodged in the commotion. "You're alright. You're safe here."

Where your legs crumple underneath you, your slip lays over your thigh, uncovered by the skirt pooling on the other side of your hip. He can see the outline of a garter strap and the top of your stocking beneath the silky material. Steve's always loved pretty, delicate things. He also loves the faint bulge of flesh around the restraints.

There's meat on your bones, something to hold onto, and he shakes his head, chastising himself for noticing all the wrong things about the crying woman in his home. His lonely, empty home.

Steve attempts to think of anything other than your body.

"Do you know him? What'd you call him a liar for?"

You sigh in defeat, hands flopping into your lap, and confess that it wasn't about him so much as a man not here anymore. Gone. To war. You tell Steve a rambling tale of excuses and snide comments, of a parting that left you wondering why that man--any man--bothered to be with you in the first place, of a surety that you weren't ever wanted.

"I thought he loved me but he lied."

Steve sits cross-legged in front of you now, enthralled and utterly confused. Why would anyone...?

"That's the worst part," you exclaim, voice cracking. "I don't know. I'll never know." Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your skirt. "I heard today that he died. Don't know where. Don't know when. And I hate that I still care."

"But he wasn't good to you," Steve soothes and wraps his hand around yours, "and he wasn't good for you."

All you do is shrug and hide your face. Tears falls to the fabric below your eyes and seep through in dark patches.

He scoots forward and lifts your chin with a gentle nudge. When your puffy red eyes meet his, he's struck by how lucky he feels to see you like this. It's odd to think someone who knew you more and for so much longer couldn't feel infinitely more attached and protective. You're so vulnerable, so open, so...

"You're beautiful." Steve's tongue swipes over his dry lips. "You're so beautiful."

The words are loaded heavier than tanks and pack the punch of a bomb. He can tell you don't truly hear him by the way you shrink and shake your head out of his hold.

"Don't do that," he pleads. "Please don't hide from me."

"You don't know me."

"No, but I--"

"You don't even know my name!"

He sits back and offers his hand.

"Hi, I'm Steve. It's nice to meet you, and I think you're beautiful."

"That's stupid," you lash out, bitterly spitting the half-hearted, heart-breaking words. "You must be an idiot, Steve."

It's not the first time he's heard it, but it is the first time he's not mad at hearing it. He believed those things, too, long ago, before his mom convinced him to see the possibilities in one's struggles. If you perceive it as an obstacle, it is an obstacle. Perceive it as an opportunity instead and use it. Those aren't her exact words, but Sarah Rogers has so many different ways of teaching the same fundamental lessons that Steve can't remember the phrases anymore.

He can remember the feeling. He remembers seeing both obstacles and opportunities.

"Is it stupid to want to touch you?" he whispers. "Because I would love to touch you."

The question is purposefully leading since he knows from your story that's exactly what you long for. It'll be more impactful if he shows you he longs for that too.

Slowly--so slowly--his hand comes up to your cheek again, his fingers tucking behind your neck.

"I don't want your pity." There's still bitterness but no power behind it. You gently shift closer and meet him halfway.

He's kissed girls before, he's fooled around, and he has, in fact, slept with one girl. They went all the way--twice--which means Steve knows what it is to be pitied intimately. He knows what it's like to want something so badly you don't care what the motivation is.

You deserve to know his motives.

"I don't pity you." His focus falls to your quivering lip. "I want to make you happy." He's close. He's so close his breath rolls warm over your face. "I want to make you smile."

A soft whimper leaves you just as his mouth arrives.

"I want you," he says into the kiss.

Instead of fighting, you grab at his jacket, pulling him until you're both falling into the stand lamp. You taste of salt and something sweet he can't put his finger on. Steve resolves to put that on the list of things to find out about you.

He keeps kissing you as you both fall, the lamp now wedged at an angle by the side table. Despite the tangle of tongues, Steve keeps his hands to himself. He doesn't quite have enough answers.

"What do you want, beautiful?"

Hesitant as he pulls away, gripping worn leather like your purse in the street, your eyes dart between his. You're a dream beneath him, but that sounds too selfish to voice.

"May I..." Steve is already panting "...get you off the floor? More comfortable?"

Maybe you haven't been able to say the words, but Steve doesn't need more convincing to know you want him.

He could tell from the way you pawed at him. He could tell from the multiple times you crashed him into the walls along the hall to makeout more. He could tell from the way you melted like hot butter at his every returned touch, but finally, you two made it to his bed.

He'd be embarrassed by the lumpy old thing if there weren't a curvy, luscious dame standing with wide legs at the foot of it, letting his tie slip through your hands as he sits stunned.

Steve swallows thickly.

"Let me see you." It comes out as more of an order than the hopeful question he intended, but when he sees the command shiver through you, he feels six-foot-six and powerful as all hell.

You two share the burden of unbuttoning all of your layers, spinning you a few times to release front and back and side to side. His hands spread and roam to relish each garment, each moment, until you're top half is naked.

He stares, fierce blue irises muted by the dim light on his bedside table, 'beautiful' on his lips every second you spend with your finger yanking the knot of his tie and sliding off the bond. When you lean to pop his shirt buttons, your breasts hang in his face.

Steve stops you by your wrists, peaking up at you through his long lashes as he takes a nipple in his mouth. He keeps thinking it--beautiful--while his tongue sweeps flat across pebbling flesh. Each subsequent swirl has you melting again, pressing more of you to his face, dragging nails up his chest, sighing long and deep. When he switches to the other side, your fingers bury in his hair. He takes his time to worship you, tracing his own fingertips around the hem of your slip and garters.

He doesn't get impatient, if anything Steve feels greedy for wanting more, for praying this lasts forever, for needing all you're willing to give.

His teeth graze your skin in wanton lust, and you flinch in surprise, knocking you off-balance.

You fall to your knees on the mattress, straddling Steve's slender body beneath your hot core.

"Sorry," you mutter, wriggling to stand, forcing Steve to wrap his arms around you and halt your retreat. "I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you."

"You can sit on me morning, noon, and night," he rasps. "I won't complain. I'll thank you, beautiful."

He groans pathetically when you relax, the grind of your ass making his slacks pinch tighter and tighter. Steve lets his head fall back on the sheets, eyes fluttering shut. The army might not want him, the world outside may forget he ever existed, but you see. He could get addicted to this feeling. He might get lonely without it.

Steve isn't strong enough to keep hold of you, but your weight never leaves, his erection still slotted between your cheeks. His mouth drops wide when your hips roll. Steve whines when you rise up enough to resume unbuttoning him. His lungs and heart go into overdrive, but even so, Steve doesn't want you doing all the work.

He flips you--using the sum total of his strength--and shuffles backward to stand, ripping the tails of his shirt from beneath his belt and shucking off his trousers. That part he could have been more patient for, but Steve smirks and brushes away the hair falling in his eyes, chest heaving from exertion.

He's pleased to see you watching him, ogling his body without judgment. You look like you want to eat him alive, and he is perfectly fine with that.

His palm lands on your knee to sneak higher beneath your slip, nimble fingers popping the clasps along your stockings and hooking through the band of your underwear. You lifting for him is all the permission he needs. Steve leaves your slip, garter belt, and stockings in place, and in a cheeky twist, he lets your underwear hang off one of your ankles, kissing your inner thigh, pushing your knees wider for him to fit.

He throbs in his boxers at the sight of your sex.

Nerves roil in his belly at the idea he is solely responsible for your pleasure. As he glances up to you, propped up on your elbows with a fearful and expectant gaze, he sees a poster promising honor and glory, a service to be proud of, and for the first time, he has doubts.

You see it in his eyes.

"Steve?"

He wants to participate and show that he's worthy of you.

This isn't about him though, and Steve Rogers is nothing if not dedicated anyone other than himself.

"Right here." He snaps back to reality, laying his hand to your thatch of hair and gently teasing his thumb along your folds. "I'm right here, beautiful."

It's an honor to touch you. He's proud of the moan elicited because he strokes over your clit rhythmically. The glory of watching you writhe is all his.

Steve's breath stays rapid as yours picks up. You're fisting the sheets, slick pooling beneath the pad of his thumb, helping him pick up speed. He dips into you, tests the breach while pushing his boxers down, and crawls over the edge of the bed. Like magnets, you guide each other higher till the pillows cradle you.

You're a broken record, repeating a desperate loop.

"Steve," you whimper.

"Won't ever lie to you." He captures your lips again. "Want you so badly. I'll want you all the time."

Steve doesn't understand why you won't talk to him, so he slows, eyes questioning and brow furrowed. You have to see. The light is right there.

Bottom lip trapped, you still say nothing, but your arms raise to his smooth face and plead in the silence.

He wants the same thing. He wants to feel. Not just the sting of rejection. Not just the slippery, rough stones through his shoes. Not just the empty ache inside. He wants to feel like someone cares whether he lives or dies.

You care even when you don't want to, but Steve can earn you, your care, your smile and your tears. He'll get up and come home to you every time. He needs you to come home to.

Otherwise, this is a lonely, empty apartment. Otherwise, he is a lonely, empty man.

Your hands bring him close, lips pausing just before contact while Steve sinks two fingers into you.

You gasp. His fingers curl. His thumb goes back to work. You kiss him with what little breath you can hold between muted cries until Steve notices your roving hands tug at his waist.

He wants the same thing.

Sitting back on his heels, Steve drapes your thighs over his, his slick fingers spreading you. He's mesmerized watching his cock disappear inch by inch, and the caress of your walls shuts down all other brain function. All he can do is slide against you, bent into your soft body, your breasts padding his jerky thrusts, the base of him perfectly laving the hood of your clit in the growing mess.

