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shuugumi · 8 months

Text

maybe i do want this...

satoru and y/N's wedding night ; pt. 1 here

17+, smut, virgin!reader, oral (f!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex,

disclaimer: this was originally posted on @seiueina but since this is my main acc; i am in da process of moving all my gojo content onto this account, ty ₍ᐢ. ̫ .ᐢ₎

The night was magical and surprisingly, it had been everything you could have wished for even if the marriage had been arranged. As the cold brisk air of the night flows in between the fabrics of your multi layered wedding dress, your newly wedded husband and you walked hand in hand away from the Church you both officialize your marriage in.

“You’re so..beautiful.” Satoru whispers as he helps you get into the backseat of the Gojo Clans chauffeur, you couldn’t help but blush before shooting him a smile. “Thank you handsome..” You whisper softly, but he could still hear you as his response was kissing your forehead as he sits besides you. “To your home?” The driver says, “Yup.” Satoru says before snaking his arm around your puffy waist, his hand finding a spot in the crease of your thigh and hips.

“What’re you thinking about?” You ask as you look at him, his poker face showing, until you placed a hand on his jaw and kissing it. “Thinkin’ about you.” He says before placing a kiss on your head and you could feel the growth of his smile.

“Wanna tell me what you’re thinking about?” You say in a flirtatious manner, rubbing your hand around his thigh, acting innocently. He lowers his head so his lips became inlined with your ear, “How about I show you..when we get home.” He whispers before placing a kiss on your earlobes.

“Oh yeah?” You say as you can feel his hand exploring more of your lower half, but it felt restrictive due to the multiple layers of your wedding dress. “Can’t wait to take this off..” He husks, playing with the lace layer of the dress and you laugh.

Not even seconds since you stepped foot into Satoru’s house had he planted his lips onto yours. The passion burning from his lips melting onto yours. You slid your hand up into his hair grabbing at his freshly shaven undercut, softly scratching at the skin as he slips his tongue past the gates of your lips, catching you off guard as he lifts you onto the kitchen island.

“There- there’s a zipper on the back, take off- easily.” You manage to speak as Satoru started to trail his lips down onto your neck, leaving little bite marks down up until the sweetheart line of your dress.

“Mmmm.” He mumbles on the softs of your skin, feeling up your arm before he pulls the zipper down inch by inch.

He managed to get the zipper down half way to where the top part of your dress loosely hanged, exposing the lacy bra you had worn, that was insisted to be worn by your best friend.

Satoru stared at your chest, sliding his kisses on the exposed parts of your breasts, kissing up to meet your lips again. “C’mere.” He says breathlessly as he slides his hands under your butt, holding you as he carried you to his your shared bedroom.

He sat down on the bed, making you straddle him as he zipped the rest of your dress down. You drunkenly kissed him, leaving slobbers around his lips. He propped you up, making you stand and causing the dress to pool around your ankles.

You stood in front of your husband half naked for the first time. First time even standing in a bra and panties in front of a man. It made you nervous, scared, but the feel of the cold air hitting your bare skin sent shivers down your arms and into the burning core that was covered by your panties.

Satoru looked up and frowned. “What’s the matter?” He asks after planting a kiss on your stomach, slowly rubbing at your hip bone. “I- I’ve never done this before..” Shyly you spoke, resting your hands on his hard shoulders. “You never had sex before?” He almost laughed in the moment but controlled himself, you blushed hard. The rush of nerves flowing through your body made you nod with need.

“I want you to enjoy tonight..but what if I’m not experienced enough to satisfy you?” Mumbles escaped your mouth as you start to trace your hands around his shoulders and down his arms, he sighed.

“You got it all wrong y’know…sex isn’t just where only one person gets satisfied…it’s my job to satisfy you as well…y/N. Having sex is a trial and error…we learn as we go..you don’t have to be perfect at it first time...” Satoru claims before grabbing your hand and intertwining it with his.

“Learning process?” You ask and he nods, “Sugar, if you’re not ready we don’t have to do it..” He says and it makes you feel sad at his words. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to do it. The wettness that dripped out of you was saying otherwise. You wanted to do it with him but you were hesitant.

“But I want to..” You spoke, straddling him before cupping his jaw and pulling him into another passionate kiss. Satoru wrapped his large hands around your waist, sliding his fingers down your thighs, slightly grazing over your covered clit.

He kisses you like, a man starved. Like he wasn't making fun of you or degrading you that no one would want to marry you just a week ago. As he slowly pushes you over so that you now sat on one of his legs, a leg of yours dangled and he snaked one of his hands on your inner thigh then slowly feeling up your puffy pussy. "Sa-ah!" You exclaim and he slowly sunk just the tip of his middle finger in your tight hole, he slowly started to fuck you with his fingers as he kissed down your neck.

Unconsciously you found yourself undoing your bra, letting your breasts fall free and a second later, Satoru attached his mouth to one of your nipples, sucking at it until he releases the nipple with a 'pop!' sound. "Hu-hurts 'Toru.." Slow cries as he slows down his pace, running his fingers through your clothed lips. "Let's try a different position then.." He says quickly, flipping you over onto your back, laying against the bed spread out as he makes his way down in between your legs.

He was above you. Pushing your legs open with his palms on your inner thighs as he kneeled down between, sliding low...very low. He grabbed your panties and pulled them aside, "What're you-"

Ah. Right there. That feeling. A feeling that was so foreign to you. As he parted you with his tongue. You felt like melted butter as he lapped up your juices. He was starving, like he hadn't ate in a week. He had some self-control left in him as he was going slow. He' slowly sank his tongue into your hole giving him a surprise moan and you could feel his grin against you.

"Toru━sto..p" You pleaded, but he didn't stop. Rather than stopping or keeping his pace he went faster. His face against your folds until he lifted his head, tongue grazing over your dripping pussy. His eyes were foggy, "Yes my love?" His words felt like it vibrated off your cunt and you covered your eyes with your arm, "Maybe, we should change positions?" You spoke, "You don't like this?" He frowned, massaging your inner thighs.

"I-I like it...but shouldn't we be doing other things? Like shouldn't I be doing this to you?" You ask and he responds by placing the flat of his tongue against your clit, pressing down just enough to make you clench and exhale in a instant. The tip of his tongue circling your clit caused your hand to be sent from covering your eyes to covering your mouth, biting the fleshy part of your palm.

"Satoru!" You screamed as he unannounced slid his finger into your once empty hole, his empty hand palming over his tailored dress pants covering his raging hard on. "Fuckk.." He muttered into your burning core.

Your spine now shaping into a perfect arch as the back of your head slid against the pillow as the uncomfortable feel of his digits became pleasurable and you melted even more into the feeling of this new found pleasure. "y/N, you can't come yet." He says as his lips brush against your folds as his tongue lapped away at your clit, never once forgetting about the pleasure your clit wanted.

Squeezing your eyes shut, there was this liquid of burning heat blossoming in your tummy that would soon take full control over you. Your fingers now finding a grip on Satoru's hair, grasping for an anchor.

"Ca-can't hol' an- longer!" Your voice shaky as he slips another one of his digits into your expanding cunt, "Don't. Give me three more minutes Baby." He commanded as his lips latched onto the one spot that was most desirable.

Yes. Right. There. You're eyes rolled to the back of your head as your legs start to tremble with the amount of pleasure that was desperate to be released. "Can't!!" You cry out and he only goes faster, "Focus, you can do it."

You could have done it. But with his breathless voice, it ruined everything. Hints of an order with his low and raspy voice cause the pleasure to break over you like a wave crashing onto the shore. You became someone else as slutty moans escaped your lips as you released all over his face.

Even with this graphic scene, he still continued to lap over you as you came down from your high, his tongue still as work until he pulled away for one last time, "Wanna- go down on you forever."

You fisted the pillow that laid next to you as he found his place back onto your sopping cunt, "Toru!" You cry again as you shove his face away from you, and once you sat up you saw where his other hand had been the entire time, palming his urging cock.

Heat flooded within you once more and it left you open mouthed as he groaned something that was not coherent to anyone of hearing, he got up from his position, unzipping his pants and letting his hard and aching cock free from the restriction of his tailored dress pants. He slowly fisted at it as you brought the confidence to try and hold it, that was until he swatted your hand away, "Next time you can try." He says before pushing you down back onto the bed and aggressively grabbing your thighs and pulling you close so that now your pussy and his cock was aligned.

He spanked your pussy, catching you off guard as he brought himself down into the nook of your neck, "Can I fuck you?" He whispers into your ear before kissing your neck and up to your lips. You groaned as you slowly brushed your lower half against his, the friction making you ache for more. "Please? Can I fuck you?" His breath against your ear until you spoke, a simple "Yes." caused him to immediately reach for his cock, closing his fist around it, squeezing the tip as a milky substance leaked from the tip.

Your mind saying a bunch of things as you took into the view of his big dick. You didn't think they could have been that big...it caught you unexpectedly even more as you could feel the fastening of his heartbeat as he aligned himself to you, nudging the head against your opening.

You were quiet in the beginning, still not loose enough for him to easily slide in, your eyebrows furrowed as he slowly slid more of himself into you. Your arm snaked around his neck, muffling your moans. But eventually, the pain subsided and you were now a moaning mess.

Your mind grew hazy as all you could think about was your husband taking your virginity, as you held him tighter as he piston into you slow but surely, Satoru knew you liked it. It took him a moment to speed up, making sure that you were okay in the process, and your reaction was something he wasn’t expecting.

Loud cries muffled in his neck as he thrusted more roughly. Your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, keeping him deep. Your breath hitched as your walls tightened around him, the two exchanging loud moans.

“Fu-ck, you’re gonna make m’mm gonna cum.” Satoru babbled as he kissed you on the lips, he tapped your legs to get you to unwrap your legs but you were too entranced by this pleasure given from his dick. “Baby- gotta. Gotta let go.” He says, still keeping his pace as he tries to get up to pull out.

“C-cum in me. Please?” You cry out into his ear, the pleasure becoming unbearable as pockets of tear drops form at the corners of your eyes. His icy blue eyes bore into yours as he cupped your face before he roughly pounded into you.

“Ah~ Satoru, g’nna cum!!” You moan out in slurs as you feel your thighs tremble, he places soft kisses on your neck as his breath fastens. “Come for me princess, m’bout too cum too~” His voice cracked as he desperately chased yours and his release.

One more pump and it came all undone for the two of you. Satoru’s cock twitching in you as he released his warm cum inside you. Your walls tightened as you could feel the creamy liquid paint your walls white and it took a second before he caught his breath and you untangled your legs from around his waist as he slowly pulled himself out of you.

Admiring your flushed, fucked out face. He smiled as he viewed the view down below. The mixture of his and your cum spewing out from your puffy and sensitive pussy made him go insane. The slow flow of his cum slowly dripping out of your hole made him unconsciously fist his cock.

Satoru dropped himself next to you on the bed, turning on his side so he can face you. Putting a strand of hair behind your ear as you shame filled your face, you look at him. “There’s no need to be shy baby..” He says, placing a kiss on your arm.

“I-I can’t think!” Your voice shaking, throat dry as you haven’t swallowed your spit ever since he started fucking you. “It happens.” Satoru joked as he lifted you up to be laying against his chest.

“What- what does it feel like when you’re…coming?” You ask randomly, playing with his hair as you felt a drip fall from your cunt. “How does it feel like when I come inside you..huh?” He repeats the question and you nod. "Well..it's kinda like a sneeze..a really. Good sneeze.." He continued as you played with his ruffled hair, absorbing his voice through your eardrums. "-It just feels really good.." He chuckled as he twirled a strand of hair on his long fingers before kissing your forehead.

"Did-did you enjoy it?" Satoru asked and you hummed, resting your head against his chest, hearing every heartbeat a second. "I wanna do it again...how often can we do it?" You ask, drawing little drawings with your hands on his chest. "However much you want sugar...we can literally do it anywhere."

"Anywhere?" You whispered as naughty thoughts appeared in the once clean and innocent mind of yours, and your pussy clenched as you thought about things that you could do and experience with your husband, you couldn't help but smile and awaits what this marriage holds.

(this fic was my first time ever writing smut so if it sounds familiar to cough cough love hypothesis; that is why)

#ಇ. harueina #gojo satoru smut #smut #jjk smut #satoru gojo smut #gojo smut #sexy time #wedding night #yummy #gojo satoru x y/n #satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader smut

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rorywritesjunk · 27 days

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There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

Crocodile brings on a former assistant to manage Buggy and his workload. Buggy realizes he likes it when Taron praises him for the littlest things.

Rating: PG-13 to start. Chapters will be rated depending on content. Warning: Slow burn. AFAB nonbinary character. Buggy is touch starved and a virgin who thrives on praise. He's also a bit of a mess because he's thinking he's going to finally be killed by Crocodile. Set with the Cross Guild but won't be a poly fic (as much as I love that unf). However, mentions of past/somewhat present TaronxCrocodile stuff. Also Buggy is bratty, whining, a little pathetic. He doesn't want to do anything. Word Count: 1.8k A/N: My self indulgent submissive Buggy fic. This came from another fic I wrote for another fandom that I never posted but it was pure self indulgent. I decided to do it with the clown and change it up. Originally thought of making this a dom!Buggy fic but after a poll and how I started writing it, I decided to stick with sub!Buggy.

Title comes from "Take Me To Church" by Hozier.

