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targaryen-dynasty · 9 months

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COMFORT.

Daemon Targaryen x valyrian!Reader

You understand the Rogue Prince like no other, and so it's your task to put his mind at ease again when he stumbles into the brothel.

WORDS: 1.5 K

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; DUB-CON, ass eating, handjob, balls worship, size kink, squint and you'll miss the breeding kink, valyrian!Reader (has pale skin, silver hair), bastard Valyrian/High Valyrian

NOTES: I KNOW I said I’d leave for some while, and I’m not really active on here besides setting up a queue but I just couldn‘t let go of the thoughts of some good ol‘ ass eating with our uncle-daddy. This work is not meant for educational purposes, but please wash yourself before doing sth like this.

It was a lacklustre affair.

Daemon had been thrusting and thrusting for quite some time with little effort or enthusiasm, arousing nothing but awkwardness and deep desire for it to be over.

Perhaps it was your faked moans of pleasure or perhaps the disheveled state he was in when he stormed into Chataya’s, nevertheless, he was disgruntled as he pulled out of you, clearly frustrated by his poor performance.

As he sat down on the sill, quilt wrapped around his hanging shoulders, you were quickly reminded that the usually confident, self-assured and strong Rogue Prince that didn’t much care what anybody thought of him actually very much cared, and was nothing more than a tender man who was wracked with doubt.

Getting on your feet, you prowled toward him, standing between his parted legs. You cupped his face with one hand, forcing him to look up at you.

“It is possible the Queen will give birth to yet another girl,” you tried to cheer him up, grabbing both his large hands and caressing them with your thumbs. Alas, the attempt did not bear fruit, the dragon in front of you merely scoffing. It seemed there were a few more layers you had to peel off tonight to figure out what truly plagued him, though you suspected something–or someone–particularly to bother his mind.

You squeezed his hands before pulling him onto his feet, despite him seeming rather reluctant. “Allow me to put your mind at ease, my Prince,” you hummed, and guided him back toward the bed.

When he lay down on his back, you tsked, “va ao iemny.” On your stomach. It was your Lysene origin that granted you the ability to speak a version of bastard Valyrian, and was one of the main reasons the Prince had chosen you a few moons ago. That, and your pale skin and silver hair.

His lilac eyes widened ever so slightly at your bold command, but he complied. The bed barely dipped beneath your knees as crawled between his parted legs. You sat back on your haunches and trailed your ring clad fingers over his sides, starting at the top. A few of the scars were traced by your fingertips, and you relished in the way he shivered under the gentle and teasing touch.

Keeping a close eye on him allowed you to spot the way his upper body moved in sync with his heavy breathing. What surprised you the most was that he held his eyes closed, visibly enjoying your ministrations despite them being barely there.

“Bisa iksis daor mirre,” you said, the smirk on your lips reflecting in your tone, “iksan daor gaomagon.” This isn’t all. I am not done.

Reaching for one of the more firmer pillows, you grabbed his hip to raise it a bit before shoving it underneath his lower stomach, angling his hips and giving you the best possible access to his rear and cock. Daemon was open-minded and had ample experience up his sleeve, and it wasn't the first time you paid attention to anything other than his cock.

You bowed forward, your lips finding the sensitive spot in the nape of his neck that always had him purring like a cat and bending to your every wish. Lingering there for a few moments with your teeth nibbling on his skin, you eventually licked over the faint mark that followed in your teeth’s wake, before departing down.

While open-mouthed kisses were pressed to his spine, both of your hands began to tease his buttocks. At first, it was only gentle caressing, but as your mouth traveled lower, the bolder your hands got. You squeezed his flesh, and gently parted his buttocks to expose his arsehole to the warm breath you exhaled.

Your eyes flickered up to gauge Daemon’s reaction for a split second before you gathered some saliva and spat it onto his unprepared hole. His muscles tensed slightly with the sudden wetness, but when your index finger circled around the rim, he relaxed just as quick.

A faint hum was audible, coming from the Prince in front of you, and when you pushed the first digit in, it was replaced by a groan.

“Fuck–”

“How does that feel, my Prince?” you purred.

“Good,” he rasped.

That was encouragement enough for you to spit into your other hand, coating his cock in it and using the slickness to tug on it with ease. Being penetrated on both ends had him releasing wanton moans in no time, only increasing in volume as you bowed forward and replaced your finger at his arsehole by your lips and tongue.

If it wasn’t for your mouth and tongue being occupied by sucking and lapping at his hole, you would’ve chuckled as he desperately pushed his hips back against your face. You dragged your tongue over the rim, and kept your blue-lilacish eyes on the Prince beneath, watching carefully what worked best and what not.

One of your hands spread his buttocks, allowing you to keep your lips against his ass as your tongue pushed in. You stilled briefly, but were spurred on when you heared the strained groan he released.

“Sīr sȳz, gaomagon jāre,” he panted, “... kostilus.” Hearing him beg was new, but you couldn’t deny that you found a certain liking in it. So good, keep going. Please.

As you felt his cock twitch in your hand, indicating that he was on the verge of peaking, you released it and instead processed to fondle the sac of his stones, squeezing it.

The whine that escaped his throat as you pulled back to spit into your hand was the epitome of pathetic, and he obviously had your teasing coming. “Skoros massitas naejot se nēdenka dārilaros, mh?” What happened to the fierce Prince, mh?

“Jorrāelagon nyke naejot–” The threat died on his tongue as yours dove back into his arsehole, returning to its task with vigor. Need me to–

Just like his cock, his stones were coated in your saliva, making it easier to fondle and squeeze them. Daemon started to rut his hips, and it was clear what he was doing or rather chasing. With his hard cock rutting against the pillow, your hand fondling his stones and your tongue fucking in and out of his hole, he felt his peak slowly building at the base of his shaft.

If it would’ve been any other patron, you would’ve stopped your ministrations and thought about a punishment to put him back in his place, but it was no normal patron lying in front of you. It was a Prince, and a dragon in flesh at that.

Your tongue and hand were tireless in their motions, determined to push the rogue over the edge, and judging by the way he was writhing and rutting as if his life depended on it, he was close to toppling over.

The strained groan he wanted to release, the one that always came whenever he spent himself, was replaced by a gasp, caught off guard by the way your tongue curled up on its way out, tugging at the rim in a way that drove him insane.

“Seven hells,” he grunted, and was quick to wrap one hand around his twitching member, tugging on it to embrace the approaching release that threatened to undo him.

“I–I’m–” the words cut off as his peak crashed over him. His other hand fisted the covers tight enough for his knuckles to blanch, while his hips and hand worked in tandem with your own and your tongue to coax him through the pleasure.

His orgasm tingled at the spot where his sac met his cock, and it was almost ridiculous how much of his spent squirted out and coated the sheets and the pillow below. It was such a shame it went to waste, because you knew at least one spot of your body where you would’ve preferred it.

You had withdrawn your mouth from his hole not long after the peak subsided, and crawled up and hovered over his tall frame. Collapsing on top of him, he merely scoffed at the added weight, but was quick to hum as your lips pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek. A tired smile was adorning his features, and his lilac eyes were closed again, relishing in the bliss he felt.

“How do you feel?” you asked, and though your blueish eyes twinkled with mischief, the genuine concern seeped through your words regardless. Daemon kept on smiling, reaching up to gently cradle your face before he grabbed your body, keeping you steady on top as he turned to lie on his back. His head was propped up on a pillow and yours was resting on his chest, his heartbeat lulling you into calmness.

“Iksi henujagon syt Zaldrīzesdōron isse se ñāqatubis,” he mused. We are leaving for Dragonstone in the morning.

And when you looked at him with utter confusion written all over your face, he elaborated further. “You are foolish if you think I would go into exile without you.”

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pallastrology · 2 months

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observations on pisces

artwork by georg janny

saturn in pisces ('tis the season...) suffers greatly with feelings of guilt. something else they can struggle with is fear. the fear is often existential, and the natives experience it from a young age. they will often 'ritualise' their fears, creating structures that help them feel safe and protected, but in doing so, these structures can actually intermingle with their sense of guilt and lead to them feeling responsible for things no person is. they really do have the weight of the world on their shoulders sometimes.

pisces suns are often labeled as easily influenced, and while this isn't entirely untrue, i think it's a bit oversimplified. pisces is receptive and sensitive, taking in a lot from their environment and reading between the lines easily. they are a mutable sign, and so aren't naturally stubborn people. but when well-developed, sun in pisces is a very self-aware placement and that reflective, open nature helps them to actually become quite sure about their beliefs and values. so i suppose, an undeveloped pisces sun will be easily influenced, but maybe not a pisces sun in general.

with pisces in the seventh house, the stereotype is that the native is the type to dream about a prince charming figure who'll sweep them off their feet. in reality, this placement is more likely to not really know what they want from a relationship, to struggle with healthy boundaries, and to feel they have to save - or be saved by - their partner. it takes time and steady reflection to understand where these difficulties come from and how to heal their relationship with love.

mars in pisces tends to really struggle with conflict. they turn it over and over, ruminating endlessly. should i have said this? done that? did i go too far? pisces almost always struggles with boundaries and emotional conflict, but with mars here there's so much energy directed to working on these issues, it can feel like an impassable bridge to the native. as much as they struggle however, they are also fiercely caring, sensitive and surprisingly brave individuals, who can push themselves hard when they are connected to something important.

pisces moons will often disappear when things overwhelm them. they can get a reputation for being a bad friend because of this, despite their caring nature. while they can easily fall into despair over the issue, it doesn't need to be permanent; a big learning curve for these natives is learning to both not induce this crushing overwhelm and urge to vanish, and to better manage their emotions and health when things pop up unexpectedly. embracing their sister sign, virgo, can be a way forward here.

mercury in pisces, when writing or otherwise creating, is very sensitive to the feeling of their medium. so with words, for example, the word has to evoke the right feeling before it's considered to be the right word for the native to use. they are actually pretty perfectionistic in this sense, though their creations can seem to lack a strong, distinctive style; they are mutable after all, and this quality shines through in their work, as they flit through various influences and inspirations.

pisces ascendants get a reputation for being sweet and shy. while they are on the shy side, they are highly receptive and read deeply into what's going on around them, absorbing the atmosphere like a sponge does water. it's a placement that's often infantilised, probably because neptunian placements in general are easily misunderstood. but pisces risings are not so much innocent little faery children; they're a little reclusive, highly attuned to those around them, and easily confused by their own emotions and reactions.

venus in pisces is selfless to a fault, but there's an interesting process going on beneath the native's awareness. they often have a romanticised view of selflessness as a concept, and idealise being nice and giving. so while they are genuinely kind, caring and self-sacrificing people, they do gain something, unconsciously, from giving themselves to others; it bolsters their sense of self and lifts their often low view of themselves. which is part of why it can be so hard for them to set healthy boundaries and stop giving everything to everyone.

#pallastrology #astro community #astrology #astrology blog #astrology posts #pisces #astro notes #astro observations #astrology notes

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buckyysdoll · 10 months

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— 𝐝𝐚𝐝!𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐜𝐬 —

જ⁀➴ — summary: self explanatory; a/n: i’m down SO bad for him <3 -> @bakersbucky + @jvanilly — tagged for ur comments on the dating bucky hcs! <3; cw: light allusions to smut, canon-typical ref to bucky’s nightmares/trauma; pairing: bucky x f!reader

MAIN MASTERLIST

• of course he cried when you told him — he never thought he’d have OR deserve a happy ending :’)

• he secretly wants a daughter so he can spoil both his girls, and he’s privately dreamt for years about the family you’d one day have

• but there’s just something about him seeing your face reflected in his little girl’s 😭 and knowing she’d have your eyes, your smile, and all those parts he adored

• “she’s gonna have your eyes, and your laugh. and i’m gonna love the two of you until i take my last breath on this earth” *😭*

• and so as your baby grows within you, you two stay up late at night in bed talking — he’s tracing the curve of your stomach so softly with his ordinary hand as he’s saying, oh she’s definitely a girl.

• or the conversation goes something like this:

— b: [whispers] i just can’t wait to meet her

— you: [smiling like a lovesick idiot] her? you think she’s a girl?

— b: of course she is, doll, i can feel it.

— you: [smiling even wider] yeah? and how could you possibly know?

— b: i’m a super soldier sweetheart. call it instinct😌

• talks to the bump, sleeps with a hand on your stomach, mother hens you so much

• bucky’d be very precious with you when it came to sex because of his strength - saying “what if i hurt our little bump?” - when meanwhile you’re laying there horny as fuck

• and so you say, “sweetheart, as much as i love you for this i am begging you to take off your shirt”

• at first, he also won’t touch you with his vibranium arm when you’re pregnant

• and with you being you — his wife — of course you notice

• and so you gently take that hand in yours and lay it on your bump and he just weeps that he can have this after all he’s seen and done

• bucky also definitely tries to make up random diy baby bits in the middle of the night

• and you tease him for how frustrated he gets with this furniture from “fucking ikea”

• especially when he then accidentally underestimates his strength and snaps the damn thing in half

• he carries you everywhere — “bucky i’m pregnant, i still have legs” // “and you also have a husband that can do the walking for you”

• gives you massages every night, wherever u want them [;) <3]

• reads literally all the baby books he can get his hands on and gets in a panic at the slightest pain or cramp — frets, “it didn’t say this in the book” or otherwise, “just breathe, doll, alright? i’ll hold you through it”

• the darker, more possessive side of him that he never quite lost (and that you loved) absolutely thrills that you’re pregnant with his child, but he tries hard to bury that part of him — though you absolutely fold at that look on his face

• in truth, he went so quiet and inward when he found out the news and u thought he wasn’t happy

• when really he’s just so fucking scared cos after all this time he still doesn’t see himself as safe

• he’ll stay up hours refusing to sleep so he can just count your breaths, and protect you. his Winter Soldier past came back full force, and hence so did that protective, defensive side. he would’ve killed for his girls.

• “what if something happens? *his voice cracks* what if i hurt our child?” 😭 and his nightmares now reflect this new fear — night terrors have him up at night, eyes wide and skin slick with sweat.

• so when he has them and you need your sleep the further along you get, he sneaks off into the living room to sleep on the couch instead

• and you’d wake up every time and seem to sense that he’s not there — or your baby kicks as if she wants to tell you bucky’s gone

• cos you know he’s not the only one that’s protective of the love of his life <3 — n you say “who’s the super soldier now, huh? you can’t get away from me that easy <3”

• because the morning then finds him with your arms around his middle as you’d scooted to lay behind him on the sofa, your bump to his back.

• your marriage was a two way street and you’d be damned if he didn’t let you comfort him, too. and it’s only when your baby kicks hard at your stomach at the moment that his metal hand was on it, that he’s convinced at last — even if only a little bit, yet — that before she’s even born, his daughter trusts him

• cos it turns out he was right that she’s a girl, his babygirl <3

• bucky’ll come home from a mission and drop his bag straight to the hardwood floor, asking “how are my girls?” with tears in his voice, before kissing your lips, then your bump*

• he gets incredibly soft and clingy — even more so than normal — every time he gets home. He’ll bury his head in your neck and just listen to your heart, hear the proof that you’re with him

• he loves her to bits even before she’s born, and he’s such a total girl dad already. he even loves her more than life when you’ve almost hit full term, and while kissing his way down your body she deliberately kicks — cockblocking her daddy.

• you laugh and you’re so so in love when he leans down and whispers, “excuse me, little one. this is a moment between me and your mother.” but it’s just no good cos every time you get closer to that point, you’re interrupted.

• he always gives in to your weird cravings, and will run to the store no matter what the time is. and if he ever gives you that look because you’re eating pickles straight from the jar, you’ll fix him with a look of your own and say, “honey you lived through world war two, i know you ate weirder shit than this”

• you always wear his shirts around the house with just your undies, and dear god it makes him so. fucking. horny

• it gets him so so proud, so protective and possessive

• speaking of, those aforementioned missions he goes on from now on? he’s absolutely insufferable

• sam teases him no end for it, but really his heart warms for his friend. especially when he’s on the phone mid-fight asking you to put the phone to your bump so he can talk to his little girl

• it’ll either be, “i just needed to hear your voice, doll”// or conversely, “i want her to know my voice” -> the two of you are his whole entire world

• so within no time at all, he flat out refuses to do them at all — he semi-retires and sam understands; he’s secretly proud of him too, just like you.

