#im over strong black women.

[petewentzisblack1312]

we need more black women in the writers room because we need more cringefail terrible black women characters but they will not be well written if someone who isnt a black woman writes them

[iceunhie]

— out of this world (and into another) : genshin impact

premise: you could've sworn the transmigration curse didn't have an effect on you... so what exactly are you doing here?! (alternatively, you tumble straight into your favorite video game; and you're kinda fucked)

...or, a genshin manhwa otome game inspired au.

act i: scaramouche, alhaitham, wriothesley.

↳ act ii: lyney, neuvilette, kazuha, kaeya. (next)

warnings. fem!reader but can be imagined as genderless if u'd like hehe, a shit ton of manhwa tropes in one, this is a hot mess aka not proofread all that much, half clunky half decent writing

a/n: as promised via the poll heh,, while i do plan to make this an actual au, im not that sure ^^; just the tip of the iceberg here tho!!

MAIN MASTERLIST | AU MASTERLIST (coming soon)

YOU — unsuspecting civilian turnt transmigrator

you've always been too attached to fictional characters for your own good.

yes, even the ones that are remarkably irredeemable (the power of a backstory is very formidable) and complex (complexity is a virtue!)

villains have always been destined to die, be cursed, or destined to curse others. it was heartbreaking, really. you've wished for a chance to rewrite their fates for them to find even a sliver of happiness, even when the fate of their plot says otherwise.

which is why when you find yourself awake into the game of your dreams, “Teyvat's Seven Stars”, like any lover of cliche novel and manhwa tropes, this is the time you think that maybe life wasn't so shitty on you.

....there's only one tiny, teensy, itty bitty problem here, actually.

you're not the protagonist. you're not even one of the protagonist's faithful friends and underlings that light protagonist's road to conquering the world and its men (and as of the 4.0 update, it's women); no, you're none of those.

you're a no name extra, and not to mention, a character involved with the game's main villain characters who are coincidentally the love interests of the game's black route!

[ unlock transmigration package: ultimate transmigrator's route ( ????? MODE ) ]

[ no ] [ yes ]

( 国崩 ) SCARAMOUCHE — the tyrant

“as of today, you will be engaged to crown prince kunikuzushi, who is her grace the shogun's rightful heir to the throne.”

when given approval to stare at your so-called soon to be husband, you expect the worst, mostly. the multitudes of character dialogue you've played through detailing his rather discourteous personality (which basically meant he was a huge asshole) don't exactly paint a pretty picture.

however...

who was this tender hearted looking scaramouche that ‘obliterated armies in the blink of an eye?’ the t in tyrant stands for tyrannical, not timid!

eyes like lighting framed by the longest eyelashes you've ever seen and an unfairly pretty face, comparable to a fair lotus. after fawning over his otherworldly countenance, a sinking realization of dread pools in your stomach.

oh, you are so screwed.

essentially tied to the indigo-haired ticking time bomb of a future tyrant due to the strong standing of your family for a period of until the main story starts, you're destined to never get crown prince scaramouche's affection, being his fiancée who scaramouche is arranged to for political means only.

not to mention, you're in an even more deadly position; of all the characters you switched souls with, it's the one that essentially dies by their own fiancé's hand because they were horrible to him! what atrocious luck!

frantic, you wrack up about three ways to survive.

plan a) win over the shogun's favor by being an appropriate partner unlike the original flavor of this body, who resorted to bullying the innocent prince and unknowingly digging their own grave or b) be a guiding friend to scaramouche as he learns the ways of the world and c) make sure you don't end up giving the protagonist a bad ending via his twisted personality.

weighing all these options, you decide to do all three in hopes to cement a life instead of a deathflag. prevention is better than the cure (aka: the protagonist) after all!

(you may also just want to spend time with your favorite character. having a time limit and a sign that says ‘i'll die in the future!’ should at least warrant you extra time to show some affection to scaramouche, at least.)

so, you do what anyone in your position would do: give affection! lots of it.

admittedly, it wasn't all flowers and rainbows. scaramouche—ahem, kunikuzushi—was very shy and reserved indeed, with his mother ei even worse off! (besides, who trains and studies all day and has to stop crying every time they were injured?! that was just too much!)

it was rather hard at first, the frigid atmosphere of the usually silent Tenshukaku Palace almost impossible to permeate. but with your amazing charm (read: deathflag radar) and social skills, you manage to let the members of the Royal family open up to you.

speaking words of praise in ei's cooking (a very difficult feat to accomplish), spending afternoons with your fiancé and teaching him ‘how to be a shoujo worthy male lead, name-version’ (very confusing to explain), and the cherry on top, driving away that vile teacher of his—the Doctor—once word got out that he'd been taking advantage of scaramouche as a political puppet king in the future. trauma enabler destroyed! look at your immeasurable powers!

(“you're not a failure.” clasping kunikuzushi's hands in yours as he reels back from you. damn that doctor.

his tears shot a wave of heartache through you. you can't bear to see your favorite in such suffering. “whatever happens in the future, i won't abandon you.

no matter what, i'll always be on your side, okay?”

kunikuzushi looks at you with something in his eyes—something like adoration. “do you promise that?”

“yeah.” you say without hesitation, the glow of the sunlight hitting your face so dazzlingly that kunikuzushi's eyes widen that his mouth hangs agape in awe. “i promise, kuni.”)

to your greatest delight, your efforts worked in your favor.

ei now spends time with her son, and though it's almost always just a tad bit awkward, you and the guuji yae miko get the two to strike up conversation, and overtime, kunikuzushi becomes more open to you.

(“[name], what kind of man is your type?”

“huh? well...” you think for a while. this was a great opportunity to say it, right? that life changing protagonist quote!

“to me, the only person i'll ever like the most is you, kunikuzushi.”

“do you really, really mean that?” and oh, he looks so cute—flustered and red from your words. worth it.

“yup! now, i made some shimi chazuke, try some—”)

(admittedly, lots of favoritism is involved.)

—and while you reap the fruits of your hard work, you spend warm, sunlit afternoons with ei at tea, even learning about other nations from scaramouche's aunt nahida and even befriended a few of his future affiliates—childe (though for some reason, kunikuzushi always pulls you away from him whenever he spots the two of you together), signora (she tolerates you, you think) and etcetera.

(“then, if i do well, can you kiss me on the cheek, [name]?”

you agree, much to his delight. scaramouche avoids the gaze of a certain pink haired fox eyeing him questionably. unbeknownst to you, he glares at the woman's scrutiny.)

unprecedented things unrelated to the plot happen too; like how your family, which basically only saw you as a political bargaining chip and an unwanted child they could get rid of easily—no longer sent you any demeaning letters demanding money once scaramouche found out....

(“they've been leeching off of you for how long?” so scary... is this was kunikuzushi is like when he's worried?)

(“...kunikuzushi, how long will you keep up that weak-hearted facade of yours? if they find out how.... dishonest you are....”

“i don't need the reminders of a foxy old hag that doesn't know her place. this is fine as it is.”)

(you don't need to know.)

but, you're nothing compared to the inevitable flow of the plot. inazuma is wracked with war, and it just so happened that you'd been unceremoniously kidnapped by a certain resistance leader's trusted general, used as a hostage bargain for approximately the majority of your life. in the worst moments in your dreary cell, there's only one thought in your mind.

....kunikuzushi's face, devastated when he tries to reach for you, before slipping away from him like sand— face morphing into an unbridled state of rage that's too natural, too familiar. when did he learn to make a face like that?

(they say the kingdom was wracked with thunderstorms all night that day.)

afterwards, fate doesn't make it kind for you.

years go by in the blink of an eye, with your capture fervently forgotten in the midst of the growing animosity of the two conflicting forces.

although you did hear that yae sent out a search party for you while at the resistance's base, the shogun's forces never reached you.

eventually, you got released secretly by sympathy of kokomi, the leader of the resistance, who felt pity for you getting caught in the crossfire. letting you go under the condition that you'd likely never meet any of the precious characters you've gotten to know and change was a heavy price to pay, but you didn't have any choice.

indeed, no matter how much you tried to divert the plot, your duty as an extra has ended, and you were even lucky to even be alive. you could only hope that your fiancé—ex-fiancé—took note of your lessons well, bidding farewell to inazuma as you hop on the boat to mondsdat.

by now, you at least hoped that scaramouche and the protagonist met, his true chance at happiness starting now that you were basically dead.

(even if your heart felt like breaking into a million pieces.)

....is what you thought would happen, but why is it that after three years from your supposed capture, inazuma was still at war?

“that crazy prince... he's still working to find his former fiancée... and he's razing almost every village apart looking for them!”

“—didn't the shogunate say that whoever finds her would receive almost 3 million mora?”

“the entire lot of them are lunatics, i tell you. all because of a missing person, too!”

what's more, why was it still going because of you?!

( 艾尔海森 ) AL-HAITHAM: the information guild master

to be fair, normal people don't really run into one of their favorite characters often after transmigrating.

but to be fair, again, you certainly didn't think you'd actually be in your favorite video game franchise caged in bed with essentially one of its main love interests.

eyes wide and unceremoniously looking—definitely not ogling— at the toned body that's currently enveloping you in its arms, the soft tuft of ashy gray hair caressing the crook of your neck, murmuring incoherent mumbles of—is that another language?

???????

you blink, looking down at the bare body currently embracing you. oh. oh.

you're an extra.

you're just an extra, but why are you in bed, currently being served breakfast by the most gorgeous man you've ever laid your eyes on, with a pretty view of the rainforests' canopy?

“you should lie down. if i recall, sufficient sleep is required in order for the human body to perform its basic bodily functions. although our partnership is temporary, to let you fall to harm is a situation i'd like to avoid as much as possible.”

“....what?”

“...?”

the guild master, al-haitham, is a character in Teyvat's Seven Stars that is heavily debated on whether he's technically a villain or not. in the game, he's the right hand of sumeru's leader, nahida, working as the overseer of the AKASHA, a guild that gathers information to the nation's leader. he's a pretty shady character—always working behind the scenes and very unfalteringly blunt—and a ‘villain’ for crown prince scaramouche's route, helping the protagonist escape his clutches.

he's often the subject of comedic ire, his banters with a certain broke architect always the highlight of any bonafide al-haitham fan.

“we're expected to work together by lord kusanali's decree in the duration of investigating the hivemind project the lord suspects the baron siraj is partaking in.”

right, that one scene in the game where al-haitham needed to go undercover to infiltrate a coup de etat staged by one of the factions against nahida... right... what.

you were that extra! the one that fell in love with him and pined for his affection!

(“well, i get that part, but does sleeping together really have to play a part in this...?”

al-haitham gives you a mere quirk of the lip, tilting his head. “we do have to play the part of a married couple in dire straights, do we not? this cover is more efficient.

...besides, i don't have anything to complain about. you're certainly better company than kaveh.” )

in truth, al-haitham wasn't bad company. far from it. aside from the internal giggling and fangirling (you) and the incredible stack of books (alhaitham) that you have to see more than the grey haired man on a daily basis, the two of you work out a rapport that stems from memories of the body you transmigrated in.

he's nice to be around, surprisingly considerate when he wants to be—he tells you about the books he always reads....

(who even reads ‘20 Tongues Language Memorization Guidebook: A Basic Overview of Vocabulary and Terms’ for enjoyment?

the content makes your head run in circles because of how complicated it is; but who wouldn't like to listen to an extremely attractive man overexplain to you with a calm and pretty voice?)

...is generous enough to provide meals and cook dinners that have you crying tears of gratitude because you know how awful yours compares (it was either too bland or too seasoned; al-haitham is surprisingly picky when he wants to be)

(you assigned al-haitham the title of “absolute s-tier husband material”— his capabilities are out of this world!)

by chance, you once gave al-haitham a little tidbit of information that proved to be valuable later in the investigation—courtesy of your avid game knowledge—when you two had been lost to the psychological illusion magic cast by siraj when you two finally broke in his estate.

(“whatever happens, if siraj messes with your mind, just make sure to think of me instead of anything else.” al-haitham lets his hand find yours.

“you once asked me if i trusted you, [name].”

“....” you're treated to one of al-haitham's rare smiles, one that warms you up from within. “i do. so don't let yourself get hurt.”)

however, your temporary partner had faltered for once, flinching when siraj took the form of his old grandmother who'd passed to exploit al-haitham's mind, hesitating and frozen in place while siraj inched ever closer to finding out his weakness.

and you couldn't stand it, the character you cared for—the al-haitham that always had a plan, always knew how to stay calm, had looked so unsure and hopeless.

(“wake up, al-haitham!”

with you cradling his face, al-haitham stares back at the only constant in the memories of his grief, eyes meeting yours. “you don't have to do it all alone. i'm right here, aren't i? believe in me.”)

your (fake) husband snaps back to reality, finally allowing enough time to apprehend siraj and put a stop to his malicious project.

(“thank you.” al-haitham tells you solemnly. it hits you that this may be the last time you may ever see him. “i'm grateful that you brought me back to y— to my senses.”

there's a sincerity in your voice that rings from your heart. “anytime, al-haitham.”)

you thought that was the end of it.

defeating siraj meant you two no longer had to associate with each other, but somehow, to your great surprise, al-haitham doesn't stick to the plot at all. you were sure you didn't interfere with the game, though?

for some reason, al-haitham doesn't erase himself from your life, unlike the original route's flow.

in fact, he's become... easy to run into, a constant in your otherwise mundane life. he takes you out to lambad's tavern for an occasional drink, says he's lending you his headphones when you find yourself overwhelmed by the city (you were never good with noises) and even helps you out as you vent your problems to him.

(the day after, said problem conveniently disappears. how strange....)

and most of all, allowing you to enter his personal space... leaving kaveh's jaw dropping when he accuses al-haitham of having a lover.

“you're always going who knows where with them! what else is there to figure out?”

“...we are merely friends.”

“a friend that you let into your personal library? do they know that you still keep the ‘fake’ ring in a box inside the closet?” kaveh laughs. “nice try, al-haitham.”

(after all, kaveh could never unsee the way al-haitham's eyes softened at the feeling of the head on his shoulder lean onto him, with you no doubt asleep. he even took his headphones off! kaveh has never seen him actually take them off in order to keep the person who's sleeping on his shoulder as undisturbed as possible.

in fact, kaveh doesn't think he's ever seen al-haitham be this touchy or considerate with anyone this much before.

.....and most importantly, kaveh would never forget the way al-haitham, a man who found no merit in politeness and preferred bluntness, a man who preferred solitude rather than company—deliberately getting close to someone—pressing a fleeting kiss on the crown of your head.

kaveh blinks. it seems even the throes of love can reach even the most unconquerable of peaks....)

( 莱欧斯利 ) WRIOTHESLEY — the monster duke of the north

“—i need you to gather information on duke wriothesley. serve him undercover as one of the prisoners of the fortress.”

the duke of meropide—a man swamped with terrible rumors. they say he was exiled from the nation due to murdering his entire family. they say he possessed a face worthy of the title of a beast— grotesque, littered in scars. they say that any who end up in his estate, the iron prison of the north, meropide, never saw the light of day again.

(“only criminals of the worst kind are fated to be sentenced there. nobody returns, so we've stopped questioning it...” )

so to say you're not fearing for your life that bad right now is a massive understatement.

“now, mind telling me how you were able to sneak into the most impenetrable prison in all the land, miss prisoner?”

how did it end up like this?

so you wake up and find yourself in jail. lovely.

seriously, of all the places you can transmigrate into, why did it have to be fontaine?! Teyvat's Seven Stars chapter 4's main starting point, the nation of justice is littered with dark themes and high difficulty capture targets.

.... such is the case with the man in front of you. unlike what the rumors of him say, duke wriothesley paints a rugged yet dashing picture of a nobleman, even if he was —if you recall— one of the hardest capture targets to conquer in the game.

a villain character who you played once during one game route, acting as the driving force during one of the love events of one of the protagonist's other love interest, lyney. duke wriothesley almost assassinates lyney's younger brother, freminent, leading lyney to rally up a certain group to bring the nobleman down.... a typical side character villain, who's existence was added as late as 3 patches away from lyney's.

(even inazuma would be better than this! at least the tyrant route could be avoided, and let's not mention the easy sumeru route as well...)

“well, miss prisoner, cat got your tongue?”

in summary: fortunately for you, the body you transmigrated is in the position to spy on the current affairs of the fortress of meropide, with courtesy and with permission of one of Fontaine's leaders, neuvillette. unfortunately for you, it seems our dear monsieur wasn't able to inform wriothesley beforehand, leading to the current situation.

aka, you're pressed dangerously close to wriothesley's chest, with a knife at his throat and his hands pinning you against the wall, noses almost touching. you're not sure if this is even the kind of tension that two people who are trying to kill each other are supposed to have...

(“i'm an ally!” you sputter out. wriothesley raises an eyebrow at you. “monsieur neuvillette sent me.”

“how am i supposed to trust you after i saw you slinking around here, knife at my throat?” he replies, eyes narrowing. “i know that i'm labelled as a beast, but i don't really know what came over that pretty little head of yours when trying to sneak into my chambers.”

what does he take you for?! “...are you accusing me of something indecent?!”

“just saying — i've met lots of prisoners with your excuse, my lady.”

“i'm prepared to use this knife, you know.”

“hah.” wriothesley grins. “how aggressive. more aggressive than most. do you want me that bad?”

“stop twisting my words!”)

in any case, you hate wriothesley. you know he's one of the characters in Teyvat's Seven Stars and is a villain for one of the easy love interest routes in the game, but his personality is... a real piece of work.

you'd rather the protective and kind kazuha, or even the charming and elusive lyney! why did it have to be him?

not only did he not believe you, he even told you to prove your authenticity! you're just glad that his assistant sigewinne had been there to vouch for you — you're not sure if you'd even be on your two feet right now if she didn't.

so now you're stuck constantly on your feet, running to and fro — helping the dark-haired man record new prisoners, establishing trading routes to the main city of Fontaine, and treating other prisoners of the fortress with sigewinne.

your biggest surprise by far, though, is just how... different the duke is from the rumors. his scars were merely battle scars of honor (to which sigewinne rolls her eyes, “your grace, please stop trying to look cool”) he got from various succession fights, not scars to show how he was cursed to turn into a beast. he has a love for tea, but always seems to have a cup of your favorite blend with him when you feel tired after a long day of working (laboring) for him and the estate.

(“your daily report of new convicts, your grace.”

“-this is the tea you like, your grace. i've prepared it in advance.”

“you're very adamant on proving yourself. aren't you sick of such tasks by now, miss prisoner?”

“no.” wriothesley's expression screams 'why not?' on it. “ it's because of my own misjudgement of you.”

“...elaborate.”

“i may have had unnecessary prejudices on your conduct thus far. but you're... not like what the rumors paint you out to be.” you say sincerely. “you're more amazing and incredible than anyone else. i truly do admire you.”

wriothesley's expression; you couldn't decipher it. “i see.”)

he's battered, but caring. sigewinne makes you watch (in horror) as she doodles cartoonish looking characters on his face when he's asleep — wriothesley never fusses, only an exasperated sigh to his assistant. he's harsh with his tasks and duties, but is the first to rush you into sigewinne's infirmary to tend to you after you pass out from overwork.

(“don't worry, [name]. the duke may not look it, but he's very gentle!” sigewinne giggles. humoring the little girl who was the first to show you actual decency in this place, you try to nod. sigewinne doesn't seem convinced.

“i'm serious! after all, compared to other people who've snuck into the fortress, you're the first he's treated this way.” she says cheerily.

“what does that mean?” you can't help but scoff at that. “so he just works someone to the bone from the get go?” you shudder. damn production zone...

sigewinne blinks. “ oh no, not like that. it's just that he's never been so lenient before. in fact, when you fainted, he even gave me the order to prioritize treating you over anything else.”)

well, this wasn't exactly what you thought you would be doing when you transmigrated into your favorite game, but you suppose you can take it.

besides, you'd miss a certain duke otherwise. life truly is full of strange twists....

a/n: thank you for making it this far! if anyone asks why wriothesley's was short, listen, this was completely impulsive and i was out of inspiration LOL, but i do hope you enjoy! look forward to new parts though hehe :3

@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.

[katsukiizmoon]

╰┈➤ ꒰🍓♥️🌶 ┊”henny n’ coke, baby” + BKG ꒱

『♡』 18+ , healthy relationship, alcohol consumption, clubbing, grinding, twerking, friendly fun, making out w Mina, flirting, squirting, cum licking, cock sucking if u squint, finger sucking, light hair pulling, light choking, spitting in mouth, cum kisses, “good girl”, exhibitionism / voyeurism (if you squint), f!reader x katsuki bakugou

『♡』 was thinking about when my friend and I took turns spitting alcohol in one another’s mouth then kissed. Anyways this is a horny mess. Warning you now. IM a horny mess, fuck.

The club music is loud, you can hardly hear one another. It vibrates the floor and the tequila in your veins has you excited.

You start off with Kirishima, who whoops and hollers and catches your hips while you grind. You roll your hips in a circle, too tiny skirt coming up a little and flashing panties. Sweat beads on the back of your neck and you flip your hair to the side. Ignoring your massive hoop earrings getting stuck in your hair, you look back over your shoulder with a grin.

His hands are thick and large, where they lightly rest over the curve of your hips. He avoids touching too much. You thank him for that, but wish he’d be a little rougher.

Mina jumps in front of you and starts throwing it in a circle. Her ass presses into you and she bounces. Skimpy shorts show off pink ass cheeks and fishnets. She giggles loud enough you can hear it over the music. It’s hot, she’s hot, he’s hot. But you know what’s hotter? Katsuki.

And then you’re thirsty, horny, and on a mission. Everything seems amazing, the world feels like this is what life is about. One of those moments that makes you feel higher on life than just about anything else.

Mina takes over and Eijirou takes it upon himself to pull your skirt down enough to cover more of your ass. He gives a light tap to the fat there and gets close to your face, giving you a toothy smile.

He says something over the music and you don’t know what anything was. Except “good luck”.