You're wet, and he's driven wild by the need to make you come. He tries to sit up again, to play with you properly, but he's stopped by the weight of your legs crossed behind his ass, the strength of your thighs anchoring him in place.

Steve takes huge, deep breaths through his nose because he won't last concentrating on how your body bounces and ripples, plush beneath his boney form.

You get wetter, looser in a welcoming way that spurs him to drive himself home faster. He sucks in air, though it's futile once his heavy balls start to seize.

Suddenly, you shout, stretching to push yourself completely flush with his pelvis, and he has to pull out, keeping aligned with the cut of you as aftershocks make you mindlessly hump him. Steve's cum shoots all over his belly and your chest, some drops dampening what clothes he didn't discard, stains of joy replacing stains of sadness.

His chest might explode. He's gasping, taxed beyond his naughtiest dreams, head lolling toward the ceiling with his throat high.

He feels your legs fall away, and Steve hopes for an instant that you embrace him even though he might suffocate in the process.

The envelopment never comes. The world is fuzzy and too warm beyond him.

He hears the sink in his bathroom turn on just as he lands palms-down on sweaty sheets. He tries every trick he knows to calm down. The water still runs after all the time it takes for him to recover and stand. The closer he gets to the doorway, the clearer the sound really is.

Sobbing.

"Beautiful? What's wrong? Did I--"

The faucet squeaks off, and you barrel out, nearly running him over, your arms covering your chest and your disheveled hair hiding your face.

"What are you doing? Are you cold?" Steve tries.

"I'm disgusting," you hiss in a mad dash for the pile of clothes on the floor.

He trips over his feet to stop you, corralling you as best he can, but you're quick. You certainly have fight in you. Steve only want to show you you do not have to fight him.

"Come back to bed," he commands hopefully, grabbing your wrist as you scoop up your wrinkled dress. "I should clean up, but please, please, come back to bed."

There is something broken and fearful in the way you finally meet his eye. He's torn apart, shredded down to nothing in a single look. That's not how a feral animal sees the world; that's how an animal, abused and betrayed, locks the world out.

Your protection is what you really took off for him. Your thick armor is what Steve got past.

"I didn't lie." He lets go of you and steps back as calm as his rasping breaths can manage. "I want you. I want you to stay." He wonders whether he ought to cover himself, too, because perhaps total vulnerability makes you more nervous.

So he presents himself as an opportunity, not an obstacle.

Steve finds his boxers a foot away and says one more time, "I hope you stay."

Unmoving, your eyes follow his walk to the bathroom, and in the split second he's looking down to turn the tap, you're gone.

Disappointment floods his system, but like all the other stamped failures in his record, Steve goes through the motions of caring for a body that thwarts his desire to live at every turn. In fact, it tries to die so often, he's always surprised to find himself here, staring at this mirror again, wondering why he gets back up.

He's also surprised to find you here, in the bed with the sheet pulled up to your chin, nodding to the side table where you've placed a cup of water.

The tiniest of genuine smiles curves your lips.

Steve's home is neither lonely nor empty anymore. He could cry.

A/N: this got so incredibly out of hand... I'm so sorry. But also, thank you for reading!

Tags: @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn

@late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries

@rogersbarber @blogbog710 @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads

[missriyochuchi]

The Torchbearer and the Flagbearer

Summary: The Torchbearer and the Flagbearer meet in the Jardin des Tuileries after the Opening Ceremony and commiserate about the Olympic Games.

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: Established relationship. Mentions of death.

Notes: I imagined these two like otherworldly beings blessing the games, what with the Olympics being invented by ancient Greeks as a partly religious event. As such, I would have preferred to keep them gender neutral, but because I’m writing this in a pinch and want to be able to distinguish between them without constantly using their names, I opted for gendered pronouns. But nothing about their physical descriptions are particularly gendered; I’m just leaning on the old linguistic quirk lol Also, how tf is there no video of the Flagbearer!? I wanted to gif her/their entrance but couldn’t find a damn thing! She/They deserves more love!

Read on AO3 - Part 2 - Part 3

Darkness cloaks the Jardin des Tuileries. Even the cauldron floating above its center offers little illumination on the ground. Shadows play along the perimeter, tourists passing in the midnight hour, their idle conversations lost to the humid air. The soft patter of rain echoes across the masonry scattered throughout the empty park. Only the occasional creak of metallic plates and restless hoofbeats betray the garden’s solitary visitors.

The Flagbearer looks up at the orange orb in the sky. She marvels at the city’s ingenuity. Decades of oil and gas have finally given way to an electric fire. Only with such technological advancements could engineers even dream of safely flying the eternal flame above the City of Lights. If only the future was as assuredly bright, the Flagbearer thinks. Her gaze drifts back down to the darkness below, the surrounding chill creeping back into her senses. Her horse stirs beneath her and jostles her mind back to the present.

“Easy, Zeus,” she murmurs as she presses her legs to the animal’s sides in an attempt to soothe both their anxieties. “Patience.”

No Olympic Games are ever truly free of political problems, an inevitability of any gathering between disparate peoples, but they weigh heavier on the Flagbearer’s mind now more than ever. Her part in the Opening Ceremony is small but significant, and though she spends less time among the crowds than her eternal counterpart, she catches enough to gauge that tensions are higher than ever before. The darkness of the night seems to encroach and bleed into the darkness in her mind as she ponders human history and her role in it. Before her resolve could lurch under the gravity of her thoughts, the light crunch of gravel announces his arrival.

“You are late,” the Flagbearer intones harshly. She steers her steed to turn around and face the approaching footsteps.

Enough ambient light creeps across the park to distinguish the Torchbearer’s silhouette, catching on the gauzy pieces of his attire bobbing in the breeze. His stride is sure, his stature straight, betraying neither weariness nor arrogance. Only a few meters away, he shrugs and raises his palms out at his sides, teasing, “I did not have a ride.”

The Flagbearer is unmoved but in no mood to quarrel. “How are you, my love?” Her voice floats soft and light through the misty drizzle.

“Exhausted.” His shoulders slump fractionally, perceptible only to his eternal flame facing him. “And you?”

“Concerned.”

The Torchbearer reaches for the horse’s muzzle and runs a familiar hand along his nose. “I hope you are not as troubled as your rider, mon joli cheval.” Zeus bows his long head and huffs in response. His palm runs along the animal’s left flank, lifting once he reaches the Flagbearer’s side. He extends both hands to her gloved ones and helps her to the ground.

“What ails my sweet?” He pinches her chin.

She hums and takes one of his hands in both of hers, squeezing hard enough to convey her worry. “In all our years shepherding these games, did you ever know the atmosphere to be this—”

“I know. The world is—”

“Restless.”

“Yes, and—”

“Not at peace.”

“Never has been, my love.”

“I do not remember it ever being this—”

“Your worries are not unfounded, cherie, but you must redirect your attention elsewhere.”

They circle the base beneath the cauldron, hand in hand. Zeus follows close behind, his reins tied to the saddle. While the nightlife bustles beyond the park’s pocket of silence, the few security guards on duty watch the hooded figures from a distance.

Event organizers had explicitly and numerously instructed personnel not to approach or engage with the Torchbearer and Flagbearer. They were both host and blessing to the festivities, and decades of tradition dictated that a respectful, neutral distance be maintained between the host nation and the two Olympic guardians so that there would be no suspicion of impropriety or favoritism during competition.

The Flagbearer recoils, incredulous. “How can you be so indifferent to the violence and rhetoric—”

“I am surprised that between the two of us, you, in your glittering armor, are the first to lose hope and declare defeat.”

“I have not!” She stops them in their orbit and shoves his hand back to his side.

The Torchbearer laughs. He crooks a finger under her chin and raises her gaze. She sighs and closes her eyes as the backs of his fingers graze her cheek. Her hands come up to open and press his palm to the side of her face, his pressure more than his warmth a soothing balm to her inner turmoil. Her voice is low and leaden when she continues.

“I merely wonder if the gods have not tasked us with an impossible mission.”

The Torchbearer falls silent as he contemplates the Flagbearer’s concerns. She did not interact with humans as much as he did, a natural consequence of their separate roles. While the Olympic torch exchanged hands with every kind of man and woman, the Olympic flag exchanged hands with a significantly select few. As a result, the Flagbearer’s opinion of humanity often leaned towards the optimistic while the Torchbearer’s leaned towards the pessimistic. He had come to know, better than she, the complexities of human nature, their heavenly highs and their hellish lows. They spent decades arguing about the tenuous balance. Now, as he watches his partner’s shoulders sag with the weight of the world, he finds himself despondent that she seems poised to concede to his viewpoint and knows it, knows that she lost this one important battle. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and guides their walk away from the cauldron.

“Plus vite, Plus haute, Plus fort.” The Torchbearer rattles off the Olympic motto.

“Citius, Altius, Fortius, my dear. Latin may be dead, but it is still your mother tongue.”

“‘Ensemble.’ C’est la partie importante. And that is precisely what they are doing and continue to do.”

“But for how long? We do not have a future if they do not, and my darling, I do not see—”

“We cannot predict the future any more than humans can. It is none of our concern. The gods will take care of us.”

“The gods have abandoned us, just as the humans have abandoned them.” The Flagbearer catches the ice in her voice and does her best to warm her vitriol. “We do not exist outside these games, my love. And if these games end, if the world can find no purpose to these communal competitions—”

Silence. The specter of death looms large in their periphery. Every Closing Ceremony marks the end of their days on Earth, a return to a darkness beyond darkness. And every two years, they are reborn and reimagined back into existence to inspire and perform and protect the Olympic Games. Despite the constancy of this cyclical event, the eternal guardians find humans increasingly less hospitable to the ideals they represent. What is sportsmanship to a world where even the rules of war no longer hold?