• bucky is genuinely the world’s most amazing father and you’re so, so honoured to call him the dad to your little girl

• you’re always walking in on tea parties between the two of them, and you’d be jealous at how close they are if you didn’t adore it so fucking much. she’s a daddy’s girl through n through, and who could ever blame her? you were bucky’s girl too <3

• in fact, you once walked in (it’s happened often) on her fully doing her daddy’s makeup, sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor when you come home after a shift. you couldn’t help but just stand there in the doorway crying happy, happy tears at this new life that you’d made

• it was such a far cry from the darkness you know that he’d felt for so much of his life

• and if he still takes on some missions when he has little choice, once his daughter is born? he proudly goes off to fight fascists with the remnants of pink nail polish on his fingers

• or better still, sometimes there’s glitter still left on his cheeks from the makeover he’d gotten the night before

• calls your baby “sweetheart” n has nicknames just for her — “babygirl”

• he lets you sleep with a soft “i’ll get her, love” when your daughter can’t yet sleep through the night. and you see him, the White Wolf, the ex-Winter Soldier with that smile on his face, rocking his daughter in his arms and you just think — who ever would’ve known?

• your love, your beautiful husband, had come so far from the person he’d been. bucky had healed, day by day and step by step with you walking beside him

• idea from that post i saw yrs ago on pinterest — she grows up thinking her mom’s name is “doll” because that’s what she hears her daddy call you. and it’s hilarious the first time it happens, cos she’d only just really begun to talk — and what does she say when you fill up her bottle of juice? “thank you, doll” in that little baby voice.

• bucky just burst out laughing, and you joined him. that absolute smartass <3

• your daughter grows up to you two being those parents that are embarrassingly, sickeningly in love, but that are a safe space in the home that they’ve made for her friends, if they need somewhere to stay.

• and being an ex-avenger who looks the way he does 👀 you’d be lying if you said he hadn’t become a well-renowned dilf to her friends

• his arc with you is exactly just like bucky by the end of tfatws🥲 he goes through so much growth and it’s so, so beautiful. he’s so beautiful

• and he does the arm thing, where your little girl just clings to him like a koala. she’ll giggle like hell and that’s just why he does it — so he can see the smile she inherited from you in his beautiful girl.

• even if the first time you walked in on it happening, you just were a little like 😵‍💫 honey, why are you swinging our daughter around?

• he carries her on his shoulders around the house just because she loves it <3

• and he loves you both enough that he soon starts to love himself <3

✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪

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jellyluvr · 10 months

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if your taking requests can you please do a smut with tate basically where he's fucking us in the skull makeup????? you can make the rest however I've just never seen anyone make a fic with him and the skull makeup

Eyeliner

- tate langdon x fem!reader ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

I love this sm!! Ty for the request!!! Also this is kind of gonna be tweaked to my liking, so sorry if it doesn't fit too perfectly. (It still has skull makeup) also I think pieces of Cain posted a fic similar to this one but I promise I'm not stealing! (I'm horrible at titles pls help)

Tw: both r nervousish??, handjob?, a little bit of dick sucking, tate being a whiny BITCH!! And some p n v

S: after finishing tates makeup, you start your own but tate can't help but feel aroused by your body. After asking for help, you help him.

*♪¸¸.•*¨·:*ೄ·*♪¸¸.•*¨·:*ೄ·

Tate leaned against the bathroom wall, letting you touch up his skull makeup. You used an eyeliner since it was all you had, but it worked quite well.

He stared down at you, his hands in his pockets as he stayed quiet, allowing you to finish. Of course he didn't know if you were, but every so often you'd take the brush away and stare for a second. He thought it was cute, the way your nose scrunched up as you contemplated if it was good or not. He even smiled a bit.

His dimples showed as he gave a toothy grin, snickering at you as you watched. "What?" You said, quite offended. He just giggled more shaking his head. "It's fine.. just finish." He encouraged, his little giggles eventually fading. He returned to his neutral self, you touching up his nose as you tried to work with the outline you had done earlier.

As you worked, tate looked in the mirror, the reflection showing your ass. He loved those short.. short.. shorts. The tiny little strap on them made him go crazy.. the drawstrings tightened to fit your figure.. fuck.

You two weren't dating. More of just friends with occasional flirting, but tate had a crush on you. A huge crush. As childish as it sounded, he really did take peeks at you. Even when you changed.. but this was the first time he got a good view.

"Done! You like it?" You smiled, stepping back as he watched your ass move slightly, a tent growing in his pants. He turned to the mirror, nodding with another smile. "I love it. Thank you.." he moved in, his large hands gripping at your waist as he pulled you in for a hug.

He really only did it so he could see your ass in the mirror again, but he really focused on how your chest pressed against him. Oh how he loved you didn't wear bras.

Your tiny little shirt made him froth from mouth. It made him go feral.. it made him want to do unspeakable things to you. And as you clung to him, he made a move. His hand creeped to your ass, cupping it as your eyes opened, widening before you looked up.

You felt his hand rub against your ass cheek lightly as he looked in the mirror, watching it. He didn't seem to notice you looking up at him, so you finally said something. "Tate?" He let out a hum, his hand moving up to your waist again. "Why were you touching me there?" You felt butterflies in your stomach as you pulled from the hug a little, his hands falling from your waist.

He looked into your eyes, "Sorry.. where did I touch you?" He said, acting clueless. You raised a brow, your arms going over your chest as you laughed a little. "What? You can't make that excuse." You responded as his eyes watched your mouth move. Jesus.. even your mouth was hot. "I like when you talk like that." His eyes went back up to your eyes with a smile.

"Tate, seriously.." you rolled your eyes, and in the matter of one second tate moved in, hugging you again. "Thanks for the makeup too." He rubbed his hand over your head, slightly messing your hair up. "Yeah.. okay.." you said, pulling back before looking in the mirror, resting your body on the counter as you picked up the eyeliner you used on tate. You began to try and copy the makeup, starting on your eyes.

Tate couldn't help but look at your ass, his eyes almost turning into hearts as he stared down. "Fuck.." he cussed under his breath, one hand going to his throbbing boner as he gave it the attention it craved. He did it subtly, but enough to make him choke down a few moans. You hadn't noticed, but as you looked over you caught on to something being wrong.

Tate was being weird. Usually he'd flirt as a joke, maybe brush your cheek but he had never touched you intimately like earlier. Neither had he been bold enough to rub himself. You looked over at him, watching as he looked to you. "It looks good.. don't worry." He gave a thumbs up, his right hand remaining on his crotch. You looked down at it, then back up at his face before nodding. "Yeah, okay.." you rolled your eyes, returning back to the makeup as you laughed under your breath, his eyes traveling every curve on your body. Every detail was engraved in his head for later. For when he'd touch himself for real.

"Y/n, Where'd you get those shorts?" He asked, moving up a little as his hand abandoned his now, very disappointed cock. "Uhh.. like old navy maybe? I dunno.. I'll check later." You responded, focusing on your makeup.

Tate moved to where he was aligned with your ass his hand going to the band as he pulled it up, looking at the tag uncaring.

You immediately reacted, turning your head back as you let out a gasp, moving tates hand away. You looked up at him, standing as he smiled mischievously. "I was just checking the tag.. calm down." He responded, raising his hands up in defense. He had seen your panties.. and oh boy.. he wasn't disappointed. Neither was his dick.

You turned back to the mirror, a little annoyed at him. But, you couldn't lie.. you had quite the crush yourself. Everything he was doing was weird.. but you did like his boldness. You didn't want to admit it, but it did turn you on. How cheeky and careless he was. He was so fun to hang out with.. and he was cute. It was a win win.

Tate looked down at your ass, looking at how tight the shorts were. Damn. You really did things to him. You made him melt.. and he did just the same for you.

Both of you liked each other, a classic romance scenario. But, tate was much bolder than you. You were the opposite of him when you guys were together. Tate had his past.. his dark doings haunting him. He had never been much of a talker, but you had brought him out of his shell.

You had changed him.

"Are you copying me?" He said, dramatically scowling as you laughed a little, looking at him through the mirror. "I did yours, it's my work." You continued as tate leaned on the counter with you, trying to appreciate for who you were without checking you out.

His eyes drifted to your tits a few times, but he managed to control himself. Sadly, his boner wasn't too happy with his good behavior. And soon, as he looked at you a few times, it became painful. Very.

The restraints of his pants were killing him, and his mind was invaded with thoughts of you... him touching you and you touching him. Tate needed to think of something gross, or get off.

He chose get off.

But, the problem was how? He wanted you to help him.. and he came up with the perfect solution as you messed with the eyeliner.

"You'd do anything to like.. help me, right?" He asked out of the blue, his face slightly shaded red. You turned to him, putting down the eyeliner with worry. "Yeah, what's up?" You leaned your head on your hand, looking at him as he shuffled uncomfortably. Actually asking for it made him really nervous.

"Well," he bit down on his tongue as he looked at you, your innocence killing him. "Just.." he sighed, his hand going in his hair as he tried to compose himself. "Don't think I'm weird, okay?" He looked at you with his chocolate brown eyes, seeming to be sincere. You nodded, smiling as you did so. You loved tate. He was your best friend.. your only friend. "Of course, tate." You confirmed, waiting for his supposed confession.

"I've got a boner." He said, his eyes moving from yours as his face turned red. You stared for a moment, almost laughing before realizing he was serious. "And you want me to help you?" You said, your body beginning to heat up. "Yes.. yes.. I'm sorry.. I shouldn't have asked." He said quickly, clearly a bit scared.

This was a little shocking from how bold he had been, but I guess he was just a weird guy overall.

"I can help... yeah." You responded, standing up as you felt a kick of confidence. Tate cleared his throat, looking down at his pants as you did the same. Before he could say anything more, your hand went to the zipper of his pants, undoing it. Tate felt a little surprised, but relieved that you were forward. He smiled to himself, watching as you pulled his dick through, finally letting his hard on free.

He let out a low groan as he watched, your eyes looking down at him before you put your hand around his shaft, looking up at him. He felt his face turn red as he let you suck on his tip, your fist moving up and down along him as you did so. "Fuck.." his head shot back as you did the bare minimum. You hadn't ever done this before, but this was definitely nice to watch. Your mouth went on him deeper, causing him to tug on your hair.

He looked so much hotter in that skull makeup..

You sucked a little harder, his face looking down at yours as he shoved himself farther in your throat, thrusting at a steady pace. "Oh god.." he groaned, pulling out before pulling you up off your knees and instead pushed against the counter. Before you could even react, his hands had tugged down your slutty shorts, revealing your ridiculously small panties. He pushed those to the side, sliding into you with the help of your slick as he filled up your pussy. His grip moved to your hips, you face pushed into the counter from the pleasure and pain mix... "tate.." you moaned, biting down on your lip as he thrusted up into you, hitting your cervix. You let out a yelp, the feeling too much.

"Tate!" This time, you were much louder, and he began to move in and out, looking at you pussy as it slowly got used to his size. "Sorry.." he said quietly, still moving. Apart of him felt bad for just doing that, but you couldn't deny the wonderful feeling that filled your body. "Mm.." you mumbled, Tates thrusts going faster. "You like that?" He pushed out, going faster as each thrust filled your throbbing pussy. You nodded with desperation, your hands clawing at nothing on the counter.

"F-fuck!" You squeaked out, your eyes squeezing shut as your skin plapped with his, his thrusts becoming too much to bare. "Tate! Tate!" You said between grinding teeth, your clit aching with your orgasm approaching. Tate was close too, and with a final moan, he came, pulling out as he watched you ooze with cum. You opened your eyes, looking up at him in the mirror as his face makeup seemed much more blurry.. maybe even ruined with sweat.

"Mmgh.." Tate breathlessly moaned guiding his tip and rubbing your clit with his cock. The overstimulation made him whine some, but it was enough to make you cum. Your eyes rolled back with pleasure, your squeaks and moans growing as you finally hit your climax.

"Thank you.." you said quietly, your legs feeling much more week then usual. "Thank you too.." Tate said in a low tone, feeling as he collapsed next to you, his cock softening after the orgasm.

*♪¸¸.•*¨·:*ೄ·*♪¸¸.•*¨·:*ೄ·

Taglist: @kaismanwich @tatelangdonsgirll @daylas-life @hyperharlz @kaiju-superstar @howtobesasha @luttic @spill-the-t @ima0nahlol

Fully aware this sucks sorry. Next scenario based on this ask will be linked once it's posted. 🫠

#evan peters #evan peters characters #evan peters fanfic #evan peters x y/n #evan peters smut #evan peters x reader #evan peters x female reader #tate langdon #tate x reader #tate ahs #tate langdon smut #tate langdon x y/n #tate langdon x you #tate langdon x reader

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tired-biscuit · 2 months

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18+ MDNI, fem!reader // cw: subtle mention of spit. reader is wearing glasses.

↳ i wrote this as an apology to likelilacwine because i couldn’t help but bash her man a little bit, lmao… i can’t write fluff for the life of me, so i hope you don’t mind something dirty, kendy. kisses!

this thought has been cooking inside my brain for a little while now, but i keep thinking about gojo and his weird, somewhat dirty infatuation with your glasses.

what i mean is that he likes to cum on them. quite often. when you’re on your knees in front of him, naked and panting and trying to contain the drool that’s treatening to spill past your kiss-bruised bottom lip, he tells you to keep your glasses on instead of persuading you to open your mouth a little wider and sticking your tongue out like most men would do if they were in his place.

i think it would have some sort of connection to how he wears glasses as well. after all, gojo is, well… gojo. he can come across as very self-absorbed sometimes, perhaps even a bit conceited. when he sees you doing or wearing something that resembles him, it makes him feel kind of funny and warm inside. pride has never felt so good before and it makes him thrive.

so yeah, the glasses are like a link that connects you to him. he finds himself hot, so he cums on the part of you that he thinks you share with him. it spurs him on — especially if he manages to convince you to put his glasses on from time to time.

and oh boy, this specific thing is like edging to him. so good that it consumes him entirely, his entire being. a pink blush coats his face during it, his neck, his naked chest, as well as the tip of his stupidly pretty cock that he just can’t stop stroking right above your awaiting face. even his hand moves at such a fast pace that it causes his body to be coated with a thick layer of sweat, something you rarely get to see when it comes to him.

he’s just so hard, so ready, so in love; both with you and himself.

and how couldn’t he be? the lenses of his glasses may be dark, yes, but he can still see how watery your eyes have turned behind them from the way he’d gotten a little too excited and had pushed his dick down your throat a smidge too fast as soon as his wish had been fulfilled. he can still see the streaks the tears have left behind as they travelled down your cheeks. he can still see himself in the reflection.

mascara smudges the corners of your eyes as a result, however it doesn’t seem to be bothering you. no, you’re simply way too busy to be annoyed by it; looking up at him with that frustratingly knowing glint lighting up inside your pupils as his glasses slide down the bridge of your nose ever so slightly and you — at long last — manage to make direct eye contact with him.

and as soon as that happens, poor satoru is absolutely done for.

#biscuit drabbles #gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut

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fan-fantasies · 10 months

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Uhtred’s pretty boys and discovering they have a crying kink:

Warnings: no actual smut but mentions of it, crying (obviously), injury

A/N: couldn’t decide who to write for so I picked my favorite pretty boys 🤷🏻‍♀️ other fics for Eddie and probably Aemond will follow!

Sihtric watched as Finan finished the sling for your arm. He tossed it around your head and gently lifted your arm into it. You couldn’t help but wince, the Irishman apologizing profusely.