Your beautiful, tall and strong boyfriend stands off to the side with Kaminari. They chat idly and you make your way to him, weaving through the crowds of people. Thank fuck you wore flat shoes and not heels today.

When you arrive he’s giving you a quick kiss, asking if you had fun, and you nod feverishly. Wordlessly you point to the drink in his hand and take a sip.

“Yuck! Wha’s this?” You whine, confused. Your features scrunch as if you’ve sucked on a lemon.

“Henny n’ coke baby.” Katsuki laughs and Kaminari raises his matching drink.

Katsuki looks edible- all tanned muscle and winks. You don’t blame all the women that have come up and attempted to dance with him. Comfortable black slacks and half unbuttoned, see through, Lacey top. You picked this for him, knew you wanted to see his body whenever you could. And the chain around his neck shines a little brighter against the club lights.

The song changes, less EDM and more so rap. You squeal, taking another sip of his drink and handing the rest to Kaminari.

Katsuki cocks a brow and Kaminari let’s out a laugh, knowing what’s coming. You grab at his wrist and leave a wet kiss to his lips. Throwing a wink to him, you stick your tongue out.

You push him toward an open chair, one of the few sitting in a corner and he falls back with a ‘oomph. He looks at you with wild, cherry eyes and Kaminari watches from the distance with a grin.

Katsuki’s on cloud nine, alcohol making him braver than he’s ever been and ridding him of his nerves. His cock stirs in his pants at the sight of you.

You plop your ass onto his crotch and grind, bouncing your hips up and down in rhythm. Something comes over you and you bounce on his lap like you’re riding his cock, making a kissy face toward Denki.

Katsuki throws his head back and grips on the fat of your hips, watching your mini skirt ride up and put your thong back on display. You turn to face him, rubbing his chest with your hands and rolling your body. Your knees are situated on either side of him, and you bounce your tits.

He wills himself not to fuck you in the club. Begs himself to show restraint, despite seeing the wet spot on your panties.

Your tongue slides over the seam of your lips, proving yourself back so that the back of your knees hangs over the chair. He watches you, steadying your excited movements with firm hands.

His cock presses into your ass and his eyes meet yours. Cherry eyes consume you, making you wild, and you lean back and flip off the chair.

First he panics, but when he sees your head pop back up and you smile, he laughs a little. He stands at that, bending you over and letting you twerk and grind against his cock in front of everyone. He nods to Denki, who heads over and hands him his drink swiftly.

The blond hunk you’ve got your ass pressed to takes a sip and gyrates his hips into yours. You snap back up and turn, shoving your tongue in his mouth. Your sparkly gloss smears onto the corners of his mouth and he licks into you.

When you pull back for breath, he uses a thumb to wipe some of it off your face and gives you a wink. Denki still stares, gobsmacked, cock growing hard in his pants at the sight before him.

Eijirou and Mina make their way over with another set of drinks and you take a nice, long swig. The pink haired girl grins and pulls you in for a kiss, earning a low whistle from Eijirou and a couple swears from the two blondes.

She tastes sweet, like vodka and orange juice, and her lips are plush. You make note to run off to the bathroom for a makeup touch up later. But that thought is shoved down when her hands reach around to snake up your skirt. She grips at the flesh there and leaves a firm smack. Her tongue is long and it explores, sending shivers down your spine and making your clit pulsate in your panties. Your hips kick and she grins into your mouth, pulling back with a string of spit. A choked noise leaves one of the men in the group.

“Can he spit my drink in my mouth?” She whispers, inches from your lips.

You nod, pulling away and sending him a wink. She practically bounces toward him and gets in front of him, back turned. The music vibrates your bones and soothes the ache in your tummy. Katsuki hands his drink to Eijirou and grabs hers out of her hand.

Eijirou groans out a “me next” and Denki a “me third “.

She does a little twerk on him and he grabs her by the throat. You watch as your boyfriend uses a large, rough hand to position her just right. Her mouth hangs open and she closes her pretty eyes. He brings her drink to his swollen lips, sucking through the straw.

Then he swishes it in his mouth and your pussy throbs at what he does next. He’s spitting it in her mouth, not letting her come up to breathe properly until she swallows. And god you have got to be next on the list.

Her eyes roll back and she licks her lips. You’re on your way over to Katsuki, excited, tipsy, and much too in love with that idea. God bless Mina, the kinky bitch.

The other two take their turns and it shows what they’re like in bed, too. Denki is sweet about it, takes his time, sends her off with a wink and a light tap to the jaw with his hand. And Kirishima? Fuck. He has Denki give him the drink, holding it up. His other arm holds her close to his chest and he hovers his mouth right over Hers and spits. Before she can protest, his thumb is in her mouth and he’s telling her to suck.

People whistle and holler, a group of girls make a moaning sound and one of them yells a “god when will that be me” over the music.

And you’re all sucking down glasses of water and pouring an electrolyte mix in to avoid hangover next. Only to go grab another drink, something that’ll leave you all just a little hornier and on edge.

Katsuki and you find yourselves desperately yanking clothes off at the end of the night. The Uber pulls off and you make sure Mina, Denki, and Eijirou got to their shared destination safe. And then something comes over Katsuki that you’ve never seen before.

It isn’t jealousy, not by a long shot. His cock is leaking precum when you pull it out and he’s gasping, pushing his tongue further into your mouth.

You quickly make it to the bed, still in your shirt and thong, and him in just the goddamned button up. And he’s got you bent over, pressed into the mattress, thong pulled to the side. and fucking you so hard you’re high.

“Yeah? You liked them watching you rub on my cock huh?” He gasps, face numb. A pink tongue licks over puffy lips and he leans forward to anchor his hand in your hair. It stings but he isn’t pulling, just gripping hard enough for you to know he’s got you.

His cock is so thick, filling you to the brim and then some, and you whine out agreements. Drool leaks from the corner of your mouth and he brings his head closer to yours. His hips stop moving and you whimper, pushing yourself back on him desperately.

“You wanted to suck Eijirou, didn’t you baby?” Katsuki rasps, licking and sucking below your ear.

Your pussy squeezes and it gives him his answer. He drops his hand in your hair, bringing one around and under your panties to rub circles on your clit. The other, he brings up to spit on the tips of his middle and forefinger before he shoves them in your mouth. You keen, squeezing harder and sucking on his fingers.

“Look at this, such a good, good girl for me. Come on pretty, tell me what you want.” He mutters, willing himself to stay still. His fingers are removed from your mouth and you frantically start begging for him to move.

But he doesn’t, he continues rubbing lazy circles and his hand wraps around your throat. He squeezes lightly, just enough to make you dizzy and float. And then he stops, and does it again, and then he just holds it there. Let’s you know that he could if he wanted to.

“What do you say?” He demands, more than asks, and his lips tingle.

His throat is dry, tongue heavy, watching you try to fuck yourself on his cock. But you can’t, it won’t work the same without him doing it. And he knows that.

“Fuck- oh god fuck- please, please, please!”

Your fingers dig into the sheets and spit covers his hand. He removes his fingers from your pussy, where they originally rubbed, and he sucks the taste of you off of them and moan. He throws his head back and slams into you.

You shake, spongey spot being bullied by the head of his cock. Your thong is ruined, no double stretched out. Pussy juice slicks down your thighs and froths at the base of his cock. He pulls his hand off your throat, sitting back on his knees, where he spits where his cock meets your pussy. It’s dirty, and he watches you clench around him, sucking him in.

Your pussy squelches, spewing clear juice all over the bed and you praise him like he’s fucking god. Begging him not to stop, to stop, to keep going, harder. Faster. And then he rubs your clit back and forth, up and down, making the squirt spray everywhere.

Something in you snaps and your body goes taut and then limp, your eyes rolling back as you just lay there and take it. And he pulls out, flipping you over and crawling forward.

You watch in awe as your boyfriend, with a face burning peachy and coral tones, fucks into his fist over your face. You open your mouth and he sinks his cock in, just a little, and pulls out again. You reach a hand up, wrapping around the base. There you move, licking at the head of his cock to taste yourself and the precum off of it.

He cums a minute later, all over your pretty lips, where he promptly licks at. He suckles on your bottom lip and spits some of his cum back into your mouth. You greedily accept, swallowing it down with a giggle.

It takes a few moments for you both to collect yourself. And then you’re grabbing the bottle of water beside the bed and taking turns chugging. The Gatorade is next, before you head off to the bathroom. He licks his thumb and wipes some of the cum off of your face, sucking it off of his finger.

Then, you’re brushing your teeth and butt ass naked, showering sloppily. The clock on your nightstand reads 5:08 am and you sigh into his chest when you finally lay down for sleep. He presses a kiss to the top of your head.

Eijirou and Mina are going to love hearing these stories tomorrow.

[comfortless]

syl im begging on my hands and knees pls pls pls expand on that idea of könig being a warrior rumored to eat womens hearts its like giving scheherazade and i NEED IT

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. vague time period/setting. fem(afab) reader. light descriptions of violence and gore, talk of cannibalism, non-con groping & cuddling, forced marriage.

There are endless tasks to be done and everything beneath a vast blue sky to explore, forgoing those things, the men about your village often prefer to gather for a duel. There are no rules for their game, only that you bring a weapon and thrust it toward the opponent in such a way that it brings you glory, pride, some scabbing mend to a crooked scar.

Except not you, never you. They wouldn’t so much as allow for the women to watch unless sparring for the hand of a weeping bride happened to be the gleaming prize waiting at the end of the night.

Your eyes had witnessed such before, a girl with hair the color of autumn straw that rolled down to the end of her back, whisked away by some man from the sea after he dug his blade into an old farmer’s belly. Her father. A sad thing, but you imagined her life must be much better now. Instead of tending to a mule or pricking her fingers on needles for sewing, she’s off collecting sea shells and has the ocean’s breeze eternally perfumed in her hair. Maybe she cradles a baby on her hip now, plump and cooing happily whilst they watch the waves roll and glitter beneath the sun.

A better life for only the cost of a swift death. It was something that you had always envisioned wanting for yourself, away from this village that reeks of blood, the very place where your options were limited to shoveling after the horses or to die a lonely hag.

That was until the behemoth began to show his face. Not quite his face at all, actually. It changed things for you. Instead of a longing for one of these strong men to carry you off into the night, there sat a creeping terror each and every time he crossed the threshold into the village.

He was rumored to be many things: an executioner from a foreign land, either a lost and wicked saint or a demon made flesh, and worst of them all… a cannibal from out in the untamed downs that crest the mountainside.

The women of the village were frightened by him, by the bulk and height that suggested he was not a man at all, but something far more terrifying beneath that black veil. They hid away when he first arrived, claiming he carried an organ in his hands, chewing away at a still-beating heart with blood running down his fingers. The men remained rigid, but their hands shook when they took up their weapons against him.

And there was no way of knowing then that this man was to be yours.

Time and time again, the giant would win, request a warm meal and a bed for the evening, and would be gone away come morning. He wouldn’t return for months, and the gossip would continue to fester until his return. Then, only then, would lips be pursed in silence and another fool would rush to death in an attempt to win some measure of pride. His opponent would be buried in the very field they would fight in, his bones serving for another layer upon the earthen stage once the worms and rats had picked him clean, and the giant would be back. He was always back.

The town is hushed to silence when his horse is led through the well-worn street. There are lingering observers: the broad stable hand that would not even dare to raise a whip or a dagger to this behemoth, the women of the brothel even shy away from him, and the children who whisper their rumors behind open palms.

He does not stop for any of them, only carries forward with that dark cloth concealing his head.

You peek out from your window, nursing tea with honey to calm the chill drifting through the air, feathering over your skin. It’s bitter on your tongue, even with the sweet coursing through it. Bitter, when his blue eyes flick in your direction and you feel every inch of your skin begin to prickle and tense.

He’s worse up close like this. The man doesn’t conceal his torso, never seemed to find a need to— no one ever gets close enough to wound him. Not any more, at least, judging by the pasty scars that mar his chest with the biggest being a healed, pinkish blemish that stretches from below his ribs down to a narrow hip. You find the most unsettling part about him is not those marks of violence, but the fact that you can not read his face.

Time slows to a halt as he just stares, takes you in with your cup of tea and the old dress stolen away from your mother’s own wardrobe. And you return it, warily looking him over from his veiled head down to the toes of his boots. After regarding you in the very same way a bored cat would observe an unaware, little bird, he moves along his path with a quiet huff of breath as his face is turned away from you.

There’s a heavy axe strapped to his back that you only notice then. Something new and shiny, glistening in the rays of golden sunlight above. Sharp and wicked, too cruel a weapon to be used in a bout for dinner and a lumpy mattress stuffed with decaying straw.

You could only hope he brought a cloth to clean it once this ordeal was over. Perhaps he truly does use his veil to do so, gets drunk on the scent of blood and gore clinging to it and pleasures himself to the violence as they claim. The macabre tales of this giant only go darker than that. But the tales he lives up to most of all are the ones about his skill in killing.

When night begins to scrape across the sky in dark, drab purple, fate comes crawling throughout the town as though it is nothing more than a famished ghoul.

Your mother storms toward you where you’re sat, preparing for bed. Her face is a mask of pure anguish when she pulls you into a tight embrace. She bawls into your hair, digs her nails into your back as though she would sooner die than let you go.

The men of the town follow behind her, wrenching her arms away from you and pulling you up by the front of your gown. The thin linen tears with the force of rough hands, rips a thick line down your chest that almost leaves you bared to them. Though the hands are eager, the eyes of these men do not shine with hunger, only with fear.

The shouts and cries from your lips are lost to them, to even your mother who wails in defeat someplace behind you.

“You’re plenty old enough to be a bride,” says one of the men, voice like a coiled snake spitting venom. It doesn’t take one of the well-educated people of the capital here to explain just what is to happen to you now.

The giant, the cannibal, saw something that he liked, and decided that you would be his prize. When you’re led to the field, kicking and flailing against the strong arms that hold you tightly in their grip, the sight is enough to tell you just how much that he enjoyed your silent, curious staring only hours before.

He stands upright, silent and daunting above a body that’s been split by the axe still held in one strong hand. The color of crimson cakes his knuckles, crests over his arm and the expanse of his chest, all from the headless corpse lying disposed at his feet.

The scene is what you expected, you’ve heard the words of your people about this beast of a man’s propensity for violence, but no amount of mental preparation could have truly readied you for seeing so much blood. The blood of a man you knew to be good and true, a hard-working blacksmith from the foothills. What a tragic way to go out: fighting for a pouch of coin when this horrible giant must have clearly lost his mind to rut and rage.

No hand comes to cover your mouth when you shriek, and the tight grips guiding you forward only loosen when your man or murderer stalks forward to take his prize. Through your tears, you still manage to make out the lines beneath his eyes, how they fold upward, and there’s no doubt that he’s smiling beneath that mask. A big, ugly grin at the thought of prying open your ribs and helping himself to a maiden’s heart.

He lifts it over his head in a swift motion, and drops it over your own instead, opposite to the hastily cut eye holes to block out all of the hazy, pale light of the moon and flickering yellow-red torches surrounding. Amidst the panic threatening to send your heart fleeing from your chest, the cold trickle of dread that finds itself curling in your belly, you feel two arms hoist you up and settle you over the back of his wretched steed.

“Gehen wir.”

Then, the darkness turns abyssal.

You only pray your body has truly died of fright when you first wake. There’s no darkness, no scent of blood when your eyelids pry apart to flutter. Water laps over your bare thighs, cold enough to force a shiver up from your feet to the blades of your shoulders. But behind you sits fire, a warmth so comforting you would think you’re rested against a stone bathed in summer sun, if not for the softness.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, rationalize just what’s happening, until a hand clutching a scrap of cloth maneuvers up from your thigh to your tummy, lathers you in a soap that smells only of pine. It halts, cinches around your waist when you begin to tense, when he knows you’re truly awake. A pond to your front and a man of horror at your back.

There’s sunlight streaming down from above, painting the clouds in gold. There are birds happily singing from the surrounding trees, and other, unseen animals scurrying through fallen leaves. Serene, pretty, and almost comforting when the wind turns course and brings with it the scent of late-ripening fruit. If the reality of your situation were not so dire, perhaps you would have enjoyed it, being here with a man who killed instead of presented your family with a dowry or offered you some pleasant wedding to dine and drink your fill of berry wine at.

“Let me go.” Your voice is a feigned warning, the mocking growl of a mere pup. You imagine he must keep his weapons close, only offering himself the courtesy of cleaning you so your meat doesn’t taste of dirt or lavender oil when he sinks his teeth into it.

“Süss frau,” he mumbles behind you, presses his head into your hair and inhales deeply as your body only grows further rigid. There’s a pause, before he corrects himself. “Meine süss frau.”

It would help if you knew what he was saying, calm your nerves some, maybe, but each word spoken only sounds guttural and instills further fear. You twist in his grip, hissing small curses that would have left your mother in a rage, but he only laughs at your squirming. Then, he tightens his grip as the cloth is dropped into the pond’s glassy water.

“Take me back home,” you continue to urge, placing a trembling hand over the limb pressing your body further back against him. “Please.”

Your small attempt at pleading is met only with his head dropping to the nape of your neck, a kiss pressed against the flesh there. It warms for him, sends a heat spiking up to your cheeks in spite of the way you still suspect he wishes only to rip your throat open with teeth more akin to a devil’s fangs.

You turn your head, intent on spitting right in this monster’s face, but find only a man looking back at you.

There’s a shimmer in his eyes that almost seems playful, a grin so prevalent there it must cause the corners of his mouth to ache. No blood in his teeth, and though the silvery-blue of his eyes seems distant, they are not cold. The goliath who stole you away stinking of blood and innards isn’t present now, and that seems even less of a comfort. He’s even handsome in the strangest way, certainly not the look of nobility, but none of his features are cruel. There’s a boyish charm to him, perhaps he would have the look of a charismatic farmhand or an apprentice of sorts if not for the scarring.

“Won’t hurt you… too pretty,” he assures, burying his face against the side of your neck. But the bastard does, digs his teeth right in and suckles at your skin when you claw at his arm in surprise. It’s not enough to draw drops of blood, but it accentuates the point that he seems to see you as something of his, a possession of sorts.

There’s a messy patch of drool over bruising skin when he pulls away to laugh at the wounded expression upon your face. He apologizes in a huff of breath as he guides you up to stand at his side. His hands linger too long for comfort when they rest along your waist. Your sullen glare only seems to further endear him. Too much, judging by the way the pillar between his legs bounces thick and hard and proud, throbs when you tilt your chin up to meet his gaze and angrily hiss to him about how a man should treat his wife. Cannibal or not, the beast needed to learn some manners.

Fear still edges its way up your spine, but it diminishes more and more as the seconds pass.

He’s no gentleman when he splashes away the remnants of soap from your body, hands grazing over every inch of your bare skin he sees available to touch. Your breast first, weighed up in his palm with the nipple pinched between his index and middle. Emboldened by your hushed protests, he dares to slip his other between your legs, and only then do you force his hands away.

He certainly bears no resemblance to a proper husband when he hoists you over one shoulder to carry you further into the woods and into his shack, either.

It’s barren and ugly, an unsightly wooden structure decorated only with a thin mattress, a table too small, and blades of many forms. The axe sits proudly below the window, astonishingly cleaned of the gore from the night prior. The veil rests above it on the sill, damp from a cleaning that never should have been. You stare at his belongings for a time when you’re placed on your feet, silently judging the array in search of anything to justify the gossip, only to come up short of anything.

He doesn’t even touch you past the bathing in the pond. You’re dressed in a tunic that fits like a dress upon your form: far too big, long and dull to be anything you would normally be seen in. But there are no tailors this far out in the wilderness, though there’s an apologetic promise whispered to you once he sees you in his clothes. He’ll buy you a new dress upon your first visit to town as his wife, several if it pleases you.

The man leaves for a spell, brings you rabbit to clean and prepare, then busies himself stoking up a fire for cooking. His speech is a little broken when he tells you of how long he’s waited to have someone like you here with him, how he never suspected a woman so pretty would be his wife. And you don’t eat when the meat is fully cooked and placed in front of you both. You insist that you only wish to return back home, to hug your mother and tell her that you’re still alive.

That, he takes insult to.

His brow is pinched when he forces you to sit in his lap. He brings the meat to your lips and presses into your cheeks with his free hand to force your mouth open. There’s nothing romantic or cute about it, about him, but you do glumly settle in his hold when the realization does dawn on you that, though his strength is extraordinary, he is only a man and the only harm coming to you would be between your legs.

You’re drug over to the mattress after dinner by a tight hold over your wrist. The fight hasn’t left you, not by a smidge, even when the loose tunic is lifted over your head with shouts of your displeasure and you’re pressed onto your back with the giant watching you curiously from above.

He pins you there, but doesn’t force his hands down to your sex again. He only sighs when he rests his weight next to you and curls in to lie his head over your breasts.

You’re body remains stiff and rigid as a bowstring. His nearness only sends that same swell of heat back from the pond, brings with it the scent of fire smoke and sweat emanating from him. His hair is long and soft, soft as the kisses he places on the plushness of your tit, long as the drag of a callused palm from your hip up to cup the other.

He offers you no warning when his teeth circle over your nipple, holds fast to you when your back arches and your fingers weave into his hair to jerk him away. The worst part about him seemed to be having a penchant for leaving a mark, and the smug grin that crosses his face when he meets the fury in your eyes with the lust-drunk look in his own.

“Was? You don’t like?,” he grumbles, tracing over the marks of his teeth with his thumb, pressing against and smearing his saliva until you feel your back begin to arch and your breathing grow heavy.

“It hurts.”

He stares at you in amazement for a moment, whether surprised you haven’t made an attempt to flee or startled by the lack of a strike to his jaw after such a thing, it mattered not. Your terrible, ignorant “husband” only seems satisfied with your response. He draws back to sit on his knees before you, sliding his hands along each curve and dip of your body until they rest at your ankles.

“Ja… hurts. I will make it better, meine süße.”

