#so this tiller will remain :’)

[ramblerogue]

A Tiller drawing from about a year ago that I never finished. I’d love to get back into traditional work, pen/ink was always my fav :’)

[agendabymooner]

SOMETHING UNEXPECTED !!! GEORGE R. X FEM!READER (18+)

summary: their friendship wasn't the only thing that took an unexpected turn. but it wasn't anything that they wanted to complain about.

content warning: smut under the cut (minors dni!), use of explicit language, best friends to lovers-ish, dom!george, brief degradation, overstimulation, fingering, p in v, brief impact play, mentions oral sex (m receiving), dacryphilia (???) aftercare, mentioned past relationship, filthy filthy george 🙃

song rec: outside by bryson tiller (i have a driver specific prompt written hehe)

note: so like... george got the dog in him, canonically. also, 20 smut pieces??? 😳 enjoy xx

something sinful (smut) masterlist

a - n masterlist

o - z masterlist

if you’d like to get on one of my taglists, check this post out

george russell had always known that her ex was a fucking prick. but to hear that her ex kept calling her, asking for forgiveness was another level of stupidity that george hadn’t expected. 

he had been her best friend long before he became a professional driver and he knew her all too well. he listened to her vent left and right— he knew her inside and out.

so george didn’t understand why she was still here, sulking in their booth as if the dance floor wasn’t calling for her. he had managed to get her out of her room and dressed up for tonight— she looked so amazing. so why was she here sulking over some man who wasn’t even worth half of her? 

“you ought to let loose, doll,” george leaned and whispered in her ear. her head immediately turned to look at him as he shrugged nonchalantly, “‘m just saying. that man is a prick.”

“i know he is, russell,” she huffed, kicking him lightly under the table. “there’s no need to tell me how much time i’ve wasted on him.” 

“well it’s not the matter of the time you’ve wasted on him before,” george told her with a smirk, extending his hand towards her direction as she grabbed it. 

he took her to the dance floor, standing behind her as they both danced amongst the sweaty bodies that wished for nothing but to let go of their worries and stress. 

the british man continued as he nibbled on her ear, “it’s the matter of time that you’re wasting on him now.” 

“george—“ she almost sighed at the feeling of his mouth, making him shush her. 

“don’t think about him now, love,” he murmured quietly, resting his hands on her hips as they both swayed their bodies to the club music. “it’s all about you and you're moving on from him.” 

“do you treat all of your friends like this, george?” she whispered back, leaning her head back to whisper in his ear. she was intoxicated by his touch and his words. it was hilarious how long before her previous relationship, she was willing to give it up for her best friend— and such feelings resurfaced now. 

she loathed george’s presence. his hilarious self, his blue eyes, his being. she hated him because he could make her feel things that friends shouldn’t feel.

his face feigned innocence as he asked, “like what?”

“like you want to fuck and love them more than their exes ever did,” she raised a brow and spoke bluntly. her bewildered feeling hadn’t stopped her from looking up at him with the same curiosity that she held as she asked him. 

he was just as shocked as she was, yet he remained where he stood. his eyes darkened at the way her words let those filthy thoughts out, unable to keep his thoughts contained as he answered truthfully, “only when i know their worth.” 

“you’ve spoken about how unsatisfied you felt with him,” he continued, his low tone sending chills down her spine as she looked ahead of her. “especially when he doesn’t listen to what you wanted to try in bed— those filthy thoughts of yours that he never listened to.” 

“i think about it a lot,” he hummed, his lips still fanning her ear as he spoke, “i think about those days when you overshared your thoughts and your fantasies in bed to me. and how you’d feel about him once that i fuck you the way you want to be fucked— if you’d ever think about him at all.” 

she almost whimpered at the words he let out, earning a chuckle from him as george laughed quietly. “you’re worth more than some daft bastard who wouldn’t even give in to your needs for once, darling.” 

“george…”

“hm?” he hummed again, both their bodies burning in desire, lust, and prolonged yearning as he held her closer. 

“fuck me,” she pleaded quietly, “make my body yours, george. please.”

“who am i to deny you that?” he chuckled again, nipping at her neck this time as he murmured, “don’t worry, sweetheart, i’ll make sure you’re so fucked out that you wouldn’t think of anyone but yourself and me.” 

she hadn’t expected this from george. 

she had always known that he had his mean streak, but to be on the receiving end of that behaviour was what she hadn’t expected from him. though she wasn’t sure if it was mean of him to keep her body overstimulated from the amount of times he’d given her orgasms just by finger fucking her. 

her ex hadn’t even given her any long before they’d broken up.

her legs shook violently as the room was filled with squelching noises, sobs escaping her throat while she kept her head down against the soft mattress. 

the white sheets under her contrasted with how he fucked her with his fingers. who would’ve thought that the sweetest bastard to have existed would even be this domineering in bed? 

she couldn’t even think right now; she was eager to have his cock inside her after she’d gotten a taste of it earlier. 

her pussy throbbed against his fingers as he curled them up inside her, george’s other hand holding her cheeks apart to watch her cum drip down her legs. 

“geo- ngh~ god,” she whimpered against the mattress, her head moving to the side to try and get a look at his lustful smile. he seemed to be enjoying himself, fucking her from behind like he hadn’t just given her multiple orgasms in two hours. “pleaseeee— want your cock so bad.”

“oh? you want my cock, darling?” george asked, his fingers still thrusting inside her slowly as she whined. “thought you just wanted to get off?” 

“go- no,” she cried out, her legs wriggling against his touch before she moaned at the impact of his palm against her dripping cunt.

“stop moving,” george muttered, “you’re makin’ it hard f’me.”

“george, please,” she babbled incoherently, “want your cock so bad— please, please fuck me.”

she almost cried at the feeling of emptiness when george pulled his fingers out, walking around to pull her up. 

george propped her head up against his hand, silently observing the mess that he had made of her.

she always looked so pretty without makeup, he thought to himself. yet there was a sinful part of him that loved the smudge of her mascara and lipstick after fucking her mouth and making her cry for pleasure.

she always looked pretty, but seeing her so desperate and eager to submit to him made him realize how neglected she was before. george could only pity her ex for missing out on her. 

“y’look so pretty, did you know that?” george murmured, wiping the stains off her face as he continued, “so eager to lose control of your body— did he ever make you feel like this?” 

she felt nothing but haze and happiness that she hadn’t realized he was asking a question. her head snapped when he gave her face a light slap and demanded, “answer me, princess.”

“wh- i—“ she stammered, leaving george to chuckle.

“you sound so pathetic, sweetheart,” he cooed mockingly. “you’ve always wanted to give up your control of your body and he wouldn’t give it— and now you’re so lost that you can’t even hear me. d’ya want my cock that bad?”

she nodded, the grip on her chin restraining her from showing her eagerness as she begged, “yes, yes— please. put it in my mouth— my cunt, please george.” 

she didn’t expect this from george— the way he manhandled her body like she weighed nothing as he pulled her to the edge of the bed and bent her over. she hadn’t expected him to bottom out inside her cunt in one swift move, earning a deep groan from him as he swore silently. 

buzz… buzz… buzz…

george thrusted inside of her, hearing her scream and cry for more while he slid his cock past through the sensitive spot until his tip reached her cervix. 

“oh- fuck,” george swore. “such a good fucking pussy. it’s like you’re made for me.” 

“yes, yeah- i— george, please fuck me harder,” she sobbed, her eyes shutting tight as adrenaline rushed through her body. her face flushed at the heat of their bodies as she felt his cock inside her. 

“this cunt is made for me, yeah?” george taunted her, “this is mine only?” 

“yes, i— god~ fuck— yes, it’s yours,” she moaned, “yours only.”

buzz… buzz… buzz…

george reached for her phone, too pissed off at the vibration. 

“good,” he heaved, his hips snapping against hers as she cried aloud. “because i don’t like to share what’s mine— ‘m gonna make sure you belong to me only, got that, princess?”

“yes! fuck! george,” she babbled, “hah~ ‘s yours only, i promise! wanna make you mine a- wanna be yours! god! fuck me.”

“i’m yours, sweetheart— oh fuckin’ ‘ell,” george moaned, “so tight around me. you gonna cum?” 

“yes, ‘m gonna— please cum with me, georgie,” she whined, her body slowly convulsing against him as he continued to thrust— his pace now speeding up as they both reached their highs. “gonna cum, gonna cum! ngh~ ah- hah cum with me please!” 

“let go f’me darling,” he murmured, letting out a choked sigh as his cock twitched inside of her. she let out a sigh as her body shook, whimpering quietly as she reached her orgasm. 

hearing her cry about the emptiness inside of her made george smile, pulling out slowly before gently laying her limped body down on the mattress.

she had only nodded when he pressed a kiss on her forehead and said that he’d be back with a damp towel, her eyes trained on her phone which laid on the mattress. 

funny, she thought with a puzzled look, it was on the bedside table earlier. 

she took it and saw the first text that she received.

max verstappen: already fucking your best friend after we’d broken up? 

max verstappen: i expected better from you. 

she scoffed haughtily, eyes finding george’s as he gave her a worried look. she texted her ex boyfriend back quickly.

💗: he knows more about what i want better than you did.

she then tossed her phone aside as george walked back to the bed and started helping her clean up. 

“‘m not lying you know,” she mumbled, offering george a grateful smile once he finished cleaning her up. she then said, “when i said i wanna be yours.”

“oh i know you’re not lying,” he chuckled silently, pulling the comforter over her naked body as he snuggled with her. “i also meant it when i said that i’m yours.”

it was safe to say that neither of them had expected to like each other like this, either. but it wasn’t anything that they wouldn’t welcome with open arms. 

after all, nobody knew each other as much as they did. not even her shitty world champion ex boyfriend.

♡ moony’s reminder 🅶 (general): @hiraethrhapsody @avaleineandafryingpan @topguncultleader @enhacolor @roseandtulips @woweewoowa

♡   moony’s reminder 🅴 (explicit edition): @glitterf1

[kugokizs]

LOWKEY | G. SUGURU (m)

It’s not easy to find a flaw within Suguru.

It's unarguable that he remains to be good at everything he does, and he’s never once done anything without putting in effort. His grades, his sports, his love life– whenever he actually wanted someone for them and not for what they could offer him. In the bedroom or otherwise.

GENRE: pwp; friends to lovers

PAIRING: suguru x afab!reader

WARNINGS: a bit of pining, friends to lovers, a game of seven minutes in heaven, cunnilingus, blowjobs, lots of kissing, inner turmoil, perfect suguru, non-evil suguru, oral sex, idek remember what else but nothing triggering!

WORD COUNT: 4.9k

A/N: It’s been so long since i’ve written literally anything so I hope you enjoy this! it’s constant suguru brain rot over here.

NOW PLAYING: sorrows by bryson tiller, lowkey by rochelle jordan, teenage fever by drake, and all night long by thuy.

It’s not easy to find a flaw within Suguru.

It's unarguable that he remains to be good at everything he does, and he’s never once done anything without putting in effort. His grades, his sports, his love life– whenever he actually wanted someone for them and not for what they could offer him. In the bedroom or otherwise.

He always remained calm in stressful situations, often laughing things off whenever they got too serious. He’s always been able to view things with a clear head. You don’t think you’d ever seen a vengeful bone in his body, and whether that made him perfect you don’t know, but you know you admired him for his composure. That even when things were going terribly he still kept his head up as if nothing happened.

Since you’ve known him, Suguru has always been able to command the attention of a room and everyone in it. As soon as he walked in any door, heads would turn and eyes would glue themselves to him– assessing for themselves who Getou Suguru was, and trying desperately to see through him. From experience, it’s almost like the lights shine brighter, the music gets louder, and the people get happier every time Suguru is in proximity.

Since you’ve known him, you’ve always found Suguru to be perfect. His perfect laugh, his perfect eyes, his perfect lips, perfect tongue, perfect hands — since you’ve met him you’ve harbored a big fat crush on him and everything he is. It was easy to fall for him, almost as easy as tying your shoes or brushing your teeth. It was fun, finding new hidden things about him, growing closer to him, making him smile.

It was clear you were too far gone when even the line of girls coming to and from his room wasn’t enough to deter you. When you’d have an earful about his dick game at every friend hangout, when you’d watch another girl get starry-eyed at him, staring from across the room and twirling their hair in the same manner you would have if you were the most obvious person alive, and you still wanted him.

The room is packed, warm bodies thronged together, wrapping around each other and merging with one another. Your eyes scan the room, never settling on one face too long, and you cringe each time someone’s sweaty shirt sticks to your skin or wet arm grazes against yours. You’ve gotten used to these parties, to how loud they always are, how full and cramped, yet you never seem to get any more comfortable.

No one pays you much attention, finding dancing and drinking a lot more interesting than you moping around in a corner. You blend into the darkened room, you’re not in the spotlight, no one really cares what you do, and it’s comforting in a place that’s everything but. You cradle a drink in your hands, sighing at the barely there breeze floating in through the window, and finally drop your gaze down on Suguru's figure across the room. His arms stretch white fabric, pulling the material taught over tanned skin. His grins are lazy but full of mirth, and his laughs seem to carry across the room even over the loud music. It’s impossible to tear your eyes away.

You watch with a trained gaze as one of the girls from your design class wrap a hand around his shoulder and drag their fingernails along the material of his shirt, laughing breathily at everything he says. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. God, you really do like him, but you can’t imagine being that pathetic for a sliver of his attention. Not that you really need to, anyway, because Suguru is your best friend. When he turns his head, his eyes immediately find yours and you’d bother to look away if he wasn’t already grinning, a gleeful and mischievous thing that lets you know whatever idea he has is gonna make you miserable.

You shake your head before he can say anything, and he abandons his game to walk over to your designated spot in the corner, a smile stuck on his face as he does.

“No!” You call over the thumping music, your head shaking furiously in tandem to the rhythm of the song playing in the background. In your peripheral, hips swing back and forth to the heavy bass, everyone is all smiles, breathy laughs, and hooded eyes.

“Come play with us,” Suguru yells, bangs stuck to his forehead with sweat and mouth open in a sexy but disgusting way. His breath glosses over your skin — he’s that close — and his eyes stare down at you with something that vaguely resembles pity. Of course he’d be the only one to register that you’re standing in a corner, alone, at a party.

“I don’t like games.” You sigh, deciding to look everywhere else but at Suguru, the one person you’ve been dying to spot since you got there earlier that night. This is the best chance to stare, but it’s hard to make eye contact with him. To look at him while he stares back.

“It’ll be fun. Please? Do it for me. Satoru is over there too.”

Shit. This again?

“So what if ‘Satoru’ is over there?” You groan, rolling your eyes and finally looking back at Suguru– even if it’s only to settle him with a heavy glare.

Suguru has somehow gotten the impression that you like Satoru. Campus pretty boy, good at everything, has everyone wrapped around his finger, and 100% not your type. You don’t know what made him come to the conclusion that you’ve got a soft spot for him or why he’s so persistent in that narrative after you’ve expressed so many times that you don’t, but it’s starting to get annoying. Stop being so blind, Suguru.

“Alright, alright,” He sighs, “Just come over.”

You’re silent for another moment before whining in defeat, leaning off the wall and towards Suguru instead. It’s hard to say no to him, and though his prideful laugh makes you want to say never mind and go back to your spot against the wall, your legs keep moving forwards, swerving between couples and squeezing between groups of sweaty and intoxicated friends. The air is warm, heavy, and the drink in your hand glides down your throat like water — smooth and refreshing. It fills you with a foreign confidence and determination that allows you to make your way to the group with a smile on your face that doesn’t resemble a grimace.

