#He's pearlescent! not white | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

peachesofteal · 4 months

Text

The Pit

2/2

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.7k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, dubious consent. Smut - M/M/F. Forced breeding and kink (but we're soft). Medical inaccuracies. The Pit by Silversun Pickups. Misery inspired. Horror-ish. Whump. Caretaking. Imprisonment/kidnapping. Forced comfort. Addiction. Feelings of fear, panic, anxiety, hopelessness. Simon calls the shots.

It’s snowing.

The forest floor is covered in thick, white cotton, heavier than cement. It sticks to your clothes, your knees, soaking you to the bone. You slog through the snow; the forest grows longer. Taller. Trunks of trees enclosing you in a cold grave, a cage.

You have to try. You have to.

The moon illuminates your path, a swath of silver light refracting through weeping frozen branches, their backs bowed with the heft of the snow, cracking and shivering under their burdens.

They’ll snap eventually. They’ll break.

Just like you.

Wolves howl in the distance. It makes no difference; how close they are. You can’t take much more, newly healed leg already spent, lungs heaving for what little air there is in this elevation.

They circle. Blood-soaked maws snap at you, herd you closer and closer to the start, to where it all began, to where it continues to begin, again and again.

The house.

Your knees find ground.

You’d rather die now. Freeze in the snow. Or…

A jaw snaps. You hold out your hands. For freedom. For peace.

The last thing you see is the flash of pearlescent canine, ripping into your flesh.

“Shhh, jus’ a nightmare.” Simon’s thumb works across your brow, concern shining on his face in the dim lighting. You shiver, even in a room like a sauna.

“Did- did I wake you?” He shakes his head. Of course, you didn’t. He’s always awake. He’s always watching.

“Close your eyes.” He tucks you close, blazing heat from his massive, pillowy chest bleeding into your back, your ribcage expanding slowly. It’s rhythm, sick, twisted rhythm, syncing you together, your breathing evening out, steadying in his hold. He reaches for Johnny, who’s curled on his side, and strokes through some long, loved pieces of mohawk. Lips muss your hair. “Sleep, little dove.”

The floorboards in the hallway creak.

They talk to you, whisper about comings and goings, each spot singing a specific frequency just so, hitting the right pitch at the right time, a chorus of shifting weight echoed by hackneyed groaning.

The creaking is didactic in nature. It exists to teach you something, to plainly expose the things you should have been paying attention to all along: footsteps in the morning, in the evening, shuffles versus steps. Schedules, routines, things you didn’t pay close enough attention to, things you didn’t care enough to notice, all laid out very carefully in front of you. The weeping wood of the floor practically begged you to notice, but you were too distracted by the never-ending reminders of your agony, and the cups of tea that made you woozy. You were too busy craning your neck to catch a glimpse of the outside world beyond the window, too preoccupied with trying to stand on your own without vomiting all over the floor (again) to catch what the hallway was trying to say.

If you had listened, you would have stood a chance.

“Alright, here we go.” Johnny murmurs, an arm under your knees, another around your back. When he rises, cradling you into his chest like a child, you bite the inside of your cheek so hard you taste blood, desperate to tamp down the whimper that breaks free. “I know, I know. Almost there.” He soothes, lowering you to the couch where the pillows are all placed in very specific positions. One of the goes under your calf, another your knee, and they line the sides of your ribs for your arm to rest elevated, comfortably. He cups your cheek, warm thumb gently moving across your skin, sweet, molasses thick affection, like the cough syrup you used to swallow when you were young. “Do ye want some tea?” Yes. God yes, a thousand times yes. Yes, you want the tea. Yes, you want to fall into the bleak darkness of drugged sleep, the vat of unconscious swallowing you whole every time. You want the buzz of numbness, the shadow of an orphic, endless pit. You want to slink away from everything, from them, from whatever this is, from what’s happened to you.

“Yeah, I-“

“Johnny.” Simon says his name softly from the kitchen. “Let’s wait a bit on the tea.” His brow furrows, light venetian blue eyes tracking across your face. They catch the light just so, sparkling downward, sea foam, sea glass and ocean spray, all mixed together into kaleidoscopes spiraling outward from his pupils, and when he frowns, you swear they darken.

“She’s in pain.” He protests, straightening to full height. There’s something happening above your head, something he concedes to with a sigh, shoulders relaxing, a regretful glance cast your way. “I’ll get ye some naproxen, dove.” He promises with a kiss, and then you’re alone in the living room, unable to move, snuggled against the worn leather couch.

Your leg is in a cast. Paper and glue, you think, makeshift at best, and they both remind you of it all the time, how it’s not medical grade, how you can’t attempt to walk on it, how the bone is incredibly fragile, and will be, for a while. It’s in worse shape than your arm, which at least has a black brace on it, covered from elbow to wrist, immobilized with a dull ache, a pain consistently throbbing, but doesn’t make you cry. Not the way your leg does. Your leg screams with agony, still, pins and needles and buzz saws in your bones, a haunting torment keeping you awake at night, making you second guess your desire to live.

The tea helps though. The tea makes everything less, makes the pain round, instead of sharp, makes the fear feel farther away, instead of right on the tip of your tongue, like a monster on your doorstep.

Simon says your name, broad shoulders stationed in front of the fireplace, glass of water in one hand, two pills in another.

“Do you want to sit up?” You blink at him, and he kneels before you can answer, perching right next to your shoulders. “Open.” You give the pills a dubious glare, unsure, lips zipped tight. It could be the naproxen, but it could be something else.

After all, the tea is not just tea.

He sighs in the same exasperated sentiment, and then his thumb and forefinger are grasping your cheeks, cold shiver erupting down your spine at the contact, and he pushes your mouth ajar. “Don’t be like this, sweet girl. Thought you were going to be good today?” He’s referencing something you remember vaguely, a discussion from last night in the dark, a promise you made when the world was coated in sap and too far warm, sticky like the sweat clinging to your neck-

“Ye dinnae need to cry, little dove. Don’ we take such good care of ye?” Johnny cooed, eager. “Ye just need tae be good for us, and we’ll do everything else.” He was holding you tight, too tight against his skin, heat radiating from him like the sun.

“I don’t understand.” You moaned, unable to move or twist away, trapped in the cage of his arms, Simon sitting prim on the edge of the bed, one hand on your hip.

“You will, in time. By spring, we hope.” Simon told you, dark sympathy in his eyes, words stretching into a mixed-up sentence jumping around in your mind. By… spring? What does that mean? Johnny’s hands roamed over your skin beneath the blankets, stroking across your breast to delicately pinch at your nipple, before dipping further south, slipping into your folds without warning.

“Ah!” You gasped, tense, frozen beneath his touch.

“Shhh.” Simon pats your hip. “Let Johnny put you to sleep, dove. You’ll feel better after a rest.” Johnny’s fingers stuffed in your pussy, thumb dancing across your clit, would lull you into tea addled sleep, and warring emotions swirled in your head. Your desire for this, your acceptance of this, is sick.

You’re sick.

You think of the snow. The reflection on the floor in this room, crystallized shimmer on the ceiling. The sun has been out, and you’re dying, wilting, from not feeling it on your face.

“Tomorrow.” You croak, and Johnny pauses. “Tomorrow can I… can I go outside?”

“Will you be good?” Simon’s thumb rubs at a spot on the corner of your mouth, and you nod.

“Yes… I- fuck.” Johnny’s breath hitches, and your walls clench up tight, squeezing. Small explosions of light dance across your eyes, pain mixed with pleasure, peaks and valleys rolling through your muscles. “Fuck.” A big, scorching hand spreads across your lower belly, just beneath your navel, and pushes.

You come immediately. It’s overwhelming to keep yourself relaxed, to prevent the spike of pain from your injuries, but an orgasm dulls everything else, and you cry with its intensity.

You’re sick.

You don’t miss the way Simon’s hand lingers, how his eyes don’t leave that spot, how Johnny’s hand covers his, and they hold there, lost in their own world for a second.

“If you’re good, sweet girl. We’ll take you outside.” He whispers, arranging limbs and waists and feet to his liking.

You fall asleep dreaming of a blizzard.

The pills go down so easily.

And you suppose they help. For a while, anyway.

Enough time for Johnny to get you set up on the porch, zipped up in their clothes and propped up on a loveseat rocker.

You wonder if they sit out here in the spring. In the summer. Do they drink their tea and eat their biscuits and watch over their domain like kings? It’s so American, so southern, to envision, and you almost laugh at the idea of either of them swapping their black bitterness for something iced and sweet enough to rot the teeth right out of their head.

“Dove? Can ye look towards me?” Johnny sits half on his knee across from you, on another outdoor, plastic chair. He’s got his sketchbook and pencil in hand, excitement brimming from eyes to lips, like a child. Full of wistful bright light, the sun itself.

Simon’s sun, it would seem.

You’ve noticed it, how Simon is the earth, but Johnny is the sun. The whole world, revolving around one ball of light, one eager, wild Scot, a star, the only, in Simon’s sky.

He draws you with efficiency. Moving and directing you just so, not daring to jostle you or cause you discomfort, but still ensuring he gets the best light. The barely-there dew drops of dawn. The glisten of a million frozen crystals at your back.

He handles you like glass. He stares at you like you’re a doll, a fragile one, like you had when you were a girl.

In the quiet moments, which are many, you catch them staring at you. If they’ve brought you down to the living room, they lurk in the kitchen, murmuring to one another in voices too low for you to catch. If you’re in the bedroom, they curl around you like wolf pups, pawing and petting until you’re asleep.

You don’t understand.

They won’t even talk about it with you now. How you came to be here, how they’re insistent you’ll have to stay until spring, when the pass opens.

Their words are a sickness, infecting you, spreading through your system until they’ve touched every piece, inside and out.

It’s madness. The kind of madness that pushed you to the brink already, made you feel like you’re losing touch with reality, with yourself. The kind of insanity that nearly got you killed.

You test the weight. Just barely, just enough that it screams under the pressure.

If you could make it to the door.

If you could make it down the hall.

If you could get out.

You grit your teeth.

The house has been silent for hours. No creaking floorboards. No heavy footsteps. You close your eyes, hold your breath, listening one last time.

They must not be here.

They go out, every once and a while. Bring things back. You’re not sure where, or how.

You shuffle a step, dragging your foot. It’s more a hop, but you use the bed to offset the inevitable thump of your body weight, managing to make it to the end, fingers deathly tight on the wrought iron.

You can do it. You can.

It’s only three, four hops at most to the door. On one leg, in a weakened state, it’s harder than you thought, but when your fingers lay on the door handle, the release of relief in your chest is overwhelming.

Yes! Yes. You can do it. Just-

The knob does not turn. You pull, applying more force, trying to jiggle it, see if maybe it’s stubborn or just old. This cabin is certainly old. Even though it’s been hollowed out anew inside, the bones are ones of a hunting cabin. A long-forgotten place, now housing horrors anew.

You twist and tug again. Every time it doesn’t budge, you try a little harder, each metallic scrap and jangle louder than fireworks.

You tug and you fiddle. You close your eyes and push down the rising panic.

The truth comes rushing over you all at once.

It’s locked. It’s always locked. That’s why Simon ensures it’s shut completely, each time they come and go.

They never intended to take you home. They never are going to give you your phone, or theirs, they’re never going to get you back over the pass.

You’re locked in here. With them.

The tugging becomes something else, something wired and frenetic, until you’re jerking the door handle with all your might, shaking the frame, screaming. The motion destabilizes you, and your lack of strength does you no favors.

Before you can self-correct, you stumble. You fall, instinct forcing your bad leg down, and when you try to catch yourself, you howl so loud you think the mountain shakes.

Your head smacks the frame of the bed on your way down, and then… as always now, everything is dark.

The first time you open your eyes after, Simon is seated in the chair. The same one he was in when they brought you here, severe and terrifying. The room is spinning, and you’re just as nauseous as the first day you laid eyes on him.

“I- I’m sorry.” You croak, but he only shakes his head, rising from his seat without even giving you a second look.

For a fleeting moment, the indifference stings.

“You’ll wear that,” he motions to your foot from the end of the bed, the good one, and you peek down to see a metal shackle clamped around your ankle. “until you can be trusted again.”

Johnny crawls into bed with you at night. He cries, hot tears on his cheeks, and coos over the leg with the break in it, and then over the shackle.

“I told him, ye dinnae mean to be bad.” His fingers shake as he traces your cheek. “Ye just cannae help it. It’s not yer fault, I know dove. Ye dinnae know any better. We have to teach you.”

“Johnny-“ Please. Let me go. Help me.

They all die in your throat when he presses his wet face to your neck like a dog, rutting his hard cock into your hip.“Ye’ll be right as rain by spring, I told him. Gon’ be such a good mum for the bairn, I know ye will.”

The world fades away. The silence suffocates, and you pray to die.

You cry the rest of the night, even when he shucks your pants down and licks your pussy until you’re coming on his tongue. You cry until he falls asleep, and Simon returns, settling in his seat, watching you both.

“How do ye feel about chicken soup tonight?” Johnny draws you back to him, sweet boy smile on his face, and your stomach clenches involuntarily.

Stupid handsome Scot.

You’re sick.

“That’s fine.”

“But do ye like it?” He’s so eager, back straightening with interest, really trying to learn, trying to figure out what you like and dislike, what will earn him your good graces, and what won’t.

You shrug. “Sure, it’s… it’s good.” A thought occurs to you. “Where do you get the chicken?”

“We’ve got ‘em in the barn. Can’t roam in the winter but we keep ‘em warm in there. Along with some ducks. A goat.”

“Farm animals?” “Aye. How else we supposed to make sure you’re healthy?” He waggles his eyebrows. You try not to grimace. “Si slaughters ‘em fresh. Everything tastes better that way.” A soft light shines in his eyes, a wolf’s instinct, and the shudder trembling down your spine makes your hands shake. “Ye cold?” He clocks it immediately, as he he does with every other single thing.

When he gathers you into his arms to bring you inside, tucking you back into the couch, you don’t even argue. You just sit there. Like a doll. Theirs.

Night is the easiest. It’s simple, to give in to your body, let them take over, take control of the parts that have long betrayed you. You close your eyes as they touch you, kiss you, make you come.

You even enjoy it.

That’s the worst part. You like it, when there are hands and fingers and tongues all over your body, like you’re being worshipped, like you’re some sort of god.

You like it, when Johnny gets overexcited and Simon settles him, guides him with a hand on his cock to your entrance, whispering slow in his ear, encouraging him to take his time. You like it, when Johnny’s pulse flutters under his jaw, when Simon holds you steady, when they get lost in each other, in you- you can almost pretend it’s not real, it's some fantasy, from a book, something dark and delicious-

Not your reality.

Tonight, Simon holds you in his lap on the edge of the bed, broken leg lying flat, his elbow crooked under your good knee and wrenched upwards, nearly pressing against your chest. The angle is intense, and Johnny grunts, muscles flexing with every thrust,

“Ah- fuck.” You moan and twitch, locked inside a cage, a confinement, the arms of your captors… your saviors. Simon swirls the pad of a finger over your clit, mouth open on your cheek, teeth nipping over your skin. You clench, Johnny cursing, some bitten off dialect you’re not familiar with, Simon’s voice dripping with smirk.

“Good girl, squeeze our boy, jus’ like that.” He does it on purpose, the talking. Knows how it makes you gush, long ago figured out the way to make your pussy clamp down around whatever he’s got worked inside you, his cock, Johnny’s, fingers, tongues.

Together, you’re an orchestra. Johnny is the strings, the violin, the viola, a cello. He plucks so perfectly, a harmonious blend of beauty spills from his bow, rising in the air until the audience is on their feet. His music trembles. It quivers and cries, like the wail of grief.

Your grief.

You’re the piano. An entire world, nestled in one instrument, but you play off tune, broken and sharp, pitch all a mess- you don’t even belong here.

Simon is the maestro. He directs each note, each melodious ring exactly as he wants it, working the music up to a brilliant crescendo, and it comes crashing like the force of a wave breaking onto sand. He conducts you, Johnny, the day, and night. He orchestrates the flow, lyrical give and take evolving in the house, your captor status slipping farther and farther away each night you take them into your body.

He knows you like it. Knows he’s in the lead, knows they’re winning-

And he doesn’t let up.

“Harder.” He coaches, and Johnny obliges, mouth open in bliss, eyes nearly rolled backwards. His fingers clamp down on your hip, too close, and you hiss in fear, the preparation of pain.

Simon snarls, yanking it away, holding to him tight before discarding it in exchange for the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” Johnny pants. “Sorry, dove.” You want to tell him to fuck off, to tell him you hate them, you hate them both, but you're only able to give them a high pitched moan of pleasure. “I’m gon’ come.” He grunts, and Simon yanks him forward, lips smashing together, tongue snaking messily between teeth.

For too long, the three of you hold fast. Johnny’s reckless, furious thrusts shove you backwards, over and over again. “Pull out.” Simon commands, flat palm on his chest. “Do not, Johnny.” He pushes him away from you like a dog, shoving him backwards with a firm forearm, a piece of rebar turned flesh.

He comes all over your belly, splashing thick white splatter across the mound of your cunt, up past your navel, choking on gasps of breath as Simon heaps praise onto the two of you.

Later, after they’ve bathed you, given you another orgasm, and all are almost tucked in, you whisper in the flickering fire light.

“Can I… can I have some tea?” Simon starts. It’s small, barely visible, but you feel it, in your bones. The echo of him in the room.

He holds your head between two palms, and you wonder if he’ll crush your skull. Decide it was all too much trouble. You’re too sick, feeble in your mind, too weak to survive.

“To sleep?” He asks softly, eyes darting over your shoulder for a split second, heavy with worry.

“Please?” There’s something in his eyes you don’t understand, a whirling mist of hell and desperation, and then it clears, and he motions a go ahead to Johnny.

“Alright, dove.”

The tea settles you into silence. With it, you can exist. You can survive.

It numbs you from the inside out, and as time passes, you feel no pain. You’re tangled in a dark web, a viscous manner of thing weighing you down from all angles. You feel nothing, and days turn to weeks, weeks to a month. Soon, the world is thawing. Snow melt turns to river and mud, greenery fighting for its chance to sprout and survive. Your leg is healing.

Spring comes.

The day you roast a chicken is the day your life ends, for good.

It’s domestic, the act. An olive branch to Simon, who’s angry with you, again. Who’s frustrated, took himself outside to chop wood.

Johnny mopes inside the house.

“I hate it when the two of ye fight.”

“Well, if he wasn’t such a stubborn asshole.” You hold the wooden spoon like a wand before returning it to the cast iron, swirling it around in the mess of butter and onion. “Then there wouldn’t be an issue.” You swallow the sting of his earlier refusal. The quick rejection of your request.

All you wanted was to go on a walk. It’s a beautiful day.

Why must the leash be so tight?

“He’ll be happy ye’re cookin’ again.” Johnny grins wide, pretty face beaming over the counter, and you sigh.

Maybe.

You’re watching out the window when Johnny approaches him in the yard. You can’t make out anything their saying, but the body language paints enough of a picture.

Johnny is rigid, angry.

Simon is calm, placating.

Words are exchanged, brows shifting with sympathy, sweetness.

Johnny erupts with glee. He shines like the sun, and Simon smiles, a real, true smile.

They’re beautiful.

And you’re sick.

The three of you tangle together in the dark. It’s a sailor’s knot, thrice over, difficult to understand which piece is which, where one begins and the other ends.

Simon’s anger is long melted. A glacier, gone leaving only a gash in the rock behind.

It’s this gash, this quiet undercurrent, keeping you focused on the wrong thing, pliable in bed until you realize Johnny is murmuring something in your ear, two arms banded around your waist from where you lay on your back, atop his chest.

“We cannae wait,” His hand strokes over your belly with reverence. The words cut through the thick, heady haze, and you try to twist to look at him. “watch ye get big with our bairn, goin’ be such a good mum.”

“Wh-what?” you choke, tensing. They try to settle you, sweet words and mouths everywhere, but you cannot get away from the fear.