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4

Chapter 1

Taron stood in front of the entrance to the large circus tent. This was where they were instructed to go after being informed of their new job from their former employer who sought them out. Sir Crocodile appreciated how Taron kept things in line with his casino, managing schedules, appointments, and other things he was too busy to deal with at the time. After several meetings between Mihawk and Buggy, where he saw the latter was refusing to do his share of paperwork, forgot about meetings or showed up late, and every other little thing that came with this role, Crocodile made the decision for Buggy in getting him an assistant.

With his connections, Crocodile made contact with his former assistant, requesting their presence on the island for a new job, which Taron was delighted to have. They enjoyed their time working with him before and were pleased they had the opportunity again, but when they arrived with their bag in hand, ready to work with Crocodile again, they were confused when they were instructed on where they needed to go.

Once they arrived at the tent, standing in front of it as they wondered if they could just return to their old job, they decided to take the challenge. Crocodile said this individual was difficult, that he mismanaged paperwork, missed important meetings, the likes, and that Taron was brought in to put Buggy on the right track.

They survived working with Crocodile so there was no doubt they could survive this Buggy the Clown.

Crocodile gave Taron instructions on what was needed as well as permission to enter Buggy’s tent to find him. With a flyer in their hand they knew who to look for: a clown with blue hair and a red nose. Shouldn't be too hard. So they entered the tent, noticing this was an actual circus with a lion, performers, everything, but no Buggy in sight.

They went looking, ignoring the stares, whispers, and pointing in their direction as they went to find his room. They were told he was lazy, that he may be still in bed, so as they walked around, they found what they figured to be his room, another area in the massive tent with walls and curtains for a door. Not knowing how to properly knock, they let themselves in.

The bed in the middle was fairly large, though smaller than Crocodile’s. The lump on one side of the bed had to be Buggy, so Taron set their bag down and went over to it, giving him a shake.

“Captain Buggy?”

Nothing, he kept snoring. Taron gave him a few more shakes, increasing the force each time. When that didn't work, they yanked the blanket off only to throw it back on.

“What kind of pirate sleeps naked?” They muttered before giving the mattress a kick and shouting, “Captain Buggy, the Marines are here, wake up!”

That seemed to do it. He jumped up, blankets falling off and exposing himself as he stood up on the bed, eyes wide with fear as he turned his head frantically for the threat. “Where?!”

Taron pushed their glasses back up their face before putting their hands on their hips, looking up at him. Buggy blinked sleepily down at them and frowned.

“Who are you?”

“Your new assistant.”

“My new- I didn't hire you!”

“No, Sir Crocodile did.” They informed him as Buggy dropped to his knees on the bed, looking at them with a frown. “He feels you need help managing your schedule and paperwork so he brought me on to help you.”

“Why did he decide that without me?!” Buggy demanded, looking them over. Taron wasn't dressed flashy enough to work for Buggy. Their dress was too similar to Crocodile’s, from the cravat to the shoes. They looked like someone who Buggy would end up owing money to and having his knees broken for not paying them back. They were shorter than Buggy, wider as well, looking like it would take a lot to knock them over. They wore glasses, their brown eyes looking at him through thick frames. Long hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, keeping it out of their face as they looked at him.

“Because he wants to be sure the person could get the job done.” Taron replied as they crossed their arms. “You're still naked.” They went over to what they assumed to be his wardrobe and opened it, looking for something for him to wear. “I worked with him for ten years so he knows I can handle anything.”

They reached into the wardrobe, pulling out a shirt and pants for him. They didn't care what he wore as long as he was dressed, but when they turned and saw him sitting on his bed, blanket over his lap as he looked at them sulkily, maybe it wasn't the right outfit.

“I'm not wearing that.” Buggy said with a glare. “Those two don't go well together.”

Taron shrugged. “I don't care what you wear, but you have a meeting in ten minutes with Mihawk and Crocodile, so I suggest you put something on for it.” They looked back at the clothing options before looking at Buggy with a grim expression on their face. “They explicitly said for you to not be late to this one.”

“Ten minutes?!”

“It was fifteen but we wasted five minutes.” Taron told him as Buggy snatched the clothes from them and hastily put them on. They found his hair brush and handed it to him. While he wrestled with bedhead they retrieved his bandana and hat. “This should help.”

“I’m dead if I’m late again.” Buggy grumbled as he put his hair up before tying the bandana on to keep it all in place. He glared over at Taron as he grabbed his hat. “Not that I care, but what’s your name, you pest? Coming in here and waking me up late for my meeting, I should fire you for that!”

Taron looked amused by the empty threat. “My name is Taron and you don’t have the authority to fire me, only Crocodile.”

“I’ll take this up with him then!” Buggy snapped as he headed out of his room with Taron following after them. The two of them made it out of the tent before Buggy stopped and turned around. “Stop following me!”

“I’ve been instructed to make sure you make it to the meeting.” Taron told him. Buggy glared at them before he started walking again, grumbling under his breath about annoying assistants and other unkind things. Taron wasn’t bothered in the slightest by his petulant behavior. Their previous employer was a politician who didn’t know what he was even doing in his role so Taron did all of the work while he was just the face of the office. Once they reconnected with Crocodile and were told the job expectations, Taron realized they would be doing the same job again, but Crocodile would deal with the clown if he got out of hand.

“I don’t need an escort!”

“Mm, I don’t care.” Taron said as they followed behind. “We’re almost there.”

Buggy turned his head to glare at them once again while his body kept stomping along. Taron didn’t flinch at his Devil Fruit powers. They had seen plenty while working with Baroque Works.

They made it all the way to the meeting room where Crocodile and Mihawk were already seated. Buggy stomped over to his seat and sat down, still glaring at Taron for how his day was already going. They said nothing as they took a seat beside them, pulling a pen and notepad from their pocket. Crocodile glanced over at Buggy with a smirk.

“He’s early.” He said, cigar clenched between his teeth as he leaned back in his chair. “How did you manage that?”

“I informed Captain Buggy that the meeting was in ten minutes.” Taron told him as they clicked their pen. “It got him moving, which is what we needed.”

Buggy’s jaw dropped at being lied to as Crocodile chuckled and Mihawk looked over some papers. The meeting started without much fuss, just Buggy pouting in his seat while Taron took notes.

“I don't like you, Taron.” Buggy announced after the meeting. “You wake me up from my beauty sleep, lie to me, and then spend the meeting interrupting my thoughts!” He turned to look at Crocodile. “Why did you hire them for me? They're terrible!”

“They’re less likely to kill you than me, clown.” Crocodile told him without looking up from a stack of papers. “You’ll do as they say, understand?”

“What?! They said they were my assistant!” Buggy complained as he pounded his fist on the table. “They’re supposed to listen to me then!”

“I listen to Sir Crocodile.” Taron said as they looked over their notes. “And I only interrupted your ‘thoughts’ because you were nodding off in the meeting.” They looked over at Buggy. “As for liking me, I’m not here for you to like me. I’m here to make sure you do your job, Captain Buggy.”

Buggy stared at them for a moment before looking pleadingly at Crocodile. He really didn’t want an assistant, especially one that previously worked for Crocodile. Who’s to say Taron wouldn’t threaten to kill him with every conversation, or actually follow through with it? He wanted to throw a fit over this, that at least he should get to choose, but Crocodile glanced at Buggy with a look in his eyes that scared the clown into sucking it up and nodding.

Just because he was agreeing now didn’t mean he would behave, however.

Taron was given space in Buggy’s tent for a room. They put their things away before walking off with Crocodile, leaving Buggy and Mihawk behind as he continued pouting about the situation. If the two really thought he needed an assistant, they should have said something. He could have asked Alvida or someone, not have Crocodile 2.0 helping him out. Buggy had his eye on the assistant as they were in their new room, putting things away from their one bag. It was just some clothes, that was it, no personal items of any kind. It was a little odd to Buggy.

“I don’t trust’em.” He mumbled as he watched them leave. For all he knew, Taron was brought in to eventually assassinate him once Crocodile finally had enough of him. It was inevitable now. He wondered if he should have Cabaji start working on his obituary soon.

He waited a few minutes before returning to the tent. Buggy wondered how much longer he had left to live.

#buggy the clown #taron x buggy #buggy the clown x oc #buggy x oc #opla buggy the clown #opla buggy the clown x oc #opla buggy #opla buggy x oc #one piece fanfic #one piece oc #one piece original character #nonbinary character

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everlythequestionabletomboy · 7 months

Text

UPDATE LOG 4.2.3 MASTERLIST

Beyond this is the things they added to the 4.2.3 upd of DoL

Please send me an ask if you want me to add something or I missed one

Images/stories I still need

SPRITES

PC SPRITE

Bodytypes

Masc., Fem., and Andro.

Chest/breast sprites

Made the breasts have better visibility

Flattest chest size looks flatter on combat sprite

Added breast sprites to lace nightgown, virgin killer, ball gown, evening gown, open shoulder sweater, pink nurse, plastic nurse, skimpy lolita outfits, open shoulder crop top

TATTOOS

Tattoo Parlour

Any unlocked bodywriting can be turned into a tattoo, even if it's not on the PC

Island

New Triangle, Square, and Circle tattoos [look at the Island page for more info]

HAIR

New

All down

Fishtail braid (left, right, twins)

Half-up

Ribbon tail sides

Low tail

Thick ponytail

Reworked

None

FRINGE

New

Short air vents

Side pinned

Dreadlocks bun

Emo/Emo Left/Emo Right

Reworked

Ruffled

CLOTHES

Outfits

Traditional Maid Dress

Victorian Maid Dress

Shrine Maiden Robes

Virgin Killer Dress

Halter Sundress

Leather Dress

Upper

Cat hoodie

Ao dai Top

School cardigan

School blouse

Polo shirt

Color block crop top

Band t-shirt

Boxy t-shirt

Remade Serafuku

Classic Serafuku

Gakuran

Lower

Ao dai trousers

Plaid school skirt

Plaid school trousers

Plaid school shorts

School pinafore

Plaid school pinafore

Wide leg trousers

Straight leg trousers

Yoga pants

Jean miniskirt

Dolphin shorts

Under outfits

Turtleneck Leotard

Under upper

None 😔

Under lower

Tie Side Bikini Bottoms

Highwaisted microkini bottoms

Legs

Sheer Leggings

Stripped kneesocks

Patterned dress socks

Polka dot socks

Sports socks

Rib-knit socks

Rib-knit ankle socks

Feet

Canvas Loafers

ACCESSORIES

Hats

Hairpins (butterfly + star)

Conical hat

Raccoon cap

Fur cap

Bat beanie

Mini pumpkin

Face

Gas Mask

Doggy Muzzle

Eyepatch

Medical Eyepatch

Monocle

Neck

Love Locket

Fur boa

Hands

Work gloves

ICONS ADDED

Locations

Temple garden, moor, farmlands, temp office, altar, secret path, the churchyard, the dilapidated shop, Eden's cabin, brothel stage [pt1]

Garden plots, stream, gloryhole, park fountain, asylum, sea rocks, waterfall, thicket, Great Hawk's nest, and perch [pt 2]

Rainwater pool, Eden's bed, lake campsite, fishing rock, archaeological field office, Remy's Estate, Great Hawk's tower, Ruins,

Animals

Black Dog

Actions

Riding a horse, question mark for inquires, searching for pots in lake, excersizing/hobbling in heels, gliding, entering town, searching for a mark, praying, and renting a stall [pt 1]

Getting in/out/refusing rides, trick or treating, sitting on the school stump, diving, descending/ascending in water, leaving water, and fixing Eden's cabin [pt 2]

Digging, showering, practise shooting, undo bindings, daydreaming, tilling, watching TV, chatting, singing, and plundering [pt 3]

Making tops/bottoms out of seaweed, meditating, relaxing

Events

Trial of purity

Clothes

Patient gown

Items

Milk, breast milk, chicken eggs, truffles, temple pew, dog treat, bronze key, library desk, soap [pt1]

Lichen, cosmetics, small/medium/large/huge exotic/huge decor fish tanks, auto feeder, tank decor, and sewer safe [pt 2]

Antique watch, grass, antique crystal, scrap, stimulants, torch, fertiliser, antique candlestick, rubble, and mud [pt 3]

Spiderwebs [pt 4]

Objects

Salves, sink, computer, rug, broom, dustpan, gift boxes, wolf chew toy, padlock [pt 1]

Cash register, Eden's valentine's day gift, Eden's coatstand, condom vending machine [pt 2]

Tending

Milk

Breast milk

Chicken eggs

Truffles

Ghostshrooms

"Take all"

Shop

Fetish collar icon is updated

LOCATION ART

Pirate ship

Island

Old Church

Sepulchre

Dilapidated Shop

Meadow

GAME MECHANICS

WORLD MECHANICS

Settings

"Split by Gender Apperance" changed to "Set/Ignore Sexual Orientation

Crime

Split into 10 categories; Assault, Coercion, Destruction of Property, Indecent Exposure, Obstruction of Justice, Prostitution, Resisting Arrest, Thievery, Petty Thievery, and Trespassing.