“So,” Suguru starts, clapping his hands together. “We’re either gonna play seven minutes in heaven, truth or dare, or never have I ever.”

A chorus of groans sound together, and Suguru rolls his eyes, makes that shy grin he always does when he’s embarrassed. It’s so fucking cute you can’t take it. “Shut up.” He grumbles and you can’t help the lovesick smile that forms without your permission. “What else are we gonna play?”

The group circles around the table, looking at each other with eyebrows raised, but after a moment of silence (or as silent as it can possibly be at a party) it’s decided that those are the only games available at the moment. Suguru nods his head towards the stairs, something small and cute and satisfied, and the mini group makes their way upwards — looking like the beginning of an orgy. You chuckle to yourself at the imagery even though you’d never actually want to join if they ever did… that. You’re not sure they haven’t done that, the entire group — consisting of Suguru’s friends, Satoru, Toji, and Choso, and with their just as promiscuous female counterparts Jieun, Sara, and Seoyoon. Along with the guys, the girls ran through partners like cash, never stopping long enough to know more about them than their first name and their dick game.

As you file into a line in order for the lot of you to fit up the stairway, Suguru shuffles behind you— one arm wrapping around your shoulders and waist pressed against your backside. His warmth seeps through your clothes, and it almost feels like you’re both bare, skin to skin. Your breath hitches just barely, and you quicken your pace, flitting up the stairs as if there was fire licking your heels. Suguru’s arm is dislodged from your shoulder with your movement, and it almost feels like you’ve been robbed of a large teddy bear coat or your own personal heater. Your arms wrap around yourself as if to replicate the feeling, and you shuffle in the room behind Choso, Suguru closing the door behind you both.

The light is dimmer in this room, a bedroom– one of many– and the girls waste no time plopping on the bed, Sara grabbing your arm to pull you closer, patting the spot next to her and motioning for you to sit. The mattress caves in when you do, soft memory foam encasing you and making you feel as if you’re melting, drowning in fabric. The guys stand at the opposite end of the room, drinks in hand, and it really does start to feel like the beginning of a porno. You smooth your hands over your jeans, desperate to save face and not let your lips curl into the awkward grimace they so graciously deserve, when Choso takes one last swig of his beer and places it on the floor between you– the girls on one side and the boys on the other.

“I’ll take the first spin,” Choso smiles, squatting down and pinching the bottle between his fingers.

‘Wait,” Satoru interjects, floppy bang covering his eyes and full lips glistening somehow in the dim room, his button-up shirt hanging open just slightly, the first two buttons left open either for sex appeal or for the remnants of a breeze, but you can’t deny the way your eyes linger all the same. Beads of sweat run down a toned, tan chest, and the way his lips form the words– you look away just before the glob of drool gets a chance to escape your parted lips. Coincidentally, they jet in Suguru’s direction, meeting a pair of eyes that are already piercing into your own. Suguru’s jaw is tight, and even when your eyes meet his, they don’t move, staring into you as if you’ve done something wrong. You swallow, looking down at the carpet and the shoes toeing into the fabric of it. “What game are we playing?” Satoru continues, setting his cup down on the nightstand and kneeling next to Choso.

“Seven minutes?” Toji suggests, kicking off his shoes and leaning his head back against the wall. “I got an idea of who I’d like to get stuck with.”

Bold. Sara shifts next to you, a small grin showing on her face for a split second. Ew.

“Yeah,” Suguru agrees, “So do I.”

Ouch.

Whatever. You bring your knees up onto the bed, getting comfortable as the guys abandon their drinks. “Ready?” Choso asks, gazing upwards from his place on the floor as he twists the bottle.

“Ready,” the group responds in unison, followed by giggles. The bottle spins, grazing against the carpet as it slows. One end on Satoru, the other end on Seoyoon. God, it wasn’t close at all– Seoyoon is on the total opposite end of the bed, but your heart still races, beating loudly in your chest with the anticipation of it all. There’s an even number, someone will end up with someone, the question is who are you gonna end up with and what the hell are you both gonna do? The bottle spins again. Toji and Sara. Lucky. The other couple still isn’t back yet, and there’s only four of you left. This last spin determines the rest of the pairings.

It seems like the glass moves slowest this time, as if the entire thing is in slow motion. Your eyes don’t leave the bottle for even a second, and when it stops in front of you you’re scared to see who’s on the opposite end.

“Suguru!” Jieun screeches, standing up and then grabbing Choso’s arm.

Wait what. Your head snaps up, wide eyes meeting your own. Wait WHAT!? Your hands and legs shake as you stand up from the bed. Jerky and unsure movements make you look clumsy, but it’s only you and Suguru left. You can barely get a word out, mouth open and gaping like a fish, still stuck on Jieun’s confusing words. Suguru finally looks away from you, and makes his way to the door.

Oh ok. So he’s gonna leave. You can both just lie and say you did something, or come clean and say you did nothing, but you didn’t expect him to leave just like that. You guess he didn’t get the person he had in mind. Except— he doesn’t leave, and the click of the lock makes your back straighten and your eyebrows raise.

“What…” You finally whisper, your mind finally at its end. “Why would you lock the door?”

“Because… if you’ll let me, I’d spend more than 7 minutes on you.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes and turning your head away so that he can’t see the small smile playing on your lips. It was so corny, but you loved it. It’s the typical romance between college students, confessing that yes, they’d like to have sex with you, and honestly, it brought a delightful pang to your chest.

“Doing what?” You laugh, backing up so that the back of your knees hit the soft mattress. You don’t want to look into this more than you should. More than you’re allowed. Suguru takes a step closer, apprehensive in everything but his movements, except he becomes more and more comfortable when he realizes you aren’t moving away. You too are apprehensive, scared, but most of all you’re curious. Curious to see what he does, to see what this means.

“I’ve been waiting for a chance like this for too long.” He chuckles but the laugh doesn’t reach his eyes. And, in a matter of seconds, he’s devouring you until you’re left breathless, your lips swollen and wet. His mouth moves along the sensitive parts of your neck, down the line of your throat, while his other hand separates from your own to run down your waist and touch you where he knows you shiver with need.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.

He slips his leg between your parted ones, allowing you to settle down right on top of his muscular thigh. As the kiss grows deeper, your hips begin to move, gyrating and pressing down against him. As your bodies move with one another, your pleasure continues to rise, forming from your center and spreading over your body.

You gasp, but it’s swallowed up by Suguru’s mouth all over again. You let your hands slide up the back of his loose t-shirt. Your skin is warm, and Suguru hums into your mouth when he moves closer, your chests pressing together with each movement.

You think Suguru ends up ripping the buttons of your shorts open, too desperate to waste time unbuttoning them, and you’ll probably be annoyed later—but now, you sigh, finding his urgency unfairly attractive. Suddenly, Suguru’s lips are pulled away from yours and you whine loudly, chasing after him. You succeed, biting at Suguru’s bottom lip to get him to open up again, but it doesn’t last long.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

You blink once in response before a fire ignites in your groin. The whimper that leaves your mouth fills the silent room and you almost drop down on the ground, finding that sentence way too attractive. Is this what you want? Of course it is. So you nod vigorously, after knowing what his lips feel like on yours you don’t ever want to endure another moment of them apart.

“Words, lovely,” He grins, amused by your enthusiasm.

“Yes, Yes.”

Suguru grins, you’re pushed back gently, and Suguru pecks at your lips repeatedly until you feel your back hit the soft, blanketed mattress. Then, like every girl’s wet dream, the beautiful man is grabbing your hands to hold by your head.

Suguru then proceeds to kiss the shit out of you, your lips crashing together, ravishing you until your lungs clench and a moan falls from your lips. You desperately try to avoid bucking your hips upwards into him, but fail again and again. Eventually, Suguru drags his mouth away, trailing it down your neck. You’re gasping against him, and you curl into his touch, whimpering when sharp teeth nip at you. There’s a tongue soothing the wound, sucking at the same spot, lapping over it. You can feel yourself starting to shake, whimpering more often than not, before you’re yanking your hands free from Suguru’s hold and dragging his face back up. You can feel Suguru smiling into it, chuckling just the tiniest bit, but he resumes kissing you.

He holds his gaze on yours when you fall apart, relaxing your body while the pulsing of your orgasm courses through you. He leans down into your arms right after, pressing tightly against your chest, so tight that you could feel his heartbeat pacing fast against yours. The kisses he gives you are soft and gentle, your thighs still trembling when he pulls away, pulling his gray t-shirt over his head.

The unmistakable shape of his erection that you feel brushing against your stomach lets you know just how turned on he is, and you equally so. His lips return to yours only after he has stripped himself, and your hands move from his shoulders to his chest, trailing down his naked skin, where you slide your fingers under the waistband of his boxers.

No way this is happening.

You lean forward, switching positions and taking him into your hand from under his clothes. He’s heavy, full of cum, and you slide your body down so that your mouth is right against his cock. You leave a kitten lick on the underside of his shaft, feeling the veins and the way Suguru throbs. He’s a pleasant weight on your tongue and you swirl it around the tip before sucking him into your mouth.

Still with your eyes on his face, you lean closer, kissing his sensitive tip before fitting your lips around the head, taking him into your mouth again. You hear him gasp before it turns into a deep groan, sucking and licking as you take him deeper.

Suguru sighs, his hand gripping your hair and forcing you down onto him. He fucks your mouth like all you are is a toy for him to use. Every time he inches you down onto him you can feel his skin against your nose and hear the spit fucking back in your throat. Your eyes lose focus as Suguru continues to rut into you, abusing your throat like it was nothing. Your body buzzes from the sensation and you feel hot all over, allowing him to use you the way he wants. His low growl vibrates down to your core and you resist the urge to reach down and stroke your fingers to search for your own pleasure, choosing to focus on pleasing him instead.

His lips fall open with a few deep grunts escaping his soft lips, his hips moving faster as he pumps himself into your mouth. “Fuck, baby. I’m gonna cum.”

Your fingers dig into his thighs and you whimper around him, the vibrations from your throat making his body spasm as he nears his orgasm. You pull off of him, your lips swollen and red, slicked with spit and pre cum.

“On my face,” you rasp, your throat scratchy and hoarse. “On my face Suguru, please. I’ve been good.”

Woah, where did that come from (???)

Suguru’s movement becomes harsh as he pumps himself, his speed growing rapidly, and you see him twitching, his girth widening, before he pumps his cum onto your face with a long, drawn-out, groan.

“You are so beautiful,” he sighs, watching you take his cum into your mouth. His thumb brushes back and forth over your cheek, relishing to the way your body leans into his touch. “You have no idea how many times I wished I could take you like this, do every sinful thing I could think of until you’re screaming out my name. How much I’ve wanted to see you on your knees like this.”

All you can feel is his touch, his fingers tweaking at your nipples and his lips that keep moving down and kissing the skin of your breasts that spill over your bra. He pulls his hand, the one that has been kneading at your breasts, and trails it down. He strokes his tongue over your skin while his free hand moves lower, and lower, slipping under your shorts to find your clit.

He traces down your panties, soaked with your arousal, running over the lace and moaning at the feeling of it clinging onto you. His thumb follows the wet trail on the flimsy fabric to find your opening, hardly shielding you from his touch. He twists his hand while he continues to press his thumb in circles over your covered entrance, his fingers find your clit, and then he pinches, hard, sending you over the edge a second time and into one of the most intense orgasms you’ve ever had.

You squirm at the feeling of your release, his fingers slowly peel the scrap of black lace down your thighs, making a show out of it while he makes you wait. He continues to tease you, staring you down as he makes a show of peeling the fabric down your legs. You slip your feet from them as he pulls them off, and you watch him lift the lace to his face. Inhaling deeply, breathing you in. His lashes flutter, and the view of him taking you in so shamelessly makes you shudder.

He drops the fabric in the next moment, looming over you with hooded eyes, and leans down to leave a lingering kiss on your lips. He continues to kiss you as he spreads your legs apart, holding them down with heavy hands. With your pussy so wet, his fingers slide easily through your folds, and he can feel just how wet you are, but the way you clench and throb around him makes him moan deeply. His lips find your hips, then he moves down, running his mouth down your legs, taking time to trail along your thighs, your calves, your ankles, and keeping his eyes on you the whole time.

You let out a gasp at the first stroke of his tongue over your clit. Your legs lift a little, but Suguru presses them back down, keeping you in place— keeping you right where he wants you.

“Don’t move, baby, be good for me, ok?”

You can’t reply, just running a shaky hand through his hair as you cry out at the feeling of his tongue resuming its ministrations on your throbbing core. You can’t do much but moan and sigh, an incoherent mess from Suguru’s mouth. It’s funny to you, how he has you shaking from under him, building you up and then breaking you down with immense pleasure— a feeling that you can barely think around.

You hear his soft chuckle as he gives you a few more kisses with his tongue, tasting you, before he looks up again and whispers, “I’ll make sure you fall apart around me.” And he’s determined to make good of his words. His grip tightens on your thighs, as the swipes of his tongue grow more intense. He sucks at your clit, pressing his tongue against you to send you into your third orgasm.

Your hips move desperately against his face, hopeless in your need for more. Chasing pleasure with each roll of your hips and his head buried in your heat. You spasm, your eyes rolling back in pleasure as you cum, soaking his tongue with your release and closing him in with your thighs. He doesn’t stop, sucking your clit in his mouth and using his tongue to lap up every bit of your orgasm. You cry out in protest, your body squirming away from his touch as instinct but the grip on your thighs doesn’t let up.

“Suguru please, oh god.”

His chest shakes with a chuckle, rising up and slotting himself between your thighs. You want him, more than anything, no matter what. He kisses the corner of your lips, smiling against your mouth. As he continues to litter kisses against your skin, he presses his cock against your clit, rubbing his hard length up and down your pussy, coating himself with your arousal. The next time he pulls himself back from you, he only does it briefly— and when he pushes himself back it’s with a thrust into you hard and fast, nearly bringing you to another orgasm despite you coming down from your third.

Your thoughts leave you as he continues to move in and out of you, filling you up and satisfying you the way he always does, except now it's in a different way. Your walls contract as he slams into you deeper, lifting your legs and situating them against his shoulders. He buries himself so deep inside it’s almost like he’s melded himself into you. He’s so big, you can barely breathe, allowing him to bring pleasure to you both as he moves.

He moans, his voice raspy with need, as he pumps his cock in and out of you.

Your mouth falls open, overwhelmed with satisfaction. You can only focus on the feeling of his cock dragging against you, his tip hitting so hard it feels like he’s moving around your organs. He pounds into you, not allowing anything but lewd moans to leave your lips for even a moment. His harsh groans and your airy sighs fill the room, slaps of his skin against yours lewd and wet. “Oh god, I’m gonna—”

Your words become nothing but a moan when his thrusts don’t falter and instead pick up. You don’t know how he’s managing to keep going, how he’s managed to move even quicker.

"Come on, baby," he whispers, clenching his jaw, letting you know that he’s on the brink of orgasm. Suguru bends down, taking your lip into his mouth, tugging and sucking and making you sigh in bliss. Then his fingers come down to find your clit, sending you erupting into an earth-shattering orgasm.

The next thing you know Suguru is groaning above you, his body going lax against you and his cum shooting into you forcefully, making you clench harder around him. Suguru whimpers as he continues to cum, again and again, releasing into you and painting your walls.