“Steel your heart as this city has steeled your form.” The Torchbearer steps close enough for the edge of his hood to kiss hers. “The next host cities have been decided, their venues under construction. We still have a future. There is no reason to despair.”

“For now.”

“For now.” He sighs at her obstinacy, but knows not to push further or risk wasting precious moments on a fruitless fight. “In the meantime, the games have begun, and we do not have much time together.”

A smirk plays beneath the Flagbearer’s hood. She perks up at her partner’s motives. “Sixteen days is not enough to spend with you.” She steps closer and brings her forehead to his. She squeezes his biceps, and he rubs her elbows in return. They exchange breaths for a moment of eternity.

“Come.” The Torchbearer takes her hands and swings her in circles. Their laughs echo as they near the horse. “Much of the city has changed since we were last here, and you will not see them if you continue to sulk beneath the cauldron.”

The Flagbearer mounts Zeus and extends an arm to help the Torchbearer take a seat behind her. He presses his front to her back, unbothered by her damp cape. He slides his arms along either side of her waist and rests his hands atop hers on the horn of the saddle. The horse ambles forward towards the city streets.

Buoyed by the Torchbearer’s embrace, the Flagbearer regains a sliver of her hope and optimism. “The Italians will call on us next. Perhaps we will meet a changed world by then.”

“We always do. I wonder what forms they have planned for us.”

“I quite like this form on you, my dear. The cut of your jacket complements you well.”

“As does this armor on you, mon amour.” His hands find the edge of her cuirass and sneak nimble fingers to the suit underneath.

She giggles at the light pressure below her ribcage. “I will miss hearing you speak this city’s language.”

The Torchbearer tightens his hold on the Flagbearer, impressing his being into hers. “You worry about community and forget that we are in the City of Love.”

“Paris is not the world, my dear.” They sway in sync as Zeus carries them towards the edge of the garden.

“Perhaps, but the Olympic Village is, or at least, as close an approximation as the humans are capable of producing. If it is unity you seek, we will surely find a certain kind—”

“You said you were exhausted.” Amusement lightens the Flagbearer’s tone, her heavy mind now fizzy with thoughts of the Torchbearer’s amorous intentions.

“Never enough to deter me from you.” He presses his chin to her shoulder, his words vibrating down the expanse of her armor. “Would you waste the energy of the players’ liaisons?”

Her hood whips to the side as he squeezes the unarmored flesh of her upper thigh. Before she can answer, he takes the reins and brings Zeus to a gallop towards the Olympic Village.

“No more talk,” he heaves with urgency. “I need you before the sun rises and our duties begin again.”

Footnotes:

mon joli cheval - my pretty horse cherie - dear Plus vite, Plus haute, Plus fort (French) / Citius, Altius, Fortius (Latin) - Faster, Higher, Stronger ‘Ensemble.’ C’est la partie importante. (French) - ‘Together.’ That is the important part. mon amour - my love

“The 100% electric flame burns no fuel. The ring of fire uses 40 LED spotlights to illuminate the cloud created by 200 high-pressure misting nozzles.” (source)

According to the engineers who built the mechanical horse, its name is Zeus.

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

Wary Sailor Pt. 2 | Matthew Joy x fem!reader

summary: Second Mate Matthew Joy goes out on a whale hunt and even after a successful chase, he can't seem to feel satisfied. Something's weighing heavily on his mind. While alone in the harpoon boat, trouble comes to call.

warnings: Aiming a gun at someone, talk of violence, smut, oral (F receiving), penetration, dubious consent (weird circumstances), unprotected sex, Matthew's abandonment issues lol.

word count: 2763k+

Tucumcari- Goodnight, Texas 🎶

Lady May- Tyler Childers 🎵

Note: The lyrics that I included are from the old whaling song Maid of Amsterdam.

*Pt. 3 (and maybe 4???) coming soon!

The men were deployed into the smaller whaling boats, each boat armed with a harpoon and dense cord. Matthew stood at the back of his boat to steer it away from the ship, navigating the aggravated water. He forced himself to think about the whales, keeping his mind inside the boat… but the girl’s eyes appeared like stars in the corner of his vision at all times. 

“Joy!” One of the rowers was yelling at him, snapping him out of his trance. “Joy, focus! Don’t go soft on us all of a sudden, eh?” 

Matthew grimaced as the grisly sailor chuckled. He steered them out to open water, following the Captain's boat as per his orders. While he couldn’t see their bodies in the water, Matthew could hear the loud vibrations of sound the Sperm whales made as they spoke to one another. He could also hear Owen yelling out commands to his men. The harpoonist prepared his weapon. Matthew directed his man to do the same. 

“Steady now!” He advised his men as they waited for movement below the surface. Striking the whale was simple compared to the rest of the exhausting process. Matthew just planned on keeping his men alive but whale oil was also a necessity that he was willing to sacrifice for. He wasn’t a greedy man by any means, he’d lived in poverty all his life. His life was whaling and he didn’t spend much time off the ocean, the stillness made him restless. 

“There she blows!” A man yelled and Matthew peered over the edge as the side of his boat rose out of the water, stuck on the back of an adolescent whale. As he looked over, the distinct silhouette of a woman wavered beneath the surface. Choosing to ignore it, Matthew swung the boat over to allow the harpooner to cast his weapon. 

“Go, go, go!” He barked, spit flying from his mouth as he waved the man on. The harpoon sailed through the sky, landed in the water like a seabird, and missed. The whale diverted away from Matthew’s boat and found itself trapped beside Owen’s. The mother whale broke the surface nearby, distracting the men to the real prize. Matthew steered his boat away as the other men helped reel in the harpoon’s cord. The harpooner aimed and threw. 

…

It was evening when the whale was secured by chains to the deck of the ship. The whale was so large she had to rest in two different places, one on the ship’s deck and the other in Matthew’s boat. The men aboard wrapped rags around their noses to cover the smell. Matthew just grimaced and rubbed the sockets of his eyes. The darkening landscape helped relieve some of his headache. The other men were already aboard the Essex, only he was left to watch over the end of the whale, saving it from sharks and other predators. He could hear the men singing as they did their work, scraping the fat from the inside of a giant. He hummed along to the song they were singing together.

A roving, a roving

Since roving's been my ru-i-in

I'll go no more a roving

With you fair maid! 

Movement in the water drew his mind away from the song. Ripples expanded across the surface where something had just been. Matthew drew his rifle from the floorboards and checked the chamber for bullets. He watched the surface carefully for the distinct fins of sharks. 

I put my hand upon her thigh

Mark well what I do say!

I put my hand upon her thigh

She said young man ‘That’s rather high’

I'll go no more a roving with you fair maid!

Matthew cocked the gun and aimed it at the dark water around his boat. The men’s singing seemed to dissipate with the seriousness of his situation. Sharks could be both dangerous and damaging. The scent of whale blood always drew them in, sending them into a frenzy where they could throw themselves against the side of the boat, risking damage. They were a nuisance to Matthew and he didn’t mind shooting them when necessary. The boat rocked in the waves and he steadied himself. 

“Are you going to use that on me, Matthew Joy?” The voice behind him startled a gasp from his lips. He swung the rifle around, aiming it at the same face he’d seen hours before. 

“You…” he whispered, keeping his rifle trained on her throat. Her eyes were the same green as before, only this time he could see them more clearly. The sun had fully set but colors remained in the sky above her head, bloody purples and such. He couldn’t see her body below the water but he saw that her shoulders were bare save the scattered pearls stuck to her skin like freckles. 

“Are you going to shoot me?” She whispered back, her face inches from the barrel of the rifle. He licked his lips before speaking.

“Where… where did you go? You disappeared…” he muttered darkly, flicking his eyes up to the deck where his crewmates continued to work. He was alone with the girl. 

“I had to see what you were like,” she offered a small smile. Matthew adjusted the way he held the gun, still aimed at her. 

“You asked me if I believed in Sirens…” Matthew remembered warily, his eyes trailing over the pearls across her chest. Her dark hair rested behind her shoulders, down her back. 

“Do you?” She asked and reached up her hands slowly, holding the edge of the small boat. He stared at her, his breath clouding the metal scope on his gun. 

“Is that what you are?” He asked finally and the girl smiled once again. 

“Is it quite shocking?” She teased and bit her lip timidly. 

“Well… yes,” Matthew exhaled and raised his eyebrow, “I thought they were only in stories. They weren’t real… Why didn’t you sing?”

The girl cocked her head to the side. The air felt heavy between them as he waited for her response. His body was confused and frightened, something he’d rarely felt before. His instinct and desire clashed, strengthening the opposing forces within him.  

“I don’t want to kill you,” she answered honestly, “we sing to kill.” 

Matthew lowered his gun and nodded, breathless. 

“You had legs. You didn’t look… ” He ran a shaky hand through his hair and ran his hand over his mouth. He could see the top of her fin break through the water. It was a beautiful silver color and her scales were shiny and iridescent. 

“I wanted to see how you would treat me. I disguised myself as a human girl and you treated me gently.”

“What do you want from me? You had to keep me alive for some reason,” Matthew sat down on a plank of seating and rubbed the waterducts of his eyes. 

“Nothing more than just to know you. I’ve watched your crew from the sea for weeks. You are a good, kind man.” 

Matthew looked up from between his fingers and exhaled slowly, lowering his guard only slightly. 