Crimes the PC has commited would be read out before punishment

Can adjust each crime in the cheat menu

Can view the crime stats in the stat menu

PARASITES

Ear Slime

Added an event that prevents PC to wear under lower garments, unless given directly to them

Sleeping event at Alex's farm

Sleeping event if you study at school naked

Alternate abduction event at the dog pound

At Remy's Farm, it would attempt to force you on all fours and eat grass

May force you to have sex with dolphins

Ear slime tasks are now in the Journal menu

Clit Parasite

Alternative masturbation options if PC has a clit parasite

MASTURBATION

Skip Button

Added a skip button that brings you to the next orgasm

PREGNANCY

Alex the Farmer

Avaliable pregnancy candidate [+more]

Crossdressing Fame

Can lower fame more if seen as a female are pregnant

Paternity Test

Option to do it at the Hospital

SHOPS

Hide Option

Can now choose to hide unavailable items in the shop

FEATS

New

Gilded Spear

Lost World

Face of a Guardian

Wild Monarch

Naturalised

Prehistoric Landscape

SOFT BAD ENDNG

The Island

How to enter, how to escape [+more]

Stats

Sensitivity values can be viewed in the "Extra Stats" tab under "Characteristics"

Options

Confirmation dialouge appears when you try to exit/refresh the page [is on by default in ironman mode]. Can toggle it in the Advanced tab

CHEAT MENU

Clothes

Destroy, repair, dry, and drench clothes at once is added

Visuals

Breast and Cum Values have been replaced with sliders

Pregnancy

More additional options for pregnancy cheats

Teleport

Farmland tp is added

ENCOUNTERS

Double Penetration

Unique cum images is added

Anal

Improved xray sprites

Lower Underwear

Able to pull it to the side during encounters

EVENTS

Hitchiking

"Driving Lesson"

Pillory

Rimming and Watersports outcomes

Whipping and buttplug outcomes

Blackjack

Rimming outcomes

Spa

Rimming outcomes

Car Sex

NPCs will ask if PC needs to be dropped off anywhere after

Chalet

Prostitution opt. added

WARDOBE

Wardrobe Outfit Editor

Added a random color option

Filters

Warmth filter is added

LOCATIONS

ORPHANAGE

Whitney can upgrade the Loft

SCHOOL

Mason

Repeatable scene where he unlocks the chastity belt Winter put on you

Untying your bonds before swim class generates slightly random dialouge

Changing Rooms

PCs thoughts of being in the wrong changing room are more diverse, changes based on Crossdressing Rep

PC is no longer rejected immediately when looking like the opposite gender and is given weird stares and comments

Crossdressing Fame/Rep

Chance to lower crossdressing fame after not

THE POUND

Dog Happiness

Added a description of the dogs happiness on the main screen

NPCS/ANIMALS

WOLVES

Wolf Pack

PC is more comfortable naked around the wolves in the wolf pack

Wolf Cave

You can submit to wolves that advance towards you in the cave

BAILEY

Punishment(?)

Will now deliver PC to the tutorial person if PC stays at the orphanage for the first whole week

ZEPHYR THE PIRATE

Named NPC that is found during the Disguised Escape option

ITEMS

SEX TOYS

Fleshy color option is added to sex toys and strap ons

Fleshy color sidebar renderer is added [no idea what that means]

PLANTS

Flowers/Seeds

Plumeria, tendable [view the Island page for more info]

EXTRAS/MISC

ABILITIES

Clothes

Can tie cardigan around waist

Able to lower suspenders

#degrees of lewdity #bailey the caretaker #zephyr the pirate #update log #dol spoilers #dol 4.2.3 update #eden the hunter #soooo many icons #and clothes #they put so much into this update fr

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anamazingangie · 7 months

Text

deliciae | Rhaenyra x Daemon

🌧️ Rated E 🌧️ 8.3k words 🌧️ Complete 🌧️ by AmazingAngie 🌧️

Tags: AU, Loss of Virginity, Overstimulation, Valyrian Culture, Minor Bloodplay, Lore, Ritual Sex, Pregnancy, Lactation Kink, Non-Con Somno, Consent Issues, Velyaron Inlaws, Virgin Sacrifice, Darcyphilia, Begging

Summary:

“You will have to practice the marriage rites, if you wish for it to be valid.” She nodded, uncaring of the warning. But then—she did not truly know what the rites entailed. She didn’t realize it would require a sacrifice to Daemon. They used to sacrifice virgins to him, believing his alter was hungry for their blood. When that was outlawed, they realized it was not their life he desired, but rather their purity. (He desired a bit more than that from Rhaenyra, though.)

part one of ? of amorous autumn / kinktober. 1. loss of virginity / first times 2. praise kink/talking during sex/dirty talk 3. orgasm control /denial/chastity/begging 4. overstimulation/multiple orgasms

🌧️ deliciae 🌧️

Once, all of the known world worshiped the old gods of Valyria. At least that was the claim she had heard from the village elders—a handful of men and women so old their skin resembled dried fruit in texture, and parchment in color. Rhaenyra had been scared of them as a child, but now as a girl on the cusp of womanhood, she found herself fascinated by them and their knowledge.

There was a church for the Seven on the island, too. The majority of the island had been converted to their ways and beliefs now, but Rhaenyra was a Targaryen. The blood in her veins was as pure as what flowed through the gods who sculpted Valyria itself. She would never insult them by praying to another.

Her father knew how proud she was of her—their—heritage, but he still gave her a choice when it came time to secure a match for her. She could wed a man of the faith in the church, or she could wed a man who worshiped the old gods. It was an easy choice, and she was not dissuaded by his next statement,

“You will have to practice the marriage rites, if you wish for it to be valid.”

She nodded, uncaring of the warning.

But then—she did not truly know what the rites entailed.

She had seen Valyrian weddings before, though always from a distance. They took place on the highest peaks of the island, so they could be closer to the gods that still inhabited the clouds. Rhaenyra knew it involved small offerings of blood—one for the gods, served in a holy goblet, and one another for the couple, served from the other’s lips. Some thought it barbaric, but Rhaenyra thought it romantic—the long held Valyrian way was sharing all of yourself with your partner, and blood was no exception.

She had not seen the marriage rites, though. The practice was not in any tome or scroll, considered too sacred—too private to be written. It was Rhaenys, the mother of her betrothed, who told her of them in detail.

The gods worshiped most openly on Dragonstone were those of the sea and the sky, for they controlled nearly every part of the islanders' life—or at least the quality of it. But there were other gods, ones rarely even whispered about, either for lack of need or due to long held superstitions.

Daemon was the latter.

Rhaenys said his entire purpose was debated—some thought him evil, a harbinger of death and the god of darkness; of night. Others claimed he was a god of death, but a god of life, too. He could bless a life as easily as he could take it, which is why brides made such a sacrifice to him on their wedding night.

“Myths say they used to sacrifice virgins to him, that his alter was hungry for their blood. When that was outlawed, they realized it was not their life he desired, but rather their purity. By offering him that, by giving yourself to the night, he in turn blesses you with life. The first babe born to you is thought to come from his seed, and will ceremoniously be brought back to the altar in which they were conceived to be offered to the god.”

She went on to explain that they used to kill the first baby, as it was not thought to belong to the woman’s husband. Its blood was yet another sacrifice to Daemon. But those who dared were cursed, the women's wombs never quickening no matter what was done.

Now a small offering—that of simply showing the infant to the gods before it was named, was done in its place. It completed the cycle—for Daemon had taken one's innocence and replaced it with the most innocent creature of all—an infant.

“What must I do?” Rhaenyra asked, sounding determined. This new knowledge was surprising, but did nothing to sway her. Her lack of familiarity with a god made him no less powerful, and made her no less willing to offer something—even herself—to him.

She realized, as Rhaenys explained, why this was such a tightly held secret. People were embarrassed by the fact they underwent it, something so at odds with the more common faith who claimed a woman was only for their husband. Even amongst those committed to the Valyrian ways, like Rhaenys herself, recalled the practice with mixed feelings.

“It is a blessing, in one way. For the act of intercourse is at its core an invasion of your body—not dissimilar to a sword being buried inside you, though its tip is blunted. The fact that the first intrusion was something I controlled made me feel quite…powerful. It was as if it took any nervousness along with my maidenhead, leaving me prepared—even confident for what may come with my husband.”

She paused, looking thoughtful for a moment before continuing, “Despite that, it is not pleasant. The act—the phallus, it may pierce you but it is unlikely to provide pleasure. It’s large, cold, and unyielding. It lacks the intimacy of a man, of their arms around you and the contact of skin to skin. I think it a pity, I suppose, that such things were missing from my first experience of something entering me there.”

Rhaenyra swallowed, her throat feeling thick. She had never felt much fear for sex. Valyrian’s were more free than those who followed the Seven. They expected chastity until marriage, and fidelity within the confines of it, but once a pair was wed their intimacy was celebrated. She’d heard legends of her grandparents and how sounds of pleasure filled every corner of the stone cottage, no door or curtain capable of stifling their enjoyment. And even without tales like that, the illustrations and art of the Valyrian people created showed a reverence and enthusiasm that vastly differed from the Seven.

The followers of the Seven believed sex was for procreation—the possibility and hope for a child was the only pleasure that should be felt by a woman when she was with her husband.

But the Valyrians believed that a union—a wedding following their traditions, was not just blessed by their gods but involved them. Passion between a man and wife flowed through them, their pleasure serving as a gift that would in turn reward the couple with good health and happiness.

And so, it was not a frightening prospect to her, such an act with her husband.

But this…

There were several feasts leading up to her wedding, while the ceremony itself was private. Vows were given with only their closest family and the gods to serve as witnesses.

It was still summer when she wed the eldest son of her Aunt, Rhaenys Targaryen, and her husband, Corlys Velaryon. Her groom, Laenor Velaryon, was a slim man, only a few years older than her. His face wasn’t masculine enough to be handsome. But instead she considered him rather pretty. His skin was smooth, free of any beard or blemish. A perfect mixture between the shades of his mother and father.

Despite the season, she shivered as they spoke their vows—she wondered if a storm was coming, the sky seeming to form a haze even thicker than what was common on Dragonstone. The wind whipped at her free hair, distracting her from the Septon’s words and making her stumble over her own.

The wedding wasn’t quite what she had imagined. Despite his good looks, she wasn’t enamored with her groom. The lack of enthusiasm for the match left her to focus on her discomfort—the way the headdress dug into her scalp, and the weight of the heavy robes she wore. They had belonged to Rhaenys and still smelled musty from storage, too, which assaulted her delicate senses and made her nose wrinkle throughout the entire ceremony.

Laenor cut his palm, and they shared sips from the goblet—the taste was metallic, bitter, and unpleasant, but she knew she could not spit it out. She bit her lip and swallowed, swallowing a gag with it. Next her lip was pierced with the dragonglass, as was Laenor’s, and the vows were sealed with a gentle kiss.

They walked side by side down the mountain and through the village—he returned to his home, and Rhaenyra returned to her own. Though neither were their homes, for they were shared with their families.

Rhaenys and Laena were by her side for this, knowing the traditions and preparations far better than Rhaenyra’s stepmother who practiced the Seven and was not keen to even witness the ceremony, much less take part in what was to come.

Rhaenyra was happy to shed her robes and slip into the warm bathwater—the heat soothing the ache in her shoulders. Rhaenys protested when she dunked her head beneath the surface, but Rhaenyra did not care, the water felt good on her sore scalp. She massaged where the headdress had pressed into her, before reaching for the fragrant charcoal soap that was meant to cleanse her.

When she was done, a steel strigil was used to scrape the residue of oil from her body and then she was dried with white cloth. Unlike brides married under the Seven— who coated their bodies with perfumes and creams in an effort to appeal to their husband’s, the Valyrian gods desired women in their purest form.

And so, Rhaenyra was dressed in a simple pure white linen robe.

She was barefoot as she walked through the tunnels—the ones beneath Dragonstone. There were springs down here that some used for bathing, or laundry. Some was even funneled through pipes into cottages close to the keep. But if you went deeper, down what felt like hundreds of steps, you would reach Caraxes Crypt.

Caraxes was one of three serpent deities the Valyrian’s believed in—there was one of the sky, one of the land, and one of the sea.

The scaled beasts were thought to be evil by some—but also worshiped as a symbol of rebirth and fertility. They could shed their skin and were born anew in an ease and grace expectant mothers craved to experience in the birthing bed.

Caraxes was a serpent of the sky, revered for bringing fire to the earth with lightning that spewed from his monstrous mouth. Perhaps it was odd, that a creature of the sky was worshiped so far below the ground, but it was intentional—the crypt was close to the veins of lava that lived beneath Dragonstone and the heat was said to satisfy the creature.

Rhaenyra asked why Daemon was worshiped here too, and Rhaenys said it was because it was the closest they could get to the center of the earth—the closest they could get to the void of darkness, absent of life and all but his presence. It was not a comforting answer, but she nodded, as she could do little else.

She had never been in the crypt before, and she was somewhat awed by it—the walls lined with scales and Valyrian script. The space was lit with an eternal flame—one that never required tending, at least by no other than the deity Caraxes. It lived in the jaws of the creature's likeness, a massive head carved from dark stone and painted red with the blood of offerings. The eyes were rubies, glimmering and strangely lifelike despite the crystalline shape and sheen.

Rhaenys did not follow her into the final room.

Even the door was intimidating—a mixture of steel and lacquered black wood. Rhaenyra swallowed, pushing it open—surprised to find it warm on her palms.

The last room had been noticeably warm, but not uncomfortably so. Not sweltering or sweat inducing. But this one was different—the air was thick, almost syrupy in her throat and lungs as she breathed it in. There was no fire in here, save for the flame she carried, which Rhaenyra used to light lanterns on either side of the door—which had slammed shut as soon as she slipped through.