No way he just did that.

Suguru sighs, his hair brushing against your naked skin, and he presses a soft kiss against your collarbone. His lips rest there as you both come down from your high, basking in the glow of your orgasms and relishing in the presence of each other.

He pulls out of you, dragging his tip against your wet folds, before littering kisses against your face. Small pecks that tickle with the gentle force of them, and you giggle, running a hand through his soft locks.

Your chest heaves with the force of your breaths but otherwise your body feels light, airy, and any negative thought you’d entertained before is completely gone in lieu of the sex you and Suguru have just had, the mutual understanding you’ve created with the meshing of your bodies.

“I thought you’d be upset with me,” Suguru murmurs.

“Never.”

You trace your fingers against his skin, tracking his breathing and basking in his warmth. Your fingers slide through the grooves in his abs, tracing shapes over his collarbone, and tweaking his nipple just for Suguru’s barking of a laugh when he shoves you away saying that it tickles. You lean your forehead down so that it’s resting just near Suguru’s armpit, hairless like usual, and inhale— breathing in his scent, his proximity, him. He's perfect, and he’s yours, no matter what.

You’ve always wished for the closeness and transparency of a trusting relationship— have always wondered if you’d be able to get that, if you’d be able to keep it— and Suguru is proof that you have. It feels good to know that there are no secrets, no doubts or worries, and that there can only be acceptance between the both of you. A secureness that would be hard to find anywhere else. It fills you with butterflies, but it makes you incredibly happy to know that those feelings will remain, and you can only hope it'll stay that way forever and always.

When Suguru runs his hand down your back, reaching below the covers to squeeze your ass, you huff, poking him in the chest as a warning. Yet you know, and Suguru knows, that it makes you happy that you have this. A home, a person who loves you just as much as you love him, and a trusting relationship.

Suguru likes this familiarity. Laying down with you, bare emotionally and physically, and unworried about being judged or ridiculed. It feels good, it satisfies him more than he ever thought it could, and makes a comfortable, warm, feeling bloom in his chest. He inhales— taking in the scent of you and your proximity, and he smiles.

“Hey!” The sound is muffled, “Why’d you guys lock the door!?”

And that’s the end! I feel like it’s a bit rushed and I apologize for that, but I hope you enjoyed!

[tarotbydelilah444]

pile one • ♥️

eight of pentacles • ace of wands • temperance 

Your person still has feelings for you. The feelings that they have for you could have expanded since the last time the two of you spoke or seen each other. This person realized that they are in love with you, and there feelings are way more deeper than what they initially thought. This person has finally come to the realization that you are the “one,” or someone they are meant to spend the rest of their life with, maybe in the past they failed to realize that you were the one due to their own ignorance, or sabotaging the connection because they truly couldn’t believe it until the two of you went separate ways. This person sees a future with you, if you two were ever to reconcile. They want things to be more balanced this time when they return, specifically around July, November, or the upcoming full moon, but they want to wait before making a move, so be patient with them. This person thinks about you on the daily, specifically at night. They find that they can connect with you and your energy better at night, so this person may show up in your dreams, or you may catch yourself thinking about them all of a sudden because you are living rent free in their brain. If you sent this person explicit photos, or videos of yourself, they still look at them and find you extremely irresistible and fantasize about all the sexual things they would love to do with you, or to you. To your person, you are the total package, you are beautiful, intelligent, funny, confident, and literally perfect in their eyes. They can’t find anyone that is on your level even if they tried. They also wonder if you are happy without them in your life since there hasn’t been any communication, or further action. They are determined to do everything in their power to put in the work and effort to get you back into their life. They still see a bright and beautiful future ahead for the both of you and they are willing to work on themselves and be patient with you until you are willing to give them a second chance.

pile two • 🥀

queen of swords • the devil • seven of swords • the hermit 

This person does not have positive feelings whenever they think about you. They could still feel hurt over how the connection ended, or the distance between the two of you. They still harbor resentful feelings towards you and find it hard to forgive you. This person could’ve wanted to reconcile with you in the recent past, but they may believe you are involved with another person, so they decided to remain to themselves by cutting you off to protect their energy and peace. You and this person could have exchanged some words before parting ways, or they view you as abrasive, heartless, and nonchalant. Yet, they still find it hard to completely detach from you because they still think about you all the time and are often reminded of you every where they go. This person feels like you betrayed them in some way. They feel like abandoned by you, or that you left them in the cold. The person is still incredibly drawn to you, yet they view you as very toxic, or that this connection is extremely irresistible, but toxic. You are like a drug to this person that they cannot kick no matter how much they try to get you out of their system. This person is still sexually attracted and connected to you and still has thoughts about you every time they think about you. This could’ve been a friends with benefits, fling, or situationship until someone eventually caught feelings and things became complicated soon after. They feel like they can’t trust you and are doing everything in their power to avoid you and this connection to work on themselves and heal to find something better in the future.

pile three • 💔 five of pentacles • five of cups • two of cups

Your person is in denial about their feelings for you. This person has feelings for you, but they are deciding to keep these feelings to themselves instead of confronting them and confessing to you how they feel for now. This person for the time being is focusing on themselves and realizing that they need to heal some things within themselves before they can even offer you the love that you deserve in return. This person has some unresolved feelings from their past that still affects them and that is preventing them from going steady with you. This person could still be hung up over an ex, or they are still working through some painful feelings that they experienced from their past relationships. This person is attracted to you, but they have major trust issues, and may not completely trust you, even if your intentions are 1000% pure. It would be wise to give this person some time to work through their issues, so try not to be pushy, or too demanding of them. You can expect communication in June, July, next year, or the next full moon. This person often battles with themselves if they should take action towards you, or should they leave this connection behind for now. This person is so afraid of opening their heart to you, so they run away or remain guarded to avoid getting their heart broken again, but I see that it deeply hurts this person to deny themselves a chance of experiencing new love with you. This person sees your potential and what this connection can become, but fear holds this person back. This person feels like they can be themselves around you and at times, they want to drop their guard and fears and jump into this connection with both feet and take that leap of faith, but it may take some time before they can reciprocate.

[asha-mage]

Here's what I'll say about Siuan for right now, since their are still a lot of unknowns floating in the air: I think her actions in this episode are largely in accord with her book characterization no matter which way the show breaks on certain details.

Siuan's central character flaw in the books, the thing that largely leads to her downfall, is her default response to most problems being to exert raw force and control. It was how she handled the Hall of the Tower which allowed opposition to coalesces around Eladia and Alviarain, it was how she handled Gawyn creating a resentment in him that would drive him to side against her during the coup, and how she forced Min to remain in the Tower against Min's wishes which was the catalyst for Eladia realizing she could strike against Siuan at all.

And it's what Siuan does in this episode when confronted with a problem she does not have another way to deal with. Moiraine is with holding information from her? Go to Cairhien herself and seize the tiller of events with her own hands. Rand is running wild, derelict in his duty? Take him captive and bring him to the Tower where at least he will be under her eye and safe from the Forsaken. Moiraine is attempting to abscond with him as a result? Cut off her avenue of escape by any means necessary, even if it means damaging her personal relationship with Moiraine, possibly forever.

And that's the other thing to keep in mind: Siuan, like Moiraine, fundamentally does not trust anyone except her partner in conspiracy. She can't. For twenty years she's been on a quest that will lead to her stilling and execution if it is ever discovered. She and Moiraine are each other's confidants and allies, their deepest and most important loves. But even in the books Moiraine is withholding information from Siuan out of a sense of greater good. The difference is that in the show Siuan becomes aware of it in the show and of course she begins to doubt and loose trust in Moiraine as a result.

In her mind she has gone almost at once from being a partner, one half of a team that trusted in and depended on each other, to being on her own against the storm. If Moiraine didn't tell her about being stilled, what else might she be holding back? And if she is stilled, then realistically, how much good can she do for their cause now? How can she keep Rand safe from himself and the Forsaken, prepare him for what's coming, when she might not live another year? And that agony- that pain that the person she trusts and loves most didn't just betray that trust but also might not be around long enough for Siuan to be mad even be mad at her- has to be put aside because the mission, the duty, is everything to Siuan, just like with Moiraine. The stakes are too high for anything else.

So she falls back on the safety net of the Tower's traditions and secret plans. Take Rand to the Tower, keep him safe, prepare him for what's coming and trust to the Light for the rest. Take away his agency for his own good and the good of the world (something it should be noted she's wistful for the ability to do in TSR when she wishes she could keep hiim from a learning a word of the Prophecies, which is the same scene where she outright admits to Min she intends to try and control him in), and bring him firmly under her thumb. And what does Moiraine do? Enlist the aid of one of the Forsaken to break Rand free and flee to Falme through a Waygate, which is at best an INSANELY risky and potentially very stupid play, and at worst tacit confirmation of her worst fear, that Moiraine has gone over to the Shadow, and everything is on the brink of being lost.

And where does that leave Siuan? Isolated and alone and with no other fallback by her same response: to keep exerting raw force, to pressing the spring down until it snaps.

[bluewatersfairy]

could’ve been - j.p.

loosely inspired by H.E.R. & Bryson Tillers’ ‘Could’ve been’

synopsis: two exes run into each other at a night club and spend some time catching up

warnings: mature content, MINORS DNI! unprotected sex (carry a condom at all times in cases of emergencies), semi public sex (i guess?)

word count: 5.2k (thank you for your patience) 

p.s. i started writing this during the off-season last year so the timeline is a bit fuzzy.

•••

All-star break had a habit of coming around right when everyone needed it.  Though Jordan was still the same goofy dude he’d always been, he felt like he was walking around with a chip on his shoulder.  He had been stuck in the mindset that he had something to prove all season, and it was starting to affect his mental.

His friend had suggested a night out to try and get his mind right and though it wasn’t exactly what he had in mind, he didn’t see it being a bad thing.  He didn’t think it would be a good idea to drink so he volunteered to be the sober driver.  

He was pressed up against the wall with a glass of lemon water when he caught a glimpse of someone who could’ve been you across the club.  For just a moment, he felt his entire body freeze, pins pressing into the bottoms of his feet and nails dragged down the back of his neck.  He stood up straight and rolled his shoulders back before leaning his head back again.  He couldn’t pull his eyes away now, he was stuck doing this again. 

Again because he’d done the exact same thing in London over the summer.  Someone had slipped past him in a rush and for a split second he thought it was you.  He’d stopped in his tracks and scanned the street.  It wasn’t you, of course, he knew you were in New York for a work conference and still not returning his texts.  Or even opening them to read.  It just happened to be someone who was roughly the same height as you and wore the same perfume or used the same hair products.  It couldn’t have been you. 

San Francisco was a different story.  You could very easily be in his adoptive city without him knowing.  He was sure he’d heard your company’s name in passing a few times in the past two days, and he was sure he’d heard one of your co-workers talking on the phone as they skipped the line outside.  She had a very strong accent, talked very fast and made a habit of yelling to be heard clearly on phone calls.  Somehow she always called you when the two of you were together, and Jordan liked getting in on them.  He could hear the whole conversation and it was too easy for him to do impressions and make you laugh whilst trying to be professional.  

Once while on a video conference she was leading, Jordan had made you burst out into laughter that you’d have to cover with a coughing fit, excusing yourself and muting your mic.  The two of you ended up on the floor laughing at the same thing over and over again until your sides hurt and tears were rolling down your face.  Whenever he thought of your time together, it was a scene like that that stuck out.  You were always laughing, joking, or out of breath in his presence, like you were filled with light.  

It’s part of the reason why he was so blindsided when you showed up at his hotel door to tell him things had to end between the two of you; that this wasn’t what you needed, or wanted anymore.  Jordan swore up and down that he could adjust what you needed to make it work, that he’d pull your weight while you couldn’t but all you could do was shake your head and say no.  

Jordan had to chug his lemon water to make the thoughts stop.  Some of it spilt down his face but he didn’t seem to care, just wiped it off on the back of his hand and continued to stare straight ahead. He kept his gaze slightly higher than the average height to make sure he didn’t catch a glimpse of anyone that could be you.  But then the perfume you wear flushed his senses and forced his eyes shut.  This wasn’t happening.  It was all just wishful thinking.  And it would remain wishful thinking.

“Can I stand here?” an index and middle finger touched just above his hip, the type of touch that he’d recognise anywhere.  Even with his eyes closed and his mind and heart fighting over where they should run to.

“It’s a free country,” Jordan answered as he bravely turned his head to meet your gaze for the first time in close to a year.  

It felt like something had hit his chest while he took you in, tingles spreading from his shoulder blades to his fingertips.  Your cheeks looked slightly fuller than the last time he’d seen you, and there were no longer heavy bags under your eyes, and your lips were smooth, unbitten and shiny.  You looked healthier, happier.  Your smile worked like a key in his chest; things were trying to turn again. 

“Hi Jordan,” you grinned with a glimmer of hope in your eyes, allowing yourself to take him in properly.  You were glad you’d decided to cross the room to see him closer.  You had no idea what you were starting, but you couldn’t stay away from him. 

You weren’t sure if he’d seen you on his way in, he was surrounded by his friends and they seemed deep in conversation.  You noticed him almost instantly.  Ever since you’d gotten off the plane you’d been searching for him in every room.  You couldn’t count on both hands how many times you’d hovered over his contact name over the past 3 days, but you’d somehow managed to stop yourself each time.  Seeing him in the flesh was a different story.  You could only be so strong. 

“Hi,” he breathed out as he dropped his head so you’d be able to hear each other.  

“I don’t think I can say your name, right now.”  He confessed, his heart pounding in his chest.  “I don’t know if you’re really here yet.”

You smiled as you wrapped your arm around his and slid your fingers down his forearm to tangle them in his own.  The action triggered a rush of endorphins and nothing could stop the memories that followed.  At various stages of your relationship, you'd used it as a silent communicator. 

Sometimes it meant that you were ready to go, or that there was someone you wanted to introduce him to, and occasionally that you were dragging him away because he was making too good of an impression on a coworker you did not want to have to invite around for drinks or worse, a meal.  Every now and again, it meant something less innocent, something the two of you rarely let happen outside the comforts of a bedroom.  You’d gotten into the habit of squeezing his hand gently to confirm the message towards the end of the relationship, so when you squeezed his hand in that club, it felt like he’d been hit in the chest.

“I promise,” you said into his ear, “I really am here.”  

He let out a deep breath and you watched as he glanced up for a few moments before relaxing into you.  He seemed to hesitate against your person, his fingers barely grazing the skin of your forearm.  When he did finally lay his hand on your arm, you could tell he was expecting to go straight through you.  

“Here,” you half laughed as you moved so you were standing in front of him, facing him, and wrapped your arms around his waist.  “You can hold me if you need to.”

Jordan half laughed in response but wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer.  You watched as his eyes scanned the room, his hands pressing into your lower back.  He tucked his head and you were properly connected for the first time in what felt like forever.  

“I was thinking about texting you tonight,” you confessed, “it would’ve been out of the blue but I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”  Being able to look Jordan in the eye and hold him against you again felt a little too comfortable.  You shouldn’t have liked it as much as you did. 

“It’s been like that a lot for me too,” he licked his bottom lip, “there’s a lot I’ve been thinking about.”

“I’m proud of you,” you smiled softly, “I wasn’t sure if a text from me would ruin your celebrations, but I’ve never been more proud of all the work you’ve put in.”  your lips brushed against his ear lobe as he leant in closer with every word you said.  