He’s no less brazen when he makes a dive toward your womanhood, lips parted in preparation to breathe you in. Or… taste you in full, whichever option was suited for men who were more beasts than men at all. Maybe that was his only feat of cannibalism: licking at women until they were wet and pliant for him to take entirely. You pry him away with a gasp and a quick shift onto your side, demanding that he not touch you any further.

Again, he laughs, curls behind you and shifts his hips to slot the girth of his cock between your thighs, buries his face into your neck once again. You can feel the grin that stretches over his lips against your skin. When the dark envelopes you both, the quiet crackle of the fire in its pit still showing signs of life, he seems content to just cuddle you close.

Exhaustion creeps its way through your limbs, steals the fight from your voice and leaves your eyelids heavy. You consider waiting it out, listening to his breathing deepen and slow to creep away, but his grip is firm around your middle, so strangely comforting that you do allow yourself to relax. Running could wait until the morning sun rose.

[jiminiecrickets]

HEAVEN'S SHEATH. KTH / M!READER

summary. a wealthy lord's pacifist son finds friendship and affection in a poor soldier, unremarkable except for the fact that he is the lone survivor of a massacre. fate has different plans for them.

wc. 10k

tags. smut | top!reader, bottom!tae, virgin!reader with a big dick (lol), reader is described as tall/strong, descriptions of blood/injuries/death, sex while injured (reader), riding, multiple orgasms, 2/3rds is only worldbuilding oops im just like that!!

a cloud of dust billows beneath the heavy black hooves of a friesian stallion, sturdy and strong-chested. the well-travelled dirt path swings over rolling green knolls, past flocks of white sheep herded into valleys and heavy brown cows grazing along the hillside. the untouched countryside is marked by clusters of tall green trees along the road and they shade the large river snaking through the vale. 

amongst the verdant growth, throned between the river and the hills, lies a large manor built strong with stone and brick. other buildings lay scattered around its feet, and life is most evident here – servants hurry about, ushering goats into their wooden pens and their young ones out of the way of the black horse's brisk high trot. the little children stare with big eyes up at the regal stallion's wavy mane, watching how it falls softly over its long neck with each step. it is a horse that carries great presence and elegance, and its rider is no different.

at the manor's grand front entrance, an older man stands in wait, both hands resting on a cane tipped at both ends with gold. his hair is almost fully grey. his steely eyes track the horse and the dust and pollen dirtying its fine feathering on the lower legs.

"you've been sorely missed, son," he says in an unreadable tone, light enough for politeness but darkened by his heavy gaze. "does wartime make for a better view?"

the rider dismounts, hushing the horse as it snorts and tosses its head, hooves stamping. it yearns for the freedom of the run. he pets its soft mane. his voice is deep and monotone with disinterest. "certainly. it's quieter."

the man's eyes narrow. "you left all the kitchen girls alone, who i know you've a fondness for. you should be at home to protect them, taehyung, not gallivanting off to paint your pictures."

silently, taehyung passes off the reins to the stablehand, and turns to stare up at his father from the bottom of the steps. he tugs off his kid-leather riding gloves and places them in the pocket of his navy blue coat. "what do i know of war and fighting? you were the general, not i. i'd say you are much better suited to protecting these frail women from suffering under the hands of conquerors."

"you are the son of a general," he replies sharply. "the youth must carry on what their fathers forged."

"hate and subjugation, of course," taehyung sighs, shifting his bag of paints in one arm and his canvas in another. "humanity's pinnacle."

"stay your wit, boy. you'll find no friends with it."

he slips past him through the open doors of the manor, his paints clinking in its leather saddlebag. "yes, my lord." 

upstairs in a large, sunlit room, he sets it all down with a soft huff. he glances around at the canvases lining the walls, leaning against cupboards and drawers full of paint thinners and varnishes. portraits of one woman dominate most of them – slender, pale, with dark hair, full lips, and a soft curving nose. in some, she sits primly on a chair amongst vases of flowers and goblets of wine, and in others, on chaises in simple dresses with a needle and thread in her hands, glowing with the early summer light blooming behind her.

these are the ones hung up or placed atop chests of drawers. not one touches the ground – that place, on the edge between floor and wall, is reserved for simpler landscapes and still lifes. 

"i remember i told you to take down those portraits. do you find joy in antagonising me?"

taehyung turns. his father stands on the threshold, cane by his side. after he returned from the last war with a limp and new scars, he has not worn any other colour but black.

he turns back to his saddlebags, indifferent as he slowly pulls his paints and brushes one at a time from the bag. "no. i find no joy in speaking to you at all."

his father's expression tightens. "i did not make her ill. it was chance and nature. your hatred of me will not bring her back, no matter how intense. it is time to move on, son. lingering on it breeds only worse things."

"'worse things'?" taehyung snaps, gripping a put of paint so tightly his knuckles turn white. "i am not one of your soldiers, so don't speak to me like one. i don't need your pragmatism, your war-bred heartlessness. all she wanted was you. all she asked for was you, and you never came."

he has had this argument many times over since that winter. it festers hot fury in his chest just thinking of it, and it has not burned dimmer with time. 

he turns and approaches his father, eye-to-eye. he is not a boy anymore. he surveys him for a moment. "war may have reforged you, made you richer and cleverer, but it burned away all that she loved. you never once held her again, felt her breath on your cheek." taehyung brushes his knuckles over his jaw. he shakes his head and begins to walk down the hall. "don't touch those portraits."

back for only a few minutes and taehyung already cannot stand the solemn weight of the air within these walls. he pushes open the front doors with more force than necessary and wanders through the large, walled estate, stone brick encompassing the major centres of activity. 

mindlessly, he travels past the cowherds and shepherds leading in the meat for supper, and the stablemaster tending to his friesian, and the beekeepers. he passes the wall and almost reaches the wheat farm. 

hushed whispers float up from the riverbank. he stops in his tracks.

by the water, the girls and women who work with the granary from the farm are crowded around something on the bank. the linens of their dresses are dark with water up to their knees, where they hold it back.

he notices the expressions on the girls' faces – bright with nervousness and fear, but tinged with… curiosity? they whisper amongst themselves behind their hands. 

he approaches, ducking under a branch of the oak they shelter beneath. "what is so interesting?" 

they startle, several sets of eyes turning towards him. one of the older girls, about his age, drops into a fumbled curtsy. "oh, young master—! we weren't doing nothin' bad, sir, but we was hiding from the sun when we found something the lord sir might need know. we found 'im caught up on the root branches here."

him?

taehyung steps past her. his eyes widen.

a young soldier, skin tinged grey, lies on his back on the riverbank, the water lapping at his calves. his boots have come off somewhere in the water. he wears an unfamiliar uniform: a mixture of thick fabrics to stave off the cold adorned with a strangely-patterned leather jerkin.

it is a poor man's armour, he realises, made of what he can scrounge up and what fits from the garrison's armoury. despite his lack of wealth, taehyung can tell he is a big man – tall, strong in ways only a life of hard work can create. he is fair of face, too, handsomer than many young nobles taehyung has met. perhaps a blacksmith's apprentice, or a baker's boy?

"which… which army is he from, master taehyung? can you tell?"

the question awakens him from his daze. he blinks. "ah – bring him higher on the bank, get his legs out of the water. let me closer."

he crouches by the body, pulling at the heavy cloth draped over the torso. at the neck, where the cloth is bunched and rolled to pack in heat, he finds a small red patch. 

taehyung sighs and presses the soaked cloth back into place. "this man is very, very far from home."

the girls glance at each other uncertainly. "what does that mean, master?"

"many years ago, his homeland was seized, and now his people are under southern rule. he was an infantryman. simple cannon fodder." with a soft exhale, he leans over the torso and pulls him onto his side to reach the lashes holding together his water-heavy coat. "perhaps i can bury him someplace high, so that his soul may be reminded of home."

the body jerks and chokes out a lungful of water with a ragged groan.

the girls yelp, stumbling back. taehyung would have had he not already been on his knees. his eyes widen as the soldier's face pinches in pain, eyes still shut. taehyung reaches for the oldest girl, gesturing frantically towards the manor on the horizon. "find my father and tell him what you've found! you've my permission to leave the farm and all of that – he's alive!"

—

it is dark. everything hurts. this is hell – this is punishment, eternal and unforgiving. this is deserved for desertion.

then – light. light rings against bone and flesh.

velvet. mahogany. silk and down.

there is a girl beside you, leaning over you. her linen dress is plain but clean with a white apron over it.

your side explodes with pain. you launch upright with a violent shout, gasping and clutching the hot ache under your ribs. cries of shock throb in your skull.

you blink, hard, eyes adjusting dizzily to the brightness of the room. your torso is wrapped in cloth, which you can feel flat and taut against your skin. your hand comes away clean, and for several unthinking moments, you wonder why. your thoughts are slow and heavy.

"you ought to relax, master," echoes a soft voice beside you. her vowels are round and elongated, the accent so different from your own that you barely recognise it, much less understand it. you stare up unseeingly at her youthful face, framed by dark curls held back by a bonnet. she steps forward, a damp sponge in her hand. that is why your limbs feel cold. "your injuries are quite severe."

"where am i?" you mumble, your tongue thick in your mouth. words are unfamiliar. "who're you?"

she glances up at the other maids, huddling by the door. she sets down the sponge and extends a hand, though you flinch from it. she does not try again. "you are in the northern highlands. hadria. my name is aemma."

"aemma," you murmur. the sounds are soft and round, like a river pebble. like a river, you realise, you are damp and naked, save for a single sheet of folded cloth across your lap. you feel your face grow hot and you clutch it close, folding your legs towards your body for security. "m-may i – where are my clothes?"

aemma gestures for one of the other girls, who quickly scoops up a folded pile of clothes from atop the chest at the base of the lavish bed. the rest of the bedroom is similarly luxurious, with a dark palette that soaks up sunlight to warm its wood. the walls are pale, though framed by polished wooden frames embracing the room.

"here," she replies. "the lord father has gifted you some riding clothes to wear in their stead. they were to be given to the young master when he turned of age, but…" she pauses. she shakes her head and curtsies. "you're to meet the lord father and his son shortly. we were to inform them when you were to wake eventually."

"eventually…" you trail off. "how long have i been here?"

"two days, master."

your head begins to pound. you cradle it, wincing, and reach for the offered clothes. they are clean and soft under your callused fingertips. "ah… i'm no lord, miss."

aemma smiles briefly, folding her hands over her stomach. "the lord father requires it, master."

you have no heart to push. in fact, you would much rather lay down for another two days, though knowing you are under the roof of a lord churns up too much fear to do so. if northern men were anything like southern ones, you would do anything to keep your name clean.

"i'd like to dress," you say softly, glancing briefly at the maids watching you from the corner of the room. "alone, if the lasses would allow it."

with another curtsy, aemma ushers the other girls out of the room and closes the door after them. you do not miss how they sent you curious glances as they left. she now stands where they once were, watching you with badly-disguised intrigue. 

you clear your throat and feel your cheeks and neck blaze, folding the cloth around your hips tighter. "i'm sorry. i meant entirely."

perhaps it is your imagination, but you think you spot a tinge of pink wash over her features. she finds sudden interest in the knots and grain of the floor. "the lord father instructed that you were not to be left alone in case you required immediate medical attention. you are evidently still in pain, so i must protest."

"ah." you swallow, and your mouth is dry. "p-perhaps… you could turn around, then?"

she glances up, as if to say something, but eventually nods, bobbing in a small curtsy before turning to face the wall. 

as quickly as your aching body will allow, you shuffle off of the bed and dress yourself in finer clothes than you have ever worn before. the cloth is soft and sits finely against your skin like a baby's breath. you are so used to abrasive linens that you almost feel more naked than before.

"you found my boots."

aemma turns around – she almost regrets it, spying the last sliver of skin before white cloth falls over it like the pull of curtains. it is more titillating than seeing the entirety of you bare. "o-oh – yes, one of the servant boys found them downstream."

"ah, thank you. and my uniform, miss," you glance up at her, leaning heavily against the bed poster to slip on your boots, "do you know what happened to it?"

"they're with the hold's tailor. i heard it took quite the beating."

"that could be said," you mumble, straightening up at last. your side twinges with pain, but you attempt a smile. "well, s'pose it's time to meet your lord. i've got to thank my saviours."

it is just turning to twilight, and the hazy golden sun on the horizon feels like little more than a memory. candles light the path past gold-spun tapestries and gleaming windows. aemma leads you to a grand dining room, reminiscent of castles and times long gone. she halts by the entrance, curtsies to you, and hurries away without another word, which you find strange as she had been a pleasant conversationalist when helping you through the halls and down the stairs.

"the soldier awakens at last. how do you feel?"

you glance away from aemma's retreating figure. at the head of the long dining table is an older man with sharp eyes and a natural severity about him. seated beside him is a younger man, around your age, staring into his plate with his hands folded in his lap. you step forward cautiously, and a male servant pulls out a chair on the older man's other side. the lord gestures at it, watching you carefully.

"well, milord; thank you," you answer, taking a seat and quietly thanking the servant who readied it in the first place. he bows but does not otherwise acknowledge you, his gaze on the ground as he slinks back into the shadows of the dining room.

"you were asleep for quite some time. my son doubted you would live." he gestures to the young man across from you, whose romantic dark curls are loose over his forehead. "i am glad you are feeling strong enough to join us for supper. i trust that the girls took care of you?"

"yes, milord," you reply, glancing over the table almost longingly. you swallow the saliva building in your mouth. silver platters are laden heavy with dark ox roasts, honeyed lamb shanks, roasted salmon fillets, sausages and baked potatoes, and braised vegetable stews steaming hot. ruby wine is poured into silver goblets. you have never seen so much food at once in your life. 

"the war has yet to touch us. we have plenty to share," the lord informs, his voice almost kind. "how long has it been since you have last eaten, soldier?"

your throat bobs before speaking. "ah… four days, maybe, including my time spent here."

the man's brow arches. "your general did not feed you before battle?"

"no, milord. they ambushed us before our rations were due." you glance at the young man. he has yet to look up, or indeed even move. "we… had issues with our supplies. weevils in the grain, rats in the captains' meat. we turned from two meals a day, to one a day, then one every two." you pause. "i don't think one more meal would have saved us."

the room falls silent, with only the crackling of the fireplace breaking the stillness. green wood pops in the flames.

"well, don't wait for me to begin," says the lord suddenly, shifting comfortably in his seat and reaching for a leg of ox, stabbing it with a knife and lifting it onto his plate. he piles his plate high with potatoes and mash. the action seems to spur on his son, who jolts into motion like a creaking old waterwheel, movements slow and measured. "tell us your name, soldier. i'd like to know the name and story of our guest. now, news comes to us slowly in this isolated place. how fares the war effort?"

glancing down, you realise exactly how many pieces of cutlery there are. knives and forks, spoons and little spoons, all slightly different in shape or size. you pause, hand hovering over the knives, nerves tightening in your chest. 

a soft cough. you glance up.

across from you, the son rests his delicate fingers on the outermost knife and fork, using them to carry a richly-glazed steak onto his plate. he chooses a large spoon, fingers lingering on it where it sits on the table, and places it into his bowl of stew.

his gaze lifts to meet yours and just as quickly, a butterfly's flap of wings, he glances away. his cheeks are dusted pink, the rosy colour like gold on his sun-warmed skin. 

you copy him. you take a slab of steak from the dish right in front of you. you are starving, but everything about this manor makes you feel small, and you fear taking more than you are offered. you give them your name, for it is the only thing you truly own in these foreign lands.

"the war?" you continue, trying to shake the tremor from your voice. "i wouldn't know, milord. the captains don't tell us much. it's all the same – i've fought in three different battles. this was the third. they give their speeches about king and country, and then we fight. it is noble," you say hastily, "but i am not a warrior. not many of us were. the enemy outnumbered us, outskilled us, and when the poppy fields lay silent, they piled the bodies of all our fallen and made pyres out of us."

"such would explain the scorch marks on your clothes." the lord nods. he leans in, and you fight the urge to lean away. "i shall ask the question we all ask ourselves, if you would not mind. how did you survive such a massacre?"

you glance at the son. he eats quietly, forking small chunks of meat into his mouth. you glance away. "i remember a spear. it was tipped… with a blue and white flag. it waved in the black sky as i looked up at it." you frown. "i'd never seen one like it before."

"the temerian lilies," he replies, almost approvingly. "you must have been some opponent – if the flagbearer loses his flag, it is a great shame to the army. it must be held aloft at all times. he would rather die than lose it to the enemy."

you lift a shoulder. the other aches too much to try. "they pulled it out of me after, then dragged me to a pile of corpses. i… don't remember much, but i remember them squabbling over another soldier's brooch for a while. i only wanted to escape the stench of death." you survey the feast laid out before you. "i s'pose i have."

"then we shall celebrate that," hums the lord, lifting his goblet of wine. "my son was the one who found you floating down the river. he said you were cold as ice and only recognised you from the flag you had sewn into your coat. it is brave to carry your homeland's colours when fighting for their conquerors."

"it was a small creature comfort," you respond as nonchalantly as you can. "they could punish me all they liked, but could never kill me. they needed every man in their ranks."

the lord raises his brows, and something like admiration crosses his features. he glances at his son and that admiration turns into a tiny downturn of the lips. he turns back to you. "not a warrior, you say, yet you stand with the united courage of a battalion. who was your father?"

you notice how his son stills, holding the steak on his tongue behind his lips for a long moment. he closes his eyes and with a deep inhale, resumes eating, as if unaffected. 

"just a farmer," you say, diverting your gaze. "dead, long past. my ma raised the rest of us – six boys. i was their second. when the army came knocking, askin' for sons, i went, gave them my name. my older brother knew how to count, how to run the mill. i couldn't let them take him, especially not from the little ones – after da died and ma got sick, he was all they had." you tap the edge of the silver plate with your finger thoughtfully. "i imagined i'd either die or be done after one battle, so i'd be brought home quick regardless. now… it's been four years."

then, the servants bring out a round white cake, slices set down around the table – what a perfect intermission. you have made it rather impossible to return to frivolity with your story, and you gaze down at the cake in front of you. you assume this is their dessert, so quaint and pretty on its little silver plate, but you have little idea of how to go about eating one. something so small must require a similarly-sized utensil. is it the tiny spoon? the tiny knife?

you lift your eyes to the young man across from you. he is already watching, eyes large and dark.  he picks up a small three-tined fork from the inner edge, tilting it towards you to show you its appearance, the little notch on the left prong. this time, he doesn't look away, and you have enough time to offer a grateful smile, however brief. he blinks owlishly, almost in surprise, before lowering his gaze again.

it is unfortunate. you would not mind looking at him more. he is undoubtedly beautiful, almost pretty, the sort of face people would immortalise in myths and paintings on temple walls – a kind of elven face, like those that turn goddesses to jealousy and gods to obsession. 

you spend the rest of the meal stealing glances at each other when you think the other is not watching. he is far more successful than you.

—

from behind a balcony's closed doors, taehyung gazes up at the crescent moon hanging high in the sky, surrounded by pale stars glittering in the blanket of darkness. he cannot stop thinking about the shy farmer's boy, his accent unfamiliarly pleasant – the vowels are soft and blurred, with each consonant crisp and clear. it makes for a bouncing sort of melody to his voice, one that draws taehyung deeper into his song.

he sighs softly and turns away from the night's landscape, uncrossing his arms and meandering through the empty halls. most of the servants are already tucked away, and his father drowns himself alone in old letters and wine.

in loose trousers and a looser white shirt, the vee of the collared neck laced with string, he finds himself in his library, rich and warm from a hearth already lit. curious. he shuts the open double doors behind him quietly to keep the heat from dissipating into the night. 

his silent feet carry him through the aisles, where the shelves brush the ceiling with books and ladders. a walkway surrounds the room, essentially giving it a second level. 

silhouetted black against the white glow of the moon beyond the arched window, a familiarly unfamiliar figure stands in silence, gaze turned up towards the heavens beyond the lines of books and old tomes. 

standing in this still and quiet room, statue-esque in the way of classics, taehyung cannot help the journey of his gaze wandering up and down the planes of your body, painting to himself the sturdiness of your shoulders, the perfect balance between your booted feet. there is a severity about you he recognises in his own father – he sees it in your arms, tucked behind your back, and the practised way of standing that arches the spine just so to emphasise the broadness of the chest. yet, he knows gentleness when he sees it, and he finds it in the almost childlike awe in your expression, aimed up at his personal collection. 

he steps out, the shadows melting from him like the shedding feathers of a raven. "what are you doing in my library?"

you startle, and taehyung almost regrets interrupting you. coward that he is, he would rather watch from afar than bring you out of that handsome serenity.

"f-forgive me, sir," you stammer, twisting your hands together as you incline in an awkward half-bow, half-stumble, evidently having forgotten the extent of your injuries as your expression tightens and your hand brushes over your side. "i didn't know it was yours. the – the doors were open, and i—"

"invited yourself in," he finishes.

"i – yes, sir…"

before you, he stands perfectly still. you could fool yourself into thinking his heart does not beat, for he is pale in the moonlight and beautifully dark-haired, with eyes like midnight lakes and lips like a rose. 

you tear your gaze from his, breaking your trance. you begin to move past him. "forgive me, milord. i shan't interrupt you."

his hand darts out, wrapping itself around your wrist. serpentine, it slides up your arm and grips your bicep, forming creases in the cloth.

"you shouldn't move so quickly. you're injured." he turns his gaze on you. "you'd leave so soon?"

"ah…" you flounder, helpless. "if the lord wish it so."

his searching gaze strips your body bare. you feel it prod your soul when his eyes meet yours. his eyes scan your face, and he reaches up with his other hand, brushing it lightly against the slope of your jaw. his skin is warm and tender-soft. your breath hitches. 