“Then what does this mean? How do you want to… know me?” He furrowed his brow and sat back once again on the plank of wood. Her hands tipped the boat slightly so that she could come a little closer to the sailor. 

“Come closer, please…” she whispered and rose onto her elbows, her face a few inches from Matthew’s. Matthew stared at her lips, rosey pink and plump. She smelled like sea salt and clean things. Ever so slowly, Matthew closed the distance between them, his eyes staying on her lips. 

“Y/N…” He tried to restrain himself as he whispered but eventually, as she stared up at him with her beautiful curtained eyes, he kissed her. It had been years since he’d actually kissed a woman. Kissing was so different than fucking. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed it, the softness of it. Her hands inched up his blouse, beneath his overcoat, grabbing at his lapels. His hands found the sharp edges of her jaw, meeting her mouth with a more fervent kiss. She tasted lightly of salt, like seaspray against rocks. He devoured her flavor as though it were precious, forbidden. He twisted his fingers into her hair that felt dry despite being in the water, moaning against her lips. 

“In what other ways do you want to know me?” He muttered against her lips, his eyes closed. Her fingers ran over his neck, down to the dip between his collarbones. 

“I want to know every part of you,” she smiled and moved away, allowing the light from the deck to illuminate her figure below him in the water. Matthew hid a choked sigh as his eyes trailed over her body below the waves. Her body was decorated with pearls and scraps of white cloth. Instead of a tail, she now had two legs that beat the water to keep her afloat. 

“Will you take me into your boat?” She asked softly and Matthew nearly forgot to respond, caught in a state of disbelief. He cleared his throat and scooped his hands beneath her arms, pulling her into the boat in one movement. Standing above him on two legs, she looked even more beautiful than she had hours earlier. He could see the buds of her nipples through the white fabric, surrounded by pearls and strands of seaweed. Her cunt was hidden behind a swath of wet fabric but he could still see the dark shape of pubic hair. He looked back up at her face, his lips having fallen apart in amazement. The Siren laughed softly and carded her fingers through his hair, pulling his head back slightly as she did. 

“Lay me down,” she requested and smiled when he immediately wrapped his hands around her waist and flipped her over where she could lie flat on the bottom of the harpoon boat. The planks were far enough away to give him space to kneel above her. He supported himself above her, studying the contours of her body, plump and full. She twisted her fingers through his hair again and pulled him close so she could whisper in his ear. 

“Now make love to me, Matthew Joy.” 

…

He was already hard when she cupped her hand against his pants. It had been a while since he’d slept with a woman after months at sea. His body ached as badly as if he were a teenage boy again, not an aging man. He was throbbing as he moved the fabric on her cunt aside and lowered his head between her thighs. Looking up at her, he ran his tongue against her, tasting her. She hummed and shook with nerves. 

A roving, a roving

Since roving's been my ru-i-in

I'll go no more a roving

With you fair maid!

Feeling emboldened by her reaction, Matthew licked her again and rubbed his nose against her clit. She was wet against his tongue and he licked his lips greedily. His cock started to throb as she whimpered and moaned beneath his mouth. Her hand pulled tightly at his hair but he loved the pain and worked his mouth harder into her cunt. 

“Now, please now!” She begged him as she started to shake with pleasure. Taking the hint, Matthew undid his trousers and pushed them down to his knees. His face was still wet with her precum as he pulled out his cock and inserted himself quickly. She spasmed around him, her hands moving to grip the sides of the boat for leverage. His thighs clenched as he thrusted into her, his eyes almost rolling to the back of his head. He leaned closer to her chest and rocked into her neck as he fucked her. 

“Oh you don’t know how long it’s been, love,” he sighed against her neck. “Is it ok?”

She nodded emphatically and pulled him closer by the back of his jacket, moving him deeper inside her. They both gasped out. He pulled his face away to watch her, still fucking her. 

“Beautiful. Pretty pretty creature you are,” he praised her as he trailed a finger down her cheek. Her thighs bounced against his as he pulled her legs around his waist. The boat shook around them. He slipped his tongue around the mound of her breast beneath the cloth, making more moans escape the girl’s mouth. He slipped the fabric aside with one finger and looking up to watch her face, he pressed his mouth around a nipple and sucked. Immediately, her body pulled into his, her back arching off the curved bottom. 

I'll go no more a roving

With you fair maid!

“Matthew…” she gasped as her muscles tightened and her bare feet flexed. He rolled his tongue around her nipple while his hand moved to hold her neck lightly, supporting her head. She cried out silently, her eyes screwed shut as if she were in pain. He dragged his tongue along her sternum to her neck and sucked at the flesh there. Her breathing evened out and she pulled his face to hers once again. 

“Do what you want with me. Get what you need from me,” the seriousness of her command sent a spasm of pleasure into his cock, still inside her. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes. I want you to use me,” she whispered and spread her legs farther. Matthew looked at her for a second before smiling. 

“Fuck, love. I think I’ll fall in love with you,” he chuckled softly and brushed his hand across her cheek. 

“And so what if you do, sailor? Hasn’t everyone else done the same at some point?” 

Matthew raised an eyebrow and kissed her, dragging her hands out above her head. Pressing her hands down into the boat, he began to thrust slowly into her, his hips still rebounding off of her pelvis. 

“You’re going to stay right here, Y/N. I don’t want to lose you again.” 

The girl smiled and broke into a moan as he shortened his thrusts, keeping himself as far inside her as he could. He went slowly so he could feel the orgasm clearly as it came over him, making his cock feel swollen with seed. Her hips shook wildly as she began to lose control over her orgasms. He watched her orgasm and released a wave of contractions around him. Smiling, he finally began to speed up as she whimpered beneath him.

“Fuck, yes… fuck… yes!” He muttered breathlessly as he felt his cock start to twitch before his orgasm. She tightened around him, pulling him deeper and drawing a guttural groan from his throat. His shoulders shook with effort as he allowed his orgasm to explode, cumming inside the girl and sending waves of relief through his system. He pulled out slowly and kissed down her stomach, savoring the heat of her skin against his lips. She caught her breath as he lapped at her swollen cunt. She was still shaking from her orgasms and whined when his tongue overstimulated her. He cleaned her out and nibbled at the skin on the inside of her thighs. 

“It’s time for me to go.” 

Matthew looked up at her and furrowed his brow, “so soon?” 

The girl nodded and sat up to face him. 

“I’ll be back, I promise.” She smiled shyly and rubbed her nose against his. 

“Where do you go… I mean where do you go while we’re aboard?” He stumbled over his words, still catching his breath. 

“Here,” she offered no further clarification as Matthew gave her a questioning look. She pressed her hand against his cheek and laughed. 

“Don’t worry about where I go, sailor. The sea is my home.”

Matthew kissed her hastily as he redid his pants and pulled his suspender straps back over his shoulders. She stood and kissed him once more before she stepped over the edge and dropped into the water. In seconds she was resurfacing with her silver tail. 

“Let me ask you one thing,” Matthew stopped her before he could leave, “are you real? Was that real?” He gestured to the bottom of the boat and the girl laughed brightly. 

“Be wary, sailor. You might just lose your mind."

Matthew nodded and watched as she backed away and dove into the dark water beyond the reflection of light from the deck. Moments later, a whistle sounded and he was called to return to the ship. Forcing himself to look away from the place where the girl disappeared, he felt the familiar material of his old coat that he had wrapped around the girl earlier on the plank beside him, folded and damp.

...

End of Pt. 2!

[pin-k-ink]

lesson learnt // narumi gen

tw ⇢ reader is second in command instead of hasegawa, switch!narumi, dom!reader, manhandling(?), strong sexual tension, biting, marking, making out, dry humping, grinding, slight nipple play

wc ⇢ 1.6k

"Just how goddamn useless are you?"

The furious words burst from your lips the moment you flung open Gen Narumi's bedroom door. The First Division captain blinked up at you owlishly, controller frozen in his hands and the latest high-octane shooter game paused mid-firefight on his massive television.

You could feel your chest heaving with barely restrained ire as you drank in the slovenly state of Gen's personal quarters. Discarded snack wrappers and soda cans littered every surface, empty two weeks' worth of laundry spilled from the hamper, and the unmistakable funk of unwashed male musk clung to the air.

"Uh...hello to you too?" Gen's cocky half-grin was wholly at odds with the thunderous darkness roiling in your gaze. "Jeez, what's got your panties in a twi—"

"Don't!" You sliced a hand through the air, shutting down the start of whatever juvenile taunt he was preparing to lob your way. Like always, his flippant, childish demeanor in the face of your justifiable rage only stoked your fury to more blazing heights.

Stalking fully into the room, you snatched the controller from Gen's lax grip, ignoring his squawk of protest. With a few forceful jabs, you terminated the game and powered off the system entirely. Gen jolted upright at that, eyes comically wide.

"Hey! I didn't save my checkpoint, you kn--"

"I don't give a flying fuck about your stupid games, Narumi!" You hurled the controller aside, watching it shatter against the wall with vicious satisfaction. Gen actually flinched at the outburst, all traces of his usual carefree smirking bravado evaporating. "While you've been wasting days in this pathetic mancave, I've had to cover for your lazy ass with the top brass AGAIN!"

Finally Gen found his voice again, adopting that defensive whining tone you'd come to loathe. "Aw, c'mon babe, no need to make such a big deal--"

"Don't you dare 'babe' me!" You rounded on Gen with such ferocity that the hulking combat expert actually shrank back under your gaze. "I'm your XO, not your goddamn maid to keep cleaning up your messes!"