“Nothing about you would’ve ruined anything,” he shook his head and tightened his grip on your waist, his thumb caressing your right hip, “if anything, it would’ve made things better.”  

He was grinning, cheesing, like you’d said something funny, like he did in some of those pictures you’d seen during the celebrations.  You scanned over his face again, taking time to look into his dopey eyes and cheeks to see if there was any sign of intoxication.  You couldn’t do this if he wasn’t sober, that wouldn’t be fair.

“Have you been drinking?” you asked with your hand instinctively reaching for his neck, “I’m not wasting my breath if you’re not all here with me.”

Another big grin and something of a laugh; he really had a habit of confusing you further when it came to clarifying things.  If it wasn’t for his hand’s grasp on your wrist, you would’ve given his face a little playful shove, and probably would’ve laughed too.  But instead you took a small step back, unwrapping your arm from his waist, and put some space between the two of you.  The desire to touch him remained, and you couldn’t bring yourself to lose his warmth, so your hand found itself resting on his chest.  The vibrations of his heart pounding against his ribcage spread throughout your body.  

“Jordan,” you raised your voice to make sure he could still hear you, “I’m being serious.”  

You couldn’t help but smile, couldn’t help but blush with the way he looked at you.  It was like nothing had changed in his eyes.  They were ever so hooded, sleepy looking, with that sparkle of joy you felt whenever you closed your eyes.  For a second there, you realised that this could’ve been reality if you hadn’t let him go, that this wouldn’t just be a passing moment, but a daily occurrence.  What’s worse is you knew you were looking at him with the same admiration you always had.  He still felt like your goofball guy, you still felt invincible in his arms, endlessly safe in his gaze.  

“I’m sober, I promise,” he laughed as he pulled you closer to him, your fingers entwining, “I’m Ms. Daisy tonight, I’m responsible.” 

“Responsible,” you teased with your head tilted and hands on his shoulders, “I’m not sure I’d use those exact words.”  

“See, I’m grown now baby,” he smirked, “I take care of people, keep them in line, you know, the whole nine yards.”  

Just like that, everything fell back into old patterns.  The two of you were smiling and laughing, joking around and teasing each other like the past few months never occurred.  In each other's embrace, quickly everything disappeared in the background and all you knew was each other.  

Tucked away together, no one could touch or bother you.  You were invisible to the rest of the world.  Except when Jordan cut you off mid-sentence to put a hand out to stop someone from bumping directly into you.  Well, a couple actually, they too seemed pretty caught up in their own world, just instead of catching up, they were making out.  

“Cmon bro,” Jordan clicked as he moved you and them out of the way, “get a stall or something.”  he looked annoyed and rolled his eyes before looking back down at you, barely even realising how he’d pulled you into his chest as if they were a true threat.  

“What?” he asked you in a softer tone, his hand cupping the back of your head, “you got that look on your face.”

“I dunno what you’re on about,” you shrugged your shoulders, “this is the way I always look.”

He rolled his eyes again and shook his head, “I know that look well, you’re thinking dangerous, dangerous thoughts, and I’m not about to comply.”

“I’m thinking nothing of the sort,” but you were, “maybe we should go somewhere more private to talk though.  I did not enjoy being involved in their very intimate moment.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, “sounds like an excuse, if you ask me.”

This time it was your turn to roll your eyes.  You pulled away, grabbing his hand in the process, and started searching for a bathroom.  

It wasn’t necessarily that you were trying to start something, but Jordan hit all your weak spots without meaning too.  He always looked good, but there was something about him that night that was more alluring than before.  It could’ve been that you hadn’t seen him in a while, or maybe that he was starting to fill out as he surpassed his scrawny teenage-like figure.  There was more to him, physically and mentally, and you wanted to get all in it.  

Which is exactly how the two of you ended up in a locked unisex bathroom at the back of the club.  You were sitting on the counter with Jordan between your legs.  His hands ran over your thighs, his fingers applying pressure every now and then.  There was little room between the two of you, heart-to-heart you carried on talking.  It was taking everything in you not to turn to the nasty corner of your mind that painted fantasies of Jordan part-time.  He smelt so good and he made you laugh.  Not to mention the flutter in your chest and the pulsing deep in you every time he looked at you.

It was all too easy, you pressed your lips together as you tilted your chin up to look at his face.  The lines you'd drawn were starting to blur and fade away.

“I’ve missed this,” you sighed as your fingers caressed his neck and shoulders.  

Jordan gave you a shy smile in response and cupped your chin in his right hand.  You kept looking up at him and slowly his hand travelled to your throat.  There was no risk, no added pressure in this gesture; just a reminder of what has passed and what still remained.  The two of you were putty, easily pulled and shaped into whatever the other wanted.  Stress free fun and a whole lot of love.  

“Me too,” he breathed out as your lips brushed against one another.  He was pulling you in with his entire being, but something was stopping him from making the connection.  Every part of your body burnt with anticipation, and you weren’t above begging for it.  

"Don't play games with me," you bit the inside of your lip, "you know what I want."  You could feel your cheeks and chest flush as each word passed through your lips.  

Somewhere between adoration, passion and pain, Jordan stared lasers into your soul.  His breathing deepened while he analysed what you had said and what you were doing.  Like you, he wanted to feel the fire that always came with your love.  The endless burn of lust and greed that dripped from every part of him the second he saw you undress.  He never wanted to lose you, never wanted to forget how good you looked on top of him.  Tonight was no different, except for the tightness in the hole of his chest.  He wanted to drink in the image of you in your little black dress and trace the curves of your body.  

Jordan never wanted to forget this moment.  He wanted you seared into his memory, let it be your silhouette he sees every time he closed his eyes.

The loss of contact surprised you as he took a few steps back.  Your thighs felt cold without him on you.  He crossed his arms and tilted his head at you, observing you, savouring you.  His hooded eyes dragged over every inch of your body and you followed him.  You leant back on your hands and spread your legs apart further.  Your hand fell to spot his eyes seemed to forget and you drew him in.  

Jordan felt like his mind was running 100 thoughts every millisecond that passed.  Memories, wants and needs blended together.  He needed to touch you with every part of him, wanted to drag his mouth over every inch of your skin.  Without a second of warning, echoes of the past rang through his ears, his head between your thighs as you swore to the Heavens.  There was nothing quite like you, nothing that he craved more on his tongue than your sweet pussy juices.  He could eat it for hours and never get bored.  There was always something new to try.  And he loved how he could dig his fingers in your thighs.  The small bruises from the pads of his fingers made him feel proud.  The red handprints and grips on your ass and thighs gave him a spike of confidence.  When he was inside you, he knew he was king.  He never questioned his actions or his success, you were never shy when it came to unholy acts.

"You wanna know something?" Jordan asked as he found your eyes again.

You nodded your head and watched closely as he dragged the tip of his tongue across the soft pink lip of his bottom lip.  

"This feels like the first time I'm seeing you all over again," he smiled shyly as he stepped closer to you again, his hands on your thighs.  "Like it feels like I've never touched you before.  I feel all giddy and nervous."

His tone didn't match his words.  He spoke low and with confidence.  He consistently had a demeanour that could only be described as smooth and it always sent a shiver down your spine when he got close.  He pulled you in mentally and you wanted to melt into him.

"You've always known how to touch me," you reassured him as you reached your hand out to hold his neck.  He tilted his head and smiled at you.

You could tell there were words that were better left unsaid at that moment.  His eyes, though playful, held that glimmer of doubt you'd left him with.  Neither of you could bear to address the elephant in the room.  Instead, you let the wants and needs of your body paint the fantasies the two of you shared.

You felt like Jordan was waiting on you.  So very gently you pressed a kiss to the right and then left side of his neck; just below his pulse points.  His eyes were closed when you guided his face so that you could place your lips to his forehead, then to the tip of his nose.  He hummed his approval of each touch, the sides of his mouth pulled up into a blissful smile.  

You pushed your lips together as you ran your thumb across his.  Jordan’s hands slipped up your body and wrapped around your torso, pulling you even closer to him.  

“Cmon baby,” he mumbled with you flushed against his chest, your lips with barely any space between them again, “you’re allowed to kiss me.  I’d prefer it, actually.”  his eyes flicked from your lips to both your eyes and it started to feel like it was all too much.

You reached out to him and let your lips encase his.  It was like an electric volt was sent down your spine and something switched in both of you.  In a matter of moments, your kisses became sloppy and rushed, the two of you trying to get closer.  You needed to feel Jordan on every inch of your skin and it seemed he felt the same.

The first time your lips separated, Jordan took his glasses off and immediately attached his lips to your neck.  His hand pulled your head back with gentle force and a gasping moan escaped your opened mouth.  The sleeves of your dress were pulled off your shoulders and Jordan’s mouth followed.  His teeth and lips dragged across your hot skin, hissing as he groped your breasts with both hands.  

You pushed your dress further down to expose your chest to him fully.  You were completely out of breath when he wrapped his lips around your left breast, his tongue catching your nipple and flicking it before he began to suck.  

You encouraged him with affirming words and louder moans.  Unconsciously, your hips rolled towards him.  The only thing your body knew was him and the only thing it needed was continuous contact with something warm.  Every inch of you ached for him, begged and pleaded for him.

“Jordan,” you gasped out as you tried to grab at his clothes, “I need you on me baby, take it off.”  

He nodded his head and took a step back to pull his shirt off over his head.  Your eyes fell on the tent he’d pitched in his pants and you couldn’t help but feel pleasure.  You pulled your dress off and slipped your panties off, no longer sitting on the bench.

You kissed Jordan and dragged your hands over his naked chest.  You pushed him against the spot you’d just been sitting and started to kiss down his neck.  You kissed a trail between his pecs and licked a line down his abdomen.  You smiled up at him, now on your knees as you worked to get his pants off.

“Fuck, you know me so well,” he moaned as you palmed him through his pants, “don’t play with me baby, I don’t have much patience tonight.”  he bit down hard on his bottom lip as you freed him.

You kissed the tip of his dick before spitting on it and using your hand to stroke him and spread your saliva.  He threw his head back, the veins of his neck strained and he let out a throaty groan.  With two hands, you stroked him and added more of your spit.  You’d forgotten how much fun it was to have this type of control over him.  You loved seeing him strain to contain himself and the rush it sent through him.  He would only let you do so much but you loved it when he let you decide how things were gonna play out.  

“I don’t have condoms,” you said with one hand reaching under his shaft to play with his balls, “do you care?”

“That depends,” he groaned out with his eyes squeezed shut, “you slept with anyone?”

“No,” you swallowed as your eyes met, “have you?”  his eyes were darker than before – you weren’t sure if it was because you were getting him off or because of what he’d just asked you.  Either way, you felt it down in your stomach.

“I haven’t,” he confirmed and you stood up quickly.  

Jordan grabbed you again, his strong arms lifting you so you were against the counter again.  He kissed you with a sense of urgency, his tongue dipping into your mouth.  Your moans mixed together and your legs wrapped around him, your hand reaching between the two of you.  

“God, I need you inside of me, Jordan,” you said, dripping with sex.  The two of you were focused on the space between you.  You pumped his length a few more times before running his tip through your slit.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he spoke with amazement, his voice breathy.

He grabbed your neck and turned your face so you were looking at him when you put him inside you.  His mind took a mental recording of the look and sound of relief that left your body as he filled you up.  

“My pretty baby,” he cooed with a devilish smirk, “don’t I feel good inside of you?”

You were speechless, nothing more than mewls and moans of joy were able to be expressed.  You felt so tight and you swore you could feel every inch of him.  It was hot, in every way.  You wanted to stay in the moment as long as you could, but there was little you could focus on other than how good it felt.

“You feel so good,” you spoke mindlessly, “fuck me please, give it to me.”

Jordan listened.  His hips pulled back and angled back into you perfectly for the first few strokes.  Each sound you let out egged him on so much so that he very quickly reached an erratic pace.  He was being fuelled by his own needs and unfulfilled desires and your constant confirmations of pleasure.

“Look at me baby,” Jordan found himself saying as he moved your leg so that you were now on your side, your head leaning partially on the mirror to keep yourself up as you fell into pure bliss.

You found his brown eyes as his hand came down hard on your ass cheek.  You gasped and reached for his hand, giggling a little.  He smiled and watched you move it to rest between your thighs.  He read your sign loud and clear and started to stimulate your clit.  You called out his name loudly and threw your head back.

“Oh just like that, yes.”  you felt like you were floating for all of 30 seconds before he moved his hand away.  You were about to protest, open your eyes and speak, but you were still getting fucked in the exact way you loved, and it was hard to concentrate.

“Look me in my eye,” Jordan said roughly, this time with his hand grabbing at your face so you’d actually make eye contact with him.  “Don’t that feel nice?”

“It feels so nice,” you responded loudly, his hand back on your clit before you could fully process it.  “You’re so fucking deep, I need you so badly.”

Jordan groaned in response, feeling your walls grip around him as if you never wanted him to leave.  He wanted to savour the beautiful feeling of you and never let it go.  He may have been caught up in the moment, but he hadn’t forgotten all his troubles.  The way he felt about you hadn’t changed, and seeing how well you fell back into old habits and how perfectly your bodies fit together, he was convinced this all meant something.  Something this good couldn’t get lost.  He wasn’t going to lose you again.

“Baby boy,” the nickname passed through your lips like silk, your hand reaching out to him, “stay here with me, don’t get lost in the other shit.”

Your words practically melted him into you, your bodies moving so his arms could wrap you in a hug.  He filled you to the hilt again and you squeezed your eyes shut, your mouth dropping open in a silent, all consuming moan.

“This better?” Jordan asked smiling, his forehead now resting against yours.  

“Mhm,” you hummed and caught his lips on yours as you pulled him even closer.  The new angle he thrusted into you was sending repeated shots of pleasure up your spine.  It was pure ecstasy and made your verbal reactions even louder.  “This is exactly what I needed.”

In Jordan’s strong grip, you were perfectly in rhythm with one another.  Though the composure of the sex was slipping, you were only growing more needy.  Your lips and teeth dragged over his soft skin and he did the same, his lips attaching to your neck at any chance he could get.  

“You feel so fucking good on me,” Jordan grunted out between thrusts.  

He was close.  The look on his face and the way his hips were starting to move without control or rhythm was enough for you to know.  You were too, ultimately.  When you told your friends you fit together, you never felt like it really sold just how good this could all be.  He could drag his cock over all the best spots inside your pussy, and give you enough friction on your clit to make you dance.  You wanted all of him, and nothing less.  

“Cmon baby,” you moaned, “keep going.  Please don’t stop.”

As if it was a trigger, Jordan’s rhythm was quickly lost and his hips started to move faster, chasing a high to fulfil your pleads.  His groans and thrusts pulled moans and curses out of you, your eyes squeezing shut as you opened up your chest.

“Nah baby,” he spoke roughly as he wrapped his hand around your throat, “you gotta look at me now.”  He grinned as you moaned again.  You opened your mouth to respond but he cut you off with his lips, his tongue licking into you.  

“Fuck,” he groaned as your walls clenched around him, “keep doing that and I’ma cum inside you.”

“God, I want you to,” you gasped as he somehow reached deeper inside of you.  “Cum inside me, please, please, please.”  

Your begging was enough to send him over the edge.  He filled you to the hilt and let out an incoherent string of curses and your name.  Your walls contracted with every twitch of his tip, spurting hot liquid into you.  When he felt he was finished, he pulled his hips back again and kissed you.  He moved with precise strokes that had you calling to a higher place.  He was dragging over your g-spot over and over again and it was exactly what you needed to send you over the edge.  