"the maids missed a spot when shaving," he mutters, pressing his fingers against the patch of half-shorn stubble left on the soft underside of your chin. "a man would do it better."

all at once, he drops his hand and looks away. "i am no lord," he replies, his low, rich voice like waves lapping at the sides of a ship, almost careless. "just his son."

you hesitate, your heartbeat still in your ears. "th-then what should i call you, sir?"

he glances down where bandages hide the hole in your body. "just 'taehyung' will do," he says softly, eyes lifting again. he unravels his arm from yours, turning fully towards you. "you may stay – as long as you are quiet."

he moves away, so graceful he may as well have floated. his fingers glide over the covers like bumps of the spine, and they pluck a small yellow book from the shelf. he opens it, already turning to the first page even before he finds a chair to sit in. he curls up in front of the grand fireplace, the furry hide of a brown bear thrown across the floor in front of it. 

for a while, you simply watch him and listen to the crackling of the fire. his slim fingers glide across the pages to turn them, the edge of the page caught gently on the pad of his thumb. 

bathed in the yellow and orange hues of the fire, the lord's son is every bit as regal as northerners are said to be – hair like calligraphy ink, cheekbones fine, slim bodies tall and lithe. you could lose yourself in his cold, gentle darkness.  

that burbling feeling of being out of place rises to the surface, worse than when you sat before the lord at his table. you and your callused palms, your worn and labour-worked body. you should not be here.

"you know you can choose a book, yes? i don't mind." he glances up. "forgive the mess. i can help. what do you like to read?"

"i'm sorry, sir," you murmur, averting your gaze. "i can't read."

it seems he'd forgotten your roots. he blinks. "oh. my apologies. but if not to read, what interested you about my library?"

"ah," you chuckle, scratching your head. "i've just never seen so many books in one place. travelling merchants would display some, but never like this."

"i see." he surveys you intensely, then glances away and clears his throat. he shifts in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his legs. at last, he says stiffly, "if you'd like… i can… read to you."

the silence is thick with more than just the fire's heat. it is hard to know taehyung's hot face is not because of the fire, and he is grateful.

"if milord wishes to," you reply quietly, watching him for any twitch of his expression that may give him away.

"of course. i wouldn't offer it if i didn't." he gestures to the chaise beside him. "sit."

you step into the semicircle of light afforded by the fireplace, licked by tendrils of warmth, and ease yourself into the chair with a soft grunt, holding your side. "milord is as kind as he is beautiful."

his eyes flicker down to your lap. "i wish you wouldn't call me that," he says suddenly, a little sharper. "can i not be called my own name in my home?"

your mouth opens and closes. after a moment, you reply softly, "i meant no offence. it just feels… wrong."

slowly, he exhales, closing his eyes and his book. he places a hand over its cover. "all of my life has felt wrong. everything is wrong no matter what i do – who i wish to be, the company i keep, the fears i carry… the love i desire." he pauses, opening his eyes to your earnest expression. he diverts his gaze to the yellow-gold cover of the book. "what more can one last wrong hurt?"

"i'm sorry," you whisper. "perhaps i can start over." you straighten slightly, offering a crooked half-smile. "what do you want to read to me, taehyung?"

he does not disagree that his name sounds strange coming from another's mouth, but he cannot remember the last time it was used by anyone else. he hums and rises to his feet, coming to stand over you in front of the fire; his shadow cast over your body deepens the maturity of your features.

"when you said i was beautiful," he asks, "did you mean it?"

staring up at him, you can do nothing but tilt your head in bewilderment. "yes. you are fair and handsome."

taehyung chooses his next words carefully. "if… i were a girl," he decides, clasping his book over his stomach with straight arms, "would it be a different sort of beauty?"

you frown, shaping an approximation of a girl with taehyung's features in your mind. "maybe. but she would still be beautiful if she was you." you shake your head, dispelling morphing images of regal dark-haired daughters. you hide your warm cheeks behind an apologetic smile. "i'm sorry. i don't know much. i don't usually deal with such thoughts."

but it was enough for taehyung. slowly, as if not to frighten you, he lowers himself, grasping the chaise's rests and draping himself gently over your lap. he watches your face all the while, his heart beating faster at the shock and nervousness that cross your face in a single second. 

"is this… is this alright?" he whispers, placing his hand against your chest. 

your adam's apple bobs, your hands hovering an inch off of his body as if he is made of glass. gently, you place one on taehyung's knee and the other behind his back, and glance up at him.

"perhaps you can sit closer," you murmur, eyes wide and searching, "so you may not fall."

taehyung smiles, then – the first smile of his you have ever seen. it is sweet, and crinkles the corners of his eyes. it makes your heart swell.

he hides his smile in his chest, his knuckles brushing the corner of his lips. he lifts his eyes, and a sliver of hope twinkles in them. "shall i read to you, then? i will give you a synopsis of each story so you may choose your favourite."

"please," you murmur, settling back in the chair and sliding your hand higher up taehyung's thigh so he may be more comfortable. "do whatever you wish."

"'whatever'?" he hums, and with a flippant little kick, throws off his boots to the ground, where they thump carelessly. he meets your eyes and falls into a nervous smile, tucking his bare feet against your leg and resting his temple against your shoulder. his hair is still slightly damp at the ends from his earlier evening bath. "then you wouldn't mind this, would you?"

"of course not," you whisper, biting back a shy, embarrassed smile. you are too old to be acting like this, especially with the only son of a wealthy lord, but the rush of excitement from seeing such a reticent man blossom and show his petals to you is too much to keep you away. "i am only a farmer's boy, taehyung. anything with someone like you is… a dream."

at the mention of his name, his smile widens slightly and a pinkness warms the apples of his cheeks. he busies himself with opening the book and flipping through its contents to find the correct page. he presses his thumb against the spine between the pages.

"here." he taps the words on the page. "this story is one my mother used to read to me. a princess is trapped in a tower, guarded by a dragon in an ever-changing thorn maze, and a brave, handsome knight rescues her. they are married and live happily ever after."

he looks up at you, searching for a reaction, and you can only give a breathy laugh in return, still dizzy with the idea that someone like taehyung could ever be interested in someone like you. "are you sure you should be telling me these stories? i'm not a princess or a brave knight. i'm plain."

"perhaps. but do you know who else was seen as plain?" he taps your chest. "the dragon, disguised as a statue. and you, strong dragon, will protect the princess," he taps his own chest, "from all the boredom and politics of castle life."

"don't you have other, richer boys chasing you?" you ask, because you know your place. "your own knight? i don't see what i offer that they can't."

he licks his lips, setting aside the small book on a round side table and swinging his legs over your lap to straddle you. reading it is the last thing on his mind. "i do, of course. but it is like you said – they are boys. when their wooden sword chips, they get a new one." he trails his fingers lightly down the centre of your chest, wide and strong, and tentatively cups what is between your legs. he leans in, long-lashed brown eyes flickering down to your lips. "i want more than that."

"i—" your breath hitches as he squeezes gently, learning its shape and heft with deft fingers. "a-are we allowed to…? i am a stranger in strange lands with nothing to my name."

he chuckles, pressing his forehead against yours. his soft hair curtains your eyes. "allowed? no. but when a handsome soldier from far away falls into my lap, what else is a man to do?" he draws his thumb over your jawline, stroking your cheek. he lowers his lips to yours, hot breath sweet with honeyed treats. with the faintest thread of a breath, he whispers, "may i?"

with your heartbeat thudding in your ears, your head inclines, and taehyung wraps his arms around your shoulders and pushes his lips to yours. 

his moan is sweet and starved as you kiss back to the best of your ability, your hands falling naturally about his waist. his lips are plump and warm, pillowy, and slicken with saliva as he deepens it, cupping the back of your head and pressing himself higher onto your body. he is desperate and dominating, sitting in your lap and rolling his hips into yours. you can feel his excitement through the cotton of his trousers. 

when you part regretfully, gulping down air, he cups your face, his eyes dark yet gentle. he licks his shining lips, parted to pant. "you seem apprehensive. have you ever done this with a man?"

you wipe your lips with your thumb, tongue swiping over them in an almost bewildered motion. your eyes are wide. "a-ah… no. not with… anyone…"

"not even a girl?" he cannot help the surprise that coats his tone.

you shake your head, face aflame. "i never… my older brother had my father's charm. he was the one they all wanted, strong but lean. i was too much of a bull. they had fantasies of princes, and he was closer to it than i."

deeply and tenderly, he kisses you again. "it only means i won't have to fight anyone to call you mine." he brushes his thumb over your lips. "that suits me just fine. i was never the fighting sort."

he sits up on your lap, thighs bracketing yours. his bare feet tuck beneath him under his knees. when his palm grazes the front of your trousers, your breath hitches in your chest, and taehyung gives you a soft, if coy, grin. "i'll be gentle," he promises. he tugs slightly on the laces of the waist. "may i?"

mutely, you nod, your words sinking into the whirling depths of his eyes. his deft fingers undo the laces with ease and he pulls the thick cloth down your waist, tracing the vee of your hips with a pleased breath. he reaches in, lifting his gaze to gauge your expression. your chest rises and falls rapidly, and your knuckles are tensed on the chaise's armrest. the other arm is tucked tightly by your side.

"don't be nervous," he whispers, stroking you gently in your trousers. it twitches in his palm. "place your hands on my waist, darling. good. very good."

hesitantly, your hands graze his hips, sliding up to grip his slender waist. you splay a hand beside his waist, measuring it against him with fascination. he is slim and lovely… like the city nobles' soft-palmed daughters. you had noticed his hands during supper but hadn't the room to mull over them then, though now you do. they are square, masculine, but slender and fine-veined. his nails are clean and cut short, with a thin crescent of white at the ends.

he could not have been more perfect if he tried.

he slides his fist up to the tip of your cock, rubbing his thumb against the slit and the smooth skin. you are mostly soft, but still impressive – the number of taehyung's clandestine trysts have lent him a certain experience when it comes to men.

you have reinforced your place as his favourite. 

"i see why they call you a bull," he says slyly, squeezing your shaft as his fist sinks down on it. "they just don't know how to tame you."

your face floods with heat as you stutter meaninglessly. your grip tightens on taehyung's hips and a single slant of a thought marvels at how delicate he feels in your palms.

"be still, my darling," he murmurs, "and be at ease. you are no longer at war. you can close your eyes and hold me without fear. nothing will happen unless we want it to."

his voice, like syrup, melts the frantic whirlwind of thoughts in your head. you cannot help but want to believe him. "you make it sound so simple. i want to believe you."

"why can't it be?" he tilts his head, glancing down and stroking you contentedly. he swipes his thumb over the slit, where a bead of precome bubbles. oil – from a small bottle you only now spot in taehyung's palm – smooths each stroke of your shaft. "the world is so complicated. affection can afford to be simple." 

he lets go for a moment to step back, sliding his trousers down his hips and calves and tossing them aside on the chaise. he flicks his dark hair and tucks a lock over his ear as he reassumes his place on your lap, pressing his chest against yours and tugging your cock to throb against the curve of his ass. the silk of his white shirt is cool and light against your hot skin.

his lips ghost over the shell of your ear as his hips roll languidly. he whispers, "do you want this?"

do you want more? the question is unasked, but you hear it anyway.

"i do, yes. please," you reply immediately, your voice rough with desire. your hands trail over his hips and tuck beneath the long hem of his shirt to caress his warm, creamy thighs, a feeling that traps your breath in your throat. you force out a sigh, shaky, and rest your forehead against taehyung's shoulder. he hushes you and cups the back of your head, reaching with his other hand behind himself to ease you inside his warmth.

taehyung's head tips back with a slow exhale, shuddering as you pulse with heat inside of him. he watches you closely, committing to memory the way your brows pinch and your mouth falls open as your grasp tightens, trembling, around his waist. 

"do you like that?" he whispers, breathy. he bounces shallowly, grinding his hips into yours. "how do you feel?"

"good," you choke out through a groan. your hand slides down to the dip in his back, trying not to seem too eager as it cups his ass. "oh, fuck…"

"don't hold back for me," he murmurs, hips quickening. he moans in surprise as you buck up into him, thighs meeting his ass. the slap of your balls against his ass is obscene, and he scrambles to cling onto your shoulders for balance.

"wait – wait, wait," he gasps, lashes fluttering as your cock kisses that spot inside of him that burns pleasure through his guts.

you stop immediately, sliding your hand up his side. "i'm sorry! are you alright?"

he huffs a laugh, panting softly, and nods. "you're injured, darling. don't waste the good work we put into putting you back together. sit back – i will take care of you, understand?"

"a-ah…" your face burns with heat. "all right. whatever milord desires."

"very good." he presses down on your hips gently, his hands between his thighs. he lifts himself off of your cock until only the tip rests against his hole, then sinks down on it in one smooth motion. a strangled noise escapes your throat as you scramble to hold onto him. his heat grips your shaft like a vice, gummy walls clamping down around you with each drop of his hips. 

he moans when your fingers dig into the sensitive skin of his hips, sweat gathering in the small of his back. the fireplace crackles softly, the air warm and sweet with the smell of sex.

he gathers his shirt in his hands about his ribs, revealing his dusky cock, swollen with need. he takes your hand and curls your fingers around his shaft, his eyes fluttering and lips parting as you tighten it. your callused palms drag deliciously against his veins and he grips your wrist with a soft groan, bouncing on your lap in such a way that he thrusts into the warm tunnel of your fist. 

carefully, you stroke his cock, cautious about rubbing raw or tearing his skin. wealthy boys are a different breed – so much softer, easier to hurt. the smell of him, sweet and musky, hangs in the air around him, enveloping you when he draws close – crushed petals, herbs, leaves. it seems foreign, or at least the mixture does, for you cannot quite place your finger on it – then again, what do you know of luxuries like this?

"you are doing well," taehyung praises, gasping as you flick the head of his cock with your thumb. "oh, yes… f-fast learner, hm? oh!"

a jerk of your hips has him jolting forward, his cock spurting a sudden white rope onto your stomach. he purrs, bracing against your chest and slamming his hips down on your cock to slicken him with your pleasure. it works, and he seems unduly proud of himself when your cock throbs and leaks, forming a white ring around the hilt that thickens with each bounce of his ass. 

"milord – milord," you gasp, a tiny pathetic noise that does not match your appearance, "please – i'm—"

"let go," he demands, a breathy moan escaping his lips. he closes his eyes and lets out a punched groan as your cock carves into his insides, deeper than any other man had ever touched. his reddened cock throbs, slit pouring precome over his belly and thighs. the pleasure curls around his thoughts, his head spinning from it, and he feels your stomach tense under his palms.

you spill into him with a deep, satisfied growl, head tipping back as he arches against you. your hips roll up against his and the coil tightening in his belly snaps at the sight of you so wrecked from so little. he cries out, ropes of white streaking across your shirt, and his hips stutter and roll, milking your pleasure for his own like a succubus. he presses his ass into your lap, white teeth sinking into his plump lower lip, and his eyes roll as the thick warmth fills him up to the brim. 

at last, he slumps against your chest, thighs trembling and tensing as he hums softly into your neck. he buries his nose in the soft, warm skin, and cups your cheek to place a soft kiss on the corner of your jaw. 

"mm… good," he purrs, smiling with tender satisfaction. "i – i shall bring you to your… mm… room. it is just down the hall from my own... should you wish to see me, you only need to knock." his breath hitches as he raises his hips slowly, hole twitching around your shaft, and when it pops out, a steady stream of come leaks from him, staining his tanned skin. he sighs, closing his eyes to the slowing of your heartbeat. "but i think i will stay here for a time, if you don't mind. just until i – until i regain feeling and control of my legs."

"is that… is that normal?" you ask, a tiny panting tremor in your voice. "to lose feeling like that?"

taehyung laughs into your neck, eyes crinkling. "sometimes, when i feel overwhelmed. it is no fault of yours – you are just… big. don't worry. i liked it."

he shifts in your lap to get comfortable but pauses as something pokes his thigh. a sly smile spreads across his fine features, his fingers lifting to trace your jaw and tip your gaze to his own. he purrs, "is that for me, love? excited again?"

you gulp, unable to tear your stare from his despite the embarrassment clawing at your throat. "i – i…"

"handsome and energetic. i'm a lucky man." he laughs softly, reaching behind himself and groping your hard cock with a low moan. "i myself have been told i'm rather voracious. perhaps you will be the first to keep up with me."

he lowers himself on your cock, head tipping back as he teases himself with the thick head. his dick twitches.

"what say you to a change of scenery?" he asks coyly, perfectly content with your ragged-breath silence. every word you might have said disintegrates on your tongue when he turns around, arching his back and pinning your cock to your stomach. shining precome smears along the cleft of his ass.

his body, carved out of shadows by the fire, rocks and rolls like a ship in the harbour when all its crew are asleep. with an encouraging smile, he takes your hands and places them on his hips, pressing on them to guide you to control his body. he hums softly as you squeeze his hips and spread his asscheeks, your breath shaky as he angles his messy hole against your leaking tip. 

he watches your face with gentle eyes as he sinks down on your cock, his warm, wet hole swallowing up your shaft like he was made for it. you jump slightly when his ass firmly meets your lap, taking you hungrily until the hilt, and if he were a lesser man, your expression alone would have been enough to tip him over the edge. he sears every line of your face, every edge and plane, into the backs of his eyelids. it will make for fine company on lonely nights. 

you speak for the first time in a while. "p-please…" you whisper hoarsely, blunt nails digging into his smooth, unmarred skin, leaving crescent moons in your wake. "please, move."

"ah, but you are badly hurt… i must take my time with you. mustn't alert the servants, either, for they'd certainly report to my father what they've seen." taehyung giggles to himself, gnawing on his lower lip in an effort to subdue his grin. he grinds down into your lap in circles, relishing in the pleasured, impatient groans that escape your throat. "he'd toss you out in an instant, and we cannot have that! i haven't yet had my fill of you."

"a-are you always so… playful with your men, taehyung?" you ask, voice slightly strained. you watch your cock vanish into him, over and over again. the sound that is made when he bounces on your lap is obscene and filthy. your heart stirs with desire.

"mmh – no. my past conquests have not been as – as alluring as you," he gasps, wrapping his hand around his throbbing cock, thumb rubbing circles over the ridge of his tip. "mostly, they bore me. you, however – you're more than a cock i can use to please myself, if i may speak so crudely."

"i – ah – th-think i should be grateful, then…?" you reply uncertainly.

"yes. unless, of course, you enjoy that sort of game… but tonight is about simplicity," he breathes, his skin tingling where your rough palms glide over his thighs, soft as cream. "we have only so long until the sun rises and the servants wake. i want to spend that time with you – learning your homeland's ballads and epics, your favourite flower, where i can touch to make you melt…"

he looses an airy laugh as your grip tightens on his waist, his shirt folded up between your fingers to reveal the curve of his spine and ass. you drag him down onto your cock roughly and he keens, eyes rolling back briefly. "ooh, y-you like that, don't you? ah—!"

already he is so sensitive. nowhere else has he felt pleasure like this – where his body is treated as more than a means to an end. he had been completely content with that when he entered this library, agreeable to the idea that you might like him only for what he can give you. but he swears – he swears on the old gods and the new – that the way you press your nose into the curve of his neck, the way you stroke him thin and thick tight and loose – caring, properly, for his own high – means your attraction is more than fleeting. 

years of ending up alone in empty beds have made him soft. lonely. desperate. perhaps he is reading into things too deeply, as he always does – poor boy, always a poet. the backs of his eyes sting with hot tears as his tightly-controlled leash snaps, making him cry out, writhe, and shudder, knees and elbows buckling under the weight of his orgasm. 

you catch him in your arms before he can slip, pulling him backwards towards your chest. it is warm, your throat shining with sweat, and he can feel the burning fever of your body through your clothes. still, you do not let go, push him away – you cradle him close, your heart thudding through your ribcage and into his own. 

one of your hands tugs languidly at his cock, milking his pleasure from him. you watch quietly as it spills over your knuckles, your lips pressed against his sweat-slick shoulder, and help him lift his hips off of your cock. 

for the first time in what feels like hours, taehyung takes a deep, full breath of air. he cups your face in a hand and smiles, wide and content.

"i didn't believe you could be more beautiful," you murmur, words slightly clipped at the end from a lack of breath. "i've never been happier to be wrong."

he opens his eyes with a flutter of lashes, pleasantly surprised. "haven't i already let you take me?"

"what do you mean?" you ask with a frown, tilting your head. your thoughts are foggy with warm laziness. the fire's heat does not help. "taehyung?"

the sound of his name almost startles him. he sits up, and a pleasurable ache sparks up his spine. he sucks in a deep breath. "you really… truly think that of me?"

you blink slowly, like a cat, and the fire's flames dance in your eyes. "i am a simple soldier. lies are above a man like me."

"you're more than that," he replies immediately, turning around on your lap to face you properly. "if you were just a soldier, you would have died on that battlefield. forgive me, but you had all the time to die on your way down the river. still, you survived." his voice softens, and he fiddles with your collar, straightening it and folding it down. "i am glad you did. i am glad to have met you."

"ah…" gently, you tug his shirt down, allowing him the return of some of his dignity, though he does not seem to care. "that reminds me – i shouldn't waste much time here. i should report to the general."

"for what?" taehyung scoffs, and it sounds… hurt. he glances away. "am i so repugnant you would rather march thirty miles a day in mud-soaked boots than stay here with me?"

"no!" you protest, sitting up as best you can with the growing ache in your side. you had been too caught up in the moment to remember it, and now your body reminds you jealously. "t'ain't that, taehyung. you are intelligent and kind and if we were in my homeland, i wouldn't hesitate to ask your hand. but surely you have a girl you're supposed to marry?"

"no, not at the moment. despite what he says, my father still grieves my mother. it will be a while yet before he'll allow another woman into the house." he traces shapes into your skin. "i will free you from the servitude of the evil king who bound you, and together, princess and dragon will live freely, with the wind in their hair and the sun on their backs."

at first, you smile at the newfound softness of his voice, but freeze. "free… of servitude?"

taehyung watches you, draping his legs over the other side of the armchair, kicking his feet lazily. his eyes are dark and watchful. "as i know it, the king's oath swears that you are only relieved of your duty when you give your blood for his and fall in battle against his enemies. have you not satisfied these requirements?"

"i may be no scholar, but i'm near certain that to 'fall in battle' means to die in it."