Fists clenched, you paced in an agitated spiral as weeks' worth of simmering resentment came spilling forth in a torrent. "Those hidebound old bastards already look down at me thanks to your permanently unprofessional bullshit! And then I get reamed out for YOUR dereliction during the briefing?!"

Whirling back towards the bed, you stabbed an accusatory finger towards Gen's heavily defined torso. "Well not anymore! From now on, maybe my update reports should also include all the wasted hours I spend dragging your immature, sorry ass out of whatever selfish rabbithole you've dived into this time!"

All the while Gen simply...watched you. Jaw slightly unhinged, eyes tracing every sharp jut of your rigid silhouette, the heaving swell of your chest with each panting exhalation. You might have noticed if your vision weren't occluded by a haze of seething crimson.

Finally, when your throat felt raw and your scorching tirade began to ebb, you fixed Gen with a glare of pure disgust. "Well?! You gonna say anything for yourself, or just keep gawking li--"

"Holy fuck, that was hot."

The guttural words burst from Gen's lips, gravelly and utterly stripped of his typical cavalier bravado. You blinked, thrown by both the blunt assertion and the undisguised want blazing in those exotic red eyes.

"Wha...what did you just say?"

Rather than reply, Gen surged upright in one sinuous, coiled motion until his powerful frame was looming over your own in a heated rush. You instinctively backpedaled until the small of your back met the solid oak of his desk.

You sucked in a sharp breath as Gen's solid weight pressed you insistently back against the unyielding desk. His unique red-on-red gaze smoldered with undisguised hunger, pinning you in place just as effectively as his powerful frame.

"So..." Gen's voice was a low, gravel-rough rasp that made something twist low in your belly. "Looks like I finally found a way to light that famous fire of yours, huh?"

You opened your mouth - to protest, to deny, you weren't quite sure. But any retort shriveled on your tongue as Gen slowly, deliberately ran his hands up the outside of your thighs. Calloused palms blazed searing trails along the taut material of the combat suit until they settled in a possessive grip around your waist.

"You know..." He murmured, dipping his head until those full lips brushed the throbbing pulse at your throat. "I always suspected you'd look incredible like this."

A startled gasp escaped you as Gen's teeth grazed that sensitive juncture between neck and collarbone. Your fingers dug into the corded muscles of his shoulders seemingly of their own volition, torn between pushing him away and pulling him infinitely closer.

"All flushed and riled up, chest heaving with that righteous indignation..." Gen continued in that same unhurried timbre. He punctuated each remorselessly descriptive word with slow, maddening kisses along the entire slender column of your neck. "Who knew getting a rise out of you could be so goddamn sexy."

This time it was an outright moan that spilled shamelessly past your lips. You could feel Gen's wolfish smirk against your overheated skin, the vibration of his low rumble of satisfaction.

"That's it, gorgeous..." He rasped. "Let me hear how much you want to let that famous temper off the leash again."

As if punctuating the heated challenge, Gen rolled his hips in one slow, undulating grind against yours. You jolted at the insistent friction, the blatant outline of his cock grinding exquisite torment against your own aching pussy.

"Come on..." Gen's agile tongue traced the delicate whorls of your ear in a scorching tease. "Let me have it one more time, babe."

That blatantly provocative endearment finally snapped the tenuous thread of your control. With a strangled sound of pure frustration, you seized Gen by the lapels of that rumpled shirt and crushed your mouth against his in a fierce, searing clash of lips and teeth and questing tongues.

You growled deep in your throat as you tugged him closer by the collar, using his own muscular weight to shove him backwards onto the disheveled futon. He landed with a whuff of expelled air, eyes blazing triumphant satisfaction at finally provoking this unrestrained response.

In one fluid motion, you swung a leg over to straddle Gen's powerful frame, pinning him beneath you with both hands braced on that chiseled chest. His smug grin only widened at the blatant display of aggression, hips canting upwards in a slow grind of his twitching cock against the inner crease of your thigh.

"There she is..." Gen's gravelly purr made the hair prickle deliciously at your nape. "That's my wildcat, all riled up and ready to pounce."

You snarled incoherently, fisting the fabric of his shirt until the seams strained against his broad shoulders. Gen's eyelids drifted to half-mast in pure, unabashed enjoyment of your dominance, making absolutely no move to throw off your weight or reverse positions.

Instead, his palms smoothed insolently up the flare of your hips, cupping your breasts over your suit to blaze scorching trails along the sensitive skin beneath as he languidly pulls your zipper down. Each calloused stroke of his thumbs over your newly freed nipples seemed deliberately calculated to provoke another breathless keen from your lips, another frustrated grind against his insistent cock.

"Fuck...you like getting me all worked up like this, don't you?" you bit out, fingers tangling almost painfully in those unruly locks.

Rather than reply with words, Gen simply angled his head in silent invitation, chin tilted in smoldering challenge. His tongue darted out to wet those full lips in a blatant tease.

A harsh exhale of capitulation gusted from you as you seized Gen's face in both hands and crashed your mouth against his in a molten, hungry clash. He swallowed your guttural moan of satisfaction like a man savoring the finest delicacy as your bodies strained and rolled together in familiar, incendiary tempos.

Gen's hands carded through your sweat-damped hair in blatant possession, but you swiftly captured those questing wrists in a punishing grip, pinning them against the mattress on either side of his head. A low, guttural groan rumbled from Gen's broad chest at your bold show of command.

"You like that, don't you Narumi?" you growled, leaning until your lips were a scorching hairsbreadth from his own. "Being handled so roughly...overpowered..."

Rather than answer, Gen simply held your smoldering stare, pupils blown wide with undisguised wanting. His muscular frame remained utterly pliant beneath your restraining weight.

Satisfied at his rapt surrender, you rolled your hips in one torturously slow grind, savoring the broken whimper Gen failed to stifle. His powerful arms tensed as if to throw you off, but you only tightened your grip on those pinioned wrists in silent warning.

"Don't even think about it, Captain," you purred, dipping to trail molten kisses along the corded column of Gen's neck. "This wildcat's just getting started putting you in your place."

Punctuating that statement, you sank your teeth into the fevered hollow just above Gen's thundering pulse. He sucked in a harsh breath, hips canting wantonly against yours as if seeking divine friction.

"F-Fuck...you're playing a dangerous game, gorgeous," Gen managed to grate out, words tapering into a gravelly keen as you worried that sensitized flesh between your teeth. "One you might not wanna...ahh...finish."

"Oh, I'm going to finish this..." You rasped the promise, hands roaming insolently over the grooved cut of Gen's abdomen. "I'm going to make you lose that insufferable swagger completely before I'm done with you, Narumi. Mark my words."

Gen's only response was a shuddering exhalation as you captured his wandering hands once more, guiding them over the hypersensitized flesh left deliciously bare by your unzipped suit. You drank in the undisguised rapture blazing across the hardened planes of your captain's features as he finally surrendered to your scorching possession.

[hogwartslegacyreactions2]

Hey, I'm pretty sure that this was asked before, but I can't find the post.

What if MC died in the repository instead of professor Fig?

(I'm sorry, but I'm in an angsty mood)

I love your posts, and thanks

A/N: I do have vague recollection of answering a similar prompt once upon a time, but nothing wrong with a reprisal!

HLC REACT TO MC DYING IN THE REPOSITORY

WARNING: angst, death, grief

Dark ancient magic flew violently through the air around MC. The whirlwind of human agony consumed them as they released silver blue light from their wand. The magic thrashed and roared as MC expelled more and more effort to contain the chaos. Cracks started to form along the length of their wand.

Time slowed for them. MC could see Fig's silhouette just beyond the veil. The hundreds of young souls above them weighed heavy on their conscience. If they can't do this, everyone will die. They had to use all of it.

MC closed their eyes and whispered their goodbye. A light even brighter than the one from their wand emerged from their chest. The ancient magic within them burst forth with the fury of dragonfire. The silver light merged with the darkness, and as quickly as it had appeared, the magic vanished.

MC was gone. Their broken wand was all that remained.

SEBASTIAN SALLOW: He has officially lost everything. After losing his uncle, Anne, Ominis, and MC all at once, he's cracking. They can't be gone. Not them. They were too powerful to just vanish. He just has to find them. Yes. That's what he needs to do. He leaves Hogwarts. He MUST find them. Then Anne will see. Then Ominis will know. What he did was worth it.

OMINIS GAUNT: He rarely speaks anymore. The silence in his life has become so oppressive it took his own voice. The good life he thought he had was nice while it lasted, but now it's all come apart. It's only a matter of time before he loses Anne too, and when that happens...he doesn't know what he's going to do with himself.

ANNE SALLOW: She doesn't know how to feel about MC's death. On the one hand, they were trying to be a good friend to her and her brother but on the other...they also enabled Sebastian in his treachery. She's so very tired of the pain. She just wants to go to sleep.

IMELDA REYES: Well, damn. Mc was the closest thing to a friend she had in years. Someone competitive but friendly and fun to have around. They could dish out as much sass as she could, and she respected them for it. She cries a little at the end of year feast.

NATSAI ONAI: She should have been there. She could've done something! Why didn't they tell her!? She would've had their back! She....she...she breaks down into sobs so intense, even her mother can't comfort her. Her best friend was dead. Her heart was shattered and it would never be whole again without MC.

GARRETH WEASLEY: What? No. Nonono. Not them. That's impossible. They couldn't be dead. They're too strong to be.... He's in denial all the way until the MC's memorial service at the end of year feast. Then he breaks down. A bit of his fire died with MC.

LEANDER PREWETT: He wasn't super close to them, but he was still quite fond of them. They were a real friend. He hopes they're at peace and raises a goblet in their honor.