When she turned she had her first chance to look at the room. The previous chamber had been dark, chiseled from the stone and lava rock that made up the island. But in the lamplight it had not seemed so ominous in its coloring—not so different from Rhaenyra’s own stone-walled chambers.

This room was smaller and lined in obsidian tiles. Any reflected light from the flame bounced, but in a way that only emphasized the depth of its coloring. The lava-glass was often used for jewelry and blades, and though not rare it was prized for its sheen and inky shade. Medallions of it hung at the breast of many, representing luck and love and all sorts of things. But Rhaenyra had never seen it used like this.

It truly felt she was entombed by shadows, able to see but just barely as she approached the throne she was meant to mount. It was only a few steps away given the room's size, but she was sweating when she reached it—the heat was oppressive, unlike anything she had experienced before. She took off her robe then, hoping her skin would be able to breathe if exposed to the air.

If anything, she seemed to grow even warmer.

She placed her lantern next to the throne—illuminating it further. It was such an odd creation, made from the warped weapons of soldiers who had been killed in battle. Rhaenys said Daemon was once a war god, too—people thanked him for his part in skirmishes with offerings after the enemy was defeated. She wasn’t sure when it was formed into a seat, nor when the statue was added to it, but it was…exquisite.

It was made from shining obsidian, the muscle structure so very realistic she swore she saw the chest breathe. She knew little of mens appendages, but she could only assume it shared the same level of accuracy as the upper body, and…gods. That was beautiful too, the intimidating length that curved upward. The tip was thicker, delicate ridges and even veins carved into it.

Suddenly the lantern wasn’t enough, seeing it wasn’t enough. She set it down, reaching her palm to the stone. She traced it with her fingertips, completely awed by the feeling of it in her hand. She knew it was stone—obsidian, it was not alive the way a human was, but it seemed to pulse beneath her fingers all the same. It was warm too, even hotter than the rest of the room.

She was eager now, to have it inside her. To sit in the lap of this godly figure and offer him her maidenhead.

There was oil in the pocket of her robe and she reached for it—thinking it may not even be necessary for she felt hot in her loin, she felt hot all over. Feverish and needy as she spilled the liquid across the phallus, just as Rhaenys had instructed.

What else had she said? Rhaenyra could hardly remember—something about fingers, and the length of it being too much. Yes. Not to take all of it, not to hurt herself, but not to stress either.

Well. She certainly wasn’t stressed.

She stroked between her thighs, dipping the tips of her fingers between her folds. She had done this before—not for pleasure, but for sanitary reasons. And though the action wasn’t different, it felt different. It made her shiver, the sensitivity odd but far from unpleasant. She was slick there, with something thicker than oil or water, and it eased the entry of her fingers as they pressed deeper.

I think you’re ready, deliciae.

She startled, nearly slipping and having to catch herself on the arm of the throne. She looked around, but the room was empty—it was just her, and…

She looked at the sculpture, it lacked a face, and it had no arms. It was a torso, with legs and hips merely to support a base for its phallus. It could not speak. Gods, she was going mad—driven by the heat of her desire and the room, to be sure. Because it didn’t matter if the sculpture had a face, for a stone mouth was no more capable of speech than a nonexistent one!

She calmed herself with deep breaths, focusing on the hot air entering her lungs until she was swaying slightly, as if drunk on it. No matter where the words had come from, she was ready.

Already nude, and with the phallus oiled, there was little left to do but…mount it. She felt slightly awkward as she attempted this, positioning herself on the lap of the statue until its appendage was pressed between them. It was more intimidating like this, against the pale skin of her stomach, showing how deep it could penetrate her. It didn’t make her less aroused, though, if anything she felt anticipation—an eagerness to see how much she could take.

She rose upward on her knees, supporting herself with one hand on the shoulder of the torso while the other parted her folds. With how slick she was, and with all the oil, it did not take long for her to ease the head inside—though even that was a considerable stretch.

It didn’t hurt, it felt right, as if her muscles were made for this—to accommodate a man. And she supposed they were, this was just the first evidence she had seen—felt—of it.

What little ache there was, was chased away by the heat of the phallus—her aunt had called it cold but Rhaenyra thought its temperature far closer to something that would burn. She liked it though, and was suddenly desperate for more—but when she pressed down, her body protested, still attempting to adjust to the size of its bulbous head.

I can help you, deliciae.

She yelped—jerking in surprise. She likely would have lost her place on the lap of the throne if not for the—hands. Yes. Those were definitely hands. That gripped her waist and stilled her. She was panting now, the arousal and fear and confusion proving to be too much.

Don’t be afraid, deliciae. The night does not harm the day, nor does evil harm the innocent.

Her fingers clawed at the stone beneath them—proving to her that it was not a person, that this wasn’t real. But that voice seemed the opposite, echoing in the small room in a way that made her so sure it wasn’t just in her head. But that was impossible!

You won’t be innocent for long though, will you? Parting the petals of your precious flower and planting it on the root of my loin. So desperate for seed, greedy with the desire for a babe.

She shook her head, “No—” she wasn’t greedy for that. Her desire was for—she swallowed, she didn’t know what it was for. She simply wanted this—his length inside her. She wanted to know pleasure, even if she’d not been promised it by this ritual.

She said none of this, but he heard it. Gods, he wasn’t even there. She was going mad.

Oh deliciae, I shall give you both.

She didn’t know what that meant—and then the hands holding her waist moved. They did what she had not, pulling her further down the length—it was so hard inside her, so warm, seeming to thrum in time with her own heartbeat. She was stretched tightly across the appendage, skin straining and burning but doing so with an eagerness that made her desire more.

He gave it to her. Another inch—and she felt it, the tearing and pain that signaled she was no longer a maiden. It hurt, but she had little time to think for she was suddenly jerked further down the length—all the way down his length, she realized, for her body was now fully seated atop the statue's own without an inch between them. Though no tearing sensation accompanied this movement, the pain made her woozy, made her scream. It made everything go black.

One of Rhaenyra’s first memories was a poem. A man was jealous of his lover’s mindless playing with a sparrow. Whether it was because he wished to play so lightheartedly with the delicate bird, or because he wished to be in its place and play with his lover, was not made clear. She could not recite the exact words. After all, she hadn’t heard them in nearly a decade—not since her mother died, taking Rhaenyra’s interest in poetry with her.

It took a while for her to regain enough awareness to listen. The candance was the same, familiar enough to spark the memory of her youth. It must have been written by the same person, but she had not heard this part. In it, the sparrow was dead, and the man was blaming god—

‘you devour all beautiful things,’

‘now on account of your work my little girl's slightly swollen eyes are red from weeping.’

She wondered if it was a warning that he was going to devour her. Or perhaps meant as a compliment, that he thought her beautiful. She sniffed, her nose snotty from the tears that had come before she lost consciousness. There was a finger brushing them away, gentle thumbs cradling her face as she lay back against something warm.

Oh. She realized, almost wanting to laugh, it was because her eyes were swollen and red from weeping.

I shall reward you, deliciae, for your cleverness.

The voice sounded closer, now, and she shivered as lips brushed her ear, a tongue dragging to the lobe before teeth nipped at it. She wasn’t sure what this…whatever it was, would consider a reward, but if it was death, she wanted to see what creature would take her to the afterlife. Her eyes opened just enough to see him in the dim room.

She was shocked by what she saw, for he was the opposite of their surroundings, the opposite of the obsidian body that sat atop a throne.

His skin was white as snow, and his hair as bright as polished coins of silver and gold. He was handsome, breathtakingly so, with piercing eyes and plush lips. He looked more like a prince, than a god, though he was attractive enough to be both.

Was it so awful that his appearance alone soothed her fear?

Was it vain that he did not seem so monstrous when she knew he was handsome?

That she would rather die at the hand of someone beautiful?

Death—yes, she could imagine no other outcome, and his next words were no comfort.

I shall devour you, of course, my beautiful thing.

She waited for the pain—but none came, aside from the pressure of his hands on her pelvis, which reminded her of the ache in her cunt. It felt like an overstretched muscle, twisted and sore but in a way you knew would be better in the morning. Hardly damaged beyond repair, no matter how excruciating it had been when he fully entered her.

It was soothing—the weight of his palms pressing down on her, as if it could heal her that way. They soon moved, though, cupping her thighs and lifting them—bringing her cunt to his mouth as if he wished to sip from a bowl of soup. And this was what he had meant, she realized, as his mouth descended on her folds.

She didn’t know how to describe it—though she doubted her ability to describe anything at that moment. But it was warm and wet and wonderful. He lapped at her voraciously, as if he was starved for this act and unable to restrain himself. While his tongue curled into her, his fingers roamed—joining his tongue, and tracing both above and below her folds. She was shaking in a matter of minutes, and pleading for release. She had to look at herself to be convinced she wasn’t expanding, for her skin felt tight and she swore she was going to explode.

And then it came.

She came.

And she did again, and again.

She begged for mercy but he gave none. Her pleading seemed to amuse him, but he did not stop, for he was parched and intended to quench himself on the juices of her cunt.

Despite her protests, she ground her hips against his chin and dug her nails into his scalp in an attempt to drag him closer. It was as if her body knew she could take this, her body wanted this, it was just her foolish brain that was unwilling to resign to such pleasures.

It did, eventually. Or rather he forced her to resign. She came too many times to think, her vision blurred and she feared she may pass out again if he did not stop—though this time it would be for a reason opposite that of pain, it would be for pleasure. He seemed to know this, but remained unbothered—continuing to lap at her until her lids fell shut and grip on his hair weakened.

When she woke, there was an ache inside her, a cramping making her aware of an intrusion. Her upper body was against the stone tiles—they felt cool in the heat of her room and she moaned, momentarily distracted as her nipples scraped across their rough surface.

Her hips were held by large hands, the cheeks of her rear pressed against unyielding flesh. Warm. So warm. One hand stroked her hip while the other ventured up her side, cupping a breast before traveling to her stomach, pressing gently against the place his cock had reached inside her. She whimpered, and he made a shushing noise, like she was a child.

It shall pass. Tis a risk little things like you take, when they crave the cock of a god.

“I didn’t.” She cried, nails curling against the tiles before they bit into the skin of her palm.

Didn’t you?

She shook her head, and he made a humming noise behind her before leaning over her—trapping her body beneath him and whispering into her ear.

You will.

She didn’t know how long they stayed like that, him stroking her flank as her core desperately tried to adjust to his length. It could have been minutes, or hours, she didn’t have the slightest idea. But eventually her muscles gave up—growing as slack as they could while being stretched so thoroughly. The ache of pain faded slowly, and the ache of desire readily took its place. Soon that was all that remained—pooling in her gut and making her cunt slick, though it had nowhere to go with how his cock plugged her.

His cock. God, it was so warm, so hard. It soothed the ache it had caused in her, while leaving her burning for more. She wanted for him to move. She wanted him. She wanted.

“Please.” She whispered, though it sounded pathetic, even to her own ears.

He hummed.

Please what, deliciae?

“Please move.” She begged.

I am not sure you have earned it. When you claim to not even crave it.

She sobbed in frustration, “I do! Please! I need it.”

Greedy little thing. Alright deliciae, I am not so cruel as to deny a pretty thing such as you.

And he didn’t—his thrusts were shallow at first, letting her adjust to the sensation of something not just being there but moving in there. She thought her muscles were too fatigued for it to hurt, she barely twitched at his movements, though she felt them. She couldn’t escape them, the force of each thrust flowing from her folds to the tip of each of her fingers.

She swore she felt more than the force of his movements, but also the force of his being. If he had been a shadow when she first walked into this room then perhaps it was not so impossible that part of him had crept into her with each breath. She would worry over that later, for at this moment all she could focus on was him pressing into her—and then pulling out until only the head remained, before slamming back in and making her shriek and scramble.

It was not predictable. Each thrust was a different pace and length—she trembled in anticipation as he pulled back only to nearly collapse in pleasure when he pushed forward. His hands hadn’t moved through all of this, somehow still supporting her. They soothed her with strokes along her flank, before slipping down to where they were joined—a fingernail scraped against the taught skin that clung to his cock and her entire body seemed to coil before it snapped.

He kept thrusting, his finger dancing around where they were joined, then rubbing the bud above her folds. She felt tears spilling from her eyes and she bit down on her lip in an effort to avoid crying audibly.

Do not hide from me, deliciae. Not your tears, or sounds, or body. Let yourself be. Let yourself cry out for me.

She hiccuped, “I don’t even know who you are.”

I am Daemon— and perhaps more than that to you.

She didn’t know what that meant.

But she knew his name, at least. And she became familiar with it on her tongue, as she cried out for him again, and again. He was relentless, the coupling seeming endless until he finally—finally emptied himself into her. She knew a man would spend themselves, but she hadn’t expected to feel it—the heat, and the pressure. The way it managed to pour into every crevice his cock itself had not reached, being pushed deeper and deeper with his shallow thrusts until she was sure it filled every empty part of her.

There was no way she could know this, but somehow she did.

And somehow he did too.

Name him Baelon. He whispered, before gently pulling out of her

She whimpered—now unused to being empty, even though before that night it was all she knew.

She felt herself being lifted into his arms and being moved—she was curled up quite efficiently in his lap, her lips and face buried in the crook of his neck. “It won’t be a demon, will it?” Rhaenyra asked, thinking of the legends—creatures born by evil spirits as punishment for one's misdeeds.

No more so than you.