"have you not satisfied these requirements?" he repeats, firmer. "our doctors and priests said you were dead when i brought you to them. they said you may have been alive when i found you, but somewhere between the riverbank and their stone table marked the spot where you died. as they proclaimed this, you coughed again, and nobody could deny me this time when i said you were very clearly alive."

"you are telling me that i died… and returned? like a saint?" you ask sceptically. 

"i only tell you what our doctors told me."

for a while, you are silent. determination creases taehyung's brow, and you cannot hold in the disbelieving laugh that erupts from you, though it morphs into a groan of pain in the middle. taehyung sits up and presses his palm to your cheek, his eyes so vivid and certain. 

"you have already died, and thus retain no obligations to the crown," he whispers. his gaze scours your face. "you are free. free to stay here. live here…"

with me.

your heart drops into your stomach. you grip his waist, shifting in the velvet chaise. "i'm…"

"agree. agree to it. even if i cannot bear your children, we will sleep in the same bed, take walks in the wheat fields, eat and drink every meal together. you won't fear for your life every day. and as soon as the war ends and they open the trade routes to your home, i shall book passage on a ship and take you there. you may stay, if you wish. i won't deny you."

"then why offer at all?" you ask quietly. "if you think i'll leave you the moment i can, why would you even try?"

"i can hope, can i not? by all accounts our kings have no desire to cease any time soon. perhaps you will learn to love me in time." he smiles, faint, and averts his gaze. "otherwise, i will be glad to help another soul. you will survive the war and return to your family, whole and healthy. out here, away from people, i have little chance to do something so good and noble."

"and if i grow restless? if i want to do something with my hands?"

he tilts his head thoughtfully. "how is your aim?"

"fair, i s'pose. haven't missed when it's important."

"the lord's hunter grows old," he proclaims. "he can teach you what he knows, and if you like, you may take up the title once he can no longer ride and shoot. besides that, there is always work to be done in the fields and granary – perhaps you'll find some comfort in the farms?"

you think about it, long and hard. in essence you would be a prisoner at his beck and call, though if taehyung tells the truth and is as earnest as he appears, perhaps you'll find freedom and enough work to fill your days with…

you give your answer, and taehyung's smile is like the sun.

[txttletale]

niceys positive anon!! i don't agree with you on everything but you are so clearly like well read and well rounded that you've helped me think through a lot of my own inconsistencies and hypocrises in my own political and social thought, even if i do have slightly different conclusions at times then u (mainly because i believe there's more of a place for idealism and 'mind politics' than u do). anyway this is a preamble to ask if you have recommended reading in the past and if not if you had any recommended reading? there's some obvious like Read Marx but beyond that im always a little lost wading through theory and given you seem well read and i always admire your takes, i wondered about your recs

it's been a while since i've done a big reading list post so--bearing in mind that my specific areas of 'expertise' (i say that in huge quotation marks obvsies i'm just a girlblogger) are imperialism and media studies, here are some books and essays/pamphlets i recommend. the bolded ones are ones that i consider foundational to my politics

BASICS OF MARXISM

friedrich engels, principles of commmunism

friedrich engels, socialism: utopian & scientific

karl marx, the german ideology

karl marx, wage labour & capital

mao zedong, on contradiction

nikolai bukharin, anarchy and scientific communism

rosa luxemburg, reform or revolution?

v.i lenin, left-wing communism: an infantile disorder

v.i. lenin, the state & revolution

v.i. lenin, what is to be done?

IMPERIALISM

aijaz ahmed, iraq, afghanistan, and the imperialism of our time

albert memmi, the colonizer and the colonized

che guevara, on socialism and internationalism (ed. aijaz ahmad)

eduardo galeano, the open veins of latin america

edward said, orientalism

fernando cardoso, dependency and development in latin america

frantz fanon, black skin, white masks

frantz fanon, the wretched of the earth

greg grandin, empire's workshop

kwame nkrumah, neocolonialism, the last stage of imperialism

michael parenti, against empire

naomi klein, the shock doctrine

ruy mauro marini, the dialectics of dependency

v.i. lenin, imperialism: the highest stage of capitalism

vijay prashad, red star over the third world

vincent bevins, the jakarta method

walter rodney, how europe underdeveloped africa

william blum, killing hope

zak cope, divided world divided class

zak cope, the wealth of (some) nations

MEDIA & CULTURAL STUDIES

antonio gramsci, the prison notebooks

ed. mick gidley, representing others: white views of indigenous peoples

ed. stuart hall, representation: cultural representations and signifying pratices

gilles deleuze & felix guattari, capitalism & schizophrenia

jacques derrida, margins of philosophy

jacques derrida, speech and phenomena

michael parenti, inventing reality

michel foucault, disicipline and punish

michel foucault, the archeology of knowledge

natasha schull, addiction by design

nick snricek, platform capitalism

noam chomsky and edward herman, manufacturing consent

regis tove stella, imagining the other

richard sennett and jonathan cobb, the hidden injuries of class

safiya umoja noble, algoriths of oppression

stuart hall, cultural studies 1983: a theoretical history

theodor adorno and max horkheimer, the culture industry

walter benjamin, the work of art in the age of mechanical reproduction

OTHER

angela davis, women, race, and class

anna louise strong, cash and violence in laos and vietnam

anna louise strong, the soviets expected it

anna louise strong, when serfs stood up in tibet

carrie hamilton, sexual revolutions in cuba

chris chitty, sexual hegemony

christian fuchs, theorizing and analysing digital labor

eds. jules joanne gleeson and elle o'rourke, transgender marxism

elaine scarry, the body in pain

jules joanne gleeson, this infamous proposal

michael parenti, blackshirts & reds

paulo freire, pedagogy of the oppressed

peter drucker, warped: gay normality and queer anticapitalism

rosemary hennessy, profit and pleasure

sophie lewis, abolish the family

suzy kim, everyday life in the north korean revolution

walter rodney, the russian revolution: a view from the third world

[diejager]

for your cod monster au, you mentioned that graves was making jokes about turning you into a vampire. how did the guys react to that? im curious if graves did it more than once just to rile them up?

Pleasantries cw: mention of turning, mention of blood drinking, tell me if I missed any.

Graves likes to have fun, he loves putting himself first and the world next. He gorges like a wealthy king atop his throne, waving at men and women, coaxing them forward or backward to do what he wants, Graves is a person who does whatever he wants whenever he wants —or at least as much as he can until he gets into trouble.

He jokes on and on about turning you, of sinking his teeth into your soft skin. He can smell the sweetness in your veins, the healthy dose of iron and fat in your bloodstream that would satiate him much more than a homeless person eh picked up from the streets. Yours smelled good and he swears that it would taste as good as it smelled, honeyed and lightly spicy, something that would linger on his tongue pleasantly rather than the repulsive taste of rot.

He might joke about drinking you dry to rile them up, to watch them hold themselves back, heir eyes red and black with anger and disgust. He knows they can’t do anything about it unless they want him complaining and dropping the work, Shepherd would be mad about it. He had an upper-hand over them, the power of dictating whether the Shadows would help them capture Hassan or not with the drop of a hat if Graves didn’t like their characters.

They’re livid, faces red and scowling at Graves, something he relished in seeing, the self-restraint and control they had to wield. He could see the veins in Soap’s neck pop out, knowing that Soap might jump at him if you or the others weren’t there to hold him back. Ghost, ever as stoic and cold with anyone other than his direct squad, was an annoyance to Graves since he couldn’t seem to get to the man. Ghost stayed as cruel and demeaning as he was, spitting crude jabs at him or his Shadows, growling out orders or glaring at him as if he was an idiot. Gaz, as much as Graves would have liked, had little reaction to it, Gaz was naturally softhearted, gentle with you and handled you - moved you away - when Graves was around. Price had the same resilience and self-control as a wise and old dragon, patiently waiting for Graves or his Shadows to leave the room before growling out insults.

He might make the offer - threatened - to let his Shadows have a go at you, letting the hundred of thralls he had have a taste of your sweet blood, the blood from the only human near them. You were practically teasing them about it, neck uncovered and wearing t-shirt rather than long-sleeved ones around base.

Another part of him does it because, as mentioned before, you’re the only one with viable blood for him, not the mutt-tasting blood of a werewolf, the deathly rot of a wraith, the burn of a dragon or the shallow and tastelessness of a harpy. You were the only human on base that had an addictive smell, neither too strong like some women around the base, nor too light like the men who walked these halls. You had the right amount of sweetness and saltiness to you. Sweat and musk didn’t linger on you like they did with men, and flowery and fruity sugar didn’t cling to your skin like it did with the women who sprayed themselves with perfume.

Despite the burning glares Graves and his boys received from the Task Force, he found pleasure in being the source of their jealousy, their stupid possessiveness of a human he could easily turn into one of his to gift immortality and eternal beauty.

Taglist:@craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @ki-cant-spel @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @mul-pi @danielle143 @virginalsacrifice

[salamanderst]

Think I’m fuckin’ around? (C.S)

part one

Dealer!chris x black!reader

Warings: SMUTTTTT, smoking weed, high sex, p in v, degrading, dom!chris, unprotected sex (don't be silly, wrap your willy!), use of y/n (i tried to use it as little as possible), use of pet names (ma & baby) let me know if there is anything else!!

A/N: guys just because it says black!reader you can still read it regardless of your ethnicity, just remember the CHARTER is a black women, you are just reading her perspective. Also I’m so sorry if there are any spelling mistakes, English is not my first language 😔

also this is gonna be a part srs!!

5 minutes later after Chris texted me, i hear my door open. i forgot this man has a key.. "hey ma, where ya' at?" he said walking into my apartment. "couch." i shout back. he sits down beside me pulling out 2 joints from his backpack, "okay, you gotta listen this shit strong. like this ain't no pussy shit, k?" he said giving me a stern look.

"Chris i literally don't give a fuck, just give me my weed." i whine, reaching for the baggy. "you'll get your weed when you listen to what i say." he said, swiftly lifting his hand up that had the joints, up in the air. "okay. i heard you." i said sighing. "good." he said giving me a kiss on the cheek.

he passed me the joints as i leaned over and grabbed my money. "m'k Chris, how much i owe you?"

"you get em'for free if you let me smoke with you.." he said throwing his head back on the couch. "that's a pretty good deal, i might have to take that up.." i said with a smirk. he tilted his head at me his hands behind his head. "mmh, okay you can smoke with me." i smiled.

Chris wasn't lying when he said this shit strong, because holy shit i am high. and only off one joint, when it normally takes 2. "you feeling good ma?" Chris laughed watching me zone out at the show i put on. i threw my face in my hands muffling, "Chris when you said this is strong, i didn't think you meant this strong." i groaned. " you think i fuck around? ion sell pussy shit." he said taking another hit of the joint.

i giggled seeing him taking another hit. "whats so funny?" he said, smoke escaping his mouth. "just funny you always wanna stay over when i ask for weed..." what am i saying? "mmh really?" he said raising his eyebrows with sleepy eyes, coming closing to me. my breath hitched as he came closer to me. Chris always flirted with me, i never flirted back because i didn't want to start anything, i mean his weed is really good i cant risk that. but right now things felt different...?

"i- mean im not complaining..." i said felling his breath on me as he got closer. "didn't think you were ma..." Chris said whispering in my ear, making me feel hot in my chest. he started kissing down my neck, putting his left hand on my shoulder his joint in the other.

"this okay..?" he said, lifting his head to look at me. "yes." i said my eyes fluttering. Chris reached for the ash trey taking one last hit before he put out his joint. he moved both his hand to my neck as he kissed my jaw line, making his way to my lips. he made it to my lips giving me a small peck then ripping away, leaving me wanting more.

"c'mere.." he said softly leaning back on the couch, indicting me to crawl onto his lap. i sat up moving onto his lap, straddling him and placing my hands on his shoulders. he moved his hand to my waist, running his hands up and down slowly on my sides. he placed his lips on mine, i gasps into the kiss, he took that as an opportunity to slip his tongue into my mouth. i slowly started to rock my hips back and fourth, feeling him grow harder under me.

he slide his right hand down onto my thigh, slowly making his way up to my core. he grazed my heat with his knuckle through my sweats, making me gasp and pull away from the kiss. "this okay..?" he whispered leaning his head to the crook of my neck. "mhm.." i groaned nodding my head. he slide his hand down into my sweats, then going into my underwear. feeling his cold hand against me cupping my pussy making me lift up my body. he started rubbing circles around my core well pulling me back into a kiss.

i held onto his shoulder as i grinded on his hand, moaning into the kiss. he slipped his tongue in and out of my mouth, with each moan that left my lips. i could feel the smirk on his face. he pulled his hands out of my pants, and removed his lips from mine. "wha-" i started to speak, cut off by him lifting me off his lap. he stood up to remove his sweat. then pulling off mine, making me laugh, leaving us both in our underwear.

"m'k come back.." he said sitting down on the couch his arms open. i sat back down on his laps, his hands reconnecting with my waist. he pushed his lips on mine again, this time with more hunger. he lifted his hips up, telling me to rocking back and fourth, so i did. i whimpered into the kiss as i felt him getting harder and harder under me. he pulled away from the kiss again, then moving down to my neck to leave marks. "Chri-hugh i have places to be tomorrow.." i said my breath hitching as he held my hips, making them rock back and fourth faster.

Chris once again removed me from his lap making me sit beside him. "turn around.." he said, still sitting beside me, i turned around my knees on the cushion of then couch and my elbows right over the couch. he moved behind me removing his boxers, holy shit he was big. "you're okay with this ma..?" he said looking me in the eyes with a soft look. "y-es Chris." i said not wanting to wait any longer.

he slid my panties to the side. he pushed his tip on my folds, mixing our juices and using it as a substitute of lubricate. without warning he rammed his cock into me, making he moan loudly. he held onto my hips, going at a slow pace that was gradually becoming faster. "o-oh f-uck.. you ta-king my cock so-oo well ma.." he moaned, as his cocked slid in and out of me.

my jaw hung open moans consonantly leaving my mouth with every thrust. "oo-oh fuck Ch-ris you feel so good.." i moaned my eyes squeezed shut. "mmh.. yea? you like this dick.." he groaned leaning down to whisper in my ear. "you like when i fuck you like this.. huh?" he said his movements becoming faster.

"mmgh f-fuck y-yes." i groaned. skin slapping filled my apartment. "mmh so so good f'me baby.." he groaned lifting his body back up. he grabbed my hair making it into a pony tail. "mmhgh.. C-hris faster- pl-lease." i moaned feel myself becoming closer. no word just movement, Chris slammed into me making scream of pleasure. his thrust become faster and harder, my vision become fussy, as my eyes rolled to the back of my head. Chris was tugging on my hair making my head lift up as his moments become even faster. "g-gonna cu-m." i couldn't even say a proper sentence just simple words. "fucked yo-u s-so good can't even talk.." he groaned with each thrust. i cursed out with my moans, whimpering Chris's name every second.

i felt the not in mt stomach grow, my climax was so close. "ne-ed too c-cum.." i moaned. "cum baby." he whispered. his words made me reach the edge. my mouth hung open as i made a mess on his cock. soon after he quickly pulled out painting my shirt with his cum. "mhg f-fuck." he whimpered under his breath.

"sorry ma, i didn't mean to ruin your shirt.." he huffed out a laugh still out of breath. i giggled back my arms hung over the couch, trying to catch my breath. "c'mere lets go get cleaned up ma.."

heh... whyd i kinda eat... (proud)

[reyadawn]

Masked Desire - One Shot

*image not mine, credit goes to owner*

Summary: Reader is a live-in friend of Bad Omens who is in love with Noah Sebastian and best friends with Joakim Karlsson. Noah keeps reader in the friend zone while she watches him with other women. *Similar concept of "Love You More" but with varied differences...you'll see*

Side Note: Im not good at angst writing but Im not feeling the best today...struggling with self-image and self-esteem. Needed to let it out.

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x OFC, Jolly x OFC (platonic)

Warnings: Angst, language, eventual friends-to-lovers, eventual smut so dont read this if you're under 18.

Word Count: 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

Please, bare with me on this guys...

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Laughter echoed around the dimly lit livingroom of the two story beach house. A large black leather 'L' shaped sectional was filled with the members of Bad Omens as well as thier female counterparts. The glass coffee table was littered with various beer cans, pop cans, random bowls of party mix and a few laptops. The end tables housed speakers and the low sound of country music wafted through the air.

I leaned against the large archway that separated the livingroom from the large chef's kitchen, arms crossed in front of my chest as I took in the scene before me. Jolly, my best friend and partner in crime, had his legs stretched out in front of him with his feet propped up on the end of the coffee table and was absentmindedly strumming his guitar. Folio was next to him with a redhead in his lap wearing jeans so tight they look painted on. Every now and then she'd flip her long hair over shoulder and would hit Jolly across the side of his face.

Jolly threw the occasional dark look to Folio but didnt say anything and I chuckled. Nicholas was engrossed in a book about tattoo designs while being sanwiched between two girls. Both of them kept running thier hands over his legs but he barely even glanced at them. The last girl, a dark brunette with pigtails, was planted in the corner of the leather sectional on Noah's lap and was currently shoving her tongue down his throat, dark hair creating a temporary curtain to hide thier actions from view. Fucking tramps. They were all probably so loose that it was like throwing a hot dog down a hallway.

I turned away, stomach rolling and heart clenching. I would never be anything more to Noah than a friend. A confidant. Video game partner. I looked nothing like the girls he took home. I wasnt thin, at all. I wore no make up. No designer clothes, just tummy control leggings and loose shirts to hide my insecurities. I rarely dressed up unless the ocassion called for it. My long hair was either in a messy bun, ponytail or side braid. My self-esteem was ground zero, I just hid it well.

I busied myself with making a steaming cup of lavendar tea. I walked around the large island which was centered in the middle of the kitchen and frowned. Various bags of chips, popcorn and candy lay scattered along the surface with random glass bottles filled with amber colored liquid. I hated drinking but the way I felt had me considering adding a splash or two to my tea. I reached above me into one of the cabinets by the refridgerator in search of my favorite Halloween cup and noticed it got shoved so far back on the shelf I couldnt reach it.

I bit my lip in thought before hoisting myself onto the counter on my knees. Before I could do much more, a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around my waist, pulling me off the counter. I spun in anger towards my assailant and stopped, staring at Noah in shock and anger.

"What the fuck, Sebastian?", I all but growled. Noah threw his hands up in defense.

"Chill out, Angel. Was just trying to make sure you didn't get hurt. What were you doing, anyway?", he replied, moving to stand closer. I retreated a step back, earning me a frown of confusion across Noah's dark features. His shoulder length brown locks were touseled, full lips kiss swollen and clothes partly disheveled. Internally, my heart broke at the fact I wasnt the reason for the current state he was in. Externally, I rolled my eyes.

"I need my tea cup so I can go upstairs", I replied, pointing to the top shelf. Noah stepped closer to me, reaching over my head to pull the cup from the shelf. I was so tempted to wrap my arms around his 6'3 frame. I wanted and needed so many things from him that I wasnt allowed. He'd never look at me the way I wanted him to.

A light brush to my cheek snapped me from my train of though. I looked up at Noah as his fingertips grazed my cheek, pushing my hair behind my ear.

"Where did you go just now, Angel?", he asked softly, eyes roaming over me. I gently took the cup from him and turned to the stove to get hot water boiling in the copper kettle. "Nowhere", I mumbled.

"Why do you want to go upstairs? You always party with us. What's wrong?", he asked, moving closer once more. He tried moving a few lose strands of hair away from my face but I pulled away. The battle to keep my distance from him yet crave his touch was exhausting.

"Please, Noah...dont do this right now. I really need to be alone for a while", I said, reaching for the kttle as it whistled. I poured the steaming water in my cup, reaching for a teabag from the box sitting by the sugar jar.

"Why?", Noah pushed. I sighed in defeat before turning to him. I slowly raised my eyes to him. Choclate meeting chocolate and he reached his hand out, thumb wiping away a lone tear spilling down my cheek. Giving him a watery smile, I walked past him and through the opposite entrance towards the upstairs.

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Noah stood rooted to the spot, confusion and hurt swirling within him. What was going on with her? Why was she so sad? Did someone hurt her? Anger began to surface and Noah was ready to throw hands, figers gripping the counter tightly until his knuckles turned white.

Jolly entered the kitchen in search of a beer when he took in the sight of Noah before him and cocked his head to the side.

"Descided to come up for air?", he asked with a smirk. Noah turned to him with a scowl.

"I think someone hurt her...she was in here alone, crying and when I tried to comfort her she rejected me. That's really unlike her. I dont fucking get it, man", Noah replied, running a hand down his face.

Jolly rolled his eyes before pulling a beer from the refridgerator, popping the top to take a healthy drink.

"You're a fucking moron, Noah", he deadpanned.

"What the fuck, J? Where do you get the balls?", Noah snapped. Jolly tipped his head back and laughed.

"Dude, that girl has been in love with you for years. Practically throws herself at you and follows you around like a damn puppy. Anything you ask her to do, she does; books our flights, hotels, cleans this massive fucking house top to bottom, does all our laundry and makes sure to work the merch table at our shows when we play in town...for free, I might add. This goes way beyond her being just nice", Jolly explained, arms folded across his chest, beer can forgotten.

Noah stared at Jolly in shock before running his fingers through his hair, gripping the strands in irritation.

"Noah...do you know how hard it is for her to see you with other women? Like, tonight for instance. She watched you tongue fuck that chick on your lap and I thought she was going to break", Jolly added.

"How in God's name do you know all of this?", Noah asked, voice hardening in irritation. Jolly chuckled.

"I'm her best friend, you dunce. We share everything except a bed. It's not like that with her. She's like the sister I never had", Jolly explained. Noah sighed. "Look, if you don't feel the same way about her then you need to tell her so I can prepare myself to pick up the pieces of what will be left of her. If you do feel the same, you need to grow a pair and tell her. Either way, she deserves to know where you stand".

Jolly walked away, leaving Noah to his thoughts.