You let your arm rest in the sling, letting out a small moan at the relief it finally gave you. A quick tear ran down your cheek and it caught Sihtric’s eye. A few more tears followed as you rested your head back. He followed the tears as they slid down your neck.

He could feel his cock stirring in his breeches- his pants becoming just a bit tighter. The thought of the tears running down your face in a much different context was interesting to him.

He vowed that as soon as your arm was healed, he would take you on every surface until your glistening eyes rolled back in your head from pleasure- tear stained cheeks and swollen lips begging him to have mercy on you.

He wouldn’t, however, not until your legs were shaking and body wracked with sobs. He would mark your entire body, but would kiss away the tears when he was finally done with you.

Finan had always been fond of you- your wit nearly matching his (or outdoing as you would confidently say). You were quite attractive as well and he would flirt with you to no end.

You all sat around the fire one night, exchanging stories and dreams. Uhtred was telling a particularly good story about when he was a child and slipped in the goat pen after he had been living with the Danes. He was so animated he had you laughing harder than Finan had ever seemed; he’s certain the ale was contributing to that because Uhtred was not that funny…

The campfire flames reflected off of your skin, shining streaks of tears now streaming down your face. Finan couldn’t help but stare as you tried your best to wipe them away.

He wanted to grab your hand, to stop you, but he couldn’t tell why. You let out a heavy sigh as more tears cascaded over your smiling cheeks and that’s when he knew. A hunger grew in his belly and he wanted to be the cause of your tears.

He didn’t want to hurt you in any way, but he wanted to make you feel so good that no amount of self control would allow the dam not to burst. He wanted to tease you until you were crying for his cock and only after he was satisfied, would he give it to you.

Sweet, shy Osferth- the poor man thought there was something wrong with him the first time his cock hardened when he noticed a tear drop sliding down your cheek. You were holding a newborn baby and you were overcome with emotion. You sniffled to try to hold back the tears but they came anyway. The rest of the world melted away and he was transfixed by you.

He had sought out the advice of Uhtred, of course, and the older man reassured him he was not sick or twisted. He even recounted his own pleasure at seeing tears streaming down a woman’s face, typically while she was choking on his cock.

While the idea was enticing to Osferth, he often imagined you in another scenario. He often imagined your bodies pressed tightly together as he made love to you. He would bury himself deep inside of you so he could feel every inch of you.

The emotion between the two of you would be so powerful, you would choke back your tears as he fucked into you over and over. He would be sure to spill himself inside of you as a declaration of his love, kissing the tears away with reassuring whispers.

He decided that it may make him a sinner, but it was worth it to see your soft tears beneath him as you both rode out yours highs.

#the last kingdom #Osferth x reader #osferth tlk #Finan x reader #finan tlk #Sihtric tlk #Sihtric x reader #Osferth smut #Finan smut #Sihtric smut

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moonjella · 2 years

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NCT DREAM AS VAMPIRES + BITING YOU

WARNINGS || MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, BLOOD, BITING, PASSING OUT, CRYING, HAIR PULLING, SOME ARE SUGGESTIVE, SOME ARE EXPLICIT SMUT, FEMALE READER

MARK explores every inch of your body. it's his favourite activity because there is always something new for him to discover. and that means he knows the tastiest parts of you. he believes it is an honour for you to allow him to drink your blood and he gives thanks every single time. but the part of you which truly makes him lose his mind is your thighs. the scent is insanely sweet and as soon as he is situated between them, he's begging you to let him take a bite. your flesh is soft and your blood flows easily, but not too much to overwhelm him. he sucks and licks until you tug on his hair, moving him up so his lips hover over your pussy. he's had his share, now it's time for him to earn some more.

RENJUN as a vampire is quite the romantic. very old-fashioned and he loves surprising you with how gentlemanly he can be. he's the devoted type, completely enamoured by your beauty — both inside and out. a being that exists solely for the existence of another, you. he treats every ounce of your blood like it's the last drop of water on earth. he never drinks too much nor too little. your wrists are his favourite. each time, he gets down on his knees and kisses his way up from your fingertips to the back of you palm to the delicate skin of your wrists. he licks over the miniscule punctures when he's done, healing the damage he did before taking you in his arms and pressing his lips to yours as a devoted thank you.

JENO loves all of you. every little bit. he loves grabbing you, kissing you, holding you, biting you. but it's often the case where he only bites during sex. he's an adrenaline addict indeed. he also loves to tease you, his head deep in the crook of your neck while he's thrusting into you deep and slow. “jeno, please...” you sob for him to bite you and from the way his lips graze over your pulse, you think he's actually going to do it. but in a very heated moment, you are flipped onto your stomach with jeno grabbing handfuls of your ass. he's lining himself up again, fucking you harder and pulling your head back so your neck is exposed. with his body flush above you, he makes easy work of biting you, marking his favourite places all along your neckline.

HAECHAN is either begging you to give him a sip or simply taking you whenever he wants. that's how it is with you two. there's always a variation in his attitudes which also reflects on you, meaning your relationship is dynamic yet harmonious. there are times he will follow you like a lost puppy begging for attention. “please, yn. I'm so hungry...just a small bite?” but you know better than to give in without him earning a single drop. and the other times are when he's had enough of your games. the tables have turned completely, you are now the one begging him to bite you. he smirks whilst holding down your wrists, his cock sitting deep and snug inside you. “it's your turn to beg, baby.”

JAEMIN has a little game he likes to play with you. he jokes around by biting your fingers, cheeks, butt cheeks and all but never drawing any blood. just being a playfully annoying boyfriend. but once in a blue moon, his eyes grow dark and rake over every inch of your body, analysing every quivering muscle and listening intently to your heartbeat. and when you ask him so sweetly to bite him, he'll wait until the very last moment to dive in, drinking you like fine wine. the tears springing from your eyes make him hungrier, he grinds into you until your eyes roll back and he can't seem to stop himself until you're drifting away. he regrets being unable to control himself but he takes excellent care of you regardless.

CHENLE is definitely the kind of vampire who thinks I'm a vampire so I'm better than you. but despite him trying to act all high and mighty, you find him to be quite a down-to-earth guy. he's self-aware, he knows how to make you laugh. and he knows how to make you feel good. he starts at your ankle, kissing his way up your legs and squeezing your thighs, lips ghosting over your hips, the tips of his fangs teasing every inch of your stomach before taking your hardened nipples into his mouth. you're a moaning, wet mess by the time he arrives at your neck. he inhales your scent deeply, grabbing the roots of your hair and pulling it back so your neck is perfectly stretched out for him to take his bite.

JISUNG waited a very long time because he was afraid he'd mess up. and he did that exactly. he couldn't stop himself, he kept drinking, fangs piercing deeper into your skin and even when you begged him to stop, he couldn't. not until you lay unconscious in his arms. his control is much better now, but every time he bites you, the memories of his first time flood him. since then, you take measures to ensure he only takes what he needs and nothing more. but when he is satiated, he is much more in control of himself and you love to treat him. slipping out of your robe and into his lap, his fingers nervously trace your lacey lingerie. “you've been so good to me, sungie. why don't you take a bite?”

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billiedeansbitch · 11 months

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𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭?

(𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

Prompt: You’re having troubles choosing which bra to wear. Brienne has a better option.

A/n: Modern day setting/AU. Slight smut. Self-indulgent fic.

Warning/s: none

Brienne’s done showering, she lathered, scrubbed and washed her body and hair. She even dedicated a whole happy birthday song from beginning to end as she thoroughly washed each finger, she brushed her teeth, flossed, gargled some mouthwash then flossed again. All of these only took her only fifteen minutes to get done. She feels refreshed and clean, so clean that she doesn’t want to touch anything or do anything, she just wants to stay fresh all day and then there’s you.

When she left to shower, you were already getting ready and now that she’s done, you’re still getting ready.

Brienne stops and leans on the doorway. She’s wearing boxer shorts because it’s loose and comfortable, so much space for ventilation, she always chooses comfort over aesthetics, and honestly you couldn’t blame her. Above her torso, nothing, she had nothing but the towel that covers her chest after aggressively drying her short blonde hair. It’s going to get frizzy and you’ll probably lecture her again but she doesn’t care.

She watches you with her long, strong arms, crossed against her chest, almost flexing her toned muscles. She doesn’t understand the fuss over these bras, they all look the same to her, but oh, she finds great joy in removing them from you or palming your breasts over them, especially those ones that don’t have underwires. Extra points if they are lace and very sheer.

Still in your underwear, you can’t decide which is better, the nude demi or the black balconette, both will bring great definition and more lift but still you can figure which is much preferable with your outfit. The sigh that left your lips is pretty much a cry for help, so you turn around, brows knitting together.

“This or that?” you asked your partner, eyeing the black one that’s draped on the armchair next to the mirror.

Brienne’s eyes don't waver from your breasts, she just keeps looking until a grin cracks on her lips and you can’t do anything but smile as well. Shaking your head, you turn around as you playfully roll your eyes and face the mirror once more.

You should have known better than asking her. As soon as you turn, your gaze lingering on her reflection in the mirror. it’s your turn to ogle at Brienne, appreciating the taut skin along her stomach and her calves extending up to her thighs. Her arms that can easily sweep you off of your feet, oh and that wicked smile.

Once Brienne gains control over her legs, with a few huge strides, she’s quickly made it behind you. “How about this?” she says, serious and all, and then you feel it, the coldness of her palms cupping your breasts. Your nipples hardened almost immediately.

“This is much better. Wouldn’t you agree?” She has a goofy smile on her lips, one that reaches her eyes, your heart jumps a little at the view of her face. Her crooked lower teeth are showing, her cheeks flushed, the way her hair is messed is tragic and art at the same time you wanted to comb your fingers through. Oh Brienne, so handsome and so pretty at the same time. And God, Brienne is tall, so tall and so perfect.

“This will do but I don’t think everyone will appreciate it if we're going to show up like this to your father’s birthday party.” you feel her peck your cheek.

She chuckles, agreeing but still not quite ready to let you go.

A pinch on your left nipple caused a gasp to spill from your lips. A flash of mischief in her eyes.

She did it again with the other, until she’s massaging both mounds and you’re helplessly defeated in her hands. “Gods, Brienne.”

You slip a hand on the back of her neck, tilting your head a bit to the side. Kissing her is about finding a good angle and all. So your lips met, slow, sensually slow like you both had the time in the world when in reality, you will both be running late if you don’t detangle yourselves from one another.

“We’re going to be late, darling.”

“Five minutes.” she breathed on the skin of your neck, her hands are now on your ass, massaging and groping. “Just five minutes.” and her lips are now back to yours, tongue thrusting in.

“Hold on,” this prompts you to wrap your arms around her neck, your legs spread around her hips. Gods, she’s strong.

Brienne carries you with unbelievable strength, and it turns you on, so much that your underwear is now soaked. Briefly, you withdraw from kissing the handsome beauty, your fingers combing through her locks, “We should change the shower head.”

Brienne stops assaulting your neck, “Yeah, I was thinking of that, too, and place it much higher.” You remember the first time you both showered together after moving in together to your apartment, Brienne had hit her forehead on the shower head causing a small bruise to form. You can still remember where it was, you rub the spot on the right side near her hairline and kiss it.

“What about the tiles? I think it’s a bit out of style.” you said, kissing her eyelids some more then her cheeks and her mouth.

“We’ll change it, too, if that’s what you want.”

“Mhmm, and we should buy a bigger tub so we can both fit in.”

“Done.” she murmurs, chasing your lips in the process.

“Gods, I love you, Brienne.”

“And some lingerie,” she says, licking your lower lip, “For you.”

Five minutes turns to half an hour of kissing and a lot of fucking, she even fucked you some more in the shower when you protested that you can’t both go to her father’s birthday smelling like horny teenagers.

You both made it to Selwyn Tarth’s fiftieth birthday, although you were both late, and Selwyn isn’t very much pleased with it, Brienne still managed to cool the old man’s head with a kiss on the cheek and a little birthday present from you.

#lady brienne #brienne of tarth x reader #ser brienne #brienne of tarth imagines

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legitalicat · 3 months

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Out of Time

Chapter 4 - "Eldest Son to Eldest Daughter"

an: I am so glad people are enjoying this story! I've been playing with this concept for nearly a year now. I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much! I want to go ahead and put this out there. I have borderline personality disorder and quite a few other mental illnesses, so all of that influences relationships in my life, which is reflected a lot in this story. Also this is not canon Aegon. This is a version of Aegon that lives permanently in my head.

If you love this header go check out zaldritzosrose for more amazing work! She is tagged on the series masterlist and on my welcome post!

Find the series Master list here!

Summary: Being the eldest child of the Queen or King is a weight many did not understand. It is a weight that dictates her every choice, ruling her heart and mind. Aegon, understanding the feeling, gives her the gift of a connection she could not have with another person.

TW: Very blatant mental health struggles, Substance Use (I added 🍃 into this world cause it not being in there is unrealistic), talks of alcoholism, religious talk, mentions of injury, self image issues, bad parents, divorced parents, moon tea, Aegon is so in love with reader it makes me ache

Relationships: Aegon Targaryen ii x Velaryon!Reader, past Aegon Targaryen ii x Helaena Targaryen

Word count: 3.7k

When I woke up this morning, only to find Jace gone from my bed and a cup of moon tea on the table, all I wanted was to hide away from the world. But there was more to my life than just Jace and Aemond. I had others who loved me, who had missed me this entire time. With that in mind, I dressed for the day in a simple lilac colored dress, drank the tea in one quick gulp, and had Ser Erryk escort me to Helaena’s chambers.

Her and Aegon’s children were with him for the morning. With both of them still happily in the Red Keep, I suppose it made sharing their children’s time easier. Though I don’t believe there has been a situation such as this ever. Most marriages that ended in annulment happened because there weren’t children from my understanding. Though until now I had not known of anyone who had gotten an annulment.

“How did my mother grant the end of your marriage?” I couldn’t help but ask Helaena. We were working on our cross stitching together. It was an activity that soothed her and I was all the happier to make sure she was calm. “Doesn’t the Faith typically have to be in agreement? And I mean, you two had three children together, wouldn’t they just deny it?”

Helaena chuckled. “I often times forget how little you and your brothers paid mind to the teachings of the Seven,” she said to me.

Fair enough, I suppose. Technically speaking, we are followers of the Seven. Yet anyone with eyes knew that we only did it because we kind of had to. I don’t believe Mother or Laenor had any vested interest in their teachings. They certainly never passed anything on to us outside of the bare minimum. I know my father’s family believed in the Seven, but since he was never allowed to claim us, he had no right to teach us his beliefs. In truth I only knew anything about them from Alicent.

“So explain it to me as though I’m five,” I said, shrugging a bit.

“It is unholy to hold one in a marriage against their will. Aegon and I were so young when we were married, and it was done under the misguided notion that your mother and family may seek to squash any competition for the Throne, so it was not difficult to make a case for it to be an unlawful marriage. Though I do feel that Rhaenyra may have reminded the Septon that he can be and would be a delicious snack for Syrax should he not see reason,” she told me. The smile that played at her lips as she thought of it was enough to make me smile.

“And what is it you wish to do now?” I asked her.

“I am perfectly content to live my life here. I love my family, I love my home. Though I do wish my mother had bothered to ever understand me,” she explained.

My smile fell from my lips. Time changed many things but Helaena’s distance from Alicent didn’t seem to be one. It was unfortunate, truly, as Helaena was wonderful. She may be more into bugs than most people, she may have her dreams and episodes, but she was not mad. In fact when actually making an effort to know her, one could find she was the opposite.

I had always wished I could see the world Helaena does. The world that I live in is dark and dreary, a place where one loses any semblance of a father before they even understand how great they are. It is a place where most everyone prefers men over women, despite the women being capable and strong in their own right. The world I live in? It is not a place built for Helaena.

Yet the one she lives in? People are praised for what they have done. There is no consideration other than who truly is right and just. Even in the darkest moments in which her mother tried to keep her from being who she is, my mother always gave safe passage to her sweet sister. Helaena paid no mind to those who were insignificant unless they hurt her family or her bugs.