You threw your head back, your back arching the same way and said his name over and over again, praising him.   He scattered kisses all over your exposed neck and decolletage until he felt your pulsating core begin to subside.  

“I can’t tell you how much I missed seeing you like that,” Jordan cheesed with your hands cupping his face.  You looked him over, the same cheesy grin spreading across your cheeks.

His chest heaved in sync with yours and a layer of sweat covered his beautiful brown skin.  He looked ethereal and the way the light caught his sweat gave him a golden aura.  You couldn’t resist gently pressing kisses to his collarbone along to his shoulder where you rested your chin. 

“There really is no one like you.”

You gazed up at him and felt your heart skip a beat.  It wasn’t easy to accept, but you could see how you could have been wrong.  The best things in life were rarely easy.  And really, the more you thought about it, the more you knew that the difficult things that made you break things off with him were circumstantial and out of your control.  Maybe it wouldn’t be ideal, but you couldn’t see yourself living without him.  Plus, the last time you guys had sex couldn’t be in the uni-sex bathroom of a club you’d probably never return to.

“Hey Jordan,” you said softly after a peaceful silence of you both looking at each other, “I know there’s a lot to be said, but I was wondering,” you trailed off with a smile.

“Yeah?” Jordan encouraged, his smile growing wider.

“Do you wanna give us another go?”

[aegor-bamfsteel]

In a sense, would you consider Theon Greyjoy to be Ned Stark’s son, as Jon Snow (despite his true heritage) very much is?

Well, let’s ask Theon, before his imprisonment by Ramsay:

Theon held his tongue, though not without struggle. So that is the way of it, he thought. As if ten years in Winterfell could make a Stark. Lord Eddard had raised him among his own children, but Theon had never been one of them. The whole castle, from Lady Stark to the lowliest kitchen scullion, knew he was hostage to his father's good behavior, and treated him accordingly. Even the bastard Jon Snow had been accorded more honor than he had.

Lord Eddard had tried to play the father from time to time, but to Theon he had always remained the man who'd brought blood and fire to Pyke and taken him from his home. As a boy, he had lived in fear of Stark's stern face and great dark sword. His wife was, if anything, even more distant and suspicious.

"I forget nothing." Ned Stark had killed neither of his brothers, in truth. Rodrik had been slain by Lord Jason Mallister at Seagard, Maron crushed in the collapse of the old south tower . . . but Stark would have done for them just as quick had the tide of battle chanced to sweep them together.  —Theon I, ACOK

Theon thought of seeking out the bodies of the two men he'd slain himself to see if they had any jewelry worth the taking, but the notion left a bitter taste in his mouth. He could imagine what Eddard Stark would have said. Yet that thought made him angry too. Stark is dead and rotting, and naught to me, he reminded himself. Ugly as it was, that smile brought back a hundred memories. Theon had seen it often as a boy, when he'd jumped a horse over a mossy wall, or flung an axe and split a target square. He'd seen it when he blocked a blow from Dagmer's sword, when he put an arrow through a seagull on the wing, when he took the tiller in hand and guided a longship safely through a snarl of foaming rocks. He gave me more smiles than my father and Eddard Stark together. —Theon III, ACOK

"This is craven," Ser Rodrik said. "To use a child so . . . this is despicable." "Oh, I know," said Theon. "It's a dish I tasted myself, or have you forgotten? I was ten when I was taken from my father's house, to make certain he would raise no more rebellions."

The noose I wore was not made of hempen rope, that's true enough, but I felt it all the same. And it chafed, Ser Rodrik. It chafed me raw." He had never quite realized that until now, but as the words came spilling out he saw the truth of them. —Theon VI, ACOK

And after his torture:

But if anyone spoke of him now, it was as Theon Turncloak, and the tales they told were of his treachery. This was never my home. I was a hostage here. Lord Stark had not treated him cruelly, but the long steel shadow of his greatsword had always been between them. He was kind to me, but never warm. He knew that one day he might need to put me to death. —The Prince of Winterfell, ADWD

The old gods, he thought. They know me. They know my name. I was Theon of House Greyjoy. I was a ward of Eddard Stark, a friend and brother to his children. "Please." He fell to his knees. "A sword, that's all I ask. Let me die as Theon, not as Reek." Tears trickled down his cheeks, impossibly warm. "I was ironborn. A son … a son of Pyke, of the islands." —A Ghost in Winterfell, ADWD

It’s true that his feelings toward Ned had softened by ADWD (which makes sense, given what he’s been through with Ramsay), but despite that there’s a common theme that Ned was always cold and distant, never affectionate, because everyone knew Theon was a hostage for Balon’s good behavior, and Ned would’ve had to execute him had he rebelled again. There was really no way that Ned and Theon could’ve developed the positive relationship that Ned and Jon did (despite the shadow of Jon’s mother between them, Jon looks up to Ned and wants to make him proud) given that history. He may have called him a “second father” in swearing his oath to Robb, but neither Balon nor Ned were true father figures to Theon, so he considers Cleftjaw his “uncle” (the man who gave him affection as a child). Ned considered Jon Arryn a second father, as Quentyn did Lord Yronwood, but neither had Theon’s history as a hostage against their birth family.

Now, Theon doesn’t have the same baggage with Ned’s kids as with the man himself. He saved Bran and fought alongside Robb (who in his first chapter admits to having affection for, “as for a little brother”), so it makes sense a regretful Theon would think of himself as their friend and brother. But he’d never think of Ned as his “true father” (another example of the show misunderstanding his character).

[jessamine-rose]

♙ ♘ ♗ Chess Piece ♖ ♕ ♔

………..hi. I would like to present the side story to Disjecta Membra, a collection of bonus scenes + epilogue told from Pierro’s POV. Do enjoy this fic and suffer  ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

A big thank you to @diodellet for her peer review, @frogchiro for her help in my Pierro characterization, and @seakicker for the fic inspiration!! I’m still questioning how I ended up writing for the Jester, and you can thank them for making it possible <3

Tw:: YANDERE, unhealthy relationships, kidnapping, coercion, blood, violence, death, psychological trauma, self-deprecation, alcohol consumption, Dottore is here, spice, mention of nsfw, MINORS DNI

Note:: Female reader who is a fallen goddess, pre-release Pierro

♡ 5.4k words under the cut ♡

i. pawn

The entire forest is consumed by mist.

He walks down the path, maneuvering around the haze. As the mist shifts, he rushes to an unobscured patch of grass to elude its grasp.

Another blind spot. How many more areas are free from her surveillance?

Knowing his savior, she’d detect his location once the mist touches him. Despite their heart-to-heart conversations, the fact remains that his life is in a god’s hands. It would be good to know the way around the forest without her guidance.

Remain vigilant. If he isn’t careful, he may end up like the lost animals ensnared in her hunting traps.

After a few more blind spots, he finds a familiar stone path. The area is cleared of mist to reveal weathered gravestones and deep blue flowers. He walks along the perimeter and stops in the heart of the cemetery, where a veiled figure is sweeping the fallen leaves.

He hides behind the trees.

In her human guise, the God of Mist is indistinguishable from an ordinary human. Her expression is solemn as she cleans and greets each gravestone.

“Fane.”

“Kay.”

“Algos.”

“Charis.”

And so on. Such devotion to one’s followers is unheard of; then again, the mere fact of ______’s kindness sets her apart from the gods who destroyed his nation.

Her friends and followers are fortunate to have a peaceful resting place. If only he could say the same for his own compatriots.

The statues are next. She approaches the shorter figure and plucks the dead flowers out of its cracks. Her voice takes on a lighter tone.

“Pasithea, your flowers have outnumbered mine. I can’t tell if it’s because yours are multiplying or if mine are dying out. Either way, you’re as competitive as always.”

A bitter laugh escapes her lips. She lifts her veil.

The Khaenri’ahn peers closer at her face. This is an expression which he has never seen during their meals together. The smiles directed at him are usually gentle and uplifting, never this desolate. When she greets the other statue, her smile disappears completely.

“Hello, Oizys,” she whispers. “Happy birthday.”

He tenses. Despite ______’s assurance that she holds no grudge against Khaenri’ah, her loss is strongly felt. The Child of Night’s absence looms over them in the tableware he uses, the chores assigned to him, his next destination.

She checks his grave. “Not even a blade of grass? What kind of plant will satisfy you? You’re so picky until now.”

His gaze shifts to the statue’s Claymore. The weapon is real, bearing the telltale marks of a Field Tiller’s attacks. Just how many of his people were cut down by that blade?

“The Khaenri’ahn is doing well,” his savior continues. “It won’t be long until he leaves for Miseria. I know, you’d be furious…but what do you expect me to do? How could I leave that poor thing to die?”

That poor thing.

He can’t tell if he feels more relieved or offended by that statement.

“...I’m sorry.” She disperses the mist around the statue’s eyes, meeting its discolored gaze. Her voice shakes as she looks around the cemetery. “You…all of you know that, right?”

How long has she been weighed down by grief? Is this not the same person who claimed he would one day move on from the calamity?

All of a sudden, the mist rises. The Khaenri’ahn huddles closer to the tree to avoid it. Through the haze, he watches as ______ stomps on the barren grave and bursts into tears.

“Why did you even bother to come home?!” she shouts. “To see me one last time? To put a stop to my waiting? To…to punish me with the sight of your corpse?!”

Is this what will become of him? Will his vengeance ever amount to recovery?

The statue blankly stares ahead.

Her voice breaks. “It’s not fair that—why did it have to be you? When will it be my turn?!”

Or will he, too, live the rest of his life burdened by his own survival?

The Khaenri’ahn resists the urge to leave his hiding place.

For what feels like ages, the only sounds in the cemetery are the anguished cries of his savior. Still sniffling, she calms the mist and faces the statue again.

“I…I have to leave,” she says softly. She casts a strained smile at her friend’s likeness, cheeks glistening with tears. “I’ll come back with your cake tonight, okay? See you later.”

With that, the statue’s eyes are concealed once more. She sets her broom aside, and the Khaenri’ahn leaves the cemetery.

He is able to retrace his steps without difficulty, but the lingering pain from his injuries is debilitating. Before he can enter the temple, a hoarse voice calls out to him.

“What are you doing outside?” ______ approaches him, her veil back to its usual style. Under the sheer fabric, a frown crosses her face. “I thought I told you to rest.”

Does she suspect anything?

“I needed some fresh air,” he replies, keeping his voice light.

“I see…”

The mist swirls around them. The Khaenri’ahn meets her gaze, holding his breath.

The curiosity in her gaze gives way to concern. “Let me accompany you next time. I don’t like the thought of you wandering the forest alone. What if you get hurt?”

As though she doesn’t already fret over him at the slightest lift of a finger.

He walks past her. “You need not concern yourself with that possibility.”

Spoken too early. Pain suddenly shoots up his broken ankle, causing him to stumble. He almost falls, if not for ______ catching him.

“Are you all right?!”

How humiliating.

He avoids her gaze. “Thank you. You can let go of me now.”

______ is unconvinced. She keeps a firm grip on him and examines his new scars. “Let’s go inside, dear. I’ll check your injuries.”

“If you insist,” he mutters.

…Up close, his savior’s puffy eyes and dried tears are visible under her veil.

“Where were you, anyway?” he asks.

“Oh, me?” The smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “I was just tending to the achlys flowers. Moving on, I’m baking a berry shortcake later. Would you like some?”

He hesitates. “That would be lovely.”

It is futile to offer comfort to someone who clearly refuses it. What could he possibly say to her as one who has just recently lost his own people?

No, that isn’t the right mindset.

If grief will not leave him, he must make it into what fuels his vengeance. Only after his weaknesses are burned away can he become strong enough to rebel against the divine.

He walks through the mist this time.

Only then will he be in a position to wipe her tears.

ii. knight

The religious art is disappointing.

Pierro studies the weathered fresco. It depicts a veiled figure hovering above a crowd of faceless followers, isolated by swirls of mist. The subject’s face is eroded beyond recognition.

She was wrong. None of her sacred depictions can compare to their model.

He touches the figure with a gloved hand. The image is divine, passive, untouchable. He doubts that the original face has the kind eyes and gentle smile from his memories.

“Sergeant Luda.”

A Fatui subordinate rushes towards him, bowing slightly. “Yes, Lord Harbinger?”

Pierro gestures to the fresco. “Extract this painting from the wall and include it in the list of artifacts to be transported to my personal estate. I expect no transit damage.”

“Noted, my lord! Do you have any other orders?”

“I have but one command. Demolish the temple before you leave.”

“Excuse me?” Luda’s tone turns doubtful. “You want us to destroy this place? All of it?”

He gives her a cold look. “Must I repeat myself?”

She bows again. “N-No! Forgive my blunder, Lord Harbinger!”

“That is all, Sergeant.”

With that, Luda quickly stands up and barks a few orders at her coworkers.

Pierro looks around the temple ruins. No mist hovers over ______’s old territory. Several Fatui subordinates are sifting through the debris for surviving artworks and relics.

Would she ever forgive him for erasing her existence from the world? Can he say the same for himself, with the knowledge that he is committing the crime against his homeland?

“My lord!” Another subordinate enters the temple and kneels before him.

“Lieutenant Daniil,” he says. “I presume that Agent Leonid has departed from the forest adjacent to Miseria.”

Daniil nods eagerly. “Correct, sir. According to my spies, Agent Leonid has made a full recovery from his injuries. He and the previous defectors have permanently settled in the city.”

About time that traitor left her company. “Punish the next traitor. The attackers need not follow them this time; just ensure that they reach the forest in a wounded state.”

“Yes, my lord!”

“That will be all.”

Pierro approaches the next set of scattered fragments. The old manuscripts have been reduced to yellow shreds. He pieces together what seems to be a quote by █████ herself.

“May you find refuge in every place where my blood has mixed with the air.”

He smiles to himself.

His savior is truly too kind for her own good. With how easy it has been to orchestrate a hostage situation, ______’s voluntary surrender is guaranteed.

He wonders if she will recognize him during their reunion—or even welcome him, given his new status as the director of the Fatui. If she doesn’t, he will still consider it a pyrrhic victory.

It is only proof that he has outgrown her mercy.

iii. bishop

Their reunion goes as planned.

It doesn’t take long for ______ to accept their new power dynamic. Prior objections aside, she quickly adjusts to her new life as the Jester’s partner. She is an elegant sight in her Snezhnayan dresses and Khaenri’ahn jewelry.

…Pierro does miss their peaceful days of home-cooked meals and friendly conversations. His darling’s fear and respect is as frustrating as it is gratifying. She isn’t afraid to challenge him with moments of petulance.

For what it is worth, she no longer addresses him as “dear” or her other patronizing pet names. At times, their double-sided arguments are quite engaging.

At any rate, his other objective has been achieved. The new resources acquired from ______’s relinquished territory serve more purposes than the Lord of the Hearth’s fire.

“Jester, I come bearing a report on our latest Archon Residue experiment.”

Pierro looks up from his signed documents. “Dottore, I expect impressive results since you took the initiative to request a meeting with me.”

The Doctor closes the door behind him, smiling. “You will be pleased to learn that we are making progress with the remains of the Goddess of Consciousness. Her powers have manifested in the test subjects, albeit their mental faculties remain incoherent.”

Pierro recalls ______’s last visit to Zapolyarny Palace. She didn’t seem to recognize the melody sung by the test subjects.