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I didn't hear the knock at my bedroom door. I barely registered Jolly's soft voice or the feeling of his arms around me as they lifted me from the bathroom floor to cradle me against his chest.

The sobs that escaped had me shaking and trembling. Jolly's grip tightened as he whispered softly in my ear, trying with everything he had to comfort me. Hot tears poured down my cheeks as my hands fisted the material of his shirt.

"Easy, sweetheart. I'm right here...I'm right here", Jolly said, pulling me fully into his lap.

I don't know how long I stayed in Jolly's lap but I suddenly woke up and I was in my bed, alone. My room was dark and I pulled myself into a sitting position before getting out of bed to meander downstairs. Raised voices had me pausing in the hallway to eavesdrop.

"Goddamnit, Jolly, why didn't you come and get me when you found her like that?!", Noah screamed.

"Dude, calm down before you pop a vein", Nick said. I slowly peered around the corner, looking down from the banister. Noah was in a standoff with Jolly in the livingroom while Nick, Nicholas and Matt were onlookers.

"If you gave half a fuck as much as I do, you would have gone after her but instead you bed that stupid whore from last night to hide the truth of it all!", Jolly fired back. You could have heard a pin drop as all eyes turned to Noah.

"Jolly, you're like a brother to me but right now I'm two seconds away from decking your ass. She's fucking everything to me, to this band. None of us would survive without her. We'd all fucking starve to death", Noah explained. My breath caught in my throat as fresh tears filled my vision.

"Go tell her you love her, you fucktard, but you better do some hefty begging though. She's liable to lay you out flat before she lets you fuck her", Matt said with a grin, popping a few M&M's in his mouth. Noah, Jolly, Nick and Nicholas all turned to him before laughter erupted. I had to admit, I loved the sound.

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I stood looking out my window, fresh from a shower, towel still wrapped around my frame. Dark blue sky, not a cloud in sight, sun shinning. Days like this normally made me happy but a dark cloud of confliction loomed over me from what I had witnessed downstairs.

I was so lost in my train of thought that I didn't hear anyone come into the bedroom. I sighed loudly as I heard the door close.

"Not now, Jolly. I'll come down soon", I said, still gazing out the window.

"Jolly has seen you in a towel but I don't get to?", Noah's deep voice rang out. I spun, clutching the towel to my breasts.

"What the holy fuck, Sebastian?! Do you know what knocking is?", I all but screamed.

"I did knock but you didn't answer. I got worried and let myself in so I could check on you", Noah replied, walking over to the bed to sit down. I rolled my eyes and proceeded to walk by him and retreat into the bathroom but his hand shot out and latch onto my wrist, stopping me.

Noah rose to full height, engulfing me in his size. He hooked a finger inside the knot at my chest, yanking me so hard against his chest the towel came loose and fell to the floor. I craned my head back to stare up at him in shock as he brought his head down to brush my lips with his. I parted my lips as he fully slanted his across mine, his arms encircling my waist to hold me close.

The kiss was so soft and gentle, that hot tears prickled beneath my closed eyes. I whimpered and grabbed his forearms, my legs trembling. Noah rained gentle kisses down my neck to my collarbone as his long fingers gently carressed between my thighs before giving them a gentle tap. I parted them just enough and his middle finger slid between my folds to soflty swipe across my clit.

"So soft...so wet", Noah murmered against my skin. I whimpered again, a small plea for him to give me more. "Use your words, Princess. Tell me what you want".

"Please...I need more...I need you", I whispered, gripping his forearm even tighter.

"Good girl. Come here", Noah said, pulling his fingers from me and pulled me after him to the bed. I suddenly became aware of my nakedness and tried to cover myself up with my arms. Noah looked down at me and chuckled.

"My fingers have been in your pussy and you're worried about how you look? Lay down for me, beautiful and spread those pretty thighs", Noah smiled reassuringly. I bit my lip nervously but did as he asked. I hated the way my body was even more laying down than when I was standing.

I felt the bed dip as Noah layed down, face inches from my dripping pussy and I had never felt more vulnerable, exposed or turned on in my life. Without bothering to ask for permission, Noah's tongue swiped through my folds to run light circles around my clit as he slowly pushed two long fingers inside me up to his knucles. I could almost feel him at my cervix because his fingers were so fucking long. I gasped as he slowly thrust his fingers in and out of me, circling my clit a few times before plunging his fingers back inside me.

I gripped Noah's hair as he suddenly wrapped his lips around my clit while curling his fingers into a 'come hither' motion to rub that spongey spot inside me and my hips shot upwards. Noah chuckled and placed his free hand over my lower stomach to hold me in place, picking up the pace of his fingers.

"Please, please...I'm gonna' come...please, more, faster", I begged, throwing my head back against the pillow.

"Please what, Angel?", Noah asked, raising his head to look up at me. His dark eyes glittered with his own arousal.

"Please, make me come", I all but begged.

"Please ...?", Noah trailed off.

"Noah! Please, Noah!", I cried, thighs shaking. He smiled and lowered his head again to take my clit back in his mouth and suck hard while fucking his curled fingers inside me at an almost painful pace. I screamed out as my release coated his fingers and his hand. Before I even had time to recover, he positioned himself between my thighs and thrust his cock inside me until he was fully seated, triggering another orgasm as I raked my nails down his shoulders and arms.

I couldnt even think straight enough to try and figure out how he got his shorts and boxers off. Noah's thrusts were slow, deep, powerful even as his cock slowly dragged from my body only to spear back inside me until I felt the head hit my cervix. Noah lowered himself to capture my cries with his lips as his hips snapped faster. My legs lifted to wrap my thighs around his waist even tighter, the act causing him to sink impossibly deeper.

Pulling myself from his lips, I tried to catch my breath. Noah brought a hand to my breast, swiping his thumb over my nipple.

"Noah, please...I can't...you'll destroy me...my heart--", I said harshly but Noah's lips cut me off before he pulled away to look down at me.

"Your heart is mine. Your body is mine. You. Are. Mine", he empasized, his hips jackhammering against my thighs, cock pistoning against my cervix. I was losing the battle against my body. I couldn't fight it. "Come for me, Angel...come all over my dick".

Noah's words were my undoing. The coil inside me snapped, my body feeling like it could snap as my muscles grew taught and I screamed. My release triggered his own as he closed his eyes, mouth open, releasing every boiling rope of cum inside me. He collapsed on top of me, chest heaving. I ran my fingers through his hair until he rolled to his back, taking me with him so I layed across his chest, my leg tangled between his.

"I love you, Angel...I'm so sorry for being so stupid for this long", Noah whispered, placing a kiss to the top of my head.

"It's ok, Noah...better late than never", I replied, kissing his chest. "I love you, too".

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Probably should have made this two parts but I couldnt stop writing 🤷‍♀️

Thanks for reading 💫💟

@livingdeceasedgirl @exitwoundsx @artificialbreezy @lma1986 @thefallennightmare @concreteangel92 @concreteemo @dsireland86 @darling-millicent-aubrey @flowery-mess @amourtoken @gretaswhore28

[bloodlust-1]

Might I make a request for subby Gortash? I want that man on his knees, begging.

-@thewildrover

To answer this, hell yes. Im here for it give me all that freaky mean shit. Let's get into iiitttt!!!

hope you like it @thewildrover !

On His Knees

Gortash x fem Tav — Explicit 18+

Summary: After waking up to find himself bound on his knees, Gortash realizes he is at the mercy of Tav's wrath. However, her anger quickly transforms into seduction as she manipulates him with her charms. Left with nothing but his desire to please her, Gortash is determined to make her his by any means necessary.

T/W: smut! Blood, abuse

Notes: This is a little raunchy so if that's what you're into then by all means ;p he’s subby for the first half

Gortash eyes fluttered open, and he groaned to the throbbing headache and aching joints. He was on his knees, hands and feet bound to a pillar in the center of a dimly lit room.

How the fuck did I get here?

Confused and disoriented, Gortash tried to recall how he got there. The last thing he remembered was the way the alcohol burned his throat at the tavern earlier that day. He must've blacked out.

footsteps echoed around him, and when the figure came closer, Gortash's heart skipped a beat. It was a woman, and a beautiful one at that. She had long dark hair, smooth curves, and a stern expression on her face.

Tav, stood over him, with her eyebrows furrowed. Interesting, he thought she sided with Orin.

"Why am I tied up like this?" Gortash demanded, trying to sound confident and unfazed.

"You are a despicable excuse for a human being, Gortash," Tav spat, her voice filled with disgust. "You have caused so much pain and suffering, and now it's time for you to pay for your crimes."

Gortash couldn't help but laugh at Tav's words. He had always been attracted to strong, powerful women, and Tav was no exception. Seeing her standing there, with her hands on her hips, only made him more excited.

"Is that so?" he teased, dripping with sarcasm. "And what punishment do you have in mind for me, my dear Tav? Are you going to beat me to a pulp?"

Tav rolled her eyes and shook her head. Gods he is such a fucking scoundrel.

"You think this is funny? You think it's amusing to mock me?" Tav snapped, her voice trembling with frustration.

Gortash's laugh died down and a grin tugged at his lips. He continued to ridicule Tav between chuckles. Gortash couldn't help himself. The more she scolded him, the more turned-on he became.

Tav walked towards Gortash, and gripped a handful of his hair, "I heard your plans to get rid of me. How dare you ever try to lay a hand on me and my friends," she said, her voice low and menacing.

Gortash's heart raced as Tav leaned in closer, her face just inches away from his. He could feel her breath on his skin, and it sent shivers down his spine.

Tav clenched her fists and threw a punch at his face, and she continued to mercilessly beat him. Blood streamed down his face, mixing with the sweat that dripped from his forehead.

Gortash could just groan as her fists connected to his face.

Gortash licked his lips and smiled up at Tav. There was a seductive glint in his eyes, a look that sent shivers down Tav's spine. Tav pulled back her raw bloodied fists as she studied his face.

Was he enjoying this?

And there it was, the bulge in his pants.

The frown, the passion in her voice, her eyes, and fuck why did this turn him on so much. Gortash didn't expect Tav to be so beautifully enraged.

Tav smirked, he was just another pathetic sex-driven man. Of course, he's attracted to her, and she decided to use it to her advantage.

"Perhaps I should teach you a lesson in a different way," she whispered, her lips dangerously close to his ear.

Gortash's heart skipped a beat as Tav's words sent a wave of desire through him. The bulge in his pants twitched in anticipation.

As Tav pulled away, Gortash grinned. He had always been a troublemaker, and it seemed like he had finally found someone who could bring up his cock.

"Do your worst, pussy," Gortash scoffed threw the slick of blood that streamed down his face. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Without warning, she lunged forward and pressed her lips against his, tasting the metallic tang of blood mixed with alcohol. Gortash responded eagerly, his hands straining against the ropes that bound him. The sudden ache between her thighs and the thrill of it all clouded her better judgment.

Tav pulled away from the kiss with a sharp gasp, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. She looked down at Gortash, his tired eyes pierced her own. Tav stepped back and circled around him, her hands running over the ropes that bound him.

"I saw your lingering look," Tav's voice echoed off the stone walls. "The longing in your eyes the day we met." Tav paused, her gaze fixed on Gortash's face. She could see the confusion and desire in his eyes as he struggled against the ropes.

His skin started to become raw from his constant tugging.

Tav then put her foot on his shoulder and pushed, forcing Gortash's back to press against the hard pillar. He winced in pain, but his eyes never left Tav's.

"I know you want me," Tav continued, her voice dripping with seduction. "But I also know that you're not the kind of man who gives in easily." She leaned in close, her lips brushing against his ear. "And that's what makes this oh-so painful for you."

Gortash's eyes widened in realization as Tav stepped back, a wicked smile playing on her lips. She began to slowly unbutton her shirt, revealing more and more of her smooth skin with each button. Gortash's eyes followed every move, his heart racing with frustration.

"Fuck, show me more..." He whispered threateningly under her watch. “I want to ruin you.”

"You see, Gortash," Tav said, her voice low and sultry. "I have a proposition for you." She leaned in close once again, her lips just inches away from his. "If you can escape from these ropes," Her finger trailed along the rope that bound him. "Then I'll give myself to you willingly."

He struggled against the ropes. Tav's words were like a challenge, and he was determined to prove himself worthy. But the constant pulling only damaged his skin more.

"Well isn't this just unfair circumstances for me. I respect that." Gortash huffed out in annoyance. No way could he unbound himself but how could he be mad at her? Dirty games were his forte.

Her shirt was just barely showing her bare chest.

"You're just begging me to fuck you." Gortash scoffed with hearts practically in his eyes. “Please just — fuck. Let me loose.”

Tav had already stepped back, a playful smile on her face. "Looks like you'll have to try harder," she teased, tossing a small pocket knife at his knees, "You'll manage to get yourself out of this mess." She finally turned to walk away.

"Tav?"

Her footsteps echoed away and Gortash kept calling out Tav's name even adding in a 'Please'. Which was something he never did.

Gortash could only watch in frustration as Tav disappeared into the darkness, leaving him tied up. But a smile spread across his face and he realized that this was just the beginning of this dangerous and thrilling game.

~

Tav was out and about in town on her own. She wanted to shop for new clothes until she felt someone's hand wrap around her mouth. She was pulled into an ally and the Steel Watchers conveniently guarded the entrance, blocking anyone in.

She struggled against her attacker, but his grip was too powerful.

To her surprise, it was Gortash, pinning her body against the ally's brick wall.

Gortash's arms wrapped tightly around her waist, holding her in place.

"You play quite the game, my dear," Gortash said, his breath hot against her neck. "And I finally have you now."

"Took you long enough, Lord Gortash." Tav mocked his name with a chuckle. Her heart raced under his hold but the excitement of challenging him was too fun.

Before she could say anything, Gortash's lips were on hers, kissing her roughly. His grip on her was strong and commanding. As he deepened the kiss, his hands roamed over Tav's body, sending shivers down her spine.

"You're mine now," Gortash growled against her lips. Tav's heart skipped a beat at his possessive words. She couldn't deny how sexy she found him in that low-cut shirt. His hands gripped her tits and ass.

Suddenly, Gortash's lips left hers and he moved down to her neck, kissing and biting her skin. Tav winced at the sharp pain, but couldn't deny moaning in pleasure. Fear and excitement coursed through her veins while Gortash continued to bruise her neck with his bites.

"You like that, don't you?" Gortash asked, his voice low and seductive. Tav could only nod in response, unable to form words as Gortash's lips and teeth continued to leave their mark on her.

Tav knew the consequences fucking Gortash but she couldn't escape his touch now. Not when she replayed their last encounter over In her head. It was so hard walking away from him that day and not fuck him.

Gortash was in Tav's head and she was in his.

Gortash reached down and unbuckled his belt, the sound of the metal clinking echoing in the ally. Tav's heart pounded in her chest and she watched him pull down his pants, revealing his thick, muscular thighs and large, erect cock.

Immediately Tav's face grew hot with intimidation by Gortash's size. Her mouth practically watered from the way it twitched every time he touched her.

Gortash turned to Tav and roughly grabbed her by the waist, pulling her closer to him. He tugged down her pants, exposing her bare skin in such a public place. Tav could feel her cheeks flush with embarrassment, but she wanted this as much as he did.

Without any warning or preparation, Gortash placed his tip on the entrance of Tav's core. He pushed himself into Tav, causing her to wince in pain. She could feel his girth stretching her, and she could barely contain a whimper.

"God, you're so tight," Gortash growled.

Gortash didn't care about Tav's discomfort. He grabbed her hips, pushed her back against the wall, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

With a firm grip, Gortash began to thrust into her with a force that made her head spin. Tav could feel the roughness of his skin against hers, and she moaned out as her arms wrapped around his neck.

Tav felt herself getting lost in his forceful pumps. Gortash's rough thrusts sent waves of pleasure through her body, and she surrendered to it.

"You're mine now, Tav. Mine to do whatever I want with." He snarled, his grip on her hips tightening.

"N-nghh, fuck - y-yes-" Tav hazily agreed, completely lost in the way he pumped in and out of her.

Fuck why was she even agreeing with him?

Gortash's movements became more and more forceful, and Tav could feel herself getting closer to the edge. Just as Tav let out a breathy yelp, his lips muffled over hers.

He snaked his tongue into her mouth and tasted every inch of her tongue in desperation. Their mouths harshly clashed with each other in a messy kiss.

Gortash groaned in pleasure, and she knew he was reaching his climax from the heat that exuded off his cock inside her.

With one final thrust, Gortash released himself inside of Tav, and she could feel the warmth of his seed filling her.

Tav collapsed onto his shoulders, breathing heavily as Gortash pulled out of her.

Tav held onto his body, exhausted and satisfied, and he slowly brought her down to her feet. His skin was dampened with their mixed sweat.

He leaned down and placed a rough kiss on Tav's forehead before whispering, "You are spared for now, but I expect you to come visit me at the palace."

Tav felt both terrified and excited for what was to come.

Any Thoughts? Comment 👇🏼 I love to engage!

I want him so bad.

[hotvintagepoll]

LAST POLL OF ROUND 5

Propaganda

Sophia Loren (Marriage Italian Style, Houseboat)—Major Italian star, first actress to win an Oscar for a performance not in English (for Two Women (1960)) and later when Roberto Benigni won an Oscar in 1999 he jumped over the chairs towards the stage going "Sophia Sophia!!" because he was running towards Sophia Loren and said he cared more about her than the Oscar, that's the effect she had on people. She was big in the 60s already even though she gained a lot more notoriety after that. And I mean. Can we take a moment and just.

Mbissine Thérèse Diop (Black Girl)—She’s a Senegalese actress known for starring in Black Girl, one of the first African films to receive international attention/acclaim. So much of the movie relies on her ability to convey her character’s sense of isolation/loneliness, she’s so amazing, I really wish she had acted more. However, she just recently appeared in the film Cuties!

This is round 5 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Sophia Loren:

She has maxed out all her stats: beauty, elegance, sensuality, she's got it all. her mesmerizing eyes, her sensual mouth, her sharp face shape, her everything is so striking and unlike any other beauty in films. she was also voted the world most beautiful woman when she was freaking 65

im submitting her in honor of my dad bc she was the first celebrity crush of his he ever admitted to me and my sister :) and he was right. shes so pretty

OSCAR WINNER. Worked with some of the hottest leading men in Hollywood but remained faithful to her husband whom she had a loving marriage with till he died (even though Cary Grant almost tempted her once, it's complicated)

One of the most well-known sex symbols of the Golden Age of Hollywood, and unlike some unfortunate others, she seems to have been pretty well at peace with occupying that status. She made assertiveness and a tempestuous temper seem glamorous, and although she's famous for side-eying Jayne Manisfield's cleavage, honestly? She's one to talk.

Absolutely, drop-dead sexy, also a hard working, extraordinarily talented actress who didn't shy away from the less glamorous roles to gift us some gritty, memorable performances

Submitting this on behalf of my dad, who knows nothing of tumblr or this blog, but I remember being a kid watching Houseboat while my mom thirsted after Cary Grant, dad thirsted after Sophia Loren, and I was excited that they lived on a boat. Anyway, she's extremely beautiful and was an international star, doing a ton of movies in Italy before being recognized in the US.

JUST LOOK AT HER Y'ALL

Very smart and beautiful, the characters that she played (I mean those in the movies that I put in the previous question) are as strong and determined as her which I think adds to her hotness.

Global superstar and my late grandfather's long time movie star crush and for a man as quiet as he was, and as hopelessly devoted to his wife as he was, the fact that I know that means she was EXCEPTIONAL.

Big in the chest, snatched in the waist, pretty in the face 😳

Sexy, beautiful, deep. A real star.

Her performance in "Man of La Mancha" is just so very captivating. Dubbed as "the Italian Marilyn Monroe", she looks beautiful in any movie and at any age.

Forget the exotic sexpot of her Hollywood films and go back to her Italian career: sparking with Marcello Mastroianni as the woman who drives him mad and outwits all his fumbling attempts at macho posturing in their early films, and showing a tender side in their 1970s films. Sophia isn’t self-conscious about who she is or her beautiful body: she enjoys being herself and she wants us all to enjoy ourselves too.

She starred in films as a sexually emancipated persona and was one of the best known sex symbols of the time. She is a great cook and her filmography is immense.

On the misattributed quote that Sophia owed everything to spaghetti: 'Did you actually say the quote frequently attributed to you, "Everything you see I owe to spaghetti"?' "Non è vero! It's not true! It's such a silly thing. I owe it to spaghetti, no, no. Completely made up."

Mbissine Thérèse Diop:

[moncharrow]

water polo player! abby

a/n: hey!! i know i said id be posting for ellie first but this thought hasn't left me for a month. i love the though of this oh my god i am feral. thanks for reading! rb or comment to support a lil fic author :) also i'm gonna be referring to water polo as a super gay sport and that's because it is xoxo i mean high contact with buff women. like.