AMIT THAKKAR: He feels cold and numb all at once when he hears the news that MC died in the attack. He'd grown to care about them. He cursed himself for not spending more time with them when they were around.

EVERETT CLOPTON: He and MC didn't talk much outside of flying class but he had liked them. It was a shame he didn't get to know them more. He doesn't feel like eating when the feast is presented.

POPPY SWEETING: She hadn't cried this much since she left her parents. She finally made a friend, and just like that, they were gone. She doesn't know if she could make another friend again if she wanted to. Was she just doomed to lose every human connection she made?

ELEAZAR FIG: He wholeheartedly and inconsolably blames himself. Even if this fate couldn't be avoided, why did they have to die so young? He can't stand to hear the words "ancient" and "magic" in the same sentence at the same time anymore. It sends him into a dissociative trauma spiral.

He finds MC's wand. It's snapped in the middle with bits of wood frayed outward like the very core of the wand exploded. The two pieces are held together by the slightest sliver of wood.

He retires from teaching at Hogwarts. He doesn't trust himself with the care of students anymore. He doesn't trust his own judgment. He's tortured every night by the survivor's guilt taunting him that he should have done more. He should have protected them. He shouldn't have let them go as far as they did. They weren't ready. They couldn't handle the power they were forced to control. It takes everything in him to not attempt to destroy the map room with the portraits of the Keepers. He just leaves.

But every once in a while... On quiet moonless nights.... When he sees MC's wand displayed with Miriam's, he hears a whisper. A quiet breathy whisper that he could swear on his life sounds like MC. He chalks it up to the fact that he could be going mad from grief, but it's still strikes him as strange... If he looked at the wand hard enough... He could swear he sees a blue glow...

[a-killer-obsession]

Bite [Killer x Reader]

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

Killer pisses you off, and you go on the attack.

CW: violence, bloodplay, femdom, sub!killer, vaginal sex, oral (m recieving), marking, pain kink, praise, restraints,, hate fuck, aftercare

WC: ~4k

Masterlist || A03

The seas were calm today as the Victoria Punk made its way through unfamiliar waters, following the log pose to a new, mysterious island on the Grandline. There wasn't much to do on afternoons like this, chores had already been completed and there was no rush to help with making resupply lists, the next island still being several days away at least, if the wind kept this pace. The air was perfect for sitting out on the deck, the sun not too harsh or hot, but just warm enough to be comfortable, with a cool refreshing breeze that ruffled your hair slightly. It was the perfect opportunity to fill the time with one of your favourite hobbies. 

So here you sat, back against the railing as you scribbled in your leather-bound sketchbook, alternating between drawing from life and drawing from memory. You'd been doing this for an hour or so but were growing bored of the subjects you had in front of you, so you recollected yourself to move to a slightly different spot. You made your way up the stairs of the rear cabin, parking yourself on a barrel near the front rail. From here you could see a great deal of the ship, from the main deck stretching out to the front raised platform and the top of the large dinosaur skull that encompassed the bow of the Victoria. 

Sat upon the skull you found a new subject, who sat with his scarred side facing you, staring out to the portside to watch a passing group of flying fish as they followed and danced in the rippling waves caused by the movement of the ship. From this angle you had a perfect side profile of him, the silhouette of his mask making a clean cut against the blue, gently clouded sky that was laid out in front of the ship. 

Pencil to paper, you diligently worked at sketching him, his grand mane of hair posing a particular challenge that you relished in. You enjoyed capturing the way the light bounced off his helmet, and the texture of his scarred arm. With the values blocked out, you lost yourself in the shading, your tongue poking out just a tiny bit from the corner of your mouth as you rested the lead of your pencil on an angle against the page to cover more surface with a soft layer of graphite. The drawing was coming out well, you were growing quite proud of it in fact, you thought you may even gift him the drawing afterwards if it continued to go this well. 

In your focus you didn't even notice him move, nor the way he silently stalked towards you, alerted to your staring by his observation haki. Killer didn't like being watched, and he certainly didn't appreciate you drawing him without permission. It made him uncomfortable to be perceived with such detail, even if the drawing was quite good. It almost made him feel bad for what he was planning to do. 

“What are you doing?” His baritone startled you out of your focus and you audibly gasped. 

“Uh, I'm uh, drawing,” you stuttered, and held your book up for him to see, “do you like it?”

You were very proud of your drawing, but it was impossible to gauge Killer's reaction past his mask. You hoped his silence was because he was so stunned with your incredible artistic skills. He made it pretty clear what he thought though when he grabbed your sketchbook quite roughly, yanking it from your hands and throwing it off the side of the ship. You rushed to the railing to save it, just in time to watch your precious, very expensive, sketchbook sink under the waves, gone forever. 

You gripped the railing hard enough to hear a slight crack as your vision went red. You were a Kid Pirate, so of course not only were you incredibly strong - you also had some serious anger issues. Killer had already started to leave when you turned and rushed at him. He began to scoff, ready for you to yell at him and to bite back at you that drawing was a wasted skill for a pirate if you weren't going to use it for maps. He certainly didn't expect the swift kick to the dick he received instead, nor the kick to the head that followed and knocked him down as you took advantage of him bowing in pain from the first kick. He cursed himself for not expecting or readying himself for physical violence, he should have known better, and in his smug confidence had left himself open for attack. 

He fell to the deck on his side, slightly curled in on himself as he grabbed at his sore groin. You'd kicked him pretty fucking hard both times, and he was dizzy from it. Before he had time to recover you jumped on top of him, forcing him to roll to his back and hovering over him with your knees planted either side of his hips. You were still seeing red, instincts guiding you as you unleashed your fury upon him, and right now your instincts were telling you one thing - go for the fucking jugular. 

You bent and zeroed in on his exposed neck, sinking your teeth into it till you tasted iron on your tongue. He groaned under you, trying to push you off, but you clamped him with your strong thighs and sunk your teeth in deeper, one hand wound hard through his long hair and pulling at it. You swore you heard him whine as you withdrew your teeth and sunk them in again at a slightly different spot, marking his neck over and over again. 

There was a quiet whimper from inside his mask, a sound entirely unexpected from the Massacre Soldier, and it sent electricity straight to your core, triggering a different kind of instinct. You lowered yourself, resting against him while you still straddled him, his hands finding your waist and his hips pressing up against you. Your eyebrows raised as you released his neck from your teeth - his clothed erection made it clear, he was enjoying this. 

You growled against his neck, you weren't sure if it was possessive or a warning, running your tongue over the bleeding bite marks along his exposed neck before sinking back in, gentler this time, more playful. You rolled your hips, grinding your clothed core against him, eliciting a deep groan from him as he raised to meet you. 

“Fucking hell, what the fuck is happening here?” the captain spoke up beside you. Neither of you had noticed his heavy footsteps approaching, your mind swimming in lust and rage. You looked up at him with a feral growl that sent a shiver down his spine, your eyes almost black with how blown out your pupils were. Killer's blood was dripping down your chin and coating your teeth as you barred them at Kid, his eyes widening at the way you looked right through him like he was nothing. He looked down at Killer, laid out on his back, panting slightly as blood dripped from the many marks you'd made on his neck. It was not often someone got the better of Killer, even less common was letting himself show any hint of lust in a public setting. You were, afterall, both out on the deck for all to see. The first mate tried to move, and you pushed down against him, growling in clear warning. 

“Christ, she got you good Killer,” Kid barked out a laugh, “get a fucking room though, you’re getting blood on the deck” 

You blinked a little in realisation as you came to your senses. Looking down at Killer you realised how precarious this situation was, but you'd had a taste of power over him, and you didn't feel like giving it up, not while your core ached with need from the hot, heavy encounter. You grinned down at him, and he shivered at the dark look in your eye, before you stood quite suddenly and pulled him up by the front of his shirt. You didn't let go of it as you dragged him, the blue fabric balled tight in your hand. He probably could have fought back, but in his daze he chose not to as you dragged him towards his own room, Kid roaring with laughter behind you as you both disappeared under deck, unbelievably surprised and amused at how you'd tamed his friend. 

The door to Killer's cabin was unlocked, as it always was. You'd never been in here but that was the point, nobody dared enter his room, so he had no need to lock it. You pulled him inside, slamming the door shut behind you and locking it before turning back to him. You shoved him backwards towards the bed, sinking your nails into the fabric of his t-shirt and showing off your strength by tearing it open, before giving him a hard shove so he fell back against the bed. His legs still hung over the side, his bare chest heaving as you climbed over him and clamped your hand around his neck, forcing him up further on to the bed as you shifted with him, from the threat of suffocation if he didn't move. 

“Stop me any time, Massacre Soldier,” you whispered at the side of his mask before running your tongue shamelessly over the front of it, following the blue stripe that ran up the centre. Killer only groaned in reply, raising his hips off the mattress in a desperate attempt to find friction. 

“I don't.. want you… to stop,” he wheezed between heavy breaths.

“No?” You purred, “you gonna be a good boy for me then?” Your teeth ran over his neck where his skin remained sensitive from your earlier bites, making his hips buck. You pressed back down against him, forcing him to still. You were making it clear to him that you were in charge here.

“Y-yes..” he stuttered. You sat up while you still straddled him, untying the light blue sash he wore around his waist and pulling it from underneath him. 