From them.

“You- ahh.” You’re on fire, a finger rubbing your clit, Simon’s width between your thighs. He spears you open on his cock, unrelenting, making you keen and cry, face wet with tears.

“Waited long enough,” He grunts. “Been wastin’ it for months.” He steals your whimpers, swallows them, takes them inside like you take him, like you’ll take him-

“- until you swell. Until you’re heavy, dove, round with us.”

Until you’re forever theirs.

It’s a snarled promise. A prayer. Your eyes find the ceiling, fire flickering in shadow across old texture, and you breathe.

He shoves your knees towards your chest, Johnny still lock tight around your ribs, tongue in the shell of your ear.

“Need to be still, cannae lose a single drop." His palm is searing beneath your navel, and he's practically singing, vibrating. “We love ye so much.”

They’re conducting Beethoven. Ode to Joy.

You’re playing Bach. Come, Sweet Death.

Simon comes in you for the first time, and you come too, clenching down around his cock as he praises you, holding onto him like you can’t let go. Like your body knows. Like you’re craving it.

“Good girl.” He croons, spooning whatever slips free back inside, shoving it deep, wet lips on your own. “Gotta keep me in, dove… jus’ like that, there you go.” You throb, squeezing again, pulsing for him. For the words.

You’re sick.

When they switch positions, and Johnny smiles at you over your knees, his canines shine nearly red in the fire light. Two predators, one prey.

Your heart cannot help but flutter.

Sick.

Eight months prior:

The bar is packed. Summer music festival, the banners say. The park is thriving, alive with melody, musical acts rotating on and off the stage, children running amuck with candies and balloons, families relaxing in lawn chairs.

An Americana tradition.

They sat there themselves, for a while. Watching. Burning desire growing hot under his collar every time he saw a mum and her bairn, a small, precious thing cradled close to a chest, an overexcited five-year-old having a catch with his Da.

Eventually, they retreated to the darkness, hiding away in the one bar in town, it’s small windows and dim light practically a calling card.

And what they found inside, well...

“Hey, what can I get you?” You’re perfect. Sweet and soft, like a dove. Kind faced; kind spoken. You make Johnny’s cock twitch just looking at you, and he pictures you on your back, legs spread wide, exposed for them to feast on. To fill. He can’t wait to taste you, hold you, kiss you, have all his firsts with you.

Will you fight them? Will you squirm? No, you'll be good. You'll be so good for them, their perfect, sweet girl. He knows it.

How did they get so lucky?

Simon tucks his ballcap lower.

“Sorry, there are a million people in here!” You half shout over the raucous noise. “You’ll have to speak up!”

“Just two beers.” His yank accent needs work, but it does fine when there’s one hundred other faces next to his. A sea of forgettable memories.

Just as intended.

Your fingers brush his when you deposit two drafts on the bar top, shooting off a total, and for a lingering second, he stares at you.

Simon caresses the back of his neck, thumb circling a loving touch into his skin.

A warning. A reminder.

Can’t make ourselves stand out. Cannot be remembered.

Johnny peeks at the name tag pinned above your breast, and files it away. Files everything away as they finish their pints, how you scrutinize the crowd, how you’re constantly working, looking for things to do, cleaning. Taking care of everything. The people at the bar, your coworkers.

His heart overflows with love. With warmth, and when they take their leave, he can’t help but look back one more, catching a glimpse of your profile, singing a silent goodbye.

See you soon, dove.

#peaches writes #the pit #ghoap x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x soap x reader #soap x ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish

801 notes · View notes

luvt0kki · 6 months

Text

003 | on this ship

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧ s.w.m masterlist ୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ taglist ⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨୧

Nothing fucks with my baby Nothing can get a look in on my baby Nothing fucks with my baby Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing

🎧 : NFWMB - Hozier

previous | 003 | next

pairings: ot8 x reader ( yungi x reader)

w.c : 7.5k ( this one’s long)

cw: mature, lots of world building in this chapter I’m sorry,minors do not interact, nsfw, mentions of assassination, hinted violence, slow burn ( for Wooyoung), polyamory, smut ahead , dom!Mingi and Yunho for this chapter, threesome, bath/shower seggs, oral, size kink, eavesdropping, Mingi’s nickname for reader is baby, masturbation, Wooyoung blue balls again, Yeosang is very sweet here, some humor ahead, San is a cutie as always, hongjoong is unreadable as ever, Wooyoung thinks he’s connected the dots but he hasnt connected sht

REMINDER : my works do not represent the irl members in any way, this is purely a work of FICTION.

a/n : thank you so much for all the support! Here is part 3! There’s uhhhh smut…but then a lot of world building and interactions between the crew that will kind of show just how close they are with y/n. It’s a bit long 😭 I’m sorry but hehe chapter 4 is already in the works! Don’t forget to fangirl and scream in my askbox about what you think of this Chapter 💕

The warm water embraced you in much-needed comfort and it took away the fatigue you felt. Your mind was still hazy and you just stared at the rippling surface, the bubbles foaming up in white pearlescent colors. The smell of sweet watermelon and coconut filled your senses and you moaned when the fingers massaging your scalp found the pressure points that made you melt forward, leaning your torso onto your thighs.

“If you keep moaning like that, I’ll get hard again.” Mingi’s deep voice echoed in the bathroom, the big man sat across you, massaging your calves under the water while Yunho’s fingers continued to shampoo your hair and massage your scalp.

“Mingi, if we go again, I won’t be able to walk for two days,” you pouted, feeling the soapy foam of the shampoo run down your back.

“And that’s a bad thing, how?” He raised a groomed brow.

You looked at him. His pink hair was a deeper shade of the color and it was pointing in different directions while also flat on his head from being wet. He still looked so handsome and his eyes were doing that thing, the thing where they were soft and round, almost childlike. “I have things to do, Mingi. I can’t be bedridden all because of your libido.”

“Baby, it would help me if we fucked more. It was torture to be away from you for so long. The videos and pictures, as much as I love them, can’t compare to the real thing.”

“And how is fucking more helping your libido?”

“It might return to baseline. Normal Mingi libido.”

He had said that with such a serious face, it was kind of cute. Okay, it was cute. Dumb but cute.

“You said ‘might’. You’re not even sure!” You splashed some water onto his face, Yunho’s fingers now massaging your lower scalp close to the pressure points of your neck. “Oh.”

“Then we have to find out!” Mingi turned his head to the side, avoiding your cute yet innocent expression from the way you moaned and relaxed from Yunho’s touch.

“I can’t believe you referred to your sex drive as Mingi libido.” Yunho chuckled from behind you and finished shampooing and rinsing your hair. “You sore, sweetheart?” He kissed the nape of your neck.

“Not as much as I thought,” you leaned your head back, perfectly fitting on Yunho’s shoulder. “But if I go another two rounds with Mingi, I might not be able to walk tomorrow. And, if I go one more time with both of you, you two are the ones who are going to have to tell Hongjoong why I refuse to go to the upper deck.”

Yunho wrapped his arms around and kissed your temple.

Mingi relaxed and smiled softly at the sight. You were back home, where you belong. Where you were safest. Nothing and no one could hurt you here, and if anyone ever tried ( not that anyone could), they wouldn’t leave alive.

Yunho pressed his lips close to your ear to whisper. “So…we can go again?”

“Oh my god.”

“You did say you can go one more time with me and Yunho,” Mingi smirked, scooting closer.

It’s actually amazing how two of the tallest of your lovers could fit in the tub with you. Sure the bathtub was big but to fit the three of you? Jongho wouldn’t believe it if you told him.

“But we’ll have to bathe again…” you huffed, Yunho leaving hot kisses along your neck, sucking and nibbling at your sensitive spot. It was hard to say no. “Your bed will get really wet if we go back right now.” You whined, Yunho’s pretty slender fingers cupping your breasts and pinching at your nipples.

“We don’t have to go back to my room.” Mingi settled himself between your legs, hooking your right leg over his shoulder and kissing your inner thigh. “We can fuck here.”

“I thought we finally crossed off shower sex on your bucket list?” You threaded your fingers through Yunho’s hair as he continued to kiss and fondle you.

“Trust me, baby, I know,” Mingi replied, reaching for the nozzle to drain the tub.

“It’s on my bucket list.” Yunho nipped at your ear. “Mingi, put her other leg over the edge of the tub.”

Mingi does as he says and he bit his lip at the sight of your pussy again. His cock twitched when Yunho’s right hand left your breast to slide down to massage your clit.

“Yunho…” you sighed, hips twitching at the feeling, not sure if you were moving away from his touch or if you wanted more.

The lower the water got, the more you could see of Mingi. The bubbles and foam stuck to your skin and when the cool air began to hit your skin that had been submerged in warm water, you shivered.

“We’ll be gentle,” Yunho told you, biting your neck. “But usually you’ll always beg for us to go harder.” He teased, dipping two fingers into your entrance, not plunging further which made you whine as he spread your slick all over your folds.

“And I thought you were being so sweet shampooing my hair and all. You’re just as mean.” You bit back, your resolve crumbling when he finally slipped his fingers into your sore yet welcoming, velvety walls. “F-fuck. Okay.”

“Okay, what?” Mingi watched Yunho’s fingers slip in and out of your heat.

“We go another round but please let’s go to my room. The bathtub isn’t really the most comfortable place for the three of us.” You said through gritted teeth, squeezing Yunho’s thighs as he curled his fingers inside you. “And last time we fucked here, Mingi, you slipped and bruised your elbow.”

“Baby, that’s between us.” He groaned, keeping your legs from closing watching your cunt suck Yunho’s fingers in and soak them in your slick.

“I had a feeling it wasn’t because you elbowed someone.” Yunho tutted before focusing on the movements of his fingers, humming when he felt your walls squeeze him. “Even after taking Mingi and I, you’re still so tight.”

“Yuyu…” you whimpered the nickname you endearingly called him, tugging at his hair as you bucked your hips into his palm.

“Always so wet and ready for us, aren’t you?” He curled his fingers faster, his long digits reaching you deeper than your fingers could ever do. His palm made contact with your clit as he moved which made your nails dig into his thighs.

“She’s our pretty girl.” Mingi cooed, scooting closer and keeping your legs apart then lifted you a little so you were on his lap and squeezed between him and Yunho without disrupting his best friend’s actions. “Fuck, do you hear how wet you are?”

You could but you didn’t have time to be embarrassed about it when Mingi took one of your breasts into his hot mouth, swirling his tongue around your sensitive peak and sucking which earned him a very cute squeak from you.

“Yeah…we’re not going to make it to the bedroom, sweetheart,” Yunho growled in your ear, not slowing down the pumping of his fingers and knowing that you were gonna cum soon. They knew your body well and they pride themselves in being lovers that never disappointed you. “Once, I make you cum. Mingi’s gonna clean up the sweet mess you made…” His lower register made you squeeze around his fingers again, knowing full well the effect that tone had on you. “Then I’m gonna fuck your perfect cunt.”

You felt your lower abs tighten and your legs began to tense, shaking around Mingi’s torso who suckled and massaged your breasts. Your legs wanted to close so badly as your orgasm was approaching fast and it didn’t help that Yunho was whispering filthy things in your ear in that stupid perfect deep register of his.

“Yunho…please.” You didn’t even know what you were begging for. “Please.”

“This time, sweetheart…,” He paused a beat to kiss the spot beneath your ear before continuing. “I won’t cum on your pretty tits. I’ll fill you up nice and good like Mingi did.”

The idea had you cumming hard, your lips parting in a silent scream as your walls spasmed around his fingers.

“Good girl.” He cooed, kissing your temple as your body shook from the pleasure, slowing down his fingers and taking them out of your pulsing heat, only to to bring his digits to his mouth to have a taste of your sweet essence.

Without another word, Mingi halted his attack on your breasts and Yunho hooked his hands beneath your knees to open you up for the pink-haired man. He dipped low and you cried out when he started to kitten lick your sensitive pussy.

“Mingi! Too much! W-wait, please.” You whimpered, trying to fight against Yunho’s hold who kept your legs wide open so Mingi could lap up your juices.

“Tastes so good, baby.” He moaned against your core, the obscene slurping making heat explode in your cheeks. He was licking you up with that stupidly heavenly tongue of his like a man starved.

Mingi kissed your clit before wrapping his plump lips around the sensitive bud and making you squirm.

“Hear that? Mingi said you taste so good.” Yunho unlike Mingi right now, who was drunk on your pussy, was gentle and sweet again.The two of them balanced each other out in ways you could never really explain.

Knowing he won’t ever get enough of you, Mingi lapped your juices up one last time before sitting up and adoring the way you looked so fucked out. Yunho hadn’t even stuffed you with his cock yet and you were this buzzed out already.

“Here, baby.”

“Huh?” You blinked at him and before you could react, his lips were on yours and your surprised gasp let him slip his tongue inside.

“Mmhf.” Your head was spinning. The salty yet sweet taste of yourself on his tongue was sinfully erotic and his eagerness to kiss you made you kiss him back. Mingi sucked on your bottom lip before parting from you, his forehead resting on yours as you two caught your breaths.

“So?” Yunho slowly let your legs down, letting in fall limp around Mingi’s body. “How do you taste?”

“G-good.” You panted, releasing your death grip on Yunho’s thighs, the way your nails dug into them left crescent marks on his skin.

“Awe, is our pretty girl tired? Too tired to take my cock?”

“N-no.” Your body felt light and heavy at the same time but even after cumming around his fingers and Mingi overstimulating you. Your walls craved for more. It needed more than just his fingers. “Want you. Please.”

With Yunho, you never ever had to ask twice.

And…he was right earlier. The three of you couldn’t make it to the bedroom. So here you all were, way past the midnight hour with you sandwiched between the two men, their hips moving in tandem with one another as they stuffed you full. Your arms hung loosely over Yunho’s shoulders as Mingi’s big strong arms hoisted you up. Yunho was rutting up into your leaking cunt, his lengthy cock hitting your g-spot easily while Mingi fucked your other tight hole, the gunner praising you for taking his fat cock after he had prepped you for him.

There was nothing coherent in your head. All you could think about was how their cocks were rubbing your insides and how good they felt inside of you. It was so much.

“S-so full.” You moaned, head falling back onto Mingi’s shoulder as they bounced you on their cocks, the wet smacking sounds echoing in the shared shower room.

“You’re taking us so well, sweetheart.” Yunho praised, groaning when your walls began to grip him tighter and feeling Mingi’s thick cock fill you up on the other end. “I’m close. Fuck.”

“Y-yeah. Me too.” Mingi whined from behind you, his strong hips smacking against your ass. “Let Yunho fill you up, baby. I want you so full of his cum you’re leaking for days.”

Mingi’s words turned Yunho on even more, making him chase his release, his hips digging deeper into you.

“P-please, please, please.” That’s all you could say as your body buzzed and craved for them as if you could never be satiated. You felt like you were going insane with how good they felt inside of you.

Their thrusts in perfect rhythm with each other and how perfectly shaped Yunho’s cock was to hit your g-spot effortlessly, had you coming undone so easily. You came hard, mind going completely blank as your orgasm crashed over you. Every fiber of your being was electrified and when you came to it, you could feel that soothing familiar warmth filling your belly.

The two men panted as they finished inside your body that welcomed them. Months of pent-up sexual frustration finally being satiated and emptied inside of you.

“I missed you, sweetheart.” Yunho sighed into your neck, completely emptying every last drop of his release into you, marking you in his own way. “We all did. I’m sorry I couldn’t help myself.”

“I-it’s okay.” You murmured, limp in Mingi’s and Yunho’s hold. “Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry for leaving you all for so long.”

You winced when Mingi slowly slipped his cock from your ass, his cum leaking out your abused hole and when Yunho did the same, a mess of white fell onto the bathroom floor but Yunho was quick to carry you bridal style before your limbs could touch the floor.

“You two…I swear…” you murmured, letting the two take care of you just like clockwork. Like all the times before.

They were gentle as they cleaned you up, this time under the rain of water from one of the shower stalls. Mingi helped wrap you into a fuzzy soft grey towel before Yunho handed you over to him so he could dry himself before they retreated to your bedroom since Mingi’s bed was sheetless after the mess the three of you made.

“So…” Yunho was the first to speak when you three were snuggled under the comforter of your bed, the two of them on either side of you to keep you warm. “Is it back to baseline?”

You frowned, blinking sleepily at his handsome face while Mingi cuddled you from behind.

“Yeah…normal Mingi libido.”

Not having the energy to retort, you only shook your head and smiled. You were tired but you were happy and safe in their arms. Yunho’s hand on your hip lazily caressed you while Mingi had his arm draped over your waist and he pressed his naked torso on your back, preferring your body warmth over anything else to keep him warm and fall asleep to.

“Hongjoong is going to kill us,” Mingi muttered, his own eyes unable to remain open any longer.

“Kill us? No.” Yunho yawned, noticing how you had fallen asleep already with such a peaceful look on your pretty face. “But he’ll definitely give us an earful…or a sex ban.”

The docks at the outskirts of Xileon were quiet as dawn began to break. It was almost unbelievable that the planet with its infamous capital called the Night City actually experienced daylight. The parties have to end somehow and they go back to their day lives only to repeat and indulge in what they could only do in the dark, and in Night City, no night was ever the same.

And yet as the sun rose and began to light up the black sky, hints of dark navy and light blue faded in as the morning came and Wooyoung admired the view from the window of the dining kitchen area of the mid-deck. The scent of coffee that he had begun to brew right after he woke wafted through the air. It’s been a while since he’s seen a morning sky.

Xileon’s sky could not compare to Jupiter’s. It was prettier and glowed with the aurora that floated in the dark starry sky every night.

“You’re up early.” Seonghwa entered the kitchen, and his black silk robe that matched his loungewear flowed elegantly with his movements.

“Well, someone’s got to cook for you all.” Wooyoung shrugged moving from the dining area with the big window that looked out the sky to the kitchen. “I’m never letting Yunho in my kitchen again.”

“He made a delicious dinner that time.” Seonghwa chuckled, defending the tall mechanic and medic of their crew.

“But the mess he left?” Wooyoung shook his head, opening the fridge and grabbing the ingredients he might need to start breakfast. “It’s like a hurricane destroyed the place. Anyways, what does Y/N like to have for breakfast?”

Seonghwa paused pouring himself a cup of coffee momentarily, not expecting that question from Wooyoung this morning. His lips curved into a small pleased smile.

“She likes sweet things. French toast with berries if we have them or pancakes. She’s not a picky eater but those are just some of her favorites.”

Wooyoung bit his lip as he went through the cupboards and the pantry.

“So what are we having for breakfast?” Seonghwa asked, taking his seat at the dining table by the window, appreciating the view.

Tossing the bag of flour onto the kitchen counter, Wooyoung grabbed a bowl from the cupboards before going to the fridge and deciding that the frozen berries would make do.

“Pancakes.”

Seonghwa smiled at his response, not needing to say anything more and letting the former heir of a duke to his work while he sipped his coffee and enjoyed the calm morning and the view of the rising sun.

“I smell coffee.” The cheery voice announced the very familiar sunshine like presence.

“Just pour yourself a cup and don’t touch anything.” Wooyoung narrowed his eyes in jest at Yunho who walked in with a bounce in his step.

“Hey, I made a mess one time.”

“And it will be the last time.”

Yunho only smiled and got himself coffee before joining Seonghwa at the unset table. Wooyoung focused on cooking and as the sun rose higher and higher, the members were arriving in the dining area one by one.

Jongho entered with Hongjoong, the two talking about something in the magazine their youngest was holding. Probably another thing Jongho added to his wishlist for upgrades to the ship.

Yeosang helped set the table before joining the lighthearted conversation with the others.

Mingi was the last to enter groaning about how bright the sunlight was as he was slipping a black shirt over his torso.

“Y/N?” San asked, quietly taking note of the reddish love bites on Mingi’s neck and before the gunner’s shirt covered his body, they all got a glimpse of the long pink lines on his back.