-content/warnings: 1.4k, mentions of contact sport violence, smut scenes (strap, riding abby, nickname 'beautiful', semipublic sex in a locker room, fingering, oral (both receiving), gn reader but has a pussy, mentions of roughhousing in water/ drowning (not really drowning but yk)

men dni.

water polo is one of the most intense sports- it's high contact, rough, with a high probability of being punched, getting a black eye, etc

but when you're as buff as ms abby anderson here, it's not as big of a deal

there aren't really many set positions in wp, but the most important one is center- placed front-and-center of the goal, they're the person everyone looks to to get a good shot

center has to be dependable, strong, and fast

abby is perfect! her drive is amazing (ahem ahem) and she's constantly swimming like crazy to get into position so her team can rely on her

she started in high school, learning the ropes and getting to know the sport

got crazy good, and was definitely a very proud varsity athlete. she knows she's good, so why shouldn't she flaunt a bit?

im gonna be honest she absolutely wore her varsity jacket for way too long during freshman year in college

she joined her collegiate team (possibly on a small grant/scholarship) and met the most amazing team

it's hard to be queer in sports a lot of the time, but her entire team is queer/allied!! she has a space to be herself which she really appreciates

she blossoms on that team

every girl at her college absolutely drops their panties for her im not even kidding. its not even that fun to her because she just wants someone to love, not just a hookup

((that doesn't mean she rejects them all though))

the pretty center draws crowds to the natatorium

and that includes you, of course

you're a friend of the goalie and you're not all that into sports, but once you hear that the hot girl you've been thirsting over in org. chem is there?? it's all over, goodBYE

you are seated right in the action, front row of the bleachers, cheering in school colors, pretty eyes glimmering in the bright sun, sweat drops dripping down the front of your shirt

abby is fully focused on her game but when she's benched she gets a liiiiiittle distracted ngl

like i said though, she's mostly game face

but after a win? she feels like she's never lost. she's pure confidence and she decides to keep the streak going and see if she can successfully get your number

it's slightly awkward because when abby gets closer she sees that wow you are so much more attractive than she first thought when she had chlorine water in her eyes

so she just doesn't ask you out lolol she bails and bugs the goalie about you for the week leading up to the game, asking who you are, if you're coming next time, if you like this or that

her hands are so large and strong from gripping that ball... just imagine what they could be used for !

her thighs are absolutely massive- she has to stay above the water somehow, and the kicking she has to do has sculpted her into a thunder-thigh goddess

eating her out is insane because she fucking clamps down on your head with her thighs LMAO

broad shoulders that you can hold while riding her

strong shoulders that you grip and squeeze onto for dear life every night before a game as she plows into you for "good luck"

-the room is filled with the rhythmic slapping of her skin against your thighs as she grips your hips and bucks up into you.

"taking it so well for me, huh? my little good luck charm..." and you can't say anything. you just whine as you feel every muscle in her body working overtime to treat you just right

the veins in her forearms throb and pop out as she bounces you up and down, touching and squeezing and groping everywhere she can. she looks up at you cheekily, biting her lips and grinning. "there we go, beautiful, look 't you go"

"i'll be sore tomorrow" she says. it isn't a complaint. she says it's her favorite workout

yeah she says she's done but she's also finger fucking you in the locker room during half-time

-"sorry coach, i'll be quick, i promise!" abby lifts herself out of the pool with pure upper body strength, muscles tensing and water dripping off her like some kind of lesbian wet dream. when she promises haste, she means you'll be quick, because you know the drill. you're already amongst the rows of lockers as abby pushes you against them, sliding past your underwear and shoving her fingers in. her thumb is on your clit, middle and ring fingers finding your g-spot immediately and going at it relentlessly. "think you can do 5 minutes for me, beautiful?

-you can because she won't accept anything else. you're cumming all over her fingers, groaning at the overstimulation as she fucks you through it. when you're done, she pulls out, inserting her fingers into her mouth and cleaning them. you shoot her a playful dirty look as she jogs back out the locker room door

-"thanks for the pep talk, babe!" girl.

she wins every game and says it's because of you

it's sweet, but she's just that good of an athlete

but if you met her because you play too? oh get ready for a whole 'nother world

you're her defense during practice, in the trenches with her and jumping over her shoulders to make sure she doesn't get the ball

but she'll do petty shit to fluster you, like turning and kissing your shoulder and holding your hand in the middle of wrestling for position like ???

-"anderson!" the team captain reprimands. she gives a cheeky smile and puts her game face back on, pinching your thigh underwater where nobody can see

water polo players' love language is straight up drowning people. like the coach yells for everyone to meet him in the corner of the pool and instead she's fucking barrelling toward you, wanting to pull you under

when you're waiting to practice throwing the ball into the goal, she'll slide under the surface and tug at your ankles to pull you

when you come back up, she's giggling like a child and acting like it was another teammate

-"abby, i know it was you, you idiot!" you say, grinning

despite not really having jerseys like in other sports, abby will have you wear her team merch with logos

you wear last year's team shirt to bed, her flannel pants to class, her two-piece tops when you go to the beach with her

you go crazy for her when she's in her polo suit. they're tight so that players can't get grabbed, but it's tight in all the right places

it showcases abby's broad shoulders and slutty waist, curving around her chest and tastefully contouring her back muscles

thank god for this sport, you think

she always complains about how the suit rides up her butt, giving her a slight wedgie, but it gives you perfect access to her tight ass

smacksmacksmack

-"can you hold off for one minute, babe?"

-"no."

it's like there's no person attached to that ass. and she's just as obsessed with yours dw! she uses those big hands to grasp your entire cheek and land a harsh slap! on there that makes you jump. she just smiles n laughs

water polo! abby who takes you out to dinner after games and ends up stealing your food because "ohmygodbabeimsohungryyoudontevenunderstand"

it's like she's never eaten

speaking of eating... (im sorry)

she will throw your legs open when she eats you out. if you try to shut them she'll use the full force of her forearms to pin your thighs down and dig her face deeper in your pussy, sucking and licking like a woman starved

who wrote that. i didn't. anyways..

you put her hair up in a fishtail braid for her !! then she'll ask you to put her swim cap on and give you a cute smile when you screw it up

-"i fucked it up! sorry!"

-"babe it looks great" while she's tucking all her shorter hairs into the bottom of it

if her team is winning by a lot, she'll mess around a bit and point at you after she scores a goal, and you roll your eyes and your face feels hot because she's so ridiculous

but you do feel a lil special.

anyways water polo abby mi amor :3333 take me in the locker room

[lcthebtswriter]

Bucky Barnes x tall (like as tall as him) and insecure reader? He shows her how beautiful she is?

pairing: bucky barnes x female!reader

summary: bucky consoles his tall, insecure girlfriend

warnings: insecurity

word count: 546

tags: send an ask to be tagged in future fics for specific characters. you get first priority when making requests.

divider: @roseraris

Bucky is a man of few words.

He always performed well under pressure in a variety of environments, but navigating his relationship with you always presented a challenge.

Your height is an ever-present issue in your relationship, not because Bucky has a problem with it, but because of your own insecurities. You notice every stare when you are in public, every lingering gaze a constant reminder of how you stick out like a sore thumb. It follows you home, too, when you’re watching movies of dainty little women and their big, broad lovers. It’s even worse when you have to attend a gala sponsoring Bucky or honoring his heroism.

You spent every day off work trying on dresses and looking at makeup styles on Pinterest. You fixed your hair into every direction until settling on a look that made you feel confident. It isn't until you reach the finality of your look that makes you pause. Every pair of high heels makes you stand over six feet tall, and you are debating whether to wear flats if every pair didn’t make you look odd. Your dress is too elegant for flats, and now Bucky is watching you sit in your closet and negotiate with yourself.

“The pink wouldn’t match but maybe the black?” You mutter to yourself, glancing up at the emerald green dress hanging by its hook on the door frame. Shaking your head, you toss both pairs of shoes to the side and huff at all of your high heels.

Wearing them would mean you would stand out too much - literally. You were a few inches taller than Bucky in heels and the thought of people’s reactions makes your stomach churn.

Bucky scoots off the bed, mouth turned down into a frown as he watches you struggle. “Would the black flats be too awkward?” You ask him, eyebrows knitting together with stress.

Bucky’s voice is steady as he speaks. “Baby,” he says, “only you care what’s on your feet."

You huff, clutching your knees to your chest as your high heels mock you in the corner of the closet. “No, this is important. If my shoes are too high then I’ll take up too much space. Then this event will be all about me instead of you,” you argue.

Bucky joins you on the floor, wedging himself between you and the clothes that dangle over his shoulders. “Taking up space isn’t a bad thing, you know,” he says. Bucky’s hand finds yours, his fingers playing with yours in a way that calms your nerves. “If anyone is looking at you, it’s because you’re worth looking at. You’re sexy, baby. Your height changes nothing,” he continues.

The sincerity on Bucky’s face makes your heart flutter and your cheeks warm. Nevertheless, your self-judgement prevails once again. “But I’m too big,” you sigh. You feel tears prick at your eyes, and you avert your gaze to avoid Bucky’s.

“You’ve always been confident, even in times where you think you shouldn’t be. How you carry yourself is one of the reasons I fell in love with you,” Bucky replies. He tilts his head, bringing your knuckles to his lips to press a gentle kiss to them. “Wear the black heels. They make your calves look strong,” he suggests.

You smile softly, sparing a glimpse at the velvet black heels that would pair well with your dress. “Okay,” you huff.

Bucky’s grip on your hand tightens. “Besides,” he says, “I love your legs, especially when they’re over my shoulders.” His coy grin causes you to blush, and you shove his hand away from you with a giggle.

tags: @just-that-trashy, @kpopchangedmylifesstuff, @pensysto-writes, @groovyfluxie, @line-viper, @alien-on-a-treadmill, @statsvitenskap, @aliciabg27, @brianaraydean (hey best friend), @im-that-trash-over-there, @readingemma, @caswinchester2000, @wafflebrian

[hermajestyimher]

How do I stop letting depression/anxiety control me and how I view myself? I’ve gotten better, but I just feel like my appearance has so much control over me. I am black, but I’ve just been so insecure of my nose and it being on the bigger side, especially compared to other black women (this isn’t to out them down or anything! I think they are absolutely beautiful people and I love them :D). I just feel like I’ve been dealt such a bad hand in life by being unattractive and that all my hardships especially with my relationship with others (romantic and platonic) just stem from me being/feeling unattractive and being a naturally awkward person doesn’t help. I constantly day dream about being a woman like Anok Yai or even someone with the sort of energy as Mia goth. I don’t want this to turn into some pity post, but I want to be able to be beautiful while also replacing this awkward personality of mines. This feels super childish and all over the place, but I just feel a little lost with myself and who I am.

So TLDR is: How do I become/start feeling attractive and become a more confident and charismatic person? Thank you and Im so sorry for the messiness of this post!

Hi my love, it sounds like you need to do a lot of self-concept work to change your internal dialogue and improve how you see yourself. It's essential to build a strong foundation of self-worth and confidence that isn't easily shaken by external influences. Here are some practical steps you can take to begin this transformative process:

1. Eliminate All Forms of Negative Stimuli

One of the first steps in enhancing your self-concept is eliminating the stimuli that contribute to self-doubt. This involves a thorough examination of what you consume daily, whether it’s media, people, or experiences. Start by unfollowing individuals and accounts on social media that make you feel inadequate or pressured to conform to unrealistic standards. Pay attention to how certain songs or films make you feel; if they perpetuate feelings of self-doubt or insecurity, consider removing them from your playlist.

It's crucial to be mindful of what you're feeding your mind. Often, we internalize negative messages without realizing it. These can come from people who appear close to us or through entertainment that subtly promotes insecurity. Perform a detailed assessment of who you’re listening to and determine if their influence is healthy. If not, create distance, whether that means unfollowing them online or spending less time with them in person. Surround yourself with people and content that uplift and inspire you rather than bring you down.

Pro Tip: Make a list of accounts, shows, and songs you consume regularly, and categorize them into “Positive,” “Neutral,” and “Negative.” Actively replace those in the “Negative” category with something positive.

2. Surround Yourself with Positive and Aspirational Content

After you've cleared out negative influences, it's time to replace them with content that uplifts and inspires you. Look for media and role models that align with your aspirations. This could mean following influencers who promote body positivity, self-love, or healthy lifestyles. Find women who embody the qualities you admire and whose lifestyles you aspire to emulate.

Comparison, when used wisely, can motivate us to strive for more. Instead of comparing yourself to others out of insecurity, use it as a tool for growth. Observe the habits, routines, and mindsets of those you admire, and learn from them. Incorporate their positive traits into your life in a way that feels authentic to you.

Additionally, consider expanding your social circle by engaging in environments where aspirational people frequent, such as networking events, workshops, or fitness classes. Being around people who have achieved what you’re aiming for can provide real-life inspiration and show you that your goals are attainable.

Pro Tip: Create a vision board or digital collage of people and things that inspire you. Include images, quotes, and achievements you aspire to. This visual reminder can be a powerful motivator.

3. Reprogram Your Mind with Positive Affirmations

Changing your internal dialogue is critical for improving your self-concept. One effective method is using subliminals and affirmations, which can help rewire your brain with positive messages. These techniques work by bypassing the conscious mind and directly influencing the subconscious, gradually replacing negative beliefs with empowering ones.

Find subliminal audios or affirmation tracks that resonate with you and your goals. For instance, if you're working on self-confidence, look for recordings that focus on self-assurance and self-love. I recommend listening to this one for about 30 minutes daily, ideally in the morning when you wake up or right before bedtime when your subconscious is most receptive. You can find a variety of these resources online, just be careful to read the comments before listening to ensure the affirmations are safe and vetted by others.

As you integrate these practices, remember that consistency is key. Regular exposure to positive affirmations will slowly build a new mindset, one that's more aligned with your true worth and potential. You can also use affirmations to help change your physical appearance as well.

Pro Tip: Write down a set of personal affirmations that resonate with you. Repeat them to yourself every morning and evening as a daily ritual. This practice will reinforce positive beliefs about yourself and your abilities.

4. Improve Your Physical Health

Taking care of your physical well-being is a vital aspect of boosting self-concept. Exercise regularly, not just for physical benefits but also for the mental and emotional gains that come with it. Engaging in physical activity releases endorphins, reduces stress, and builds self-discipline, all of which contribute to a stronger sense of self-worth.

Create a balanced workout routine that you enjoy and can stick to consistently. Whether it’s yoga, running, weightlifting, or dance, find what resonates with you and keeps you motivated. Pair this with a nutritious diet that fuels your body and mind, helping you feel energized and confident.

Remember, discipline in maintaining a healthy lifestyle not only improves your physical appearance but also enhances your mental resilience and self-discipline. These are foundational qualities that contribute to a greater sense of life satisfaction and fulfillment.

Pro Tip: Set realistic fitness goals and track your progress. Celebrate small victories along the way to stay motivated and recognize how far you’ve come.

5. Cultivate Self-Acceptance and Reject Self-Pity

Finally, the ultimate goal is to cultivate a mindset of self-acceptance and reject any form of self-pity. Pity is a toxic emotion that disempowers you and feeds into a cycle of negativity. Recognize that your worth is intrinsic and not solely dependent on external validation or appearance.

Understand that you have the power to transform your life through consistent effort and self-belief. Your value is not determined by how you look or by the opinions of others, but by your inherent qualities and the actions you take to improve yourself. Embrace the fact that you are wonderfully made, unique, and deserving of love and success.

Pro Tip: Practice gratitude daily by acknowledging your strengths and achievements. Keep a journal where you write down three things you are grateful for each day. This practice will shift your focus from self-criticism to self-appreciation.

Remember that the journey to a positive self-concept is ongoing and requires patience and commitment. As you embark on this path, know that you are not alone and that every step you take towards self-improvement brings you closer to becoming the best version of yourself. Keep your head up, stay true to your values, and be proud of the person you are becoming.

You are not lesser than anybody else; you are wonderfully made, and you should be glad to be who you are.

[afro-hispwriter]

My Little Ocean(Aemond Targaryen)

Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen/Velaryon!reader

Summary- you and Aemond just wanted to meet your daughter

Warnings- angsttt, death of a child(stillborn), attempted murder, witchery

*Sequel to 'Lovers' but can be read as a standalone*

W.C- 5.1k 

Aemond Targaryen Masterlist

-

The Blacks won of course, with Vhagar, Caraxes, and Meleys on their side, the Greens didn't stand a chance. Rhaenerya took the throne and was crowned queen. Jace ended up marrying Heleana while Lucerys  married Beala, Rheana is living with her grandparents, and Joffery still resides alongside Rhaenerya. DragonStone was given to you as a gift by your parents, and you and Aemond married. Rhaenerya also gifted you servants, cooks, guards and a dragon keeper. 

It had now been four years since the end of the war. You and Aemond have had two sons in that little time. Rhaegar and Viserys, and now you were with a third.

"This one is going to be a girl, im sure of it!" Exclaimed Aemond and as he ran his hand along your belly for the hundredth time as you walked though the courtyard if KingsLanding

"I know Aemond you've told me a thousand times." You giggle and slapped his hand away. You felt a brush of air past by you and your two little boys ran past you. 

"Careful with your mother!" Scolded Aemond and they stopped in there tracks. 

"Sorry father." Says Rhaegar and looks down. 

"Its okay, go find your cousins." You say and nudge Aemond and he just rolls his eye. They run off and you continue walking.

"Y/n!" You turn around to see your mother running down steps towards you. You left Aemonds aside to run and hug your mother. "How are you child?" 

"Im good, we all are." You reached your hand out behind you for Aemond. He grabbed your hand and you pulled him in tightly.

"Sister." He says and nods.

"Brother." She says, they still weren't exactly civil with each other but for your sake they were. "Where's Rhaegar and Viserys?" 

"Went to find their cousins." Says Aemond and wraps an arm around your waist. Daemon approached behind his wife and smiled at you.

"Hows the little one?" He asks and flicks his finger towards your belly. 

"She's okay, kicking strong." 

"She?" They both say.

"Aemond is sure that our babe is a girl." You place your hand on his chest. 

"Sure? I know she will be." He kisses your head and you close your eyes. Rhaenerya and Daemon look at each other with a knowing look.

"Come, we'll show you where you will be staying, let you settle in before dinner." Daemon says and opens his hand to the castle. You started walking and Aemond immediately set a hand on your back and grabbed your hand. 

"Aemond I can walk by myself."

"You're almost due to have our little girl, I need to be by you just in case." 

"3 months is too early." You say and push him off playfully. Him being so overprotective was cute and you were great full but sometimes it just gets unbearable. Once you settled into your room Aemond was dragged away from Daemon because he changed a lot of defenses and needed to show them to him im case of an emergency. Your mother had to leave and finish her queenly duties but informed you your half siblings who resided on Driftmark would be arriving soon. 

You sat on the balcony looking over the kingdom, it looked so much more alive. A servant walked in with a tray full of little snacks, a pitcher of wine, water, and tea.

"Princess, the Queen has sent me down here to check on you." She says and you turn around to face her. She looked familiar, she was an older women, maybe around your mother age maybe even older and had brown, almost black hair and green eyes. "Would you like anything?"

"Some tea would be fine." You say and feel a kick making you instinctively place a hand on your belly. 

"What do you hope for the babe to be?" Asks the servant as she grabs a goblet.

"My husband wishes for a girl this time, says he'll be the happiest man in this world, happier than he already is." 

"Hmm, thats so sweet of him." She says lowly and you miss the hint of frustration in her voice. She hands you the tea and you thank her with a smile. "Will that be all?" 

"Yes thank you." She starts to pick up the tray but you stop her. "No leave the tray just encase I want more." She nods and sets the tray back down and leaves. When the sun started setting isn't until Aemond returned. 

"How was your day?" He asks and sets his sword down. 

"Peaceful." You say and stand up from your chair. He placed his hand on your belly gently and waited to feel a kick but there was nothing making him frown. "She must be asleep." 

"Hmm, maybe." He says and kisses your head. You winced slightly and let out a deep breath making Aemond look at you in concern. "Whats wrong!?"

"Nothing, I've just been feeling sore all over for the last few hours and theres a pain in my lower belly but im sure everything's fine." You try and reassure him but you could see his worry.

"A massage maybe?" He suggests and tries to move behind you and place his hands on your shoulders. 

"As much as I love your massages, dinner must almost be ready." You say and turn around and run a hand down his arm. He smiles at you and leans down to kiss you softly before placing his forehead on yours.

"I love you." He says and pulls back and holds his arm put for you to take. You slid you arm in his and he slowly led you away.

-

Everyone was at dinner, best one yet. It had been so long since you've all been together, civil at least. Everyone laughed, talked, mostly catching up. Aemond was trying to pay attention to something else but what you said earlier about the pain and soreness was bothering him. 

"Are you sure you're okay?" He asks you and you couldn't smile, the pain got worse. You groaned loudly and gripped the table. "Love?" 

"It hurts." Everyones eyes were on you now. 

"Whats wrong?" Rhaenerya gets out if her chair and rushed to your side.

"It feels like im in labor but its worse." Rhaenerya and Aemond gave each other a worried look.

"Mother?" Rhaegar asked from across the table, he did not like seeing you in pain. 

"Lets get her to the maester. Now!" Says Rhaenerya and Aemond nods. Daemon rushed over and put an arm under your and Aemond did the same, they hoisted you up to your feet and you cried out in pain. 

"Somethings wrong!" You cried and Aemond placed his arms under your legs and picked you up bridle style.

"Mommy." Cried Viserys and tried to run to you but Rhaenerya held him back. 

"Ill get the maester, you get her to the room!" Said Daemon and he ran into the hall. Aemond walked as fast as he could with you in his arms with your siblings in tow, Jace followed closed behind and when he made it to the room he opened the door for Aemond. He placed you gently on the bed and Baela fluffed up pillows to place under you. 

"Aemond im scared." You grab his hand in a deathly grip. He got down on his knees beside the bed and gently grabbed your loc twists and twists them up into a bun just like you showed him.

"I know, I know everything's going to be fine." He tries and reassures you but deep down you knew it wasn't. The maester came in followed by your mother and Daemon.

"My sons?" You ask and Rhaenerya smiles.

"With our most trusted caretakers, now don't worry about them right now, think about this baby." She says and you nod before your face twists like your about to cry.

"I wish father were here, I miss him." You say and Aemond kisses your forehead. "Can someone send for him?" The maester settled in and checked you.

"Of course." Said Daemon and he walked out. 

"There is... a lot of blood princess." Says the maester and you gasp making more tears run down your face. 

"What does that mean?" Asked Aemond and everyone waited his answer. 

"It means you have either miscarried or something has happened to the babe."  You stifled a sob and Aemond tightened his jaw.

"What do we-." He had to stop and compose himself. "What do we do now?" 

"Im going to give her something to... induce the labor." He says and Aemond immediately stands up, angry.

"No, its to early there has to be another way." He says and slowly everyone starts clearing out, leaving Rhaenerya to take Aemonds place.

"With all due respect, my prince, if the babe doesn't come out soon you will be risk loosing both of them!" Whisper yelled the maester to Aemond, he looked back at you. You were in pain, you were suffering. What he wouldn't give to take it all away from you. And he could, he just needed to talk to you first.