“Rectify that side effect immediately.”

“As you wish.” Dottore looks up from his research notes and glances at the empty sofa. “Is your darling currently at home?”

“Does her presence have any bearing on your report?” he asks sharply.

“No, it doesn’t. I was merely curious, given that I’ve only had the privilege of meeting her once. Oh, but I did find something very interesting in the test subject’s speech patterns.”

Pierro grips his pen. “Go on.”

“Imagine my curiosity when I noticed a recurring name,” he continues. “‘█████.’ The test subjects kept shouting that name—quite hysterically, I might add. Initially, I brushed them off as an insignificant friend of the deceased god until I made an important recollection.”

Dottore walks over to the sofa and runs his hand along the headrest.

“Do you remember our first meeting, Jester?”

“How is this relevant?” asks Pierro. “I recruited you in Sumeru and you eagerly accepted my offer. I can vividly recall your hysterical reaction to your new title.”

“No, after that. If my memory serves me correctly, you inquired about the House of Daena’s religious archives. After which I noticed a few ancient books and manuscripts amongst your luggage, most of which referenced a divine being known as █████.”

He knows.

Dottore adjusts his mask, a crimson twinkle in his eyes. “I did question your interest in that unknown god. If we can obtain the remains of the God of Mist, as we did with our current specimens and the Lord of the Hearth, I can use—”

“Dottore.”

The air grows cold. The Doctor pauses, meeting Pierro’s glare.

He puts down his pen. “You should know by now that I am not one to entertain baseless assumptions. Moreover, I must address your previous invasion of my privacy.”

“Oh?” Dottore approaches the desk, eyes wide. “I presumed that you could fill in the blanks for me, seeing how none of those ancient texts are listed in the Fatui’s libraries. Shall I ask your darling instead? I heard that you acquired her from the same location which sourced the new Archon Residue specimens.”

Enough of this.

“I advise you to watch your words, Zandik,” says Pierro. “My partner has nothing to do with your little investigation. I do not pry into your private affairs, particularly the Akademiya scholar you have been stalking, so it would do you well to reciprocate the gesture.”

A moment of silence passes.

“Of course. I know better than to pry into forbidden knowledge.” Resigned, Dottore picks up his research notes and flips to another page. “Before I leave, I have another report to share with you.”

Pierro picks up his pen. “Proceed."

“In seemingly unrelated news, I have the results of the chemical test you requested. For the most part, I identified common household substances in the carpet samples you sent me…apart from one compound.”

“And that is?”

“Among the chemical components, I found low traces of Archon Residue.”

So his suspicions were correct.

Dottore’s smile returns. “I wonder how such a substance ended up in your estate. But given your earlier admonishment, I won’t pry into the matter any further.”

Pierro gives him a stern look. “If you have nothing more to report on, you are dismissed.”

“Very well. I bid you a good night.”

With that, Dottore places the research notes on the desk and leaves the office.

That explains the information from his spies.

Pierro reads the second report.

He did find it quite odd that ______ requested an extensive tour of the estate and was later seen with a bandaged thumb. So she had claimed her prison in his absence.

How clever of her.

It was wise of him to lock the doors to his personal quarters. Until it is necessary for him to divulge his awareness of her scheme, he should avoid formal meetings in his estate.

Despite his irritation, he can’t help but feel impressed.

Well-played, ______.

iv. rook

The replicated festival is a success.

Since her birthday, his darling has been more docile. The smiles directed at Pierro are more soft, cheerful, paired with brighter eyes. Their dinner conversations are more relaxed.

However, her kindness remains a double-edged blade.

“Hello, little ones.” ______ crouches down in the snow, a warm smile on her face. “May I know your names?”

The children eagerly crowd around her, small hands grabbing at her dress and veil. One child takes advantage of their eye-level position to play with her necklace, to which she laughs and lightly scolds him.

“No, you can’t have it. It’s from—wait, don’t pull the chain!”

He should have kept her at home.

“Lord Harbinger.” The orphanage caregiver gives Pierro a nervous look. “If the children are bothering your partner, I can send them to their rooms.”

He turns to face them. “There is no need. You may proceed with your report on the next batch of recruits.”

“Thank you for your leniency, my lord!”

Pierro casts a final glance at the courtyard. His darling is managing the children quite well, all things considered. After saving her necklace, she carries the offender and lifts him high above her head. Her laughter has never sounded more lively.

What a heartwarming sight.

He will allow it, so long as she doesn’t object to their fate.

*✧･ﾟ

“You appeared to be in high spirits earlier.”

“Are you referring to the orphans?”

The bedchambers feel less empty with ______’s presence. She lies on her side of the bed, an enthusiastic smile on her face.

“They were adorable! Those precious lambs asked me to participate in all sorts of games. You should have seen little Damien; he kept running around and ‘defeating’ me with a wooden sword.”

Damien Morozov, eight years old. Already shows promise in swordsmanship.

Pierro hangs his coat in his wardrobe. “Are you partial to the company of children?”

“I guess so.” She takes off her veil, eyes dimming. “I used to play with my young followers often. Why do you ask?”

“I was merely curious. You were quite eager to entertain the orphans’ antics.”

Would she be as loving with their own children?

Pierro unlocks the drawer. His old Khaenri’ahn attire remains in good condition. He can still remember the time ______ mended his clothes, requesting permission to cover up the holes with her embroidery. Every little star and diamond seemed to breathe new life into the fabric.

If he is ambitious enough, he can envision it clearly. A new set of embroidered clothes for a smaller frame. A family portrait displayed in their manor. Tiny pupils shaped like four-pointed stars, sparkling with innocence. His darling’s gaze filled with love and devotion.

“Pierro? What are you looking at?”

He closes the drawer. “That is none of your concern.”

______ gives him a suspicious look. “If you say so.”

Now is not the time to entertain such delusions.

The divine rebellion has barely begun. Likewise, so long as his darling remains an unwilling captive, he would be a fool to imagine any semblance of a happy family with her.

It is a tempting thought, however.

Pierro locks the drawer and approaches the bed.

For whatever reason, his darling has morphed into her true form. Her skin is dusted with gray dots and swirls resembling mist. A clear reminder of her divine nature.

His gaze stops at her wrists.

Even with her divine markings, her bruises are evident. The same can be said for the dark blemishes on her hips and knees.

He observes her exposed face this time. It was quite satisfying to provoke those honest expressions out of her. He couldn’t get enough of the look in her eyes.

Neediness, trepidation, absolute submission. All for him.

His hand slams down on the pillow, a few centimeters away from her head.

“Pierro?” She startles, turning her head to face him. “What is it?”

He doesn’t offer an explanation this time, just leans down and kisses her. His other hand pulls down the neckline of her dress.

“Hey…ah! Stop!”

She lightly shoves him, only for her wrist to be easily pinned to the mattress.

Pierro pulls away, ending the kiss. His other hand traces the curve of her chest, eliciting another soft gasp. “Have you taken your contraceptive recently?”

She looks away, biting her lip. “I…”

He puts his hand under her chin, tilting her face upwards. “I asked you a question, ______.”

His darling looks so powerless beneath him. So easy to break. To desecrate.

She nervously meets his gaze. “I…I did.”

“Excellent. Then I don’t need to hold back.”

He sets his own mask aside and kisses her with more fervor.

The Old World is no place for the future of Khaenri’ah. Until absolute peace has been achieved, that dream will have to remain a fantasy.

Until then, his darling’s affection will solely belong to him.

v. queen

The Snezhnayan winters are becoming more frigid.

“Is the temperature of the room to your satisfaction?” Pierro drapes another blanket over his darling’s shoulders. “Inform me if you need another blanket.”

She gives him an exasperated look. “There is no need to coddle me. My human vessel isn’t that frail, you know.”

Says the person who once drowned him in blankets and hot tea on a rainy day.

“The nights will be colder at this time of the year. There is no harm in looking out for your physical health.”

“Then the same can be said for you.” Despite her earlier remark, she wraps herself in the blanket. “Even I can’t stand the Snezhnayan environment. Don’t you get sick of the cold?”

Pierro glances at the window. Outside, another blizzard paints the sky with swirling snow. White, frigid, nothing like Celestia’s sea of flames.

“I am rather impartial to this nation’s climate,” he replies, returning to the sofa.

A chessboard sits on the low table, along with a bottle of fire-water. ______ empties her glass and refills it to the brim.

He raises an eyebrow at her. “I did not take you for one to overindulge in vices.”

Another glass finished. “You drank nearly as much as I did.”

“I know my limits.” He confiscates the bottle and hands her a glass of water. “That is enough wine for you. Any more, and you will make a fool out of yourself later.”

She rolls her eyes, but drinks it and lowers her veil. “All right. Shall we continue our game?”

Regardless, he will be the sole audience to her inebriated theatrics.

“If you are so confident that you can play with a clouded mind.”

His attention returns to the chessboard. ______’s opening move was a direct challenge. No mercy, then.

He moves a black pawn. “Disregarding the climate, you have become well-adjusted to Snezhnaya. I must commend your growth over the previous year.”

“You think so?” She stares at the chessboard, assessing the pieces. “That isn’t a big achievement, seeing how all I’ve done is behave in the estate like a model prisoner.”

A model prisoner who remains strategic.

“I beg to disagree. From what I have seen, your current conduct and level of education are befitting of your new status.”

The expression under her veil is doubtful. “You’re just being nice. My studies, this dress, the title you gave me…it doesn’t make me any more worthy for the New World.”

Her next move is clumsy.

Pierro easily counterattacks. “I shall be the judge of that.”

The game continues. Chess pieces are toppled. With each sequence, the influence of alcohol becomes more apparent. ______ begins to mumble, sway slightly, make bad moves.

“Another loss.” She frowns at her toppled king. “No fair…how are you so good at this game? How many victories would that make for you?”

Pierro touches her cheek. He can feel her warmth through the fabric of his gloves.

“You should rest,” he decides. He places the chess pieces back in their original squares. “Can you walk to the bedchambers on your own or shall I escort you?”

“What a chivalrous offer,” she scoffs. She gathers the sacrificed pawns, only for the pieces to slip out of her loose grasp. “You are insufferable, you know that? Impossible to comprehend…”

He might as well take advantage of her openness. “Why do you say this?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” ______ rests her head on her palm and peers at him with glassy eyes, chess pieces forgotten. “For starters, while you have been concerned about my health all night, I have no doubt that you will scold me tomorrow and make me study despite my hangover.”

“You wouldn’t have to suffer from a hangover if you had drunk less wine,” he shoots back.

She shakes her head. “Honestly, I can’t figure you out. One moment, you’re absolutely cruel and strict towards me; next, you make me so happy that I almost forget our arrangement. It makes me feel so conflicted, the way you treat me…I hate it.”

“So why do you endure it?”

“Huh?”

The office feels more humid. Perhaps she had involuntarily raised her mist.

Pierro holds her arm, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You claim to be a weak deity, yet my research states otherwise. And despite your powers, you have never made an attempt on my life—both in the past and in the present. Why is that?”

She stares back at him, eyes wide behind her veil. “That…”

He glares at her, strengthening his grip. “Are you truly as foolish as you are kind? Or does your mercy stem from pity towards that poor thing you saved all those years ago?”

For a few seconds, his darling is silent. She looks away, her arm limp in his grasp.

“Of course not. I…I just don’t want to get in your way,” she mumbles. Her gaze trains on the medals displayed on the wall. “You’re amazing, you know that? You became stronger…found a new purpose in life…now you’re actively changing the world for the better.”

He could get drunk off her praise.

“So it would be a shame if you lost it all because of me,” she continues. Then she shakes her head, smiling. “But what am I saying? You will never let that happen, no matter your fondness nor gratitude towards me.”

He lets go of her arm. “There is no use in reflecting on that theory.”

“Really now? If the Tsaritsa ever viewed me as an obstacle, would you kill me for her?”

Would he?

When was the last time he found himself at a loss of words? As far as he can recall, it was years ago—back when the Tsaritsa posed a similar question.

-

“The God of Mist? I did not know she was still alive. So she saved you in the past, and now you intend to overthrow her and keep her for yourself.”

Pierro cleared his throat. “I humbly request your permission, Your Majesty. Apart from the elimination of a potential threat, the subjugation of █████ will provide the Fatui with a new territory and invaluable resources.”

“Yes, and I imagine that you recognized every possible benefit prior to this discussion,” she said knowingly. “You have my permission. I trust your judgment.”

“You have my gratitude,” he replied, bowing.

“Oh, but Pierro?”

He looked up to face her. The Tsaritsa was the opposite of his previous savior—pure, sacrosanct, a kindred spirit who had chosen the path of vengeance and revolution. From her lofty throne, she couldn’t look more divine.

Her gaze was cold. “Remember where your loyalties lie.”

Without hesitation, he kneeled before her.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

-

“It is illogical to compare love and worship,” he finally says. “Do not ask a question you already know the answer to, especially one which you will likely forget in the morning.”

“All right.”

The look on her face shows pure understanding. Yet despite the tears welling up in her eyes—from fear? Disappointment? Heartbreak?—her smile seems genuine.

“I am glad to hear that,” she says, voice trembling. “Any other answer, and you would be no better than a lovesick fool.”

How did she appear during their first chess game? Compared to the savior of his memories, the god before him looks so fragile. Acquiescent. Openly vulnerable.

This time, she doesn’t protest when he lifts her veil. Pierro leans over the table and brushes his thumb against her flushed cheek, wiping away her tears.

“Rest assured, I will never allow such a situation to happen,” he says softly. “My final choice would not be without internal strife.”

After all he has endured, such a scenario would be the greatest loss in his life.

“And why is that?” she asks.

“Because above all, you are the only good thing left of the Old World.”

vi. king

“Pierro.”

“Psst, Pierro.”

“Rise and shine…”

“Wake up!”

At the sensation of the pillow hitting his face, Pierro grimaces and catches her wrist.

“What do you want?” he mutters, opening his eyes.

______ looms over him, eyes faintly glowing in the dark. “Finally, you’re awake.”

He turns to his side and glances at the clock. “Is it already past midnight?”

She gives him a bright smile. “Happy anniversary!”

No wonder.

Pierro lets go of her wrist and sits up, facing the window. The sky is still dim, on the cusp of twilight. The lingering darkness is dotted with stars.

“Did you feel the need to greet me as soon as you woke up?” he asks drily.

Despite her nightgown and bedhead, ______ looks full of energy.

“Yes,” she replies. A proud smile plays across her lips. “This marks the ninety-ninth time I said it first.”

“Don’t look so triumphant,” he tells her. He brushes the loose strands of hair away from his face. “It will take centuries for you to catch up to me.”

“I know. So have mercy on your dear wife and let me have this one victory.”

He might as well. These days, her celebrations are solely limited to their birthdays and milestones. For this day alone, he will let his darling have her fun.

He still hasn’t returned her greeting.

“Happy anniversary,” he says with a soft smile. “Are you going back to sleep?”

She shakes her head. “No, so neither will you. We might as well prepare breakfast now that we’re awake.”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “I saw the menu last week, along with what you planned for lunch and dinner. Wouldn’t you say that our banquet is too much for two people?”

At that, she holds his hand and intertwines their fingers. The dim light is caught in the pale blue gems of their rings.

“Of course not,” she smiles. “After all, we are commemorating the day I was shackled to you for all eternity. Such a tragic event deserves a grand celebration, doesn’t it?”

Pierro presses a kiss against her knuckles. “If you insist.”