“I didn’t want to wake her so I’ll get her breakfast and go back.” He went to the fridge and gulped down some milk from the carton.

“Use a glass, you heathen.” Wooyoung clicked his tongue and focused on serving up the pancakes on a big plate.

“Oh, you made pancakes. Nice timing. She loves those.” Mingi’s eyes stared at the fresh from the pan confectionary and took his and your plates to get a serving for you both. “Where’s the tray?” He rummaged through the kitchen, a vein popping on Wooyoung’s forehead at the clang and clatter of items in HIS kitchen.

“Get her some orange juice for the vitamin C,” Yunho told Mingi, opening the Xileon newspaper.

“Got it.” Mingi did as he said, getting a glass and pouring the orange juice in it.

Wooyoung was glad he and the pink haired man were not making eye contact, and that there was no weird vibe from Mingi’s end. He must admit, Mingi was a caring boyfriend if he was going out of his way to bring you breakfast in bed. Breakfast that he made.

“We’ll be departing Xileon by noon so if any of you need to get things, get it done before then,” Hongjoong informed the crew. “And get back to Yeosang so he can take note of the expenses.”

Mingi was focused as he crossed the dining area with the tray in his hands, steadying his hands.

“Relay the info to Y/N,” Hongjoong added.

“Mhm.” Mingi hummed in response.

“Oh, and Mingi…”

“Yeah?”

Hongjoong without looking at Mingi and opening the book he has been reading the past month, and sounding like a father scolding his son, spoke.

“Make sure to close the door next time.”

Mingi groaned as the rest of the crew cackled and laughed at his embarrassment, and he quickly vacated the room. He wasn’t going to let their teasing ruin his very good morning.

Wooyoung sat with the rest once the big plate of pancakes for everyone with the side of maple syrup and frozen berries were on the table, ready to be eaten. He sat in front of Yunho who had his ever-present soft puppy smile on his face, which was very deceiving.

“I finished up the repairs on Mingi’s gun last night by the way,” Yunho told him, dousing the pancakes on his plate with a lot of maple syrup. “It still is a mystery to me how whatever weapons he borrows or uses come back broken or in need of repairs.”

“He’s a big guy and a clumsy person,” Yeosang commented.

“But he never misses his shots though.” San added.

Wooyoung tuned them out as he thought about how so far, everything was okay. It wasn’t as bad as he thought it was going to be when he saw Mingi and maybe if he avoided you, his infatuation will fade away. It won’t be forever but just until he doesn’t think about burying his face in your pussy or having you bounce on his cock—

“You okay?” Yeosang asked when they doing the dishes together in the kitchen, the rest of the crew going off to do their individual schedules.

“Um, why wouldn’t I be?” Woo replied, washing and soaping the dishes while Yeosang rinsed and dried them.

“Should I point out the obvious?”

Yeosang was met with silence and he decided to go on.

“You’re kind of snappy but not too snappy. You’re nice enough because you just made pancakes out of the blue when I was sure you were going to make the usual eggs and bacon.” He was speaking his facts fast, something he got from Wooyoung who did the same when he wanted to prove his point. “Someone probably told you that Y/N likes sweet things which I’m guessing was Seonghwa since after you, he’s the second to wake up early among us. You made the pancakes for—“

“Ah! Okay, stop! I should’ve never taken you under my wing. It’s biting me back in the ass.” He scrubbed the plates with the sponge harder. “What’s your point anyways?”

Yeosang observed his best friend. His ears were slightly red although he had an annoyed pout on his face. He wondered how safe he needed to play it …

“You’re trying to impress her.”

“I made her one of her favorite dishes. I do that for you guys from time to time too…” Wooyoung trailed off, trying to stop himself from confiding with his childhood best friend. Which was hard. Back then, they told each other everything and when they reunited, it’s like nothing changed. “Maybe…I am trying to impress her. She is a member of our crew, is she not? I’m new.”

He opened up to Yeosang who smiled triumphantly to himself.

“Plus, I didn’t really make a good impression on her…when I danced with her, we got really…uh yeah…and when I didn’t know you guys knew her, I was whipping out bill after bill in that room.” Then the image of you tugging that purple lace panties to the side flashed before his eyes again.

“So you feel bad for playing into Y/N’s stripper cover? We played along because we couldn’t compromise her and risk putting her in danger. You’re not at any fault, Woo.“

He did have a point but speaking of faults, Wooyoung did have one and he didn’t want Yeosang to know that he saw you and Mingi then proceeded to jack off in his room to the sound of you both.

“I guess.”

“And if you’re a little attracted to her it’s fine,” Yeosang added which made his friend’s eyes widen.

“W-what?”

“We all are. She’s an attractive woman and when you get to know her, you’ll see that she’s lovely and sweet. She cares for all of us and she will care for you too, if you’ll let her.”

Yeosang hoped that that was enough to hint at the relationship they all had with you and that Wooyoung’s brain could put two and two together.

“Can I ask you something about her?” Wooyoung asked, handing Yeosang the last rinsed dish.

“Shoot.”

“San…” Wooyoung began, unsure of how to tread the subject. He wasn’t sure if he was analyzing it too much and what he assumed could be completely wrong. “San and Y/N knew each other before she joined the crew—

“If you want to ask about their past, I think it’s better you ask her or Sannie…or both. It’s their story to tell not mine.” Yeosang cut him off with a gentle smile, something that was natural to him despite having been a Prince.

“I was meaning to ask San about that but what I’m asking you is different.” He wiped his hands on his navy apron before taking it off and folding it neatly.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I just couldn’t help but notice the way San looks at her.” Actually all of them but it was San or the Captain’s gaze towards you that really stood out to him.

“Like she’s the universe?” Yeosang tilted his head to the side.

“Like…he’s in love with her.”

Yeosang thought of how to respond to that and his pause did not go unnoticed by Wooyoung so when his best friend finally reacted to what he said, he knew that his little speculation hit a spot.

“Ah…” Yeosang trailed off awkwardly, his eyes shifting away and anywhere from him.

He knew what that meant. Yeosang was never good at hiding secrets or denying things because after knowing him since they were children, he knew that little action his eyes did when he was meant to hide something.

“So he is in love with her?” Wooyoung pressed as they headed to the lounge together.

“They’re very close friends.” Yeosang rubbed the back of his neck. It really wasn’t his place to tell.

But his evading of questions only caused Wooyoung to create conspiracy theories that were far yet close to the truth.

“Oh, hey, guys!”

Speak of the devil.

San with his dark cropped hair and oversized black fluffy sweater jogged towards them. “You guys wanna come with me when I head out? I just came back from Y/N’s room and she asked me to get some stuff for her.”

“Uh…” Yeosang wasn’t sure if that was a good day but then he felt Wooyoung’s hands on his shoulders.

“Sure! The more the merrier right?” Wooyoung grinned at the former assassin.

But even though they did head out and got what each of them needed, Wooyoung did not get the answers he expected to get from San. He got nothing. Nada. Zilch. It didn’t help that Yeosang just smiled at him whenever he questioned San’s behavior which was cheerful. He had a swing in his step as they shopped and when he saw something, be it candy or apparel and accessories you might like, he’d turn to Yeosang and say ‘This would be pretty on Y/N’ or ‘Y/N likes this color’.

So as days passed and they safely departed Xileon, Wooyoung concluded that San was in love with you and that he didn’t act on it and disguised his love with the long friendship you guys had as merely platonic.

Wooyoung patted himself on the back for connecting the dots.

Every longing stare he gave you made him pity San. Even though you smiled back at him with such warmth, Wooyoung concluded with such surety that his one-sided love must hurt him deeply but he settled for being on the sidelines. To love you from afar while Mingi loved you and made you smile.

Yeah. Wooyoung was 100 percent sure this was the tension he was feeling from both of you. Now, next on his suspect list was Hongjoong.

“So pieces of the Cromer have been scattered across the galaxy, I’ve managed to find one but the others may have already fallen in the hands of other travelers or the Black Market,” you spoke from where you stood next to Yunho, tapping on the hologram of information and images you uploaded to the Destiny’s server. You swiped away the bracket of Jupiter, canceling it out from where the other pieces could be. “Luckily, I found three of the four possible locations.”

“Three?” Seonghwa’s jaw dropped a little, the shock in his eyes hardening to concern. It was too good to be true…and what did you go through to get all this info?

“That’s my girl.” Hongjoong grinned, the information you were briefing them with made him swell with pride.

Wooyoung glanced at Mingi for his reaction when the Captain called you his…but the gunner was completely focused on your presentation.

“It’s kinda scary how you were able to get all this.” Jongho shook his head quickly, taken aback by your ability to gather information that would’ve taken them years to find.

“Find the right lead and it’ll lead you to more.” You responded with a small smile.

“No hope for the fourth location?” Hongjoong urged you to continue.

“That’s what’s tricky…since the entire civilization of that location is artificial and they don’t orbit a system…”

“Don’t tell me—,” Jongho’s cute round eyes widened further.

“It’s in KWANGYA, most likely N-City.” You enlarged the holographic image of the artificial never stagnant artificial planet. “It’s hard to pinpoint where they might be right now in the galaxy…So I think it’s best we focus on the other locations.”

They were left speechless. This was crucial information to their Captain but while they were shocked and processing what you gathered, Hongjoong’s grin never left his face. It was rather unsettling that expression of his.

“Ondion, Gevora and…Sector 1.” You listed them down and Yeosang moved from where he stood to stand next to you so that he could toggle the map and begin calculations to the next destination.

“What would it be doing in Sector 1?” San frowned deeply.

“I don’t know…but I’m not looking forward to going there.” You fiddled with your fingers behind you, hiding the extent of your distaste for the planet.

“You won’t have to come off the ship when we get there’,” Hongjoong interjected. “I know it may be hard for you but you can stay here with San while the rest of us look for the missing piece:”

“N-no I’ll be fine. Do you really think I’ll let you all on that planet without me? It’s dangerous. There’s a reason it doesn’t have a proper name.”

“What’s Sector 1?” Wooyoung asked. He’s never ever heard of that place but it clearly hit a nerve with you.

“One of the layers of hell.” You uttered with such venom, your eyes void of the warmth and gentleness they had when you looked at any of them.

“We’ll be going to Gevora first,” Yeosang’s voice brought you out of that dark growing cloud before it churned into a hurricane. The former Prince discreetly without alarming anyone stepped closer to you. His gentle fingers brushed over your knuckles. Your hands had clutched into fists behind your back with nails digging into your palms. “I’ll set the coordinates by your command, Captain.” He slipped his hand in yours and all Wooyoung could see was how that empty and dark look in your eyes disappeared.

“You may do so, Yeo.” He raised his hand to gesture his permission.

Hongjoong got up from where he had been sitting and glanced at you. “We’ll be heading to Gevora. Since our hyperdrive is still currently being fixed, the journey will take approximately…” he looked at Yeosang who had a neutral expression.

“A month.” The crew's navigator replied to their Captain.

“Make any needed preparations for then. Rest up and when we’re close, we’ll have another meeting before we land.”

Hongjoong left the bridge and disappeared into his office. San who was next to Wooyoung made movement to go to you, only for Mingi to reach you first.

“You okay, baby?” He kissed your temple.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine.” With Yeosang’s comforting touch and Mingi’s concern, it was hard to entertain any horrible thought about Sector 1. “I just really hate that place.”

San remained by Wooyoung’s side.

“As much as I’d love to stay here and coddle our pretty princess,” Jongho went up to you and embraced you briefly. “I have to fix the hyperdrive system.”

“Awe, don’t work too hard, Jongho. I’ll come see you to make sure you take a break.” You told the mechanic. “Anyways, don’t worry too much about me. I’m going to go to my room and start up on that book Hwa gave me.”

Mingi followed right after you as everyone dispersed, off to do their own agendas.

“You okay?” Wooyoung asked San on their way to the gym.

“That’s out of the blue. Yeah, I’m okay.” He smiled softly. “Was just worried about Y/N. That’s all.”

“Sector 1 seemed to be a touchy topic.”

“Well because it is,” San confirmed and Wooyoung was suddenly in full alert. “It’s where we were trained.”

From what San had opened up to him about his past, Wooyoung felt his stomach drop. “You sure you’re okay?”

San smiled warmly at him. “Why wouldn’t I be? In fact, I’m really happy. Y/N’s back where she belongs. Safe with us. I couldn’t ask for more.”

Wooyoung bit his tongue and fought the urge to say ‘You sure about that?’. Successfully he did so.

“Anyways for today’s, sparring session, I’m going to train you to improve your hand-to-hand combat.” San changed the subject quickly. “You’re good with a sword and not too bad with a gun but your unarmed combat needs improvement.”

“Ugh…you’re going to count how many times I fall on my ass again, aren’t you?” Wooyoung groaned.

“Of course I am.” San chuckled, his eyes smiling with mischief. “If you think hand-to-hand combat with me is difficult, try Y/N. Before you can even pull a punch, you’ll be kissing the ground.”

“What are you doing up?” Your voice broke the silence in the dark kitchen, the only light coming from the open refrigerator.

Wooyoung swore in his head as he felt his heart race.

“I- I could ask you the same.” He took a deep breath before turning around, feeling his throat dry at the sight of your bare legs. You were wearing a black thin sweater that was far too big on you and he definitely was sure that he saw San wear it…Do you borrow their clothing as a comfort thing? Would you want any of his? He needed to do laundry.

He averted his eyes immediately…his throat drying up as he felt guilt shiver up his spine after what he had done again tonight. After what you and Mingi did again.

“Water…and maybe a midnight snack.” You replied, walking over to the fridge, bare feet on the cold floor as you stood next to Wooyoung. “You?”

“Midnight snack.”

“Ooo, so what does Jung Wooyoung have for a midnight snack?” Your tone was friendly and inviting, hoping that it’d calm whatever reason it was that made Wooyoung seemed nervous.

“Well, I made a batch of strawberries dipped in chocolate when we left Xileon. It’s probably set by now.” He opened the chiller to see the tray of dessert he made, feeling proud to see how pretty the dusted pink sugar glitter settled with the chocolate.

He took the tray out and set it on the kitchen counter, your eyes on the pretty strawberries lined up in organized rows.

“Here have one,” he pinched the leaf part and held it your way for you to take.

Not thinking much of it, you took a couple of steps forward and took a bite, unaware of how your lips brushing his fingertips made Wooyoung gulp.

“Mhm.” You closed your eyes, moaning at the sweet burst of the strawberry with chocolate in your mouth. For you, it may have been a brief moment but for Wooyoung, it was as if time slowed down and your lips wrapped around the lucky strawberry made him think of how pretty your lips would be wrapped around his—

“Oh my god, that’s delicious.” You squeaked happily, doing this little cute shimmy at how much you liked the dessert he made.

“U-Uh yeah. Thanks.” He swallowed the lump in his throat and played it cool.

“So how does a former noble know how to make such treats?” You wondered out loud, flashing him a smile that made his heart flutter. “Let alone cook. Yeosang told me you’re the one making the meals around here now.” You picked up another piece of strawberry. “I really loved the pancakes on my first day back, by the way.”

“Oh, I’m glad you loved them. And to answer your question, I hung around the kitchens a lot as a kid.”

“And your father let you do that?” You tilted your head, leaning against the counter.

“No, I did what any good kid being told not to do something do.” He picked up a strawberry and took a bite, missing the way your eyes flashed to lips and watched his Adam’s apple bob as he ate. “I didn’t listen.”

There was a beat of silence as you admired his handsome features. He was really handsome. Was being handsome part of the requirements of being in this crew or something?

“I heard you trained with Sannie today,” you looked him up and down, noticing the light bruise on his arm. Your brows knitted as your lips pursed at the sight and reached out to brush your fingers on the skin lightly. “You’re not that badly bruised. Which means you must be better than the average trained fighter.”

Wooyoung felt a rush of electricity wash over him with your light touch and your movement made the wide boat neckline of the sweater slip your left shoulder, showcasing the dark ruby marks along your neck and collarbone.

They were fresh…

“I heard you’re quite the master combatant.” He couldn’t help but take note that you’re braless. There was no sign of a strap on your delicate shoulders.

“I wouldn’t say master,” you hopped onto the counter, the edge of the sweater rising higher over your pretty thighs. “Did Sannie say that I was?”

“He hinted it.”

“Awe, how sweet of him.” You giggled, taking another piece of strawberry and holding it out to him. “Don’t make me eat by myself.”

Wooyoung matched your playful smile and went to pick up the strawberry but you pulled it back and away from him. There was a glint in your eye and in his view, you were glowing. The same magnetic feeling he felt when he saw you in the club returned and he inched closer to you til his hands rested on the countertop on either side of you. He could get a whiff of your natural sweet scent that had a hint of masculine musk which made sense since you and Mingi go at it like fucking bunnies and he heard you two every time. Turns out the room across his was yours. When he made that discovery he didn’t know if he was happy about it or hated it.

Now that he was closer, your legs parted to make room for him. One more step and he was in between them.

He kept his gaze locked on your face, trying to read your next move as well as trying to take in every detail of your features. He was so lost in the moment, he forgot the fact you were with Mingi. Was it so bad that he wanted you too?

You brought the strawberry to his lips, brushing the chocolate-dipped tip on them, tracing their plump curve. He looked into your eyes for permission, not sure why he did so. But your delighted nod at the gesture made him forget about that thought as his pretty lips parted and he took a bite.

“Good boy.” You purred, the same way you did when you two were grinding your hips on one another the night you two danced.

The way the praise fell from your lips sent heat straight to his cock and when he took his bite and met your eyes again, there was this thinning string inside of him that was ready to snap. Taking away the stem and leaving the strawberry in his mouth, he swallowed as he watched you toss the stem into the bin and as if his predicament couldn’t get worse, you licked the excess strawberry juice and melted chocolate off your fingers.

Wooyoung swore and cursed silently, feeling his cock twitch at the sight. He already jacked off in his room…and yet he was getting turned on by this simple interaction. Well, it wasn’t simple. In fact, it was rather intimate. What was going on? Were you flirting with him?

“So-,” he cleared his throat, breaking away from your gaze, and looked down, only to be met with the sight of naked soft, pillowy thighs and the hem of the flimsy sweater just a couple of inches away from showing him what he had been thinking about since he’s seen it in the private dance room. “You and Mingi?”

“What about me and Mingi?” You tilted your head, trying to meet his gaze again because you thought his eyes were pretty. Where was the arrogant man you had danced with?

“How long have you been together?”

“Almost two years.” You hopped off the counter and went to grab a small bowl, deciding to get some for San who was waiting in your bedroom… long enough.

“That’s a long time.”

You chuckled, moving over to the fridge and completely aware of Wooyoung’s eyes on you. Why was he being so jumpy around you? Or reserved? This really wasn’t the flirt you danced with and you had thought bringing him closer with your little playful strawberry trick would tease that out of him.

Smirking to yourself as you opened the fridge door, you bent over and pretended to look through the drinks selection. Wooyoung sucked in a breath as he saw the hem of the sweater rise dangerously high and he almost thought you weren’t wearing underwear til he saw black lace hugging your plump ass and covering your mound. It would be so easily to slip the flimsy fabric aside to see what he missed.

“Well, anyways, I should be heading back.” You grabbed a bottle of water and stood up straight, closing the fridge door. “It was nice talking to you, Woo.” You smiled at him, getting close to him on your way out. “Thank you for the strawberries.” Knowing exactly what you were doing, you leaned close to give him a small peck on the cheek before saying goodnight and heading back to your room.

Wooyoung watched you leave, heart racing and mind all jumbled up with thoughts of you, with what happened. When he saw you bent over like that, he immediately thought of how pretty you’d look bent over the island counter as he eats your pussy out.

Snapping out of it, he goes to put away the tray of strawberries but hisses when he felt the fabric of his sweats shuffle against his groin. Wooyoung groaned as he glanced down. He was bulging against his briefs.