It Is not to say she is naïve. In fact, I would think she sees more truth than any of us. But being the third child, born after an eldest daughter and eldest son, is very different than being the eldest. She did not have to fight to prove she was worthy like Mother did. And she does not have to step away because she knows she would not be accepted over her brother as I do…

I was born approximately two hours before Jacaerys. A long time between twins as I’ve been told, but enough time there was no doubt about who came first. Truthfully to my mother I don’t think it mattered which of us was born before the other. We are twins and therefore she always gave us the choice.

She explained to me that her father had named her heir before he had any other living children and never looked back. Once Aegon was born, most expected Viserys to change his mind. But he remained steadfast in his decision, never caring if Mother still wanted it. To this day I don’t know if she did. As such, she wanted to make sure we always had a choice.

“You’re doing it again,” Helaena said softly.

When I looked to her, she nodded her head to my hands. I had been so completely lost in thought that I didn’t notice I had repeatedly pricked my fingers with the needle I was using. Blood seeped through the fabric in several dots scattered around.

“Sorry,” I muttered before sitting the cross stitch down. Standing, I walked over to the bowl of water that was kept for washing her hands and dunked my fingers in it a few times.

“Our mothers are planning a feast to celebrate your return,” she told me as I turned back around. “I think it will happen week’s end.”

Naturally. It seemed they always found a reason to celebrate me. On my name day, it was always me who got doted on. Jace got put in the shadows, not that he seemed to mind much though. When I claimed Vhaela, only a few weeks before I disappeared, it was a much brighter occasion than Aemond claiming Vhagar. When I returned to King’s Landing, it overshadowed the tourney being held for Aegon to celebrate his own name day.

It was never my Intention, truly. Those around me just deemed me important. I had never wanted to be the center of attention. All I wanted was to do right by my family. Never have I sought out great fortune or the throne for myself, though technically it should be mine by birth order. All I craved was love.

“Are you happy?” I asked her, trying to change the subject.

“Yes. Aegon is a wonderful father, but he could never love me. And I do not love him,” she told me.

Before I was given the chance to respond, the chamber doors opened. Helaena’s children ran to her. The twins, Jaehaera and Jaehaerys, were nearing twelve at this point. They looked it, too. If you were to ask me, Jaehaera looked like Alicent but with the typical Targaryen silver hair and violet eyes. Jaehaerys and Maelor, who was nearing eight, were carbon copies of Helaena. They had the same curl to their hair as she did, their noses equally as small and rounded.

As the three children excitedly talked about their morning, I quietly excused myself from the room. While she would never say anything, there was not a place for me with Helaena and her children by myself. Those kids don’t remember me, though I remember Helaena’s every letter describing them in their early years. For both pregnancies, there was not a movement they made inside her that did not warrant a letter to me. But that was then.

In the corridor, Aegon stood and spoke with Ser Erryk. Erryk had a twin too, named Arryk. From what I remembered, Arryk and Aegon were quite close, the former taking on the watching over of the latter once Aegon hit puberty.

“Beautiful kids,” I said to him, offering a small smile. When he looked to me and smiled, I couldn’t help but blush a deep red.

“Thankfully they take more after Helaena,” he said to me. He stepped closer to me, extending a hand to rest under my chin. I swallowed hard as he tilted my face around in the light. “You should perhaps be more careful.”

“I shall keep that in mind,” I said, unable to hide my chuckle.

“Where are you headed to? I could join you,” he suggested as he offered his arm to me to take, dropping his hand from my chin.

“I was just going to head back to my room. Truly, Aegon, there is no need to bother yourself,” I told him.

“My darling, there is never a bother when it comes to you.” His voice was light and airy, as though the words he spoke were just the most casual thing in the world. But there was a firmness to them that I truly believe only he could accomplish.

It wasn’t so much a demand. He was not like Aemond, demanding and sure of himself. He was not like Jace, either, in being soft and guiding always. Aegon was something entirely different.

He had always seemed arrogant. He was the first born son so it was natural that he grew into believing he deserved everything he wanted. But only when you spoke to him when everything else was quiet did you ever get the truth.

He had never been much more than a scared little boy. There were frequent talks of what he feared would happen when Viserys had died. He had always been scared his mother would try to force him to take the Throne. When he was betrothed to Helaena, he was scared he wouldn’t be good enough for her. He was scared that I would grow to hate him, completely ignoring that I could never hate him.

The closeness I shared with Aegon was something that bordered on secretive. While it wasn’t that we felt the need to hide, as there truly was never anything to hide, it was what made him comfortable. He would come to me late at night when he could not sleep. I think it is when he felt safest. Even when we were children he preferred the night.

It was in the night that he saw beauty in his life. He didn’t struggle as much then to resist drinking, which had always seemed backwards to me but he swore it. The pressures that were placed upon him from Otto and Alicent didn’t exist at night. The person he truly is was enough for the shadows of darkness.

Perhaps it is my own cockiness but I like to think I see a side to him that others don’t. When we were alone I got to hear him sing. I don’t think anyone else knew he liked to sing let alone how good he was at it. The first time he ever sang me a song that he had picked up in a tavern, tears sprang to my eyes. And when he isn’t drunk, he is quite smart. He knows politics even better than Aemond. He knows how to get people to like him and trust him, a rare commodity in this world.

And if Helaena says he is a wonderful father, I have no doubt about it. I remember him writing to me the first time Helaena was pregnant. He was so happy and excited, determined to be better to his children than Viserys ever had been to him. When I had come back to King’s Landing, while he still struggled with the drink, he was so devoted to making sure they didn’t see it.

“I would be glad to have you along,” I said, smiling at him. Though I didn’t take his arm. He merely nodded at me and followed me, allowing me to set the pace in which we walked.

As we walked, we walked in silence. Our footsteps echoed off the stone walls, the small ching and squeak of Ser Erryk’s armor followed behind us. I was perfectly comfortable.

We got to my room in just a few minutes as it wasn’t far from Helaena’s. Ser Erryk took his place beside my door. I gave him a small smile and nod before leading Aegon into my room.

He took a seat in a chair in front of the fireplace. He seemed like maybe he ran cold, always choosing to sit close to fires or walking around wrapped in a blanket. I was like that too, of course, much to the hatred of Jace when we shared a room still.

“I am happy to see you home, have you need of anything?” he asked me when I sat in the chair next to his.

“I merely wish there was something I could take for the pain that wasn’t milk of the poppy. The way it muddled your father’s mind has made me certain I will never use it,” I told him simply.

He nodded softly and reached his right hand up his left sleeve. “In case you have not been told, I want you to know I am sober now. Have not had a sip of wine since the night you disappeared,” he told me.

“Aeg, that’s amazing. I am so proud of you,” I said as my heart felt like it was going to burst.

Truly I don’t think he had ever stood a chance against being a drunkard. Mother told me a long time ago how Viserys was giving Aegon wine by his second nameday. I never could understand why Alicent was so okay with that, especially because for my entire life she had yelled at him for being drunk. Like the night Aemond lost his eye, Aegon got blamed for not protecting him because even at thirteen he went and got so drunk he passed out on the steps. How on earth did she go from so passively allowing him to drink when he was a baby to being so vile about his problem?

He looked at me, his face saddened for a split second before he grinned and pulled out a pouch. “The Grand Maester told me to use this. It’s hemp. Mostly used for creating things, building and whatnot. But someone at the Citadel found if you consume it, it gives you what they call a high. But it is gentler on the health than being drunk. I’m not sure the process but they cook it into butter and then can bake it into things.”

He opened the pouch and pulled out a biscuit the size of his palm. He split it in two and offered me half. It didn’t look abnormal or smell any different. The biscuit looked very appetizing though.

“Do I just eat it?” I asked him, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes. But start slow. Too much at once and you’ll be completely incapacitated. Just a small bit should help your anguish, both physically and mentally,” he explained. “It will not be immediate like milk of the poppy. But it will be effective.”

Cautiously, I took a bite, eating on a quarter of my half. This was something I would never have done on my own. Yet Aegon had never truly steered me wrong, always seeming to have my best interests at heart.

After he took his own bite, eating a little more than I did, a silence fell between us as he just watched the flames. Aegon sometimes seemed like he wished that the world would open and swallow him whole. The way he would avoid looking at me, or anyone for that matter, spoke volumes about how uncomfortable he was even if nobody else realized it.

I remember once he told me that if he didn’t look at people he could convince himself they weren’t looking at him. When I tried to point out that wasn’t right he just put his hand over my mouth so that I couldn’t. It was that moment I realized how alike he and I are.

I escaped the duties of being Mother’s eldest child by pretending I wasn’t. Stepping aside so that Jace could be heir and acting as though I was okay with it was the biggest way I accomplished this. If I were honest, I wanted to be Queen, not Queen Consort. Hiding that fact from everyone, including my twin, repeatedly affirming his place as the next King essentially robbed me of a piece of my identity and forced me into a new one. One in which I was meant to stand by his side and have his children.

Aegon liked to hide from being the eldest son by pretending he didn’t exist. He didn’t just refuse those duties. He simply treated them as though they weren’t real. He used to disappear rather frequently for a few days at a time, only to be found in a tavern or a brothel and dragged back to the Keep. He had always been so drunk he never remembered his time there.

“I missed you,” he said quietly. “I know you never felt for me the way you did Jacaerys, or even Aemond. But you are probably the only woman I’ve ever loved.”

He didn’t look at me when he said it which made me wonder why he did. It seemed silly to me how badly I wanted him to look at me. My entire life I felt like I had been begging Aegon to look at me.

He was right, I never felt for him the way I did Jace or Aemond. But he was the first person that ever made me blush. He was the first person who I considered marrying for any reason. He was my first crush and I think that for a lot of people that was a pretty sacred role.

I wanted a dragon so badly because of his relationship to his own dragon, Sunfyre. I don’t remember exactly when they came together, only that Aegon claimed Sunfyre just as I claimed Vhaela. And they were a sight to see together, having potentially the strongest bond of any dragon and rider. I swear Aegon could be hundreds of leagues from Sunfyre, merely think of needing him, and Sunfyre would go there without a second thought.

There was also the fact that they were very beautiful together. Sunfyre was perhaps the most beautiful dragon to ever exist. His scales were a dazzling, glittering gold while his belly and wing membranes for a soft pink. When he stood tall, he looked like a perfect golden statue.

Aegon was the epitome of Targaryen beauty. His silver blonde hair was not as long as Aemond’s, but was chin length and began curling near the end. He had the classic Valyrian lilac eyes that sparkled in the firelight. He had a square jawline and lips fuller than Aemond’s. He was about five inches taller than me, and therefore Jace since he was my height, at about five foot ten, and just two inches shorter than Aemond.

He truly was a beautiful mixture of Jace and Aemond. His eyes, hair, and eyes were soft in such a way they drew me in. Yet his jawline was sharp like he was chiseled in stone. One could argue all the gods in the universe came together to create the perfect man in him.

I became very aware I was staring at his lips. My cheeks became hot as the blood rushed to them. He turned to look at me, a small goofy smile on his face when he saw me looking. It caused my cheeks to become even hotter.

“You’ve been staring for quite a while, how are you feeling?” he asked me.

“Fine,” I said as I shrugged.

My feet didn’t quite feel right though. Like they didn’t really exist but they do exist. He chuckled at something, I’m guessing my face, and I could feel a giggle bubbling up in my chest.

“Oh you feel it,” he told me, grinning.

“You’re pretty,” I whispered, leaning towards him. “Have I ever told you that?”

“Pretty?” he asked.

Slowly, I nodded. He was pretty. But not the way Mother or Helaena was pretty in an elegant and sophisticated way. He was the type of pretty like fire. One that was dangerous and wild, where I couldn’t quite guarantee I would make it out alive.

“You’re pretty, too,” he told me quietly.

I think he was the only one to ever call me pretty. Aemond called me beautiful and Jace called me perfect, yet never pretty. Except the times they called me pretty during sex, that is. Being pretty in the mundane was something special to me. It was like I was a flower or even a star.

He reached out and took my hand. We sat in silence for a while. There was no way I could tell how long we sat there, just looking at each other while saying nothing. It felt nice in a way I could not explain.

“My darling pretty girl,” he whispered, rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb. “How is your pain?”

“Better, thank you, Aegon,” I whispered.

My heart was light in my chest. It fluttered rapidly, my cheeks heating up once again. He was looking at me like I was precious to him.

He stood from the chair, moving to stand in front of me. The flutters turned to a steady pounding. It was beating in my ears loudly. Aegon didn’t say anything before he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of my nose, something that he had done when we were kids.

“I will ask the Maesters to prepare you the same biscuits. I do not like to think of you in pain,” he whispered to me. “And it may help if your thoughts get to be too much.”

Without saying another word, he took his leave. He walked out of the room, leaving me to sit alone with only my thoughts of him.

#dividers by benkeibear #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen x reader #helaena targaryen #mental illness in fiction #out of time

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technicalthinker · 5 months

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I feel like debating who Loki was talking to when he said "For You" in the last episode, is missing the point of the scene. And people referring to it as "cowardly" and a "no-homo" moment is just?? Baffling to me tbh because like;

First of all, it is obviously intended to be to both of them? If they only wanted to make it about Sylvie, Mobius wouldn't be there. If they only wanted to make it about Mobius, Sylvie wouldn't be there. If they wanted to make it about everyone they would've just framed it more equally, he does do it for all his friends ("for all of us"), but they have that scene to highlight these two specific relationships. The framing is quite clear, they have him take a last look at all of his friends before going down the stairs, but Mobius and Sylvie runs after him to have a final significant moment.

Which absolutely makes sense and is consistent with the show we have seen so far, s1 and s2 combined, which is what I love about it. And it was to be honest a surprise! Going into this season, I had little hope for Loki/Mobius interactions, just didn't want to expect too much since S1 had a lot of their connection, but that could've been it. I was shocked when s2ep1 was full to the brim with Loki and Mobius scenes? And then they kept reinforcing every week that they care about each other, is a funny duo to watch, and are important to one another.

And despite this, I expected the rug to at some point be pulled, especially compared to Loki's relationship to Sylvie. No matter people's personal viewing on the show, she is still cited as a love interest by showrunners and is just portrayed as that by the narrative a lot of the time. Sidelining that, even in s2 when the romantic hints are more vague, she's still a very important person in Loki's life. She played a central part of the plot and Loki's own character development of understanding himself.

So to me, I was surprised seeing Mobius and Sylvie side by side in the end. Both being framed as The important people in Loki's life. Then, however you wanna see in what ways they are important is up to you, but they are the people he keeps coming back to for advice and self-reflection. You can frame it as "oh it should've been only been Mobius and they added Sylvie to downplay it", which, I just disagree with (If they wanted to go for explicitly canon Lokius they needed to set that up even more earlier in the season but that's a post for another day). Sylvie is still like, a constant in the narrative and driving force of s1, even if s2 changes things around a bit, and imo it would be inconsistent if she just vanished here. I guess I am used to media that downplays a meaningful dynamic between two dudes in more aggressive ways, which they absolutely could've done, and would've taken me out of the story to be honest... but they didn't, Mobius and Sylvie got to be side by side in the end and that imo validated the Loki/Mobius dynamic way more than downplays it.

TLDR; The "For you" was for both Mobius and Sylvie because why would you frame it that way otherwise, and having them side by side like that validates Lokius way more than downplays it in a "no-homo" way considering the full context of the show.