How long has it been since their wedding? In her Khaenri’ahn gown, his darling was the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on. Her happy tears marked her ultimate resignation.

His darling is extra touchy throughout their daily routine. Eye contact in the bathroom mirror. An unruly necklace clasp and corset strings. Fleeting touches as she helps him change into his own suit.

“You may open your gift after breakfast,” Pierro informs her as he puts on his mask. “I believe you will find it to your satisfaction.”

She turns to him, fully dressed. Her divine marks have faded into her human guise. She looks elegant, dignified, perfect for a Harbinger’s spouse.

“How exciting. After all these years, you never fail to surprise me,” she says. “I hope you are equally receptive to your own present.”

Pierro slips an embroidered handkerchief into his pocket, taking a moment to admire the new four-pointed stars. “I can only imagine what design you came up with this year.”

Their daily routine is over. Before they leave the room, ______ faces him and pulls him into her embrace. Her grip is strong.

“Hey, Pierro, how much longer until the rebellion ends?” she asks.

He wraps his arms around her. “Why do you ask?”

Thin wisps of natural mist swirl around them, weak and bloodless.

She leans into him. “Ever since the Fatui began acquiring the Gnoses, you’ve been even busier. Do take a break once in a while. And don’t put yourself in danger, you hear me?”

Her hands tremble. The mist rises, enveloping them in a cold haze.

“I find it insulting that you still entertain those fears,” he shoots back. He steps out of the mist. “As I said years ago, it will take more than a vengeful god or your antics to dispose of me.”

The mist disperses.

“I’ll trust you with that.” ______ releases him, a sincere smile on her face. “The sooner the New World is achieved, the sooner you can rest. And the more time I have with you.”

Under her veil, her eyes shine brighter than the stars. She is still speaking—his real name, whispered in such an adoring, reverent tone.

He should enjoy their special day while it lasts. Once their private party comes to an end, it will be back to work. Back to Zapolyarny Palace, his petulant Harbingers, Her Majesty the Tsaritsa, the future of the New World. But today, he can enjoy the present with his darling.

At the last whisper, he smiles and pulls her closer. Lifts her veil. Silences her with a kiss. Holds her gaze, staring into those hopeful orbs which reflect only him.

“I look forward to it.”

♡

Read the Author’s Note here!!

To think Pierro would end up with the longest, most twistedly wholesome side story…….how tf did that happen ;-; Also hahaha cheers to Dottore appearing in another Harbinger’s fic for the second time. Chemistry reference, anyone?? :>

Thank you to everyone who expressed their love for Disjecta Membra!! I didn’t expect so many ppl to like my version of Pierro and Savior! Darling, and I hope you all enjoyed Chess Piece. Do inform me of your suffering brainrot and consider sharing this to spread the Pierro agenda~

Tag a Pierro enjoyer!! @kocherry @mirdance @victoria1676 @mnemosyneechan @artiifex @pierroswife @fluffy-koalala @lcveaesop @teabutmakeitazure @nicebonescomrades @ansy-tea @oofasleep @leftdestiny-posts @thescribeoflostmemories @elysiasfiance @frostedclementine

Thank you for your interest in reading!! @yandere-romanticaa​ @ddarker-dreams​ @cinnamonest​ @yanmaresu @gum-iie

[reginrokkr]

In all honesty, I have a lot of thoughts I want to share about 「Bedtime story」, but there are still a few matters I want to give a deeper thought about because I want to change some details of Dain's background. Right now, what I want to discuss is the new canon divergence that will be added to this blog. So to keep some discretion for those who haven't played it yet, I'll dump that under cut:

For some reason, HYV crossed a line in abusing the narrative convenience in this quest to me. There are two things that bother me and that I need to think how to adjust it accordingly so the outcome remains still the same because it isn't bad, it's legit and the story has to continue someway. But the execution was bad.

✧ The first point being the false memory implantation in Dain. Not because this per se, but because how cheap it feels to me the way it was done. HYV made him a highly perceptive individual with high intelligence in order to decipher and join the dots on his own of what was happening, surrealist as it seemed. He's attuned with the Ley Lines to the point where he can sense these shifts in them, the exact time when his memory is being altered. But for whatever reason it's completely okay to take for granted that he has given Aether the eye of the first Field Tiller even though he says himself that the damage between the twins isn't irreparable yet and that he can sense him hesitating still. This just doesn't feel right to me.

✦ And secondly, it's obviously the fight. Lumine herself, presuming that she has some degree of her original powers in order to brandish her sword in combination to the abyssal powers already admits 1) that she could send an army after Dain and that would only lead them to their doom and 2) that she wouldn't have been able to defeat Dain even after 500 years if he wasn't kind as he is.

It isn't lost to me that these are meant to justify how Dain loses the eye of the first Field Tiller and I plan to keep it that way, but I'll think of a different approach for this and post it during this weekend alongside my other thoughts and the shift in his background.

P.S. How the hecky did Dain guarded the eye of the first Field Tiller in his body flying frick. I have thoughts about this being possible due to the power he holds, just as he retrieved the eye from the Field Tiller smoothly without damaging it nor the automaton, but that'll be a talk for another day.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

There’s a few things that stand out to me about today’s Silm Daily.

Firstly, it was very striking to me that agriculture is the province of both Aulë and Yavanna.

Of him comes the lore and knowledge of the Earth and of all things that it contains: whether the lore of those that make not, but seek only for the understanding of what is [I’m taking this to mean Aulë is the vala of geology and chemistry] or the lore of all craftsmen: the weaver, the shaper of wood, and the worker in metals; and the tiller and husbandman also, though these last and all that deal with things that grow and bear fruit must look also to the spouse of Aulë, Yavanna Kementári.

The reason this stands out to me is because of the Ents (whom we’ll get to in a few days) and the Entwives. The Ents come out of a conflict between the values of Aulë and Yavanna, between the natural world as a source of resources for craft and the natural world as so ething of value on its own, to be left undisturbed. But the Entwives, who love agriculture and teach it to Men, in this context feel like a union of the domains and interests and loves of Aulë and Yavanna; as though Yavanna is actively trying to reconcile those two things. And yet, the Ents and Entwives themselves ultimately split over that same conflict - whether to shape the natural world for a purpose, or to leave wilderness as wilderness whose value lies in its own being.

Though Tolkien himself was, I think, more on the side of the Ents and of Yavanna, I feel like the takeaway is that the comflict is inherently a very difficult one to resolve even when you are trying: the conflict between the needs and wants of Men and Dwarves[1] for things made from the natural world, versus the value of nature in its own right.

[1] Elves seem better at reconciling this, even Noldor - at least, we never hear the Ents complain of them, and from what Legolas hears in Eregion, stone appears to outright delight in being shaped by them.

Secondly, although it says, “From the beauty and bliss of Valinor the Valar came seldom over the mountains to Middle-earth, but gave to the land beyond the Pélori their care and their love,” it also describes how quite a few of the Valar remained involved with Middle-earth:

Manwë Súlimo, highest and holiest of the Valar, sat upon the borders of Aman, forsaking not in his thought the Outer Lands. For his throne was set in majesty upon the pinnacle of Taniquetil, the highest of the mountains of the world, standing upon the margin of the sea. Spirits in the shape of hawks and eagles flew ever to and from his halls; and their eyes could see to the depths of the seas, and pierce the hidden caverns beneath the world. Thus they brought word to him of well night all that passed in Arda; yet some things were hidden even from the eyes of Manwë and the servants of Manwë, for where Melkor sat in his dark thought impenetrable shadows lay.

Ulmo was alone, and he abode not in Valinor, nor ever came thither unless there were need for a great council; he dwelt from the beginning of Arda in the Outer Ocean, and still he dwells there…it was by the power of Ulmo that even under the darkness of Melkor life coursed still through many secret lodes, and the Earth did not die…nor has he ever forsaken Middle-earth, and whatsoever may since have befallen of ruin or of change he has not ceased to take thought for it, and will not until the end of days.

Yavanna also was unwilling utterly to forsake the Outer Lands; for all things that grow are dear to her, and she mourned for the works that she had begun in Middle-earth but Melkor had marred. Therefore leaving the house of Aulë in the flowering meads of Valinor she would come at time and heal the hurts of Melkor; and returning she would ever urge the Valar to that war with his evil dominion that they must surely wage ere the coming of the Firstborn.

Oromë tamer of beasts would ride too at whiles in the darkness of the unlit forests; as a mighty hunter he came with spear and bow, pursuing to the death the monsters and fell creatures of the kingdom of Melkor, and his white horse Nahar shone like silver in the shadows. Then the sleeping earth trembled at the beat of his golden hooves, and in the twilight of the world Oromë would sound the Valaróma his great horn upon the plains of Arda; whereat the mountains echoed, and the shadows of evil fled away, and Melkor himself quailed in Utumno, foreboding the wrath to come. But even as Oromë passed the servants of Melkor would gather again; and the lands were filled with shadows and deceit.

However, except for Ulmo, this involvement is occasional and limited.

The third thing I noticed is how hard it is to put the Silmarillion in an order that makes sense! We’re not even up to the awakening of the Elves yet, and already it’s talking about Vanyar and Noldor and Teleri and their relationships with the Valar! This isn’t one of my reorganizations, this really is in Chapter 1, “Of the Beginning of Days”. Chopping it out and moving it so ewhere else and trying to get it to mesh seemed harder. All my sympathies to Christopher Tolkien!

I guess a fourth thing of note is the description of Manwë. He’s the king of the Valar, but all his values and interests tend away from from power or control: air, which is the most free and amorphous and least controllable of substances; poetry and song, which require no physical resources to make. It does fit with Tolkien’s ideals that if someone has to have power, it should rest with the people who least want it. (Hmm, now I want conversations between Manwë and Finarfin!)

[env0writes]

Deciding Embers Vol.4, 12.25.23 “Journey's End: Epilogue”

After the journey, the struggle, the triumph The conquest, the plummet, the doubt, and The victory and sacrifice painfully made What remains Of the salted earth Soil bereft of life To be sung, back to life Will there be songs and ballads Is it such a deed, heroic? To love the land that raised you? Taking tender day by day Vaingloriously working When all glory and gain is gone Will you work the land with me In tired hands and toiled hours spent Doing what it takes in dreary hours spent Returning green To places best painted green The world’s color The secondary color of the world After wine-dark seas aquamarine-blue hue When the conquerors role is played Will you be the farmer The humble and honest The tiller of soiler and sower of seeds No conquests of violence or sex to be had There is no glory greater than your own satisfaction Have you done right? Have you done What must be done There will be heroes Of myth and of legend But if you do not sow the seeds There will be no land to overrun with evil will With intent malicious not yet conquered by good deeds Will you endure the years after that grand revolution To create the world once sung of Create the world once promised What revolution so grand As years given to harvest Sewn and sown to sweetly reaped Sweeped into the margins Of greater stories missing grand import

@env0writes C.Buck   Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0 Support Your Local Artist!   Photo by @mynamemeanscloud

[ontheshroom]

Let ‘em know

Jack Harlow x fem!reader

Angst

Synopsis: Jack wants Y/n back after leaving her for an Insta girl.

******************************

You laugh to yourself as you see Jack standing in front of you as you open your front door.

“This is a joke right?” You ask him, crossing your arms.

“Look, I know you’re pissed, and I know you said this would happen.” Jack sighs.

“And?” You ask him, trying your hardest not to break into laughter at his audacity.

“And I want you back.” He says, attempting to enter your home.

“Mmm, no. I don’t think so.” You tell him, pressing his chest so he’s remaining outside.

“You left me for some insta girl and expect me to welcome you back with open arms? You’re so full of yourself it honestly astounds me.” You laugh.

“She wasn’t you, y/n. She wasn’t shit compared to you.” He admits.

“Now, Jack. I could’ve told you that. Why are you trying to do all this extra shit, when you left me? It doesn’t even matter, I’m seeing someone else.” You shrug.

“No, you’re not.” He says blankly.

“Yes? I am?” You say, confused by his statement.

“Nah. I’m coming back and I’m stayin’. So text all your little boyfriends and tell them it’s over.” Jack tells you, pushing past you and entering your house.

You stand at the door dumbfounded by his cockiness.

“I think we got lost in translation somehow some way.” You tell him.

“Us? We’re over. Done. Never to happen again.”

“Yeah, okay.” He shrugs, taking off his shoes and walking into your living room.

“Jack!” You groan in frustration.

“I always have liked to hear you moan my name.” He jokes.

“You are doing the most.” You shake your head.

“Tell me you’re mine again and I’ll leave.” He says.

“No.”

“Better get comfortable then, roomie.” He smiles, patting the spot next to him on your couch.

“Jack, I’m being so serious. Stop playing with me.” You cross your arms.

“All I’m asking for is another chance.”

“Another chance to leave me for some girl? Another chance to have me packing your shit up in my apartment? Another chance to leave me wondering why I’m so spent over you when you clearly don’t give a fuck about me? I don’t think so.” You shake your head.

“I was faded with all the stress from tour and shit. That wasn’t me.” He sighs.

“Okay. And what happens when you go on your next tour huh? What happens when you get stressed again? We go through shit together.”

“I’ll manage better. Y/n, please. I’m sorry.”

“Go, Jack.” You shake your head.

“I’m gonna prove to you that you can trust me, just wait.” He promises, walking out of your home.

[rems-writing]

Shoes

Pairing: Wooyoung × afab!reader

Summary: CONGRATULATIONS! YOU PICKED THE RED AND WHITE NIKES! please listen to Just Another Interlude by Bryson Tiller as you read your choice

Warning(s): mentions of another idol, a foot fetish, body worshipping, Wooyoung being a sweetheart throughout the entire thing

Genre: Soft smut

Nets: @mirohs-aurora-society

I picked up the shoes and observed them. They were a really nice pair of Nikes. I kicked off my combat boots and tried them on. Holy shit. 

They fit perfectly!

HOW DID THIS DAMN MOTEL KNOW MY SHOE SIZE?!

Shrugging, I decided to take out my phone and snap a photo of them. I was definitely going to post this later. As I checked the photo, I noticed something different. I looked closely and I saw a different pair of shoes in front of me. I was so confused. 

"Doll, look at me." 

A whiny voice spoke up and I looked around before looking ahead of me. 

A man's face was so close to mine and he was smiling cheekily at me. He kissed my forehead and hugged me tightly. The sudden embrace threw me off yet I hugged him back awkwardly. He pushed me down onto the bed and kissed all over my face. A high-pitched laugh escaped his lips and even though he was very close to me, I found him endearing as hell and didn't have the heart to push him off. 

"You're so cute! I hope you like the shoes. I got them just for you. I had to adjust the laces since they were long but other than that, they look perfect on you! Please keep them! You will keep them right?"

Big and unblinking eyes bore into mine and I nodded slowly. He smiled again and he kissed me on the lips briefly. 

"Before you ask, no I don't have a foot fetish. I hate feet. They're weird." 

Finally, a man that gets it. Jeno liked feet and we argued about it a lot. Maybe the girl he cheated on me with liked feet. Gross. 

Anyways

He was soon staring down at me, taking in my entire body and he smirked. 

"You truly are a sight to behold, Y/N. May I have you for tonight?"

His voice was so sultry and charming and he looked at me with bright lust painting his eyes. I nodded and he dragged my bottom lip down with his teeth before clicking his tongue. 

"No no no no. I want verbal consent."

"Sure. I'm all yours for tonight."

"Thank you, my pretty doll." 

