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willowbelle · 3 months

Text

Open Flame

❤︎ portgas d ace x fem reader ❤︎

༉‧₊˚✧ (nsfw, afab!reader, 18+ only) ༉‧₊˚✧

cw: afab!reader, fem!reader, dom!ace, sub!reader, ace is a smug tease, kitchen sex, fingering, piv sex, bent-over-the-counter sex, cream pie, use of "good girl" , "baby" & "sweetheart"

summary: reader is a strawhat, reader has a crush on ace (don't we all?) they're the only ones up late at night in the kitchen >:), sex ensues, heat/flame innuendos duh, oh and Ace wears those slutty man plaid boxers (>ᴗ•) !

word count: ~4,000

tagging: @bby-deerling @maddddstuff @eelnoise @nerdgeekandeverysweet-blog @help-i-lost-my-sock

Open Flame

Ace’s gaze was allconsuming.

A spell-binding stare that, ironically, lit a flame within you that couldn’t be tamed.

Your captain’s brother was only supposed to have stayed with you all on The Sunny for a few days, but, before long, days melted into weeks, and Ace had effortlessly ingrained himself, finding a home not just within the confines of the ship, but also within the recesses of your mind.

Ever since his first day with your crew, you found yourself tossing and turning in bed at night, consumed by visions of Fire Fist Ace; his toned figure, his freckled skin, his dark, shaggy hair.

Each toss and turn was a desperate attempt to escape the relentless grip of your infatuation, but his image persisted, vivid and unyielding.

Oh, it was futile. The more you tried to push him from your thoughts, the more he consumed them. His presence lingered, something intoxicating, relentless, enveloping you in a haze of longing and allconsuming desire.

------

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to find solace in sleep, but your mind races on, conjuring fantasies of those stolen glances, those tan, freckled cheeks. Each scenario plays out in intricate detail, taunting you with the tantalizing possibility of something more.

You release a weighted sigh, your gaze still fixed on the unchanging ceiling. Sleep feels impossible now, so you give in to your insomnia, gently shedding the covers from your body and rising upright.

------

In the depths of the ship's night, you silently slip out of your bunk, navigating the narrow corridors with practiced ease. The Sunny creaks and groans softly around you, its familiar sounds a comforting backdrop to your nocturnal wanderings.

The floorboards creak faintly beneath your weight as you pad through the dimly lit hallway, guided only by the pale moonlight filtering through the fluttering curtains.

A gentle sea breeze whispers through the open window, carrying with it the scent of night blooms and sea salt. As you descend the stairs, your footsteps echo softly against the wooden steps, breaking the stillness of the night.

Entering the kitchen, you flick on the overhead light, casting a warm glow over the familiar surroundings. The room seems to welcome your presence, the comforting hum of the refrigerator and the soft ticking of the clock offering solace in the solitude of the night.

You move with quiet purpose, your movements fluid and unhurried as you prepare a cup of tea, the gentle clink of porcelain against porcelain punctuating the silence. The rhythmic motion of stirring soothes your restless mind, easing the knots of tension that had taken root within you.

As you stir the spoon through the steaming liquid, Ace's presence solidifies in your thoughts, his grip on your mind unyielding. There's no escaping his hold, so you allow him to take you, drifting deeper into your imagination. You envision the sensation of drawing him near, tasting his lips, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. The thought lingers: would his abilities render his flesh hot to the touch?

Lost in your daydreaming, your senses are momentarily dulled. The rhythmic stirring of your tea slows as you continue to drift in the cocoon of your thoughts, imagining scenarios that seem both tantalizingly real and impossibly distant.

Ace’s lips on your neck, his strong hands around your waist, melting you.

And then, like a sudden gust of something unexpected, the sound of footsteps shatters the tranquility of your fantasies. Your heart skips a beat as you raise your head, finding yourself face to face with the object of your affection.

Ace stands in the doorway, his presence filling the room with an intensity that leaves you breathless.

He has’t noticed me, yet, thank god.

Unaware of your presence, he remains oblivious, his attention consumed by the remnants of sleep lingering in his eyes. With a lazy yawn and a gentle rub of his eyes, he remains lost in the haze between wakefulness and sleep.

He stands before you, casually shirtless, as he usually is, yet there's something distinctly different about this moment. His chest is bare and his torso is exposed, the warm light of the kitchen accentuating the contours of his chest and the play of shadows across his skin.

Beneath the soft glow, his feet are bare, too, adding to the casual allure of his presence. The only garment adorning him is a pair of loose-fitting red plaid boxers, hanging effortlessly from his sculpted hips

The warm glow of the kitchen lights cascades softly over Ace's toned body, each gentle beam of light dances delicately across his features, accentuating the subtle contours of his handsome, freckled face. As he steps further into the room, the light caresses his golden skin, highlighting the delicate sprinkling of freckles that adorn his cheeks and nose, a testament to the countless hours spent basking in the sun's embrace.

And suddenly, to your dismay, his eyes, dark and enigmatic, lock onto yours, and for a fleeting instant, time seems to stand still.

A weary grin creeps onto his face as he senses comfort in your company.

"Trouble sleeping, too?" the timbre of his voice is soft and raspy, colored by the remnants of sleep. As he speaks, he ambles towards the fridge, effortlessly navigating the kitchen space. With a fluid motion, he swings the refrigerator door open, stealing a quick glance in your direction as he begins to sift through its contents, awaiting your response.

“Uh, yeah,” you chuckle softly, stumbling over your words. Surely, you were dreaming. You rub your eyes a few times to dispel the remnants of sleep, however, when you open them again, Ace is still there.

"The waves seem rougher tonight, huh?" Ace mumbles between mouthfuls of food, his attention divided between his meal and the remaining contents of the fridge.

“They do, yeah,” you offer a soft smile, “But I can rarely get to sleep,” you admit, taking a sip from your mug of tea.

"Oh, really?" Ace's inquiry pulls your attention away from your tea, his sudden gaze meeting yours as he lifts his head from the fridge for the first time. “Why’s that?”

A rush of heat floods your cheeks at the direct eye contact, prompting you to avert your gaze momentarily.

"Just... can't stop thinking," you admit softly, your voice trailing off as you struggle to find the right words.

"Hmm," Ace acknowledges with a thoughtful hum before swallowing. "Same here," he adds, his tone carrying a hint of vulnerability.

Your curiosity piqued, you lean in slightly, intrigued by his response. "What's been on your mind, Ace?" you ask, voice laced with genuine interest.

Ace hesitates for a moment, glancing around the kitchen before shrugging nonchalantly,

"You.”

Ace's unexpected confession courses through your veins and renders you speechless. Your heart flutters erratically in your chest, and you struggle to maintain composure under the weight of his words that hang heavily between the two of you.

It was disarmingly casual, refreshingly honest. Not a rehearsed performance, starkly contrasting the countless nights you spent rehearsing confessions in front of the mirror. You can;t help but envy his effortless sincerity.

His gaze remains fixed on yours, unwavering and intense as he straightens up, closing the fridge.

He slowly makes his way towards you, making your breath hitch in your throat. You swallow dryly as he draws near, and with a gentle yet purposeful motion, he reaches out and takes the mug of tea from your hand, the brief touch sending a shiver down your spine. Setting the drink down on the counter with a soft clink, he closes the space between you, the air crackling with unspoken tension.

You feel his breath on your ear as his presence looms closer,

“What have you been thinking about, y/n?” he questions, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

You suck in your bottom lip gently between your teeth, a nervous habit betraying the whirlwind of emotions churning within you. Your gaze locks with his, his eyes like pools inviting you take a swim.

And so, you dive in.

Time seems to stand still as you hover on the brink of uncertainty, the weight of your unspoken emotions hanging heavy in the air. And then, with a soft exhale, you opt for a physical reply, immediately closing the gap, crashing your lips onto Ace’s.

His hand instinctively finds its home on your soft cheek as your lips meld together, making you moan softly into his mouth.

His lips turn up into a smile against yours, pleased with the sound that escaped your throat.

It's a moment suspended in time, a delicate dance of longing and hesitation as you explore the uncharted territory of your newfound embrace. Your lips move together in perfect harmony, each brush of skin igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume you whole.

Your surroundings seem to fall away as you make out, gently caressing Ace’s sharp jawline as his tongue presses against your lips, silently asking for permission to enter.

You promptly oblige, parting your lips to allow Ace’s hot tongue to explore your mouth.

He accepts, groaning softly into your open mouth as his tongue swirls around yours slowly.

He presses forwards softly, palms resting on the countertop on either side of your hips, caging you in as he leans harder into the kiss.

You hands travel upwards, tangling themselves in his mess of dark hair as you gently bite his bottom lip, playfully tugging on the tender flesh between your teeth.

“Ace,” you whine breathlessly.

“Yeah?” the tall man rasps into your mouth, eyes still closed in a blissful surrender, “Tell me what you need, sweetheart.”

Your heart swells at his affectionate words and you playfully parrot his statement from before,

“You.”

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice soft yet brimming with confidence. "That's what I wanted to hear."

You feel your core tighten at his boldness, making heat pool in your crotch.

As if he could read your body like a book, he slowly begins to snake his toned arm downwards, his hand finding its home on your aching sex.

Your head rolls back and you let out a pleased sigh at the sensation.

“Sensitive, are we?” Ace purrs arrogantly, pleased at his own ability.

“Mm-mhmm,” you whine in admission because he’s right, he tugs those sounds from your body naturally, better than anyone ever has.

His able fingers cautiously meet the waistband of your pajama shorts and he shoots you a questioning glance, silently asking for your permission.

“Please, Ace,” you whine.

He smirks at you before dipping his hand beneath your shorts, his middle and ring finger aiming to tease your weeping opening.

“Needy girl,” he lets out a gravelly groan, “So wet for me already.”

A dark blush rushes to your cheeks at the lewdness of his words, but he cups your face and tilts your head down, making you watch the meticulous movements of his fingers.

His other hand swiftly snakes around to give your ass a gentle squeeze before dipping his thumb beneath your waistband to tug your shorts down.

Simultaneously, he swipes his middle finger along your aching slit, the tip of his finger meeting your hole with a precautionary nudge.

“Mm,” you whine out, excitedly awaiting the intrusion.

“Yeah?” Ace tests you, stalling his movements, “Come on, baby, show me how badly you want it.”

Abandoning all dignity, you let your yearnings take the reigns, grinding your hips back and forth against him, soaking his digit in your essence.

“Good,” Ace mumbles, rewarding your persistence with a press of his finger against your opening. Your cunt greedily accepts his digit, sucking him in. “So tight, y/n, can’t wait to stretch you out,” the man before you smirks and you want to hide your embarrassed face, but you’re too consumed by desire, unable to fall back on your shy tendencies.

He slowly begins pumping his finger in and out of you, earning delicious moans to escape from your slack jaw and into his ear.

You bury your face in his neck, his skin radiating heat and carrying the unmistakable scent of fire. It's primal and potent, a blend of burning wood, scorched earth, and smoldering embers. As you inhale deeply, you detect hints of charred debris and smoke clinging to him, a haunting reminder of his fire's destructive power. Yet, there's also an allure to the scent, a sense of safety, evoking memories of his warm flames flickering in the darkness. It's a scent that commands your attention, stirring your senses with its primal energy and leaving an indelible mark, much like the landscape long after the flames have been extinguished.

You’re a mess beneath his touch, biting onto the muscular flesh of his freckled shoulders, whimpering into his ear. He adds another finger, making you cry out at the intrusion earning a palm to your mouth. He works the two digits in and out of you with deliberate precision, hitting your sweet-spot perfectly with each pass.

You start to see stars as Ace’s thumb meets your aching clit, treating the swollen nub with tight circles.

The ever-tightening coil growing within your stomach reaches its peak, threatening to snap as Ace continues his dirty work.

But, before your pleasure can boil over, Ace pulls away, removing his soaking fingers from your needy cunt.

You’re trembling, weakly holding onto Ace’s muscular forearm to steady yourself as you whine,

“Aceee, w-why’d you stoppp?” your voice is desperate, nearly embarrassingly so, but you’ve long abandoned all your dignity, you just want him to keep pleasing you.

“Turn around,” the man before you shoots you a wolfish grin, “I promise I’ll make it worth it.”

The mere idea of passing up whatever Ace is offering fills you with trepidation, so without hesitation, you comply, swiftly turning yourself around and placing your hands on the countertop.

You glance back at the tall man behind you, finding him sporting a smug smirk, dark eyes lidded as he gazes down at you, clearly amused by your immediate obedience.

Ace’s strong, hot hands meet your hips, griping the flesh tightly as he brings his clothed crotch to lie flush with your bare ass.

His skin is seeping heat through his boxers, and the sensation causes you to mewl out, goosebumps budding all over your impatient skin.

He wastes no time as he’s no better, impatient, too, immediately beginning to grind his aching cock against the flesh of your ass. A hearty moan brews in his chest and escapes from his throat, causing a dark blush to dance across your cheeks. You stare down at your fingers gripping the countertop, knuckles growing white against the granite as Ace has his way with you.

“Fuck,” he leans forward, his bare chest lying flush with your back as he groans in your ear, “You ready for me, baby?” he nips at your ear.

You roll your hips in response, pressing your ass harder against his erection to accentuate your whiny plea, “Please, Ace.”

You feel his lips tug into a smirk against your ear, “Say no more, y/n.”

In an instant, Ace’s plaid boxers meet the kitchen floor, earning a small gasp from you as you watch the fabric pool at his feet.

Placing one warm palm on the small of your back he uses the other to grip his long, pulsing cock, lining himself up with your weeping entrance.

Ace grits his teeth as he begins to push his tip inside you, sucking in a shaky breath through his grin as he feels your tight hole opening up for him.

“Mmm,” you whine out, “Aceee-”

Your fingertips make a pathetic attempt to dig into the impenetrable granite as Ace pushes himself inside you.

The stretch is evident, nearly painful, but you endure it, for the reward of having Ace fuck you is beyond worth it.

His fingertips meet the dip of your waistline with a comforting squeeze as he continues to press forwards, his voice filled with genuine concern, "You're alright, baby?" he asks tenderly.

“Mm-mhm,” you whine, pressing your hips back eagerly, “More, please-”

“So desperate for me,” Ace groans through gritted teeth, but he rewards your desperation, gripping your waist tightly as he thrusts himself inside you fully, bottoming out,.

“Fuck, Ace!” you cry out, loudly at the feeling of Ace’s lengthy cock suddenly filling your insides. You feel stuffed, letting your mouth hang slack and your eyes screw shut as stars erupt beneath your lids.

At the sudden sound of your loud moans, Ace’s hand immediately shoots forwards, palm covering your mouth tightly and pressing in firmly to punctuate his point.

Ace’s palm against your mouth makes you realize how loud you just were, and although a surge of longing and desire courses through your veins, beneath the surface, a thread of caution lingers. You are acutely aware of your surroundings, the faint sounds of the ship humming around you, the distant creak of floorboards echoing in the corridor beyond. The two of you are an open flame, and the threat of one of your crewmates walking in tickles at your mind, but is far overpowered by the desire for Ace to rail you.

“Stay quiet for me, yeah, baby?” Ace groans, his voice a gravelly, promising whisper, “and I'll give ‘ya everything you want.”

“M-Mhmm,” you nod your head frantically, willing to promise anything if it means he’ll keep going.

Ace gives you a firm nod, pleased at your response, letting his hand fall from your mouth and find its way back on the other side of your waist.

His cock throbs inside your tight cunt, making you let out a pleased but quiet moan. The feeling of your hot walls fluttering around his length makes Ace relinquish his control, steadying himself before pulling his hips back and thrusting back into you.

Your moans threaten to escape loudly, and as much as you want to let it out, you keep them at bay, obeying Ace’s silent order. You tremble beneath him, only allowing a soft, weak moan to erupt from your heaving chest.

Soon enough, he develops a steady pace, thrusting in and out of you rhythmically, stuffing you full, his blunt tip kissing your g-spot with each pass, making your body melt beneath him.

He’s strategic, reaching around to rub tight circles into your clit as he fucks you from behind, keeping you bent over the kitcher counter.

The man behind you is hot to the touch; his skin, his cock, all of him is hot, a stark contrast to the cold granite that rubs against your tits and open palms as he fucks you.

Ace is huffing behind you, eyes screwed shut as he picks up the pace, the lewd sounds of your skin slapping together dismissing the nighttime silence that hung in the kitchen earlier.

“Fuck, y/n,” he groans, letting his head fall back. His pace increases, becoming more brutal and a bit sloppy as he chases his orgasm.

One of his hands makes its way upwards to tangle itself in your hair, lacing his fingers in the strands and tugging on them, pulling your head back to make you look at him.

He looks beautiful like this, thrusting into you from behind, freckled face and shoulders tinted red, dark, shaggy hair clinging to his forehead with his sweat, toned chest heaving up and down.

“Y/n,” he rasps breathlessly, eyes lidded as he stares down at you lustfully, “I-I’m so close-”

The circles he’s rubbing into your clit become tighter, more frantic, his thrusts gaining more power but becoming unsynchronized as he desperately chases his rapidly-approaching orgasm.

You’re no better, weakly clawing at the countertop as your legs tremble, threatening to give out from under you as Ace continues to pound his length into you. He’s bullying your cervix, overstimulating your sore clit, wildly pulling you towards your own peak.

“Sh-Shit, A-Ace-!”

In an instant, it hits you; white-hot pleasure, coursing through your veins, making your limbs grow tingly and numb, your knees buckling as they give out beneath you. You’re a trembling mess, gushing onto Ace’s cock as your orgasm reaches its crown, crashing into you with unwavering intensity.

Ace is right behind you, granting your spent body with a few more weak thrusts before he pushes himself in fully one last time, tip meeting your cervix with a harsh bump before he erupts inside you.

----

The soft tendrils of morning light filter through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the your bedroom as you stir from your slumber. Blinking sleepily, you rub your eyes, a lingering sense of disorientation clouding your thoughts.

I’m in bed. Did Ace bring me here?

The events of the previous night flood your mind, and you can't help but wonder if it was all just a dream. The memory of your clandestine encounter in the kitchen feels like a distant echo, shrouded in uncertainty and disbelief.

With a sigh, you sit up, the sheets pooling around your waist as you wrestle with the conflicting memories swirling within you. Part of you yearns to believe that it was real, that the tender moments shared between you and Ace were more than just figments of your imagination.

Doubt gnaws at the edges of your consciousness, whispering tales of wishful thinking and misplaced desire.

But the fresh love bites on your neck and soreness of your cunt must prove otherwise, right?

Lost in your thoughts, you slip out of bed and pad across the room, the cool floor beneath your feet grounding you in the present. With hesitant steps, you make your way to the kitchen, heart pounding in anticipation.

As you enter the familiar space, you let out a deep breath, scanning the room for any sign of Fire Fist Ace. But, to your dismay, the kitchen stands empty, the only remnants of your encounter being the lingering scent of tea and a damp kitchen towel.

And then, his voice cuts through the silence like a hot knife on ice,

“How’d you sleep, beautiful?”

You turn, and there, leaning casually against the kitchen counter, is Ace, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that steals your breath away. The sight of him, so real and tangible, dispels the lingering doubts that had clouded your mind.

He grins widely, warmly, a sight that floods your veins with a familiar sensation of heat and joy.

“Hope I didn’t rough you up too much, pretty girl.”

With the reassurance of his words, elation and relief climb up your spine and cling to your skin.

You make your way towards Ace, planting a passionate kiss on his lips before gazing up into his eyes,

“Thanks for tucking me in, Ace,” you blush softly.

The freckled man chuckles,

“Anytime.”

1K notes · View notes

konigbabe · 1 year

Text

mosaic of us

Pairing: plaga!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

Word count: 6k

Tags/warnings: smut; no y/n; infected Leon (las plagas); p-in-v sex; unprotected sex; female gendered anatomy; rough sex; creampie; manhandling; Leon's a menace and this is yet another pure filth

Summary: Hidden in the village, Leon's condition keeps deteriorating; somehow, his kiss seems to ignite something deep inside you. Something primal — savage in its roots.

A/N: Written as part of my A to Z kinks game. R is for rough sex.

I sincerely apologize for this mess. Divider is mine.

masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

You notice the veins around his eyes growing more prominent, twisting and pulsing like roots searching for water. It’s as if something inside him is struggling to break free from its confines, a dangerous force waiting to be unleashed. With a sudden jerk, Leon looks up at you with an intense fervor; the sclera now twisted into a sickly yellow, the inky tendrils reaching towards his pupils, enveloping them in a macabre embrace.

The glow of the sun filters through the gaps in the wooden walls of the shed, illuminating the space with a warm, golden light. You stand there, hidden away from the villagers (who managed to overrun you not even an hour ago), as a gentle breeze weaves through the nearby trees. It's a sweet melody that accompanies the soft whispers of the diary's pages, its newfound freshness almost palpable as you trace your fingers along its surface.

The air still carries the scent of damp wood and earth, with a hint of mustiness. The shed’s been abandoned for too long, left to the mercy of the elements. Like a forgotten tomb, filled with the memories of a long-departed soul. Neglected in its wake.

Reading page after page – each with intriguing materials hidden inside its folds, you let the ink come alive, painting vivid pictures of his observations.

July 10, 2004

Today marks another day of failed attempts at finding a cure for the outbreak in this village. The scarce resources and limited materials available make it even more challenging to uncover a solution. However, after much experimentation and observation, I finally managed to identify the mode of transmission – horizontal transmission. The virus can replicate its DNA and spread throu–

The shadow of a figure looms over the creaky door, pulling your gaze away from the passage. Your hand slinks towards the gun holster on your thigh, fingers tapping the handle with precision, safety off. You stare at the door, alert like a hawk on the prowl.

With a soft thud, the diary shuts; your senses stir in anticipation as the door opens. The hinges groan under the weight of the door. Recognizing the person entering, an exhale leaves your lips.

Leon's silhouette is backlit by the dimming light, creating a halo effect around his head. His large frame takes up almost the whole space of the door, blocking out any remaining slivers of sunlight that had managed to seep through the cracks.

He swiftly shuts the door behind him, sealing off the outside world like a fortress protecting its treasure. With practised ease, he places a chair underneath the handle, securing it.

"Shit," you cuss as you snap the safety back on the gun, "don’t try sneakin’ up on me like that again, Leon."

Leon's eyes flicker up, scanning your tense frame, alert for any signs of aggression. He nods, a wordless apology for startling you, and steps towards you with a cautious gait.