#marvel blogging #amanda rambles #loki #lokius #putting it in the tag in case people have other thoughts id be curious #ive been struggling with this post but needed to gET IT OUT bc it has been rattling in my brain #sorry if it ended up incoherent anyway #loki spoilers #kinda decided against putting it in the s*lki tag bc i feel like i downplay it a bit here and i know u dont want that #like i dont reALLY enjoy playing the 'my ship is VALID and sUPPORTED BY CANON' debating and i feel like i touch on it here.#but i kinda just want to like. throw my thoughts in #to why i DID feel good about this.#like whenever they do those almost looking into the camera no-homo moments it just breaks immersion COMPLETELY #if all the actors today said in interviews that it is never intended and would never be intended to be anything else that is one thing #but when a character says something like that that feels like it is ONLY to dismiss any chances in canon. even if unnatural etc. feels bad #and this wasnt IT #i know the big mcu show doesnt need me defending it but this sure reads like a defense of the show huh #tbh it started with the first paragraph bc this is also about media analsys #ALSO if u hc that it was to one of them it's like. ok. but like.#maybe not throw conspiracies out there.#also these posts AND tags are becoming longer. im losing my mind but it's fine.

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marimayscarlett · 2 months

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Obviously, I'm just speculating, but taking from what Schneider said last year - I don't think the rest of the guys were ever jealous of Till's solo work. Why would they be? Especially after Emigrate. Richard and Till clearly need a bigger let out than Rammstein can provide, and if it doesn't interfere with Rammstein, then why not? But unlike Emigrate, Lindemann went on tour. Garnered negativity that reflected onto the band. And most importantly, unlike Richard, Till got further away from them. He didn't want to and couldn't spend more time with them as individuals and as a band member. He got a new friend group, new entourage, which integrated into Rammstein and put an even bigger wedge between them. Till even stopped flying with them! And that what might've caused resentment caused by fear. Is Till quitting Rammstein? Is he even still our friend?

And Richard had a fight with Zoran before the backstage bj video which btw was tasteless and lowkey offensive to the band and the crew. Mein Teil is a great video but they've made some masterpieces since then. None of which had to involve sado masochism veiling itself as "being misunderstood".

I've nothing against Till doing what he's doing, he has every right to it but I also believe that last years incident should've been a massive eye opener (not the fucking young women part. He made it very clear with his poem that he doesn't care what we think about that) but that if he wants Rammstein to continue, he cannot lead a double life. Richard managed to separate Rammstein-self and Emigrate-self whilst still maintaining both full time. Till completely failed that, clearly deeply hurting 5 other individuals in the process. It was easier for him to do what he wants and ice everyone out. It's better if they took a long, long break than ruin 30+ year relationship with silence.

As for Zoran. He's just bitter. If post Zoran Rammstein videos are Ali Express, then wtf does that make him? Because no one even knew of him before the band and certainly he's not making any headlines post band. His only saving grace was Till but even then, his Lindemann videos aren't even the best ones..

Hi and thank you for the time and effort you put into writing this out 👋

I will work my way through this message and will add some of my own thoughts to it - this will be subjectiv and not everyone has to agree with everything.

It is true that Till and Richard both needed an additional outlet for their creative processes - the difference is that Till treats his solo project like a normal band and likes to go on tour (Richard mentioned this in one interview once that touring is a vital part for Till's creative life), while Richard treats his more like a studio project. Going out, touring with a stage show like his, putting out videos in this very style which is seen as 'typical Till' by now I might say - all this can serve as a target for misunderstanding, resentment, problems in general.

I do sometimes wonder why he takes these risks (after last summer more than ever). I know he as an artist has his own visions and wants them to come to life, which is his right - but I sometimes ask myself if it's worth it. If it's worth it that others have to deal with the problems his work/behavious has caused. But then again: it's none of my business and he has the freedom to do as he pleases.

I used this ask as an impetus to read Schneider's statement again (something which still triggers me a bit and which i haven't done in over half a year), and Schneider writes this: "Till has distanced himself from us in recent years and created his own bubble. With his own people, his own parties, his own projects. That made me sad, definitely." While I never understood this as being criticism towards Till having his musical side project, I do see it as criticism on how he treats it and how he handles things around it - between the lines there is (at least from my point of view) definitely discontent and concern. So I do believe the band doesn't see anything wrong with having side projects (in Richard's case they were even happy and relieved about it), but maybe in the trend of side projects demanding too much attention or developping possible unpleasant characteristics/outgrowths.

One can only hope that the last year really served Till as a wake up call to overthink some structures which gained influence around him.

"It's better if they took a long, long break than ruin 30+ year relationship with silence." I'm honestly not sure about this and I don't know what good a break would do in this case - since seemingly nothing incriminating had happend, there's no reason for a break in this regard, and maybe, just maybe, it's good for the band to work together this year, in their anniversary year, to actually feel close to each other, to reminisce together, something in this regard.

Regarding Zoran: Like I said in the post I reblogged, I find it highly conceited of him to quite literally say that every thing that came after him music video-wise, every art work from another director is inferior to his work in its quality (hence the 'AliExpress' metaphor). If he really means it that way, it's quite laughable to be honest. In my opinion, he is resting too much on his laurels he garnered from 'Mein Teil' - which admittedly had an immense effect and gave us Frau Schneider, and from "saving" 'Mein Herz brennt', but to say that the music videos of 'Deutschland', 'Adieu' or 'Zeit' are below his standards is mind-boggling to me (if I understand his allusion correctly).

Zoran's Lindemann videos are not my taste, and saying he wanted to express lonliness and insatiableness with a porn-video seems hypocritical and sends out 'oh I'm an artist, of course nobody understands me correctly'-pick me vibes. I'm not surprised that a lot of people who respects their own work didn't want to work with someone anymore who made a project like 'Till the end'.

#rammstein #zoran bihac #till lindemann #ask #personal opinion #this is long and nobody will read my answer but this was interesting to think about again

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lizard-on-a-window-pane · 1 year

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The Prettiest Star

i started writing this last night but finished it today so it’s kind of both Song-fic Saturday and Smutty Sunday for my 250 Followers Writing Event

Song-fic Saturday 🎶 song: The Prettiest Star by David Bowie

pairing: Sirius Black x plus size! reader

tags / warnings: NSFW (minors do not interact!), smut, angst, fluff, friends to lovers, oral, p in v (unprotected — use condoms y’all, this is fantasy), fem!reader, plus size! reader, reader insecurities about her weight, body positivity, non-magical au (couldn’t have them just apparating out of the rain, right?)

notes: i’m a huge music fan and love Bowie and have been listening to Aladdin Sane a lot because it’s just had its 50th anniversary, so hence the song inspiration (“The Prettiest Star”)

word count: 8.1k (yike, please enjoy)

“Does this look too tight?” you ask Lily as you look at your reflection in your favourite jumper, tugging it down repeatedly. You’ve never been particularly thin, but you’d gained a noticeable amount recently, and it was increasingly making getting dressed the worst part of your day. “It looks fine, Y/N,” she says, a bit dismissively, then catches herself (and the look on your face), and adds, “Really. You look beautiful. Don’t ever let the scale tell you different,” giving you a warm smile. It was the “right” thing to say, perhaps, and you were grateful for what a sweet friend she always was to you, truly, but it didn’t make you feel any better. And… if you were brutally honest, it kind of annoyed you. You couldn’t quite put your finger on why, and the feeling made you feel guilty on top of everything else. After all, she hadn’t done anything wrong; in fact, she was just genuinely trying to help, or perhaps even just genuine in what she said. But somehow, when it came to any comments on your body — especially specifically about your weight, negative or positive, you grew irritable even more than uncomfortable. You felt as if no one understood the mix of self-consciousness and self-confidence that you felt. As if everyone projected either how they felt about themselves or how they assumed all fat people felt onto you. Worse, you felt that you could never express your true feelings to anyone. Even when you tried, things came out muddled, or things you said were directly contradictory — yet equally true. It couldn’t possibly be that no one else felt contradictory things about themselves, about their bodies, could it? Were you just shit at articulating your feelings, or were your feelings that atypical?

You opt to keep the jumper on even though it hugged your chest a bit more tightly than usual. A twinge of regret went through you at the thought that usually winter was your favourite time in terms of fashion in general and your wardrobe specifically. You loved your winter clothes and winter aesthetics overall. You really didn’t want to let a little weight gain get in the way of that, but it had a way of making itself known no matter how much you tried to avoid it.

On cue, it whispers in your head, “You probably only like winter clothes more because they cover more of you. None of those pretty sundresses Lily, Marlene, Mary, or Dorcas wear ever fit you. Not to mention any summer outfit that involves no bra or a visible bralette - not a chance.” You shake your head at yourself, trying to convince yourself that comfort was a complicated thing, that you didn’t have to overanalyze everything in such an accusatory way.

You finish getting ready and head to the pub with Lily to meet the others. Remus and James greet you, and James can’t say enough times how lovely Lily looks. It makes you happy for them, two of your best friends so in love, but you can’t help but feel a little funny, a little longing at the lack of those comments ever made about you.

The thing is, you didn’t dislike yourself. In fact, there were many times you genuinely thought you were beautiful, or that you wouldn’t trade yourself for anyone else. But those thoughts came more easily when you were alone, and not wanting to be anyone else did not include not wanting to be yourself, minus a bit here or there.

You feel a pair of arms come around your middle from behind you, and there’s no time to be freaked out because you immediately know who it is. It’s like a sixth sense. Sure, you recognize his intoxicating smell, can feel and hear the texture of his characteristic leather jacket, but there’s more to it. Before you even consciously register these things or hear him whisper in your ear, you know it’s him. Sirius. Your best friend in the entire world. “Hello, darling girl,” he greets. “How is my finest friend on this finest of evenings?”

“Hi, Siri,” you smile, leaning back into him. “I’m alright; you?” You turn your head up to look at him. “Just alright? Oh, we need to remedy that, love. Urgently.” He looks around a bit, registering your other friends, sharing greetings here and there. “D’you have a drink yet? Let’s go get one, yeah?” he asks, unwinding his arms from his hug but leaving one around your shoulders, where it stays as you walk over to the bar together.

“You’re good then?” you ask again, giggling a bit - sometimes it was as if you couldn’t help it; his presence made you giddy. “Me? Oh, I’m wonderful. I’ve been having the greatest hair day, which is truly saying something, and now I’m with you,” he squeezes your shoulder a bit, “What else could I possibly ask for?”

You roll your eyes, your smile never fading, wrap your arm around his waist, and say, “Two rum and cokes, maybe?” You nod toward the bartender. “You always have better luck getting their attention than I do. It’s like they only see the attractive girls, honestly.”

Comments like these came easily to you when you were around people you trusted. It was strange; they weren’t really intended as self-deprecating. And you weren’t fishing for compliments either, especially not with your closest friends. Part of you wanted to be able to make comments like that freely, to not have to censor your thoughts and feelings when it came to your appearance, thinking that such things really shouldn’t be taboo in the first place, and especially not with people you loved. The other part, well, you weren’t so sure what the other part wanted.

“You’re attractive,” Sirius responds, matter-of-factly, your heart rushing a little at the sound of it. You knew you had feelings for him, had for ages and had no use in denying it, but there was also the lack of pity in his comment. He never treated you as fragile; his voice never took on the tone of a motivational poster. “Maybe not to everyone,” he adds candidly, “but no one is attractive to everyone. And,” he pauses, looking down at you conspiratorially, “a lot of people have shit taste anyway.” He pauses again, considering you intently. Then something shifts in his expression, and he adds, speaking more quickly than before, “I mean, not everyone likes Bowie, for example. Bowie, Y/N, Bowie. Why should we ever put stock in what other people think if some of those people can’t see - or hear or whatever - beauty when it’s right in front of them?”

You grin but shoot back, “You’re attractive to everyone.”

Raising his eyebrows, looking straight into your eyes, he responds, “Does that include you then?” A careless group of girls bumping into you saves you from having to decide how much of a joking tone to put on your response. You didn’t find Sirius attractive. You found Sirius the most beautiful person you’d ever met, in senses that went far beyond his impeccable hair, his striking grey eyes, his pronounced cheekbones.

He holds you closer protectively at the jostling crowd, turns to ask for your drinks, and begins absentmindedly stroking your shoulder as he does so.

“No wonder you always wear this,” he says, pinching your jumper, “It’s so bloody soft.”

You had no idea he ever remembered or even noticed what you wore. Marlene, sure. Marlene was making a statement every time she stepped out of the house. And her face and body punctuated that statement with a big exclamation mark. But you? You hardly ever got that kind of attention. Maybe a “nice shirt” when you wore a particularly fun pattern, but that was about it.

You notice him looking at your torso as he says this and swear his eyes linger on your chest. You’re worrying he can tell it’s tighter than usual, so you tug at the hem, but when he looks quickly away, you try not to make too much of it.

You’re having loads of fun with your friends, swapping stories, sharing shots, occasionally shouting the lyrics to the good songs that come on. You and Sirius — who’s standing next you, his arm perpetually around you, much to the dismay of the many girls and few guys who come flirting — have a habit of turning to each other every time a new song comes on, deciding in unison whether it’s a good or bad one. The very occasional disagreement yields the most fun arguments, always along the lines of “You think this isn’t rubbish? You’re making me question our entire friendship here, love. I don’t know if I can trust you anymore.” (Sirius) or “Oh, come on. This sounds exactly like every other song in the genre but mediocre. Not everything has to be original, but it’d be nice if it weren’t typical and trash.” (You)

Then some new Bowie comes on. And Sirius looks as though he’s just received the greatest news of his life.

Cold fire, you’ve got everything but cold fire / You will be my rest and peace child, rings out Bowie’s electric voice. “Come dance with me!” Sirius bursts at you, hardly asking, dragging you by the hand to where a few (mostly quite drunk) people were dancing. He’s holding both your hands, and you’re moving together organically, falling into a languid rhythm with each other and the song. By the next line, Sirius is singing along, and as he sings with Bowie, “I moved up to take a place… Near you,” he shuffles closer to you seductively, looking nowhere but into your eyes as he places your hand on his shoulder and moves his own to your hip.

He’s theatrical with every lyric, each of which he knows by heart; “So tired,” he swoons; “It’s the sky that makes you feel tried,” he belts looking up toward the ceiling; “It’s a trick to make you see wide,” his eyes come back to yours, open wide and full of mirth; “It can all but break your heart…,” he steps closer to you again; “… In pieces,” he swoons again, this time onto your shoulder, leaning on you and holding you close. You’re too busy laughing both with and at him to be able to sing along yourself.

“Staying back in your memory… Are the movies in the past,” he continues, acting less and dancing smoothly with you, spinning you around and catching you close afterward.

He’s staring into your eyes, his face very close to yours as he sings, much more softly now, swaying slowly more than dancing, “How you moved is all it takes… to sing a song of when I loved… the prettiest star.” His hands squeeze you as he says those last three words.

He gives you another playful spin and goes on, “One day… though it might as well be someday… you and I will rise up all the way… all because of what you are…” Then, for the first time in the whole song, he and Bowie don’t synchronize. As Bowie finishes the line over the speakers, “the prettiest star,” you distinctly hear — and see, since his lips are so close to you after all — Sirius finish, “my prettiest star.”

The rest of the world has all melted away by this point; all that’s left is Sirius; all you can hear is the song, his voice, your frantic heartbeat in your ears. His hand comes to your face, caressing your cheek then resting there.

You have no idea how to react. Sirius flirted with you often. But Sirius flirted with everyone often. It was just a quirk of his personality. And Sirius touched you often. But it was never this gentle, this intimate. You don’t want to get your hopes up. Because as much as — or perhaps because of how much — you love him, you can’t really believe he’d see you that way. You’ve let yourself entertain the idea many times, sure, even suspected from time to time over the years of your friendship that maybe just maybe your desire was mutual, but ultimately, your fears and doubts — doubled every time a girl half your size who could so easily be on any billboard flirted with Sirius — would win out and push those thoughts and feelings down.

Your rhythmic swaying, your prolonged eye contact, your bursting heart and muddled mind continued through the end of the song. Though you knew it must have been about a minute and a half, it had felt like hours, time expanded by both bliss and trepidation, by the time the music changed and you broke apart. As you do, Sirius just watches you, as if searching for something.

You’re fidgeting with the sleeves of your jumper when you whisper, “That was fun,” and give him a quick hug, not letting yourself linger and pulling back before his arms were comfortably around you.