She laughed a little at that, stroking his chest, her thumb dragging across scarred flesh that nearly covered his right nipple. It was strange for a god to have scars.

A warrior wears his failings and his victories on his flesh. It is a fact unchanged by death or deity.

She hummed in response, unable to think of anything else for his own fingers had wandered. She hissed as his thumb touched her own nipple—the bud scraped, as was most of her chest, from being pressed against the tile floors. The sensitive nubs had gotten the worst of it, given their hardened state that only served to press them more harshly against the jagged stone.

Daemon did not apologize—instead enveloping one in his mouth. The heat of his tongue against broken skin stung at first, but the suckling sensation was soothing and pleasant enough that any other feelings soon faded. She petted his hair while he lapped at her, sucking turning to lazy licks before he repeated the act on her other breast.

She had seen women in the village feed their children before, and so she never gave much thought to her breasts' purpose beyond that. If anything they were an annoyance, making her back ache because of their size. She didn’t know they could feel like this. But then, she’d never had a man's hands massaging them, nor one's mouth miming the act of drinking from one.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, and she collapsed against the armrest—her head tilting back against the throne. The last thing she remembered was being very warm, very tired, and asking for a good night's kiss.

Of course. Sleep, deliciae.

His lips were soft and warm, and she was asleep before their mouths fully parted.

She was warm. So warm. Not like the night before though—this was uncomfortable, stifling, claustrophobic and not at all like the embrace of her god. She struggled, and hands pressed her down—she tried to fight them, but she was so weak.

Why was she so weak?

A woman’s voice tried to calm her.

“Go back to sleep, Rhaenyra, you have a fever, you need rest.”

The next time she awoke, she was more comfortable—but when her eyes opened, everything was much too bright. It was as if they were still adjusted to the dim crypt, and her head pounded as they attempted to adjust. Or perhaps her head just pounded. She touched her forehead—it felt grimy with sweat, but had no exterior damage.

What had happened? The last thing she remembered was…

Daemon.

Rhaenys was the one to explain—that Rhaenyra never returned to the ground level of the keep. Rhaenys had stood watch all night, and when morning came both she and Laena descended into the crypt to search.

They found her asleep on the throne, curled against the side of the statue.

“You were pale and completely unresponsive. The Maester said he has only seen such a water imbalance in men who had been missing for weeks.” Laena told her, sounding far more concerned than her mother had.

“You were alone down there, yes?” Rhaenys asked, after Laena had left the room. Her tone was very serious. Rhaenyra picked at her fingers, she could hardly admit that a god took a human form in order to take her virginity. They would think her mad. Maybe she was. But she knew from the ache in her legs, and the sensitivity of her breasts against the chemise that something had happened.

“Yes. I was alone.” Rhaenyra said. She had to have been. Rhaenys had been at the entry all night, and the rooms had been empty when she first entered them.

“There were marks, Rhaenyra.” The older woman said “Bruises. Trauma.” She paused for a moment before gritting her teeth and saying, “There was seed.”

Rhaenyra looked at her lap, blushing despite not doing anything wrong. She gathered despite the rumor of the stone phallus leading to conception on a woman’s wedding night, it was not meant to leave visible evidence like it had with her.

“You saw me bare and unblemished just minutes before I went into that chamber. You saw me enter that chamber alone. You saw that no one else entered! I will not deny the marks or moisture that was present, but I was alone.”

Rhaenys eyes narrowed, and then softened when Rhaenyra yawned—exhausted from merely sitting up and speaking. She clutched her daughter in law's hand. “Regardless of what happened—I’m glad you survived, and I bid you not to speak of it to others.”

Rhaenyra nodded, that much she could agree to—as it was she had little plan to tell anyone of what happened. Of what she thought happened. She would not let a…hallucination brought on by lack of water be the downfall of her marriage or life.

It was to be forgotten.

It did not want to be forgotten.

She did not consummate her marriage with her husband until a full month after they married. He was insistent that her health had to come first, and that she was still recovering what had occurred in the crypt. Rhaenyra swore she was fine, but he protested all the same.

She was quite sure when he did agree, it had to do with his mother’s interference rather than his own desire.

Despite his good looks and the easy friendship they had developed, he was not suave. He treated her more like a sister than a lover, even when they had the privacy of shared chambers. She was somewhat…offended at his lack of interest, but she wasn’t sure how to fix it. She was confident it wasn’t her fault, for she was beautiful, and she knew it. Which meant it was something he had to decide to fix, and he seemed more eager to avoid than address it.

It was somewhat of a relief to learn his lack of desire applied to the entirety of her sex, rather than just her. He had admitted this when his cock refused to thicken enough to even press it inside of her. She had held him, his face against her chemise covered chest—for he had asked her not to remove it during—while he sobbed.

Before he returned to his room, he swore he appreciated the female form, he just had no appetite for it.

That night, her fingers roamed beneath her chemise. She remembered the sensation of Daemon’s appetite, the unrelenting tongue that had made her come until her body could no longer take it. It was this that brought on a release, though it was less satisfying using her own hand.

Her sleep was fitful that night.

She started feeding the sparrows, leaving little bits of bread on the windowsill of her room.

She started reading her mothers poetry books.

She started to acknowledge that she was going to be a mother too.

The bump was small, but could not be ignored. Her husband did not ask questions, and neither did Rhaenys.

Corlys seemed to know the truth of it, but was uncaring—names were what people remembered, he claimed, and her child would be a Velaryon.

There was a terrible storm that night—unexpected and violent. The wind ripped shingles from rooftops, and the seas were so rocky they wrecked parts of the dock and sank several boats.

A bad omen, the townspeople claimed.

Laenor had gotten the wound while sparring—just a small cut, not worthy of seeing a Maester or stitching. He was insistent on that, brushing it off in the unserious manner he did almost everything. Rhaenyra huffed but didn’t argue, it wasn’t worth it, he never listened.

The wound festered.

His pride kept it hidden beneath his sleeve, until the swelling and stiffness made the severity obvious.

The Maester did what he could, but the infection had spread to the point where even amputation would not stop it. “If it already travels through his veins, the presence of the original source has little effect on what comes after.” He claimed. “Best to clean the wound, use the pastes and tonics.” He paused for a moment, “And pray.”

Laneor had laughed at this, too, claiming his arm ached but he was fine.

He seemed it, too. Until the fever came.

After that, his condition deteriorated rapidly.

Rhaenys spent hours at the altar. Perhaps that was what motivated Rhaenyra to do it—to visit the only place she had truly felt the gods presence. Or at least one god's presence.

The task was harder now that she was more than halfway through her pregnancy. Everything was harder now. But the steps felt especially treacherous now that she was unable to see her foot placement over her swollen belly. She was nervous too, which didn’t help. Far more nervous now than she had on her wedding day.

Though there was no reason to be, it turned out.

The ruby eyes of the dragon Caraxes followed her as she opened the steel door to the obsidian room. .

The room was different than she remembered. It was cold. Or rather, it wasn’t warm, not like it had been.

She swallowed as she approached the statue—missing the arms she swore she had felt, and the mouth she had kissed. Whatever she had coupled with that night had been more than her imagination, she knew that now. The evidence of this grew bigger each day—for she grew bigger each day. She palmed her stomach before reaching out to touch the shoulder of the obsidian torso—the stone was cold, like ice.

Yes—she knew what she had coupled with that night had been more than her imagination.

But whatever she had coupled with that night was gone now, she knew that too.

Her eyes strayed to the sky during the funeral, even before the pyre was lit. She swore she saw a dragon circling ahead, or something too big to be a bird, with shiny red reptilian scales in addition to wings. Laena squeezed her arm, and Rhaenyra turned her attention back to the service.

When she looked up again, whatever the creature was, it was gone.

The only tears that fell from her eyes that day were from the smoke—making her eyes itch in a way the loss of her husband hadn’t.

The town seemed to be buzzing—rumors had spread that inhabitants were returning to the great keep, named Dragonstone after the island it sat on. It was an intimidating structure, and said to be very grand inside, but the definition of grand on Dragonstone paled compared to the Crownlands or Essos. Clearly it wasn’t enough for her distant relatives, the Targaryen’s, who had left the island centuries ago and taken the dragon’s with them.

Dragonstone was not entirely uninhabited. The Septon’s and Maesters retained residence there, with special permissions, and was maintained by a skeletal staff with servants split between the keep and nearby stone cottages.

Having existed long before the village itself, the keep was built with the intention to serve the soldiers and a large number of attendants in addition to the ancestral family. When the family left, this practice remained, leaving crypts, springs, places for prayer, and the kitchens accessible to all.

Rhaenyra knew the lower floors offered little insight into the grandeur of the structure. It was hard to consider anyone who lived there—in the servants chambers—an inhabitant, for they too were limited from enjoying its glory.

It was exciting, Rhaenyra supposed, but she was more concerned with what lived in her womb at that moment, than what lived in the keep. Her babe was expected in mere weeks and she couldn’t help but worry—for herself, and for the baby. If it was a baby.

She had nightmares of a midwife placing a bundle into her arms. In one, the weight of it felt strange, and when she pushed back its blanket, the babe was nothing but black stone.

In another, the lively human wails made her sob in relief. But when she attempted to lift the babes head and help it latch, she found a hissing dragon that left her breasts bloodstreaked.

Her worry was for naught.

“A god was watching over this one, watching over them both, never seen a first labor like it.” The midwife said, after it was over.

Rhaenyra was grateful for the apparent ease of it—though it had still hurt to the point she screamed and threatened the poor woman’s life. She was not eager to repeat this, much less a dozen times like some villagers had. But it could have been worse.

So much worse.

She blinked away the memory of how her mother had been flayed.

And the babe…he was perfect.

A little boy. Ten fingers and ten toes. Ruddy cheeks and bright eyes and hair as white as ash. She was immediately besotted with him, stroking his hair as he mouthed at the bud of her breast.

“Lusty, that one.” The midwife said, and Rhaenyra wasn’t sure if she should cry or laugh, because all she could think was, yes, just like his father.

She missed the arrival of the Lord that had returned to Dragonstone, for it had occurred the same day at the birth of Ba—she swallowed the name. It was considered bad luck to name a babe in its first fortnight of life. Rhaenys said it was only to be done after the infant had been offered to the gods.

Rhaenyra put this task off for seventeen days. Using healing as an excuse until she could no longer.

She never made it to the crypt.

She stumbled on the hem of her dress—it was one from when she was pregnant and without the roundness of her belly it was too long. It was an easy alteration to make but Rhaenyra despised hemming with a passion, and so it had not yet been done.

She was relieved when she was saved from injury by someone catching her arm. She knew the firm grip belonged to a man before she looked at him, but she had not expected it to be him.

He was more handsome in daylight, she thought. His skin was so bright he almost glowed, and his eyes shone more like jewels or glass than anything human. He was beautiful—if he existed at all.

His name was caught in her throat, as he looked down at her expectantly. She had never seen him standing, had she? Never been able to appreciate the breadth of his shoulders and how his height compared to her.

“Are you alright?” The man asked, and gods, even the voice was what she remembered.

She blinked, her voice hoarse when she replied, “No, I think perhaps I’ve seen a ghost.”

He smirked, leaning in slightly—his hand notably still on her arm. His breath smelled warm, spicy and sweet and it made her want to do nothing but breathe in the aroma of him.

His voice was low, “I think, deliciae, I’ve seen something I’d like to eat.”

She shivered—the prospect arousing, for she remembered that act well…but, wait—gods, her voice was a panicked whisper, “You don’t mean the baby, do you?”

He laughed. A masculine yet musical sound full of such mirth and humor it almost wiped away her worry before he answered, “No, Rhaenyra, I do not mean the baby.” His attention was turned to the babe now, though, looking down at the bundle in her arms.

“He is beautiful.” His eyes glanced up to her own, “I think he looks quite like his father.”

She did not disagree.

“Tragic, how young you’ve been widowed—I do hope you would allow me, as the new Lord of Dragonstone, to offer you aid if you are ever in need of it. In need of anything.” He said, the last part sounding sinful in the tone he used.

“I thank you for that but—-” he cut her off, “There is little reason to go there now, Rhaenyra. Baelon is a fine name for a son. I’m positive your gods would approve.”

His fingers were stroking the trim of her sleeve, and then the strip of exposed skin below it.

“Join me for a meal instead?” He asked.

She nodded.

She had never eaten so much or so well. He fed her quail and meat pies and pudding and syrupy wine, until she swore she had never been so full in her life.

He insisted she had room for just a little bit more, before feeding her his cock. It was a clumsy act, a mess of drool and gagging around the length, but he seemed pleased all the same, watching with a smile and gently stroking her hair while she sucked.

She had barely wiped the seed from her chin before she was in his lap and her breasts freed from her dress. He looked awed by them, swollen with milk and larger than they had been even a few months ago. His thumbs brushed her nipples, before his tongue descended—giving them far more attention than they had ever known before.

He did not move away when the milk came—quite the opposite. He lapped up what spilled before sucking the rosy peak between his lips. She wasn’t sure why it felt so good—but it did, the relief and the pleasure of it all was almost enough to make her come. She thought she might have, when his lips swallowed the other breast, and she sobbed while curling herself around his head.

No part of her wanted him to stop, but she pulled at his hair and pleaded, “Leave some for Baelon.” The words a mere gasp on her tongue.

He pulled away, though looked quite pathetic as he did.

“Pity, the sacrifices a father must make to keep their son from going hungry.”