Restarting the reading, you skip through the rest of the page, flicking to the next one.

–indicates that the virus' spread is heavily influenced by the host's behavior and their relationship with the recipient.

As Leon shuffles past, the air is infused with the heady aroma of his shirt, like the sweet, earthy scent of freshly turned soil. The mustiness of its faded blue is mixed with the sharp tang of his cologne, reminiscent of the crisp bite of a green apple. He runs a hand across his smooth-shaven face, the coolness of his skin a temporary relief from the relentless fever burning inside him.

Today's findings have shed new light on the behavior of the virus. My latest analysis has revealed that the virus has a peculiar ability to alter the composition of the host's saliva. Strikingly, I discovered that infected individuals have elevated levels of–

Your eyes dart across the page, scanning the words with lightning speed. The words blur together as you scan through them with lightning speed, eager to reach the end of the entry in hopes to find a way to help Leon.

The implications of these findings are tantalizing, and suggest that the virus may be manipulating the behavior of its hosts to facilitate its own spread.

"What’re you readin’," Leon asks, stepping to your side with the knife holster dangling from his grip like a coiled snake.

The close proximity of him allows your arm to brush against his chest, the solid mass of muscle beneath his shirt a somewhat comforting presence in the chaos you’ve found yourself in. His hand comes to rest on your shoulder, squeezing it gently like a reassuring pat on the back as his eyes dart towards the diary.

You don’t hesitate to show it to him, its cover slightly worn and creased from your constant handling.

"It’s some kind of a diary," you watch as Leon flips through the pages, occasionally pausing to read it, "found it in one of the houses. It’s written by–I think–a scientist who was here; Doctor Javier García."

Leon's fingers trace the faded lines, the foreign letters, as if absorbing the knowledge contained within, yet the puzzled expression on his face tells you otherwise. The rustling of pages sounds like a whisper in the quiet room as he flips through them.

"It’s in Spanish," he grumbles with a tinge of frustration, his voice breaking the tranquil atmosphere. He hands the open diary back to you before rubbing his eyes wearily.

You can't help but notice the subtle movement of dark veins around his eyes, like ink spreading across a page. They're barely perceptible, but the sight still sends a twinge of unease through you.

"Yeah, that’s why I’m here, remember? Your Spanish is shit."

Leon emits a faint chuckle, so quiet that even in the closeness of your positions, it's barely audible. Shaking his head, he runs a hand through the mass of light hair, revealing beads of sweat on his forehead. Exertion fills the air around you as he moves.

"Right," taking a step back, the soles of his shoes crunch against the first floor. You sneak a peek at his arms; the veins, network of obsidian tributaries, ripple just beneath the surface of his skin, "Right."

"Did you find out Baby Eagle’s position?" you inquire, your voice echoing through the empty space.

Leon shakes his head, causing the pushed-back hair to fall back over his face, before he speaks again in a soft, hushed tone, "No; got a call from Luis. They’re hiding in the castle." His voice is quiet, almost a whisper, and you strain to hear him.

Speaking of Luis–

Looking back at the book in your hand, you remember the last passage. The first thing you read when you were left alone in this shed.

"About Luis," you murmur, your fingers deftly flipping through the pages until you reach the last inked page. Leon’s eyes follow your hands as you open the page, the words there shaky, the paper wrinkled and smudged with ink. It's like a relic from another time, something that has weathered the storm of time and come out the other side. Written in a hurry; but it’s there as you read it out loud, slowly translating the foreign language:

September 18, 2004

Today, another scientist arrived in this remote village. After a brief conversation about my project, he evaded my queries about his presence here. He divulged information about a private island facility and expressed a keen interest in developing a cure for the virus. However, I couldn't help but sense an underlying malice in his intentions towards the virus. I intend to find out more about this man.

Your eyes scan the smudged ink of another passage, attempting to make sense of the faded words, but it’s no use.

Back facing Leon, you speak, "That’s gotta be Luis, right?," voice filled with suspicion, "Two weeks ago, this García met Luis and now he’s gone. His personal belongings are all here - don't you think that's a little suspicious?"

A low groan interrupts your train of thought, causing you to furrow your brow.

"Leon?"

You turn around and watch as Leon stands a mere footstep before you. Palm resting on his forehead, eyes squeezed shut, you feel your heartbeat pick up; the veins now spreading like poison ivy, creating an intriguing mosaic. The ebony tendrils slither over his skin, covering his neck and sneaking inside the folds of his dirty shirt.

Another guttural growl emanates from his throat, so animalistic and raw that it sends shivers down your spine. Your hand instinctively reaches for Leon's blade, which was left on the table moments ago, while your other hand grips the wooden surface to steady yourself.

"Leon," you repeat in hopes to reach the man’s attention, "what’s wrong?"

Your attempts to reach him prove futile; you stand patiently, gaze firmly following his every movement–with a precise step, you stroll in front of him. Another guttural sound finds its way out of Leon as he moves his hands to his temples, pushing against the thin skin as if he could alleviate a headache.

As you watch, the veins around his eyes grow more prominent, twisting and pulsing like roots searching for water. Something inside him seems to be struggling to break free, a dangerous force waiting to be unleashed. With a sudden jerk, Leon looks up at you with an intense fervor; the sclera now twisted into a sickly yellow, the inky tendrils reaching towards his pupils, enveloping them in a macabre embrace.

"Leon!"

You take a step back as he lunges forward, his movements erratic and uncontrolled.

Anticipating a strike, you raise the knife, its point aimed at Leon’s upper body. Your heart jackhammer in your chest, you brace yourself for the attack; muscles coiled and ready for defence. But before you can make a move, Leon's hand is already on your wrist, his grip vice-like as he twists the blade away from you. You gasp in pain, feeling the sharp sting of the metal cutting into your skin.

The ground feels gritty beneath your feet as you struggle to maintain your balance, trying to free yourself from Leon's grasp. But the man seems to be in complete control, his movements fluid and effortless. Your heart races faster as you realize the danger you're in. This man could easily overpower you, could easily harm you if he wanted to.

A pained gasp leaves your tightening throat as Leon’s hot breath fans over your face. And then, without warning, his lips crash against yours.

It’s messy. Needy.

Wet.

Taken by surprise, your mind races; struggling to make sense of what’s happening. The taste of his lips is familiar, certainly not the first time he kissed you. But never like that – and never when infected.

You can taste the slight tinge of mint on his tongue as it sneaks inside your mouth. His hands, strong and calloused, grip your jaw, tilting your head as his hips back you against the table. Leon’s body easily keeps yours restrained, his body heat almost scorching you. You can feel his every move, every twitch of a muscle, every shiver that runs down his spine. It's like being consumed by a wild, untamed force that you can't resist.

The dominance in his behavior, the way he takes control and leaves you powerless and vulnerable; it all makes your mind fuzzy. A blank canvas.

For a moment, everything fades away–

–until the realization hits you.

He’s infected.

Pressing your palms firmly against his chest, your body freezes momentarily upon feeling the taut muscles of his breastplates before you push with all your might. He barely budges. Yet, when your lips momentarily separate, you manage to call out to him one more time, "Leon!"

His eyes open. Now clear, back to the blue as a tranquil ocean on a sunny day, the agitated storm within them subsided. He looks back at you.

"I’m so sorry," he mutters, his voice low and hoarse. You can see the fatigue etched into his features, the bags under his eyes betraying his lack of sleep. As he meets your gaze, his eyes plead for your understanding.

The sound of his groan echoes in your ears as you watch him crumble before you, his once-strong body now appearing weak. The taste of his kiss still lingers on your lips, a bittersweet reminder of what has just transpired. The dust swirls around him, adding to the already chaotic scene. You can feel your heart racing, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins as you try to catch your breath.

"Fuck, Leon," you hurry towards him.

You kneel beside him, eyes scanning his face for any signs of consciousness. His lips, bruised and swollen, part lightly as he takes a laboured breath. You can see the pain etched on his features, the lines on his forehead deepening with each passing second.

Minutes flow as you sit by Leon’s side, watching the dark veins fade slowly as he regains his strength. His chest rises and falls steadily now, the rest of his gear lying on the table alongside your gun. You take in the sight of him, his rugged features softened in the moonlight. His hair, disheveled and covered in dust, frames his face like a wild mane, adding to his already striking appearance.

You reach out to brush a strand away from his forehead, your fingertips tracing the curve of his cheekbone, tracing the areas recently covered in ebony veins.

As you sit there, the sounds of the night surround you–the chirping of crickets, the whispering of leaves in the wind. A cool breeze washes over you, the scent of earth and foliage filling your nostrils. You take a deep breath, the freshness of the air soothing your nerves.

But despite the calming surroundings, the sensation within you is like a storm raging inside, the winds tossing and turning your thoughts. Your body feels like a furnace, burning with a heat that can't be quenched. Heart beating faster, the thumping becoming almost unbearable as your body begins to ache with a deep, pulsing desire.

You try to shake it off, thinking it's just the adrenaline still coursing through your system, but the sensation only intensifies. Focusing on the sounds of the night, hoping they’ll calm down the tempest within; but even the gentle rustling of trees sounds like a deafening roar. The once refreshing gust that swept over you now feels like a tantalizing stroke, sending your nerves alight.

Confusion sets in as you start to feel an uncontrollable need for Leon, a hunger that you can't explain. You try to push it away, but the urge grows stronger with each passing moment until it consumes you completely. You begin to tremble, feeling as if you're on the brink of losing control.

You look down at Leon, feeling both embarrassed and ashamed. The urge like a vine, coiling around your body, tightening its grip with every passing second.

Hand reaching towards Leon’s, your fingers skim over his naked palm, the gloves previously protecting his hands now discarded on the table. His skin is cold to the touch, a stark contrast to the feverish heat that consumes your own body. Just as you’re about to give in to the fear, a twitch in Leon's hand catches your attention. His fingers curl around yours, gripping them tightly. His eyes slowly flutter open, revealing a deep shade of blue that glistens in the moonlight.

"You had me worried there for a moment," you say with a tight-lipped smile, elbows resting on your knees, fingers digging into the naked flesh there.

You feel like you’re burning. Hot coals pressed into your skin.

You take in his appearance, the way his hair’s matted and sticking to his forehead. Sweat beads on his skin, a testament to the fever that has been plaguing him. His skin’s still pale, but his eyes are no longer clouded with ferocity. They seem clear, focused, and alert.

"I’m sorry," he murmurs again, but this time his voice is stronger, more resolute, "I don’t know what that was."

"Don’t be," you reply gently. You try to comfort him with your words, hoping to ease his troubled mind.

"Let’s just find you a cure."

He nods before sitting up, his movements slow and deliberate. He looks fragile, like a delicate flower that might break with the slightest breeze.

"How long was I out?"

You let out a shaky breath, relieved that he's awake. "Not long," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. Your gaze returns to him, studying his features with an intensity that you can't explain. The sharp planes of his face, the way his jaw tenses as he speaks, the curve of his lips. You try to push the thoughts away, but they persist, like a buzzing fly that won't leave you alone.

"You good to get up?"

"Yeah," Leon exhales.

Dusting the dirt off your knees, you get up and reach out, helping him prop himself up, his body leaning against yours. The heat from his skin seeps into yours, soothing the burning that has been coursing through your veins–

–which doesn’t go unnoticed.

"You’re burning up," he notes. His knuckles lightly press onto the side of your neck, against the jugular vein. Heart thumping, you swallow as you feel the uncomfortable ache between your legs only intensify the longer Leon’s hand remains on your throat.

"Your heart rate’s elevated," his hand finally leaves your skin, "something’s wrong."

With a firm grasp on your upper arm and without much struggle from your side, he beckons you onto the table decorated with all your gear. Skin pricklening with sensation as he guides you onto the table – it’s old wooden surface creaking slightly underneath your weish as you settle onto its surface, feeling the rough wood groan underneath your palms.

The firm press of his hands on your ribcage is like a spark to a fuse, igniting a flame within you. The heat spreads throughout your body, intensifying with each passing moment. You bite down on your lip, trying to hold back the wave of desire that threatens to consume you.

"I’m alright," you assure him, trying to maintain your composure; yet you allow him his hands to roam over your body as if you were actually hurt.

Leon's eyes bore into yours, intense and unwavering. His sharp gaze betrayed his concern, a worry etched into the creases of his forehead. You couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt, knowing that he was only looking out for you.

As you gaze at him, you notice the veins slowly returning to his skin; slowly faded over, the pinkish hue underneath his eyes seems to conceal them, but only from afar. Up close, you can see the delicate tracery of veins pulsating just beneath the surface of his skin.

"Are you sure?"

There’s worry evident in his voice as he rests his palms next to yours, enclosing you in his arms.

The weight of his touch’s comforting your heating body.

Your hand moves like a feather, tracing the intricate network of veins spreading across the contours of his face; his eyes flicker down, on your legs, as you stay mesmerized (and slowly being consumed by the raw power of your desire) by the way the veins seems to gain color, fill into the same darkness they were before, underneath your touch. As if they were following your lead.

Leon’s breath quickens as you continue. You try to steady yourself, to push back against the growing tide of desire that threatens to overwhelm you, but it's no use.

Leon's eyes meet yours, his gaze intense and unwavering as the color regains its sickly yellow tone, thin black veins dancing inside his irises like ink on paper. You can see the concern there, the worry that something might be wrong, but you also see something else. Something that sends a thrill through you despite the situation. He's looking at you like he wants you, like he's been waiting for this moment for ages.

The air thinkens with a palpable tension as you both hold each other’s gaze, lost in the charged atmosphere between you. You can feel the heat radiating off his skin, the electricity in the air, the way your heart races in your chest.

"I’m fine," a faint breath leaves your parted lips when your thumb reaches the slightly wider black vein leading towards his lower lip.

Everything after that seems like a haze. As if you’re observing from afar. Watching a play unfold from the balcony. Detached.

Your lips lock with Leon’s with a wild, raw passion.

It’s fervent.

Intense and fueled by a primal yearning that’s been brewing inside you ever since he kissed you a mere hour ago. Your hands grip Leon’s shoulders, steadying yourself against the mass of muscle standing between your legs.

His kisses are searing – cardinal, almost animalistic and completely uncontrolled; fueled by crude desire that seems to consume him fully. He kisses you with reckless abandon, as if he can't get enough of you. His lips are hot and wet against yours, his breath ragged, and you can feel his heart pounding in his chest as he presses himself against you. It's like he's trying to meld his body with yours, to become one with you, and the sheer intensity of it all is almost too much to bear.

Leon’s hand roam over your body with a ferocity that leaves you breathless. Guttural, deep grunts reverberate through your body.

Hands reaching between your bodies, you tug at the shirt covering his torso – the fabric slides over his head like a curtain revealing a work of art. Taut muscles and veins ripple beneath his skin; your eyes pierce into his chest, the mosaic of black veins creating a network of rivers.

As you trace your fingertips over his skin, every nerve ending seems to come alive, humming with a primal energy that electrifies your senses. The heat emanating from his body is like a flame, casting flickering shadows across the walls of the room; his skin’s like silk, soft to the touch, but strong and sturdy underneath.

The scent of sweat and musk fills your nostrils, overwhelming and intoxicating, pulling you in even closer to him. It's like a drug, addicting and heady, and you can't seem to get enough of it. As you run your hands over his chest, feeling the muscles ripple under your touch, you can feel yourself losing control, your body responding to his in the most sensuous way.

Your shirt soon follows Leon's, falling to the ground in a heap as you find yourself back in the kiss. It's like a symphony of tangled limbs, gasping breaths, and frenzied moans, each one building on the last until you're both lost in a wild, primal dance.

"Fuck–"

Everything seems brumous.

A cloud of haze covering your brain.

Feeling the wetness pool between your legs, heart beating heavy and strong against your ribcage, Leon’s name escapes your mouth as his lips move down your neck, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses in their wake; the scrape of his teeth against your skin, nails digging into the flesh of your hips.

As Leon's fingers trace the contours of your curves, the sound of your ragged breaths fills the room, intermingling with the sound of his own. You find yourself lost in the sensation of his touch, the way his fingers seem to know exactly where to go, where to press, where to tease.

Your bodies collide with a force that leaves you gasping for air. Like the collision of two stars, sending shockwaves through the universe.

Unbridled desire. Wild, untamed dance of bodies.

No longer two separate beings, but a single entity, fused together in a frenzy of passion.

Leon's hands move with a speed and precision that makes your head spin, as he undresses you with an urgency that feels primal. His lips, soft yet insistent, cover yours in a heady, dizzying kiss that leaves you breathless.

It's overwhelming, intoxicating, and all-consuming–

–addicting.

The room spins as you lose yourself in the frenzy of desire. Every touch, every kiss, every breath ignites a fire deep within you, a hunger that can only be sated by this man before you.

His fingers find your cunt–wet, completely soaked as if you’ve already being fucked; yet he hasn’t even touched you.

"Jesus Christ," Leon groans upon the feeling of your slick walls enveloping his fingers, "you’re already soaked."

Head tilted back, your hips buck into his hand as he traces the length of your cunt, pressing his thumb against your aching clit. Pain shoots up your body, spreading like venom. It's almost too much, the intensity of it all, but you find yourself craving more, unable to resist the addictive pull that Leon has over you.

Sweet as poison.

A plague.

The tension in your muscles melts away with each inch of Leon’s fingers sinking inside you; a groan escapes your lips as sense of release washes over you; the tension in your body melts away, like ice thawing under a warm sun. Eyes closed, you focus on the sensation of Leon’s fingers pushing deeper, stretching you in a way that feels both strange and satisfying.

Your mind is clouded with a dizzying cocktail of lust and desire as Leon takes control, his touch igniting a fierce hunger that you can't ignore.

Your hand grips his hair, feeling the strands slipping between your fingers like silk. You pull him towards you, wanting to be as close to him as possible. His eyes meet yours, and you see the intensity in them, a hunger that matches your own.

"Fuck me, Leon—"

The words spill out of your mouth before you can even think. Your body has taken over, consumed by a desire that you can no longer control.

—you just can't help yourself anymore.

As Leon strips down, piece by piece, you find yourself drawn to the way his body moves with such fluidity. Your eyes take in every inch of him, from the rippling muscles to the way the light dances across his skin. Leon’s body completely covered by the system of ebony veins, your eyes following the lines for a second.

It's as if his body was made to be admired, and you find yourself doing just that.

The vulnerability of the moment is not lost on you, and the thrill of it all sends a jolt of excitement racing through your veins. Here you are, both of you completely naked, with nothing to hide. It's as if you've shed your layers of clothing and your inhibitions along with it, leaving only raw desire in its wake. The air between you is charged, electrified with anticipation and lust, and you can't wait to explore every inch of him.

Leon follows your order. Hand wrapping around his throbbing cock, your legs spread wider to accomodate his hips. Your eyes fixate on the thick, pulsating vein that runs along his length, now pitch black in color; like a lightning strike, surrounded by smaller ebony veins.

With each pump of his hand, the bulging head glistens with precum, taunting your hungry cunt.

His name leaves your mouth in a gasp as the tip brushes against your slick folds, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. His eyes meet yours, dark with desire and a hint of mischief, as he teases your entrance with the blunt head of his cock. His hips move forward, the tip disappearing inside you, stretching you wide with a delicious ache.

His arm reaches forward; guiding you down to lie onto the rough surface of the wooden table as he slowly splits you apart. The bark of the table scratches against your skin, adding an edge to the pleasure that courses through your body.

Once fully buried inside you, he stills.

Only momentarily.

As he sinks deeper, Leon's hand finds your collarbone, securing his grip. The roughness of his thumb grazes the sensitive skin of your throat as his hand sneaks underneath your knee to bring your legs higher – wrapping them around the narrow of his waist, you urge him deeper while wrapping your fingers around his forearm, feeling the muscles tense, veins darken.

Your breath catches in your throat as you stare into Leon's eyes, now obscured by the black veins that writhe across the blue irises. The intensity of his gaze burns through you, stoking the flames of your desire to a fever pitch.

With a fierce growl, he ruts against you. Wild.

Leon’s a primal force, a beast unleashed, and you revel in the raw, savage power of his movements. His grip on your collarbone is almost painful, but you crave the sensation, the way it anchors you to the earth as he pounds into you with abandon.

Like an animal focused on breeding; there’s nothing but pure ferocity in the way his hips snaps against you–

– and you welcome it. Meeting his thrust.

The rough bark of the wooden table digs into your skin, but you barely register the pain as waves of pleasure wash over you.

Letting him absolute ravage you. Bring you to the brink of ecstasy way too soon. The smooth, velvety skin of his cock slides in and out of you, hitting all the right spots with unerring accuracy. You can feel the heat building inside you, the coil of pleasure winding tighter until it's all you can do to hold on.

The sight of him, his eyes dark and wild, the veins snaking across his skin like living things, only serves to stoke the fire inside you Moans mix with guttural noises; grunt, growls. Everything mixes together in one dance of primal breed.

Cock-drunk.

Fucked stupid.

That’s how you’d described the feeling when his thumb presses against the front of your throat, hooks underneath the necklace he gave you to your first anniversary.

String of curses, incoherent sentences and something vaguely resembling your name leaves Leon’s lips, painted over with black veins, eyes wide open and staring straight at you. His hand moves to toy with your clit; yet just the single flick, the rough touch uncoils the tightness inside your abdomen. Mouth open, back arched, a silent scream pushes itself out your throat.

But Leon doesn’t stop. The way your walls flutter, squeeze his cock only add to the primarity of it all. Securing his hand behind your neck, he lifts your body up, lips connecting with yours in a heated kiss as his thrusts increase.

A pathetic whine leaves your lips when he pulls back completely. Hands gripping your sides, you gasp when he single-handedly turns you around. Pain shoots through your body as he slams back inside you in one single thrust.

The table creaks and groans beneath the weight of your bodies as Leon relentlessly pounds into you.

His hips meet the flesh of your ass every time his cock kisses your womb – at least that’s how deep he feels. The air thick with the scent of sex, you groan when Leon’s hands grip your hips, forcefully pulling you towards his snapping hips to meet his thrust.

Slick with sweat, you can feel his body heat radiating against your own.

You reach one hand behind you in a feeble attempt to feel him underneath your palms. Nails digging into the wood, your fingers manage to sneak into his hair; grabbing a fistful, you force his face towards yours.

The muscles in your neck strain painfully as you tilt your head to the side to connect your lips in a teeth-clashing kiss – all while Leon’s hand sneak to tease your oversensitive clit while the other covers your hand on the table.