"My love." He said and dropped back to his knees. Rhaenerya moved away to let you talk. "He want to induce your labor, because if he doesn't, both of you will die." You slowly took in the information, processing it. You almost screamed in pain before nodding.

"Do it." You say and squeeze your eyes shut. Aemond bit his lip and held back a cry but he just held your hand up to his mouth. 

"My prince you should leave." Says the maester as his helpers started coming into the room. 

"No im not leaving her." He said and settled in beside you on the bed. 

"Very well, I will prepare my materials now." The maester immediately got to work, he was done with the remedy in minutes. He held the cup up to your lips and you drank it. "Your going to feel a lot of pressure in your lower regions in these next few minutes." You nodded and flopped your head back on the pillow.

"You look beautiful." Said Aemond and he kissed your exposed shoulder. 

"I don't feel like it." You say. "I feel sweaty and gross." You groan as the pressure started coming. "I feel the pressure." You say and the room got crazy, the helpers propped your legs up on pillows and they asked Aemond and Rhaenerya to just keep you calm.  

"Ready to push princess?" Asked the maester and you nodded. You started pushing, hard, your entire body was hurting. "I see the head." You saw a flash of worry on the maseters face but you didn't question it. You pushed again and that went you felt the baby slip out of you. You immediately sat up and looked at Aemond just to see him without his eyepatch, showing off his emerald.

"Are they healthy?" You asked but the maester looked at you and immediately turned away quickly before you could catch a glimpse. There was no cry. "I don't hear any crying?" You watched the helpers gasp and hold their hands up to their faces. 

"Maester?" Asked Rhaenerya and she walked up to everyone. 

"Its a girl." He announces but that doesn't give you and Aemond relief. 

"Shes not crying." Says Aemond and he couldn't help the teats coming down his face. "Why can't we see her?" 

"That is not wise my prince." He suggests and thats when you see the helpers wrapping up your baby.

"No." You said and started shaking you head.

"She has deformities, like a dragon." Rhaenerya gasps, remembering of her little Visenya. 

"NO!" You cried out and turned your face into the pillow to scream. Aemond had so many emotions running through his body. He kissed your shoulder and let tears run down his eye. Rhaenerya sat in a chair on the other side of you and tried to sooth you

"I need to check the princess." The maester. "I will need the room." Aemond shook his head and held onto you tighter. 

"Do you expect me to leave my wife after what she just went through." He tried to be angry but he just sounded broken. Rhaenerya stood up but not before kissing you on the forehead. She walked outside to see the family waiting.

"Well?" Asked Jace and Rhaenerya paused before shaking her head.

"Stillborn with dragon like deformities." Daemon looked up and looked at his wife. 

"Oh." Said Baela and she sighed. 

"I sent a raven to Laenor, hopefully he gets it and he'll be here." Said Daemon and he wraps his arms around his wife. 

"What can we do?" Asked Luke.

"Support her." Said Heleana and everyone nodded. 

-

"Maester?" You call out and Aemond lifts his head. "Was it something I did to have made this happen?" 

"No princess its not, there are many reasons, the Targaryen genes, flora, witchery." 

"Witchery?" Asked Aemond.

"Yes, when your mother had Visenya it was said it was caused by witchery." He said and turned around to clean the rest of his stuff. Then he stops and reaches over to the tray. "Princess where did you get this plant?" He shows you the root of a plant.

"A servant brought it in earlier today." You say with bo emotion whats so ever. 

"This is Dong Quai, extremely dangerous to pregnant women." He says and rushes to the door. "Queen Rhaenerya, I need you." Your mother rushed into the room with Daemon in tow.

"Whats wrong?" She look at you in concern.

"I think a servant poisoned the princess which caused all this." He says and Rhaeneryas face hardens. Aemond tightened his jaw and moved away from you to his feet. He grabbed his sword and was about to leave when Daemon placed a hand on his nephew's chest.

"Not now, soon." Aemond gave him a hardened stare before dropping his sword again.

"Describe this servant." 

"She had dark hair, green eyes, and she was older, maybe around your age mother." You say, your eyes starting to feel heavy. But you did notice Aemond tense up immediately but your strength was deteriorating. 

Aemond closed his eye and tightened his jaw. It couldn't be right? He threatened her that if she ever came near Y/n or him or even set foot on the land they were on, he'd have her head and feed her to Vhagar. Alys Rivers cursed his child and almost killed his wife. He turned around to see you eyes closed and he almost feared the worst until he saw your chest rising. He walked to the bed and grabbed a blanket to pull over your body, then grabbed his sword and snapped on his eyepatch.

"Tell her I'll be on DragonStone." He says and takes his leave.

"Brother, you cannot leave your wife." Says Rhaenerya and grabs his arm roughly. Aemond rips his arm away.

"I know who did this, but I just need a minute." He beelined for the door before anyone could say anything. 

-

When you woke the sun was shining brightly into your room. You slowly sat up and slowly you remembered what happened. You swallowed down s cry but it hurt, then you felt a cup up to your lips. You looked to the side to see Jace smiling at you with sympathy. You take a drink and look around.

"Where's Aemond?" You ask Jace and he sets his cup down. 

"DragonStone, he said be knew did this to you but he needed time." Says Jace and you nod before swallowing up tears. 

"I need to get to him." You say and try to get off the bed but the pain was too great.

"There is no way you're going anywhere." 

"But I need to get to Aemond, please Jace." You say and grab his shoulder. 

"Let me get mother." Says and Jace and he quickly leaves the room. You take in the room, it was clean for the most part. You tried to see if they had left your little girl in the room but they wouldn't do that. She was most likely in the sept. Your mother entered the room with a sad frown. 

"Darling, you're going to go to DragonStone." She says and you sigh in relief. "But you need to take a healing bath first, I'll have a ship ready when you're out." You nodded at what she said and you watched her nod to the door and servants entered into the room and then to the bathroom. Water rushed as well there was clattering of pans and slight chatter.

"What of my sons?" You ask.

"They've eaten breakfast and Helaena has taken it upon herself to distract them with her sons." 

"Good, thats good."

"Your Grace, Princess, the bath is ready." Said a servant, Eleena, she bad been there since you lived in KingsLanding before the war. 

"Help me with her." Said Rhaenerya and Eleena along with another servant went to help. They hoisted you up, arms under yours with hands on your back. They undressed you and slowly led you in the tub. You sighed as the warm water enveloped your body.

"We will let you soak then come in to bathe you." Everyone cleared the room to give you some privacy. You looked down to you belly and your face twisted. You no longer looked pregnant, you placed a hand on your belly and the feeling to cry came again. 

-

After you were washed and dressed into a black dress. You were escorted to the docks with Rhaenerya and Jace at your sides, when you arrived there were guards along with Daemon surrounding the boat with Rhaegar and Viserys waiting with them. You then saw a box, a small box, you knew who was in there.

"I-I never got to hold her." You whisper and they look at you.

“You can, lets get you on the boat.” Said Rhaenerya and they carefully walked across the dock. They sat you in a secured chair and once they checked out the ship they set off. It was quiet as Rhaenerya walked over to the coffin she slowly opened it, then slowly reached down and pick up the wrapped body. She walked towards you and you held your arms out.  She placed the corpse into your arm and backed away.

“Hi.” Was all you said and adjusted the babe in your arms like you did when your sons were first born. “I was supposed to be your mother, protect you and I feel like I failed at that, im so sorry my little one.” Rhaegar approached you with Viserys in tow, they looked at the wrapped bundle in your arms and then to your face. Seeing how sad you were made them sad as well, so they hugged you as tight as they could. “Thank you boy’s.” You hand the bundle back to Rhaenerya and places the wrapped corpse back in the coffin. 

You arrived to DragonStone in under two hours. Your health has deteriorated again.

“You need rest.” Says Jace as they dock.

“Aemond.” You say and your head lolls around. 

“I’ll get Aemond.” Says Daemon and hops off the boat. 

“Daemon!” You call and he turns around. “He’ll be on the beach!” Daemon nods and makes his way to the direction of the beach. You could barley stand on your own which would make the journey ten times tougher. Luckily they had brought a stretcher so two guards would carry you up. 

-

Daemon could see his nephew in the distance. He saw him on his knees in the water, and in the sand he saw his sword. As he got closer he realized Aemonds eyepatch was around the handle of the sword. 

“Aemond.” He said and his nephew immediately turned around.

“How is she?” He asked and stood up, completely soaked, Daemon guess he must’ve laid in the water. 

“She’s tired, and her health is deteriorating.” That word made Aemonds heart stop. “But she just needs rest, she’s in pain, and she needs you. Aemond looked away, ashamed that he left you. “Why did you leave?” He thought for a moment.

“Its my fault this happened, the person who did this was someone who almost tore me and Y/n apart and now… I almost lost her, permanently.”  Daemon placed to hands on his shoulder’s.

“This is not your fault, nephew.” Aemond couldn’t look him in the eye. “Nobody could have anticipated this happening, and if this person believes they can get away from this, they’re wrong. But right now it is not the time to sulk on this, your wife needs you, she hasn’t stopped asking for you.” Aemond nodded and swallowed hard. He walked over to his sword and grabbed it from out of the sand and just looked at it.

“Embaraya.” Said Aemond and Daemon looked at him in confusion. “That was supposed to be her name.”

“The Ocean.” Said Daemon and Aemond nodded, he wiped his eye and placed his patch in a pocket. 

“Where is Y/n?” 

“Resting in your chambers.” Says Daemon, Aemond didn’t respond, he just grabbed his sword and started walking away. 

- 

Aemond entered the room and saw you laying there, alone. You looked up and saw him standing there with his head hung down.

“Aemond.” You cried and rushed out of the bed. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him close, he slowly wrapped his arms around your waist and dug his face in your neck. 

“Im sorry.” He says and holds you tighter. “This happened to you because of me.” You pull back in confusion, this time you could take in how tired terrible he was taking everything, he looked so defeated.

“What are you talking about?”

“The servant… it was… Alys.” You looked away from him and placed your head on his chest. Thats why she looked familiar. 

“This wasn’t your fault Aemond.” You say and push your face in his chest. “Don’t blame yourself please, I need you.” Aemond almost collapses at your words, you feel droplets of water fall on your skin and you notice his hair is wet. “Why are you wet?”

“I- I uh went into the water.” He didn’t have to explain anymore, you knew what it meant. 

“The funeral is tomorrow, on the beach.” You tell him and he mets out a shaky sigh and nods. 

“She’ll finally be able to see the ocean.” 

-

Your entire family was there, Corlys and Rhaenys flew in with Rhaena. Everyone was dressed in black. The dragons in attendance was Seasmoke and Vhagar. You walked beside Aemond, as he held the bundle that carried his dead daughter. Since he too did not get a chance to hold her, he insisted on carrying her to the beach. You got stronger over the night, having Aemond hold you let you rest completely. As you got closer in the distance you saw a man standing on the beach right in front of the wood where you baby would be placed. You took notice if the mans silver hair and dark skin,  so when you noticed who it was, you had to stop in your tracks.

“Father.” You whispered and starts walking quicker, then breaking into a jog. Leanor met you half way and wrapped his arms around you tightly, practically picking you iff the ground.

“My child.” He said in your hair. “Im so sorry, I should have came back after the war, should have been here for you.” He kissed your head and pulled back. “This shouldn’t have happened to you.” 

“I missed you.” You sobbed and he pulled you in tightly. Everyone had made it down to where you were. 

“My boy.” You heard Rhaenys call and you pulled back to let your grandmother hug her son, with Corlys joining. You immediately reached out for Rhaegar and Viserys.

“Father, I want you to meet your grandsons.” Leanor pulled away from his parents and he smiles theough the years when be saw his grandsons. He slowly got onto one knee infront of them.

“Hello.” He says and Viserys grabs on to the skirt of your dress.

“Are you grandpa Laenor?” Asked Rhaegar and Laenor nodded before laughing.

“I am.” Rhaegar shyly shuffled over to him and hugged his grandpa. Seeing his brother hug Lawnor Viserys followed, you smiled brightly at the sight, warming your heart greatly, something you really needed. You look around for Aemond and find him standing in front of the wood. You slowly walk to him and everyone silences. You slide your arms i to his and Aemond looks at you and nods. He slowly placed the bundle on top of the wood and you both bend down to place a kiss on her covered head. Then you walked back and stood with everyone. 

“Geros ilas issa byka embar(Goodbye my little ocean).” Said Aemond and tears started running down his face and you struggled not to sob.

“Issa tala(My daughter).” You choke out.

The next part you were both dreading. The part where one if your dragons would be commanded to light the wood on fire. But neither of you could being yourself to say a word.

“Dracarys.” Your father says loudly behind you. You watch Seasmoke turn his head but he obeys and started walking towards the wood. Aemond wrapped his arms around you and you pushed your face into his shoulder. Seasmoke let out a blaze and everyone felt the heat reach their skins. You ended up dropping to your knees and Aemond went down with you, still holding you. 

You cried and screamed, stronger and louder than when you gave birth. Aemond tried to sooth you but he was breaking down himself. People gave you two privacy, slowly leaving the beach. Aemond was grieving his daughter but he was also thinking about a plan to Harrenhall.

-

You settled again in your room, you hadn’t spoken a word to him yet. Aemond didn’t want to leave you right now, but this couldn’t wait any longer. He grabbed all his necessary weapons and walked towards you.

“You’re going?” You croak out and Aemond kisses your cheek. 

“I must.” He says and you nod.

“Come back to me.” Aemond placed to finger under your chin and turned you face to him.

“Always.” He kissed you deeply and held you tightly. 

-

Aemond marched through the halls of DragonStone. He saw Daemon and Laenor walking in the distance in deep conversation. 

“Daemon, Laenor, ride with me?” He asks and the two men look at each other before nodding.

“Where to?” Asks Laenor.

“Harrenhall.” Says Aemond and Daemon smiles sinisterly. 

“Laenor im assuming you’ve already heard your daughter was poisoned?” Asked Daemon and Laenor tightens his jaw. 

“Yes, the person who did this lives there.” Aemond nods. “I will ride.”

“Good.” Aemond started walking and the two men followed quickly. They reached the dragons and Vhagar lowered her neck. “Its quite a climb.” Daemon nodded in agreement.

“You two will have to manage, I seem to have my own ride.” Said Laenor and the other two men looked to see Seasmoke looking at his old rider. Then he slowly lowered his head and showed Leanor the saddle. “I missed you old boy.” He raised himself onto of the dragon. Daemon started his climb upon Vhagar with Daemon in tow. Once they were settled they took of to Harrenhall. 

- 

When they arrived, they got dirty stares but Aemond didn’t care he stomped off to the mast place he remembered her being. Once he was in front of the buildings he took out his sword. 

“ALYS RIVERS GET OUT HERE!” Aemond yelled loudly, it was a few moments before the door opened revealing the older woman. 

“Aemond.” She smiles at him and leans against the door. Aemond had anger radiating off of him, he walked ip the steps of the house roughly and grabbed her hair tightly before shoving her roughly down the steps. She fell face first into the ground and coughed. “How dare you.” She tried to stand and go up to Aemond but she was roughly grabbed by Daemon and forced to her knees.

“Remember what I said would happen if you came near Y/n again or even step foot close on the land we’re on?” He asked with every word he got closer. Fear flashed Alys’ face. 

“She took you away from me.” She seethed and spit at Aemonds feet. 

“I was always hers.” Aemond raised his sword and she flinched and looked away. When nothing happened she looked to see Aemond sheathing his sword. “You murdered my daughter Embaraya Targaryen by committing witchery and by the root Dong Quai and attempted to murder my wife Y/n Velaryon, the punishment is death… by dragon.” She watched Aemond nod to Leanor.

“Ipradagon zȳhon(eat her)!” Seasmoke roared from above and landed behind Daemon and Laenor. They moved away and Aemond took a few steps back. Alys screamed and tried to run but Seasmoke opened his mouth widely and snapped his jaw over her body and tightened making blood fly everywhere and limbs fall to the ground. The people of Harrenhall gasps and the mob headed towards the silver haired men but before they could get closer Vhagar landed right on the house where Alys’ inhabited and destroyed it completely. She roared loudly and the people ran away as Seasmoke tried to grab someone.

“Go to her.” Said Daemon and wiped his face of the blood that splattered over him. Aemond silently thanked both men before running to Vhagar, they took off immediately not before Vhagars tail destroyed another building.

-

Aemond tried to clean off as much blood as possible before he reached the room. He opened the door and peaked his head inside. He walked into the room compl and he saw you on the balcony. 

“Lover.” He said and you whipped around, before you could go to him he was already on the balcony with you.

“Is it done?” You ask and he nods. “Good.” You wrapped your arms around his waist and he held you and rested his chin on the top of your head. “Lets go to bed, we’ve had a long day.” Aemond looks over to the horizon, seeing the ocean with the room glimmering over it. 

“Anything for you my love.” 

-

A/n- I didn’t expect for it to be this long honestly so sorry for errors, there definitely going to be a part 3 and I already have it planned with a surprise:)

[diejager]

wdyt of the idea of high society victorian cod characters cus i saw one glimpse of the idea and thought hmmm occult ghost and im praying we get it

I can’t believe I went google searching for this Drabble XD

PS. I wrote this before seeing @justadeadreaper ‘s AU!

The Past Cw: SLIGHT DARK, DUB-CON, spiritualism, occult, sex magic, smut, cunnilingus, fingering, oral sex, tell me if I missed any.

You’d heard from other women that the dark and mystery-shrouded man was one of the best spiritualists in England —if not the only man practicing the dark arts. You were warned through loose lips and gossiping whispered that he was a giant for your time, dressed in the finest silks a man could buy for himself and portrayed an aura of pride and excellence, holding an air of finesse and savagery in every words he spoke. You had your own expectations before you met him, fingers trembling as you wrote your letter, a grieving tear rolling down your powdered cheek.

You waited with bated breath and tense shoulders for his reply, and when a letter arrived, the little skull wax seal playing a part to your excitement, you ripped in open and settled in your desk in an unladylike manner. For a man you didn’t know, you couldn’t help but admire his calligraphy, the hand which he used to write was skilfully gentle, his words curled with a gracefulness you envied. In the black lettering, he gave you a date and location, touched by your plight, he invited you to his house in an unknown part of Manchester.

You rode out a few days early to meet him, being aware that he’d extended his invitation to a week long stay after your second exchange. He expressed his solemnity and sympathy towards you, promising that he’d be able to help you and you couldn’t be any happier to be able to let the past rest.

But your expectations of him fell the moment he greeted you at the wide mahogany doors of his house, he was broad and talks, a giant dressed in black. The cuffs and collar of his long coat were woven with silver roses and vines, gracing pant-clad thighs, thick and strong as a tree’s tough bark. He wore leather gloves - black as the rest of his attire - and a gem-clipped cravat stuffed under his black waist coat, buttons holding it to his sculpted chest and a flared end with silver intricacies, silver flowers and plants sown into the fabric. He was dressed beautifully, like a phantom of the opera, but when you gazed up, his dark eyes stared back, skin painted black and face hidden with a mask, a smooth skull stitched into the fabric of his cover.

He was a masterpiece in dark garments, handsome and mysterious when he ushered you in, the rumble of his voice making your body tingle, warmth filling your abdomen. He was a quiet man, eyes expressing more than words could, he had a gentle silence to him with tender and guiding hands, herding you to his seance room —or so you thought. There weren’t any tables, only plush cushions and soft-padded chairs in the dimly lit room, shadows dancing on the dark walls when he laid you down, coaxing you to relax under his care.

“I need you to relax,” he whispered, pressing his covered mouth you your forehead, brushing your locks off your sweaty skin, “do you trust me, love?”

You felt light-headed, mind dazed with the warmth and comfort he provided you, you choked down a sob, your voice dying in your throat. So you gave him a small nod, shuddering when his hands grazed up your hips to cradle your cheek, brushing away your stray tear.

“Good, close your eyes for me, yeah?”

Darkness embraced you with soothing calmness as he cradled you in his arms, feeling you up until his hands slipped under your petticoat, his calloused - when had he taken his gloves off? - fingers hooking the band of your lacy underwear. He spread your legs, hanging them over his wide shoulders, his hot breath hitting your sensitive mound. You flinched when he pressed his lips to your covered slit, burying his nose in your thick bush as he drew a calming pattern on your inner thighs.

The fire brewing in your core boiled, strong and coming forth in giant waves. It was unknown, a strange sensation that rocked you whole. He dragged his tongue up your wet hole, circling your blinking cunt and to your twitching clit, lifting the hood to have better access to your sensitive nerve. You shuddered and jerked with every touch, little mewls and whimpers slipping past your painted lips and graced his ears with your pretty sounds.

His tongue was skilled, nimble as he dove into you, pumping your tight cunt with his hot muscle, slurping up your slick and rolling your virgin clit with his thumb, rough and calloused, yet gentle with you. You squirmed and murmured incoherent words, something about it feeling weird, about your body burning and your mind lost to it, but he only coaxed you further, praising you for being so good and compliant for him.

“Good girl, telling me how good you feel,” he panted, diving back into your gummy walls, tongue brushing your softness before he replaced them with his strong and thick finger, plunging into you and hitting your sweet spot, “M name’s Ghost, love. Scream my name, yeah?”

His soft praises and talented fingers had you tipping over, the fire spilling over the edge with a blinding light. You cried out his name - is moniker - with mewls and gasps, arching beneath him and wrapped your legs tightly around his head as you came, gushing around his fingers. He slowly pumped his fingers, tongue lapping and drinking up your slick, gorging on your drooling cunt as if it were the sacred waters of the fountain of youth.

He left you limp and numb, lashes fluttering, peering at him with tired eyes, bathing in the adoring eyes of the spiritualist that made you come with his mouth and fingers alone —something new to you, a stranger in your heart and throbbing core. With his mask pulled over his tongue, mouth and chin still wet with your slick, he mumbled to you, tender words coaxing you to sit up for him.

“Reckon we get started, love?”

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