On his way back to his room, he contemplated on fucking his fist again or letting his hard-on die down on its own. He stopped by your door and listened for any sounds of you and Mingi. A couple of seconds passed and he heard nothing. Okay, so maybe he won’t jack off…but the image of your ass in those black lace panties was so fresh that maybe another round won’t hurt.

“Dude, what are you doing?” Jongho’s voice made him jump away from your door, the youngest just turned the hall and saw him just standing there.

“Oh, I was just heading to bed.”

Jongho narrowed his eyes at Wooyoung. “Okay…weird. I’m too tired to question you right now. So just…okay. Goodnight.” The mechanic yawned, trudging towards his bedroom. He didn’t want to say much so that Wooyoung’s current assumptions would change, he didn’t want to lose his bet with San, Seonghwa, and Hongjoong.

He wondered just how long Wooyoung would agonise over his infatuation with you and how long it’d take for him to find out the relationship you had with all of them.

Oh, and most excitingly, how and what would happen when he breaks?

-- feel free to scream in my askbox about the fic I will gladly famgor; with you <3

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR OTHERWISE REPURPOSE ANY OF MY WORK HERE. I DO NOT NOR WILL ALLOW IT.

Taglist : @endeav0rsb1tch @eastleighsblog @scarfac3 @deadgirlwalking3 @ddaeing @lexiigom @lesyeuxdeanna @ja3hwa @prettyjewel93 @deardreamie @ashrocker123 @kookibuns @i2hyun0 @kpopismyescape23 @alex-tiny @hyukssunflower @honeypaintedskies @peachyproductions @dawn-iscozy @waitingtillthesmilescomeback @asjkdk @voicesinmyhead-rc @not-everything-is-so-primitive @atinytinaa @songmingisthighs @sanniesbum @angelluh @teenyfinds @vannabanana1995 @huachengsbestie01 @judasamorr @lovinghologramtrash @anxiousskylar @megseungmin @chnt1 @dezmybelovedddd @khuyyn @trippoverrt

-bolded users cannot be tagged

#tokki;sway with me #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez au #ateez fic #ateez smut #hongjoong x reader #mingi smut #mingi x reader #yunho x reader #yunho smut #san x reader #yeosang x reader #jongho x reader #wooyoung x reader #seonghwa x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines

751 notes · View notes

ficmenrhot · 5 months

Note

Hiiii idk if u take requests but if you do could you write a smut with Finnick Odair where basically finnick is eating her out and she’s tooooo overstimulated and reader pulls his hair a little to hard, in which Finnock replies with

“Yank my hair like that again I won’t touch you for a month.”

PLEASEEEE

Self-Control

Pairing: Dom Finnick x whiny fem reader

Notes: oral (fem receiving), punishment, hair pulling, slight degradation, overstimulation, fingering, edging

A/N: OKIE DOKIE so actually, in my head, Finnick loves it when you tuck on his hair but for you I’ll change it a bit, also I slightly altered the idea of the request ;)

Minors DNI

—————————————

Your shared bedroom is set alight by the pearlescent moonlight shining in through curtain gaps, a light scent of sea salt and musk whiffing through the air from Finnick. The scent is intoxicating; you’re sprawled out on the ruffled sheets with Finnick buried between your legs, your loud moans echoing through the room.

The two of you had attended a party earlier on, and from the lack of attention you received from Finnick who was too busy socialising with the other victors, you decided to tease him in hope that he would finally satiate the immense desire you felt. You tried to pull many tricks-softly running your fingers down his arms, tugging on his sleeves needily, and batting your eyelashes at him knowing he can’t resist.

“Honey, I know that you’re needy tonight, I’ll give you what you want when we go home, I promise,” he’d say at your attempts to break him, but you’d whine with a slight pout, unable to wait any longer.

Finnick’s last straw was at dinner when you decided to run your hand up and down his thigh underneath the table cloth, circling that sweet spot of his through the fabric of his pants. Finnick is a patient man, and you knew you were in deep trouble when he sent a stern look your way instead of his usual sweet ‘not now’.

This is how you end up with your legs wrapped around Finnick’s head, hands tugging on his golden blonde hair, as he continues with his assault on your clit. His tongue skilfully flicks and draws patterns on your swollen clit as he fucks you with two thick fingers at a torturously fast pace. You feel your climax building up for the fourth time tonight but is denied that sweet release as Finnick purposely pulls his fingers out before plunging them in your heat again.

You mewl as your climax is ripped away from you once more, feeling so overly stimulated. Your face is tearstained, whining as you accidentally pull at Finnick’s hair a little too hard, making him groan whilst his mouth is still attached to your clit, sending vibrations through your body.

“Careful now, sugar,” Finnick warns as his teeth gently grazes your clit as a warning, making you whimper quietly.

“I-It’s too much…I said I’m sorry Finn, I’ll never do it again…please let me come” you beg, sounding so desperate as you attempt to grind on his face, earning some friction.

“Please-”

Finnick lifts his head up from your throbbing heat, scoffing as he tilts his head at you, his fingers continuing to thrust deeply as he stares you in the eye with a mocking look.

“I expected better than you honey, but you acted like a desperate whore. I told you I would give you what you wanted when we came back home but you were just such an impatient little slut, weren’t you?”

Finnick sneers, his pearly white canines flashing as he does so, “you really can’t go an hour without riding my fingers huh?”

His head dives back between your legs, angling his fingers, and he finds that sweet spot once more which makes your back arch in pleasure. He adds his tongue once more, circling and tracing figure eights on your clit which makes your body shudder and mouth agape.

Finnick has been edging you for nearly an hour, denying you releases after releases, and the overstimulation you feel is almost painful. Every single touch drives you insane and the sensitive you feel is certainly not helping.

Finnick suddenly switches to sucking your clit instead, and you have to use every strength in your body to stop yourself from coming right then or else the punishment would be worse. You forget about Finnick’s warning from earlier, and you accidentally yank at his hair, a raspy growl falling from his lips.

“What did I tell you huh, sugar?”

“Mark my words honey, tug at my hair like that again and I won’t let you come for a month, let alone touch you. It’s time to teach you some self control.”

You whimper at his words. If only you had listened.

———————————

A/N: to whoever requested this, I hope it lived up to your expectations. I did kind of change it a bit so I’m sorry if it’s different to what you wanted 😭 once again, reblog and likes are appreciated, a follow would be great :)

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick x reader #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair smut #finnick smut #finnick x y/n #the hunger games #coriolanus snow smut #finnick imagine #the hunger games smut #thg smut #thg finnick #thg series #finnick odair fanfic #finnick angst

828 notes · View notes

historiaxvanserra · 5 months

Text

Whatever Our Souls Are Made Of | Chapter 2

Pairing: SingleDad!Rhys x Reader

Summary: The High Lord of Night makes a bargain with a beautiful Priestess and he has come to collect.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: allusions to sexual assault, allusions to depression, abandonment, broken homes (y'know keeping it light, in all seriousness this is not all angst it's quite sweet actually).

Last night you dreamt you went to Hewn City again.

You are a girl; coloured in the shadowed jade light of the Moonstone Palace, and your body feels unlike your own. A hostile vessel-- empty and aching-- longing for some semblance of release. You call into the darkness words akin to prayers; Mother, save me; Father, please.

From the darkness no answer comes.

Then, as all dreamers are, you are possessed of a sudden magic; you walk the halls of The Moonstone Palace. As a shadow or a memory. The cursed daughter of a capricious Lord. An Ill-faded bride to a mercurial God. The time passes strangely there in the dark dreamscape; the passing of time marked only by the slivers of opal light that pierce through the blanket of the dark each night. Fractured rays of pearlescent light that dapple the marble floors and high, onyx ceilings. You cherish those fleeting moments where hope bleeds into you with the rapidly falling night. It is those moments you cling to as dawn breaks.

The morning light creeps in like hunger; veins of first light that cascade-- all golden and ephemeral-- cutting through the darkness of your dormitory as the dream slips away from you again. A figure, obscured by your sleep addled haze, falls into view and you feel it as their weight settles at your side. The feeling of a fine bone hand runs along your bare arm, soothing and gentle and she whispers words close to comfort to you as the world around you comes back to life.

A myriad of light and color.

“Clotho is looking for you,” Gwny smiles down at you and her eyes shine in the first light. All glinting cerulean -- flecked with gold -- reminiscent of a diadem your mother had worn when you were a girl. That diadem and all memory of the woman you called mother is little more than a distant dream now.

A cruel reminder of the home you left.

“What does she want?” You murmur lowly as the fleeting remnants of sleep still cling to you. You rise with haste from your bed with a quiet reluctance and make quick work of pulling on your heavy pewter robes before the morning chill has time to kiss its way up your bare skin. Judging by the slivers of gold light that spill onto the plush rug beneath your bare feet it must only be about 9am but nonetheless, you’re late at starting the day. Gwyn hovers by your cluttered desk, flicking over some of the parchments there, as you dress hastily. By the time you’re covered and running a comb through your unbound hair you turn to face her.

She’s dressed in dark training leathers and her long auburn hair is adorned with white and silver ribbons that make her look as though she is crowned in starlight. She is every inch the Valkyrie in this light you think. Half-divine with an ethereal look about her.

Like a tragic heroine from some old myth.

“I didn’t ask,” Gwyn shrugs and her eyes meet yours in the broken mirror as your fingers twist and braid your hair as it cascades over your shoulder. Something flickers in those blue gold eyes then, some devilment pools in them as she regards you with a delighted smile that arches on smirking.

“Come on, you’ve got a visitor too.” You smooth a hand over the ill-fitting robes and sigh dramatically as you collect the scrolls and the hastily written notes you’d been studying. Gwyn retreats from your dormitory laughing and humming playfully as you fall into step with her as she rounds the corner into the Library itself. A night chilled breeze graces you as you descend into the lower levels where Clotho will be waiting for you and as you approach the balcony overlooking the ground floor you catch the scent of night blooming jasmine and citrus.

That smell seems to follow you these days. It smells so much of the home that you left all those years ago.

A cruel trick of the mind.

Sunlight filters through the large stained glass window that lights the antechamber of the library and as you round the stone pillars the world as you know it is crowned in gold light as the shadowed sun beams illuminate the great cavern of the Library. The Library deep in the bowels of The House of Wind is a feat of architectural grandeur; Like Hewn City, the house itself is carved into the dark stone of the mountain that looms over the City of Starlight, and everything within is saturated in shades of coal and bone. The Library itself is made up of a series of levels and floors, all held in place by dark pillars of the same stone. The large Gothic archways are adorned with carvings and intricate patterns and tapestries -- embroidered on black cloth -- illustrate the mythos of the court you were born into. Tales of dark Gods and gentle maidens. As a girl you had spent many nights enamored by the dark magnetism of the Gods of old and the cruel and beautiful Goddesses they loved. The Library, sacred as it is, breeds a strange sense of reverence in you. For the knowledge contained between its sanctified walls.

The Library is home to the High Lord’s vast collection of Prythian’s mythological texts; Holy relics of the arcane Gods which had once been venerated and revered in these lands so long ago. All that is left of them now, resides in the deepest part of the Library, where you spend most of your days. There in the bowels of the Library something ancient and foreboding calls to you. The knowledge contained here in the dark heart of Velaris could bring kingdoms to their knees if one were so inclined. And in truth, you had thought about surrendering yourself to the call of the darkness that lies dormant in the depths of the mountains more times than you can count or would care to admit. In it, you feel something kindred to you; something aching and empty that resonates somewhere deep in your soul.

As if the very fibers of your being are composed of the same darkness.

When the High Lord had first brought you to the library-- broken and aching-- there existed in you a vengeful wrath that longed to rage until the mountains gave way beneath you. Until the men who had hurt you were nought but dust and age-worn bone. All that rage. All that grief. It had been a terrible thing; haunting and terrible. But it had been yours. So you clung to it, until the girl you were was dead and buried beneath that mountain. And from her ashes the woman was born; tempered by time, and made strong by the faith you had found there in the library’s darkening aisles, in sisterhood, and in forgiveness.

Your thoughts are interrupted by Gwyn’s gentle humming as you are cast out of the memories that come back to you in flashes of jade and twilight.

“I best get back to Merrill before she comes for my head,” Gwyn exclaims loudly, smiling so bright that you’re sure she must be up to something. You offer her a small nod and a polite goodbye which she returns in earnest as her footsteps fall in sporadic succession and they echo down the aisles. You smile at her fondly and descend further into the main floor of the library still clutching onto the hastily compiled notes that are stuffed into the small cloth bound book you had been reading. Anxiety pools in your stomach, coiling and twisting as you approach Clotho’s office.

The office is situated on the main floor of the library and as you approach through the long, empty aisles the door to Clotho’s office falls into view and the swings open with a magical flourish. Through it a large figure emerges followed by the beautiful Priestess, who looks utterly impassive, even in the presence of such an intimidating figure as the High Lord.

You had always admired Clotho; her unwavering courage and fierce devotion to the Priestesses in her care. Her soothing presence and gentle smiles had been a source of comfort and strength for you in those first few months where you had thought you might surrender yourself to the mercy of the darkness that lurks in the bottom of this sacred Library. Since then it is her courage that had made you strong and her friendship that you valued above all else. There was a faith in the sisterhood you had found here, bonds forged of suffering and healing, made strong by the time in these sacred walls.

Now you must find something else to put your faith into. Who or what that might be you are not entirely certain. Yourself perhaps. And though Clotho was hesitant about your decision to leave the library and her behind, she had offered you her support and comfort all the same.

You approach the Priestess and your High Lord with a quiet caution as your school your face to a neutral expression that doesn’t speak to your rippling anxiety at the thought of leaving the place you had come to know as home or the women who you had come to call family.

The High Lord catches your eyes first; he’s swathed in shadow as he steps out and then the light cast through the windows wreaths him in a halo of topaz light and when his violet eyes find yours in the empty aisle he smiles at you. A carefully curated thing that glitters with false charm and behind the violet of his irises you see the darkness that lurks within them. Something kindred to you.

Made of the same darkness.

“There she is!” The High Lord of Night muses, his well-sculpted arms branching out towards you as if in prayer, “my favorite acolyte.” The High Lord's voice is tempered and light, with an air of arrogance about him that makes you smile shyly as he makes three long strides towards you.

There it is again; night-blooming jasmine and mandarin.

Clotho waits a few paces behind him in wordless silence but the silver lined eyes and sad smile she offers you is an indicator of her true feelings at your leaving. And though you don’t broach the subject at that moment you offer her the promise to find her soon. So that you might say goodbye to your dearest friend in the privacy of her office. She only nods and quietly retreats into her office with a few books.

“I’ve sworn my vows,” You offer gently, surrendering yourself to the enigmatic male that stands before you.

Rhysand leans casually against the desk in the forum, his violet eyes trailing lazily over the elaborate cursive on the parchment left by another Priestess, one of his hands is buried in the pocket of his suit pants and the other flexing around the lip of the lectern. In this light, as the sun bleeds through the stained glass windows, he looks like an old God from one of the tapestries hung along the slate walls.

Cut from the same holy cloth.

At once The High Lord meets your eyes and you resist the urge to avert that arresting violet gaze. Instead you offer him the ghost of a smirk as you address him again.

“So, I believe it is Priestess to you, High Lord.” The High Lord’s laugh is a wondrous thing as it permeates the air, rich and deep, and shaded with that same dark magnetism you had witnessed that first night.

“Well then, Priestess, I believe we made a bargain,” Rhysand pushes himself from his perch on the armoire and closes the space between you. He’s so close that you swear he will hear the flutter of your heart as he meets your eyes, “and I’ve come to collect.” His voice drops an octave and the words are tainted with an air of seduction that makes you feel anxious even if you’re certain he doesn’t mean it. Even if you see the morose darkness behind those violet eyes.

Rhysand studies you carefully and you feel his eyes on you even as you turn to shelve the book that you had cradled in your arms. Your silence does little to calm the air around you as you turn swiftly from him. “You still want to come, yes?” Rhysand sounds hesitant and quiet as he broaches the subject. You swallow thickly and cast your eyes along the long aisle of the library you had called home for the last few years.

“Would it matter if I didn’t?” You laugh lightheartedly, gesturing to the tattoo brandished into your skin, still unable to meet his gaze. The High Lord doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t so much as smile half-heartedly. Rather, the High Lord draws dark, thick brows together as the swell of his bottom lip moves into a deep frown. So mournful and aching that you’re sure you feel your heart ache for him in response.

“Of course it would matter,” The High Lord’s voice wavers once more as he addresses you with a sad smile. He’s so beautiful in this light and you regard him as you do all holy things, with equal parts reverence and anxiety.

“You know that, don’t you?” There’s an uncertain quality to his demeanor that disarms you. He’s always struck you as this enigmatic and confident male, with an almost louche quality to him that seemed to exude and air of rehearsed arrogance. But now. Now you see him for what he is; something dark and beautiful and fragile. There is a hesitancy about him as he steps away from you as though the mere distance between you is enough for him to feel untethered to this plane. Left to drift amidst a vast, starless sky

It is you, who closes that gap once more in a bold display of trust and despite the tremor of your own hand when the heat of the High Lord’s golden skin melts into yours, you smile at him as one might smile at something lovely and full of sorrow.

And he smiles back-- as though you and he are not both broken, fragile things.

“Yes,” You admit truthfully.

There is so little that you are certain of now but you know this: that you and he are made of the same darkness -- born from the same star perhaps -- and that with him, you will always have a choice.

“Yes, I do, High Lord.”

______________________________________________________________

“This will be your bedroom,” Rhysand offers with a wave of his hand before it wraps around the burnished gold doorknob to reveal the room nestled between the nursery and his own chambers “I hope it is to your liking?”

The guest room in the High Lords townhouse is just as beautiful as the rest of the house; sunlight, golden and ephemeral, cuts through the drawn linen curtains and cascades along the dark mahogany floors. Through the open window you can hear melodious birdsong from the garden below and as you step into it’s heart, the view of the dark marble fountain at its center that looks as though it is carved from the same mountains that flank the city. The garden itself is coloured with the climbing ivy and moonflowers that arch up the trellis and is shaded by a thick canopy of cypress and bergamot trees, whose citrus scent seems to bleed into the room itself.

“It’s absolutely breathtaking,” You say, smiling so brightly that you’re sure it must rival the midday sun as it bathes you in its radiant light. The rooms' furnishings are made of rich rose wood and the walls are painted a muted sage blue color that reminds you so much of the robes you wear and the bed nestled into the alcove is adorned with many quilts and duvets of cream and pewter and mauve. You don’t think you’d ever seen anything quite as inviting.

The High Lord crosses the threshold and instead of joining you in the center of the room to admire the view of the gardens in the sunlight he opens the door to the adjoining bathroom. The bathroom itself is almost as big as the guest room, with a beautiful claw-foot tub in the middle of the room and both the walls and floors are made of a champagne marble with decadent flecks of gold. You take a few steps towards the washroom and perch by the door frame to admire the craftsmanship. Rhysand does the same and makes no effort to put any space between you as the quiet settles over you both as the shadowed sunlight illuminates the gold accents in the marble.

“There’s a writing desk over there,” Rhys says, retreating back into the main room, pointing towards a matching rose wood desk and chair with a mirror hung above it so that it doubles as a dressing table. “And an armoire there.” he points at the ornately carved chest of drawers by the desk.

“Though if you find you need more room for your clothes there’s plenty of space for another.”

“I think I’ll be alright with just the one,” You say lightly, eyes traveling to the small, worn leather bag at your feet that contains all of your worldly possessions; a few sets of nightclothes, two dresses that are half as old as you are, four well worn books that you had sequestered from the Library and a small collection of trinkets you’d collected over the last half a century. Hardly an extravagant amount of personal belongings but they were yours.

The High Lord hums thoughtfully at you and for a moment you think that he won’t think anything of it but then violet eyes drift to the worn leather satchel and though he doesn’t speak you see the look in his eyes as it morphs from neutral to something akin to pity.