She stiffened—he had fully admitted it with that statement, hadn’t he?

“What does that make me, if he is your son?” She asked.

“You are my deliciae, but if that is not enough, then I shall have to make you my wife, too.”

Her second marriage was consummated mere minutes after the vows were said.

The taste of blood made Daemon thirst for something else, he claimed.

She did not find it so invigorating—though she was pleased when she did not find it grotesque, either. Daemon was smug when she admitted this—that his blood was far more palatable than her first husband’s. He promised he would bleed for her eagerly if she desired it.

She found she desired a different part of him in that moment—and she helped herself to it, sliding down the appendage with a long moan.

He had to carry her back to the keep, her legs refused to work. But that was alright, their function was not required in what he had planned.

“It is tradition,” He said, when he pressed his length into her once more, “For us to conceive on your wedding night.”

definition of deliciae | latin

1, delight, pleasure (an activity which affords enjoyment)

2, pet, darling, sweetheart, beloved object

.end.

References, quotes via wikipedia:

a. Throughout the ancient Mediterranean images of Priapus with a phallus were used in deflowering rituals of newlywed, virgin brides. Though the bride would later consummate the marriage with her husband, the deity was said to impregnate her with her firstborn child.

In early times, this child begotten of the deity was sometimes then offered back to the deity as a sacrifice, just as the first fruits of all kinds were offered to the deity who provided them.

b. During preliminary marriage rites, Roman brides are supposed to have straddled the phallus of Mutunus to prepare themselves for intercourse. Arnobius says that Roman matrons were taken for a ride on Tutunus's "awful phallus" with its "immense shameful parts" and “Tutinus, upon whose shameful lap sit brides, so that the god seems to sample their shame before the fact.”

“Daemon” was based mostly on gods from the Aztec Pantheon who generally covered a realm of things — a sky god would provide water for crops, which would grow and represent new life, for example. But I primarily used: Tezcatlipoca as a reference, he is associated with a variety of concepts, including the night sky, hurricanes, obsidian, and conflict.

Snakes, serpents, and dragons were often a sign of evil, rebirth, fertility, and sensuality. There is like a wikipedia page for each religion and how horny/scared they are of them. This might have been what partially inspired my Oberyn / Daemon / Rhaenyra fic, lol.

Poems inspired by Catullus #2

#hotdaemyra #hotdaemyraautumn #hotd #kinktober #fanfic #amorous autumn #ao3 #daemyra #daemon x rhaenyra #house of the dragon #Rhaenyra Targaryen #Daemon Targaryen #fic #a03 #daemon x Rhaenyra #HOTD #Angie writes

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six-magnitude-girl · 10 months

Text

The Black Swan

Tags: Bandits AU, love at first fuck, painful sex, slight dubcon, implied noncon (not Mikasa), mostly smut, misunderstandings, loss of virginity, suicide, suicidal thoughts, child abuse, kidnapping, catching feelings, no beta I die in this hill, sleep is for the week, this is the result of that persistent feeling of exhaustion and not doing enough at the same time

A/N: This is for @eremikaauweeks! Day 2, Tier 3: Bandits AU (with a little bit of Tier 1: The Princess Bride)

Mikasa Ackerman is supposed to get married in a couple of hours.

She's on her way to the church when someone hits her on the back of her head.

Oddly enough, relief is what she felt before losing consciousness. She won't have to marry the prince after all.

When she gained consciousness, she found herself trapped inside a wooden trunk. Her layers of petticoat managed to serve as a cushion so she managed to get herself comfortable.

Mikasa didn't know how they managed to stuff her and her enormous wedding dress inside a box but she was impressed.

Judging how the box she is currently in is rocking back and forth, she figured she was currently being transported to who knows where.

She closed her eyes and wondered if her life was the training for this moment.

Duke Kevan Ackerman went on a voyage to an island in the East where he met Akemi Azumabito.

They fell in love and Mikasa was the product of that.

It turns out, Kevan is already married to someone in Eldia.

Being betrayed and lied to is one thing but living in disgrace is a tad bit too far for any lady to bear for the rest of her life so she killed herself.

Kevan went home to Eldia and made his wife raise his bastard alongside his legitimate children.

It was Akemi's last wish to have Kevan bring Mikasa with him to Eldia for a better life. Riddled with guilt, he obliged. (That or he was scared of being cursed by a bunch of Hizurans).

It went as well as anyone could have expected.

Maybe Mikasa was just as crazy but she was thankful that, unlike her mother, her place was clear from the start.

The relationship she formed with her stepmother and stepsisters is more reliable than what she has with her father.

Unlike her father who alternates between favoring her and closing one eye to the treatment that she got, Mikasa found that she could always count on her stepmother and stepsisters to sabotage her in any way they could. That is comforting in a way.

It got a bit too overboard when she caught the eye of the charming prince…

It was like a real-life fairytale to everyone but all Mikasa could see is a lifetime of more suffering for her. A slave changing one master to another master albeit with a grander title and prettier clothes.

Everyone sees Mikasa as the happiest and luckiest lady in the world for being loved by a prince despite her questionable birth. Their story is known as the 'greatest love story'.

Rather than a love story, it's all about a delusional little prince who has a weakness for damsels. He even managed to insult her by describing her as a 'delicate little bird' and that is impressive in itself as she's been called a lot of names.

The prince clothed her, gave her gifts, and even appointed and demanded some ladies to be friends with her. All that thought on what color of jewel would suit her but failing to realize that he's fighting a losing battle and nothing could change what she is.

So when the prince announced their upcoming wedding without even consulting Mikasa, she didn't fight or say anything. Like always, she listened and went along with whatever the prince wanted.

Kevan looked at Mikasa with stars in his eyes as if her upcoming marriage to the prince was a justification for his deceit.

The ones she paid attention to are the queen, the queen dowager, and her stepmother. She couldn't discount the jealousy of the prince's admirers and her stepsisters too.

It's ironic how her enemies are the ones that hold the key to her freedom but she's not going to complain. She makes do with what she has.

In the darkness, it's hard to take track of time. Her arms are numb with how tight they tied her hands at her back.

To distract herself from the pain, she tried to listen to what was going on outside.

"Move her to another carriage and make haste to the mountains of Shiganshina."

Shiganshina? It's a lawless borderland that's occupied and ruled by bandits. Anyone who passed by was intercepted, robbed, and killed. It doesn't matter if you are a convoy, merchant, or a traveler.

"Once you are done with her, be sure to throw her back naked at the royal capital for everyone to see."

Mikasa doesn't recognize the lady's voice who's giving the orders.

The men laughed but answered in the affirmative.

Raped and passed around? She thought she was only going to get killed but the people who ordered this wanted her broken and humiliated.

"I also want her face marred beyond repair. Is that understood?"

They continued to talk some more and actually set off multiple decoys.

If Mikasa could whistle, she would. How thorough. It's almost too good of a plan to be pulled off by her stepmother; the royals must have helped.

Should she kill herself by biting her tongue?

The rugged mountain road is rough and it momentarily distracts Mikasa from her plans. She gritted her teeth and resisted making any noises.

Mikasa's cold and thirsty. She wonders if death is like this. If it is, she wished her box could at least be big enough for her to stretch her legs.

She closed her eyes again and thought there would be no difference whether she opened or closed her eyes since it was all darkness anyways.

***

"I won't ask again. What were you all planning?"

The new men from their ranks that Floch brought in are animals.

A fraction of the truth was all Eren needed. He's disgusted and that is saying something considering he's their leader.

"We're going to present her to you." one of the men sensing Eren's mood quickly amended.

"Then what about her?" The woman giving the order took a step back at Eren's attention.

"She now knows where our base is."

"I-I'm just here to make sure you go through the end of your deal." the woman chimed in, trying but failing to sound authoritative.

"I just took your plaything didn't I?" Eren gestured at the trunk presented in front of him.

"Take her as a replacement."

The men didn't need more encouragement than that.

Floch sidled up to Eren as they watched the three tear at their employer.

"After they are done, I want them disposed of. Make it painful." Floch knew he screwed up so he got to kill and bury his messes.

"What about the… lady… afterwards?"

"Didn't you hear about the plan?" Eren asked sarcastically, "gouge her eyes out, cut her tongue, hands and feet then throw her naked at the royal capital." Floch paled at having to do such a thing but nodded. Eren's giving him a lesson.

Satisfied, Eren carried the trunk to his room.

Eren felt dirty just thinking about what happened earlier so he took a bath.

After fastening his robe, he stared at the trunk in the middle of his room.

Eren opens it and sees a black-haired lady in a fetal position. She's wearing a fluffy wedding dress with a translucent veil attached to her head.

"I know you are awake, open your eyes."

Gray eyes blinked several times to adjust to the sudden light and turned her head to look at him. He's staring back at her, mostly surprised by how subdued she is.

Realizing that they can't exactly talk properly with her still in the box, he carried her out and laid her in his bed.

Truth be told, Eren doesn't know what to do with her. She didn't do anything wrong but she already saw his face and their base.

He expected resistance, screaming, begging, and crying but she was calm this whole time. It made things difficult.

She's the one tied up, laying on his bed, staring up at him but he's the one who's unnerved.

He sat her up and lifted her white veil to get a proper look at her.

Looking at her, he could understand why she inspires so much envy.

"Aren't you going to beg?"

"For what?" even her voice sounded pleasant to the ears.

Eren didn't answer as he doesn't know what he wants her to do.

"Are you married?"

"No."

"Turn around."

She's obedient and cooperative, that made him feel better with his decision to untie her.

"Thank you."

There's a moment of silence again.

"Do you have any lovers?"

"No." she nodded as if satisfied with his answer.

It's normal to have questions if you get kidnapped but those aren't the type of questions you ask. "Why are you asking?"

"You can't let me go and you don't want to kill me either," her hopeful gaze that she was right with her assumption pulls at his heartstrings, "so the obvious solution is to make me your wife."

It was Eren's turn to stare.

"Did I read the situation wrong? ...Will I be passed around after you are done with me after all?"

"No!" He denied vehemently. What kind of thought process does this lady have?

The lady looked thankful and gave him a shy smile! Why is she looking at him like that? Eren doesn't understand! Is this lady mad?

"What's your name?" that question snapped him out of his thoughts.

They almost had him. He clenched his fists.

He's got to give them credit for being creative. His eyes narrowed at the lady in front of him.

How nice of them to send a top-class whore to seduce and spy on him. If that's the case, there's no need to hesitate.

"On your knees." is all he said.

Confused, she hesitated but did as he said and kneeled on the bed, looking as innocent as ever in her white dress.

That agitated him more than ever, so he grabbed her by the arm, "On the floor."

"Suck it." He smirked seeing her eyes widen because of his stiffening erection in her face.

Eren grabbed a handful of her hair to push her face into his crotch, forcing his tip into her lips to keep things moving when she still wasn't doing anything. He knows he's big but she's overreacting.

"If I feel your teeth I will knock every one out," he grabbed her jaw to force her mouth open.

"I… I don't know." she finally said, unable to look at him.

Eren gave her a hard look, "Open your mouth wide and stick out your tongue," She did and he knew she felt self conscious. He was tempted to humiliate her but he's bewitched by her pleading eyes.

She must have always used her angel face to get away with not having to service her patrons this way.

Playfully smacking her cheek with his hardness, he didn't give her any time to hesitate and entered her mouth.

She has her hands on her lap, fisting her dress for support as she struggles to accommodate each of his thrusts that gets deeper and deeper.

Doing all the work somehow made it better for him.

The twitching in her mouth must have surprised her because she attempted to move away but he used her hair as leverage to hold her in place as he fucked her face.

To her credit, after a while, she tried moving her tongue around and the feeling of his cock stroking back and forth across her tongue was heavenly.

He stopped. It felt good. Too good and he could no longer wait. He wanted to taste her. He let her finish coughing and panting on the floor.

Without a word, he hoisted her on her feet.

It's like unwrapping a gift. He nibbled her nape as he unlace or unbuttoned layers upon layers of her wedding garb.

When he felt her leaning against his touch, he bit her neck and felt her stiffening.

Eventually, he lost patience and decided to just cut her out of her dress with his knife.

As soon as she turned around to face him, he pushed her into the bed and mauled her.

Straddling her down, she tried holding him for support but he flipped her to have her lie on her belly to stop her from touching him.

He covered her body with his when he lay on top of her. He felt her shiver as he breathed directly into her ear.

Snaking his hands around her torso, he grabbed and squeezed her breast.

Liking the fullness that he feels in his hands. He smacked her bottom for being sinfully beautiful. Satisfaction welled him when he felt her nipples hardening against his palms.

It seemed like she didn't get the hint earlier and reached for him again, caressing his neck so he put one hand on her neck to push her face down the mattress, his second one holding her wrist and turning it behind her back.

She finally stayed still with her face down after a few seconds of holding her down like that.

Spreading her legs, he placed himself in between them to penetrate her.

He can already feel his eyes rolling back with just the tip inside her.

It was warm and tight inside her. He felt her stiffened and he caressed her back to soothe her. He couldn't help but close his eyes, feeling her insides pushing and fighting against him.

Eren grinned at the surge of wetness that he felt trickling down her legs. He takes her by her waist and pounded on her.

With the type of life he's living, he's had his fair share of women but no one was as quiet as she is. He felt her breathing heavily but there was just no noise apart from her lubrication with each of his thrusts.

He stroked her buttocks and moved them back and forth faster, plunging into her deeper but there was still nothing.