Meeting his thrusts, you stay in rhythm as you feel your high approaching again. Spreading your legs more apart, arching your back, the new angle allows Leon to hit deeper. To split you apart.

"Fuck!"

The pain mixes with pleasure, and you can't help but cry out in ecstasy.

"Oh my god–"

His teeth sink into your flesh, the stinging ache sends you over the edge. It feels almost as if he managed to break the skin atop. With each thrust, it felt like he was hammering against the tight seal of her womb, trying to break through it with sheer force.

The room echoes with the sound of skin slapping against skin as he relentlessly pounds into you. His cock feels like a battering ram, delivering a punishing blow with every thrust. You can feel the impact reverberate through your body, causing you to shudder and gasp for air. It's as if he's trying to breach the walls of your very being, to leave his mark on you in the most primal and intimate way possible.

"Fuck; Leon–’m gonna cum–gonna–"

You feel your cunt pulce around him, like a drumbeat racing against his teeth sinking into your delicate skin. A surge of ecstasy floods your veins, a heady cocktail of pleasure and victory that weighs heavily on your mind like an anchor.

You arch your back, pushing against his chest and whispering his name into the frosty night air as his thrusts become unsteady.

Leon's tongue traces the bite mark he left on you, hands gripping you tightly as he drives himself deeper into your slick heat. His groans mix with the sound of flesh smacking together, his balls slapping against your wetness with each thrust. You cry out as he sends you spiraling into another wave of pleasure.

As he moves inside you, you can feel every inch of him. His muscles ripple against your skin and his breath is hot on your neck. His hands grip you tightly, pulling you closer and deeper onto him.

You convulse around him, your body responding to his every touch. His groans intensify, as he thrusts even harder into you, giving into the raw passion between you. He pulses deep inside of you, filling you up with his warmth.

"Fuck!"

As he moans out your name, his lips trace a path across your skin leaving a trail of wetness. You can feel the heat emanating from his hands as he grips you tightly, branding you with his touch. His body trembles as he savors the last remnants of pleasure, and the evidence of his desire stains your insides like a lustrous sheen of polished marble.

He’s branded you inside and out.

Infected you with his venom.

Your skin is hypersensitive to his touch, as if each nerve is its own entity, firing off signals that jolt through your entire body. The dull ache of pleasure and pain radiates from the points where he grips you, leaving you feeling like a canvas painted in shades of blue and purple–

–and black.

As his weight presses down on you, you feel a dull ache spread through your body, every nerve ending alive and sensitized from his touch. You can still feel the ghostly imprint of his fingers on your skin, branding you with his touch.

His forehead is hot against your shoulder, the dampness of his breath tickling your skin as he rides out the last waves of his release. Each thrust feels like a punch to your gut, leaving you reeling and gasping for air.

The sticky wetness between your thighs is a testament to his desire, a reminder of how deeply he claimed you as his own. You feel the pulse of his spent cock still buried inside you.

Your gaze follows the lines of black veins snaking up his forearm, a stark contrast to his now pinkish skin. You watch as they slowly fade from sight, disappearing like a memory slipping away. Each movement feels heavy, weighted down by the aftermath of his passion.

After a while, Leon finally withdraws from you, a pang of loss echoes through your body, leaving you empty and longing for more of his touch. The heat of his body lingers on yours, branding you with his mark and making it hard to differentiate where his skin ends and yours begins.

You close your eyes, still feeling the ghostly touch of his lips and fingers on your skin, as if he's imprinted himself upon you forever. The room is filled with the heavy scent of sex, a reminder of the raw passion that just transpired.

2K notes · View notes

strawberrystepmom · 1 month

Text

pairing: Suguru Geto x F!Reader

word count: 9.7k

contents: Canon compliant up to the events of JJK0, cult leader!Suguru, naive reader, slight age difference between reader and Geto (5 years), reader can see curses/has cursed energy but it is kept intentionally vague

cw: dark content | emotional manipulation, dubious consent, voyeurism, oral sex (m!receiving), spit, violence, descriptions of anxiety, mentions of religion and religious imagery, mind fuck-y

notes: so this is a remaster/full repost of unkindness that was on my old blog! i only got up to like the third segment in that post so i figured why not do it all at once. thank you for reading if you do and i hope that you enjoy my little story! ♡ | crossposted to ao3

When you were eight years old, sitting in your mother’s lap as she combed through your wet hair, you remember telling her about a recurring dream you had been having for weeks. You were nervous to tell her, your little hands balled into fists as they rested against your nightgown clad thighs.

“A raven,” you recount to her as she nods and gently uses the bristles of the comb to detangle a knot. “Bigger than any bird I’ve ever seen is in this dream every night, flying around over my head.” Your mother sighs and reassuringly pats your head. You hear the spritz of a spray bottle from behind you, a synthetic green apple scent filling your nostrils.

Telling her filled your stomach with anxiety, an issue you didn’t know you had at the time. You figured the world was just scary back then. You wish you could go back and tell yourself how right you were. About how scary the world is, anyway. To tell yourself about how everything will eventually end up likely wouldn’t change the outcome but at least you could say a few things.

“The raven comes to the ground eventually. He doesn’t fly over your head forever, instead he glides by your side.”

“The visions you’ve seen are real, you aren’t crazy.”

The most unbelievable thing of all?

“You end up in love and you end up losing yourself along the way.”

Back then though, you only had your mom and her words to illuminate the darkness you felt lurked around every corner.

“Have you ever heard of omens?”

Shaking your head, you turn to look at your mom who is tapping the edge of the comb against the heel of her hand. She’s chewing the inside of her cheek and you can tell she’s deciding what to say next to comfort you. Your mom has never been good at this kind of thing, a woman who never envisioned she would have a child with so much angst and fear.

“Sometimes we receive signs that something is going to happen in our lives even if we don’t understand them,” she starts. You hear her mouth open, as if she wants to add something additional, but you hear it snap shut as if she thought better of it. You nod once, signaling your understanding and she gets back to work at the stubborn tangle at the base of your skull without another word shared between the two of you.

You hate that this is the most vivid memory from your childhood.

You hate that you still have the dream.

You wake with a gasp, looking around and blinking as warm morning light filters through the window. Feeling around the bed, you wonder if Suguru is already up and moving for the day as your hands touch the duvet where he should be. It’s cold, as if nobody was there in the first place. Knowing that may have been the case anyway, you sigh and rub your hands over your face.

“Suguru?”

His name leaves your lips in a tentative manner and you look around the room to make sure he isn’t looking at the early morning sun or standing there watching you sleep. No matter how much of your life you spend with him, you’ll never get used to the feeling of those black diamond eyes following you everywhere you go. But finally, you are seen.

Four years spent with him and no one sees you like he does.

You were 18 years old, a few months from graduating high school, when Suguru approached you. The sight of a stranger raised your hackles, scared of the world at large at that point in your life, and you were concerned trouble was coming for you. All of the omens in your dreams would finally come true at the hands of this beautiful man, rising to his full height which is nearly towering over you. His hair was shorter then than it is now, just past his shoulders and tied in a neat half bun off of his face.

He looked like less of a god now than he did then but you knew it. The omnipresent feeling of him sticks in your bones. It’s the confidence that makes you stand with your back straight, that guides you through the worst of the days where he’s nowhere to be found.

Unable to find him, you shuffle back to the futon and lay down amongst blankets that smell like him. You’ve never been able to place the scent but you know it’s his. Wrapping yourself in the duvet, you let your mind wander back to all of those years ago.

“I know this seems sudden but I wanted to ask you about your gift.”

Mention of your gift, not that you’d ever call it that, makes you freeze. He notices your expression, wide eyed and haunted, and he fights the urge to smile at you. Just as he and everyone else suspected, you have no idea what you’re capable of. It would be a failing worthy of death to let Gojo find you first. Suguru couldn’t risk the bird dog finding his canary and dropping her off, bloodied and broken, on the doorstep of the Sorcerer community.

He wouldn’t allow it.

“M..my gift?” You repeat with uncertainty and he nods, bun bobbing against the back of his head as he does so. The situation is withering, a handsome stranger asking you about a secret you’ve kept hidden for your whole life while the sun beats down and makes you sweat. You wonder if you’re about to be killed.

“You are an exceptional young woman, do you know that?”

The background noise of the world fades out, the sound of the spring birds chirping disappearing as you blink once, twice, and you notice those dark eyes fixated on you. You blanch and avert your eyes. Were you even allowed to look at him? Dressed in such nice clothing with such a regal demeanor? Shaking your head, you play off the awkwardness with a humorless chuckle.

“You must be looking for someone else, sir.” Bowing your head as a sign of respect, you turn to walk away. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

Before you can turn on your heel to walk away, you feel a large palm rest on your shoulder. You take note of the weight of it, the feel against your bones, and you wonder why this is happening to you? You are so afraid but you can’t run, you don’t have the guts for it. What do you do now?

Nothing. You do nothing, just as you’ve done your entire life. You let this strange man grab you, hold you, speak to you. Humiliation rises like bile in your throat and you turn to face him, astounded again by his beauty. The sunlight catches his dark eyelashes, warmth emanating from him. How can you walk away? You won’t walk away.

“I don’t want this to be more strange than it already is,” he starts, voice deep and dreamy. You could get lost in the baritone and the way it wraps around you but you choose instead to focus on his words to try and understand what he wants from you. “But I know you have something nobody else has. Abilities.”

He’s correct but you wonder how he could possibly know about your struggles. You have kept them to yourself for years even to the detriment of your own well being. Your mother and father both assume you’re deranged and there are times where you’ve wholeheartedly agreed with them since you began seeing the things that haunt you at every turn when you were 5.

“How do you know about that?”

The man shakes his head and holds his free hand ahead of him. “Why don’t you walk with me and we can talk some more?”

How can you say no with his hand on your shoulder? Turning on your heel to face him, you keep quiet and wait for further instructions. Your naturally submissive tendencies are serving you well in this situation and Geto doesn't hide his smug smile. You are perfect and he knew it.

As the two of you begin to pick up pace walking side by side, you anxiously keep your eyes glued to the ground. Being able to visualize each of your steps is keeping you calm and if you look down, there's less of a chance you'll see whatever is out there to scare you.

"Look at me."

He doesn't ask, he commands, and you listen. For the first time, you notice something perching on his shoulder. It's formless for the most part and less terrifying than what you usually see attached to others as they pass by you but you're intrigued nonetheless.

"Do you know about that....thing?" Pointing to his shoulder, he nods at you and you breathe a sigh of relief. "You see them also?"

A chuckle is his response and you ponder what it means while you wait for him to clear up your confusion. "I don't just see them, I control them."

The figure disappears quickly and you gasp, searching around your own feet and your shoulders to make sure he didn't order it in your direction to harm you.

"How?"

Despite your trepidation, Suguru can see the way that your eyes sparkle at the thought of someone being like you. He knows how it felt for him, too.

"I can show you and so can my friends." He watches your nose scrunch in confusion at his words and he laughs, amused. The sound is musical and uplifting and you feel yourself lightening up for the first time maybe in your entire life. Knowing you aren't alone has shifted your perspective more than you realized it would.

"There are more of you?"

"A couple dozen, yeah."

Nodding, you think for a moment. What if he can actually help you? What if these people are actually like you? What if you can find a place that suits you for the first time in 18 whole years?

"How can you help me?"

The man turns to you, knowing smirk in place across his mouth. “I can show you better than I can tell you.”

You hate her.

Never in your life has such a bitter feeling gathered in the pit of your stomach. Your face flames every time Manami walks by, you can feel it and you know she can see it. Tonight, you are more glad than ever to be on kitchen duty even if it means having to listen to her cackle from the other side of the wall.

“Geto-sama!”

She sing-songs across the tatami with a giggle as Suguru traipses by en-route to have dinner with the group, seating himself at the head of the table as everyone else files in around it. You fight the urge to roll your eyes from where you’re standing next to Mimiko and Nanako, pouring hojicha into tea cups.

“Geto-sama,” you mock under your breath and Nanako giggles, dishing rice into bowls at your side. The two of you giggle together, a secret shared, as she begins to bring the dishes to the table for service. Sorting your tea cups, you count how many more servings you need as you look around the doorframe to see who is waiting.

Your relationship with Geto’s most trusted inner circle has expanded greatly since you first arrived months ago.

They knew better than to be outwardly distrustful of you. Aside from the twins, every one of them had set out to find Suguru and his group on their own. He found you. He brought you. He touted your abilities long before you arrived.

“She’s the perfect blank slate,” he gushed over dinner one night as the other members of the group listened enraptured. “We got to her just in time, too. My source says that Gojo was planning on paying her a visit.”

Your arrival was underwhelming. Greeted at the end of the footpath that leads to the front door by Miguel, Larue, Mimiko, and Nanako while Manami glowered from the porch with folded arms, you weren’t immediately made to feel welcome by anyone except for Suguru who continued to guide you along the property with your arm looped in his. She was scoping you out, taking an assessment. She believed you to be no threat. She believed wrong.

Tinkering with the last cup on the counter, you take one look into the dining room again and the realization that your usual spot is full makes you chuckle humorlessly. Not that you’re surprised, Manami has done all but piss all over Geto to mark her territory but the sight makes a bitter, sour feeling turn in your guts just the same. Your nose scrunches as if you’ve smelled something bad and you don’t immediately hear when someone else enters the kitchen to pick up the tea cups you are still filling.

“About ready?”

The voice you recognize as belonging to Mimiko calms you and you respond with a nod, wrapping your hand around the warmest cup as you take a breath and plaster a smile on. This one goes to the man himself and you feel eyes upon you as you offer it to him with a bow. His hand lingers on top of yours for a moment and you’re glad your face is pointed toward the ground, your flustered look hidden as long as you don’t make eye contact.

“We’re just waiting on you,” he chides lightly, always a stickler for timeliness. You lift your head to his view enough to offer an apologetic half smile. He pats the side of your face with his tea-warmed hand and your smile grows. Your eyes meet his rich, umber colored pair and you feel at peace. “Manami will be out of your spot by the time you get back.”

A small “oooooooh” breaks out around the table but the tension is quickly killed with a sharp look from Suguru. Everyone quietly begins shuffling their utensils and you don’t stick around to watch Manami’s rejection, scurrying back to the kitchen to gather your own rice and tea.

“I want to share a few moments after dinner, if you’d all like to stick around.”

Suguru’s words inspire nods and happy, affirmative hums and you catch the tail end of them as you settle next to him at the table. Your opposition glares icily from the other end of the table, the same look she kept plastered on her face the day you arrived, and you meet her eyes long enough to offer a sweet smile before bowing your head in thanks for the meal you were about to share.

“I’d especially like for you to stay,” he looks across the table at Manami who nods once before turning back to her plate. Her lips are pursed and her eyebrows are knit together in irritation but smugness glimmers in her eyes. “You too,” he says and you turn your head to see him glancing down at you. Fondness crinkles the corners of his eyes slightly and you shrink into yourself with a nod and a shy smile. “Of course.”

The rest of dinner goes as you’ve come to expect. The twins giggle and joke with every other member of the group and you all sit beneath the watchful eyes of your leader who sips at his own tea with a barely visible over the edge of his cup smirk but you can see it from where you sit. You can see the corners of his mouth upturned just enough it makes your heart flutter in your chest.

He looks down at you and thinks about how vulnerable you look. How little you hide, your emotions and yourself alike. Were you like this before he met you or is this his influence? He takes credit. He knows the way you flash fake nice shit eating grins in Manami’s direction is for his sake. His sweet little bird isn’t afraid to fight and he hoped that would be the case.

“Since we’re all here, I wanted to discuss a few things,” Geto clears his throat and sets his cup on the table in front of him. He basks as he feels every eye in the room turn toward him but none make him feel more intoxicated than yours. When he casts you a glance, you smile shyly. He wonders if you’ll do that forever, look at him as if he’s a savior on a big white horse. He hopes so.

“I want to make some changes in what we’ll all be doing around here,” his voice rings proud and clearly and you fight the urge to prop your head up with your hand girlishly to get a better look at him. A few people shift in their seated positions but you don’t glance around to find out who, gaze fixed upon the person you want to witness the most.

“Manami, your duties are changing.” Replacing the sound of shifting clothing is small gasping and murmuring. Manami has been Geto’s assistant for close to two years, a coveted spot amongst anyone in the group. “You will still be my personal assistant but only for off compound events and daytime hours.”

Grateful for your own refusal to look at the rest of the table, you can tune out the uncomfortable chatting. “I know this may be surprising but we have many things ahead of us we need to prepare for,” he starts and the noise quiets. “Manami is one of the brightest among us and she will excel no matter what she’s doing.”

Hearing him praise someone else makes your back stiffen, the urge to pick at the seam of your t-shirt making your fingers twist in the fabric idly. You’re grateful your grip is beneath the table, hidden from view. No one will suspect how you feel as long as you’re careful but you gasp as you feel two large, soft hands untangle your fingers from your shirt and squeeze them between their palms. Looking up you’re greeted by the handsome, vulpine smile of Geto and you feel another gentle squeeze of your hands.

You take a deep breath and ground yourself, focusing on his words as he opens his mouth.

“You will be my new on-premises and evenings assistant.” Despite your shock and the look on your face that shows it clear as day, you nod. “I would love to,” you clarify and he squeezes your hands once more as he rises and drops your clammy fingers back into your lap.

Standing at his full height, Geto smiles as he looks over the faces of everyone sitting around him. Even Manami is working to hide her pout, looking toward the ground but keeping a smile plastered on her face. You sit with your legs tucked beneath you, a shred of hope illuminating parts of you that you once saw as dark and empty.

You get to spend most of your day with Geto, most of your evenings too. Perhaps in that time he will finally have the opportunity to tell you about your gift. In 6 months you’ve learned as much as you knew the day you arrived but that may be soon to change. Giddiness makes you smile slightly, your face beaming as you keep it looking up.

Suguru extends his hand in your direction and your smile grows wider. Gingerly placing your palm in his, he helps you rise as he places his hands on either side of your face. You strain your neck glancing up at him, you’re only chest level or so to his massive form and you can feel him using his grip on your cheeks to lower your head. Once you’re gazing at the floor his lips graze your forehead and you gasp, fire erupting through your limbs.

“I’m going to teach you so much,” he coos as he uses his grip to turn your face back toward him. His eyes drink in the sight of you - the tip of your nose, the shape of your lips, and he smirks so quickly you swear you only imagined it. His thumbs graze your cheeks before he drops his grip and looks over your head at everyone else. That tall, dark shadow rests directly over you, though.

“You’re all dismissed, thank you for a lovely evening.”

Everyone stands and you stay facing Geto until all of the footsteps have filed out, waiting for his permission to leave next. You flinch slightly when his hands grip your face again, a natural reflex to the surprise of his touch, and he gazes at you silently for so long you stop keeping time. It could have been seconds, it could have been days - you will never know but you will accept it nevertheless.

“Come see me tomorrow morning,” he whispers and you nod. You can see his eyes flit from your eyes to your mouth and you wonder what he’s thinking. He dips his head slightly and you can feel his lips brush gently against yours, a kiss almost too small to be qualified as one. You shiver, his thumbs digging into the plump flesh of your cheeks.

“Yes sir.”

“Say that again,” he mutters against your lips. The vibrations of his words are directly on your skin and the heat that erupted in your limbs before has become a full blown fire, your face hot and your palms sticking together. “Yes sir.”

He presses another kiss to your forehead and releases his grip, straightening his back out as he walks toward the door and offers you a bow of his head. “Get some rest.”

You make certain he’s gone before you touch your fingers to your lips, your eyes fluttering shut as you commit the feel of his soft mouth on yours to memory. You won’t be sleeping tonight.

“Geto-sama?”

The sound of your meek voice alerts Suguru to your presence and he looks up from his usual place by the open sliding door between his room and the porch attached to it, a light breeze blowing his hair off of his shoulder. He looks ethereal and resembles a hero from a book you obsessively read as a child. Rescuing a sweet young woman from a life marred by sadness, the hero hauls her off to a place where she can be happy.

The irony isn’t lost on you.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” you start, clasping your hands together in front of you and he rises to standing, elegance exuding from him even in the most mundane of situations. He approaches you and gently rubs the back of your head and you fight the urge to lean into the touch. No amount of him feels like enough.

“You didn’t interrupt anything,” he responds with a serene smile, one you’ve noticed is just for you. He doesn’t smile at anyone else like that, not even Manami, and smugness rises in you for a split second before he speaks again. “What can I do for you?”

Clearing your throat, you look toward the ground and keep your hands linked. Geto recognizes the posture, something you do frequently when you want to speak, and he waits with his own hands joined inside of the sleeves of his yukata robes. He loves how naturally you submit to him, how you won’t even meet his eyes.

“Why am I here?”

If he’s surprised by your question, he doesn’t show it, but he does take a few strides to your side to place a comforting arm around your shoulder. Against your better judgment, you lean against him. Sides pressed together, you’re surprised when you feel the most minuscule squeeze of reassurance. Your heart threatens to burst as he leads you to where he was sitting and invites you to sit across from him, the two of you looking out at the sun setting on the horizon.

“Before I answer,” he adjusts his sitting position and turns to face you. The golden hour warmth hits his face and you swear, not for the first time, you are glancing at a deity. Something, someone, greater than yourself. You shouldn’t be this close to him and you start to spiral but his voice brings you out of your own mind and into reality, your gaze shifting from the ground to him. “Will you tell me why you’re asking?”

Twisting your fingers together and sitting your hands in your lap, you sigh.

You’re uncertain of how much time has passed since you left your old life behind to join him and while you do finally feel at peace with yourself, the natural pull you feel toward the man who brought you here in the first place hasn’t dissipated in the way you expected it to. It feels like an unfulfilled hunger, a need more than a simple want at this point, but how can you begin to tell him that?

“I’m afraid that if I tell you, you’ll see me differently.”

Your words finally get a rise from Suguru and he quirks one of his dark brows. The crack in his cool headed exterior makes you giddy - is that because of you? You’re dumbfounded when his posture changes and he scoots closer to you, your knees nearly touching his. Should you pick yours up and press them against your chest? To quell your own anxiety, you decide to follow his lead. You will only move if he does.

“Nothing you say will change my opinion of you.” He reaches out and touches your knuckles with the tips of his fingers and you feel heat rise through every inch of your body. The touch makes you feel emotional and you break the intense eye contact between the two of you to stare at the ground, hoping it will hide the tears that are threatening to spill down your lash line. “I brought you here.”