You don’t want pity, you think, and you feel something dark and ravenous nip at the back of your throat. It’s an ugly thing that you bite your lip and swallow down lest you bite the hand that feeds you.

It had been so long since that anger and pride made itself known in your heart.

“If you need anything you just have to ask,” Rhysand says, offering you a polite smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, he looks somewhere far off and you catch the scent of lilacs and pears when the breeze shifts, “whatever it is you want, you just have to ask.”

“Really Rhys, I don’t need anything else,” You make a move to haul your bag onto the plush velvet armchair by the window but in a flurry of movement Rhy takes it from you and places it on the small end table near the bed for you. “it’s beautiful, thank you.”

The High Lord does not respond, only smiles slyly at you from the end table, turning one of the straps of the brown leather bag in his deft fingers.

“What?” You ask with an accusatory tone, narrowing your eyes at the beautiful male beside you.

“Nothing,” The High Lord holds his hands up in surrender to you, his voice is velvet and lilting with his mirth as he looks at you again, “it’s just the first time you’ve called me my actual name.”

“I wonder what it would sound like in other situations.” He all but purrs and neither you nor he can manage to keep a straight face when you roll your eyes dramatically at him and elbow him sharply in the ribs.

The lull in the conversation comes with the passing of the afternoon clouds. They come in hordes of flowering grey and ivory, undercut with a darkness that spells a coming storm. In those quiet moments you watch as the confident facade that the High Lord wears so well melts away and he reverts back to the male you know him to be, tender and morose as the darkness in his eyes melts into a neutral expression that speaks to how truly tired he is.

“Get settled in and then come and find me later, Love.” Rhys voice is quiet and smooth and he offers you a gentle touch on your shoulder as he slips out into the hallway.

“Yes, High Lord.”

The High Lord’s eyes, iridescent and violet, meet yours and for a few moments while he is looking at you, you and he exist somewhere in the darkness between the stars.

TAGLIST: @awkardnerdd @ladybirdbeetle7 @lalaluch @saltedcoffeescotch @mybestfriendmademe @coisas-da-dani @justdreamstars

#acotar #acotar x reader #rhys x reader #rhys x you #rhys acotar #rhysand x reader #rhysand x you #rhysand fanfic #singledad!rhys x reader

470 notes · View notes

dorianpavus · 11 months

Text

Panel from Hell Info Roundup

We got a release teaser trailer!

CHARACTER CREATION/CUSTOMIZATION

Character creation got a revamp! More efforts were made to explain things to someone who hasn’t played D&D before, or one who hasn’t played other Larian games. Classes now also have unique animations when you select them.

Choice options now have a corresponding icon, so you can see what you’re selecting.

There are more available faces to choose from.

Dragonborn and half-orcs are playable at launch.

Warlocks are now able to call on their patron for insight and advice.

New sliders have been added for Maturity (adding wrinkles), Freckle Quantity (and intensity), and Vitiligo Pigmentation.

Horn Customization! Now you can change their color and tip color.

There are scar options.

More hair and beard options! As well as more options for hair colors (including greying) to have tri-colored hair.

Strong/buff body types added!

Piercing options have been added.

Heterochromia option has been added.

Dragonborn can customize their face, crest, chins, and jaws. Skin color options include metallic, almost duo-chrome shades. For white dragonborns, there are also pearlescent effects. Dragonborn Draconic Bloodline sorcerers will get a unique scale pattern that changes color based on your ancestry.

There is also a selection for genitals, which they did not elaborate on, but was selected as ‘default.’

You will meet a character that will allow you to reset your class and respec your abilities.

The team went back from Act 1-3 to make the game more reactive to your choices. If you’re playing something odd or unique, the game should react to it.

THE DARK URGE

They are the new Origin Character, and they are avatar-only; they can only be played by you, not recruited.

You can fully customize their race and class.

They do not know who they are; they are waking up, and the only thing they know is “the bile of their liver, the gushing of their blood, and their ruined body telling them: you’re going to kill and kill again.” They are meant to be a dark counterpoint to the story.

Has unique scenes and storylines unlike anything else we’ve seen thus far.

They have dark impulses and thoughts that tempt them; you can play as embracing it or trying to resist.

At 4:36:55, we have some gameplay of them from early on in Act 1.

KARLACH

She is an Origin Character, and you can recruit her or play as her.

Born and raised in Baldur’s Gate, was sold to slavery in the Hells, and managed to break free. She has an infernal engine for a heart.

She’s a barbarian who has a special rage animation/effect.

Curses a lot.

At 5:20:00, there’s a bit of extended gameplay and one of her romance scenes.

OTHER/MISC COMPANIONS

Many of the companions are good-aligned, including Karlach, Halsin, Minsc, and Jaheira. For evil companions, there is Minthara, who you can recruit in Act 2 depending on your choices.

Wyll has gotten a complete overhaul. Much of his dialogue has been rewritten, and he “can go in two directions” much earlier in the story. He wants to kill Karlach at the beginning of the game, and how that unfolds is up to you.

If you kill your companions, you can hire Hirelings. There are twelve (one for each of the classes), and you can customize and respec them.

Companions will join your camp and be able to come with you along your journey; you don’t have to choose between them, but can swap them out as you see fit. If anyone leaves or isn’t able to be recruited, it will be by your own choices or the narrative.

When you’re playing as an Origin Character, you’re not a mystery to yourself. You’ll get unique scenes and information that you may not otherwise get with them as your companion. For instance, when you go to sleep, you might have nightmares about your past.

A scene relevant to Astarion’s backstory was shown at 4:25:57.

ROMANCE

They tried to show “two people genuinely struggling through a hard time and supporting one another. And you’re not going to be the same person in Act 1 as you are in Act 3. Neither is your partner. Your relationship is going to have to grow along with the game’s story.”

At 4:46:10, they have a video where they discuss this and show scenes from the romances.

How you treat your companions will be reflected in how they treat you. Whether they want to be in a relationship with you, whether they leave your party, or even try to kill you -- all depends on your choices.

“Sometimes it’s actually better to have an argument, and challenge your partner about their way of thinking.”

Some characters will happily share romantic partners with polyamory; some of them won’t.

Characters may have very different romantic endings based on what happens during the game and how you treat them or what you did with them. There’s not just one scene that’s the same for all playthroughs.

You can still romance people on “evil” playthroughs, so long as you play your cards right.

Mature content warning! There is a romance scene between Astarion and Halsin that the audience helped select at 5:32:49. Wowza. Worth getting banned from TikTok?

COMBAT

Multiplayer is up to four people, with split screen.

There are 3 difficulty modes: explorer (or easy), default, and tactician (hard). Tactician mode gives enemies base buffs, but also hand-crafted difficulty increases to encounters.

The “brutal AI” from tactician mode is supposed to feel like a DM that is pushing you to your limits, which manifests in ways like attacking your squishier characters, or trying to break casters’ concentration.

At 5:44:28, there’s a video showcase on the Monk class. Two minutes later, at 5:46:13, there’s some combat gameplay showing off monks and the different difficulty modes.

STORY AND CINEMATICS

At 6:00:40, there’s a video showcasing cinematics, with various clips from the game featured (lots of enemies/creatures shown).

They estimate that running through the main story will take about 80 hours, but it can go multiple times that length if you actually take your time and explore.

174 hours of cinematics doesn’t mean you’ll see all of them; it’s more that there’s so many permutations and reflections of the choices that you made, that you might not even see them all even if you play this game over and over again.

MISC

When you go to camp, you are now able to wear “camp clothes” rather than your armor, which can be toggled on and off. You can find various clothes in the world, and apply dyes to them. You can wear them outside of camp if you want to as well.

Cloaks are added.

The devs prefer not to think of this being a story told to you, but rather a story they are telling with you. Though there are many themes, trust is a big one: who you can trust, why you can trust them, and why the world should trust you as well.

There’s an unboxing of the Collector’s Edition at 6:14:26.

There is a very heavy spoiler chunk of gameplay from Act 2, starting at 6:20:42, which closes out the stream!

#baldur's gate #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #there be some spoilers here! i tried not to include stuff from gameplay #long post #phew that was a doozy

1K notes · View notes

aweina · 6 months

Text

ᥫ᭡. seven minutes in heaven , mike schmidt ( 17﹢ )

are you an angel ?

tags gn reader. established relationship. facefucking. pet names. reader is nonverbal. anxious + horny mike.

“okay fine. seven minutes.”

there’s a subtle click from his watch, glossy black with bulky straps, fastened with one quick hand. he looks down your face, the faint pink dusting your cheeks and eyes so sickly innocent.

you look up towards his face, your nimble fingers unfastening his belt buckle with impressive finesse — metal clicking and leather landing on the ground.

all it takes was a forceful buck of his hips and one tug at his zipper until your hands greedily pull on the base of his cock, the dripping pearlescent bitterness caught by your tongue.

mike shakily pets your flushed face, wanting so hard to be soft and gentle. but with time being so limited, the night shift around the corner, he needed your warmth so bad — wrapped around his needy cock.

he drags his hand ever so slowly, firmly gripping the base of your neck — hips already stirring from your delicate touches.

your rosy lips pecking sweetly on the swollen tip was now buried down your sputtering throat, forcing a surge of saliva to coat your filled cheeks and a muffled whine to vibrate in your ringing eardrums.

his rough hands looped into your tangled hair like it was some unbreakable rope, tugging your head like it wasn’t connected to your neck — never forgetting to hump his quivering hips onto your face. your jaw hurts, dribbles of warm saliva run down your aching neck.

“i – i’m sorry baby,” mike manages to groan out, the trickle of coarse hair scratching the tip of your nose. “‘s so good, too good – ah fuck.”

the only way to reply is to lick obediently around the base — each forceful pass of his cock your tongue swirls and bends at all the sweet spots. coercing him into a needed orgasm.

mike’s regretful look became so needy. the spew of apologies and pitiful praises turned into incoherent babbling and blood pouring lip bites, never failing to spill out pathetic whimpers and a hushed, breathy version of your name.

but his attention was too occupied at the time, darting his watery eyes towards his wrist — counting every second of this heaven event of being wrapped with wet warmth and seeing the ungodly sight of your mouth breech by his thrashing hips and heavy cock. it’s so hard focusing on two things at once that it’s making him dizzy with lust and anxiety.

the steady tempo that he placed on his hips and the death grip in your hair began to falter like broken music notes. he’s whining every swallow of your numbed throat. the veins wrapped around the base pulsating with every lazy lap of your tongue. his heartbeat bobbing on your sunken cheeks, or was it the twitch of his cock?

he’s close.

your mouth did all the work, picking up the tempo — suckling and spitting towards his peak. making sure to breathe through your nostrils while blatantly ignoring the rain of your hot tears and oozing saliva dripping to on the carpet.

he’s loud, the obnoxious beeping tuned into his watch was left unattended — completely overtaken by his uncontrollable vocal cords, the mixtape of choked groans and soft whines set on repeat in the background. his hands fly to your hair again, forcing the steady tempo into a hasty, desperate rhythm.

“just like that baby,” mike hisses a praise, the burning sensation in your scalp now feels like scorching heat. he’s so rough, so close to where he needs to be.

“holy fuck baby i’m going to —”

before he could finish his sentence, a flood of bittersweet warmth poured down your throat — somehow soothing the raw strain left from his bullying cock. he’s practically singing your name, a white glow blinding his eyesight. a sweet imaginary, angelic tune filled his ears and enveloping warmth spreading across his skin left mike fucked out of his senses. looking down at you, he swore he saw a golden halo hovering over your head.

his softened cock was cleaned off by your obedient mouth and tucked into his jeans with your delicate hands. mike gives you a crooked smile, whispering apologies while kissing at your hairline — wiping off the saliva and stray cum off your flushed face. but the beeping from his watch blared louder and louder, reality began to finally hit mike like a rock, oh shit he had to go to work.

“f – fuck … i really need to head out.” mike immediately scrambles towards his belongings, turning off the alarm while glaring at the time like it was somehow supposed to give him a few spare seconds.

with his backpack and car keys finally on him, he’s ready. although the fly of his jeans were still down and his cheeks were still red — he needed to calm his heartbeat first.

still on your knees, you quietly spread your arms out. without a second thought, mike hugs you back — bending down to accommodate your current position. every pump of his slowing heartbeat drummed against your skin, it was weirdly comforting.

mike pulls away, brushing away the tangles of your teased hair.

“i – i’ll see you soon.” mike whispers sweetly, a little shy seeing the capabilities of his manhandling can make you look so beautiful.

you kissed his lips in reply, watching him awkwardly wave as he clumsily stumbles out the front door — tripping over his undone shoe laces. it’s going to be a long and boring night shift for mike.

add. note : the alt title was ‘heavenly head’ but it cracked me up so i didn’t put it. also, this was just a different spin from the usual ‘seven minutes in heaven’ … not exactly like it obviously ( ^ ㅇ ^ ) !!

#.୨୧ ina writes #.purple mark #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x y/n #mike schmidt smut #fnaf movie x reader

500 notes · View notes

3rachasdomesticbanana · 25 days

Text

Welcome Home | Han Jisung

•Synopsis: While out on a leisurely hike you find yourself drawn away from the path to a beautiful field smack dab in the middle of the forest. It's incredible beautiful is something out of a fairytale and you soon find out why when you're ripped away from where you stood.

•Pairings: fairy Han Jisung x Female Reader

•Content Includes: au fairy realm, fluff, smut, mentions of past lives and soulmates, magic, unprotected sex

Want more smut? Follow the banana 🍌

You're out hiking on a warm spring day, feeling the sun on your skin and the breeze in your hair. The woods around you whisper with life as birds chirp their cheerful songs and small animals skitter away excitedly. As you wander deeper into the forest, you stumble upon a clearing that takes your breath away. The field is a kaleidoscope of colors, with vibrant purple, teal, and blue flowers swaying gently in the breeze. You can't resist the urge to explore further, and before you know it, you're standing in the middle of the field. What you don't realize is that you're surrounded by a ring of white mushrooms with shimmering pearlescent specks until it's too late. You've heard the tales of fairy rings, how you should never disturb them since they're said to be the home of The Fae, but you've never truly believed in the folklore. That is until a sudden gust of wind, not from the trees, but from within the ring of mushrooms, envelops you.

Panic sets in and when you go to step out of the ring, the wind grows stronger, pulling everything around you into a whirlwind. Your hair is flying everywhere, and your backpack gets ripped from your shoulders, disappearing up into the tunnel of air. The circle around you starts to glow with a soft white light, until it's blinding, forcing you to shut your eyes. When the wind finally stops, you cautiously open your eyes only to find yourself at the edge of a magnificent forest, beside a towering waterfall that glistens in the sunlight. It's like something out of a fantasy. Everything around you seems to glow with a soft, celestial light. You can't help but marvel at the breathtaking scenery that surrounds you, wondering just where the hell you are and how you'll get back home.

Tentatively, you poke your foot out of the fairy ring and a sense of relief fills you when nothing happens. The world around you is breathtaking, filled with vibrant colors and ethereal beauty. When you step completely out of the ring, your eyes catch sight of a man emerging from the waterfall. It parts effortlessly for him, like a curtain being drawn aside, leaving him completely dry. His brown hair, slightly past his ears, frames his face in soft loose curls, blowing in the breeze. His chest and abs subtly glisten with the same shimmer as the mushrooms down to his slender waist, blending seamlessly under the waistband of his loose white pants that flow like water as he walks towards you.

You feel a gentle tug in your chest, urging you to move closer to him. It's like your feet have a mind of their own, pulling you towards the mysterious figure. Your whole body relaxes, and your mind clears as if all your worries have vanished into thin air. When he stops in front of you, you notice the delicate points of his ears peeking out from beneath the waves of his hair. And when he speaks, his voice is like a melody, soothing and captivating.

"Hello y/n, I'm Jisung," he says with a smile that lights up the entire forest. "I've been waiting for you. I knew the moment you stepped into that field that you’d finally find your way back to me this time.”

You're taken aback by his beauty and the sense of familiarity, as if you actually know him. He certainly knows who you are though but that doesn't seem to freak you out. Jisung reaches out to you placing a gentle touch on your cheek and you let him. His touch makes you shiver and it sends waves of electricity through your body down to your core, feeling a rush of pleasure that leaves you spellbound. You manage to find your voice, though it sounds a lot softer than you mean to.

"Do I know you?" you ask, "Have you cast some kind of spell on me?” He gives a shake of his head with a small smile and quiet chuckle making your heart stutter inside your chest.

“No spells sweetie, just the bond between soulmates," he reassures you.

You want to interrupt him, call him crazy, but is he the crazy one or are you? Everything around you seems like a scene from a dream. You half expect to jolt awake back in bed at any moment now. Or could you be lying unconscious somewhere after hitting your head on a low hanging branch in the forest? Maybe you got stung by something and an allergic reaction triggered this bizarre hallucination. But if any of that were true, then why does his touch feel so vividly real?

“Y/n, in every life before this one, you've been my love. In each of those lives, you're always drawn to lush green fields but for a long time you've never made it back to me. Until now.” His smile is warm as he gently takes your hand, his thumb tracing comforting circles over your knuckles. “Oh my baby, I've missed you throughout these long centuries. It's been hell having part of my heart missing but you're here with me now and I finally feel complete.”

As his words sink in, he inches closer to you, and you feel oddly calm. Just as his lips are about to touch yours, you hesitate and draw back a bit. His deep, warm eyes meet yours, and a playful pout forms on his lips, tugging at your heartstrings.

"I'm sorry," you murmur softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I don't remember any of this. If all of this is real, I have no memory of any of it." You apologize, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

"I understand, beautiful. It's a bit unreal, isn't it? You probably don't even remember this place was once an absolute favorite of yours." Jisung tells you, his voice full of affection.

You look around, taking in everything but feel nothing other than the initial wonder at its beauty when you first opened your eyes. You would remember a place that looks this celestial. Jisung nods slowly in understanding as if he can read your mind, looking at you like you are truly his whole world. He looks at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever laid his eyes on and you find that ridiculous considering where you both stand.

"If we kiss, some of your memories will come back. Not all unfortunately, but hopefully the ones that will remind you of me and what we mean to each other." he explains.

He sounds so sincere, it's hard not to trust him. He tells you that it'll just be a featherlight peck and nothing more. There's no harm in a simple kiss right? He's cute, so if he's lying maybe this could be some sort of meet cute like in a movie an you two would laugh about it years later. You inhale deeply and nod giving him the okay to kiss you.

Closing your eyes, you sense Jisung getting closer until you feel his face just inches away from yours. He smells amazing, like fresh flowers, coffee, and sunshine. When he kisses you it's gentle, his lips barely touching yours. You start to feel light-headed, and clear images start to form behind your lids, like watching a movie.

You catch Jisung's eyes, his grin stretching wide as he gently lifts your hand to his lips, planting a soft kiss to the back. With a graceful spin, he twirls you around and your laughter rings out. Behind you, a shimmering light dances, casting hues of iridescence. As the spinning slows, the same radiant colors swirl behind him, framing his form with beautiful radiance. His wings, delicate and transparent like glass, reflect the mesmerizing glow of the fairy realm behind him. The fairy realm, your home, unfolds slowly with sparkling streams winding through lush forests and delicate flowers bloom. Each breath of the wind feels charged with magic. He whispers your name, his voice tender and promises, "Always in this life and the life after, I will love you, I will find you my baby." His words fill the air, swirling around you like fireflies."

You gasp, eyes fluttering open, and see Jisung's warm eyes on you. It feels like you've been lost in a dream for ages, but his voice brings you back to the now. Around you everything feels different somehow. The air is alive with a soft hum of magic that you didn't notice until now and the colorful flowers seem brighter as they blow in a breeze that smells like vanilla and fresh rain.

"Do you see now, y/n?" he asks gently.

Blinking away the remnants of the vision, you nod, feeling your heart swell like a balloon full of helium threatening to float out of your chest, "I see." You whisper, feeling the overwhelming love he has for you and the love you had for him in your past life. You apologize for forgetting, but he reassures you, pulling you into his arms.