He kissed me again. While we made out, he unbuttoned my flannel and unclipped my bra before going over to take off my shoes gently. He set them down carefully and yanked off my pants and panties easily. For the next half hour, he was leaving kisses all over my body, worshipping me as if I was a goddess. He kissed my inner thighs so passionately and I squirmed a bit. He giggled as he took off his own clothes and even set aside the glasses that he wore on the bedside table. 

"You are honestly the most beautiful woman I ever laid eyes upon. No one can match your beauty. At all." 

He put my legs over his shoulders and slid inside me. He moaned so loudly and he looked down at me before capturing my lips with his. 

This honestly felt like lovemaking rather than casual sex. He was gentle yet rough and I was living for it. For the next hour, we were just mixing in our moans and groans and he spoke sweetly in my ear before kissing my neck some more. I whimpered and I had to hold onto his back. He smirked as he looked back at me. 

"Can you leave scratches down my back?"

I was confused as to why he wanted that but I nodded nonetheless. He soon picked up his pace and each hard thrust had me leaving deep scratch marks down his back. He moaned as well and praised me for doing such a good job. 

"Fuck I'm going to cum!" 

He yelled out loud as his thrusts slowed down. Before I could say anything, I felt myself cum around his cock while he stopped and spilled deep inside me. We were both breathing heavily and he tucked a few strands of hair behind my ear before kissing me sweetly. He pulled out of me and he stood up before putting back on his lower clothing. He remained shirtless and he handed me his black flannel for me to wear. I happily accepted it and put it on. I wasn't bothered to put on my bra. I was about to reach down and pick up my panties when he stopped me. 

"That color doesn't suit you. Here. Wear these instead." 

Since when the fuck did he have a pair of new panties? And why were they shoved in his pocket? 

They were kind of cute though. 

I shrugged and thanked him for the new piece of clothing before putting it on. It fit me perfectly and it was lace as well. What made it even better was that they were royal blue. 

My favorite color. 

He lifted the flannel and smirked before looking up at me. 

"Much better."

He soon headed into the kitchen and I followed. I didn't know there was a kitchen in this room. But I ain't complaining. A bitch is hungry after all. I sat down on top of the counter while he took out various pots and pans along with various ingredients from the fridge. 

"Tonight's dinner is chicken katsu curry over a bed of rice and garnished with different veggies on the side. Can you pass me that champagne glass please? And pour me one while you're at it." 

I nodded and reached over before opening the champagne bottle and pouring him a glass. I poured myself one as well and we clinked our glasses together before taking a sip. We were talking about various things while he cooked and he listened tentatively. About another hour later, he finished and I brought out plates for the two of us. He thanked me and plated the food before bringing it over to the table. He sat down and I hopped down from the counter. I was about to sit down when he made a loud noise. I was confused but then he pointed to his legs. I got the memo and walked over to him before sitting on his lap. He wrapped an arm around my waist and we proceeded to eat the meal.

HE WAS A COOKING GOD! HOLY SHIT THIS MEAL SLAPPED!

"Do you like the food?"

"HELL YEAH I DO!"

He laughed again and kissed my cheek. 

"You're so cute."

After we finished eating, I got up and walked over to the sink before washing the dishes. He was hugging me from behind and giving me neck kisses while whispering sweet nothings in my ear. When I finished, I placed the dishes in the dishwasher and closed it. He lifted me up and carried me over to the bed before setting me down and covering both of us with the soft blankets. He kissed my forehead and giggled. 

"Oh yeah. My name is Jung Wooyoung. I almost forgot. Anyways. Good night!"

As he slept, the last thought of the day entered my mind. 

He said my name yet I never told him. What the hell...?

[Go back for other choices]

[catt-nuevenor]

Modern Setting - Kelda and Keldan

I stand upon the jetty, my torch in hand, and try and burrow myself deeper into my coat.

"Does it have to be tonight?" I ask. It's an effort to keep my teeth from chattering.

Kelda/Keldan doesn't look up. "Yes."

They're adjusting something to do with the rigging, a winch or pulley or something around which the heavy rope is secured. The beam from my torch trembles as the damp cold of the marsh seeps into my fingers.

That draws their attention. They take in my miserable form, bundled up in a winter coat so thick that it makes turning my head a cumbersome negotiation, my nose and eyes already streaming as the icy night air digs in.

They've been planning this for a while, checking reports and conditions every morning and every evening, tutting and muttering to themselves as they disapprove of what nature has thrown our way.

It has to be tonight.

"Do you want to go home?" Kelda/Keldan asks, rising from their crouch over the rigging. It's open and honest, there's no blame, no accusation to the question, and I know they'll accept whatever answer I give.

The thought of the warm fire and a steaming mug of tea or chocolate is a cruel temptation, one that almost wins out. But this is important to them, so I shake my head, burrow deeper into my coat, and order myself to tough it out.

Rather than continue with the rope, Kelda/Keldan offers me their hand, palm up, fingers outstretched. I take it, and they help me into the boat.

"Here," they say, handing me a thermos that's toasty to the touch. "Pour one for me too?"

Of course, it's exactly what I'd imagined sipping around the fireplace at home, perfectly hot, beautifully warming as I sip. Kelda/Keldan spends a few more minutes on adjustments before we're finally underway, beneath their knowing hand, slipping gracefully away from the humming floodlights of the jetty and out into the marsh.

There's next to no wind tonight, still Kelda/Keldan manages to find what little remains, capturing in the boat's pale sails. I'm to point the torch forwards till we reach the lake, warning any other late sailors that there's another boat to be aware of.

Once we reach the open water, Kelda/Keldan secures the tiller, raises the sail, and drops the small weight that the tiny boat calls its anchor. We sit upon the deck side by side, our legs brushing against one another's, and just as I'm about to lean in closer, Kelda/Keldan asks me to close my eyes.

"Trust me," they say with a whisper they know plays havoc with my good sense.

When my eyes are closed, they take the torch from my hand and there's a sharp click. The silence washes over us with the dark. All is still, and were it not for the warmth of them at my side, I would feel terribly alone.

First their breath, then their lips ghost across my cheek. Their hand slides around my back, and even through the coat and the cold, I can feel the caress of each finger.

"Open your eyes," Kelda/Keldan whispers into my skin.

I do, and I find a sea of stars stretching beyond the horizon.

---

Image courtesy of Johannes Plenio on Unsplash

[archmage-lleweneth]

Day 1 — “Steer”

Caswyn Lleweneth had died last night, on the streets of Vesper Bay. She was certain of little else, but she must’ve.

She could distinctly recall the moment where her frantic, fruitless attempts to puzzle out some way of escaping the coming doom had given way to a cold, clear, terrible clarity. She had heard the red moon detonate. She had felt the dreadwyrm’s roar. She would die tonight. She thought only of savoring each sensation to be had in her few remaining moments. She’d emptied her purse on the bar, set her glasses down on the pages of a borrowed book, and left them both behind. She hadn’t hid from the dragon’s next pass. She’d stood in the street with her neck craned to the sky and the mere presence of the dreadwyrm had swallowed her up completely. There was no room for thought. No room for experience. The promised end that had hung in the sky for months had come and in that moment it was a relief.

When she could see again, it was a familiar sight. Falling stars. Hundreds of them. One of her earliest memories; a star shower over the Hinterlands, and a truth she’d never managed to fit into mere words.

Was that all I ever was? A prophet with a stilled tongue? Had I known my whole life this doom was coming? What good was the warning if it did nothing to change our fate?

What happened next, she could not say. She had nothing to connect that moment with this: Alone, in a fishing boat she did not recognize, with no land in sight.

Surely I didn’t steal a boat? If I had, how did I get it here? If not, who would’ve gone out of their way to save me?

If the cry of the gull was an answer, she did not know the language. Whether the salt wind that kissed her cheek was the breath of a doomed world, or a saved one, she could only wonder.

“No more questions,” she said aloud, “You’re neither Scholarch nor student. Their methods will not serve you.” She swallowed, her mouth gummy with thirst. Not here anyway, she thought, with no shoes, no water, alone in a boat I have no knowledge of how to operate.

Well, no first-hand knowledge, but she’d seen it done. She’d lived around boats her whole life. She’d watched able sailors go about their work. She knew what made good sail cloth, how to spin up rope, and what principles allowed a ship to ride the wind. She’d be a fool to decide that was all there was to know, but she’d be a greater fool still if she let that stop her from trying.

“Better to act a fool than be one,” she thought, in her mother’s voice. Caswyn didn’t know if her last letters had reached them. If she died out here, she’d never know what happened to them, and they of what happened to her. There was so much she didn’t know.

But she had been in Thanalan last night, on the coast, and the modest swell that lapped at the boards of her little boat could not be that of the open ocean. She was in the Strait of Merlthor, and the sun was still low in the sky. The lines at the top of the mast steamed where the sun struck them. Dew. It would be have to be dawn. Thanalan lay towards the sun.

It was shoddy work done thrice, and not quickly, but she got the sail to catch the wind. The little boat leapt, lurched, and nearly turned over before Caswyn’s hands got a feel for the tiller. She trailed a hand into the sea before raising it in prayer, “Llymlaen, give me a safe harbor this day, and you’ll be first of the Twelve in my heart for the rest of my days.” The movement of the ship began to clear her head. She could feel water through her hand on the tiller. She could feel the icy bite of the wind on her cheeks. She was alive, though she knew not how, she knew what she wanted to do about it. “Just see me to land,” she pleaded, “and I will live my every remaining moment as a second chance at life deserves.”

[waternilly]

No Tricks (George Weasley x OC) - Part 4

Fandom: Harry Potter Ship: George Weasley x OC Word count: 1.1k Warnings: None Ao3 link: here Summary: A tattoo shop opens across from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, immediately catching the eye of the youngest twin. The intriguing owner, though well-versed in the magical world, doesn’t quite belong to it herself. As they navigate their differences, their mutual curiosity blooms into something deeper. Harry Potter Masterlist

Oli sighed as she looked up at the sunlit ceiling while thoughts of the inauguration the previous night flooded her mind. The curiosity of her neighbors, motivated either by admiration or caution, had amused her. The last question, however, had briefly sent a chill down her spine. She hoped that any sign of her discomfort had successfully been hidden by a sip from the glass she was holding. Thankfully, her answer had satisfied the guests and everyone had left soon after.

Only George had remained. Kind, handsome George. He had been welcoming to Oli ever since her arrival, showing genuine interest in her and her wellbeing. She smiled, reminiscing about the bread trade that had occurred almost as soon as they had met. But would he be the same once he found out she could not wave a wand around like everyone else? That she was barely more than a regular Muggle? Her throat tightened.

Pulling her out of her torpor, the doorbell rang through the building. Groaning, Oli pushed the bedsheets aside and clumsily put on her slippers, rushing down the stairs and jumping down the last few steps. Through the glass, she recognised familiar red hair, causing her to pause in her tracks. Clearing her throat, she hastily combed her hair with her fingers and looked down to check that she was presentable. An old pajama would have to do. 

Taking in a breath of fresh air, she swiftly opened the door while smiling brightly: “Good morning!”

“Hello, dear!” a lady with flaming red hair responded.

Next to her, a gentleman with a matching shade extended his hand: “Arthur Weasley.”

He was the one she had mistaken for George through the textured window.

Brows furrowed, Oli nevertheless shook the offered hand: “Oli Tillers.”

“We know, darling, George told us all about you,” the lady said, leaving Oli mouth agape.

“Pardon?” she asked, blinking slowly and suddenly feeling all too underdressed.

“I’m Molly, we’re Fred and George’s parents,” she explained as if that was not clear yet.

“Uh, yes,” Oli licked her lips, “Erm, to what do I-”, cleared her throat, “What can I do for you?”

“Well, you see, Fred told us how his brother lent you some bread when you moved in,” Molly began, “and because you were so kind as to buy him a new one, we came to bring you this.”

Oli was handed a heavy paper bag. Peeking inside, she immediately noticed a considerable amount of food.

“Mrs. Weasley, I can’t accept it. What I did was the polite thing to do, really, nothing else.”

“Nonsense!” Molly counter-argued. “Many wouldn’t have been so thoughtful as you!”

“Mrs. Weasley, please, this is all too much.”

“No, I only put a few things together. Don’t fret!”

At a loss for words, Oli looked down at the parcel once more, before meeting their gaze again: “Can I offer you some tea perhaps?”

“That would be lovely,” Arthur nodded with a kind smile. Oli could see from whom George had inherited his.

Walking into the shop, Oli put the bag down on the small table by the couch and lifted the blinds. The morning sun painted the emerald green of the walls in warm tones and bounced off the gold accents.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” Oli pointed at the couch. “I will be back in a second.”

Walking upstairs with the paper bag, she sighed deeply as she reached the top floor. While the water came to a boil, Oli emptied its contents into the fridge and cupboards. Balancing a tray with cups, a teapot and the necessary complements, and, now wrapped in a robe, she cautiously came back down.

Sitting in a chair opposite Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Oli poured all of them a cup.

“Fred told us you moved in recently, yes?” Molly asked.

“Yes,” Oli nodded, “Only a week ago. The inauguration was yesterday, in fact. Tomorrow will be the first day where the shop will be open to the public.”

“Congratulations!” Molly cheered.

“You are a tattoo artist George says?” Arthur wondered then.

“I am. It is a skill I learned through my Muggle side of the family.”

Arthur’s eyebrows shot up.

“Are you very knowledgeable on Muggle culture?”

Smiling behind her cup, Oli nodded silently.

“I was practically raised by one, really.”

Arthur turned to his wife, a smile gracing his features.

“If I may in that case: what is the function of a rubber duck?”

Furrowing her brows, Oli did not have the chance to ponder the question that the doorbell rang again.

Excusing herself, she stood up and welcomed another redhead.

“Good morning,” Oli greeted him.

“Hi,” George answered, but averted his eyes immediately after. “My parents are here, aren’t they?”

Chuckling, she nodded and motioned for him to enter.

“Hey,” he greeted his parents, eyebrows shot up.

“Awww George!” Molly stood up to hug him.

Oli smiled at the interaction even if she could tell George was moderately annoyed at his parents.

“What are you doing here?” he asked them.

“Your mother wanted to thank your neighbor here for being so kind,” Arthur explained.

“Well now that you’ve done so, how about we leave Oli alone? I’m sure she still has a lot of things to do today.”

“Could we help with anything, dear?” Molly asked.

Oli chuckled once more and waved her hands in front of her: “No, thank you. I am going to rest a lot today.”

“Would you like to come over for lunch?”

Noticing George’s panicked gaze, Oli returned to his mother: “Perhaps another time. But thank you for the offer.”

“Very well,” Molly agreed with a smile.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley thanked her for the tea as George gently nudged them towards the exit. Bidding her farewell, they crossed the street over to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Just before entering the shop, they turned around once more and waved her goodbye.

After making sure they were inside, George looked back to Oli and leaned by the door.

“I’m sorry about this,” he started..

“Don’t be. Your parents were lovely.”

He chuckled and stared down at his shoes.

“It’s just that they can be a lot.”

“Really?” she asked ironically.

Breathing out another laugh, he met her gaze. George licked his lips as his eyes traveled back and forth between the store and her.

“We’re having our family lunch in the shop today,” he explained. “That’s why my parents are already here.”

Oli merely nodded understandingly.

George cleared his throat before continuing: “Once we’re done… Would you like to share that bottle of wine?”

Smiling, she looked away but nodded nonetheless.

“I’d love that.”