Nodding, you lift your still joined fists together and wipe your eyes and down your cheek with the back of one of your hands. Although you are still looking down, you can see Geto moving from your periphery and you wonder what he’s going to do next.

Concerned your display is upsetting him, you sit still and try to regulate your breathing to keep from sobbing but errant tears still flow. You feel Suguru’s finger before you realize what’s happening and you flinch slightly beneath his touch as he wipes the wet tracks off of your skin. He wipes his finger along the fabric of your yukata robe before wrapping both of your fists in one of his much larger hands.

“Please be honest with me.”

Thinking back to what prompted this need for confirmation of what you mean to him, you dig your nails into your palm until you’re certain marks will be left. Manami, someone who spends almost as much time around Geto as you do, comes into your mind and you gnaw on your lower lip as you think about the jealousy churning in your gut. Why does she get to be there to help him make decisions? Why does she get to watch while he’s in meetings? Why did you see her leaving his room last week, hours before dawn?

Knowing it should be you is the emboldening thought you need to open your mouth.

“Do I mean anything to you?”

Feeling him squeeze your fists, the palm of his hand warm and comforting, you release the breath you’ve been holding. For better or worse, you’re about to find out and although your mind is racing, willing yourself to be calm comes easy in his presence. As if you needed further confirmation of everything he has done for you at a moment when you’re demanding something you feel unreasonable for wanting.

“You mean everything to me, you’re our future.”

His confirmation makes you weep. Tears flow freely, dripping down your cheeks and they hit the knuckle of Suguru’s thumb. You should feel guilty, you think, for putting him in a position to have to answer to you but cannot bring yourself to do it. You shouldn’t have had to wait more than a year to know but forgiveness is easy when it comes to him. If anyone should be sorry it’s you for questioning him in the first place and so you begin to ask for forgiveness.

“I’m so sorry for asking, Geto-sama.”

You feel him pulling you into his lap, his strong hands wrapping around your hips and the blood rushes into your face. Perching with uncertainty, your bottom rests against his thigh and it feels natural. All of the yearning couldn’t have prepared you for this feeling and you sigh as he brings one of his large hands to cup the back of your neck, his voice so close to your ear it makes goosebumps erupt across your skin.

“Call me Suguru from now on,” he whispers, a secret for your ears only. You feel his lips press against the space where your jaw and neck meet, another secret for the two of you to keep. Everyone on the compound would view you differently if they knew this was happening but you don’t care. You can’t care, not when he’s running his palms up your waist and unfastening your robe.

The opened door with a view of the outside doesn’t concern you as Suguru’s deft fingers work at the knot keeping you decent, the same breeze that rustles his hair that has always reminded you of feathers blowing across your bare chest as the robe is worked down around your waist. Your nipple stiffens and Geto reaches to pinch it between his thumb and index finger, making you yelp.

“How long have you wanted this, my little bird?” He wonders aloud and you almost feel as if he isn’t speaking to you at all, he merely wants you to listen and to witness. “Since you met me?”

He knows the truth just as he knows the way you’re looking at him. Eyes lidded, cheeks puffed out, lips wet with your own spit. You’re never going to leave his side.

“Tell me the truth,” he pinches your nipple once more and you arch your back, lip jutting out at the roughness of the feeling. Nobody has ever touched you like this before and the feeling is electric. Despite the fuzziness in your brain, the heady arousal clouding your every thought, you wet your lips with your tongue and speak.

“So long, Suguru.”

He smirks knowingly and lowers his head to suck your breast into his mouth, his warm tongue lapping at your skin. It’s nothing short of heaven, you think. This is how it always should have been. His hands travel from the dip of your waist to your hips, pulling the fabric of your robe further down to expose more of you to his hungry eyes. You reach out toward his face, your fingers tentatively brushing against his lower lip and he releases your nipple from his mouth.

“Can I touch you too?”

Another whisper, another secret. A predatory gleam shines in Suguru’s eyes and you wiggle against his lap, keeping your fingertips pressed against his mouth. He puckers and kisses them gently, reaching to grab your wrist. He places your hand against the bulge beneath his robes, covering your delicate fingers with his own.

“You can,” he uses his grip on your hand to press the heel against his hard cock and he hisses through his teeth. You admire the way his throat looks when his head is tipped back in pleasure, his Adam's apple bobbing. How is everything he does so effortlessly beautiful, you wonder. Your attention is recaptured by his voice. “But first, how long?”

Your wide eyed, parted lip expression only serves as further fuel for the blood pumping between his legs. You look so innocent, the same as you did when he felt the first of your defenses crumble, the day he approached you to come with him. It strikes him as funny that both times, your vulnerability is because he has put his hands on you. Nervously, you shift in his lap and he presses you closer to his body to keep you from going any further.

“Since the first day,” you admit, to him and yourself for the first time. He smirks, molding your hand around his bulge and you squeeze. Another hiss from him is all you want, the noise motivating you to offer yourself further. Using your free hand, you slip out of your robe the rest of the way and for the first time, you're bare to his eyes.

"Look at you." Your face heats and you feel your posture collapse in on itself, shoulders slumping after being so seen. "Show me how well you listen."

His command drips with condescension but you’re too awed to notice. When you nod, he gently nudges you off of his lap and you tuck your legs beneath you. Watching as he rises, you stay seated and admire the way those same lithe fingers that were just caressing your overheated skin work at the knot in his own robes.

Those dark eyes glance down at where you kneel on the ground and he gently smooths his hand over the top of your head and slides it into place along your cheek to cup your face. Using his grip to force you to look at him, you do and appear dazed. Transfixed, perhaps, would be better.

“I’ve always known,” Geto unfastens the knot in his robe fully and you gasp at the sight of his nude form backlit by dusk right outside the door. He’s tall and broad and you can’t look away. “That you would realize.”

Pumping his hand along his impressive length, you bite your tongue to keep from eagerly interrupting him. You want to touch him so badly, you have to sit on your hands like a child to keep from approaching sooner than you should. Before you can think any further about his words, he walks a few steps and the sticky head of his cock nearly brushes your soft, swollen mouth.

“I knew it was you from the moment we met.”

He hangs his head just low enough that you feel the words are truly meant just for you and you shiver. As you wait for further instruction, he squeezes your cheek and jaw in the palm of his hand. Your eyes don’t leave him once.

Suguru has always prided himself on his ability to break people down - to their core, their most base selves in every sense of the word. Usually there’s a moment where he can see in their eyes that they have been broken, cloudy and glossy. Yours have looked like that since he met you.

“This is what devotion gets you.” His words make you shiver as he uses his free hand to point the head of his cock at your lips, rubbing the sticky tip along your pouty mouth. Sitting still as stone and waiting for his directions, he gently pulls your face toward his pelvis and his tip pops into your mouth. A long, low moan leaves him and you squirm at the sound. “Just relax for me, okay?”

Suguru releases his grip on your cheek and moves to palm the back of your head, fingers finding an easy and natural grasp on your skull. You take a deep breath and look up at him with watery eyes and he chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re perfect,” he breathes toward the ceiling and you tense slightly as he uses his grip to move more of his cock between your lips. “Stay relaxed, baby. It’s okay.”

Your head bobs slightly and he groans again and you wonder what it will take to get him to make that noise again, the deep guttural moan sending shockwaves to your clit. You want to rut against something, to feel the pressure release in your stomach and between your legs, but Geto is your first priority.

Experimentally, you dip your face toward the dark hair at the base of his thick cock and you gag a bit as more of his length slips down your throat. The grip on the back of your head tightens and he gasps. Lifting your eyes in his direction for just a moment, you whine at the sight of him with his head thrown back in pleasure. Open mouthed, eyes shut tightly, every muscle in his neck bulging - you love it. If you were a more artistic person, you’d find a way to capture this forever but for now you commit the vision to memory and allow him to thrust his hips so that the remaining length of him dips fully between your lips. The tip of your nose brushes his pubic hair and you moan and gag around his length, tears slipping out of the corners of your eyes. Using the thumb of his free hand, Suguru brushes your tears away and it makes you sob and gag.

“Oh, don’t give up on me now,” he comforts from above, brows furrowed as his hips jerk and your nose continually bumps against his pelvis. Finding a rhythm, he listens to the noises coming from between your lips with every stroke and he feels himself getting closer. His balls tense and his cock twitches and he isn’t willing to prolong the wait any longer than it has already been.

“Open up, keep your tongue out, just like that,” he instructs as he releases his cock from between your lips with a sticky and wet pop, jerking his hand along his spit covered shaft right above your lips and chin and nose. “Stay just like ahhh-,” his words are cut short with a pleasured shout as he shoots translucent ropes of cum across your spit soaked face. A splash lands across your tongue and you note the salty taste - something you’ll associate with just Suguru for as long as you live.

Wrist pumping until he feels fully emptied, he takes a deep breath and covers himself halfway. His lean torso is visible and you feel your cunt throb at the sight and part of you wonders if he’s going to do the same for you - if he’ll kneel between your legs and worship your pussy like he hasn’t had a meal in days.

“Miguel, Manami, you can come in now.”

The deep voice filling your ears makes you scramble to cover yourself with your arms, your breasts and back bare to the open sliding door. The pair make their entrance and you keep your face pointed toward the ground, tears spilling hot down your cheeks. Suguru pats the back of your head as he walks back toward the tatami and sits, patting the spot next to him for you.

“Had some other business to take care of, please forgive my rudeness.”

You stay frozen in place but you can feel the eyes of your compatriots on your sticky face, remnants of Geto clinging to your cheeks.

Days spent on the compound are simultaneously mind-numbingly boring and some of the busiest you’ve ever had.

Each morning, you rise with the sun and watch her from the window that is on the wall opposite where you lie. Most of the time you are on your side, arms wrapped around yourself, in your bed or Suguru’s depending on the events of the evening prior. He most often has you visit him in his quarters and you appreciate the near luxurious gift of privacy on those evenings. It’s far less private in your own room, thin walls separating yourself and whoever is in the room next to yours, although everyone seems to know exactly what Geto uses you for and has since your arrival.

He honors you by allowing you to love him, you remind yourself while the dark thoughts swirling in you churn. They’ll be chased away by the sun and by his presence when he returns to his room where you lay. His side of the futon is empty, already made up as if he were never there, so you allow your mind to wander. If he’s feeling generous, maybe today he will have lunch with you or even better, he’ll finally allow you to begin training your cursed energy into something more than a never-ending sinking feeling in your guts.

He promised you a very long time ago he would help you learn about your own abilities. It seems ungrateful to still long for usefulness considering you know exactly what your role is, yet you can’t help but wish to find this key to understand yourself that seems to always be out of reach.

Tracking the time fell away from you long ago, not long after the first time you were intimate with the man you so dutifully serve. Autumn gave way to winter which faded into a difficult to remember spring followed by the once again balmy days of summer. Again and again and again. Cicadas ring out across the secluded surroundings of the compound morning to night. You blink as they instruct you to rise, singing a tune even more rehearsed than the mechanical beeps of the alarms you used to set on your phone. How long has it been since you’ve had a phone?

Does it matter?

Months or years may have passed but you find that you don’t care all that much. Time passes the same without being able to watch it, a voice that sounds a lot like Geto’s reminds you in the back of your head. You are here forever as part of your purpose to serve his goals and time is just a construct.

When’s the last time you felt like yourself?

Last night, when his satisfaction was the only thing you had to be concerned about, you chide yourself silently. You sound ungrateful to your own ears even if you don’t speak, these endlessly appearing questions becoming more aggravating with each second that passes, and you are annoyed and angry when you rise from Suguru’s bed, re-knotting the tie of your yukata. The shoji is open and he stands just outside of it wearing a cotton robe of his own, sunlight silhouetting him.

He’s a God, you remind yourself, though it doesn’t kill the bitter taste in your mouth the way it usually does. Shuffling toward the door, you take a deep breath and call out his name from inside, his face turning toward you. This makes the bitter taste turn into something sweet you wish to taste again, a soft smile replacing your uncertain frown.

“Good morning,” he calls toward you, sweeping his hand out in front of you to indicate where he’d like you to be. You dutifully follow the wordless instructions and arrive at his side with a smile, squinting in the early morning light.

“Good morning, Suguru. How did you sleep?” Smiling down at you, he gently takes your hand. “As well as I always do when you’re in my bed.”

The compliment and his touch make you feel girlish, heat rising in your face. To be a God’s beloved concubine is an honor, one you rarely take for granted even in your weakest moments. He has given you purpose, motivation, and an understanding you would not have found in a world with people who are unlike you.

Yet that same pit in your stomach lingers. He can tell, narrowing his eyes when he glances at you again though you avert your gaze.

“What’s on your mind?”

A tight smile slips across your face, measured and careful; similar to the one you always give Manami when she’s swearing her devotion to him at dinner or after the congregation. You want to tell him the truth, to open up and make him understand your need to be useful, but the words stick inside of you.

“Nothing, I just didn’t sleep very well.”

It isn’t exactly a lie but he knows that it isn’t the entire truth and his blood runs cold wondering what you’re hiding. You are usually so placid around him, glassy eyes and subdued smiles with averted eyes, but he can feel the anxiety flaring from your body. Are you unhappy? Is the spell he has held over you weakening? Does he need to scare you into reminding you of where your place is, the way he has with so many others?

Tutting gently, he wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you to his side.

“Speak freely, I value everything you have to say.”

Lulled into a false sense of security, you look at him out of the corner of your eye.

“May I train with you today?”

Suguru laughs, lifting his hand and gently brushing his thumb against your chin. He’s always touching you when it’s just the two of you, hands rubbing your forearms or fingers pressed against your face. He’s a sculptor and what are you if not simply the clay he’s molding beneath his touch, smoothing out edges and reshaping you from the bottom up into something you aren’t sure you recognize anymore which is how he has always intended things to be. His perfect blank slate, he said so many years ago. There isn’t a time where you haven’t proven it to be true even if you need a reminder.

“Why?”

The tone of his voice makes you feel foolish for asking and your sidelong glance turns to the ground beneath you. Subservience is a practice and one you tend to be good at, evidence provided in the form of your refusal to make eye contact even when he begins speaking again.

“I’ll protect you from anything that could hurt you. You know that, right?” He furrows his brow, one of his hands wrapped around your forearm while the other remains on your chin. “You are safe here. Nothing here can or would hurt you, not while you’re in my care. Isn’t that enough for you? You demand training so you can, what? Fight?” Chuckling and finishing with a haughty sigh, he shakes his head. “You don’t have a fight in you, little girl. You never have.”

Defenses faltering, you laugh to yourself and up at him, sensitive eyes once again squinting when faced with the grace of the higher being in front of you. Of course he’s keeping you from having to enter battles you aren’t equipped for, isn’t that what he has been doing this entire time? Protecting you from those shadows that have lurked over your shoulder and kept you from sleeping since you were a child, comforting you, blessing you.

Your rudderlessness isn’t Suguru’s fault, it’s simply your own for assuming you know more than he does.

Nobody knows you like he does. They never will.

“Please forgive me, Geto-sama.”

You call him Suguru in pleasure and Geto-sama in exaltation, raising it to the heavens that put him on the earth. Moving to fall to your knees before him in apology for making him believe his protection isn’t enough, he stops you with a firm hand on your shoulder. His thumb digs into your collarbone, somewhere between painfully and pleasurably, and you remain standing on wobbly feet with a dumbfounded expression.

“I already have. For everything.”

There is so much you’ve done since you’ve arrived, so much to be forgiven for. Questioning him, doubting your place with him, doubting others, speaking with a jealous tongue and thinking poisonous thoughts. You accept his grace with a smile, tears rimming your eyes. You have always been told that forgiveness grants freedom, the wind at your back and the sun on your face. You feel it on this day, gazing up at a man who has saved you time and time again despite your own folly.

Nodding and sniffling, you shut your eyes to stop yourself from open mouthed sobbing in thanks. You don’t deserve this and never have.

“I’m going to tell you something I’ve told nobody else, okay?”

The assertion that he still trusts you despite your disrespect makes you emotional again, eyes opening and tears falling while you nod.

“I love you.”

I love your devotion to me, he means, though you’ll never read between the lines to consider that the truth is that you are just a pawn to a man you’ve dedicated your existence to pleasing. Your body, your words, even the way you enter a room have all been carefully trained to suit him. You’ve been broken by his hands and he is always in a hurry to remake you, fashioning you into something once again useful.

“That’s why you’re here, little bird. To be safe and loved, not to fight or grow jealous or be angry with me. Are you angry with me?” You shake your head quickly, leaning into his touch with furrowed brows. He drops his hand from your chin and wraps his arm around your waist. “Never, Suguru.”

“Then don’t ask about training again, understood? Trust me to take care of you.”

And trust you do, nodding and finally letting that open mouth sob escape. He does a bit more tutting and his large hands paw at your body, yanking at the knot keeping your robe closed, roughly cupping your breast when the fabric falls open. Tears drip down your cheeks and onto the back of his hand, just how he likes it, and his tongue pokes out from between his teeth as he glances down at you.

“Do you trust me?”

This isn’t even close to the first time that he has asked but he needs to know just how many pieces he has smashed you into. He flexes his hand, squeezing your breast, further punctuating the point he’s trying to make - every little bit of you is his to have, to control, to make, to break, to feel.

“More than anything, Suguru, I swear.” Your legs ache to once again fold and bring you to your knees, the way you best know how to prove your regret, but you remain standing, lower lip quivering. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Your apology is a mantra you repeat as his hand dips lower beneath your robe, grazing the soft skin of your stomach and hip. Roughly wrapping a hand around said hip, he pulls you against his body, cold glance locked on your puffy, wet eyes. Despite himself, he smirks down at you, head tilted to the side. His hair is a black curtain that falls over both of you, soft strands resting against your bare torso and arm.

“Do you love me?”

You do not have to think about your answer though it shakes when it leaves your mouth, your lungs begging you to gulp down enough air to replace what you’ve let escape through sobs.

“I love you so much.” You shake your head and sob again. “Please, please believe me”

You feel like a half-formed thing, ready to be made over however he sees fit.

“I believe you, no need to cry,” he assures you, grip on your hip tightening. You breathe through your open mouth and he takes the opportunity to bring his thumb to your face once again, pulling your jaw down and widening your mouth. You know what’s coming next, heat stirring from deep within you despite your sorrow, before he even commands it.

Your tongue lolls out of your mouth and he spits down onto the muscle.You roll it back into your mouth in an instant, grateful for the opportunity to have even the tiniest piece of him in you, his eyes following your throat as you swallow. Communion, consumption of him to purify yourself from the inside out. The ultimate apology until he can use your cunt to fulfill himself later, although he wants to take you now, right here, inviting everyone out to see the work of a master craftsman.

Sobs gradually give way to less powerful sniffles, you squint up at him with your skin exposed and his touch and his hair and his scent and wonder what you were even wishing would happen in the first place. That he’d train you to do what, exactly? This is what you were meant to do.

“Do you feel better?”

You nod and he smiles down at you, the same measured smirk he always wears. He leans down and kisses your forehead, pulling up the sleeve of your robe to give you some semblance of modesty but leaving it open as he ushers you back inside, sliding the shoji shut behind him. Suguru crowds you into the room, leading his nearly lost lamb toward the futon while untying his own robe.

“Now, apologize like you mean it.”

Now, you fall to your knees, grateful he’s allowed you to show how sorry you are in the shadows of his room instead of by the light of the sun.

“War is on the horizon.”

Sitting with your legs tucked beneath you at Suguru’s side on the elevated platform at the front of the room, you keep your eyes downcast while he addresses his congregation. This is your role, it has been for a very long time now, and you’ve learned to ignore curious onlookers or newcomers who will never be able to fathom such fanatical love.

You love him so much you silence yourself. You sit by his side, so quiet you may as well be nothing but air. You have never learned how to defend yourself or even delved into the curses that used to weigh you down; freedom from these responsibilities came in the form of surrendering yourself fully to him. Body, mind, soul, all tied to his whims. You are a puppet on a string and he is free to move you in whichever way he chooses.

Just the way you like it.

“I’ve officially made the declaration to Satoru Gojo himself.”

For the first time in years, you look up when you are meant to look down, the anxious murmuring of the crowd making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You know what happens when the congregation disagrees or questions their leader and he rises with a flourish, petting the back of your head gently before stepping off of the platform.

“Do I sense disagreement?”

Looking every bit the apex predator that he is, you dare keep your gaze trained on his back rather than the floor. His head swivels from one prostrate form to another, seeking out anyone who dares disagree with his plans. Foreheads touch the ground below them, the ultimate show of devotion, yet one head remains raised and Suguru chuckles as he approaches the newcomer.

You don’t know their name, you realize. You stopped bothering to learn the newcomer’s names given how little interaction you have with them. They’re nothing but faces to be forgotten about after they have spoken out of turn and met their end at the hands of the man standing with his chin held high.

“Is there something you’d like to say?”

Whatever boldness was previously etched into the face of the man kneeling before Suguru has very clearly disappeared but tension flares through the room regardless. You know that whatever choice he makes, however he chooses to deal with this foolish man, is exactly what he deserves. To spit in the face of God is bold and everyone has to learn their place eventually.

You certainly have.

“N-no, no. Please forgive me, Geto-sama.”

Suguru clicks his tongue, turning to face the rest of his family with his arms spread wide, face turned toward the ceiling. Your eyes are to be trained on the ground but you drink in the sight of him standing amongst the mortals who have always believed they know better than he does.

“What do you think I should do to the non-believer today?”

The question is rhetorical. At least, the silent room treats it that way, no one rushing to answer. Everyone knows to only speak when spoken to, even the inner circle who welcomed you years ago keep their foreheads pressed to the ground. He quietly pads through the crowd again, headed back toward you, and your eyes meet the ground swiftly to avoid being punished for looking at him out of turn.

“Look at me.”

Yours are the only pair of eyes he ever truly cares to have on him. Following the command, you glance up at him, remaining with your knees tucked beneath you and your hands folded in your lap. The way he looks down at you is as tender as he will ever get, even his softness is cold and harsh, but he speaks loudly enough that even the room behind him can hear that he values your opinion above the rest of them.

“What do you think I should do with him?”

Smiling back at him, your glassy eyes meet his and you say exactly what you know he wants to hear.

“Kill him, Suguru.”

Smirking, he reaches down to pinch your chin between his index finger and thumb like he always does when you are performing as expected. It isn’t a performance anymore, if it ever was, it’s simply the way you feel when it comes to those who oppose him. He wags your head back and forth before dropping the touch completely, turning around and leaving you facing his back.