“It's understandable, baby. Just… let me hold you.”

You melt into his warm embrace and it feels like home. It's an overwhelming and strange feeling. Finding out that not only do fairies actually exist but that you yourself were one and in love with one in every past life you've had. You feel coolness wrap around you along with the heat of his arms. He's got you wrapped up in his wings and they feel like silk. Just as smooth and fluid. The coolness keeps the heat that suddenly creeps over your entire body at bay. Your body feels tingly all over like all of your limbs have fallen asleep. Every inch of you feels like a single touch will send you tumbling into ecstasy. You're suddenly aroused, more than you've ever been in your life and it's because of the closeness of your body to Jisung's. You want him so bad it feels unbearable, like you'll go insane. You know he can feel your heartbeat.

“Tell me baby.” Jisung whispers holding you tighter, feeling his cock stir under his loose pants.

“I need you Jisung.” You whisper shyly and you feel his body shake when he chuckles.

“I know, my love. I remember the way your heart would flutter faster than your wings ever could when you were needy for my cock.” He murmurs, his hand caressing your back through the simple white fabric of your shirt, reminiscing about the days when your wings matched his.

"Help me remember, please?" you plead, meeting his gaze with eager eyes.

“I thought you'd never ask my love.” He replies before capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. A surge of electricity shoots through you, forcing a throaty moan from you as you press against him, feeling the growing hardness in his pants stiffen even more.

He guides you deeper into the shadows of the forest, shedding your clothes as you go. Whenever you stumble over feet, his wings swoop in to steady you, making sure your feet stay planted on the ground. Laying you down onto the plush grass, he kisses you with a fervor that speaks volumes of how much he's missed you, missed your touch. His lips roam from yours to trace the curve of your jaw, down to the hollow of your throat and over the soft mounds of your breasts. Every inch of your skin is worshiped with a devotion that makes you feel hotter than the sun. Each kiss floods your mind with memories, fleeting but the feelings linger, strengthening the bond between you. With every caress, Jisung feels more familiar, and your desire for him intensifies, driving you to crave the feel of your fairy soulmate’s cock.

"Sungie?" You gasp as he lines himself up with your entrance.

He pauses, stunned by a nickname he hasn't heard in centuries, with a surge of affection flooding his heart. It only makes him want you more and without any further hesitation, he plunges into you with a powerful thrust. He buries himself deep inside you in a one single, intense motion and your cries echo throughout the forest, seemingly rustling the leaves overhead.

“Fuck, baby. It's been too long. Far, far too long without you. Forgive me if this is too quick but I can't hold back. Not after hearing my name on your lips like that.” With a swift motion, he pulls out and plunges back in, deep and fast, into your pussy.

“Quick or slow it does not matter when it's you my heart.” You whisper, your voice hitching with each moan.

“There she is. Mm! There's my beautiful fae. Your pussy feels exactly the way I remembered y/n. So wet, so soft.” He grunts, pushing into you deeper and your body arches into the lush grass beneath you. "You are pure fucking magic."

He lets out a soft curse, his movements quickening. The rush of memories flooding back to you turns him on, and he's desperate for more. He needs you to remember more, remember everything. Sunlight filters through his wings, casting rainbows across the enchanting landscape, like light through a crystal. The colors playfully dance on tree trunks, leaves, and flowers, enhancing the beauty around you. The symphony of your bodies coming together, accompanied by your soft moans and the gentle rush of the waterfall, is sweet music to your ears. With your walls snug around his cock Jisung can feel his orgasm quickly building. Countless centuries apart and he's going to blow too quick. He can't have that, not this quick any way. In an attempt to ease the sensation he feels growing in his balls, he wraps you in his wings and arms, rolling both of you over so that now you're on top, straddling him.

“Ride me baby. Just like that. Oh yeah, you remember don't you?“ He says through gritted teeth, moaning when you start to roll your hips grinding your pussy on him.

As you ride him, his cock feels like it's made entirely of magic itself, gliding in and out of you, making you feel weightless, like you're flying. It's like with every movement of your hips you're filled with a sense of purpose you've never known with anyone else. Jisung's breath hitches, his hungry eyes on your breast. Hypnotizing him with each bounce. You wield your own kind of magic casting a spell over Jisung, bringing him closer and closer to his peak. You don't even feel tired, you feel like you could ride him until the sun sets or longer. You can sense his pleasure building, his breath growing ragged as you grind your pussy on him faster. It's intoxicating, the way he responds to you, the way he loses himself in the moment. He won't be able to hold back much longer. His hands roam your body, tracing every curve as if he's rediscovering you all over again.

"You've missed this, haven't you?" you tease, feeling the heat inside of you bubbling.

He lets out a low growl, his fingers digging into your hips as he tries to hold back, savoring the moment. "More than you can imagine," he murmurs, his voice husky with need.

He has missed this, the beautiful sight of you bouncing on his dick and the way he fits perfectly inside you. Because you were made for him and he was made for you.

With a playful smirk, you lean in closer, feeling the magic and heat radiating between your bodies. "Then let's make up for lost time, baby." you whisper, your lips brushing against his pointed ear, without even realizing that yours are becoming just as sharp. You nibble his ear lobe and his hips instinctively buck up into you with a hiss as he sucks in air through his teeth.

“Y/n, fuck, M’ gonna fill you. Gonna cum so hard. Baby! Shit, I'm cumming baby. Ah!” He grunts, thrusting up into you, his hips coming up off the ground.

You feel his seed hot inside you and your own orgasm is right there beginning to unravel. Suddenly, a cool sensation caresses your back, offering relief to your overheated skin. The skin starts to tingle and the sensation intensifies each time you come crashing down onto Jisung's cock. The feeling, it heightens your pleasure until you're cumming hard, moaning his name loud and speaking a language you had no idea you even knew. He grunts when your walls clench around him sucking him deeper into you. A burst of wind shoots out from behind you, cutting through the forest, making you shiver. You sense them before you see them—your wings. They unfold, spreading wide beside you, gently flapping like a lazy butterfly as Jisung's cock throbs inside you.

“Beautiful just like I remembered.” He says softly staring at you, sitting up and leaning in to kiss you. He gently presses his wings against yours, creating a sensation that you can only describe as blissful. You've never felt so much love in your heart until now.

"I missed you, Jisung," you whisper against his lips, your breath mingling with his. "I tried so hard to find you, but with each passing life, the memories slipped away until I remembered nothing.”

He shakes his head and rests his forehead against yours, "All that matters is that you're here now," he replies, his tone soft and reassuring. "I always knew you'd come back to me.”

He kisses you and lays you back down on the grass, smiling as you instinctively fold your wings and gently pulls out of you. You both lie tangled in each other's arms under the leafy green canopy of the towering trees, feeling a sense of peace washing over you now that you finally remember everything.

With a gentle touch, Jisung raises your hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss to your knuckles. His voice, soft against your skin, as he breathes,

"Welcome home, love.”

#han jisung #han jisung smut #skz smut #han jisung x you #stray kids smut #han jisung drabbles #han smut #han x reader #han jisung imagines #han jisung fanfic #han jisung fanfiction #han jisung hard hours #han jisung hard thoughts #han jisung oneshot #han jisung x reader #han jisung au #han jisung fic #han jisung x y/n

250 notes · View notes

sashiavi · 7 months

Text

•····🍑········• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𝓓𝓪𝔂 𝓝𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓽𝓮𝓮𝓷⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•······🍑····•

𝚂𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝙰𝚟𝚒'𝚜 𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙺𝚃𝙾𝙱𝙴𝚁

#19•𝚅𝚒𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢•#19

𝚉𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚒/𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚡 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ʷᵒʳᵈ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ ².³ᵏ

•· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·····.•🍑•.····· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·•

→ᴰᵃʳᵏ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ ᵂᵃʳⁿᶦⁿᵍ←

Morax, the God of Geo, always got what he wanted. He ruled the region of Liyue with a fist full of gold, sharing his twinkling gifts with the land. Still. The man hoarded, typical for his nature. He took all the prettiest things he could find and kept them just for himself. Rare jewels, glittering relics, pretty little Adepti.

The moonlight twinkles softly in Morax's pretty pet's eyes, reflecting little tears that build up over her iris. An insatiable little Adepti. Morax could tell the sweet girl was nervous, and he could understand, it was not everyday that a pretty thing laid under the God of Geo. A shock to most but a reality to him, why waste time on common escorts with nothing for him to dig his claws into. No reason to kiss and twist at their mind, wrapping them around his fingers? The sweet thing below him was more than a boring temptress, trying her way with him for a chance of something. No. She was his to break, to mold and play with, a sweet pliant plaything.

Morax couldn't recall where he had plucked this pretty Adeptus, not that it mattered regardless. A Contract was issued, binding the sweet girl to him. She was quick to join him at his side as a concubine, serving him day in and out, keeping him humble company. She piqued his interest, she was much unlike his other playthings. She was devoted to her God, worshiping him, she prayed and begged out to him. Despite him existing within the very same vicinity as her, she continued. He received gifts from her, offerings of pretty jewels and sculpted animals she had conjured herself. She adorned a vision of Geo, tying it to her clothing with a complex knot, always keeping the golden crest on her person. The little Adeptus was skilled in the art of healing, shown through her very own actions towards him. Having the audacity to reach out and touch him after a minor injury. And yet he allowed her, finding himself craving the very touch he often denounced towards his harem.

She was his favourite little pet, his prettiest Concubine, he couldn't care if the others knew, Archons he hoped they did. He put her on a pedestal, praised her, fed her, adored her. She was his special little thing, and he was determined to keep her. It was only natural, his innate, Dragonic instinct to hoard and keep. He needed her, maybe more than she needed him.

The sweet girl whimpers below him, eyes bleary and chin wobbling, a darling thing. His large palm rests upon her cheek, thumb caressing the soft skin just under her eye. A pool of soft, pearlescent white silk hugs at her frame, flooding the soft garden of glaze lilies she laid in.

"Sweet pet.. Are you afraid?" Morax's voice was deep, dripping in honey and thorns… Dangerous. The sweet girl breathes a short gasp, quickly shaking her head at his question. There was still something in her eye, a glint, a hint of unease. Morax sighs deeply, nosing into the Adeptus girl's cheek. His throat rumbles in a short, soft growl, he nearly nips at the soft skin of her neck. He relishes the little jump she makes as he presses his fangs into her shoulder, teasing a bite on his prey. His prey.. Meek and quiet, helpless in his clutches. Morax was her predator, stalking her in the night, taking her down to the forest floor, ravaging her body. Maybe one Moon. He would let her go.. Just to snatch her back. He ought to see her try.

His thoughts are broken by his sweet little Adeptus' hand, carding through the thick, long strands of his hair. She unknots them from his glowing horns, rubbing her fingertips into his temple. He wasn't sure she even had the capacity to leave him. He had her all wrapped up just for him.

"Tell me.. Little one… Do you speak the truth? Say it again.. Has a man taken you?" His tone is hot on her skin, warmed by the soft huff of his words. Her breath audibly hitches, her thighs squeeze at his sides. She shakes her and avoids his amber gaze.

"N-No.. I am p-pure… For you.. Rex Lapis…" The way his name tumbles from her tongue with such confidence makes Morax nearly bare his teeth in a grin. What a treat, his sweetest Adeptus was absolutely devoted to him, saving herself spiritually and physically just for her God. He can barely contain himself, picking away at the lacy silk that barely covered her form, exposing her pretty skin to the moonbeam. The Adeptus girl shivers, goosebumps prickle down her form in the cool, night air. Morax breathes into her ear, soothing his large palms over her body, trailing over the bumpy prickles of chill on her skin. He cups at her breast, relishing in the embarrassed squeal she makes in return. He couldn't help but trail his long tongue over her skin, kissing into the spft plush of her breast. He wraps his lips around her sensitive nipple, suckling against the pretty, perky bud. He feels the Adeptus squirm in his hold, clenching her thighs against him.

Morax nurses on her nipple, biting and lapping at her achey sensitive buds. The pretty Adeptus carefully wraps her arms around his head, cradling him into her chest. Morax nearly sinks his sharp fangs into her soft tits, brain fogged on the idea of pumping a litter of Pups into her tummy. Forcing her breasts to swell with sweet milk, just for him to suckle and nurse while he pets his hand over her swollen pregnant belly. He has to stop himself, reel back the insatiable desire for the sweet thing below his form. This was for her. His gift, his blessing, all for her.

Morax pulls back, admiring the dumb expression she gives him, lips parted, eyes hazy and dazzling in the soft kiss of the moon. He can't keep his hands off of her, idly caressing the soft curve of her waist, teasing over her navel with his warm palm. He watches her pretty expression as he thumbs at her pretty, swollen pussy, prodding gently at her virgin core. Her brows pitch up, lips parting with a soft, unsure breath. He almost dives in for a taste, urging to lick and kiss into her mouth and claim it with his long tongue. Instead he marvels at her pure, untouched body, constantly squishing her pretty tits, soft hips, rubbing his thumb into her sticky clit.

"How does it feel, Pet.. To be worshiped by a God?" He asks, purposely pushing his thumb hard into his sweet girl's clit. He sees her little brain work overtime, scrambling to achieve an appropriate answer for her Archon. His finger trails under her chin, cupping at her jaw, forcing her eye to his as he circles her puffy clit.

"Feels.. 's too much.." Morax's little Adeptus hiccups, barely getting her words out, already overwhelmed on him. She couldn't begin to comprehend the atrocities he had written out for her.

"Too much..? Pet, I have barely graced you with my touch.. Don't tell me.. Do you not honor the bind of our Contract?" Morax's voice drips into something dark, uneasy and clouded. His tone feels like thorns, pricking into the most sensitive nerves on the body. Surely the girl will honor him, show her devotion to the Archon of Geo through her pure body. She didn't have the audacity to defy his order. And he knew that. He sees her tears, pricking up again, nearly bubbling out of her eyes.

"I.. am bound to you.. Rex Lapis… You are e-entitled to me.. in.. Whatever form you p-please.. " Her meek voice cuts through the night air, laced in the sweetest hint of unease. Her words nearly earn a growl from Morax.

"Take me then, Pet.. Show me your devotion." Morax's voice hardens. He thumbs at the base of his thick cock, gliding his fat tip through the wet lips of her puffy, virgin cunt. He feels her heat on his length, searing and slick, coating him in her sweet honeyed essence. Something fires in Morax's chest, a heavy pile of hot rocks, pushing pressure against his heart. Something carnal triggers in his mind, an urge. To take, to give, to breed. His coated tip threatens to push past the soft, inexperienced threshold of his pretty Adeptus. He hears her breath, slow, shaken in a mis-attempt at grounding her poor mind.

Morax's fingertips kiss at her lips, urging them to part, pushing them into her warm mouth. The silly Adeptus bites into his knuckles, whimpering over his digits as he presses his thick cock into her aching hole. Morax tuts sympathetically, hushing and shushing the poor, inexperienced girl below him.

"Settle pet.. The pain will subside… Suck.. distract yourself." He watches as she dumbly laps at his fingers, hiccuping as he pushes his long, thick length right in her virgin hole. He hoped it stung and ached, hoped she'd remember the swell of his thick cock, the hard push into her little pussy. He wants her sweet hole to mould on his cock, suck him in and be imprinted right into her womb. He digs his fingers into her tongue, forcing out all the sweet songs her throat makes as he humps against her core.

"Taking me in so earnestly, Little Pet.. All for me?" Morax presses, rocking his hips harder into her gushy cunt. The Adeptus girl has to fight the hiccupy moans that bubble from her chest.

"I'm all f-for you.. I am to.. Become y-yours, My Lord~" His little pet slurs over his fingers. He removes them, using her spit as a lubricant to twiddle and rub at her puffy clit. Morax watches the cogs turn in her dumb little head, reacting to this new-found pleasure he bestowed upon her. She was so.. Cute, Morax muses. His sweet Adeptus, his favourite Concubine, finally deflowered by the very God she had worshiped and prayed to that morning. Morax takes the liberty to press into her harder, fuck her virgin cunt faster.

"Become my Wife, little Pet.. We will rule this land of gold together." He spouts as he rocks his hips into her groin, pressing the thick, fat tip of his cock into her womb. The sweet girl only nods, lips downturned in a soft frown, brows pitched upwards, soft tears trickle down her cheeks. And yet, she bucks her hips back into his, forcing his cock ever so impossibly deeper. There's a soft swell on her tummy, the blunt tip of him bulging into her skin. He rubs his hand over it, once again stuck on the idea of breeding her virgin pussy, filling her up again and again with litter after litter of Pups. He decides he will allow nature to run its course and decide if she was worthy this time.

Morax growls, picking up his pace, finally fucking into her sweet tight core. Her sweet cunt wraps around his cock nicely, squeezing and milking at his length, coaxing him to ooze out the stickiest spurts of pre. He nearly mounts her frame, using her as leverage to push his heavy cock into her, his balls slap against her behind, clumsy and rigid. Morax was getting close, close to cumming in his darling Adeptus wife, close to filling her womb up with the sweetest gift he could possibly offer her.

"Come little one.. And you will be mine forever.." He couldn't barely recognise his own voice, deeper than before, plagued with absolute desire. He stares at her moonstruck face, relishing in the pretty, glittering tears that fall down her cheeks. He nearly licks them off of her face, hardly holding back the urge to devour and ravage her. All in due time, he manages to rationalize. He twiddled at her sensitive little clit again, rubbing hard and fast, making her hiccup and cry out as he fucked into her tight core.

He feels it, her sweet, creamy orgasm. She squeezes his length hard, creaming and clenching over the bullying length of his cock. He fucks her through it, humping into her cunt, rocking his hips into her groin. He can't help but shower her in praise, telling her that she was his best little Adepti, that she and him were destined forever, that he was never going to let her go. Morax further solidified their eternal Contract with a tender kiss, pressing his lips into her own as he pressed his cock into her with a final pressing stroke. Her tight pussy clenches over his length, milking out his seed, thick, hot and fertile. He bites at her lips, slowly rocking his hips into her own, linking the two in a bath of afterglow.

Morax rests his body on the little Adeptus below him, caging her frame into his own, using her shoulder as a pillow. He plugs up her achey pussy with his cock, locking in the heavy seed that sat in her womb. Morax swears he starts glowing, a soft golden shine radiates from his horns and eyes. They twinkle like the light of a firefly, sage and warm and content. He was sure he could fall asleep with her, just like this.

She was claimed. She was domestic. She was his wife. His pretty, little Adeptus pet. If he could pur he was sure he would have.

She was his. Apart of his hoard. His eternal treasure. He was the sun. She was the moon.