You have plans with Sirius the next day, and as you’re getting ready, you can’t help but remember back to his comment on your jumper last night, more worried at your appearance now that you think he noticed it more than you did before. You’re standing in your room in just your underwear stressing out over what to wear. You’ve put on your best bra, the one that does the most to help your figure without being too uncomfortable, and you’ve made a mess of your knickers drawer looking for a clean pair of high-waisted ones.

There was a time you would’ve avoided looking in the mirror at this stage, but now, you stand in front of it and give yourself a serious look. You suck your stomach in, and pull a bit with your hands on your hips, then let it all go, contemplating the difference. You turn to your profile, admiring the curves of your chest and your arse, but wishing there was less of your thighs immediately after. Arching your back and grabbing your arse, you wonder whether anyone — you close your eyes and admit to yourself: no, not anyone, Sirius — whether Sirius would find this, would find you attractive. As you take a deep breath, you lament how thinking of others’ opinions always made it so much harder to look at yourself with loving eyes. You didn’t hate your body, but your frequent worries that others would brought you down on more days than you wanted to admit.

You put on your favorite jeans, but as you go to choose a top, you remember one you’d borrowed from Lily a few months ago that had looked good. It was quite loose on her and a bit tight on you, but you each pulled it off differently. You ask her for it, and she happily obliges, but when you put it on, a knot turns in your stomach. It’s way too tight. The pattern is stretched; your boobs look huge; it somehow brings out rather than covers the fat on your sides. Taking it off in a hurry, you have to take another long, calming breath to keep tears of frustration at bay.

After finally finding something of yours that worked, giving the top back to Lily with a quick “Thanks, but it didn’t look as good as last time,” and giving yourself too many “final” glances in the mirror, you bundle up as you head into the windy afternoon.

You meet Sirius at the record shop near his flat. You see him before he sees you. He’s browsing the racks, and per usual, he looks effortlessly cool and unreasonably attractive. His long fingers are accentuated by his several silver rings as he flips through the records. He pushes his long hair out of his eyes in a careless gesture, and you’re almost angry at how it falls so perfectly he might as well have just spent an hour in front of a mirror.

You’re approaching him when a cute girl in a hot crop top walks up to him. She steps closer to him than any normal interaction would warrant. “Anything I can help you find, handsome?” she asks, and you wonder whether you’re imagining the twinge of a double meaning in the question. Maybe she’s just a flirty person doing her job. “We have a few special ones in the stock room I could show you…” Nope, not just doing her job. “Thanks, sweetheart, but I’m waiting for someone.” As he looks away from her back toward the records, he catches you in his peripherals. He smiles a beaming smile at you and gestures you over.

“You’re not going to believe what I found,” he begins enthusiastically. You hug; it lingers, and he squeezes you lovingly. “Mm, you smell nice,” he adds, as if it’s a normal thing to say. Is it a normal thing to say? Maybe it is. Maybe you’re overthinking, especially after the moment you shared last night.

“Thanks, new shampoo. What’d you find?” You look toward the records to ease the tension you were probably creating.

“Check this out.” If he noticed any awkwardness, he definitely doesn’t show it. He pulls out a record you had recently had a long conversation about.

“Brilliant!” you react, snatching it from him and turning it over in your hands, reading its contents eagerly.

He chuckles at you, and if you’d been looking at him instead of the record, you might have seen the accompanying adoring look.

“I know. It’s our lucky day.”

You browse around the shop together, chatting easily, both about music and all sorts of random things that came to mind. Talking to Sirius is always easy, always gives you more than the contents of the conversation to hold onto, to fill you up.

You go to pay, and the girl from earlier is working the till. Sirius goes to the loo, so it’s just you and her when you hand her a couple of records to ring up.

“Cool choices.” “Thanks.” “Is that your boyfriend?” she asks, nodding behind her toward the toilets.

“Oh, um,” you stutter. You’re not exactly sure why “no” doesn’t just easily come to your mouth. “I don’t know how you managed it. Lucky bitch,” she half laughs. You’re mortified; you can’t tell for sure, but you think she is trying to be friendly, just in a very strange record-shop-employee, rock and roll kind of way.

Sirius comes back around, and you hope to hell he hasn’t heard anything.

“All good, darling?” he asks, putting his arm around you. This wasn’t unusual for him, the nickname, the contact. But you’re already in an uncomfortable headspace, and your first thought is that you hope he isn’t doing it as an act for her benefit. You don’t even know if he’d heard, and your anxiety is taking over anyway. You keep running the woman’s words over in your head. How had she meant it? Did she mean she couldn’t believe you had managed it? As in specific, chubby, you? Or was she just making girly conversation? Would she have said the same to any woman, no matter how attractive, who had come into the shop with Sirius?

“You alright?” Sirius’s voice breaks you out of your spiraling. You look over at him, and his gaze is gentle but concerned.

“Yeah, fine, sorry,” you reply quickly. “It’s all good,” he smiles comfortingly at you.

Once outside the shop, you debate your next move. Normally on weekends when you’d get records, you’d then go eat, then go to his and listen to some of them, sometimes sharing a blunt, sometimes just getting high on the music.

You’re both looking up into the newly drizzling sky when Sirius says, “How about, we get take-away somewhere close, then just eat at mine? It looks like it’ll get worse soon, but I reckon we can make it before it really starts up.”

“Yeah, great.”

You’ve made it only a few blocks, though, when the rain pours down in sudden torrents.

“Oh, shit!” he laughingly yells, protecting the records, taking your hand, and sprinting to the nearest protective awning. By the time you make it, you’re both already extremely wet, and the weather is so windy the cover hardly helps in keeping it from getting even worse.

You’re squeezing as close to the wall as possible, standing chest to chest, the records between you, his arm around your waist, your faces close enough for you to see each individual drop as it travels down his face. His eyes match the sky behind him, and you silently marvel at his beauty. He looks up for a second then is overtaken by heartfelt laughter.

“Didn’t quite gauge that one right, I guess,” he chuckles. You’re laughing with him when a particularly strong gust blows freezing water forcefully at you, making you gasp and stiffen.

“Shit,” he laughs. “Let’s make a run for it.” He takes your hand again, and you both jog the few blocks to his flat.

You’re both still giggly when you step inside, leaving a puddle in the doorway where you stand. You take off your shoes and outer layers, but you’re drenched all the way through.

“Bloody hell, it’s freezing,” he amusedly complains, stripping down to only his jeans, leaving his clothes in a pile by the door. He hugs himself and rubs his arms, trying to warm up, and you’re glad your soaked demeanour is already such a mess he probably can’t tell how flustered you are by how attractive — and bare — he is. He reaches over to you and rubs your arms like he had been doing his. “Fuck, you’re freezing too. Come to my room, and I’ll lend you something to wear.” Your giddy mood dissipates immediately. There was no way in hell his clothes would fit you. He was obviously leaner than you, and your hips and thighs hadn’t gotten along well with men’s clothes even in your thinnest of states. He’s halfway to his room already, and you’re frozen by the door. “Y/N?”

You look over. You hope he doesn’t notice your eyes quickly travel his bare torso. “You coming or what?” he keeps on casually. When you get to his room, he’s bringing some towels out of the bathroom and throws you one. You start drying your hair as he rummages in his drawers. “Um,” you start. You sound more nervous than you mean to. He clearly notices because he immediately turns back to look at you to see what’s going on. “What is it?”

You hate worrying him like this, especially over something so stupid. Why did you always have to make things uncomfortable? Or better yet, why couldn’t you just be a girl who would fit in his clothes. “Hey, what is it?” he repeats, gentler this time, coming over to rest his hands on your shoulders. Your self-deprecating, cruel inner monologue is clearly showing more than you’d hope. “You alright, love?” “Yeah, no, I’m fine, sorry,” you try to laugh it off. “Don’t apologise.” It’s gentle, not scolding. “Just talk to me.” His hands continue rubbing your shoulders lovingly. “Just that I think I’m fine like this is all. Don’t worry about finding stuff for me,” you try. “Don’t be ridiculous; you’ll freeze to death. It’s fine; I don’t mind.” He goes back toward his dresser.

Ugh, how do you say “It’s not about your minding, actually. It’s about my stretching and ruining anything you could possibly lend me” without sounding weird and embarrassing?

“Thanks. Um, I’m not quite sure anything of yours would fit me though.” “We’ll find something,” he says relaxedly, opening another drawer. “Here, this one is really warm and comfy, and it’ll definitely fit,” he says, tossing you a sweatshirt. You recognize it, have seen him wearing it before. He only ever wore it while lounging at home, and it was quite big on him, so maybe it would be okay.

“And… uh,” he rummages, “try these. They’re a bit small, but they’re stretchy.” He hands you a pair of sweatpants. You’ve never seen him wear these. They would probably be too big on him. He grabs his towel and some clothes for himself.

“I’ll go change in the living room. Just come out when you’re ready. Grab whatever you want.” His tone is friendly, at ease. Unlike your feelings. You are freaking out. As soon as he closes the door, you strip down to your knickers, which thankfully aren’t very wet, at top speed, thinking you should hurry in case it takes you time to figure out the clothes. You don’t want to take too long and make things awkward. You towel yourself off and slip on the sweatshirt. It fits fine. It isn’t loose like it is on him, but it doesn’t look too weird. And it is indeed warm and comfy. Now for the more concerning part: you try pulling the pants on, a repeating “please, please, please” playing in your head. Fuck. No luck. They stop a bit above your mid-thigh, and there is no way you’d be able to pull them all the way up. You think of putting your jeans back on, but they are drenched, and it would’ve been like trying to get back into a heavy straight-jacket. You start panicking, unsure what to do, already worrying you are taking too long to come out. You look through his drawers, but all his other bottoms look even smaller. You try just wrapping the towel around your hips, but you look quite strange in the mirror.

You’re pacing in his room when he knocks. “Y/N? You alright? No rush, really, just making sure everything’s okay?”

You brace yourself, go to the door, and crack it open, hiding your body behind it, just popping your head around. He’s standing there, his wet hair half tied up, a dry t-shirt and sweats on.

“Um… the sweatpants don’t fit,” you whisper, embarrassed.

“Oh. Uh, that’s okay. Um, how about…,” he looks around, as if bigger pants would magically materialise somewhere in his living room. “Oh, perfect.” What could possibly be perfect right now? “Your favourite blanket is already on the sofa. How about I turn around, and you can just go get under it, and I’ll hang your trousers on my heater.”

You nod timidly, the warmth in your cheeks from your embarrassment blazing even hotter at the thought of how sweet he always is to you.

“Great. Uh, ok,” he chuckles, awkwardly turning around. You scamper to his sofa in your underwear, quickly covering your legs with his big cosy blanket.

“Ok,” you let out softly. He turns around and looks you over. You can’t tell what’s in his eyes as he does so, but there is an intensity there that you’re not used to. He blinks quickly and gives you a strange, strained smile. He disappears into his room, and you hear him sorting your clothes out to dry.

You’re fidgeting with the sleeves of his sweatshirt when he returns.

“You alright? Comfortable?” he asks, seemingly back to normal.

“Yeah, I’m good. Sorry, I didn’t meat to, uh, well, sorry I’m a bit difficult,” you reply a bit awkwardly, not knowing what exactly to apologise for but feeling the need to. “Don’t be ridiculous, love. You have nothing to be sorry for. Really. If you’re okay like this, then we’re all good, right?” You can’t help but worry what will happen as soon as you have to get up. Would you wrap the blanket around yourself like a weirdo? As if reading your thoughts, Sirius goes on playfully, “I’ll wait on you like royalty so you don’t even have to get up.” You make an odd half laugh, half relieved exhale sound in response, and he just chuckles. “Starting with…” he fast walks over to the door, grabs the bag of records and brings it back over to the sofa, sitting next to you but not getting under the same blanket like he usually does. “Which do you want to listen to first?” he asks, bringing them all out to look at together.

As soon as you started discussing it, it’s like waking up from a nightmare, realising all is well and returning to a calm normality. You debate and joke, decide on a record, and he gets up to put it on and make some tea, still chatting casually to you throughout.

When he’s back on the sofa with you, he looks down, smiles, and says, “Looks better on you than on me.” You tug on the sweatshirt self-consciously, smiling shyly at him. You fall into your easy rhythm, listening, talking, laughing, and before you knew it, the whole record’s played. Sirius gets up, walking toward his collection rather than the small stack of new records on the table. He picks one easily, and puts it on. The quirky piano of Bowie’s “Time” begins, and your heart speeds up. You love this album. So does Sirius. But this isn’t the first track. It’s the first track on the B-side, and the next song after this, you remember, is “The Prettiest Star,” the song you and Sirius danced to just last night. He doesn’t say anything until he’s seated next to you again. “I know we usually listen from the beginning, but the B-side is better on this one, and I didn’t feel like being patient.” His tone is playful, but there’s a heaviness to it. He glances away from you and leans toward the table to take a sip of his tea.

“What’s your favourite track?” you ask, smiling. You’ve asked him this question innumerable times over the years, but you’ve never been as excited for his answer as this time, and you have a feeling you know what it’ll be.

“‘The Prettiest Star,’” he replies immediately, looking toward you again. As quickly as he had, he looks away again as he adds, “Because it reminds me of you… even before last night…” After a beat, he ventures a glance toward you, that same searching look from last night taking over his beautiful features.

Unlike last night, you don’t feel panicked — nervous, sure, but more than that, loved. “Last night felt pretty special,” you say. “Yeah?” He seems hopeful. “Yeah, it was.” His voice is serene, like he’s contemplating something utterly peaceful. “It’s funny, though,” you say, and he looks at you, his eyebrow quirked. “It’s really about you, isn’t it? Not me.” You laugh. He looks like he wants to laugh with you, a twinkle in his eye, clearly happy that you are happy, but confusion holds his expression. You explain, “Well, you’re ‘the prettiest star,’ aren’t you? You’re obviously prettier, the prettiest… and the brightest in the night sky in fact… ‘Sirius.’” You say his name with all the love you feel for him.

He leans toward you, taking your hand. He’s smiling, but there’s a sadness to it.

“You might not be named for a star, but you’re my prettiest star, Y/N.” He looks into your eyes. “You’re so beautiful.” His eyes scan your face. “It’s almost too bright to bear sometimes, to be honest, your beauty,” he adds, smiling more vividly now. He brings his other hand to your face, just as he did last night. But this time, his fingertips begin by taking their time tracing your features: your eyebrow first, your nose, your cheekbone, down to your jaw. His thumb grazes your lip, barely touching it but lingering there, before moving to caress you cheek. “You’re so beautiful, my prettiest star,” he repeats, as the song begins in the background.

“Sirius,” you whisper, squeezing his hand.

“Darling girl,” he responds, moving closer to you until your foreheads meet. Your nose nuzzles his, and you stay like this for several seconds. You bring your hand to the crook of his neck, and holding him, you lean forward. The song goes silent, the intro ending, the anticipation built, and right as Bowie’s voice comes in, your lips meet.

Sirius’s hand slips from the side of your face to the back of your head, holding you firmly, leaning into you hungrily. His hand holding yours goes to your waist, pulling you close to him until your chest is flush with his. You wrap your arms around his neck and slip your fingers into his hair.

He moans into your mouth, and you deepen the kiss, pushing his tongue with yours, breaching into his mouth. He lets you, and as you explore him, he pulls your body until you find yourself kneeling on the sofa in front of him, the blanket fallen to the floor.

You pull back momentarily, and he stills his movements, watching you, waiting for your cue for what to do next. His eyes are lidded, his pupils blown, his lips parted, but you know that if you sat back down and told him you just wanted to listen to the record, that’s exactly what he’d do. But that’s not what you want. So, you lean forward and pick up your exploration right where you left it. He groans appreciatively and sucks on your tongue in his mouth, before pulling you on top of him.