Did she pass out?

In the surprise turn of events, she has more fight in her than anyone realizes.

When he tried to flip her, she bent her body towards him but was determined to bury her face in the pillow.

When he saw her bloodied thighs, he quickly found out why.

If Eren was a better man, he would have stopped right then and there. If he's a better man, he would leave this poor lady alone and find some actual whore to finish. Unfortunately, he's not. He always gets what he wants and he wants her.

Gentle butterfly kisses are made to the base of her spine up to her nape before completely eclipsing her body with his. His arm supports his weight to not crush her.

He stimulates her body by giving nips on her shoulder, neck, and ear.

Reaching down, he gently rubbed her clitoris which made her squirm, and attempted to close her legs.

"Shhh… this won't hurt. I promise." he felt her pause before ultimately adjusting herself to give him more access.

She eventually faced sideways and saw her covering her mouth.

When he felt her pressing herself on his fingers, he knew it was time.

"Can I see you?"

She obliged by laying on her back.

Eren lay on his side next to her. She still won't meet his eyes but atleast they are making progress.

He continued rubbing her clitoris while he sucked on her chest.

Slipping his hand under her head, he lifts her and kisses her. He gently caressed her face and kissed her tear tracks away.

Both are hyper-aware of his cock pressing hotly against her backside seemingly trying to find its way inside her.

He positioned himself on top of her, pushing his tip experimentally to see how she reacts.

She doesn't seem to be in much pain but it bothered him that she had her arms placed firmly at her side.

After letting the tip sit in for a few seconds, he takes her hand and kisses her knuckles, "I'll be gentle." He placed her arms around him while burying himself deeper into her.

She quickly covered her mouth when breathy moans came out of her when he started going faster.

"Does it hurt?" he smirked, knowing full well what the answer was. He held her hand so she wouldn't be able to cover her mouth.

Meeting his eyes, she shook her head and held on to him for dear life.

With her full participation, he had his way with her until the morning.

It wasn't surprising for him as his sexual appetite has always been like that but she pleasantly surprised him with her ability to keep up.

Eren still wants to go on but restrains himself seeing the dazed expression on her face and how her legs hadn't stopped twitching since the second round.

Their bodies are sated and are tangled up in sheets.

He's stroking her hair and hasn't taken his eyes off of her. "What's your name?"

"Mikasa" she answered and when she turned to look at him, he leaned down to kiss her.

"Your husband's name is Eren."

#eremika #eremikaauweeks #emperiod #eren x mikasa #eremika smut #day 2 #eremika fanfic

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tenderlicksdaddy · 2 years

Text

Corrupt

Requested: No

Word Count: 2167

Summary: Father Paul wants to speak to you, but it turns out you don't do much talking.

Warning(s): Smut, 18+ content, priest kink (I guess that's kind of obvious), corruption kink (?), Father Paul losing his virginity, Father Paul is not Monsignor Pruitt, AFAB reader, Sub!Paul, Dom!Reader

This absolutely sucks and I sincerely apologize, but it's my birthday and I thought I'd treat you guys to a quick smut about our favorite priest. This is my first time writing for him so if this sucks please let me know. Constructive criticism is very welcome!

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You stepped off your porch and took a deep breath in. The salty morning air that had always surprised you somehow. You had lived on Crockett Island for a few months now, but you still got caught up in the small beauties the island had to offer. There wasn’t ever anything new, but the daily things that happened were always a treat.

Such as daily mass, which had quickly become your favorite thing. Father Paul was to blame for that. From the moment he had arrived, he had mesmerized you. His dark eyes that held mysteries beyond your wildest dreams and the way his smooth, velvety voice commanded everyone in a room made you wonder what he was like in bed.

It was a sinful thought, especially when it was all you could think about while in church. It seemed as though he could read your thoughts because every time you remind would wander to those sinful thoughts he would look right at you. Or it was your imagination.

As you walked up to the large church doors your mind had already started to wander. The idea of ruining the pristine image of Father Paul was one that plagued your mind the most.

“Good morning, Y/N.” Erin sat next to you in the pews.

“Good morning.” You smiled at her. “How did you sleep last night?”

“As good as I can. Between my cravings and Littlefoot moving so much it’s a little difficult.” You nodded.

You continued your conversation until mass began. Mass had always gone by quickly for you. Between your constant thoughts of corrupting Father Paul and avoiding his gaze, everything seemed to fly by. When it came time for communion you stayed seated. It’s not like you didn’t want to, but the fact that throughout his sermons you would get hot and bothered made it impossible for you to go up to him and allow him to place the eucharist into your mouth seemed like taking it a step too far.

Plus, you highly doubted it would be appropriate.

When everyone started to leave you stayed behind for a few moments, hoping to not get caught in conversation with anyone as you tried to leave so you could fix what you started at home. Once you had decided you were in the clear you stood and as you made your way to the doors, you were stopped by the man himself.

“Good morning, Y/N.” His smile made you feel like you were about to burst.

“Good morning, Father.”

“I was hoping I would catch you before you left. Usually, once everyone else is gone you rush to get home, so I’m glad I could catch you.”

No, please not now.

“Of course.” Why would you say that? “What is it that you needed?”

“Do you think we could speak in my rectory?”

Say no. Come up with an excuse. If you do this you won’t be able to go back.

Ignoring your thoughts you agreed and followed him outside and around the back of the church. As you stepped up on the porch of the tiny building you started to reconsider. If you were to walk in, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself, then you’d be known as the girl who turned the priest away from God and you’s surely be run off back to the mainland.

“Actually, I have to go… do something.” You mentally cursed yourself for not coming up with a good excuse. “Do you think we could do this another time?”

“It will only take a moment. I promise.” He opened the door and allowed you to step inside first. “Just give me a moment to change then we can talk.”

He stepped in after you and made his way to the room in the back of the building. After he closed the door behind him you sighed and ran your hand over your face. You could just walk out right now. You could turn around and leave the building and if he asked where you went, you could say there was an emergency. Yeah, that could work.

As you turned to the door, ready to leave he stepped out of his room.

“Have a seat.” He gestured to one of the few chairs and you gulped before taking a seat.

He sat in a chair opposite you and leaned forward. Your back straightened and your heartbeat picked up.

“Did I do something wrong?” You know you did, but he didn’t know that yet. “If I did, I apologize, although I’m not too sure what it was.”

He chuckled and sat up. “No. As far as I’m aware, you haven’t done anything wrong. Although the confessional is always open.” You quickly looked away from him, which was an obvious indicator that you had something to confess, but he ignored it.

“What I wanted to talk to you about was your presence in the church. You come to mass every day without fail, but you’ve never taken communion. Why is that?”

Because if you had to walk up to him and let him put the eucharist in your mouth you wouldn’t know how to act?

“I just never deemed it as appropriate. Especially considering I’m not even Catholic.” He nodded.

“I didn’t know you weren’t Catholic. I assumed you were since you attended daily mass.” You cleared your throat.

“Am I free to go, Officer?” You smiled at him, and when he chuckled and smiled back your heart thumped louder in your chest.

“Not quite yet.” Your smile dropped. “I noticed during mass, you seem to be uncomfortable. It’s mostly when I look at you.” You looked away from him once again, instead fixating your gaze upon the old TV. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No.” You might have said it too quickly. “You don’t make me uncomfortable at all.”

You looked back at him. His brows were furrowed in confusion and his eyes stayed on yours.

“You make me the opposite of uncomfortable.” Stop talking. “I feel the most comfortable when I’m around you.” Please stop. For the love of God stop talking. “In fact, Father, you make me so comfortable-” well there’s no turning back now “-that you lead me to have sinful thoughts.”

The moment those words left your mouth, you knew you fucked up. He didn’t say anything, he just sat there, even more confusion etched into his face as his eyes bored into yours. You were definitely going to be run out of town for what you were about to do.

You slowly stood up and stepped closer to him, his eyes stayed on yours the whole time. Your eyes wandered his body for a second before they stopped at his lips and you slowly leaned down, giving him enough time to push you away or say something before your lips touched.

Once your lips did touch, he pulled his head back and you sat up quickly, a string of apologies left you as you scrambled for an explanation for what you had just done. He calmed you by grabbing both of your hands in his own, making you look at him. He stood up and pulled you closer to him. One of his hands came up under your chin and lifted your face towards him as he bent down and connected your lips once again.

This time you wrapped your arms around his nack as his went to your waist, pulling you closer to him. You pulled away and looked up at him before stepping away and grabbing his hand in yours, leading him to his room. Once you made it past the doorway you pushed him down on the bed and climbed on top of him.

You left kisses along his neck and tangled your fingers in his hair. He let out a low moan and gripped your hips in his large hands. You grinded down into him, making him gasp and close his eyes.

“Bless me, Lord, for I am sinning.” You sat up and looked at him.

“You’re going to have to pray a lot more than that, Father.” You pulled your t-shirt over your head and leaned back down, pressing your lips to his once more.

You grabbed his hands and placed them on your chest as you sat up again, beginning to unbutton his shirt. He squeezed your breasts lightly, earning a small moan from you. You pulled his shirt open, revealing his chest. Your hands roamed up and down his torso, letting your nails dig into his skin lightly every now and then, and when you did he would buck his hips up into you.

You reached behind your chest and unhooked your bra, pulling it off and hearing a small gasp from Paul. A smile formed on your face as you stood up. Paul leaned up on his elbows and watched you as you kicked off your shoes and pulled your pants and underwear down. You were completely naked in front of the priest.

“Do you like what you see, Father?” He nodded as his eyes roamed your bare body.

You stepped towards the bed once and reached out towards his belt. Your nimble fingers quickly undid it and unbuttoned his jeans. He sat up fully and kissed you. It was a slow, soft kiss. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer to him.

“Do you want to continue, Father?” You pulled away from him and ran a hand through his hair.

He nodded eagerly and kissed your collarbone, eliciting a moan from you. You gripped the back of his head and pulled him away from you.

“Strip.” He pulled his shirt off the rest of the way and pulled his pants down, leaving him in nothing but his briefs.

You placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back down. You pressed your lips just above the waistband of the briefs and he threw his head back and sighed. After teasing him for a few more moments you pulled his underwear down and climbed back on top of him, your legs on either side of him. He looked up at you with half lidded eyes and you kissed him.

This time, the kiss was filled with pure lust as you lined him up with your entrance. His mouth fell open as you slowly lowered yourself onto him. He was big, bigger than you had expected and he filled you up perfectly. His breathing was heavy and his hands were gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles were white.

You grabbed his hands in your own and he released his grip on the bed, allowing you to hold his hands. You pushed them up and held them by his head as you began to move. His mouth dropped open and a low, gutteral groan left him. You leaned down and started kissing his neck and kept your pace slow, keeping yourself under control. He bucked his hips up as you lowered yourself once again and you moaned into his ear.

“Please.” He was so quiet you weren’t sure you heard him. “I’m not going to last long.”

“It’s okay, baby.” You kissed his cheek. “I’ll make you feel good.”

You picked up your pace and his moans got louder. His grip on your hands tightened and his brows furrowed as the pleasure drove through him in waves. The sight of him under you, completely at your mercy was something you loved. Sadly, you couldn’t enjoy it for long as you didn’t want to tease him too much.

You felt the familiar tightness in your stomach become more and more, but you didn’t want to come until he did. Thankfully, you didn’t have to wait long as he came.

He threw his head back and his body squirmed under you, as if trying to get away from the pleasure that overtook his whole body. You kept moving, chasing your own high even after his ended, and when you finally reached it, you fell over on top of him, slowing your movements once again.

Once you stopped moving, you both just sat there, trying to catch your breaths.

“Are you okay?” You asked and kissed his cheek.

“Yeah.” His breathing was still very uneven, and his voice came out in a whisper. “This isn’t what I had in mind when I asked if you wanted to speak to me.”

“Yeah. We didn’t do a whole lot of speaking anyways.” You chuckled and sat up, looking down at him with adoration in your eyes. “You know I’m going to be run off the island if anyone finds out I corrupted their new favorite priest.”

He sat up and kissed you softly, his hands roamed your body and you sighed into the kiss.

“I won’t let them.” He smiled at you when he pulled away.

“Good.” You pushed him back down and held his hands beside his head again. “You wanna go for round two?”

#father paul hill #father paul hill imagine #father paul hill x reader #father paul hill smut #midnight mass #midnight mass imagine #midnight mass x reader #midnight mass smut #i think i might have a priest kink #and maybe a corruption kink

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adarkrainbow · 7 months

Text

All fairytale fans heard about or know about the ATU, the Aarne-Thompson-Uther classification, this international classification of folktales and fairytales in numbered types.

But do you know that there are other fairytale classifications? Local fairytale classifications? And since I am French let me present you...

The Delarue-Tenèze classification. Also known as "Le Conte populaire français" (The French Folktales), of its complete title "Catalogue raisonné des versions de France et des pays de langue française d'outremer" (Reasoned catalogue of the versions of France and French-speaking oversea countries).

This book/classification, created by Paul Delarue and Marie-Louise Tenèze, and published in five volumes between 1957 and 2000, is a study of folkloric fairytales inspired by the ATU, which it heavily borrows from and frequently references. However, the Delarue-Tenèze classification is an exclusively French system. That is to say all the folktales and fairytales studied there are originating from France, or present in countries that inherited some of French culture. The complete list of countries is: "France, Canada, Louisiana, French islands of the USA, French West Indies, Haïti, Maurice island, La Réunion". By studying, comparing and classifying the French-speaking (or French-written) fairytales of these various areas, Delarue and Tenèze managed to create a complete study of the history and evolution of essentially French fairytales, excluding all the types of stories that are typically not found on French-speaking lands.