Your eyes dart toward the ground once more. You were not instructed to look at him.

Geto walks through the rows of people once more, reaching to touch the backs of each of their heads while he passes, finally stopping in front of his target. His hands rest in the opposite sleeve of each of them and he bends at the waist, offering the same smile he gives to all of his victims.

“Well, unfortunately, your fate has been chosen. You may as well speak now while you still have the chance.”

A curse materializes, brought to this realm by the man in front of you, and you keep your eyes trained on the ground while screams and the sound of the rending of flesh fill the congregation room.

You’ll only look up once you’re instructed, as always.

#geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #kendall writes

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cheollipop · 1 year

Text

a hazy evening

navi | taglist

pairing: kim hongjoong x afab!reader

w.c.: 1.8k

tags: smut, fluff, established relationship, reader is not gendered, they're both sososo in love

sharing the last of the earthy smoke, you bid farewell to the dying sun as the sweet scent of honey and citrus enveloped your senses.

warnings: cannabis use, both parties are high, cockwarming, couch sex, fingering (f), unprotected sex (👎🏼), creampie, it's really soft and slow, barely any dialogue, but they're so in love *breaks down*

A/N: thank you anonnie for requesting this, I really hope I was able to do your idea justice!! this, in my opinion, is the softest thing I've ever written. It left me feeling really warm and fluffy inside, so I really hope reading it will have the same effect on you! ^^

nsfw under the cut - minors dni!! 🔞

── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

The room was much darker than it had been when you'd lit the first joint, golden rays of the dying sun filtering through the half-open curtain and casting shadows over the assortment of plants your boyfriend kept bringing home, the cool spring breeze ruffling their leaves where they sat decorating the windowsill. A show you didn’t recognize played on the TV behind you, but your eyes remained fixed on the orb of light kissing the horizon, dipping lower and lower until only a fourth of it remained to colour the sky a soft pink.

A puff of smoke distorted your view, the earthy aroma flooding your lungs and casting a fog over your mind. You adjusted your position, fitting your thighs tighter around Hongjoong’s hips and resting your cheek on his shoulder, nuzzling into the material of shirt before returning your gaze to the cotton candy sky.

Your hips moved on their own, grinding down on his fingers – stuffed inside you – with languid rolls of your hips. The pressure in your lower belly had been building for a while, his digits prodding at your g-spot and sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Hongjoong brought his thumb down on your clit, moving it in measured circles while he curled his fingers against your walls.

“Good?” He muttered over your skin, pressing soft kisses to your heated shoulder where the collar of your shirt ended.

“So good,” you whispered back, jaw slack and a pool of drool slowly expanding over Hongjoong’s shirt.

Smoke clouded your vision again, followed by the gentle press of the joint to your bottom lip, your mouth automatically closing around it. Hongjoong’s now free hand smoothed down your back, then slid back up to cup your nape.

“You’re close,” he stated, having felt the familiar fluttering of your walls around his fingers.

You nodded, inhaling the pungent smoke before taking the joint between your index and middle fingers. You kept your mouth closed, blinking unevenly while Hongjoong drove his fingers into you, catching the faint squelching of your arousal every time he pushed in. His thrusts were slow but pointed, roughly punching into the spongy spot along your walls and nearly making you sputter around the smoke in your mouth.

“R-right there,” you sighed, watching the air around you fog up.

Hongjoong had been building you up to an orgasm since the sun first left its locus in the sky, revelling in the soft whimpers he drew out of you. Bending his head down to press his lips to your neck, he peppered kisses over the expanse of your skin while your thighs began to vibrate around him. He flattened the pad of his thumb over your clit, rubbing it from side to side, occasionally brushing his blunt nail over the sensitive nub.

When you finally reached your high, it was as though you were free falling off a cliff, the wind blowing through your hair and open fields embellished with vivid flora spread out for miles under you. Your chest heaved as you blew out the smoke in your lungs, hips jolting as you rode out your orgasm on Hongjoong’s fingers. Butterflies swarmed your insides with every kiss he planted on your skin, his lips trailing up your neck to your ears to nibble on your lobe.

Hongjoong pulled his fingers out at the first pained mewl you released into his shirt, slipping the joint out of your limp hand and bringing it to his lips. His free arm wrapped tightly around your waist while he watched the joint grow smaller and smaller, sucking in the last of it before leaning forward with you in his arms to toss it into the heaped ashtray sitting on the coffee table.

Despite his tight hold, your hands flew to his biceps and gripped them so not to fall backwards. Hongjoong remained that way, looking into your equally lidded eyes while leaning over you. Once you realized that you weren’t going anywhere with Hongjoong’s arms around you, one of your hands eased off of his upper arm, instead finding its place over the side of his face. You weren’t sure if it was the weed slowing everything down, but the time in which Hongjoong’s head moved towards yours gave you a chance to admire the softness of his features – tired, love-filled eyes, barely open as they revelled in your presence before him, the tip of his nose a bright red with the remnants of a cold he hadn’t yet fought off entirely, and his smile, laced with unconditional infatuation, forever decorating his face when you were around.

Just like everything else around you, the kiss was unhurried, lazy. Hongjoong sucked your lips between his own before slowly letting them go, only to dive back in for more. The smoke he had been holding in his mouth dissipated into the air between you, until he slotted his lips against yours, parting them with his tongue and exhaling the last of the dying joint down your throat. You choked lightly, a breathy giggle escaping Hongjoong as he watched you struggle with inhaling the smoke, a hint of mischief weaved into the pleasant sound.

Slumping back against the backrest, Hongjoong pulled at your forearms to straighten you up on his lap. He simply sat there, admiring you once again. You wondered why that was: how could someone deserving of a place in the Louvre look at you with such a gaze – one filled with unending adoration, as though you had coloured the magenta sky peeking through the fluttering curtains with nothing but a broken paintbrush? Someone so caring, giving, loving, building you a spacious home within his heart and vowing to teach you the true meaning of love. Hongjoong was love, you were sure. The man who never stopped giving until you begged him to stop, and then gave you even more. Love, comfort, safety – it all came easily to him when you were the recipient.

He maneuvered you until his body was pressed against yours, his chest to your back while you lay on your side. The tips of Hongjoong’s fingers prodded at your mouth, gentle taps against your bottom lip until you registered the motion and allowed him access. Sliding the digits over your tongue, you whimpered at the taste of your arousal, licking over the fresh coat of nail polish on his ring fingernail. You could feel the tent in his sweatpants pressing against your lower back, reaching behind you release his cock from its confines. A soft hiss against your nape, painted nails digging into the skin of your thigh, and you were putty in Hongjoong’s hands, throwing your leg back and over his hip and leading his leaking member to your entrance.

A guttural moan ripped through Hongjoong’s chest when your warmth embraced him, his fingers slipping out of your mouth to wrap tightly around your shoulder. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to your neck, pressing himself as close and humanely possible to your body and sheathing his whole length into your pulsing cunt.

You stared at the characters moving on the screen, your lips parted and airy mewls unknowingly escaping you as Hongjoong ground his cock into you, his head brushing over your g-spot with every roll of his hips. The room spun around you, and yet it remained perfectly still, it was loud but quiet, cluttered but empty, so you used up the last of your consciousness to fixate on Hongjoong and allowed him to take over your every sense. Your chest flushed at the tender kisses he peppered onto your skin, one arm wrapped under you and across your chest, the other draped along your side to hold your thigh over his hip, mindlessly squeezing at it. You wondered if it was possible to live in this moment forever, with Hongjoong cemented to your body, warming his cock between your searing walls.

Your eyes followed the actor’s movements, and yet your body relished the leisurely drag along your walls, fucking back into you only to draw out again just as slowly. Just as much as you enjoyed the heavy presence of his cock inside you, the unhurried pace that he’d built up to felt as though you’d smoked twice as much as you actually did. Your body felt weightless and it was as though a divine being had blessed you with his touch, delicate fingers gliding over and squeezing at your heated flesh, sending burning waves of pleasure coursing through your veins.

Despite his own arousal and desperation, Hongjoong’s hips maintained their sluggish rhythm, ramming his full length into your dripping cunt before pulling out until only the tip remained encased within your walls. The slide back in made your toes curl, his cockhead pressing into your sweet spot then dragging over it. Hongjoong would slip out of you periodically, gliding his cock through your folds and brushing over your swollen clit before pushing back into your cunt.

You felt him breach your entrance, and you were free falling once again, colours flashing across your vision and a whispered succession of Hongjoong’s name rolling off your tongue. Sliding his hand up your trembling thigh, his fingers reached your clit, pressing into the nub and tweaking it to drag out your orgasm. Hongjoong relished the tight squeeze around his twitching cock, your cunt clamping down on him as you rode out your high, your soft moans and whimpers inspiring his next song. He pumped his cock into you once, twice, before hot ropes of cum painted your walls white, grinding into you to milk himself of every last drop.

Your eyes fluttered shut, Hongjoong’s fingers withdrawing to rest over your hip, his chest rising a falling heavily against your back, hot breath blowing onto the slick skin of your nape.

The room was immersed in darkness, the white light from the TV the only source of illumination now that the sun had gone to sleep, diving behind the tall buildings and allowing the full moon to hang in its place. Tufts of grey clouds bedecked the onyx sky, glittering with a plethora of stars dispersed across its width.

They reminded you of Hongjoong’s eyes, so dark yet so bright, full of love, hope, dreams. You couldn’t help but lose yourself within them at times, peculiarly when he was letting you in on his next project, humming the melody he had put together in his mind, his fingers strumming the invisible chords of his guitar. A single look into those dreamy, glimmering orbs and you couldn’t help but believe that you would be more than content simply existing by Hongjoong’s side.

In the stillness of the room, enveloped within Hongjoong’s warm embrace, the dense fog clouding your mind lulled you to restful slumber, carrying with you thoughts of a future permeated by the sweet scent of honey and citrus.

apply for my taglist here (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

#kim hongjoong #ateez x reader #kim hongjoong x reader #ateez smut #hongjoong smut #hongjoong x reader #ateez #ateez scenarios #hongjoong scenarios #hongjoong x you #hongjoong fanfic #ateez fanfic #kpop #ateez fic #ateez hongjoong

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kisses-for-you · 5 months

Text

Nightmares - Jason Todd

Jason Todd X GN!Reader

Summary: You go to Jason after having a nightmare.

Word Count: 922

You wake up, gasping for air. You can feel a cold sweat forming on your face. Your anxiety races and your heart pounds. It was that damn nightmare again. The same one you've been having for a while.

It starts normal and cute, just you and your boyfriend, Jason, spending time together when all of a sudden these people come out of nowhere and start to attack you both. The dream takes a dark turn, and no matter what you do, you can't protect Jason. It's like you're frozen in fear, being forced to watch as the nightmare unfolds.

You sit up in bed, trying to shake off the lingering unease from the dream. The details of Jason's face and the fear in his eyes are still vivid in your mind. Taking a deep breath, you reach for your phone on the nightstand to check the time. 2:09 am. The room is dimly lit, and a soft glow from the streetlight filters through the curtains.

You think about going to Jason but you don't want to wake him up unnecessarily. After a couple of minutes, you decide to get up and go towards the kitchen, where you get yourself a glass of water. You've been on edge lately, thinking that someone's watching you and that they're going to attack you at any moment.

You drink the water and take a deep breath again as you try to relax. You start to head towards your room but as you pass in front of Jason's room, you stop and wonder if maybe you should enter. You put your hand on the doorknob and turn it slowly, opening the door, afraid to wake him up.

Torn between possibly waking him up and letting him rest, you decide to quietly slip into the room. The floor creaks under your weight, but Jason remains undisturbed. You lift the cover and lay down on the bed, facing Jason. He stirs slightly, his eyes fluttering open. In the dim light, he looks at you with concern, sensing something is wrong.

"Hey," he murmurs, his voice groggy with sleep. "Everything okay?"

You nod, your eyes meeting Jason's. "Just a bad nightmare," you admit, feeling more at ease as his warm presence comforts you. "Sorry for waking you up."

He reaches out, his hand gently tracing comforting circles on your hand. "You never have to apologize for that. I'm here for you." Jason's concern deepens as he studies your face. "Want to talk about it?"

You take a moment, contemplating whether to share what happened in the dream. What if he thinks it's stupid? "We're together and then these... people come out of nowhere and start attacking us. And I- I couldn't do anything," you say, your voice breaking as you feel tears forming in your eyes. Maybe it doesn't sound that bad but having to witness it is terrifying, even if it isn't real.

Jason's expression softens, and he pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you protectively. "Hey, it's okay, Y/N. It's just a dream. I'm right here, and nothing's going to happen," he reassures you, his touch providing a sense of security. "You just have to remember that no matter how vivid your dreams are, they're not real."

You let out a shaky breath, grateful for his understanding. "I know it's silly, but it feels so real. I hate that I just feel so helpless like I can't do anything."

Jason tightens his embrace, understanding how tough it is. He's had a fair share of his own experiences with nightmares. "It's not silly at all. Dreams can mess with your head, but you're not alone. You'll always have me," he says, gently wiping away a tear from your cheek.

Jason smiles reassuringly, his thumb wiping away the remaining tears. "And you know I've got some experience dealing with bad dreams too," he adds. "But seriously, you're not alone in this. Don't be afraid to wake me up if you ever get another nightmare. I'd rather be here for you than have you suffering alone."

Feeling the warmth of his embrace, you let yourself relax a bit more. You can feel the lack of sleep starting to get to you as you yawn. "Thanks, Jason," you say, your voice quiet as a result of your lack of energy.

Jason holds you a little tighter, a comforting presence in the darkness. "Anytime, Y/N."

As you settle into his embrace, the tension from the nightmare gradually fades away. Jason runs his fingers through your hair soothingly. "You need some rest," he suggests, his voice a soft murmur. "You should try going to sleep, Y/N. Don't worry, I'll still be here when you wake up," he says, the corner of his lip curling into a reassuring smile.

All you can manage is a small, tired yawn and you rest your head on his chest and snuggle closer. As you slowly start to drift back off into sleep, Jason continues to hold you close. The darkness outside seems less daunting now, and you find peace in the presence of the person who cares for you deeply.

In the quiet of the night, Jason's steady heartbeat is the only sound that can be heard and gradually, you feel yourself falling asleep with no worries. The tension from the nightmare dissipates as sleep gently reclaims you. The warmth of Jason's embrace helps calm drift off. "I love you, Y/N," is the last thing you hear before you finally fall asleep.

#jason todd x reader #titans!jason todd #dc titans #imagine #jason todd #red hood

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exquisiteserotonin · 9 months

Text

In the Velvet Light

Rating: E is for Explicit - 18+ only 🔞MDNI🔞

Pairing: Steven Grant x F!Reader, Marc Spector X F!Reader, Jake Lockley x F!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word count: 4.6K

Summary: After you get off work early, you visit your boyfriend Steven, then Marc at the museum, with intention of asking him for an interesting but important request concerning your relationship

Warnings: A little bit of angst, some Spanish, dirty talk, oral sex, somewhat dubcon (if you squint), polyamory (if you squint) knife play, cunnilingus, and a lot of other things that I want to put but I don't want to put in here bc I don't want to ruin the story...just know there are very explicit adult things that happen here OK?

A/N: This is my very first Moon Knight fic and Oscar Isaac character fic. I know I have kept it to Pedro up to this point, but I definitely wanted to branch out. Hope you all love it.

And as always, so much love to my magical sluts @redhotkitchen @imalrightllama @blueheat1-blog @basicoccult @youandmeand5bucks @legendary-pink-dot @sparklefarts38 @arcanefox207

In the Velvet Light

If there were any place in the world that whispered the word peace it would be museums. This was a universal truth, no one could convince you otherwise. The cleanliness, the quiet, the vast spaces, and the tiny corners gathered all in one massive space where no one dared intrude upon the reflections taking root and growing in your brain. It didn’t matter what type of museum: art, science, history. They all gave you the perfect place to let brilliant ideas percolate.

The loud, hydraulic hiss of the bus echoed to the ears of all the passengers as rolled to a stop at the British Museum. It was a stop for locals and tourists alike and today it was yours as well. The sound and smell of the rain on the pavement greeted you as the doors of the bus opened. A breath of excited anxiety escaped you. The way that the raindrops splashed on the growing rain puddles mirrored the way your heart was beating quickly in your chest.

The majesty of the foyer and everything in it always reminded you of how much bigger and older the world really was. You walked amongst the other visitors, several smiling faces from the staff greeted you in friendly recognition.

“How are you today, love?” said a tall, burly security guard with the warmest smile.

You kissed him on either side of his brown, jovial cheeks.

“Hello Ollie, doing well today?”

“Always, love,” every word from his mouth seemed to float out full of kindness, “meeting Steven a little early today?”

A knot formed in your stomach at the question. You would meet Steven for work occasionally, just to surprise him. Today was different, you felt in every part of your body. From the moment you woke up to this moment, you’d been nervous about meeting him today. With a nod and a smile, you answered Ollie’s question and left a tiny skip in your step.

Before losing yourself in the museum, you found a moment to freshen up in the bathroom. It was quiet and dark, nearly the exact opposite of the brightness and bustle of the Great Court. You stood in front of the sink and pulled out your lipstick from your purse. A twist of the tube revealed a vivid red, a color you normally wouldn’t have chosen for yourself. As you smoothed the rich color over your lips, you kept your eyes on your reflection in the triptych style mirror. You looked from left, right, and then back to center, marveling at how different you could look in such a deep color.

I wonder if he will notice. You thought to yourself as you combed your fingers through your hair.

The black hue of your boots stood in stark contrast to the pristine white floors and walls of the court. The rain-kissed sunlight filtered through the tessellating roof, casting warm and shifting shadows on your face, neck, and shoulders. You twirled around, letting the prismatic light bathe you and your pirouetting shadow, helping you to briefly forget the feeling of excited anxiety that continued to settle in the pit of your stomach. You began to draw, doodle, and write whatever came to you, letting it flow from your veins, through the pen, and onto the paper. You laughed at the three cute little doodles you made of your boyfriend.

Nonsense. You murmured silently in your head.

The afternoon moved and with it the sunlight filtered through the roof. You followed the golden beams, like you were skipping through a creek trying to find the sunbeams hiding in the shadows cast by leaves on a tree. The little game you made to pass the time had you so engrossed that you didn’t even notice Steven standing in a single beam of sunlight that broke through the glass roof. You couldn’t help but smile seeing him, something about his face. The way his eyes were so bright and open and full of wonder at everything. He wrapped his arms around you, enveloping in an embrace full of warmth and love. You squeezed him tightly as he held you, leaning your head closely to the side of his face, nuzzling your nose into his neck and into the soft curls of his black hair. He sensed something. You knew it in the way his long fingers slowly caressed the sides of your waist as he unraveled you from his embrace. His fingers moved lovingly up your arms, until they laced themselves in your waves while his palms cupped your face.

“Did I ever tell you that I have the best girlfriend ever?” he said very matter-of-factly as the pads of his thumbs caressed the sides of your face.

“Oh my god, I had no idea!” You teased, pulling him by the lapel of his jacket. “Who is she?!”

“I don’t know, but she’s certainly never tempted me with this shade of red before,” he said, bringing gentle fingers to your chin just below your pout.

He scrunched his nose as the most charming grin situated itself on his face before he moved in to kiss you. It was so difficult to explain, but that little crinkle of his nose was something you found so endearingly irresistible about him. The gesture was so perfectly Steven and so perfectly kissable.

“I also know,” he said as he intertwined his fingers in yours as you walked towards the exit of the museum, “that you’re definitely keeping something from me.”

A secretive silence took over you as the sunlight began to wane over the glass rooftop. When he turned to you again, the beams of light waxed and waned with kaleidoscopic triangles of light and dark illuminated his chiseled face. With a light cough, you cleared your throat, a small feeling of guilt settling over your chest. There was no use in hiding things from him, considering your unique situation.

“It’s nothing bad, I promise!” You insisted as you walked outside, your steps rippling your reflections in the puddles the rain left behind. “You know I don’t keep things from you.”

“Not intentionally, no,” he said as his expression suddenly turned to confusion as you continued towards the crosswalk. “Wait, sweetheart, why’re we crossing the street?

Turning to him, you smoothed the wrinkles in his jacket and kissed him, wiping your thumb along his lips where yours had left their mark. He sucked a deep inhale into his chest, and you could see the small glimmer of yearning shine in his eyes. The rain had stopped enough to let the sunset work her magic on his olive skin, highlighting it with warm colors of gold and coral.

“Come home with me tonight,” you whispered as your lips parted from his.

A combination of excitement and trepidation filled the lines around his expressive brown eyes. It wasn’t about sex, you knew that. You had already taken that much needed step in your relationship. Sex was far from being a problem in your relationship. No, you know from how his eyes hollowed in fear that this was something much more.

“Oh, love,” he said letting go of your hands to wring his nervously, “aren’t you worried about---”

You wrapped your hands in his to alleviate some of the anxiety that lived in his shaking hands.

“Steven,” you said, keeping a steady gaze on him, “you trust me, right?”

The inner corner of his eyebrows raised up as he nodded in earnest. It was difficult for him not to hang on to every word that left your mouth. Keeping his hand in yours, you crossed the street just as a bus stopped, ready for you to embark. You led Steven towards the middle of the bus, finding two empty seats. Steven gestured for you to take a seat first. When he sat next to you, you hooked your arm under his, your hand finding its way back to hold his. He leaned towards you, turning to give your forehead a kiss before you rested your head on his shoulder.

Your eyes turned to look out the window, watching as the remaining raindrops trickled down the window. The dusky sunlight reflected off them like liquid gold.

“Why do you have such a hard time opening up to him?” The sound of a subtle New York accented voice, pressed lightly against your forehead.

In the window, you glanced at the reflection of your boyfriend’s face. His thick brows were lower, his eyes narrowed with greater focus, and his jaw and neck muscles were taut with stoicism.

“Marc?” you inquired, still not used to how quickly he could appear without warning.

He pulled you in with his gaze. It was one of concern, but in a different way from Steven’s. When he looked at you with that furrowed brow and discerning expression in his eyes, it was easy for you to see that he understood without words the feelings you were going through. A small, but grateful and earnest smile grew on your lips before you gave him a kiss. He didn’t melt quite the same way Steven did, but you could tell from the gentle caresses on your fingertips that he was letting himself relax.