“Give me your wrists,” you commanded. He obeyed willingly, holding them together in front of you. You looped the sash around them several times, binding them together, before pulling them up over his head to secure against the headboard. He groaned under you, trying to roll his hips up against you as you hovered slightly to reach the headboard, your breasts hanging above his face. He pulled experimentally at the fastening, you'd bound him tight, probably too tight, but it was purposeful - you hadn't forgotten how mad you were. This was, at its core, a hate fuck, but Killer wasn't in the headspace to deny you. He'd never been bound or dominated by a woman like this before, and it had him in a needy haze. He was ready to get on his knees and worship you, should you ask him to. 

Satisfied with your work, your teeth returned to his neck, nipping and sucking, leaving more marks and licking over them. Your mouth made its way further down, leaving a trail of bruises and teeth marks down his chest, over his pecs and abs, rubbing his hardened nipples between your teeth in turn and tugging at them. One hand supported your weight next to him, the other slid down to his groin, still tender from your earlier kick, and you palmed him over his jeans. He groaned as you stroked him teasingly, running your finger over the tip where his precum was beginning to soak through the fabric. 

“Mmm, so eager for me,” you mumbled against his chest, “you love me marking you that much baby?”

Killer writhed under you, desperate for more, desperate to be inside your wet heat. His cock throbbed, whether from arousal or pain from earlier, he wasn't sure. Both, probably. You sat up again, taking in the rare delicacy of the dangerous Massacre Soldier, marked up and powerless underneath you, begging for you to do more. You bit your lower lip as you trailed your hands over his torso, feeling the hard, well sculpted muscles, watching him fight against the sash that kept him from touching you. Your deft fingers finally found the closure to his jeans and freed him, his thick cock springing free as he lifted his hips so you could pull down his pants and boxers. 

“Look at you, already spilling out for me,” you purred as you ran a fingertip through his precum and spread it over the head, “so desperate for me, such a mess for me” 

Killer practically whined as you wrapped a hand around his base and dipped your head to lick a wide stripe along the underside. The headboard threatened to break as you finally took him in your mouth, bobbing your head and stroking what you couldn't take yet of his impressive length. You let him slide further into your throat, breathing through to your nose to repress your gag reflex, taking him deeper and deeper till you could bury your nose in his soft blond pubs. He groaned as you swallowed around him, pulling away and releasing him to take a much needed breath. 

“Fuck… please… fuck,” he could barely form a coherent sentence, the way you had him lost in his lust. 

“Please what baby?” you purred, still fully dressed as you crawled back over him. You ground your clothed pussy against him while you watched him with a coy smile, his mask tilting back against the bed and his hands tugging at the restraints uselessly. “Use your words, Massacre Soldier” 

“Fuck me, please,” he whined, “please”

“Why should I?” You lent over to speak right next to where his ear would be under the mask, your fingers trailing down his torso, your centre raised to deny him any friction. “You really pissed me off, you know? That sketchbook was fucking expensive, and full of some of my best work. Why the fuck would I give you what you want?” you growled, digging your nails into his chest till they broke skin. His chest jolted at the sudden pain, but his dick twitched in response as well. 

“I'm sorry… please… I'll replace it,” he tried his best to press up against you, but you continued to hover just out of reach, “please, I'm sorry, please just fuck me, please”

“Mmm…” you mumbled, sitting on his thighs and running a fingertip along his needy cock, “you're so cute when you beg…” 

You stood up and stripped your clothes, before straddling him again, this time sitting against his abdomen. You leaned back and spread your legs wide, and his mask lifted and tilted towards you, trying his best to see your naked pussy. It was glistening with arousal and you started to touch yourself, playing with your clit the way you knew you liked best before dipping your fingers inside yourself. He grunted as he watched you play with yourself on top of him, salivating as he caught your scent. 

“Is this what you want, Killer?” you dipped a third finger inside yourself, spreading yourself open and removing your fingers occasionally so he could see your hot hole gape. He cursed the damn mask, and the restraints, wishing he could tilt just a little further up, close enough to run his tongue over you and bully it inside your pussy. He wanted to taste your release, feel it coating his chin and soaking his goatee. 

“Yes, fuck, please,” he moaned, “please, please” 

You dipped your fingers inside yourself, before removing them and sliding down Killer's body. Your slick coated his cock as you thread your glistening fingers under the brim of his mask, till you found his soft lips. He eagerly allowed you access, moaning as he sucked your slick off your fingers and ran his tongue over them. You let them drag back out, running his saliva down the front of his neck, leaving a trail that felt cool as the air breezed over it. 

“You've been such a good boy for me,” you purred, your pussy sliding up and down his hard length, “but if you cum without my permission, I will flay you. Do I make myself clear?” You ran your nails down his front, leaving a deep set of scratches to drive home your threat. His body rolled underneath you in response.

“I'll be so good, I promise,” he groaned as he tried his best to roll his hips in just the right way to catch his tip against your entrance, failing each time as you purposely shifted just as he would have had it, “please let me inside you, please” 

This time as he rolled his hips, you rolled too, letting his cock catch against you and slide inside. He cried out as his cock buried inside you, and you pushed down, taking his whole length and moaning at the way he stretched and filled you. He was panting hard, doing everything he could to not immediately cum, so worn already from your teasing. 

You began your motions, raising and lowering yourself with strong legs, moaning as you used him for your own pleasure. You couldn't care less about what he wanted, you were using him like he was nothing but a toy, existing only for your pleasure, fucking yourself on him so he hit every delicious spot inside you. You admired his body as you fucked him, observing every dark, inflamed mark you'd left on his skin, strings of now drying blood leaving trails over him from some of the deeper marks. Teeth prints and half moons from nails and long, deep scratches. It would take days, maybe even weeks, for some of the marks to heal, and in the meantime everyone would know that this was your doing. You were the one who tamed the first mate of the Kid Pirates, the supernova, the man who was now moaning and writhing underneath you as you took your selfish pleasure from him. 

You threw back your head as the dirty thoughts of him belonging to you drove you to your edge, and you ground down hard against him, shaking as you came hard. As soon as your orgasm was done, you pulled off, letting him slip from inside you. He cried out as soon as he felt the cool air on his slick covered cock, his own orgasm having been so, so close. 

“NO, fuck, PLEASE,” he cried out as he desperately tried to bury himself back inside you. You almost laughed, he looked so needy and pathetic like this. His cock twitched helplessly and you ran a cruel finger up the sensitive underside before wrapping your hand around the base. 

“Beg for it,” you growled. 

“Please let me cum, please, please,” he was practically whimpering and it fueled your already massive ego. You wondered how far he'd go, letting him have one slow stroke, before stiling your hand at the end and running your thumb through the pre on his tip. 

“Who do you belong to?” You purred, running your thumb in circles as he tried his best to thrust up into your hand. 

“You, you, only you, please,” he whined, “please let me cum”

“Do it yourself,” you growled, sliding him back inside you but making no effort to move, “show me how bad you want it”

He wasted no time in planting his feet and driving up into you, fucking you with a messy, furious pace, desperately chasing his high. Your head was thrown back again as you moaned, enjoying his thick cock pistoning inside you. 

“Fuck, I'm gonna come again,” you moaned.

“Cum for me, please,” Killer replied between heavy breaths, putting all the strength in his legs in to fucking you as hard as he could without the use of his hands, “cum with me”

“Fuck-” you whined, “Killer-” 

You let out a deep, carnal moan as your legs began to shake, and Killer followed suit, his groan long and deep as he finally found his release inside you, doing his best to keep moving despite how oversensitive he was now, trying to be good for you and work you through your orgasm. He finally stopped as you dropped your weight on him, your head slumped against his chest as you both panted. 

You stayed like that for a few minutes, catching your breath, before coming back to reality and raising yourself off him. He sighed as you let him slip out of you, his release dripping on to his pubes as you hovered over him to unfasten the restraints. His wrists were red and raw from fighting against them, and you felt a pang of guilt, knowing full well that you'd made them too tight in your anger. You took his hands tenderly and brought them to your mouth, kissing each wrist gently where the marks looked the most painful. 

Looking down at the rest of him, more guilt followed, seeing how injured you'd left him. You knew he'd enjoyed it, but many of the wounds had been made in anger, and you felt bad now for marking him so badly over something replaceable. You leaned over him and he made soft, surprised breaths as you kissed down his front, starting at the bites on his neck and working your way down, leaving tender kisses over his wounds. 

“Stay here,” you mumbled, sliding off the bed and going to the door you assumed led to his bathroom. He obediently stayed where you left him, still in a daze, confused a little as to what had even transpired. 

You went to the toilet and cleaned yourself up quickly, before finding a hand cloth and dampening it with warm water. You returned to the bed, kneeling next to him, pressing the cloth gently to his skin to clean off the blood and sweat, and all the other fluids that had ended up over his torso and thighs. Satisfied with your work, you returned to the bathroom, discarding the cloth in a laundry basket and filling the glass that sat by the sink with water. You noted that there was no straw, which made sense. This was his room, he probably didn't usually wear his mask in here, so no straw was usually required. 

You brought the glass to the bed, and he sat up against the headboard as you handed it to him, before turning away to give him privacy. “I won't look,” you assured him, “but you really should drink some water after the amount of blood and sweat you lost”

You heard him make a soft hum, followed by a small metallic click of his mask unlatching and the gulping of water. The mostly empty glass was placed on the side table, and you felt the mattress shift as he moved behind you. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you carefully, his warm chest pressed against your back, his bare face resting in the crook of your shoulder where you still couldn't see him. 

“I'm sorry,” he sighed, “I shouldn't have thrown your book in the water like that. I'll get you another, an even nicer one. I'm sorry about your drawings though, I know I can't replace those”

“I'm sorry too,” you admitted, “I know you're self conscious, I should have asked before drawing you” 

“You don't have to ask next time,” his breath was leaving hot, damp spots on your skin as he spoke, his thumbs rubbing reassuring circles on your waist, “the drawing was really good, I'd like if you drew me another” 

“Yeah?” you perked up, surprised. 