It was thanks to the work of Delarue and Tenèze that we notably can reconstruct what the fairytales of Perrault, for example, ORIGINALLY looked like before the author took them back and rerote them. I evoked this during my Little Red Riding Hood posts (I think it was in the one titled "The dark roots"). Delarue and Tenèze, by accumulating all the French variants of the fairytale they could find, separating those that clearly were post-Perrault (they had elements newly introduced by the author) to those prior to Perrault (or at least not "contaminated" by their written cousin), and looking at the geographical repartition of these tales, they could identify which elements exactly Perrault cut out of his tale (the wolf serving meat and wine to the girl, the removing of clothes in the fire, the cat cursing under the table...) and thus re-create what the fairytale would have originally looked like.

In this extent, this work is deeply needed for whoever wants to study fairytales in France or the French folklore. Unfortunately, after two "complete editions" gathering all the volumes in 1997 and 2002, the publishing house of the catalogue fell on hard times, and closed in 2011. Since this date, the catalogue is out of print, and you can only access it by having second-hand copies or borrowing it at libraries.

However - and I just learned of this today upon looking at my references - the work of Delarue and Tenèze (both unfortunately deceased) is still continued today, or rather was taken back by a group of anthropological studies of Toulouse, who are preparing three more volumes to add to the original catalogue.

If you are interested in what each volume contains:

Volume 1 and 2 cover the "contes merveilleux" (marvelous tales/magical tales - aka the fairytales as we understand them today).

Volume 3 is about the "Animal tales", mixing animal-featuring fairytales, Reynard the Fox-type of stories, and other moral and fables inherited by popular culture from La Fontaine, Aesop and more.

Volume 4 is about the "Religious tales", aka all the French folktales, fairytales and local legends that show France's folk-Christianity, mixing the heavily Christian (Catholic-flavored) culture of France, "first daughter of the Church", with the countryside legends and tales of witches, wizards, fairies, giants and other ogres, turned into demons, saints, angels and Virgin Maries.

Volume 5 is the "conte-nouvelle" (the "short story-tales"), basically folktales that are realistic sounding and just sound like non-magical, non-religious life stories or local legends.

#fairytales #fairy tales #french fairytales #delarue-tenèze classification #fairytale classification #fairytale catalogue #atu

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joannanora · 5 months

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Happy Lucia 🌟

Saint Lucy's Day, also called the Feast of Saint Lucy, is a Christian feast day observed on 13 December. The observance commemorates Lucia of Syracuse, an early-fourth-century virgin martyr under the Diocletianic Persecution.[1] According to legend, she brought food and aid to Christians hiding in the Roman catacombs, wearing a candle lit wreath on her head to light her way, leaving both hands free to carry as much food as possible.[2][3] Because her name means "light" and her feast day had at one time coincided with the shortest day of the year prior to calendar reforms, it is now widely celebrated as a festival of light.[4][5] Falling within the Advent season, Saint Lucy's Day is viewed as a precursor of Christmastide, pointing to the arrival of the Light of Christ in the calendar on December 25th, Christmas Day.[1][6]

Saint Lucy's Day is celebrated most widely in Scandinavia, Italy and the island nation of Saint Lucia, each emphasising a different aspect of her story.[2] In Scandinavia, where Lucy is called Santa/Sankta Lucia, she is represented as a woman in a white dress symbolizing a baptismal robe and a red sash symbolizing the blood of her martyrdom, with a crown or wreath of candles on her head.[7]

In Norway, Denmark, Sweden and Swedish-speaking regions of Finland, as songs are sung, girls dressed as Saint Lucy carry cookies and saffron buns in procession, which symbolizes bringing the Light of Christ into the world's darkness.[7][8] In both Catholic and Protestant churches, boys participate in the procession as well, playing different roles associated with Christmastide, such as that of Saint Stephen or generic gingerbread men, Santa Clauses, or nisses. The celebration of Saint Lucy's Day is said to help one live the winter days with enough light.[7]

A special devotion to Saint Lucy is practised in the Italian regions of Lombardy, Emilia-Romagna, Veneto, Friuli Venezia Giulia, Trentino-Alto Adige, in the north of the country, and Sicily, in the south, as well as in the Croatian coastal region of Dalmatia. In Hungary and Croatia, a popular tradition on Saint Lucy's Day involves planting wheat grains that grow to be several centimetres tall by Christmas Day, representing the Nativity of Jesus.[6

Source: Wikipedia

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thenationaltreasuregazette · 5 months

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Aftermath, pt 2

Last time, we discussed the medical and legal aftermath that might have followed Team Treasure’s return of the Declaration of Independence to the FBI.

Now it’s time to turn to the next category our list:

Archeological

Sadusky would likely have Trinity Church cordoned off for as long as it took to make other security arrangement but like, yeah: Where is the treasure going? Does it stay in the cavern until it can be distributed among the museums? Who is doing that? Does Ben have to form an LLC and hire a Treasure Return Coordinator? How does he do that? When does he do that? What happens in the meantime?

An abundance of logistical questions, and a deep dive on triaging the Declaration of Independence ↓

Does he go to Columbia University’s archeology department and ask for help? From who? He just wanders into the dean's office? Some poor professor's office hours? Maybe he knows an American history professor in the area who once laughed him out of a lecture and turns to her for help figuring out what to do next.

What are Abigail’s connections like with New York-based institutions? Who has jurisdiction over which pieces? If there are American papers in the treasure cache they probably belong at the National Archives, but most of the treasure is, you know, treasure. Do different museums and institutions start squabbling over who gets what? There’s no way that many academics agree with each other about how to even go about cataloging the place let along distributing the artifacts.

When do foreign institutions and governments get involved? And who is overseeing that to make sure nobody starts an international incident when they can’t agree which country a particular artifact belongs to?

What becomes of the cavern once its emptied? Does it become a museum? If so, does Trinity Church own admission to the museum? Are they expected to run it?

Speaking of the cavern, who’s in charge of safety? Who’s going to be hired to build a stable freight elevator down there? What kind of construction firm do you even approach to consider a project like that?

Needless to say, there are a lot of logistics to figure out regarding the safety of the treasure, both from theft and deterioration, as well as the safety of anyone going down to work with it. There’s the matter of who is running point on this operation, and which institutions are involved to what degree. And then there’s the probably months- or years-long process of getting all of this work done.

I don’t envy them, and 100% no judgement if Ben hands off a lot of these responsibilities as soon as he finds competent people to give them to.

More immediately than even the immediate items regarding the rest of the treasure, there’s the matter of the Declaration of Independence.

The Declaration

As you point out, there is a branch of the National Archives in New York City! I did not know that! Actually, there are National Archives branches all over the country. That makes sense I guess, but I never stopped to think about it. Each one holds records from that state or regions. For example, the New York branch holds records generated in New York, New Jersey, Puerto Rico, and the US Virgin Islands.

So yes, I think it’s safe to say that the Declaration will be moved to the National Archives at New York City. If I were the FBI, I would move it by armored truck—not taking any more chances for nonsense!

The FBI likely brought a documents expert with them, or at least they should have. Someone internal, from say, the FBI’s Questioned Documents unit may be the best bet from a security standpoint, but from a conservation perspective, Sadusky ought to have a person or team from the NY archives en route to the church as soon as he gets Ben’s call. And since he seems to care about what happens to the Declaration and the treasure, it makes sense to me that he would have a document rescue plan.

Because although Sadusky doesn’t know where or under what circumstances he’ll get the Declaration back, he fully intends to get it back. And I have to assume that part of that means a plan to take care of it as soon as it’s out of criminal hands. There are National Archives branches in Philadelphia, New York, and Boston, as well as in Washington D.C. My guess is that all of them were on alert and in communication, ready to receive the Declaration at the closest location to its recovery point, and generally aligned on the treatment process.

Stan or someone else from the D.C. Archives might have been heading this up once they were cleared of involvement. As the keepers of the Charters of Freedom, they'd be the experts in the Declaration’s exact preservation requirements.

So as soon as the Declaration is recovered, the plan is launched into action. The National Archives—officially known as the National Archives and Records Administration, NARA—runs tests such as this flood-soaked document simulation to test various drying methods on archived materials. They offer multiple resources on preserving family documents after floods, and seem generally prepared to respond to document emergencies. The “Preservation” page of their website even has a tab for “Records Emergencies.”

Now, most of these emergencies envision large amounts of documents damaged by water. Think floods, hurricanes, burst water pipes, etc. None of them involve Nicolas Cage squeezing lemon juice onto the Declaration of Independence. However, we can extrapolate a bit about what the priorities and methods might be based on the more plausible scenarios.

First of all, as @arsenicalbronze put it in their guest post on Ben’s dubious relationship with invisible inks, Abigail

goes with damage control. She takes the lemon from Ben so that she can paint the juice on the back in the least destructive way possible (e.g. not just squeezing lemon juice all over it and soaking it).

This spares the Declaration from some of the potential moisture damage from the cypher process, but not all.

Actually, the Wikipedia on Conservation and restoration of parchment lists the most common threats to parchment documents as

Relative humidity changes

Water and excessive moisture

Oxygen

Mold

Heat

Light exposure

Flaking and friability

Poor storage

Throughout the course of the treasure hunt Team Treasure managed to hit…pretty much all of them, lol.

While revealing the cypher, Abigail is likely doing double duty with the hair dryer. She’s both trying to dry out the moisture added by the lemon juice and use the minimum amount of heat necessary to reveal the text. If hot breath can do it, they don’t actually need much heat.

Every source I read mentioned that mold is a major risk to wet documents, whether paper or parchment, and can set if if not dried within 48 hours of moisture exposure. Based on our timeline we’re approaching that window, and that brings us to an important item that the archivists at the NY NARA will have to contend with. In fact, this is their first order of business:

How are they going to dry out the Declaration?

Despite Abigail’s best efforts there is likely still some moisture on the document, and for most of the rest of the treasure hunt it’s sealed in a plastic container with no air flow. It will need to be dried. Possibly even humidified to combat any warping and then dried.

Interestingly enough, when the Charters of Freedom went through their last major conservation project in 2001, the Constitution and Bill of Rights underwent this humidification and drying under tension, but the Declaration did not because it has sustained much more damage over the years than the other documents. However, the treasure hunt might lead to a different approached. The Declaration’s been acidified, heated, rolled and unrolled multiple times, touched, turned over, and run over with a car. Ouch.

When it does come time to dry the document, the archivists have some options.

Air drying

Freezer drying

Dehumidification drying

Vacuum freeze-drying

Vacuum thermal drying

Thermaline or cryogenic drying

Some of these are exactly what they sound like, and again, they’re described in the context of a damaged collection of material. How much material they’re suited for, how accessible they are, whether records are still available when drying, and whether they require being moved off site are all take into consideration.

For the Declaration of Independence, I’m looking straight at “cryogenic drying.” This is “intended for manuscript and rare book collections bound in leather of vellum” and while the most expensive technique, is also the one that minimizes distortion of the material the most.

And distortion is one of the most significant risks to the Declaration. Parchment expands and contracts in response to heat and moisture, and it’s been out of its controlled environment for a significant amount of time. Since that 2001 restoration, the Declaration has been kept in an aluminum and titanium case filled with argon gas, with a relative humidity of 40% and a stable temperature of 67 °F. Fluctuations in these variables up or down can cause damage. Too humid and it warps, too dry and it cracks.

Restoration is also a very manual process. Obviously technology is a huge help, and conservation science has come a long was in recent decades. Still, that lemon juice is going to be washed off by hand. Every crease and crack the Declaration sustained is going to be evaluated and steamed or repaired by hand.

Speaking of the people involved in this process, Abigail is probably feeling a lot of things as the Declaration gets taken away to the NY Archives. She saw her initial goal through to the end—she kept the Declaration safe, sometimes at the risk of her own safety. She also willingly put lemon juice on it. And heated it up. And let Ben keep rolling it up. She did or witnessed more damage to the Declaration in one day than it’s seen in decades. And now she doesn’t get to help clean up the mess.

I bet part of her wants to run to the Archives and start work right that moment. Forget that she’s so exhausted she can barely see straight. Forget the pounding headache in her skull or the strange numb ache in her shoulder or the way every muscle in her body is begging to collapse. Forget all the FBI eyes on her, and everyone who’s waiting for answers. The Declaration is hers. She is the Custodian of the Charters of Freedom after all. (Or at least, that was her title in the 2003 script.) Abigail is the person most qualified to be handling this emergency, and she can’t.

The best she can do is tell the archivist(s) who come to retrieve the Declaration what exactly happened to it since it left the National Archives two days earlier. The more information they have, the more accurately they can diagnose and treat any damage that occurred. (Like, lemon juice straight out of a goddamn lemon might not be their first guess?)

If you just want to be kind to Abigail, I would make this person someone she doesn't know or know well, but whose work she respects, or even a friend.

If you want to torment her I'd make it someone she hates or is academic rivals with.

I will leave you with this 144 page document on parchment conservation which I did not read, but you may find useful in your National Treasure-related adventures!

Next time: Interpersonal fallout

#the national treasure gazette #national treasure #ben gates #abigail chase #declaration of independence #national archives

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