You’re straddling him, and you’re so attracted to him you’re drowning in it, but even still, your nerves are there. You feel heavy. Too heavy to be sitting on top of him like this. He keeps his hands on your waist and strokes your back, not venturing any further down, pulling back to look at you. You shift clumsily, trying to put more of your weight on your knees on the sofa, but not being able to without spreading awkwardly wider or ending up lopsided. He holds you firmly, centering you again, hugging you close. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” you whisper, trying to explain what he’s already figured out.

He can’t help the chuckle that escapes him before he says, “Trust me, darling, I’m about as far form uncomfortable as a person can be right now.” He squeezes you lovingly, clearly careful to squeeze all of you and not just any specific place, which might make you uncomfortable. “I’ve been going absolutely mental this whole time just knowing you weren’t wearing anything but your knickers under that blanket.”

“You have?” you ask, surprised, your eyes wide, your voice soft. He giggles again, always adoring, never mocking. “Fuck, how can someone be so adorable and so sexy at the same time?” It baffles you how someone can say the word “sexy” so seriously and not sound silly at all, give it so much confidence that it just sounds so, well, so sexy. He pecks your lips. “You’re going to kill me, woman.” Now you laugh.

“Oh?” “Mm,” he groans affirmatively as he runs his hands up your sides and back and kisses you ardently. He moves to your jaw, kissing languidly down to your ear, where he nips playfully and sucks on your neck another moment before looking into your eyes again and saying, “Fuck, Y/N, tell me you want this too.” A kiss. “I’m desperate for you.” Another kiss. “But only if you want me too.” Another kiss, longer this time. “I want to make you feel good, darling. Fuck, I can make you feel so so good.” Your hips grind down on his at his words, and he throws his head back in a lustful groan, and his hands squeeze you tightly where they hold you. He recovers, stroking your back again and resting his forehead on yours as he asks, “Can I touch you, Y/N? I’ll stop anytime you say so, but I’m dying to worship you.” You kiss him deeply, holding him close, grinding your hips down again. “I want you to touch me, Siri.” At this, his mouth immediately devours yours, and his hands come down to squeeze your arse. He kneads it roughly, pulling you into him with each motion, inadvertently pushing his hips up a bit each time to meet yours. You feel the hard, evident bulge in his pants underneath you, and it turns you on even more to feel wanted in such a visceral way. There is no missing how much his body wants yours, and that surprises but arouses you to no end.

His hands come down to your thighs, and you gasp and stiffen a bit. He stops but leaves his hand there, stroking you cautiously.

“Y/N?” He bumps your nose with his. “I…” You peck his lips. “You really don’t mind my body?” you ask, your voice small.

“Darling,” he breaks a little. “Mind it? I adore it. Can’t you feel what you do to me?” he half jokes, thrusting up into you. You close your eyes and bite your lower lip at the addictive friction. “Y/N. Look at me, love,” he whispers. You do. “I think you are the most gorgeous, sexiest woman in the world. Of course it’s all intertwined with how much I love you, but that just makes it even better. God, you have no idea how much you turn me on.” He kisses you short but hard. “I never want to tell you how to feel, love, but I just wish you knew how beautiful you are, how you are the most beautiful to me.” You kiss him again and become immersed in it fully. Your tongues are dancing with each other, your hips, your hands, moving in tandem with each other, melting into each other in a perfect push and pull.

His hands slip under his sweatshirt, and he whispers, “Can I?” You don’t hesitate, entrusting yourself to him, and detaching yourself from him only enough for him to slip it over your head. His hands come to your breasts, and you hear him say “fuck” again as he kneads them and keeps kissing you. His hands keep massaging as his mouth moves down your jaw wetly. He takes his time moving down your body, sucking your neck, licking across your sternum, kissing delicately down to between your breasts. He buries his face there and moans, and it’s so hot you pull him to you and scratch his scalp where you’re holding him by his hair. He kisses there again then his fingers move to pinch your nipples. He mixes pulling it with massaging your whole breast with one hand, but the other just grips your tit as his mouth wraps around your nipple. His tongue licks around it a few times before he sucks on it, and his groan is drowned out by your pleasured yell.

“Fuck, Sirius,” you say, your voice a rasp.

“Mmm,” he responds, not letting up, switching breasts after sucking a bit harder. Once he’s satisfied (for now) and your nipples are hard and sore, he grips your tits again with his hands and licks into your mouth.

“Fuck, baby, you have the most incredible tits.” He squeezes them. “You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamt of taking your shirt off and touching you.” He goes back down and gives each a quick but delicious suck. “Let’s go to my bed, yeah?” You nod heatedly.

You’re a bit self-conscious as you move to get off of him, more aware of your body beyond the pleasure again though you had been so lost in it just a moment ago you’d forgotten about everything else. Sirius helps you off and up, his hands on your hips, and he pulls you into him as you both stand, making out with you before squeezing your arse as he pulls away to walk to his bedroom. You wrap your arms around yourself as you walk with him, but when you’re standing in front of the bed, he takes each of your hands in his and kisses you while holding them, bringing his body flush with yours. You break the contact to pull on his shirt, and he eagerly obliges, removing it and tossing it aside.

He guides you onto the bed, his body following on top of yours, your mouths connected the whole time. You shuffle up the bed then tug his sweats down when you’re settled. He helps you, shimmying out of them. They get caught on one of his ankles, and you both laugh as he curses and contorts awkwardly to pull them all the way off.

You’re both left only in your underwear as he starts kissing you again, slowly making his way down your body. He spends a lingering amount of time on your tits again as he goes down then keeps kissing down your stomach to the waistband of your knickers. He looks up at you for any hesitation, but you just bite your lip and lift your hips. He smirks in excitement as he pulls your panties off of you. He does it slowly, teasingly, and he licks down your thigh tracing where the fabric passes. Once they’re off, he pushes your knees a bit further apart and starts kissing and licking his way back up. He sucks at the top of your thigh, and it makes a pop as he separates from you.

Kneeling between your legs, massaging your thighs on either side of him, he says, “You drive me mad, Y/N. You’re so fucking delicious, I could spend eternity between these thighs.” You squirm at his graphic words, already exceptionally strung out. He chuckles lowly down at you and kisses you quickly before adjusting himself with his head between your thighs.

“Today really is my lucky day,” he says, face lined up with your cunt. “This is the second time I see you drenched today, and I fucking love being the cause of it this time.” Without further ado, he licks a sopping stripe from your entrance up to your clit. Even this first motion sounds wet. You’re sure you’ve never been so wet in your life.

Sirius buries his face in your cunt, groaning as he licks into you then sucks on your lips. He goes back and forth between sucking on you and fucking you with his tongue. He keeps playing with you until you’re squirming before bringing his mouth directly to your clit. He’d grazed it as he licked you before now, bumped you with his nose, teasing you, but now he gives it his full attention. He’s licking and sucking, moaning all the while like you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever eaten, moving his whole body with the passion of it, and it takes very little more for you to start cumming on his mouth. You make a yelping sound you’ve never made before in your ecstasy, and with your eyes closed, you feel as if the world is a million miles away; all you feel is your body and where it is connected to Sirius’s. He keeps up his motions and fervor until your pleasured squirming turns into overstimulation squirming. He gives you one last lick and suck then shuffles up your body, kissing it intermittently as he does, until he’s face to face with you, smiling a smile you’ve never seen before.

“Hello, darling,” he says, clearly satisfied with himself, kissing you.

“Hi,” you sigh, sounding completely fucked out. He giggles at you and kisses you again.

“Feel good?”

“Mmhhmm.” You stretch underneath him and languidly wrap your arms around him, licking his lips slowly before kissing him again.

“Fuck,” he responds.

“Yes, please.” Your voice is high, blissful. You rut up into him. He chuckles at you and strokes your hairline, kissing your forehead.

“You want to? You’re alright?” “Of course, Siri. I’m brilliant.” “That you are, my love,” he beams at you then pushes his pants off. “My prettiest star,” he says, as he pecks your lips then your nose then lines himself up with your entrance.

His eyes penetrate yours as he pushes into you. You moan in unison, and his mouth lingers just above yours, grazing your lips, your foreheads touching, as he slowly pushes deeper and deeper. When he bottoms out, he kisses you eagerly, stroking his tongue into your mouth as his cock ruts deep inside you. Your hands grip his back. His hands come down to your thighs one at a time, squeezing passionately before pushing your legs up and out, wrapping them around his waist.

Normally, you’d feel self-conscious in this position. Almost bent in half, your stomach protrudes between the two of you. Your thighs are thick at his sides. But the look on his face, the feel of the movements of his body is all love and adoration and ardor.

He kisses you as he thrusts a bit harder, keeping it slow at first but vigorously punctuating each thrust. One of his hands rests beside you, holding him up, but the other stayed on your leg, stroking your thigh and gripping your arse or hip bruisingly with each forceful motion of his hips.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps, “You’re fucking perfect.” He thrusts hard, a gentle kiss on your forehead contrasting it seductively, then begins picking up his pace. He rests his face in the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking on it as he pounds repeatedly into you.

You’re gripping him tightly to stay in position, your arms and legs tense around him. You can’t move much, but his movements are enough for the both of you, especially as he brings his knees up a bit to get a new angle. He’s hitting your spot with almost every thrust, and you’re whining in pleasure in time with each. You squeeze hard around him, not just your arms and legs but the soft walls around his cock as well, and he groans animalistically into your skin. His hips stutter in response, but a moment later he’s pounding rhythmically again.

His breathing gets heavier, his muscles tighter, and with a broken gasp, he shifts sideways a bit to snake his hand between you to where you’re connected. He rubs harshly on your clit, not bothering to start slow, clearly aware he doesn’t have time for that. His hips piston even faster; his hand presses harder, and a few seconds later, you feel fit to burst. You let out a yell as you release around him, the most intense orgasm of your life making you see white stars.

“Sirius,” you half yell, half sigh. “I’m gonna cum, baby. Fuck, fuck. Where do you want me to?” he rushes out, his hips still moving fast in and out of you. You tighten your legs around him, and clench your cunt, pulling him into you. “Inside, Siri. Cum in me.” His immediate groan sounds strangled as you feel the warmth of him inside you. The words “cold fire” play in your mind. He thrusts a few more times then goes limp on top of you, panting loudly, kissing your neck and cheek between heavy breaths.

He rolls off but stays close, never fully breaking contact with you, and he wraps his arm around your waist, lightly stroking your back, as you both lie on your sides facing each other. You feel the urge to cover yourself up but resist it, trying to melt into the vulnerability. The utter adoration in his eyes when you look into them helps.

“I love you,” you whisper. He smiles a smile that makes his stormy eyes shine, leans in, and kisses you tenderly.

“And I love you,” he says matter-of-factly, his voice smooth and sappy.

You pause, contemplating, reveling in the joy of the moment but unable to ignore a tug in your stomach. “I’m sorry I was too… I don’t know, scared? to really show you before.”

“Don’t be, darling. I’m sorry I waited so long to really show you too, but I’m even more sorry if I ever made you doubt how much I do, how loved you are.” “You didn’t.” You shake your head then nuzzle his nose with yours. “I just sometimes didn’t understand. It’s confusing, how someone like you can love someone like me so much.” “Darling. It’s the least confusing thing in the world. You’re the most beautiful person I know. In all kinds of ways. And I’ll show you every day you’ll have me; you’ll see it clearly too; I’m sure of it. I’m just worried when you do, you’ll realise the real wonder is you loving me.” He laughs a bit, but you can hear the truth to his concern, his own insecurities surfacing.

You stroke his cheek, kiss him, and say, “We’ll both keep showing each other then. For always.” His smile is subtle, full of love.

He nods, kisses you again, pulls you into his body, and, hugging you close, repeats, “For always.”

P.S. notes: I try to keep my reader character inclusive, and this is a bit more specific than I usually do. I just want to acknowledge that everyone relates to their bodies, especially if they’re bigger, in different ways, and I in no way think of anything I write as a generalized take on being plus sized (or any other experience really). These are just things that I have felt in my life, and it has always meant a lot to me to see and hear stories about bigger characters, both when attention is brought to that specific aspect about them and when it isn’t. So, this is my way of adding to that and to write something for myself in that vein.

#marauders #marauder x reader #sirius black x reader #sirius black #sirius black imagine #sirius black one shot #smut #fluff #angst #friends to lovers #plus size!reader #fem!reader #reader insert #david bowie #ria250 #fanfiction

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shxnhes · 2 years

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── 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒. ೃ꙳⊹

﹟diluc : albedo : zhongli : childe : ayato : x gn!reader : mildly suggestive, no tws/cws. self-explanatory title, established relationship. not proof-read.

DILUC RAGNVINDR ೃ꙳⊹──

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ as the doorknob of your bedroom rustled your gaze quickly turned from your book over to your beloved hardworking lover. “welcome back,” you hum, putting the book down and making your way towards him, helping remove his jacket as he looks to the side, cheeks lightly dusted in a rosy color. chuckling at how adorable he was, you wrap your arms around his neck as Diluc instinctually wrapped his arms around your waist, holding onto you securely. “i’m sorry i was gone so long, have you had dinner yet?” he asked as the two of you made eye contact, his gaze filled with love and warmth directed at you and only you. shaking your head, you press up against him until your chest was flush against his, tugging at him and bringing your lips to his ear. “nope, i was waiting for you. would you like dessert first?” you whispered teasingly, quickly moving towards his cold lips, capturing them in a sweet kiss. one of his hands slid up your waist and up into your hair as he bit down on your bottom lip, tongue wasting no have a taste of his dessert, thoughts of dinner pushed to the back of both your mind’s.

ALBEDO ೃ꙳⊹──

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “welcome home! how was dragonspine?” you hummed in delight while greeting your lover, dusting any stray debris from his trip off of his jacket with your hand. “it went good, do you want to see it?” he questioned, a small smile beginning to form on his normally stoic face. nodding, you were quite curious of the end results for his most recent painting. he had told you that you were his inspiration, but that was the most he’d revealed to you at the time. lifting the painting he’d place by the doorway a few moments ago, he turned it around and showed it to you as your breath hitched, mouth slightly agape as you go to cover it with a hand. “Albedo..” you gasped, admiring the sheer amount of detail dedicated to this portrait. even amidst the snowy background, you looked so soft and gentle, is this how he saw you? “I wanted the background to be where we first met.” once again, you were overwhelmed with happiness as you threw your arms around him, nearly ruining the portrait as your lips meet his far colder ones, expressing just how happy you were as you part your’s slightly, letting his tongue slip in. after a few moments he’d manage to set the portrait aside, fingers entangling into your hair as you momentarily parted. “i love it.” you muttered before going right back in.

ZHONGLI ೃ꙳⊹──

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ placing the porcelain cup down, you hummed in satisfaction as you admired the tea, surface reflecting your proud smile and a familiar face, strong arms wrapping around your waist as he buries his head into your shoulder from behind. “welcome home, how was work?” you ask, smiling and running your fingers through his hair as he inhales your scent for a minute, before his hot and husky voice speaks into your ear. “the overseer of the funeral parlor was… the same as usual,” from the tone of his voice you’d heard everything you needed to know about how his day went, hu tao must have done her usual again at the funeral parlor. tilting your head, you shut your eyes pressing a small and chaste kiss to his lips. “then i’ll help make your rest better.” you could feel Zhongli’s nails dig into your skin slightly by your suggestion, happy to accept as he turns you around, trapping you against the table as his long tongue licks up your neck, biting down occasionally as little whimpers escape your throat. his kisses make their way up to your lips, his thumb tracing and prying them open as your hands tug at his hair, enjoying the taste of him over any tea you’d brewed earlier.

CHILDE (AJAX) ೃ꙳⊹──

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ the sound of the heavy blanket rustled across the floor as you ran up to the door, wrapped snugly in it. “welcome home!” you yell out while throwing your arms around him, jumping onto your lover as he catches you with a small laugh. “i’m not sure who’s more excited that i’m back, me or you?” he joked, as you nuzzled against him grinning ear to ear like a child at a candy store. “i’ve just really missed you, Ajax.” you retort. you knew from the start dating a harbinger would be difficult, especially with his schedule, but in moments like these where you could just wrap your arms around him and embrace him as the two of you laughed made all the waiting worth it. rolling your eyes you tug at his collar and close your eyes, free hand wrapping around his neck as you start a kiss, blanket slowly falling off your shoulders as he reciprocates with even more passion, brushing any stray hair away from your face as he tilts your head for a better angle. playfully hitting his chest while panting for air, “close the door first, it’s freezing outside.”