“Don’t you think it’s a little bit unfair to be talking to me about stuff that bothers you and not him?” Marc asked.

“Marc, it’s not like he doesn’t find out anywa---,” you started, but Marc was so quick to interject.

“Nah, no it doesn’t work that way, sweetheart,” he insisted while shaking his head at you.

You took note of his words and lingered on ‘sweetheart.’ It was one of the terms of endearment that both Steven and Marc shared for you. You could never explain to anyone how your relationship (or was it relationships?) worked. You were in love with more than one man who shared the same face and the same body, but with distinctive personalities, distinctive lives. When you wondered how you’d introduce your friends or your family to him, telling them the truth was the worst possible option.

Ok, friends, I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, well boyfriends, really. He has, they have Dissociative Identity Disorder.

No, that wouldn’t work at all.

“I’ve just been anxious,” you explained to Marc, expressing all that floated in your head in the least number of words possible. “We’ve been together for a while now and it always feels like I’m having to navigate something new.”

You caught Marc briefly looking at the window.

“He’s listening, isn’t he?” You asked.

Marc nodded with a raised brow and a shrug of his shoulders. The gesture told you that Steven “listening in” on your conversation was inevitable.

“Look, you don’t need to be scared about telling us anything, everything even,” Marc assured you with a gentle squeeze and massage of your thigh.

It was unexpected and sent shivers up your core, reminding you of why you were so anxious in the first place. Another glimpse of Marc looking in the window caught your eye. You wondered what knowing glances they shared with one other. What did each of those glances mean when they were clearly shared about you?

“I know, you’re right,” you acknowledged.

“So, tell me, tell us,” Marc uttered before giving you a gentle kiss, “we’ve got a long ride home.”

The long, stop-and-go bus ride was tolerable because you had Marc with you. When you arrived at your bus stop, you felt Marc’s fingers tighten in yours. Each step that you both took echoed on the cobblestone streets that led to your flat. And with each step that you took, Marc’s hand squeezed yours harder, an unspoken indication of his growing anxiety. Marc dug his hands into his pockets and took a deep breath as you unlocked your door. Before you walked in, you took his face gently in your hands. You looked deep into his eyes, searching for every part of him in those glossy brown globes of his.

“Do you trust me?” You asked the same question you asked Steven.

He rested your forehead against yours and nodded, kissing the inside of your palms.

He followed you up the short set of stairs to your inside door. You flipped on the wall switch, filling your living room with warm light. Marc walked around your flat, taking note of the decor, a mix of mid-century, bohemian, and Scandinavian. A smile spread on his face with the thought that all of it was so perfectly you.

“Make yourself at home,” you whispered softly in his ear, “I’ll be right back.”

Everything in your bedroom was perfect just as you had planned it to be. The terracotta-colored bed sheets were freshly washed. The lamps on your nightstand gave off a dim but romantic glow better than any overhead light could. You had even cleaned the circular mirror that hung over your dresser and the large arched, floor length mirror that rested against the opposite wall. Before you returned to Marc, you undressed from your work clothes and put on a purple, gauzy and lace chemise, paired with a slinky lace thong, with a deep teal kimono over it. You looked at yourself in the mirror, running your fingers through your waves and putting on a sheer gloss over your red lips. You understood, all of this didn’t make any sense. You knew he’d be ripping it off you in a matter of minutes, but he’d never been to your home. This was going to be something you made sure you would remember.

You watched as Marc awkwardly walked around your small living room, pacing around wondering if he should sit or remain standing. It was almost Steven-like. As you glided back to him, he stopped in his tracks, paralyzed by the vision of you.

“So, this is what you were hiding?” Marc growled, as he admired you, grabbing you by the ass and pulling you towards him. “Don’t think Steven will be too upset about it as long as he gets a turn.”

Marc pulled you into him, rubbing his hands up and down the light, lacy fabric until he grabbed your ass again with his large hands. With his right hand, he grabbed the supple muscle of your thigh and lifted it to his waist. Keeping your hands on his face you kissed him fervently, sucking on his bottom lip until you were pulling it gently with your teeth.

“Quiero hablar con Jake,” you stated with conviction as you ran your fingers through Marc’s dark curls.

Suddenly, he stopped and backed away from you, his brow knitted together in disbelief, “You have no idea what you’re asking me.”

“Yes, baby, I do,” you assured, pulling him to you again as walked backwards to your bedroom.

Marc stood before you, his eyes dark with disappointment and anger. You let your kimono drop to the floor and moved to him, bringing your face close to his. He took a strong, commanding grip on your wrists when you tried to push his open button-up shirt away from his shoulders.

“What do you think this is some kind of joke?” Marc snarled through gritted teeth. “Do you have any idea what he’s capable of?”

“Marc, you and Steven said you trusted me,” you said as you planted kisses on his neck and jaw. “It’s been hard, but you’ve told me that I should trust you and be open with both of you, all of you---why should Jake be any different?

“No, not up for discussion,” Marc shook his head.

You pressed your forehead to his and moved your right hand up his chest and then to his face. You eased him into a gentle kiss, slipping your tongue until he was weak in the knees.

“Let me talk to Jake,” you requested again, gripping his face tighter with your hands.

Marc looked at you resolutely to protect you from what he perceived as dangerous.

“You owe me this, Marc,” you affirmed through gritted teeth.

“Then you’d have to make me,” Marc growled, bringing his face as close to yours without touching it.

His breath was hot and touched your painted lips with angry disappointment. Anger and frustration took over you and you lifted your hand, slapping him in the face. An immediate feeling of guilt took over you and you apologetically began caressing the curls that touched Marc’s forehead.

“Oh god, Marc,” you gasped, “I’m so sorry.”

Slowly, he lifted his face and focused his dark eyes on you. His eyebrows were angled downward. He lifted his hand, wrapping it around your wrist in a nearly painful grip. The light and shadows that traced the map of his face revealed eyes darker than you’d ever seen on Marc or Steven. The corners of his lips were turned slightly downward and the vein at the side of his neck was prominent from the tightness of his jaw.

“Not Marc, hermosa,” he growled as he grabbed a hold of your other hand, tossing you on the bed.

“Jake?” You gasped, looking at him as he grazed lustful eyes over your body.

“Sí, claro,” he replied, his voice low and wanton as he stared up at the round mirror above your dresser.

You weren’t sure who he was looking at, Marc or Steven, maybe it was both. Your mind and body completely focused on the man crawling over you on the bed. His hands explored the peaks and valleys of your body. His touch had its own quality that you had never experienced or imagined. With Steven, he made you feel like a queen always willing to serve you and remind you how beautiful you were through gentle, loving touches, and aftercare. Marc was decidedly more confident in himself, though your physical pleasure was always a priority, and he reveled in making you come especially on his tongue. No, this touch had no resemblance to theirs and you trembled beneath it.

Jake’s lips curled up into a devilish smile as he tightened his grip on your wrists. He brought his lips to your neck and pushed your legs apart with his strong thighs. Your breaths came out in quick gasps as he rolled his hips against you, allowing you to feel his cock growing in his jeans.

“Are you scared of me, muñeca?” His breath was hot against your skin.

“I—I don’t---,” you couldn’t find the words to confess how you were feeling, but every inch of your body quivered.

Trapping you beneath his legs, Jake reached into his back pocket to pull out a switchblade. You wiggled beneath him, but stilled yourself as he opened the knife and began tracing it lightly on chest. You closed your eyes, knowing you should feel nothing but paralyzing fear, but your body betrayed you as you rolled your pelvis upward in desperation for him. With a quick swipe of his blade, he cut a slit down the middle of your chemise, ripping the rest of it from your body with his bare hands. A moan escaped you as he tossed the remnants to the floor.

“Oh, you like this, hermosa,” he groaned as returned the blade to his back pocket, getting harder the more you writhed beneath him, “this is why you wanted us to come with you.”

His hands worked at your tits, massaging them, squeezing them with heavy hands, and pinching your nipples until you were crying for him. He painted a hot wet trail up your body with his tongue until he wrapped his mouth around your right nipple, swirling it in mouth, drawing out continuous moans from your lips. A quick nip of his teeth at each nipple sent a wave of ecstasy through your body and you could do nothing but yelp out his name.

“You want me to fuck you,” Jake growled as he pulled his shirt off over his head and as he unzipped and pushed his jeans off to the floor, “You’ve been wanting me to fuck you.”

He pulled your hips towards the edge of the bed, where you were met with his mouth planting hot, wet kisses on your mound through your lacy purple underwear. He took two long fingers caressing the center of the lacy fabric, your desire growing with each stripe he traced there.

“Dímelo,” he said as he curled the tips of his fingers at the edge of your underwear.

They were so close to your center, so close to touching exactly where you wanted him. But not close enough.

“Say it,” he demanded while he continued to taunt you with his fingers.

“I want you to fuck me,” you breathed out, “---need you to fuck me, Jake.”

He paused with a low, deviant laugh that came from the back of his throat. You pressed yourself up on your elbows, needing to see his face after your reply. His eyelids were low with the most wanton desire as his gaze shifted to the large mirror that rested against the wall between two, long arched-shaped windows. The moon beams were bright through the window, and you saw them glimmer in his eyes before he said anything again.

“Don’t worry, hermanos,” he said, his voice rumbling against your center, “I’ll take good care of her.”

The sound of ripped lace reached your ears and just as quickly, Jake’s mouth was on you in a slow open-mouthed kiss. All you could do was gasp as he slipped his tongue through your folds licking with slow, broad strokes of his tongue from the bottom to the top. He worshipped at your clit with slow, torturous circles until he licked down to your center, repeating the movements all over again. You bucked against him with a moan and moved your hands to lace your fingers in his curls.

“Estas tan desesperada por mi,” he uttered, tightening your grip against his hair so that your hands couldn’t move.

He pushed face further into your mound, the tip of his nose touching your clit as he his tongue dipped deeper through your folds, trading endlessly between broad, delectable strokes and swift, tight swipes that tortured you with each exchange. The beat of your heart pounded to your ears and all your nerve endings felt like they had gathered around your swollen pussy as he hummed against it. He wrapped his soft lips against your clit, rolling his tongue against you at first and then sucking every bit of your slick in his expert mouth.

“Fuck---Jake---feel so good!” you cried out, trying to push your hips towards him for more.

A deep throaty hum left his mouth as he began to slip one, then two fingers into your slick. His tongue never let go of its ownership on your clit as his fingers thrusted in and out of you, stoking the fire inside of you. Like some kind of poetic synchronicity your toes curled just as he curled his fingers in you, feeding your fire and sucking at your clit like it's the only thing he’s ever needed. In a matter of seconds, you came with a line of breathy cries of his name while he clamped his arms around your writhing hips.

“Move up, cariño,” he said, slapping at your pussy and helping you with a slight roll of your hips sideways.

His eyes kept their intense and libidinous gaze on you as you trembled and rolled in the sheets as he pulled off his black boxer-briefs. You licked your lips as he crawled towards you, cradling you in his arms as his right hand gripped your face as he kissed you. You knew your lipstick would be a mess by the way he devoured your mouth, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Need you---need your cock, Jake!” you cried, your fingers reaching out to him through the waves of your bed sheets.

More than ready to oblige, he crawled over you and growled in your ear, “All fours, muñeca.”

His hands massaged your ass before, caressing up and down your waist before he gifted you with one, two, three strong slaps of his firm hand. Shuddering with ecstasy, you looked up and saw the mess he was making of you in your large mirror, your lipstick smeared and your face moaning with desperation for his depravity. It was like being hypnotized as you watched yourself and him in the mirror. A long thread of saliva left his mouth and dripped down to your ass, and you were suddenly wiggling back for him. He teased you with a few quick slaps of your pussy with his hard, bobbing cock and he coated his cock with a few pumps of his own saliva he’d pressed to his fingers with his tongue. And with decadent groans, he began to push into you.

You’d felt this cock many times before, you reminded yourself with closed eyes, as Jake slapped into you with a few shallow thrusts. But you’ve never felt it quite this way, as he pulls back almost completely before he is bottoming out into you with an unrestrained grinding of his hips, making sure you can hear the slap of your hips and your soaking pussy against him.

“Oh god, fuck, so good, Jake” you cried as you pressed your face against your sheets and pushed back against him.

“Face up, cariño,” he ordered as you felt him swiftly wipe his thumb against your asshole, “want you to see your face when I make you cum all over my cock.”

A moan escapes you at the novel feeling, one that Steven or Marc had never done for you. Jake made a few more quick slaps on your ass as you scrambled to lift yourself back onto your hands. His loud groans continued to fill your bedroom as he thrusted in and out of you with a varied pace you couldn’t anticipate, driving you mad.

“Jake, please---please fuck me like I’m your whore,” you begged through filthy cries for him.

The second those words slipped from your lip, Jake’s hand slid from the attention he was giving your asshole until he was caressing your back and pulling at the waves of your hair. His thrusts felt unimaginably deeper as he kept a strong grip there, thrusting and throbbing against the walls of your tight cunt.

“Fuck, look at you!” He groaned as his thrusts became faster and faster as they continued to hammer deep inside of you. “Look at her, a fucking mess, acting like a whore for me.”

You couldn’t help but look, feeling almost bad that you knew Jake was speaking, no taunting Marc and Steven. The way your tits bounced, the way you clutched at the sheets, and the way your mouth hung open in an unending moan for him. The sounds that echoed from your cunt were wet and obscene.

“I---Jake---Jake I’m gonna cum!” you cried, trying to reach back to him as the walls of your pussy quivered and clenched against his long, thick shaft.

With vigorously deep thrusts, he emptied inside you with a luscious and raspy moan, “That’s it, mi amor, take it all.”

With one final groan he pulled himself from you, swiping one thumb to your asshole before sliding one quiver-inducing stroke to the folds of your sensitive pussy. Together you collapsed in a mess of sweaty, love-soaked limbs. Resting right leg open against his thigh gave him a chance to caress your legs with an unexpectedly soft hand. You used this moment of silence to catch your breath and regain your composure, not sure what to expect afterwards from Jake.

“That was...unexpected,” you sighed looking over at a smirking Jake, whose eyes were closed in post-coital bliss, “are they---,”

“They’ll get over it,” he responded quickly to your unfinished question about Marc and Steven, “besides you said, ‘all in’, right? I’ve just shown them it’s ok to push you to your limits.”

You turned to Jake, propped yourself on one elbow, and turned his face towards you with a gentle, but teasing hand, “Tsk, oh darling, you’ve only just scratched the surface.”

#oscar isaac characters #oscar isaac character fanfiction #moon knight #jake lockley #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockely x reader #jake lockely x you #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #moon knight system #juice bar collective #juice collective

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b1ackoutartist · 4 months

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Ghost of you

Inspired by ghost of you by 5 seconds of summer

The dawn light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a gentle glow on the empty side of the bed. Y/N lay there, her eyes tracing the contours of the sheets where Natasha used to sleep. It had been months since Natasha had sacrificed herself for the greater good, leaving a void in Y/N's heart that seemed to grow with each passing day. Sleeping on Natasha's side of the bed still seemed so impossible to Y/N, as if would make everything more real, as if the last bit of hope, that Natasha would magically walk through the door any minute, would dissappear.

Y/N's fingers unconsciously twirled the engagement ring on her finger, a constant reminder of a future that would never be. It was a simple band, nothing too extravagant, but it held a universe of memories and promises. Natasha had slipped it on her finger with a smile that lit up her entire being, a smile that Y/N yearned to see just one more time.

Each morning was a battle, a struggle to rise and face a world that no longer held her soulmate. Y/N would lay there, hoping for a few more moments of sleep, a few more moments in a dream where Natasha's laughter filled the room, where her touch was warm and real.

The kitchen was a shrine to their shared moments. Y/N's gaze fell upon the coffee cup that still sat where Natasha had left it. The lipstick stain, once a vivid reminder of their morning rituals, had faded with time, much like the sound of Natasha's voice in her memories.

In her solitude, Y/N found herself dancing through the halls of their home, her movements a mix of grace and desperation. It was in these moments, twirling alone yet feeling Natasha's presence, that Y/N could almost believe she was fine. Almost. But the truth was harder to swallow, like a shot of bitter reality, reminding her that she was dancing with a ghost.

On a particularly difficult day, while cleaning, Y/N stumbled upon an old Led Zeppelin shirt – the one Natasha had worn when she impulsively ran away from a fight they'd had, a rare moment of vulnerability from the otherwise indomitable spy. It still carried a faint scent of her, a mix of her perfume and the battles they had faced together.

Their love had been intense and all-consuming, a fiery dance of two souls too young and too impulsive to understand the depth of their feelings. They were reckless, passionate, and utterly devoted. Y/N remembered Natasha's laughter, her fierce protectiveness, and the way her eyes softened only for her.

As night fell, Y/N sat alone in the silence of the room they once shared, the ring on her finger a cold but comforting weight. She whispered into the emptiness, recounting her day as if Natasha could hear her, as if she would walk through the door any minute, smile and say everything would be alright.

But the room remained empty, and Y/N's heart ached with the weight of her unshed tears. She knew she was too young, too naive to have understood the true cost of love. Yet, even in her deepest sorrow, she knew she would never regret a single moment spent with Natasha. For in those moments, she had known true love, fierce and unyielding.

And as Y/N drifted to sleep, she clung to the hope that in her dreams, she would find Natasha waiting for her, ready to dance through the echoes of their love once more.

#natasha romanoff #marvel #black widow x reader #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #natasha romanoff imagine

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maesfics · 1 month

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YOU WON'T LOOSE ME — d.w

pairing ; dina woodward x fem!reader

↬ warnings ; established relationship, angst, visions. lmk if I forgot anything.

↬ ㅤㅤword count ; 1.2k

↬ synopsis ; 𝑖𝑛 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑐ℎ a nightmare about losing Dina awakens you, leading to a night of comfort and reassurance with Dina and their son, JJ.

↬ requested ; “can I please request for Dina? I thought about reader waking up because of a nightmare and hugging Dina while crying bc she’s afraid of losing her. Hope that makes sense„

a/n ; i hope i didn't go to left with this for you. thank you for requesting nd your support ! <3

if you want to request it's open! | inbox |

Silence envelops the night, deep, broken only by the occasional whisper of wind against the fragile windowpanes of your makeshift home. As shadows dance across the room, cast by the moon's dim light, sleep, which once cradled you gently, now betrays you. A nightmare, vivid and terrifying, seize your mind—a relentless vision of losing Dina, your anchor in this chaotic, infected world.

Heart pounding, you jolt awake, a silent scream caught in your throat as remnants of dread cling stubbornly to your consciousness. Beside you, under the small pool of moonlight filtering through the thin curtains, lies JJ, your son. His tiny chest rises and falls with a rhythmic peace that starkly contrasts the turmoil inside you. For a moment, you watch his serene face, finding a fleeting solace before the urge to confirm Dina's safety overwhelms you.

Assuming JJ is safe and needs to see Dina, you slip quietly from the bed and tread softly across the creaking wooden floor. Each step feels like an eternity as you make your way to the living area, where the echoes of your nightmare linger, a stark reminder of the fragility of this life you've built.

As you enter the living room, the sight that greets you steadies your racing heart. Dina, wrapped in an old quilt, sits in an armchair that's seen better days. The moon casts her in a halo of soft light as she gently rocks back and forth, taking JJ into her arms to nurse him back to sleep after he must have stirred. Her presence, a beacon in the lingering shadows, draws you in.

She looks up, her eyes meeting yours, and in them, you find the warmth and understanding that first drew you to her. Without needing to speak, she extends an arm, inviting you into their small circle of light. You kneel beside her, resting your head against her knee, and as her hand finds your hair, stroking softly, the last vestiges of your nightmare begin to dissipate.

"You okay?" she whispers, her voice a soothing balm.

You nod, not trusting your voice, content to be near her, to see her and JJ together—safe.

Once JJ's eyelids flutter closed, securing him back in dreamland, Dina gently places him in his crib and turns her attention back to you. "Tea?" she offers, and you follow her to the kitchen, grateful for the normalcy of the gesture.

As the kettle whistles softly, you find the courage to voice the fears that your nightmare stoked. "I keep seeing these... these visions of losing you, Dina. Every time I close my eyes, it feels like I might never see you again."

She takes your hands in hers, her touch warm and reassuring. "Hey, look at me," she urges gently. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. We're in this together, okay? All of us."

Her words, simple yet profound, ease the tightness in your chest. Inspired by a sudden urge to feel the early morning air, to watch the world awaken, you suggest, "Let's watch the sunrise. It's been a while since we did that."

Bundling JJ up, you step outside together, the pre-dawn chill brisk against your skin. You settle on the old bench by the side of your home, Dina sitting close, JJ nestled between you. The eastern sky slowly shifts its colors from night's deep blue to dawn's soft blush.

Here, with the day breaking before you, you talk about everything and nothing—whispered dreams for the future, the simple joys of the day-to-day. Each word weaves a more substantial thread in the fabric of your family.

As the sun ascends, casting its first golden rays through the trees, you feel a warmth that isn't just from the sunlight but from the love and certainty that you, Dina, and JJ share. This moment, this morning renews your hope and determination.

You head back inside, the light of the new day filling your home, casting long shadows across the floor that dance with the gentle rhythm of your movements. Watching Dina play with JJ, his laughter and music fill the room, and you feel a profound sense of peace.

Each day is a gift, a new beginning, a promise made under the whisper of the dawn sky—that no matter what, you will face it together.

As you sit together, sipping the warm tea that Dina has prepared, the silence between you stretches, comfortable yet filled with the weight of unspoken worries.

Dina's gaze is thoughtful and reflective as she watches the steam curl from her cup. "Do you remember the day we found this place?" she asks, breaking the silence. Her question pulls you back to a timeless burdened by the immediacy of survival, a day filled with rare hope.

You nod, the memory surfacing amidst the fog of your anxieties. "I remember. You said it was perfect because the sunlight hit the porch just right." The recollection brings a faint smile to your face, one that Dina mirrors as she reaches across the table to squeeze your hand.

"Exactly. And because it felt like a place where we could make a real home," she adds, her voice dropping to a whisper. "A place for JJ to grow up, where we could be a family. I meant it then, and I still do. No nightmare, no fear will take that away from us."

Her words, filled with determination and love, help lift the heaviness from your heart. The two of you talk through the night, revisiting memories of how you've built your life together, the challenges you've overcome, and the dreams you still nurture.

It's a reminder of the strength you draw from each other, fueling your resolve to face whatever comes.