“Yeah, I'm sorry for overreacting,” he pressed soft kisses against your neck and you moaned, your head tilting to give him access, “you're so hot when you're angry though” 

“Ass,” you pouted, “I'm always hot, you're just blind” 

“I'm not blind,” he hummed, “I just… I didn't think you wanted me. Like this I mean.”

“Well then you must be blind,” you hummed, “I've been flirting with you for years, dumbass”

“Oh..” 

“Idiot,” you tsked, then quieted as you sat deep in thought. All these years of unrequited feelings, and it turns out he was just oblivious. “Killer… can I see you?” 

He was silent for a moment as he thought about it, before finally coming to a resolution, “Only if I can taste you again"

You giggled a little at his words, before eagerly turning in his arms to observe his beautiful face and blue eyes for the first time. He gave you a few moments to look at him, before making good on your side of the deal and capturing your mouth with his, lost to a new wave of need and lust. 

[lady-dragon-rider]

Scales and Feathers Pt. 1

Davos/Benji Blackwood, Oscar Tully x Targ!Reader

In the months before the dance happens, Rheanyra sends her daughter to the riverlands to determine the state of things due the growing unrest between the riverlords - under the guise of a marriage tour.

Contains: Benji/Davos x reader, Oscar x reader (both platonic for now!), friendly teasing (oscar/benji and Elmo/Willem), mild swearing, a bit of blood (because brackens)

Featuring: mild willem x rheanyra (mans still has that MASSIVE crush), Elmo Tully and Willem blackwood being best wingmen for their boys, set before daemon goes on a lovely trip, reader being a young rheanyra!clone, muppet tully's for the win

Bold is text spoke in High Varlyrian.

--

"Mother this whole plan is ridiculous" you groan, pacing around the painted table. "No one is going to buy this story of a marriage tour, given the growing tensions and rumors circulating in kings landing"

"My girl this is a matter of utmost urgency" your mother reasoned, calm and knowingly "i understand your frustration and hesitation. I myself was like this when i was set on my own tour. But we have heard word from our allies in the riverlands that there is some contention growing, we must ensure that peace remain steady if we are to keep our support for our cause"

"But to play these lords like fools? To make them play into this farce of a tour when the drums of war are beginning to set pace? They will know the ulterior motive mother"

"Perhaps, but it changes nothing. If anything they it will make them want you, want us, more. We can use that" she remarks

"Ah. So as society demands i am but a broodmare for the sake of soilders and children. Oh what an honor" you sneer, glaring at the ground. The room falls into a tense silence as the queen rounds the table to stand at your side. With a gentle loving hand under your chin, she raises your eyes to meet hers. "I know it is difficult, and i wish i could let you marry for love so you can want for nothing. But not everything falls the way we desire. The lords are preparing for you at Riverrun, they expect you in the coming days. Go make use of this freedom and expand your horizons my dear girl. Fly swift and fly safe." She kisses your hairline and leaves the room, the rest of group gathered take their cue until you are left alone, staring at the spot on the table marking where the riverlands are.

--

The flight on silverwing wasnt terrible. It was certainly better than riding in a stuffy carriage with the queens guard your mother and brother had insisted on.

"You are to fly high and out of sight" you remember your mother had cautioned, the moment you mention flying in on dragonback.

"Of course mother. I know the protocols-"

"Promise me!"

You heave a sigh as you turn to face the queen. "I promise to fly high to remain out of sight. I also promise to update my queen mother as frequently as needed." You droned in a practiced tone. Taking her hands and squeezing. "You know that seeing me on a dragon will strengthen their resolve to pledge themselves to us. Trust that i know what i am doing" you whisper as you meet her gaze, not one of a strong queen - but that of a fretful mother.

"That doesnt make letting you go any easier to bear my darling girl" she responds, hands letting go to pull you into a tight hug. "I know you will do me proud. Send a raven as soon as you are able"

You snap out of your memory of that morning as you see the silhouette of Riverrun begin to take shape. "Easy does it girl, you remember what mother said, stay out of sight" you murmur to sliverwing. She chirps in response as she begins the cautious descent, making sure to keep as much to the clouds as possible to keep you both safe.

Upon landing beside the great castle, or as close as you can get, you are greeted by not only your entourage but by a small gathering of lords. Lords you assume would be vying for your hand.

"Eugh, some of these men look older than grandsire" you whisper to your reptilian companion, who seems to trill in agreement.

"Good day princess, I am Elmo Tully, the Lord paramount of Riverrun. It is a pleasure and an honor to have you stay with us" Elmo greets, hinging at the hip in a formal bow. You curtsy back, before you adress the gathered crowd.

"The honor and pleasure is mine Lord Tully, please ensure that no one other than me disturbs my companion here." You motion to the blue-grey dragon "while she is usually quite docile, she can be a bit cranky if someone were to interrupt her nap. She has had a long flight after all"

"Of course Princess, accommodations will be arrange accordingly" Lord Tully agrees

"I should also like to change and have a bath in preparation for meeting the assembled lords" you continue, making your way through the crowd toward the walls of Riverrun.

"Right this way"

--

The bath was exactly the thing you needed. However it did nothing to stave of the inevitable.... the meeting of lords you were now forced to sit through.

As each new offer was put forward the harder to found it you to stay awake. Men older enough to be your father, boys so young they didnt even have facial hair yet. Finally, a boy who looked around your age stepped forward. He looked nervous, figeting slightly with the hilt of his dagger as he look to an older man in the crowd who gave me a subtle nod.

"Benjicot Blackwood Princess, heir to Raventree hall." He spoke, a lilt to his voice that made you think he might just keel over from nerves. Before he could continue his tirade however a snort echoed across the room. Another man, again within your age, stifled a laugh within his hand.

"This is what happens to the mighty 'bloody ben' when he is in the presence of a woman? Pathetic. You blackwoods need to learn from the last time a Targaryen Princess turned your family down and leave the running for men more fitting of riding a dragon" the older man beside him jeers

A growl tears from the Blackwood heirs throat; one you certainly hadnt expected given the inital start to his introduction. Anger flares in his eyes as he surges toward to man who spoke, who had been introduced earlier as Amos Bracken - the lord of stone hedge.

But before Benjicot can reach him, an older man dressed similarly to him punches Amos in the face. Blood pours from the Bracken lords nose - quite obviously broken.

"Keep my nephews name out your Bracken mouth!" He bellows "Not only that you dare dishonor the Princess by uttering such filth! Why i have a mind to-"

"ENOUGH!" The strong voice of Elmo Tully cuts through the commotion, causing you to flinch at the hefty echo. "There will be no fighting on this neutral ground!" Silence falls.

You clear your throat and curse elmo for interrupting the fight as it began to get interesting.

"In the interest of speeding this along to save from wasting the time of your lordships, i have made the executive decision to choose a handful of lords who will take the time of 1 week in order to sway me into a marriage alliance." You announce.

"Princess-" your guard Ser Lorant warns, prompting you to glare at him to shut up.

"This is my choice. As my mother would have wanted." She quiped, alluding to her words mere days before. Ser lorant bows his head, unable to argue. You huff, standing and swiftly gliding across the room assessing the line of lords before you. You stop before a boy, a little younger than you, maybe by a year or three and grab his wrist gently. Leading him to the front of the room where you had once sat, you dust his shoulders appraisingly and he straightens under you sharp gaze. You hum and turn on your heel as you search for another candidate. Your eyes lock on Benjicot, who's eyes seem to widen as you stride closer and closer to him. You grip his hand gently, his warm calloused palm slightly slick with the beginnings of sweat. You drag him swiftly to where the other boy is.

You fail to see the look that they both give each other, as they try to hide giddy smiles. When Benjicot is placed next to the younger lordling the height difference is almost shocking. They couldnt be more than a few years apart and yet their forms were so different.

"Hold out your hands" you demand. Like lightning they follow the order. Your fingers trace the line of the palms, lightly massaging the callouses as you search for unknown information hidden within. You nod approvingly and turn to meet the room again.

"These two will have been chosen for the next stage of my hand. If you are not in anyway related to these lords, then i thank you for your time and consideration." You cursty and start to make a hasty retreat. "Ser Lorant, please be sure to send a raven informing my mother of my choice."

"At once princess" he says as he follows closely behind.

-- The moment the Princess left the room:

Oscar and Benji glance at each other again and erupt into a fit of teasing shoves and laughter.

"Im not gonna let you have this just because your my friend fish-boy" benji jokes

"Nor i you bird-brain!" He jests back

"did you see how she just strolled past all those old geezers? Such grace and power!" The Blackwood lordling reminisced

"I suppose having a dragon would fill one with such confidence" the Tully remarked, agreeing with his childhood friend. Their chatter was quickly silenced as Lord Elmo and Benjicot's uncle - Willem, approached them.

"Well done kiddo, we may yet show these Tully's how it is done" Willem says playfully elbowing Elmo in the side. "After all, we have space to comfortably fit the Princess's dragon."

"Something im sure the Princess will graciously overlook, given that OUR home stands a bit closer to her seat at dragonstone" Elmo counters as he shoves his Blackwood friend back. "In any case, i sincerely hope that whomever she chooses out of the pair on you, there will be no hard feelings. Id hate for your friendship to suffer."

The Older blackwood nods solemnly "Wars have been fought for less. But worry not. We shall help you" The pair of Lords grin. Causing their fledgling lords to shudder.

Just what had the princess set them up for?