AYATO KAMISATO ೃ꙳⊹──

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ blinking, you raise your hand to cover your mouth as you yawn, allowing your eyes to adjust to the light creeping through the bedroom door. “Is that you, Ayato?” you muttered out, as he smiled down at your tired figure. shutting the door behind him as quietly as possible, he made his way towards you and bent down, giving you a kiss to your forehead. “did i wake you, darling?” he asked as you shook your head, wrapping your arms around him before he could walk off. shuffling, your knees dug into the soft sheets as you brought your faces together, fingers playing with his blue locks as you give him a kiss to his forehead too. you smiled gently as the both of your lips meet in a sweet and tender kiss, each time you parted for a brief moment before diving right back in, longer and hotter than the last. falling back against the bed, he tugged at your kimono as you help take off his own restraining clothing, pausing for a split second to do what you’d forgot. “welcome home.” you whisper before breaking into another kiss.

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peninkwrites · 2 months

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(putting my very long, very personal ramble under a readmore so folks can avoid it) (this won't include any of my plans for going forward or for my writing but I'm not going anywhere so don't worry about that. love to you all.)

A little disclaimer: If you have zero context for what I'm talking about, apologies for not explaining in depth, but this post won't be relevant to you otherwise. All you really need to know is that it seems that Wilbur Soot is an abuser, and Shubble came forward and talked about it recently. He was not named, but from what she shared, I believe that was who she was talking about. I don't say this to speculate, and if you disagree, I'm not here to argue over it, but it's enough for me personally to not to want to support him indefinitely, save for Shubble explicitly saying she wasn't talking about him.

Additionally, these thoughts are some incredibly personal and self-centered rambling. It does not reflect where my priorities lie, with supporting Shelby for coming forward above all else, but other people have said that much better than I have, and this post is really just a place for me to vent some of my feelings.

I prided myself on not falling prey to “parasocial relationships.” I didn’t get invested in the personal lives of content creators, only in their creative works. I thought this protected me somehow. I knew next to nothing about Wilbur Soot’s personal life, but I admired him deeply as a writer and empathized with him as an artist. I projected so heavily onto his character and did so for over three years. When I waited for his final dsmp stream, I felt panicked. Like my survival hinged on how he ended this story, and then he ended it in a way I could live with, and I thought I could go on loving this story and these characters for what they had been, no matter how messy the rest of the endings to follow were. His character was mine in so many ways. He had some of my problems and I gave him some of my own. I used him to process quite a bit. And now that part of myself is irrevocably tainted.

When the stuff came out about Dream, I was upset, but not betrayed. I never followed the creator and he existed only as a character to me. All I grieved then was the community his actions destroyed and most importantly the people he hurt. I planned to continue writing for the DSMP, even as I refused to follow any content involving him. It felt like a pause, not a full stop, while I ensured what I was doing did not show him any support. I also gave that character no pity and therefore the man behind him no pity, I had no personal investment in his character.

Now my response is visceral and bitter and I don’t know how to go on writing, because this character meant the world to me. I don’t know how to write about a character I truly love and see myself in, knowing the person who also loved and saw himself in that character, who created that character, has done horrible things. I don’t know how to write any of these other characters I have loved and cared for for over 3 years because he has poisoned them. All of it turns my stomach now and I feel so betrayed. The thought of his character is tainted because it’s connected to his voice and his face. I cannot separate the art from the artist both because it was the inclusion of the authorship within the story which affected me so strongly, and because there are things within the text that I look back on now and can only see that this person was always this way. I couldn’t sleep last night. I kept thinking of c!Wilbur’s line when he found out about exile, “he didn’t actually hit you though“ and his horror when c!Tommy responded that he had, that for some reason that was the turning point. The implication that it was only crossing that line, that particular type of violence, which made something wrong. Fucking disgusting.

I’ve tried to find another story before now. For the last few years, honestly, I’ve looked for something to latch onto the way I have with this one, but nothing feels the way this did. I know I’ve been clinging to something gone or at least mostly gone, both the community and the story, but I haven’t known how to let go when nothing makes me feel the same way, even when the feeling has faded and changed so much with time. This was never supposed to go on this long. Honestly, the reason I started posting mcyt stuff to my sideblog instead of my main was because I assumed I would get over it in a few weeks, delete the posts, and move on. Three years. 40 works. Over a million words. Just. Fuck.

I loved these characters so much and I’ve wrapped up my writing in them for so long it’s hard to separate the two. At this point, it feels like these characters are what allow me to write, separate from the main story, but a place where I could work things out for myself as a person and try new things as a writer. And I’ve tried so hard to feel the same way about the QSMP, but maybe it’s because we’re out of lockdown so I don't have time to watch much, or I’ve just changed more than I’ve thought, but I haven't gotten attached the way I did even when I look at the stories being built there and can see the heart in them, the storytelling, the care, just as much as the DSMP if not more. There’s no good reason for it, it just hasn’t locked into place the way this story had, having been the perfect storm of circumstances. The DSMP came to me during one of the worst years of my life, and I have loved it so much I miss that time even with all the bad it carried too.

And now this thing I have been holding onto can only make me angry, hit me with grief and disgust. Fuck, the only plan I’ve had for an original novel in years is a loose adaptation of TDDD. My senior thesis was largely a novella about two siblings with a complicated relationship, the older fatalistic, the younger brave to the point of ignorance. So even that original project has poison in it now. All of it, all of my fucking work, all of my growth as a writer, all of my writing for over three fucking years has poison in it.

I’ve felt lost as a writer for a long time and the only thing keeping me anchored was these characters. And I don’t know how to cut them away from myself and I don’t know how to cut him away from what’s left when his writing, his character, undeniably gave me so much of a spark. When I’m happy, I write. When I’m sad, I write. There's so much bad in the world right now, but I could always fall back on writing. And now my main means of escape is the grief. Far more than ever before. I know this too shall pass and all that, and this hasn’t actually stolen my ability to write, but right now it all feels so ruined. I don’t know how long it will take for me to be able to look back on what I’ve made and not feel like this. I'd maybe moved on in some ways, but not all. There was so much left I wanted to do.

If you’ve somehow read this far, know that I love this community with my whole heart. I never quite made friends with any of you, even as I wanted to, and it's felt too late for a long time now. My beloved mutuals (and followers that are mutuals in all but name) I have found so much joy with you, in what all of you have created. I wish I could hold onto that above all else, even if I’m not quite sure how. I’m not going anywhere, to be clear. I won’t delete my blog and fall off the face of the earth or anything. I still love what all of you create and care about, even if things have changed and our interests don’t always align anymore. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to detach this story from the creator, to love any of it the way I did or even love what I myself created again. I don’t really know why I’m writing this or if I’ll even post it except for the fact that you all are the only people who could understand.

Again, this was a deeply personal rant, not a statement about the situation as a whole, nor do I think this situation's impact on me takes an ounce of precedent over the person actually involved. The most important takeaway from this is what Shelby has shared, the importance of believing victims, to do what we can to protect ourselves from abuse that doesn’t seem obvious, and to look out for each other. Take care of yourselves, everyone.

#spilled penink #fuck i don't know what to tag this.#wilbur situation #abuse tw #ask to tag #I don't know about my current fics or what I plan to do going forward so don't read this looking for answers on that.#honestly i just had nowhere else to put this. this is something I would have ideally shared just with close friends #but they'd have no idea what I was talking about so here we are. desperate times.#sorry for the doom and gloom. i know there's been a lot of it as of late. please feel free to keep scrolling.#idc if people reblog. this is just. not the important thing right now yknow.#supporting shubble is all that really matters.

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ask-a-goldsmith · 1 month

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In writing my last few posts, I have realized that there is quite a lot of basic(to me) knowledge required to understand most of this stuff. I've done my best to explain as I go, but I think this deserves its own post. So, here we go!

Junior Gemology 101

This post is mostly about diamonds! I am well aware it's called Junior Gemology, but 90% of what I deal with on a day-to-day basis is diamonds. Also, a lot of this applies to coloured stones too, so no need to repeat myself.

What is a diamond, actually?

Diamonds are carbon! That's all there is! Except for inclusions. And coloured diamonds. Those have little bits of other materials in them. And are also a topic for later. I digress. Like always.

Specifically, diamonds are carbon atoms bonded together covalently in a tetrahedral shape. Confusing enough yet? This means that each carbon atom is bonded to 4 other carbon atoms. It's ok if you don't get it, I spent about 3 hours trying to understand diamond structure before things started to make sense. This website has a 3D model of the tetrahedral structure seen in diamonds and is what I used to finally wrap my head around it. The important part is: diamonds are made of carbon atoms connected in a pattern. If the pattern was different, It wouldn't be a diamond! If the carbon was bonded in hexagonal rings, it would be graphite! Same atoms, veeeerrrryyy different result.

What makes diamonds so darn special?

I've told you what a diamond is - so why do people care about this very specific pattern of carbon? The answer is(mostly) that humanity LOVES shiny things, and diamonds are great at being shiny. Why have diamonds become THE shiny thing to have? A combination of some REALLY successful marketing campaigns and some of diamond's unique characteristics. These characteristics include things such as their hardness, brilliance, and fire. I went deeper into these characteristics and what they mean in terms of telling diamonds from other stones in this post, but I'll give you a quick run-down here.

Diamonds are very(and famously) hard. They're a 10 on the Mohs scale, and almost nothing is harder than them. This doesn't mean diamonds are impervious to damage - while they are very hard, diamonds can also be brittle, and a hard smack in the wrong place can chip, crack, or even shatter a diamond. Trust me, I know. I've broken a few by accident.

Brilliance and fire are what give diamonds their characteristic bling. Though they are classified as different things - brilliance being the bright white reflections of light and fire being the rainbow reflections - they're both caused by diamond's Refractive Index. Refractive index(RI) is the measurement of the speed at which light travels through different materials - for our purposes though, think of it as how much a ray of light bends when it moves from one material to another. Diamonds have an RI of 2.42, which causes high brilliance and a medium amount of fire. RI isn't super important for most people to know - it really only comes into the conversation when comparing diamonds to simulant materials.

What are the 4 Cs?

The 4 Cs are the meat and potatoes of diamond basics - Carat weight, Colour, Clarity, and Cut. These four terms are used to describe diamonds worldwide, each describing a different part of a diamond's look.

Carat weight is the weight of a diamond. Pretty self-explanatory. What's not clear is what a carat actually is - no, not a carrot. A carat. A carat is 0.2 grams. Therefore, a 5 carat diamond(good lord) would weigh 1 gram. With me? Why do we weigh diamonds in carats instead of grams like sane people? Because way back yonder, carob seeds were used as a counterweight to weigh diamonds, and language did what language does.

Image from loosegrowndiamond.com

Colour refers to - you guessed it - the colour of the diamond. There are two basic systems that GIA(The Gemological Institute Of America, and the accepted authority of these things in North America) use; the normal colour range and the coloured or fancy diamond range. The normal colour range is used for stones that are colourless, light yellow, or light brown. These are the most common colours of diamond, thus the "normal" colour range. These stones are graded alphabetically D-Z, with D being colourless and Z being quite noticeably yellow or brown. Normal range colour grades are sorted into 5 groups based on the general amount of colour; colourless(DEF), nearly colourless(GHIJ), Faint(KLM), Very Light(N-R), and light(S-Z).

Image from GIA article 4Cs Color

Stones that fall outside this range (stones that are too yellow or brown for the scale or show any colour other than yellow and brown) are graded using the fancy colour grades. Fancy colour grades are an entire thing, but generally pretty self-explanatory. The grade will include 1 or two colours(the more dominant of which goes last) and an intensity descriptor such as light, intense, fancy deep, etc. For example, a stone may be graded as a fancy greyish blue - this means that the stone has a middling amount of colour and is blue with a hint of grey. Easy peasy.

Clarity is how many inclusions are in a stone. Well, technically it's more complicated than that, accounting for placement and contrast and type of inclusion etc etc etc. Really, clarity is how many inclusions you see in a stone. Inclusions are things in the diamond that are not diamond, such as included crystals, or imperfections in the diamond itself, such as cracks(called feathers) or chips.

Clarity grades are, frankly, confusing as fuck. There are 11 grades, broken down into 6 grade groups. From highest to lowest, they are; Flawless, Internally Flawless, Very Very Slightly Included(VVS), Very Slightly Included(VS), Slightly Included(SI), and Included(I). VVS, VS, and SI are each broken into 2 grades - 1 and 2. I is broken down into 3 grades - 1, 2, and 3. The lower the number within a grade, the better the grade - a VS1 stone would be less visibly included than a VS2. You know what'll help? Visuals!!

Images from GIA D&DG Chapter 11. Credit to John Koivula/GIA

The diamond on the left is graded as a VVS2 - the red arrow points to the inclusion that gave it this grade. The diamond on the right is graded as an I2. No red arrows are required - this stone has many highly visible inclusions. If you want a little more info (and examples) of clarity grades, GIA has a lovely little tool that explains it quite well.

Cut refers to the shape of a diamond - specifically, the combination of shape(face-up outline) and cutting style(the arrangement of the facets). A classic round brilliant is what most people think of when they think of a diamond, but there are dozens of different cuts. When talking about cut grade, cut refers to how well executed the cut is. Are the proportions ideal? Is everything symmetrical? Is the polish well done? These determine the cut grade of the stone. Cut grades are as follows, best to worst; Excellent, Very Good, Good, Fair, and Poor.

What are the parts of a cut diamond?

Specifically, the parts of a round brilliant diamond. Round brilliant is the name of the most common cut of diamond. Think of a diamond. Is it round? That's almost definitely a round brilliant. Think I've said round brilliant enough? Round brilliant. Whew. Done with that now. This is best explained with diagrams.

The parts we're most interested in are the table, crown, girdle, and pavilion. The way those 3 parts are shaped and proportioned has a huge effect on the looks and value of a diamond.

Knowledge Check

Let's say you're looking at a 1.01 carat round brilliant diamond - it has a colour grade of F, a clarity grade of SI1, and an excellent cut grade. So, what does this mean to you?

Round brilliant is the cut of the diamond. It has a round outline and a brilliant cutting style. 1.01ct is a fairly large diamond - this one in particular is 6.42 mm in diameter (that's a quarter inch!). This stone is colourless - F is the lowest colour grade in the colourless range, but it is still classified as colourless. The diamond will either have one large or several small inclusions that are easy to see under 10x magnification, but hard or impossible to see while looking through the table of a stone with the naked eye(they may be visible through the pavilion with the naked eye). The diamond will be very well cut - the best cut grade possible, in fact! There will be no visible variation in the girdle outline, and all the facets will be well-placed and symmetrical.

It's up to you to decide if this stone matches your criteria - is SI1 a good enough cut grade for you? Is 1.01ct the right size? How "good" a stone is depends on what you want - there will always be bigger, clearer, more colourless diamonds on the market. What makes a stone "good" is if it's the right fit for you. Another stone may be better quality, but if it's out of your price range, then it's not a good stone for you.

In Conclusion

So, you made it this far! Congrats! Hopefully, I haven't bored you too much. We've really just scratched the surface - this was enough information to give you a good idea of what's going on and allow you to navigate the mysticisms of those strange numbers and letters you see associated with diamonds. All information was taken from the GIA Diamond Essentials 130 and Diamonds and Diamond Grading 230 courses and my 6ish years in the jewelry industry. If you have questions about specific pieces of information or want more resources, send me an ask! I will be delighted to answer.

#WOW this on is an absolute beast #final word count is 1674 #fun fact this is how i'm studying for my gemology final #long post #goldsmith answers

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