I don't wanna look at this piece anymore 😤

He hurts my brain 😔

•··········🍑···········• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•···········🍑··········•

Thank You For Reading! Comments Are Always Appreciated! I'll Kiss You If You Comment *mua*

♡KinkTober Taglist♡

@heath-sama @yejiswifex @hunnibunnix @bleh09 @madsw9 @py-schi @wizzardcatwithastick @shiningpaint-marbleheart @cherrytomato2 @i-am-silver @your-tears-taste-sweeter @kqzutcra @themusingsofmany @kaijubxnny @tericula @omletteattack @maryeehawe @pomeiu @the-massive-simp @himenoakuma @medieval-raccoon @succub-suki @mayberaspberrywrites @yannvi @sleepyisgone12

•· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·····.•🍑•.····· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·•

#ʚ•*°SashiAvi's Kinktober°*•ɞ #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin x y/n #afab reader #ʚ•*°sashiavi's kinktober°*•ɞ #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #zhongli x y/n #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #morax x reader #morax x you #genshin impact morax #genshin impact smut #genshin impact

661 notes · View notes

donatellawritings · 3 months

Note

NEED NEED NEED NEED NEEEEEEEDDDD sweetheart latina calming rafe down from an episode !1!1!1!1!@!@!@!2!2 i just know for a fact that he would avoid her to hide it

honestly, you’re so right lol - lol i may have gotten a bit excited

you had to give rafe credit: he hadn’t had one of his tried and true blistering breakdowns for the past few months, in fact, he hadn’t even punched a hole in the wall, since he met you. he’d been hyper fixated on you since the moment you first looked up at him through your wispy doll lashes, your dreamy eyes glazing over his strained baby-blues. you were sickeningly sweet, your cheesy smile clashing perfectly with his locked jaw and stoic frown. i mean, rafe had even decided to drastically cut down on his drug intake - seeing the way your swollen lips pulled into a displeased frown, overcoming him with shame and guilt. it was clear that you made him a better man, a man that could even make his family proud — possibly.

it was crystal clear that rafe was on edge, from the moment you woke up, you found him sat at the edge of the bed, his back muscles tense as he held his head in his hands, “hi baby,” you cooed, your lace white panties peeking from underneath the borrowed north carolina panthers t-shirt that you’d found sleep in as you crawled over to rafe, placing your delicate hand on his feverishly bouncing leg.

rafe blinked slowly, shaking his head as he curled an arm around your neck, hastily pulling you into his side as he pressed his lips to your forehead with a loud smack of his lips against your skin, “y’should go home today, i have shit to take care of and i don’t want you around to see that, yeah?” he decided, his voice low and stern as he kept his eyes focused on the polished hardwood floor beneath his sock-clad feet.

your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you pulled your hand away from his leg, sitting back on the heels of your feet as you ignored the sudden swirl of nerves in your stomach, “you want me to go home?” you asked, your voice lightly breaking as you stared at the side of rafe’s face, a pout now tugging on your lips as you reached to grab his face, “babe, just look at me-”

rafe was quick to catch your wrist, his grip tight as he finally brought his eyes to meet yours, his pupils blown to hell as you closed your mouth, “i said, go home, i don’t want to repeat myself, a’ight?” he rasped, forcing his gaze forward as you snatched your wrist from his grip.

rafe understood your behavior, he even blamed himself for it. he spoiled you, gave you anything and everything that you wanted, the moment you asked for it. you were spoiled and stubborn, you never took not getting your way lightly.

with an unimpressed scoff of a laugh, you pushed yourself off of the bed with a roll of your eyes as you grabbed the nearest pair of your bedazzled light grey boyshorts, sliding them on swiftly as you reached for your phone. your pearlescent acrylic nails tapped furiously against the glass screen as you texted kie, warm tears clouding your vision as you snatched your gifted dior bag that sat on rafe’s dress to sit over your shoulder. crouching before rafe, you ran your fingers through your hair.

“don’t call me,” you sniffled, before pulling away from rafe who licked over his dry lips, maintaining his gaze to remain at the wall over your shoulder, “and don’t look for me, either,” you wiped your eyes with the sides of your index fingers as you grew frustrated with rafe’s silence, sliding your pedicured feet into your sandals before exiting his bedroom, allowing the door to slam behind you as rafe remained seated on his bed.

you knew that you were pushing the limits with rafe, but you needed him to feel even a fraction of the hurt and embarrassment that came from him sending you away. he was mean and you hated that cold side of him, you hated how well it got under your skin, you hated how it never failed to make you cry. your top teeth dug into the fat of your bottom lip as you waited at the door, hoping that maybe, just maybe he’d chase after you, wrap you in his arms and tell you that everything would be okay - you didn’t even care if he’d be lying, you just wanted rafe.

hot tears stained your puffy cheeks as you made your way downstairs, your lashes heavy and wet as you fought to blink your tears away. why did he have to be so mean? why did he have to push you away? your bottom lip quivered as you stood on the front porch of tannyhill, giving kiara a small wave as her car approached the residence. your cousin remained silent as you entered the car, her hand reaching over the console to cradle yours as you sobbed.

kiara was fully aware as to just how much you liked rafe, much to her extreme dismay. she was privy to, and oftentimes witnessed rafe’s violent mean streak, as well as his icy demeanor and it bothered her to know that of all people, it had to be you, her sweet cousin and best friend that fell in love with the only son of ward cameron. even though, she had to admit that even she had noticed his slightly improved behaviors, thanks to you, yet her disdain for the young man was quickly reignited at the sight of your usually bright eyes, now bloodshot with stinging tears.

she’d decided to wait until you’d calmed down a bit, before nudging your side with her knuckle, “give me your phone,” kiara asked softly, a wave of relief crashing over her as you complied with ease, setting the phone to silent mode as you slid the phone into her hand, “wanna go to the beach?” she offered, placing your phone into the glove compartment.

now fiddling with the diamond ‘R’ initial that hung from your dainty chain, you nodded weakly, leaning your head against kiara’s arm as she drove father away from the cameron residence.

ྀིྀ

it didn’t take long for your sad tears to subside, once you were on the beach, the warm and inviting sun, drying your tears and burning your heartbreak as you took a sip of the smooth mango juice that kie prepared for you. a low mewl of satisfaction left you swollen lips as you let the juice glide down your throat. you boyshorts and borrowed t-shirt were swapped with a pink triangle bikini set, your layered hair pushed back by your sunglasses as you walked along the shoreline, damp sand tickling your painted toes.

of course, you had found that your mind would flutter back to wondering about rafe, secretly yearning to see him, but you remained strong, mostly thanks to your cousin and friends who’d made it their mission to at least distract you for a few hours.

“‘sup mama! y’gonna get in with us, or …” jj beamed, pulling you in for a short hug, the hyperactive blonde nodding towards the water, cocking his head to the side as you shook your head.

“i don’t want to mess up my hair,” you whined, taking another sip of your juice as jj’s exaggerated sigh caused you to let out a breathy laugh around your paper straw.

“kie, she doesn’t want to get her hair wet!” jj announced with a playful roll of his eyes as your cousin approached the two of you, a face of annoyance wearing on her features, “woah, what’s wrong?” the blond asked, nudging kie’s chin with the side of his finger.

kiara huffed, before locking her eyes on you, “rafe is here,” she forced a smile, before swallowing thickly as she took a quick glance over her shoulder towards the opposite side of the beach.

you stomach sank as you followed her gaze, the sight of rafe walking out of his black pick-up truck causing you to freeze still. you ignored the small part of you that found excitement in the fact that he’d decided to find you, yet the sudden well of tears that glazed your vision proved otherwise. he’s the one that told you to leave, you didn’t do anything wrong.

blinking away your threatening tears, you adjusted the strings of your bikini to sit comfortably on your hips, “i don’t want to see him,” you mumbled, your eyes silently pleading with kiara’s as jj pressed an innocent kiss to the side of your head, before making his way into the water, avoiding any contact with rafe altogether.

“i’ll try to stall him, okay?” she shrugged, pacing backwards for a few steps before turning to walk towards rafe.

you locked over your supple lips, lowering your sunglasses to conceal your eyes as you watched kiara block rafe’s direct path to you. a small pang of guilt flashed in your chest as you watched him run his hands through his buzzed hair in frustration.

“kie, i don’t have the time for this shit right now, just let me see her,” rafe raised his hand, shaking his head as he walked around kiara, his knuckles swollen as he ran his hand over his face. an annoyed huff left his lips as kiara grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks with wide eyes.

“you told her to leave, don’t forget that,” kiara spat, snatching her hand away from his arm as she walked away from the taller man, hastily making her way towards jj who sat on his surfboard, carefully watching kiara’s interaction with rafe.

a silent cry hummed within you as rafe’s eyes met yours. your heartbeat quickening with each step that brought you and rafe closer. you’d become overwhelmed with anxiety as you suddenly found yourself spinning on your heels, walking away from rafe, and towards kiara.

“wait, baby, please, just-” rafe jogged up to you, softly grasping your arm as you turned to face him, sliding your arm away down his grasp as kept your head down, “c‘mon, mama, let me look at you, please,” he pleaded, bringing both of his hands to either side of your face, before softly lifting your sunglasses, revealing your reddened and damp eyes.

with a sniffle, you pulled away from rafe, “i don’t want to see you, right now,” you squeaked, taking a few steps backs from your flustered boyfriend.

“stop fuckin’ walking away from me!” rafe shouted, before grabbing your waist and holding you against his front, his chest heaving for a few breaths, before he let out a childlike sob, “m’sorry, princess, i just had a really bad fuckin’ day,” rambled, his tear-stained face tucked into your neck as you were quick to face him, a pout on your lips as you cradled his face in your hands.

“rafe,” you sighed, nudging his nose with the tip of yours, “que te pasa?”

wordlessly, rafe pulled you into his chest, his long arms wrapping around your waist as you both lightly swayed from side to side. you weren’t used to rafe being so emotionally vulnerable, he was usually the one who would calm you down from crying fits and panic attacks, so this was new territory for you. and, it broke your heart to pieces to watch your man break down in front of you.

“m’just waiting to fuck things up with us, i know m’gonna fuck up,” he ranted.

standing on the tips of your toes, you wrapped your arms around his tense neck, “no, papi, everything’s okay,” you cooed, pressing you lips to his cheek as you held him just a wee bit tighter, “let’s go home,” you kissed rafe’s lips, a pillowy soft kiss.

“let’s go home,” he mumbled, terrified that if he let go of you, you’d find a way to slip away from him.

and so, you’d found yourself coaxing rafe into a peaceful sleep, your nails scratching gently at his scalp as he laid between your legs, his face smushed against your stomach. the dangle of his chain tickling you as he shifted in his sleep. you could see the gnarly imprint of his knuckles impacting the wall, as his inflamed knuckles laid against your waist, the chill of your seamless shorts easing the dull throb of his hands.

“i love you, okay,” you whispered.

“i love you,” rafe mumbled into the skin of your stomach.

#asks #anon #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron #obx #obx imagine #sweetheart!reader

858 notes · View notes

rae-writes · 1 year

Text

om boys cumcanons

nsfw

Lucifer

off white, has the thickest consistency of his brothers; it actually can be a bit hard to swallow all at once sometimes because of that, so he practically keens whenever your cheeks are puffed, visibly full of his cum, as you take your time swallowing it all. Tastes a bit bitter from all the coffee he drinks, but it’s not unbearable, and you start to actually like it after a while

Mammon

pearl colored with a golden tint, creamy consistency; you would think it tastes like sugar with the way it looks, but it’s just a distinct Mammon taste (with a tang of sourness from all the hell-sauce), and the texture is perfect for making you greedy to come back for more, which he is all too happy to give

Levi

paper white, but has some transparency to it, with an iridescent shine— it’s thinner than his brothers and a bit runny; he cums a lot so the consistency is good for quickly swallowing it down (and for easy clean up). Tastes like candy— literally. Sometimes leftover beads of it will roll off your tongue when you open to show him and the sight drives him crazy

Satan

milky with a rather normal consistency, though sometimes it’s thicker depending on how pent up he was; it genuinely looks like milk and is very easy to swallow. Tastes rich and almost sweet, like a loaded coffee that gives you the energy to keep going and going until you’ve both had your fill (gives a whole new meaning to the nickname ‘kitten’)

Asmo

pearly with a rose gold tint to it, a bit on the thinner side; he actually likes painting your face/body with it, so it’s pretty to take photos of and not too messy to where it’ll be hard to clean off (and he tastes amazing- like a fruity mixture but not too sweet and not too sour)

Beel

off white and has the second thickest consistency, though his is more of a creamy texture like Mammon’s; he cums the most out of all his brothers so it’ll definitely overflow out of your mouth (not that he minds the sight). Surprisingly, he doesn’t taste that bad, but you can’t really pinpoint the taste- it’s kind of bland, but given what he eats all the time, you’re okay with it

Belphie

milky, normal consistency, and glints under direct light (like stars); loves having you open your mouth with your tongue out and let his cum drip off- very aesthetic, tbh. He’s a mixture between sweet and bland yet it tastes so good, especially in the morning (where you can be caught giving him a wake up call with head on many occasions)

Diavolo

off white and is the third thickest consistency, but he comes so much (more than Beel) that it’s basically impossible to swallow it all down without either taking your time or having it dribble down your chin. Has a hint of sweetness, but it’s mostly bitter in taste, and even more so because of how much is in your mouth at once. Not the most pleasant, but you manage

Barbatos

paper white, bit of a thin consistency, but thick enough to where it’s pleasant as it pools in your mouth when he doesn’t allow you to swallow until he’s finished working; he’s a curious mix of bitter and shockingly sweet, it’s almost confusing on whether you love it or hate it (you love it, come on)

Simeon

pearly white with a pearlescent glimmer, and the consistency is perfect, just the right amount of thick and thin; and- and his taste??? Delicious— a delicacy, if you will. You could sit and swallow his cum down all day if you could (and when you tell him this during one of your cock-drunk spells while licking said cum up? he ascends. absolutely lets you overstimulate him till he’s passing out right then and there)

Solomon

off white, on the thicker consistency side; and I know what you’re thinking- but he actually tastes good- it’s kind of irritating, really (and makes you just want to get on your knees instead when he offers to cook for you. He can’t complain though, not when you’re shoving your cum coated tongue in his mouth and making him agree, though that might just be because your taste was mixed in too)

3K notes · View notes

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 9 months

Text

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 2: Choose Love Or Sympathy]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra's wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook's Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother's life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting...

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, extreme babygirl energy, violence, serious injury, Larys Strong, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), Crab Family lore.

Series title is a lyric from: "7 Minutes in Heaven" by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: "XO" by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 5.5k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged! 🥰💜

A moment of clarity, something he’s having more of lately: eyes glassy but open, voice husky, words slow. His vast bedchamber in the Red Keep always smells like honey and rose oil and the brackish golden air that blows in off the ocean. Sounds float weightlessly through the open windows like feathers on waves, music and shouts and creaking wagon wheels, gull cries and sails cracking in the wind. Late-morning daylight is an aisle across the stone floor, a river, a channel. Aegon’s bed has been moved away from the windows; when his wounds are uncovered, direct sunlight can ravage him in minutes, fresh blisters, thickening scars.

Aegon winces as you sit behind him and knead warm rose oil into his back and shoulders. His flesh is a grisly mosaic: pink and crimson and white, knots of burgeoning scar tissue, spots that are still raw and weeping. “It itches like hell, does that mean it’s infected?”

“That means it’s healing. Do you want more?” You mean the goblet of pearlescent milk of the poppy on his bedside table. It’s always there, and refilled frequently.

Aegon shakes his head, groggy, slumped, white-blond hair loose and disheveled. “I should probably be sentient on occasion. You haven’t been helping me piss into chamber pots or anything, have you?”

You smile. “No. You’ve got servants for that.” Although they report their findings to you; Maester Arthur of Claw Isle once taught you that organ failure is a common cause of death for burn victims, even if they survive the risks of shock and festering. All appears well enough on the outside, and then they start pissing blood or their skin goes yellow as their innards lose their secretive divine cadence, that vital rhythm, and then the poor soul is gone within days.

“Thank the gods,” Aegon says. “A speck of dignity remains. It’s tragic enough that I now closely resemble an overcooked meat pie.”

You chuckle as you massage rose oil into his wounds, keeping the scars moist and supple so they do not split open when he moves, so his joints are not locked in place. He will need them when he is out of bed again. He will need them if he truly is the king. “I don’t think you look that bad.”

“Because you’re used to sifting through guts and corpses all day. I’m an improvement. I’m only half dead.” And just weeks ago, he was pleading to be all the way dead. He glances back at you, brow knitted into thoughtful furrows; you can see it between the messy locks of hair that shag over his face. “What made you want to study something like this? It’s gruesome. It’s miserable, thankless work.”

“I was never good at anything,” you tell him. “My sisters were, but I wasn’t. I couldn’t dance, couldn’t sing, couldn’t embroider patterns unless they were humiliatingly simple, and even then I loathed it. My father grew so desperate he encouraged me to try archery with my brothers. I accidentally put an arrow in the foot of a squire and that was the end of my bowwoman career.”

Aegon laughs, then groans at the pain it causes him. He turns around so he can look at you, clumsily repositioning himself on the feather mattress, propping himself up on his palms. He squints down at his left hand where his ring should be: gold wings, jade eyes. You will have to remind Aemond to give it back to him. “I was never good at anything either.”

You can’t imagine that to be true, and yet it’s what you’ve always been told, that he was gifted at drinking and whoring and nothing else. You cannot reconcile those stories with the man in front of you. You keep trying, keep failing. You slather your palms in rose oil again the then begin massaging it into his chest. Aegon watches you with muzzy, drugged interest, eyes like cold ocean currents. “Then, five years ago, my brother…” You hesitate. A real name, an imagined one? You decide there is no harm in this small truth. Aegon will not remember the name of a younger son of a Crownlands house; he barely recalls the men of his own Kingsguard, who now spend their days trotting around the castle after Aemond. “My brother Everett was burned very badly, just like you were, although his wounds were mostly to his legs. And we all thought he would die. People advised us to show mercy by giving him enough milk of the poppy to kill him. They said it would be a sin to let him suffer so terribly. Yet our maester believed he could save him. My father and eldest brother had other responsibilities to attend to, and my mother and sisters could not bear the sight of Everett’s injuries. But I watched the way the maester worked on him, and I just…I thought it was the most captivating, beautiful thing I’d ever seen. The way a body can be taken apart or put back together like stones in a wall. Place one here, remove one there, and then like magic you’ve changed the course of someone’s life. Our maester taught me how to clean burns and change bandages, and when Everett was well again, he taught me about broken bones, fevers, childbirth, wolf bites, dry drowning. I read every book on the subject of healing in my father’s library. He kept having to order me more from the Citadel. I think I would have liked to be a maester myself, but…”

Aegon grins. “You have to go marry your mystery nobleman.”

“And women can’t be maesters.”

“They made me king of the Seven Kingdoms but you can’t be a maester? Fucking ridiculous.” He studies you as your fingers—tenderly, carefully—press rose oil into the red scar that creeps up over his right cheek. “Why won’t you tell me who he is?”

He means your betrothed. Aegon keeps asking about him in his moments of lucidity. You quip: “I don’t want you to have him murdered.”

“That would solve your problem.”

“I preserve life, I don’t take it.”

“I’ve noticed,” Aegon says with a soft, tired smile. Very slowly, he reaches up with one hand to pat at his silvery hair. “Can you give me my braid back? It seems to have been washed out again.”

“Of course.”

“Why did you start doing that?”

What is the truth? Something you can’t tell Aegon. No matter how often I touch him, I want more. “It’s a war braid. You’re a warrior. You’ve earned it.”

“So I am good at something after all,” he murmurs. You rebandage Aegon’s wounds and help him lie back down again. You give him a sip of milk of the poppy, which by now is badly needed; Aegon’s face is sweated and pale and agonized. Then you clean the rose oil from your hands and begin weaving a small braid into his hair. He gazes vacantly towards the open window, bright warm light he cannot walk into. “I assume Aemond is…handling things.”

“Yes, he’s…” How will Aegon take this? Is it a relief, or a slight? There was a great ceremony. You did not attend; you were here tending to the Greens’ broken king. It’s where you spend most of your time. “He’s been made Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm.”

Aegon nods, his expression unreadable. “How’s Sunfyre?”

“Still at Rook’s Rest and gaining strength. He was climbing the cliffs as of a few days ago. But I’ll ask Aemond when I see him today.”

Now Aegon smiles again. “Sunfyre is fierce. He is extraordinary.”

“You both are,” you say as you fashion his silver braid; and Aegon stares as if he couldn’t have heard you correctly.

Her steps are so light that at first you aren’t aware she’s entered the room. You see her out of the corner of your eye and immediately stand, moving away from the bed, from Aegon. You feel strange touching him this way—unnecessarily, self-indulgently, greedily—in her presence. She is his wife, after all.

“Your Grace,” you greet Helaena, bowing. She does not look at you. She looks vaguely in Aegon’s direction instead. She is wearing a turquoise blue dress and her long hair pulled back from her face. The servants have dressed her, or Alicent; she cannot do it herself anymore. In her hands she holds a large glass jar of sticks and leaves.