As the first light of dawn begins to seep through the windows, painting the world in hues of gold and amber, you wrap a blanket around your shoulders and step outside. The air is fresh, the promise of a new day palpable. Dina joins you.

JJ is now awake and curious in her arms. Together, you walk to the edge of the property, where the open sky stretches wide and unobstructed.

The sunrise is breathtaking, a spectacle of colors that bleed across the horizon, blending into one another. You watch, mesmerized, as the world awakens.

Birds chirp in the distance, their songs a soundtrack to the sun's ascent. JJ babbles happily in Dina's arms, pointing at the sky with chubby fingers.

"This—this right here—is why we keep fighting, right?" Dina says, her voice was soft and emotional. "For moments like this, for him."

You nod, your heart swelling with love and renewed purpose. "For all of us," you affirm, feeling the weight of your nightmares lessen in the rising sun's light. "We have so much to live for and protect."

You spend the morning outside, embracing the day together as a family. Dina teaches JJ how to say "sun" and "sky," her laughter mingling with his excited squeals. You capture these moments in your mind, a mental album of all the reasons why you fight and why you survive.

As the day emerges, you return inside, energized by the morning's beauty and clarity. Once a mere shelter, the house feels more like a home with each passing day, filled with the sounds and sights of your small family thriving against the odds.

In these moments, the nightmares that haunt your sleep seem distant, their hold on you weakened by the love and life that fill your days. You know they may return, as they often do in this harsh world, but you also know you have everything you need to face them—as long as you have Dina and JJ by your side.

#dina woodward #dina imagine #dina woodward imagine #dina woodward smut #dina woodward x reader #the last of us smut #tlou #smut #dina woodward fluff #dina #the last of us #the last of us 2 #dina woodward reader smut #dina woodward x reader fluff #maesfics

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januaryembrs · 2 years

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THE NIGHT IS DARK AND FULL OF TERRORS | Jaime Lannister x reader

Request: hi!! biggest congratulations on 1k, it is so so deserved!! i would like to send in a drabble request for jaime lannister, maybe where either he or the reader has a nightmare, and the other person comforts them, if that’s okay? and feel free to change this however you see fit, of course!! thank you, and I hope you're having a good day :))

description: Jaime has a nightmare of his sister finding out about your secret affair.

Word count: 1k

trigger warnings: Though the reader is a cousin of Ned Stark, I left her racially ambiguous so that everyone may feel included, reader and Jaime are naked but no smut, Bolton's men chopping off Jaime's hand and hurting reader.

main masterlist

Author’s note: this was written as part of my 1k follower celebration. please feel free to send in 1000 word drabble prompts of your own! also thank you to the person who sent this in, I appreciate it very much and I hope you like it!

A low gasp broke the pure silence the dark bedroom kept. Jaime’s mind took a brief moment to decipher where exactly he was, his dream being so realistic it seemed to have knocked him senseless.

In King's Landing, he was in his chambers. He would know the smell of the fragrant soaps the maids here used anywhere, chamomile and honey as Cersei always demanded so that he and her could match. He’d kicked his sheets off in the night, it was a warm harvest season considering winter was right around the corner. He reached out to pull the thinner of the sheets over himself, his naked body now catching quite a chill in the twilight air, when he struggled to catch the fabric.

And that’s when he saw why. Where his glorious, sword wielding hand had once been, now lay a messy, gruesome scar at the end of his forearm. Amidst his vivid dreams of you being held at sword point per his sister’s orders, one in which he’d been having the past week you’d both returned to King’s Landing, he seemed to have been dragged so far from reality he struggled to grasp it even now.

Jaime Lannister had always been a proud man, the best swordsman in the continent. Known for his skill in the field, and his glorious reputation in his kingdom. That was before Roose Bolton’s men had gotten their hands on him, and Locke had carved his hand from his arm with one quick manoeuvre that left him no better than his half-man of a brother.

The blonde man didn’t have enough time to mull over his loss before he felt a body stirring next to him. You made a noise of protest upon realising he had rolled away from your side, your equally nude body now cold. Your eyes peeked open to observe him. Where the moonlight filtered in through the thin windows, decorated intricately with maroon wire to match his house colours, it illuminated his features enough for you to realise he seemed troubled, saddened almost. You woke yourself up out of your slumber more to tend to him, though you had a good idea what his distress was about.

Your hand fell to his cheek gently, the sudden contact making him flinch. You sighed deeply as he dragged himself out of whatever though he seemed to be buried deep into, turning your body over to face him completely.

“What is it?” You whispered, afraid to disrupt the silence cooing at the man as if he were a trembling cub. “Same dream again?”

Jaime says nothing, but you feel him relax into your touch, his head shifting to gaze at you with sleep infused green eyes. You see him glance over every part of your face, a short groan of fatigue leaving his dry lips. That was confirmation enough for you he had been yet again woken up by his troubled mind.

“We’re being careful. We don’t interact outside of your room, for all your sister knows, we could just be comforting one another after-” You tried to reassure him, though he cut you off tiredly.

“Cersei will find out somehow. She has eyes everywhere.” He spoke solemnly, though he reached his good arm up to stroke your hair out of your face. “I don’t want her to find more of a reason to hurt you. The fact you’re a Stark is already a death sentence to her.”

It had been unlikely - the two of you falling for one another. You had offered to return Jaime to the Lannisters when he had been captured by Catelyn and Robb in exchange for Sansa, only travelling intending to be sure the Lannister man kept his word and returning your cousin’s daughter. You and Brienne had ridden the chained man two-thirds of the way before the Bolton’s men had got their slimy grasp on you.

They said they knew your head could fetch just as much gold from Roose as Jaime’s, and had beaten you to near death right before their eyes before they’d decided they wanted you alive.

You had been a few more hits away from losing consciousness when Jaime had fought. He had stolen one of their meagre steel swords, taken down three of the hunters, and threw his body over yours to defend you before Locke had intervened and cut off his sword hand.

He had sacrificed his greatest weapon, his greatest achievement for you. A woman he should have hated, a woman he would have died to defend. A woman he had grown to love, who he couldn’t stand to watch be assaulted in such a way before he had to mediate the fight himself.

But returning to King’s Landing, being pardoned for your ‘crime’ of a treasonous family by King Joffrey. That didn’t mean you weren’t walking on a sharp blade every second you spent in court, now a bartering chip for Tywin to use against your family. At least you could protect Sansa as promised, and explore your growing affections for the King Slayer.

The man you regularly slept with, regularly exchanged sweet words in the privacy of his bedsheets, the man you knew would protect you with all he could as he had before.

“Your name, your status would be enough to sway anyone wishing to hurt me.” You tried to convince him, laying a gentle kiss to his lips, “You don’t need both hands to protect me as viciously as you do,”

“It would certainly help,” He grumbled back, tracing his remaining fingers down your bare back gently, salvaging every touch he could get of your nude body.

You smiled whimsically, pressing another kiss to his lips though this one was heavier, more deep with the love you found yourself pouring over him in these moments. “My brave lion fighting for his wolf. No one could stop a man so powerful,” You stroked his ego, feeling him tighten his grasp on you.

He knew you were pandering to him, but as all Lannisters, he didn’t complain one bit. Because he knew it was the truth. He would wreak the havoc of a feral beast before anyone, his sister included, would lay a hand on you.

permanent taglist:

@greeneyedblondie44 @liadamerondjarin @andy-rocks @musicartmayheminmyheart @howlerwolfmax @ciarra-mae

#jaime lannister x reader #jaime Lannister angst #drabble #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones angst #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones imagine #jaime lannister imagine #jaime Lannister fanfiction #stark!reader

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cedarxwing · 4 months

Text

Scent Freak Hannibal (Holes in the Floor of the Mind)

Hannibal is 10x more freakish about smells in the books, and it manifests in some subtle ways in the show.

Hannibal's characterization as a lovable serial killer is a brilliant literary feat. Part of what makes him so likable is how receptive he is to sensation. He's almost childlike in how he experiences the world. His narration is so vivid with description that it makes him seem more alive, more human, than the other characters, whose inner voices are dull and flat by comparison. He is powerfully influenced by sights, sounds, textures, and especially smells, all leading to memory. It's very Proustian and psychological.

Warning: long post below.

Red Dragon

Aside from the iconic aftershave dig, Hannibal uses scent to decide to get Will's home address. This is the very first peek into Hannibal's POV we get in the series:

First mention of Hannibal's nemesis: the toilet (more on that later). They cleaned his toilet with Clorox -> bleach -> semen -> irritating man scent -> Will Graham

Will smells like teaweed, which grows in the southeast US -> Hannibal is thinking about where Will might live (Florida). (Like how Hannibal smells pine on Will in the show.)

Hannibal can smell Will's thoughts which are warm and brassy

Will's warm, brass thoughts are incorporated in the show! Will's silver pendulum, as it was described in the book, was changed to yellow. In season 1, whenever we enter his crime scene reconstruction POV, the lighting completely changes and there's a warm filter:

(I also like to interpret the shift in warmth as Will feeling more alive when he's closer to a killer's thoughts, but that's just me)

The Stool Pit

One thing the show didn't explore was Hannibal's worst sensory nightmare: feces. For him, stool is closely linked to both prison ("watching the diaper cart go by") and the horrific death of his sister. In Hannibal, the scent of a soiled diaper on a airplane gives him a traumatic flashback dream about Mischa:

The "holes in the floor" of Hannibal's memory palace are oubliettes, dungeons where he stores all his bad memories to forget about them:

Even though Hannibal probably didn't see Mischa's teeth in the stool pit in the show (since his backstory was changed), it's alluded to with Alana's threat to take his toilet (his entire toilet, not just the seat like in the book).

This line is mostly a quote from The Silence of the Lambs, except for "the company of the dead" addition. It leads straight into one of Hannibal's flashbacks about Abigail. Based on how the lights black out, I can only assume Hannibal's memories about Abigail are negative. Is he falling down the rank oubliettes of his mind when he thinks of her? Does he regret killing her at all? We can only guess.

Knowing this, the proximity of the toilet to his prison bed is crazy. They had a huge room to put his bed anywhere, and they chose to put it right next to the toilet? Lol.

Cleanliness

Clean smells are Hannibal's favorite thing, hands down. They are in direct opposition to the stool pit, and a metaphor for innocence, purity, washing away sins, etc. The first thing we see him do after killing Abigail is take a shower, washing blood from his skin, washing away the past...

He loves the soap and lotion store in Florence (the Farmacia di Santa Maria Novella), "one of the best-smelling places on Earth," because it takes him away from bad memories.

The copper bathtub from season 3 is based on Hannibal's memories of washing Mischa:

Clean smells are Hannibal's conscious avenue to his obsession with Clarice Starling:

Clarice has her own Proustian association with clean smells, since her mother was a cleaning lady at a motel. Matching childhood olfactory associations--cute!

It's subtle in the show, but Will is associated with cleanliness as well:

Absolute Freak Behavior

Now I just want to show how extreme the scent thing is, for anyone who hasn't read the books... like...

Trying to smell Clarice from a hundred yards away:

After sniffing the handle of Clarice's car door and not getting anything, he breaks in and has a religious experience in the driver's seat:

In conclusion, Hannibal from the novels is a straight-up cross between Ratatouille and an A/B/O universe transplant. You can't tell me that this man doesn't have the biggest scent kink in the world. His partner walks out of the shower smelling like his favorite soap and it's game over.

#more thoughts in image descriptions to save space #hannibal meta #hannibal #nbc hannibal #will graham #clarice starling #hannibal lecter #cedar writes

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madame-fear · 1 year

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Hello!

I don’t know if you’re accepting any ideas about Lucerys and fem reader, but could you write one in which the reader is Helaena’s lady in waiting and she finds Joffrey lost in the castle. So she helps him find his brother Lucerys who was supposed to be taking care of him and when they meet eachother Luke is like “😍”?

Thank you! Love your writing 💗

*ೃ༄ 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 & 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 .ೃ࿐

— a/n : OMG YESSSSSSS i absolutely loved this one !! hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing this, sweetheart ♡♡also, if you see any mistake, apologies! sleepily written at 5 am. 🥲

— summary : request — word count : 1.8k

— pairing : lucerys velaryon x fem!reader — genre : fluff

Rapid, yet soft footsteps were heard echoing through the large corridors of the Red Keep. Being the future Queen Consort's lady in waiting, you had to be near her to fully assist her, and that's what you were hurrying to do. The length of your crimson and golden dress reached the floor, and a bit further — the vivid rays of the sun filtering through the large windows highlightened the golden stripes on your dress, nearly making it gracefully shine.

As you were nearly reaching the chambers of Princess Helaena, from one of the halls that connected other parts of the grand castle, a young little boy with brunette curls and hazel coloured eyes appeared; seeming rather confused, and a bit lost as his eyes wandered around the entire structures and columns inside the castle. You assumed the boy must've been around five or six years old. Naturally, you weren't certain of where the boy had come from, but knowing how to deal with children — due to taking care of Helaena's little ones — you carefully approached him.

“Hello, little boy.” your voice was soft and gentle, as to not scare him away. Upon hearing your voice, his green eyes rapidly shifted to stare into yours, a bit notoriously scared, and shy. As you walked nearer to him, you slightly crouched a bit down to his level. “Are you lost? What's your name?” trying to keep a gentle nature, you inquired him to see in which way you could be of any help to him. In response, he rapidly shook his head. “J-Joffrey. I-I'm looking for my brother, Luke.” Joffrey replied, slightly stammering. You personally didn't know any Luke in here, but you knew — from your chats with Helaena — that Princess Rhaenyra had a middle son named Lucerys, and you were certain that there was a possibility that both boys were sons of Rhaenyra, whom you have been told the previous day that she would be visiting the Red Keep after some years of having left the castle.

“Ah, I see.” you began replying. “Well, how does your brother look like? Come with me, perhaps we could find him together.” as you offered your warm suggestions to the lost little one, you extended your hand for him to grab; which he immediatly did. “Do you remember, little one, where was the last place you were together?” both of you began walking together, and little Joffrey was the one that practically lead the way through the castle as he tried to use his memory to recall where he had last been with his elder brother, and described you how Lucerys looked like. It was much like him, brunette curls, fair skin, and green eyes. You were certain that the second you'd spot his elder sibling, you'd recognise him right away.

Even if you were previously rushing to assist Helaena, or simply be there in case she needed anything, you knew that if you explained the situation to her she'd understand. After all, she was far different from her siblings — she was sweeter, kinder, and more comprehensive. And when it came to kids, Helaena was even softer.

After a short while of walking around the wide, greyish halls of the castle and getting him to talk and recall his memories with his brother, you both reached the hall. And once you entered the hall, Joffrey immediatly recognised the place as the last one he had been by Luke's side - both of you scanning the whole room in case the teen boy was also searching for his lost younger brother in the same place. While your head was focusing on the corners and entrances to the hall, you felt Joffrey's gentle grip on your hand immediatly fade, as you heard some running little footsteps, causing you to turn your head around to see where the young boy had gone to.

“Luke!” Joffrey's little voice joyfully half shouted as he once again encountered himself with his brother, rushing to hug his legs. At the sight, a broad smile curved at the edge of your lips. In response, Lucerys slightly leaned his back lower to his brother, as to ruffle his curly hair. Your assumption was right, they, in fact, were indeed pretty similar, and you couldn't help but find the little encounter absolutely adorable.

As Lucerys lifted his gaze to see who had been the one who brought back his little brother, his whole body felt frozen, immediatly stopping everything he was doing, as his eyes widened a bit. Saying he was perplexed with your mesmerising beauty was truly an understatement, enjoying the sight of your kind, gentle smile at them – which was enough to make his heart rapidly flutter, and for his brain to stupidly malfunction in front of you.

“Nice to meet you. I pressume, you must be Prince Lucerys, am I correct?” as you sweetly asked him, you respectfully curtsied at the future Lord, whose cheeks had gotten more rosy than before his hazel eyes stared deep into your own. In response, all he could manage to do, was a brief, awkward nod. “Y-You are correct, my Lady. Thank you for bringing my brother back to me.” he lowly replied, genuinely thanking you. “And whom may you be?” the Princeling inquired back, clearing his throat as to seem more confident, rather than the blushing mess he currently was.

The gentle smile remained on your lips, your hands clasped together in front of your body. “I am (y/n), of House (l/n). I am Princess Helaena's lady in waiting.” you retorted. As the seconds passed by and you kept staring deep into his green eyes, you couldn't help but realise how adorable you found the young prince, and how gentle he seemed. “Ah, right.” seven hells, his brain couldn't properly function in front of you – and he was already too afraid he might be making a fool out of himself. “I, uhm– thank you once again for bringing Joffrey back to me, my lady.” you gave him a single nod in response. His nervousness was notorious for you, and he wasn't very good at hiding the fact that with the very first second he placed his eyes on you, he was already head over heels.

Before any of you could say anything else, a guard entered the hall, and softly called for your name.

“(y/n)?” the three of you turned your heads around to look at who had just spoken, and it was one of the elder guards of the Keep. “Princess Helaena has requested for your presence.” he retorted with a stern, yet calm tone. You nodded at him as a short, brief answer. “Thank you, Ser. I'll be right there.” and with that, you turned around to look at both princes, your lips still curved into a broad, warm smile. “It was nice to meet both of you, boys.” you continued, “Though I now have to leave, I hope we'll be able to see each other once again.” Lucerys rapidly nodded, as he couldn't manage to find any proper response himself.

You turned on your heels, and started making your way back to the corridors with soft footsteps, to reach the Princess' chambers and assist her in her needs. But before you did so, you swiftly turned around, finding yourself with the Princeling, whom seemed to be intensely continuing to stare at you as you left, and made your own way.

“Oh, and by the way,” you spoke again, with a lower tone this time, but enough for him to hear. “Make sure to keep a good eye on your brother next time, instead of losing him.” and with a teasing response and a flashing wink, you left. And as you left, Lucerys partly opened his lips as to say something, but it was too late already; as you had vanished from his sight rather rapidly. Gods, how come you managed to get such dumbfounded reaction out of him? The way you gently smiled at him, sweetly treated his brother, and how despite your kindness you managed to be a teasy girl was something he wouldn't be able to so easily forget, and that mesmerised him at the first sight.

In fact, Lucerys was certain that next time, he'll make sure to keep losing Joffrey around the castle, if that meant stumbling upon you once again. And he was already keen enough to see you again.

♡ taglist : ♡

@jjamieberry @anemicroyalcore @countsmoon @tickle-euphoria @beeebo234 @manuholland6

#lucerys targaryen x reader #lucerys strong x reader #lucerys velaryon headcanons #lucerys velaryon imagine #lucerys velaryon x reader #prince lucerys x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #house of the dragon headcanons #house of the dragon x you #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon x reader

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kryptiq-kreachur · 21 days

Note

Do you have tips on uploading trad art to tumblr and not having it look scuffed as all hell 😭😭😭 your art looks great pls share your secrets

Aaaa, thank you! I actually decided to shift my focus back to traditional art very recently and it means a lot to hear that ;; I hope this helps you and anyone else with similar questions!!

So I have two methods that I usually rely on when capturing my traditional art. The first one is kind of limited, but it is faster and more accessible. For these demonstrations, I'm going to use a colored sketch of my OC, Brinley. Step One: Taking Your Photo! All you'll need for the first method is your phone. What you want to do first is to find an area with nice, even lighting- the less warm, the less you'll have to correct later, so the closer to daylight, the better. In fact, using the light outside is a great way to capture your art! Note: If you are in a place with very cool lighting you will also have to correct the colors, but in my experience, cooler light is easier to work with. Position your artwork so it's illuminated with the light source directly in front of you. If it is behind you, it will be harder to get your shadow out of the shot. The spot I was in had my light source behind me, so my arm covered it a bit.

I repositioned myself to a spot with the light source in front of me instead, and I was able to get a nicer shot.

Keep your phone as level as possible over your drawing, and as close as possible without your phone going out of focus.

And now the first step is done! Step Two: Editing Your Photo! This is where everything starts to come together! Firstly, crop your drawing to your preference. I try to keep the negative space around my art as even as possible. IPhones have a handy feature where you can choose an even aspect ratio, so that will help keep things simpler if you want. Next, all you have to do is mess with the settings until you get it how you want it to look. Filters can help it to look more cohesive. I like to keep the art close by me to reference so I can get it to look as close to real life as possible. Note: black and white art is the easiest to edit due to the high contrast. Finished! Congrats! Your art is ready to post! Here's what my sketch looked like after I added a vivid filter and then messed with the settings.

The second method can be a bit more difficult, but the results always look better than just taking a photo. What you'll need is a computer (I think you can also use an ipad- any device will work as long as it can connect to the scanner), a scanner and any art/photo editing software. Step One: Scanning! The scanner I use is technically used for office work, but can be used to scan photos, therefore the quality is very much in the middle. There are scanners that are used purely for scanning high quality images of art and photography that will produce much better results on the initial scan, but this works just fine! There are also stores and other places where you can scan your work even if you don't own a scanner. First, make sure your art is as flat as possible and in the middle of the scanning bed. It doesn't have to be perfectly straight as it can be edited later, but if it isn't flat or it's on the edge of the bed, it will end up blurry in some areas or completely cut off. After that, go to your device and set the resolution to at least 300 dpi to guarantee a high quality scan, and then begin. This is what my sketch looked like after the initial scan.

Now we can move onto the next step! Step Two: Editing! You may have noticed that the colors are very washed out- scanners that aren't optimized for art and photos tend to do this, but with some editing, it'll look great! After opening it in CSP and selecting a canvas size, it's ready to edit! Note: Opening the image directly will automatically set the document's dpi to 72. Idk if that's a constant for other programs, but this means the overall image quality will be very low, so the picture has to be imported into a higher quality document with dpi set to 300 manually. I usually just copy and paste it into another document. Level correction is your friend! That's the correction layer I use the most when editing and it does the most heavy lifting, usually. After that, I sometimes edit the saturation. Since this is a digital method, you can edit your drawing however you want! You can fix some mistakes this way, or completely change things. There were notes and a sketch next to this drawing that i didn't want, so i painted over them with white- since i edited the level correction to up the exposure, the painted areas are indistinguishable from the background. Finally, I add either a gradient map for cohesion or fiddle with the tone curve until I'm happy with the final product. Once again, I like to keep the original art next to me while I'm editing for reference. (And then after that I might add a noise filter or some other effect, LMAO) Finished!! And now you have your scanned art!

These are all the editing layers I used!