“Hello, Helaena,” Aegon says, more like a sigh than a welcome.

She scurries towards him and sets the jar down on his bedside table with a clunk, right next to the goblet of milk of the poppy and a number of other drinks, things you ply Aegon with to keep him hydrated. Then Helaena speaks, her eyes on the contents of the jar. There is something else in there, you see now: a fat wriggling green creature, a caterpillar inching along the length of an upright stick. "For you."

“It’s very nice,” Aegon tells her, in a tone like a parent losing patience with their child.

“It takes nourishment and then rests,” Helaena says. “It is wrapped in a cocoon and stays there for a long while. But when it emerges, it is not just well again. It is greater than it was before. And it can fly.”

“Oh, I understand now.” Aegon makes no attempt to touch her—not even her hand, not even for a moment—but his words are kinder. “I am the worm. Thank you, Helaena. This comforts me.”

She is satisfied. She turns to leave.

“Your Grace,” you begin, and hold out your hands to her. She does not take them. She does not meet your eyes; she stares instead into the golden luminescence of the open window behind you. You can hear crashing waves and the screeches of swooping gulls. “I wanted to express…I cannot even begin to tell you…I am so, so sorry for your suffering—”

She spins away from you and sweeps out of the bedchamber. You are left looking at the empty place where she stood, heartsick and sorry. What did I do wrong? What should I have said?

Aegon offers you an apologetic smirk, but his eyes are sad. “It’s not personal. She doesn’t really like touching anybody.” This is an irony, and one that must read on your face. A king and queen—by definition, by necessity—do an inordinate amount of touching. He invades, she endures, they knit heirs together out of threads of blood and sweat. “What we have between us, it’s not…romantic. It never was.”

This is not something he should be telling you. It is not a jest but a spilling of deep, sacred truths. “I didn’t ask.”

“No. But you were wondering.”

You were. You return to the bed and sit down beside Aegon, finishing his braid. You choose your words precisely before you speak. “I don’t believe I have a right to know certain things, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about what you’re thinking.”

“Then let me unburden myself so there is no confusion,” Aegon insists, drowsy but fighting sleep. “There was no joy in it for me or Helaena. I tried to make it as quick and painless as I could, but still, her disdain for the task was obvious. It happened just often enough to conceive the children. And we haven’t even tried in months, not since…” He doesn’t need to say it. Everyone knows, Greens and Blacks alike. A son for a son. The murder of Jaehaerys, six years old and utterly powerless, in exchange for Aemond slaying Luke.

Do you think such a thing was just? No, of course not, how could anyone? Very few things that happen in this world are just. They come with passionate defenses but no mercy, no vision for a less violent future. The wheel goes around and around, and everyone takes their turn being crushed. “Aegon, I’m so sorry,” you tell him softly.

He shakes his head. He will not discuss it. Aegon’s remaining children, Jaehaera and Maelor, do not ask about him; on the rare occasion that Alicent brings them to his bedchamber, they do not seem to know who he is. In fairness, Aegon does not seem to know them either; he regards them with a dull sort of bewilderment, like one might peer down at a page written in a foreign language. In the hallways of the Red Keep, the children clutch at Alicent and Otto, and sometimes Aemond will take a few minutes to play with them, stacking wooden blocks or arranging cloth dolls in a miniature castle. But if ‘mother’ and ‘father’ are words the children know, you’ve never heard them spoken aloud. “Can I have some wine, please?”

“Did you finish your goat milk?”

“Resentfully.”

“Then yes. I’ll get it for you.” You pour Aegon a cup of red wine and then tilt it against his lips. He slurps the cup dry before his eyes dip closed. You set the empty cup on the bedside table, feel his forehead for fever—longer than you need to—and then rise to leave him. You are almost to the door when you hear him say: “Thank you for changing my mind.”

You turn back to Aegon, puzzled. “About what?”

“About wanting to be dead.” He grins and waves, a weak miniscule motion of his left hand. “Come back soon, angel.”

“I will,” you promise.

And only then does he surrender to blessedly numb unconsciousness, the only place in the world that doesn’t hurt.

~~~~~~~~~~

You find Aemond in his own rooms. He is sitting in front of the large circular mirror on his vanity. His hair is long and straight and painstakingly neat, his tunic made of black leather. He is wearing the crown of Aegon the Conqueror. Rubies fracture the sunlight and scatter it against the walls; Valyrian steel glints.

Aemond marvels, knowing that you’re here: “It looks better on me than it ever did on him.”

“I need more rose oil.”

In the mirror’s reflection, his lone blue eye darts to you. “You always ask so politely.”

“I didn’t want to waste your valuable time. I can be more loquacious, if you prefer.”

“That won’t be necessary.” He stands, taking off the crown and placing it—gingerly, with both hands—on his vanity. “I’ll see that you have everything you require.”

“I am eternally appreciative.”

Then he does something that he thinks is amusing, a little joke you share. He grabs for your arm and you yank it away just before his fingers can close around your wrist. This makes him smile; it’s one of the only things that does. “Now follow me,” he orders, striding past you and through the doorway.

You hurry after Aemond, dashing through corridors and archways. You know where he is going; this has happened before. As you ascend a staircase, Alicent is leading Jaehaera and Maelor down to the gardens. She has one tiny hand gripped in each of hers; the hem of her emerald green dress drags on the stone steps. She keeps losing weight. You stop to scoop Maelor up and hug him—he giggles, squeezing at your cheeks as you smack kisses onto his face—and then turn your attention to Jaehaera. She has just learned the rules of curtsying and loves to practice. You bow to her, and then she does the same to you, and while her head is bent low you ruffle her silvery hair until it is in hopeless disarray and Jaehaera is laughing hysterically. Then you kneel down so she can sabotage your hair however she sees fit. She pulls strands out of your sensible low bun until you give up and shake it all loose. Alicent—large dark eyes, demurely veiled auburn hair, somber and suffering—gives you a grave, grateful smile. Aemond has waited at the apex of the stairs for you. When you rejoin him he continues onward to the council chamber.

Inside men are taking their seats and already beginning to quarrel: Criston Cole, Otto Hightower, Grand Maester Orwyle, Tyland Lannister, Jasper Wylde, Larys Strong, the knights of the Kingsguard. Sir Rickard Thorne pays no attention to you. Aemond once mentioned off-handedly: ‘Sir Rickard, I believe our healer is a distant relation of yours.’ The knight had glanced at you and produced some noncommittal reply, oh, indeed, sure, is that so. You had met before, you realized when you saw his face, years ago, at some event that brought together the houses of the Crownlands, a wedding or a funeral or a feast. He has a hazy recollection of you, but he cannot pin it down; he spent the evening with boisterous young men like your eldest brother Clement, while you had spent it with other noblewomen. Sir Rickard’s mother or sisters could probably identify you as a Celtigar. To Rickard himself, you can masquerade as some unimportant cousin he is ashamed to have forgotten. You assume your usual place in the council chamber: standing in a corner, trying not to be noticed, only there in case specific questions involving Aegon’s medical treatment arise.

“Is he dying?” Otto asks Aemond. “He must be. He has no interest in whores.”

Aemond raises his eyebrow at you. “Actually, I’ve been informed he is improving.”

Maester Orwyle beams at you. Upon your arrival in King’s Landing, he had confirmed to Aemond and Criston what you already knew: that while the Citadel’s guidance several decades ago was indeed pork lard or cow dung to treat burns, now there is a growing consensus that vinegar, honey, and oil for scar tissue are the best available remedies. You nod back. You are natural allies; the Greens’ king is under your joint care. You both have much to lose if he dies.

Now Otto Hightower addresses you. He is a stern, weathered, shrewd man. He reminds you of your father, though far more humorless. “When will he be able to fight again?”

“Fight?” you echo, stunned. “In battle? Months at least, my lord. Perhaps a year.”

“A year!” Otto bellows, then turns his wrath on Criston and Aemond. “I told you, I told you! I urged him to exercise caution, over and over again I warned him of the danger, and while I was penning letters to every possible ally you were pouring poison into his ears, convincing him that I wasn’t doing enough. Now look at him! Look at this goddamn fucking mess!”

“How fares the dragon?” Tyland Lannister says.

“I received a raven from Rook’s Rest today,” Aemond replies. “Sunfyre is eating well and ambulatory.”

“Useless,” Otto hisses. “Can’t fly. Can’t be moved. A waste of the livestock he’s being fed.”

“We may yet find a purpose for him,” Aemond says.

“Two dragons!” Otto explodes. “Can you count them?! We have two dragons capable of combat, and one of them is ridden by a fifteen-year-old. The Blacks still have Syrax, Caraxes, Vermax, Tyraxes, and Moondancer. And gods help us if they find someone to ride any of the other unclaimed beasts on Dragonstone. Seasmoke, Vermithor, Silverwing, Grey Ghost, the Cannibal…”

“I hope they try to tame the Cannibal,” Criston mutters. “If we’re lucky, he’ll eat them all.”

“My lord,” Larys Strong says to Otto, clutching his cane; he has a habit of lacing his fingers overtop the handle and resting his chin on them. Larys is a watchful, quiet man who speaks rarely yet with great consequence. He is the Master of Whisperers, he is the Lord of Harrenhal, and aside from that he is an enigma to you. “I hate to be the bearer of unfortunate tidings, however I must speak plainly. I have just obtained reports that the Blacks are pursuing precisely the course of action that you fear. Jacaerys Velaryon is offering land and knighthood to any man who can mount a dragon and join their cause. The realm is littered with Targaryen bastards, I’m certain it is only a matter of time until they find at least a few candidates suited to the task.”

Otto slams his fist down on the table. You startle at the noise; Aemond glances over at you. “No king. No Sunfyre. Dreamfyre in the Dragonpit, who Helaena cannot fly into battle. A fucking disaster.”

“We have Vhagar,” Aemond says confidently.

“She is worth two full-grown dragons,” Otto pitches back. “Not four or five.”

“Daemon is the real threat. If I can eliminate him, the war is over.”

“Daeron should be prepared for combat,” Jasper Wylde says. “He is travelling with Lord Ormund Hightower’s army in the Reach, but he can easily be called back to King’s Landing. He could assist Prince Aemond in his pursuit of Daemon and Caraxes.”

“I don’t need his help,” Aemond replies darkly.

“Then perhaps he could safeguard the city once you’ve gone.”

“We cannot sacrifice military strategy on the altar of personal vendettas,” Criston says. “Dragons are best used on the battlefield against soldiers and castles, not on meandering quests to find one lone enemy, that’s a needle in a haystack, it’s a misallocation of precious resources.”

Aemond counters: “But if I can kill Daemon, nothing else matters—”

“It does matter, Aemond!” Criston roars. “I matter, the armies matter, winning the confidence of the houses you hope to rule matters!”

“How is Corlys Velaryon handling all of this?” Otto asks Larys. “The defeat at Rook’s Rest, the death of his wife?”

Larys answers: “He blames Rhaenyra for the losses. He has taken it badly. It is my understanding that he intended to withdraw his support from the Blacks, and was brought back only by Jacaerys giving him the title of Hand of the Queen. I am under the impression that Corlys may be willing to reconsider his allegiance if the circumstances were right—”

There is a knock at the council chamber door, not a knock but a pounding, not a pounding but a frantic drumming like the marching of soldiers’ boots. Sir Criston Cole unlocks and opens the door. Alicent stands there with her face flushed and shiny with tears. Instantly, Criston is at her side asking what is wrong, one hand resting protectively her shoulder, the other on the hilt of the sword he wears everywhere he goes.

“Come quickly,” Alicent begs you, only you. “Please. It’s Aegon.”

You race with her to Aegon’s bedchamber, hearing the screams long before you reach him. This doesn’t make sense; he shouldn’t be in pain this severe, not yet, not for hours. You are aware that there are footsteps thundering behind you, Aemond and Criston rushing to see if the king really is dying this time. In his bed, Aegon thrashes and moans. He needs to stop moving so violently; he will split his scar tissue like burst seams. Already you can see blooms of crimson appearing on his bandages where the wounds beneath have reopened: his neck, his waist, his ribcage. He is out of his mind. He is destroying himself.

He is shouting for Sunfyre, for Aemond, for Criston. He is back at Rook’s Rest being roasted alive in his own armor. Not dying, then; just having a nightmare. You kneel at his bedside and smooth his hair back, his braid threading through your fingers, and whisper to him that it’s alright, that he’s safe, that he needs to wake up now. Alicent is weeping, both hands covering her mouth. Aemond and Criston are watching you, mesmerized, transfixed.

Aegon’s oceanic eyes fly open, wide and panicked. “Where am I?”

And you smile down at him, your palm cradling his unburned left cheek. “The end of the world.”

He blinks. He remembers. His lips stretch into a grin. “There you are,” he tells you, voice gravelly and low. “I dreamed everyone was gone and you were too.”

“I’m here.”

“You aren’t in a hurry to abandon me for your burly betrothed?”

Cregan Stark must think I’m dead. “No, Aegon.”

“You can’t leave without telling me.”

Everett, Clement, my father, my mother, Piper, Petra, Penelope, they must all think I was burned to ash on the battlefield or murdered and tossed into the sea. “I know. I won’t.”

“You can’t leave,” he says again, a half-awake whimper as he sinks back into unconsciousness. You give him more milk of the poppy, enough to make his sleep deep and black and dreamless.

You reclean and rebandage Aegon’s wounds. It takes hours. Aemond fetches Maester Orwyle to assist you. Criston comforts Alicent, wanting to do and say far more than he can. When it is done, only Alicent remains in the bedchamber with you. She visits Aegon frequently, but she does not know how to speak to him; she always stands there clasping her own hands together, praying and stalling, desperate to show him love and yet incapable of it.

“Thank you for what you’ve done for him,” Alicent says, tears glistening in her umber eyes. “Not just the hours, not just the medicine. For everything that you’ve done.” And she embraces you, and when she does you hold her like she wishes her own daughter could.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the night you see it repeating like a chorus of a song in the shadows that crawl across the ceiling: one year ago, stray snowflakes in your hair, stars in a black sky and air like metal.

The Celtigar fortune is older than the Targaryens’ conquering of Westeros, older than the Doom of Valyria. Where did the money come from? Friends of the Celtigars would say distinctively cunning maritime trade; their enemies would say piracy. Perhaps the two are not always so different. Is there any mechanism of accumulating great wealth that does not involve stealing in one form or another, of wringing out some other soul like a wet cloth until every drop of them disappears down your throat? Your ancestors did not tame dragons, but they had a different sort of gift: for every coin, they could find a way to make two or six or ten. Repeat that process for centuries and there are vaults filled to the ceiling with gold coins like pieces of the midday sun.

When Daenys the Dreamer had a vision of the Doom over a decade before it left Valyria a smoldering, fragmented wasteland haunted by demons and plague, only three Valyrian houses heeded the warning. Her own family, the Targaryens, relocated to Dragonstone. The Velaryons, having already long occupied Driftmark, resolved to stay there. And the Celtigars—merchants to some, pirates to others—crossed the Narrow Sea to settled on Claw Isle.

Crispian Celtigar served as Master of Coin to Aegon the Conqueror. Alton Celtigar was his Hand of the King. Edwell Celtigar was chosen to be Hand of the King to Maegor I, and later Master of Coin to Jaehaerys I during his minority. The Celtigars have never been far from the Iron Throne…though perhaps none were ever as close as you are now.

One year ago, your father embarked upon a trade mission to White Harbor. Never a man to squander an opportunity for new business, he added stops in Oldcastle, Cerwyn, and Winterfell, and brought along his four maiden daughters to stoke the desires of Northerner lords. Piper fancied a son of Lord Manderly, Petra caught the attention of a Cerwyn boy. But no offer was advantageous enough for Bartimos Celtigar’s liking; no deal could be struck.

In Winterfell, Lord Cregan Stark was already married. His wife, a childhood friend before she was a bedmate, trudged around the castle heavily pregnant and dragging layer upon layer of furs to guard her against the cold, often biting even in summer. Lord Cregan took little notice of your giggling, gossiping sisters, and even less of you…until his sparring partner broke his arm in the castle courtyard. As the other women fled with nauseated faces back to their needlework, you asked Winterfell’s maester if you could watch how he set the fracture and managed the man’s pain. The maester was delighted—Northerners, as a rule, lack intellectual curiosity—and even allowed you to help bandage the wound once the split bone had been popped back into place. And it was only then, as you knelt there with your forehead creased with determination and blood coating your hands to the knuckles, that Lord Cregan Stark began to see you.

You have a fear of marriage, not a general aversion but a specific and powerful dread. When you were fourteen, you asked your mother if she enjoyed lying with her husband, and you had known as soon as she spoke with a careful sort of reticence—‘I enjoy feeling close to him, I suppose’—that the answer was no. When you were sixteen and your cousin Theodora married into House Bar Emmon, you went with the other noblewomen to inspect her bedsheets the next morning, and were horrified by how they chuckled at the large rust-like stain and recalled their own initiations into sex, this unavoidable rite of passage, this ultimate surrender. At breakfast, the men toasted wine and hooted and sang, while Theodora stared down with glazed eyes at her untouched bacon and duck eggs and said when Piper asked how the night went: ‘He wanted me three times. Is there anything I can do to make him stop?’ And you had thought: Aren’t unions like this supposed to be holy? What the hell do the gods have to do with it? Are they in the sweat, in the bleak resignation, in the linen of the sheets? Do they fill the man with blind lust like an animal’s, do they help hold the woman down?

Your eyes close as you lie in bed in the Red Keep, your room adjoining Aegon’s, and suddenly you are back in Winterfell again. You are making notes as the maester shows you the herbs growing in the Glass Gardens when Cregan finds you. He is tall and broad, made more so by the furs that engulf him like mist drapes the stony cliffs of Claw Isle. His voice is booming, thunderous, cataclysmically formidable. He is used to being listened to. He has never been expected to sit quietly as other men charted out his life like the route of a trade ship: here you will go, here you will be emptied of every scrap of value. He says he will give you a tour of the Library Tower. It is not an invitation; an invitation can be declined.

You walk together through the Godswood—dark water, blackberry bushes, crows squawking, gods you do not believe in—and Cregan tells you fond memories of his childhood. He likes hunting and archery. He spars in the courtyard for hours each day. He never stays still, he never goes quiet. He wants to know where you learned to marvel at the ghastly art of piecing broken bodies back together again. He wants to know why you are so different from other women. And he inquires with great fascination about the legendary treasures of your house, not just gold but rubies, jeweled cups, Myrish carpets and Volantene glass, a horn said to summon krakens from the sea, an axe made of Valyrian steel.

Winterfell’s library is sparse and dusty, cobwebs in shadowy alcoves. Cregan Stark thinks you will not notice. As he slips books about anatomy and herbology off the shelves to show you, you cannot help studying his hands, large and calloused and always stained with black patches of ink or soil or soot. They make yours look tiny and defenseless, skin of silk and bones like glass. You picture him claiming you, owning you, climbing into the marital bed knowing that you cannot refuse anything he asks for. You envision him forcing your thighs apart with those huge filthy hands, leaving smudges like ash. You imagine him tearing his way into a part of you that feels so small, so vulnerable; you imagine the suffocating burden of his interminable weight.

A moment of clarity, in the library beathing dust and Cregan’s scent, a woodsmoke musk, a wolflike wildness: I don’t know this man. I don’t trust this man. I’m glad he’s not free to marry me.

This was before the war began, before Cregan’s wife Arra Norrey died birthing their son Rickon, before Jace Velaryon arrived in Winterfell to forge the Pact of Ice and Fire. And when Cregan agreed to support Rhaenyra’s claim to the Iron Throne, and Jace pledged to marry his firstborn daughter to Rickon, the Warden of the North decided there was one last thing he wanted inked into the covenant. He wanted an ally in the South, bottomless wealth, his future children to have Valyrian ancestry. He wanted a woman with vigilant, unflinching eyes and blood on her hands.

He wanted you.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x you #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x you #hotd fanfic

450 notes · View notes