Like with anything, trial and error are very important! You'll get better at editing art over time, so don't be discouraged if it doesn't look like you wanted it to the first time. Thank you for the ask, bye!!!!!!!

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sliebman10 · 1 year

Text

Ice Cube

The cool spring sunlight filtered through the trees of the forest. The colors were much more vivid now than they’d been last month, all mossy greens and burnt sienna. Remus stirred on the forest floor and a dog barked close by. Soon, he felt a wet nose sniffing him and then the nose was gone, replaced by human hands, helping him into a sitting position.

“Moony?” Sirius said, looking at him with concern.

“Yeah,” Remus managed, though his throat was dry and scratchy from howling.

Sirius pulled a blanket from the bag of supplies he kept hidden in the forest. “Let’s not have you turn into an ice cube, ok?” he said, wrapping the blanket around Remus. He nodded against Sirius’s chest. “Are you in any unusual pain?”

“No.”

“Alright if I apparate us, darling? I want to get you warmed up.”

Remus nodded once, letting his head loll against Sirius as he felt the pull of apparition and then the warmth of their house.

Word Count: 156

@wolfstarmicrofic

#wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #wolftstar microfic #werewolf remus #werewolf recovery #ice cube

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quellawrites · 1 year

Text

the rainbow on your lips

Grief, Hob finds out, is bright yellow.

He would have expected it to be a sickly grey or the darkest black, and perhaps, if it were, it would have been a little more bearable.

He’s at Dream’s wake and everything is coated in a brilliant, devastating yellow. It’s the colour of ripe lemons, of sunflowers in full bloom, infinite like a field of corn bathed in sunshine. It creeps in every thought, in every crevice of his heart, in every vessel of his body, until it’s all Hob can feel.

In the days and months that follow, it invades Hob’s life like broad strokes on a clear canvas. Sometimes, at night–when Hob dulls it with the best whisky he can find–it fades to a pale yellow, like a patch of sunlight on the carpet filtering through a window.

It always returns to its previous brilliance in the morning.

----

Comfort has the colour of a lilac bush, with its pretty little flowers all clustered together, their delicate petals unfurling like a lover’s embrace.

Hob leans into Death’s hug and his world bursts in shades of lavender, violet, and amethyst, soothing his soul like a balm.

“There might be a way to bring him back,” Death says, and hope blossoms in Hob’s chest, slow and tentative, vibrant red like freshly spilled blood. “But it won’t be the same.”

He won’t be the same, Hob reads in her words and sorrow paints his senses in a pale grey, the colour of a dove’s feather.

He swallows and thinks about Dream’s pride, about his single-minded intensity, about his Endlessness. “Only if he wants to,” he says, and these five words cost him everything he has.

“He might not want to,” Death answers, her voice low and kind, pink like a rose petal.

Not even for you, Hob hears beneath her kindness, and he’s terrified that even their budding relationship won’t be enough to get Dream back. Though, he knows it’s a chance he has to take.

He nods and fear spears through him, vivid green and sour like a lime.

---

Happiness bathes the world in orange hues, like the flames of a bonfire.

Dream stands in front of Hob, as thin and pale as ever, his beloved face twisted in a little frown that Hob yearns to smooth away. When his eyes land on Hob, his lips tick up into a tentative smile, a smile that stokes the flames of Hob’s happiness until they shine as bright as the sun.

“Dream,” Hob breathes, and reaches out to grasp Dream’s hand. It is solid and warm and lovely against his own.

“I do not,” Dream says, and his voice is deep and rich just as Hob remembers it. He pauses, swallows, and his fingers tighten around Hob’s like a vice. “I am afraid I cannot claim my old name any longer.”

You’ll always be my Dream, Hob wants to say, but he suspects Dream might not yet be ready to hear it. “Morpheus, then?” he offers, and squeezes Dream’s fingers back. I got you, his touch says.

Dream smiles and it’s soft and beautiful and bittersweet. “Morpheus,” he agrees, and he may not be Endless anymore but his eyes still hold galaxies within their depths.

“You’re here,” Hob marvels, reaching out to cup Dream’s face. “You’re really here.”

“I am,” Dream says, leaning into Hob’s touch, and he looks so vulnerable that Hob wants to gather him in his arms and shield him from the world. “Though, I am no longer who I used to be.”

“You are in every way that matters.” Daring, Hob leans over and places his lips over Dream’s forehead in a soft, tentative kiss. Love blossoms through Hob in blue waves, like a raging ocean, cresting at the deepest blue and settling into the pale calm of still waters. Overwhelmed by the intensity of his own feelings, Hob whispers, “I can’t believe you really came back to me.”

“I found I could not leave my loved ones, if given a choice,” Dream murmurs. “Even though I must now learn to navigate the intricacies of this new form.”

Hob pulls back to look Dream in the eye and he’s not surprised to see fear and insecurity flicker over Dream’s face, a muted palette of greens. Immortality means Hob has had to go through important changes in his long life, and has had to weather many storms of his own. Throughout it all, he’s always had Dream, his only constant in a sea of never ending transformations. Now, it's Hob's turn to help Dream through his own storm.

“Then you hold onto me,” he says, and pulls Dream into his arm, cradling the back of his head. His fine, impossible hair slides through his fingers like silk and Hob could weep at the feeling of touching it again. “And we get through this together.”

Dream rewards him with another of his tiny, precious smiles. “Together,” he says, and the single word settles beneath Hob’s ribcage, warm and comforting.

Hob leans over, and their lips slot together with the ease of an old habit. It’s slow and tender and like coming home but also dizzying and all-consuming like their first kiss. Fireworks explode behind Hob’s eyes, in a colourful whirlwind of love, hope, and happiness, washing out the lingering yellow tinges.

He’s not such a fool to believe the road ahead of them will be smooth and painless, but as long as he’ll have Dream with him, he’s going to do his bloody best to make it work.

#dreamling #dreamling fic #my writing #warning for temporary character death #mari rambles

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fanficapologist · 8 months

Text

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Maera woke the next morning, her mind swirling with a mix of emotions and memories. As her eyes slowly adjusted to the soft, early dawn light filtering into her chamber, she couldn't help but wonder if the passionate encounter with Aemond the previous night had all been a dream.

Lying in her bed, she took in the familiar details of her room. The fire in the hearth had dwindled to a few glowing embers, the once-filled goblet of Dornish wine on her table was now empty, and there lay her torn nightgown on the floor. Moving her thighs, she could feel the slick that painted across them from the intense wave of pleasure Aemond had given her with his fingers on her clit, a vivid reminder that the night's events were indeed real.

A soft, contented smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she shook her head in disbelief. It hadn't been a dream. The memory of their fiery encounter and the intensity of their connection had left an indelible mark on her, one she couldn't deny, even if she tried.

Maera's maid, Thena, entered her chamber to perform her usual morning rituals of dressing and preparing her Lady for the day. However, Maera was unusually quiet, the memory from the previous night replaying over and over again in her head, causing jolts of excitement to run through her. But then, Maera's mind raced with questions and doubts.

Aemond had had her crumbling with the mere stroke of his fingers, a powerful skill to have over somebody and a way to get what you wanted in a very persuasive manner. Yet Maera did not possess a skill like this. Yes, she was diplomatic in debate and had managed to get her own way in several occasions with numerous members of court. She was also skilled with the sword and knew how to physically hold her own in a fight. But this was different, and Maera had no idea what she was doing. As pleasurable as the experience had been, she needed to level the playing field. Another battle of power dynamics.

Once her maid had finished and Maera was ready, she made her way to Queen Helaena's chambers, where her duties awaited. As she assisted the Queen in donning a splendid gown of olive green, Maera's thoughts continued to churn, even as the pair sat together at the breakfast table to eat. There was an array of dishes that spanned from sweet to savory and the chamber was bathed in soft morning light, casting a warm and inviting glow upon the spread.

Helaena struck up a conversation with Maera regarding the recent sightings of the blue dragon Ēbrion made by the children on their recent trip to the Godswood, and how happy it had made little Jaehaerys to see the beast up close as he flew overhead. Maera smiled politely to her friend, nodding as she heard the words pass Helaena’s mouth, but unfortunately she could not absorb them properly. Her attention wandered back to Aemond over and over again, as she picked at her food absentmindedly.

Suddenly, she was then brought back to the present by Helaena's gentle voice as she remarked, “I said that you seem rather distracted today, Maera.”

Maera offered an apologetic smile to Helaena and said, "I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I've just had a lot on my mind, given recent events."

Helaena, her curiosity piqued, inquired, "Did you manage to speak with my brother about your betrothal to him?"

A subtle smile played at the corners of Maera's lips before she replied, "Yes, we... talked things over."

Helaena couldn't help but tease, "Ah, it seems you both have reached an amicable agreement about your future."

If only she knew the details, Maera thought, the smile still painted on her face. She turned to face Helaena in her chair, a blush spread across her face as the encounter with the Prince played again in her mind. "I must confess, Your Grace, I now have fewer reservations about my betrothal to him."

Helaena smiled warmly. "I'm glad to hear that," she replied. The Queen then wrinkled her nose as if disgusted and looked around the table before her gaze landed on a bowl of boiled eggs. Helaena then looked around the room and kindly asked one of the maids to remove it, stating the smell of them was overpowering. Odd, Maera thought, but then the conversation changed, distracted her from Helaena’s behaviour.

As they finished their breakfast and the bowl of eggs were removed, the Queen suggested, "Shall we accompany each other to the library? It seems the rain is too relentless to go outside today." She explained her intentions, "I'd like to find some embroidery books for myself and the Targaryen lineage book for the twins. They've been showing interest in the history of the Targaryen Kings lately."

Of course, the library. Surely there would be some information there that she could use in her marriage to the one-eyed Prince. Maera readily agreed, helping Helaena out of her chair as they linked arms, strolling down the corridor of the Red Keep to reach their desired destination for the day.

The library in the Red Keep was a sanctuary of knowledge, a treasure trove of wisdom and history. Its grandeur spoke of the importance of the written word in the realm. The room itself was expansive, with towering shelves that seemed to reach toward the heavens. The shelves, crafted from polished mahogany, bore the weight of countless tomes and manuscripts, their spines lined in rows like silent sentinels.

The air was heavy with the scent of ancient parchment and leather bindings, a fragrance that whispered of the ages. In the corners of the library, grand tapestries depicting scenes of knowledge and learning hung with regal dignity. The room's vaulted ceiling, adorned with intricate carvings, seemed to echo with the voices of the countless minds whose works were housed within.

Maester Orwyle rose from his seat and greeted the women as they entered the library, before sitting back down, his attention returning quickly to the scrolls he was working on. Helaena made her way to the left, ber silver-white hair cascading like a waterfall, framing a face marked by delicate features and captivating violet eyes that held a spark of intellectual curiosity.

The Queen selected three books before settling herself at a quiet table, engrossed in her chosen reading material, muttering to herself, while Maera smiled at her friend's dedication. She could see from a distance that the books Helaena had picked contained illustrations of dragonflies and spiders. The queen's nimble fingers occasionally traced the words or illustrations about how to action these patterns through embroidery.

Satisfied that the Queen was comfortable, Maera made her way to the right of the room in her own quest for knowledge. After passing several bookshelves, she managed to find a section suitable for the children. As she perused the books, she eventually stumbled upon one with a bright red leather cover, titled 'Fire and Blood: Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros’, exactly the sort of book that would satiate the twins interest in royal history. Maera made her way back to where Helaena was seated, and placed the crimson book beside her, ready to take back to the Queen’s chambers.

Her next task was to locate a book on marital advice that would describe to her any wifely duties she could perform in order to keep her husband in line. Maera made her way to the left side of the library and began pulling several books from the shelf, starting with a copy of the Holy Text, the Seven-Pointed Star. While it contained chapters about the duties of a wife from the perspectives of the Father, Mother, and Maiden, it failed to provide the practical guidance she sought.

Maera considered that perhaps she needed a book that wasn't steeped in tales of women's roles and societal expectations, nor bound by religious doctrine. She sought concrete knowledge, grounded in science and medicine.

Peeking her head around the corner of a shelf, she politely inquired of the Maester, "Excuse me, Maester. Could you please direct me to the medical scrolls?"

The Maester, still immersed in his work, turned his attention to her and replied, "Certainly, Lady Maera. They are located high up on the shelves at the far end of the library, to the right ." He began to rise from his seat, but Maera halted him with a polite gesture.

"Please, do not let me disturb your important work, Maester Orwyle," she insisted. "Is there a ladder nearby that I could use?"

The Maester nodded, answering, "Of course, my Lady. There are some steps already in that section of the hall." With that, Maera made her way to the far ends of the library to retrieve the ladder, placing it against the tall mahogany shelf she intended to explore. As she ascended the steps cautiously, mindful of her trailing skirts, she began to search through the collections of scrolls and books, determined to find something that would provide the answers she sought.

In her quest for knowledge, Maera pulled out a couple of scrolls. One blue tome stood out, focusing on childbirth and the techniques for safely delivering a baby. Maera considered it briefly, but the gruesome details and painful memories it invoked made her shudder. She couldn't help but picture an uncertain future in the childbed, much like her mother's tragic demise when trying to bring her last child into the world. With a heavy heart, she reluctantly returned the book to its shelf among the others.

Another scroll detailed the intricacies of the female anatomy, while the one on the shelf below delved into the male counterpart. Though they were informative, they failed to provide her with the specific insights she was seeking.

With so many brothers growing up, Maera possessed a good understanding of male anatomy regarding what each organ was purposed for when it came to reproduction. As her older siblings matured into men, they would often boast to each other about their escapades with maids and wenches, and later, about their experiences with their wives.

She recalled a time back at Rain House all those months ago, when her elder brother Luthor had developed an obsessive infatuation with a whore at one of the brothels in Rainwood, causing Maera to put her head in her hands out of shame every time it was brought up during their sparring matches.

“You are cunt-struck, brother, nothing more,” Faran would say shaking his head before lunging forward and disarming him.

The sound of steel hitting the ground echoed through the yard as Luthor looked into the sky as if an angel was appearing before him. “ I am not surprised you do not understand, Faran, given your lack of experience. It is bewitching. She has been indulging me with this tongue trick that I cannot get out of-”

“Oh for the love of the Gods, Luthor! I do not wish to hear such things from your disgusting mouth,” Maera cried, shoving Luthor forward until he landed in the dirt with the thud, causing Faran to clutch his sides in laughter.

In hindsight, as much as it disgusted her hearing her brothers’ tales of a sexual nature, how she wished now she had paid more attention. Perhaps if she did, instead of listening to the advice of Septa Mathilde, which was to “lie there and wait for your husband to sow his seed,”, she would not be at such a disadvantage when it came to her relations with Aemond.

“A fine choice to come to the library on such a rainy day,” a voice echoed from the bottom of the ladder, drawing Maera's attention. She peered down to see a pair of sharp blue eyes staring up at her. The Lord had dark brown hair, a cascade of tight curls, framed a face marked by an air of enigmatic authority. In his right hand was a cane, a striking accessory inset with a golden firefly, to aid in his mobility as his right foot was badly curved inward and downward, effecting how he moved about the Keep.

"Lord Strong," she acknowledged with a respectful nod. His presence in the library puzzled her, but she descended from the ladder gracefully, offering a formal greeting.

Lord Larys initiated the conversation by expressing his belated congratulations on her betrothal to Prince Aemond. Maera gave him a polite nod, her curiosity piqued by the Master of Whispers' unexpected and sudden interest in her.

The lord continued, his tone somber, "It seems we are in need of good news, given the unfortunate incidents that have occurred within the Keep as of late."

Maera, her patience waning, inquired, "What do you mean, Lord Larys?"

He replied with a faint smile, "I only meant, Lady Maera, that injuries have become somewhat frequent. Mostly attributed to the state of our stone paths in the castle corridors, I hear.” Larys paused, a contemplative look on his face, yet Maera could tell that his eyes held a gaze that seemed to harbor secrets, a testament to the depth of his intellect. Lord Strong continued, “The stonemasons have much work ahead. I am, of course, relieved to see King Aegon and Queen Helaena recovering from their own respective injuries."

Maera found the conversation veering in an unexpected direction. "I see," she responded diplomatically, though a sense of unease gnawed at her. She then decided to postpone her book search for now; her instincts warned her not to trust the Master of Whispers. She wanted to make her way back toward the Queen, gesturing for Lord Larys to accompany her through the labyrinthine corridors of bookshelves.

As they walked, Lord Larys continued his monologue, much to Maera's growing annoyance. He began by asserting, "With the kingdom's current instability due to the war with Princess Rhaenyra, Westeros desperately requires a strong and reliable King." Maera nodded, her jaw tensed, her patience wearing thin as she assumed he would eventually reach his point.

Lord Larys carried on, stating, "Perception is everything, Lady Maera. It has the power to make or break someone." Maera glanced at him, her eyes meeting his, unable to decipher his expression. The lord added, "For instance, a simple fall would be a more acceptable reason for the King's injuries than being attacked by say, a mere Lady-in-waiting. Or perhaps, by altering the courts perception of a knight claiming unsavoury accusations towards a noblewoman, thus saving her tarnished reputation?”

Maera quickly grasped Lord Larys' intentions. It seemed he had two options in mind: either he intended to threaten Maera, exposing the truth about her role in Aegon's injuries to the court. Or he wanted to make her aware that he was solely responsible for her betrothal and the clearing of her name from the vicious rumors of Ser Penrose, somehow making her indebted to him. She found his tactics clever, almost admirable, but Maera was not one to be ordered around or blackmailed by yet another Lord in King's Landing.

With a sly smile, as they neared the library entrance, she played along, commenting, "The Crown is fortunate to have such a valuable ally in you, my Lord."

Lord Larys graciously acknowledged her compliment, adding, "And you, Lady Maera, are soon to become a part of that Crown, whom I serve with the utmost loyalty." He continued, "It's essential for a new Princess of the realm to forge such alliances as she comes into power. The royal court can be a treacherous place to navigate."

Maera bit the inside of her cheek as they approached the front of the library, where Helaena remained seated, deeply immersed in her books. She turned to Lord Larys and forced a smile, saying, "I've appreciated your company, Lord Larys. But now, duty calls, and I must attend to my Queen."

Lord Larys inclined his head in a respectful nod, offering a final piece of advice, "Do consider my words, Lady Maera. Within a political marriage, even to someone you know well, it can be a precarious position to find one’s self in, without the appropriate alliances."

Maintaining her composure, though it was challenging, Maera thanked the Master of Whispers for his counsel before making her way back to Helaena's side. A frown painted Maera’s face following the encounter, as Helaena looked up from her desk and asked her if she found anything. Maera stated, "I found a book for the twins, but nothing for myself. I've recently finished 'The Loves of Queen Nymeria' and would like another book that is similar."

Helaena cocked her head, her eyes thoughtful before raising her eyebrows as if she understood what Maera had been searching for. With a gentle smile, the Queen revealed, "If you are looking for books for… educating women, I doubt you will find one that hasn't been censored by the Citadel."

Maera groaned in frustration, but then Helaena smiled and pointed to a giant tapestry of the Maiden on the left side of the hall, near the doors. She said, "But over there, you might find something. That tapestry hides more than it shows."

Curiosity ignited by the Queen, Maera made her way over to the tapestry covered wall.

It was a work of art that spoke of devotion, beauty, and purity, its dimensions grand and its details exquisite. The Maiden, depicted with flowing golden hair and an expression of serene grace, stood amidst a verdant field of daisies. Her gown, woven from threads of silver and blue, seemed to shimmer in the soft light that filtered through the library's windows.

Surrounding her were symbols of her virtue and compassion. Doves of purest white fluttered around her, their wings outstretched in flight. A gentle stream meandered through the scene, its waters crystal clear and reflective of the world's harmony. Her presence in the library seemed to watch over the seekers of knowledge, offering a silent benediction to those who delved into the realm's histories and mysteries.

As she stood there admiring the artistry, Helaena joined her, saying, "It truly is a masterpiece, isn't it?"

Maera nodded, her eyes still fixed on the tapestry. "Indeed, my Queen, it's exquisite."

Maera examined the shelves on either side of the material, tracing the book spines with her finger as she read the titles, but alas neither shelf contained what she was looking for. As she was about to give up, she glanced once again at the tapestry and then saw something out of place. In the bottom left corner, woven into the material, were three deep red peonies, a stark contrast to the delicate field of white daisies that graced the rest of the masterpiece. Staring at the red flowers, she noticed that the bottom left corner where they were located was also not secured to the stone wall and could easily be moved.

Maera cautiously knelt down and pushed the fabric aside, revealing a hole in the stone wall, filled with a collection of old scrolls and books. Curiously, Maera flicked inconspicuously through them, and Helaena leaned in to see what they contained. The books contained information on marital duties and sexual acts, some with detailed descriptions, others with illustrations of men and women in impressive sexual positions.

Surprised, Maera, shut one of the books, face painted red with embarrassment as she turned to Helaena, her eyes widening. "Your Grace, I had no idea such a collection existed."

Helaena giggled, her cheeks slightly flushed. "It's a well-guarded secret, Maera. The books were first hidden here by Queen Alysanne, many generations ago. Royal women over the years have added to it, but it's not public knowledge. I have found some of the information here to be helpful, even with Aegon."

Maera nodded in understanding, her curiosity still piqued. She reached into the hidden stash of scrolls and pulled out a few more, passing them to Helaena. Then, something else caught her eye; a relatively new book, not as dusty as the rest. Its cover was decorated with a magnificent swirl of gold and turquoise. Maera carefully examined it and read the title page aloud in a hushed voice, "A Caution for Young Girls," written by a distant great-aunt of hers, Lady Coryanne Wylde. She beamed with surprise and delight as the book was known to be banned from multiple libraries, deemed too inappropriate for young impressionable noblewomen.

Slipping the tomes and scrolls underneath their arms, Helaena and Maera made their way back to the orignal reading table, stacking the books a top one another, hiding the ones that were considered ghastly underneath the embroidery and history books. As they left the library, some of the guards offered to carry the items, to which the women politely declined. They couldn't help but snicker as they made their way down the corridor, and Maera hoped that her distant relative could provide her with some answers as to how to win over her husband-to-be.

Notes: oh yeah, this story has a plot doesn’t it 🤣 best add some in before we return to our smutfest

Tags: @blue-serendipity @marvelescvpe @grungegrrrl @shesjustanothergeek

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

#maera wylde #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #chapters #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #hotd helaena #house targaryen #house wylde

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