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#keep up the GREAT artwork
grape-souffle · 8 days
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Here’s some (rushed) fanart I did for u! Hope you enjoy ;)
Omg that's so cool, thank you so much!
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He looks so grouchy, it's perfect!
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midigated · 2 months
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I'm probably in the minority with this but I wish the first 3 arcs of Sailor Moon Crystal were a two-part movie series (like they did with Eternal and Cosmos.).
This will probably make the Crystal fans seethe at the mouth bc God forbid anyone has an opinion different from them. But we probably would've avoided a lot of the embarrassing poor animation choices had they turned the material into two-part movies for each arc. They'd have more time to focus on the good bits that moved the story along. They'd have more time to also focus on the animation quality of the movies.
Maybe, as a result, they could've spent more time honing their character designs versus getting better after three FULL seasons of SMC.
Sorry not sorry, the designs in Eternal and Cosmos are way better than the poor attempts to copy Naoko's style that plagued the first 3 seasons of SMC.
#yeah i said it. i think the infinity arcs character design sucked balls#before anyone goes ugh youre a 90s fan ... all i have to say is: and? so what? i like versions of sailor moon and will criticize all of them#nothing is above criticism you dinguses#the musicals? the bandai ones are a YMMV in quality. the later ones are good but sometimes the songs suck.#manga? inconsistent artwork but i actually like that about the manga tbh - gave it a lot of 'action' in its line work. but 1d baddies#90s anime? theres a lot of filler. some of the filler is good. others are BORING. series does not grow w/ audience after 3rd season.#90s anime pt.2? the aging up of mamoru and him having a relationship with rei. ew ew ew. they ruined mamoru for me lol#pgsm? nothing. its perfect. oh wait one criticism is that they only did the first arc. le sigh. woudve loved to had more#crystal? questionable designs. questionable additions that deviated from the manga. kept in some stuff that sucked about the manga#crystal pt.2? like keeping in haruka kissing usagi to uh intimidate her??? really fucking dumb and huge yikes. the first 3 seasons r boring.#crystal pt.3? which is funny bc its far more condensed vs the 90s anime but somehow manages to be just as boring as the 90s filler eps.#manga addition: i like the manga and i still prefer it over crystal any day of the week.#we good? good. now keep your reply in the drafts#incel + crystal = cryscel fans#btw this is true w/ dragon ball super. they decided to adapt the movies into the series and the series ended up having 🥚#🥚very questionable animation choices that were fixed but still didnt look that great. like id rather watch the movies they came from.#because if im going to get disappointed that they didnt give vegeta the final strike on freiza - it may as well look good.#still mad about that. vegeta deserved so much more and no one will never change my mind#vegeta being denied from killing freiza was the same as denying venus landing the final blow Beryl. YOU KNOW IM RIGHT.
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cicadidae-tm9899 · 1 year
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WOE! Gay cowboys be upon ye!
W/o the hand and w/o the background :D
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onlyplatonicirl · 1 year
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could i make art for a tcoti chapter sometime? :o
I think it will depend on if I feel like the chapter needs art, but if not then I’ll reach out and let you know! I’d love to have as many artists as I can cuz y’all are amazing.
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avaantares · 1 year
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Fanfiction Authors: HEADS UP
(Non-authors, please RB to signal boost to your author friends!)
An astute reader informed me this morning that one of my fics (Children of the Future Age) had been pirated and was being sold as a novel on Amazon:
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(And they weren't even creative with their cover design. If you're going to pirate something that I spent a full year of my life writing, at least give me a pretty screenshot to brag about later. Seriously.)
I promptly filed a DMCA complaint to have it removed, but I checked out the company that put it up -- Plush Books -- and it looks like A LOT of their books are pirated fic. They are by no means the only ones doing this, either -- the fact that """publishers""" can download stories from AO3 in ebook format and then reupload them to Amazon in just a few clicks makes fic piracy a common problem. There are a whole host of reasons why letting this continue is bad -- including actual legal risk to fanfiction archives -- but basically:
IF YOU ARE A FANFIC AUTHOR WITH LONG AND/OR POPULAR WORKS, PLEASE CHECK AMAZON TO SEE IF YOUR STORIES HAVE BEEN PIRATED.
You can search for your fics by title, or by text from the description (which is often just copied wholesale from AO3 as well). If you find that someone has stolen your work and is selling it as their own, you can lodge a DMCA complaint (Amazon.com/USA site; other countries have different systems). If you haven't done this before, it's easy! Here's a tutorial:
HOW TO FILE A COPYRIGHT COMPLAINT FOR STOLEN WORK ON AMAZON.COM:
First, go to this form. You'll need to be signed into your Amazon account.
Select the radio buttons/dropdown options (shown below) to indicate that you are the legal Rights Owner, you have a copyright concern, and it is about a pirated product.
Enter the name of your story in the Name of Brand field.
In the Link to the Copyrighted Work box, enter a link to the story on AO3 or whatever site your work is posted on.
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In the Additional Information box, explain that you are the author of the work and it is being sold without your permission. That's all you really need. If you want, you can include additional information that might be helpful in establishing the validity of your claim, but you don't have to go into great detail. You can simply write something like this:
I am the author of this work, which is being sold by [publisher] without my permission. I originally published this story in [date/year] on [name of site], and have provided a link to the original above. On request, I can provide documentation proving that I am the owner of the account that originally posted this story.
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In the ASIN/ISBN-10 field, copy and paste the ID number from the pirated copy's URL. You'll find this ten-digit number in the Amazon URL after the word "product," as in the screenshot below. (If the URL extends beyond this number, you can ignore everything from the question mark on.) Once this number has been added, Amazon will pull the product information automatically and add it to the complaint form, so you can check the listing title and make sure it's correct.
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Finally, add your contact information to the relevant fields, check the "I have read and accept the statements" box, and then click Submit. You should receive an email confirmation that Amazon has received the form.
Please share this information with your writer friends, keep an eye out for/report pirated works, and help us keep fanfiction free and legally protected!
NOTE: All of the above also applies to Amazon products featuring stolen artwork, etc., so fan artists should check too!
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empty-movement · 4 months
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Chiho Saito’s 1999 Revolutionary Girl Utena Original Illustration Collection
IT’S HERE. IT’S DONE. IT’S FINISHED. NOW…IT’S YOURS. Happy Holidays, my friends.
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Vanna here! I have posted some already about this project, and the responses I got, public and otherwise, have been absolutely incredible. Y’all have been reblogging and hyping this before it even finished…I haven’t felt so encouraged about an Utena project since the musicals! (Yes, streams soon, I promise.) You can read the other post to get more details, and catch my post here with more details about the process if you’re interested. The long and short of it?
This is the first artbook I ever scanned. I did it in 2001. In Photoshop, using multiple scans per page that took hours to process. But it was 2001. A half megabyte file that was 1250px wide was considered extremely hardcore and impressive. That’s just always been the business I’m in when it comes to Utena art, you know? 
It’s now the latest artbook I’ve scanned, and so much of the process, and effort involved, is unchanged. What has changed, is the result. Welcome to your new desktop background. Your new phone background. Your new poster print. 
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What I’ve done here is attempt to create definitive digitized images of Chiho Saito’s work as offered by this book--I have removed the print moiré of the original scans, and used my literal decades of experience to try and tease out as much information from them as possible. Without being physically in front of the original artwork (which is a thing I’ve had the great fortune to get to do) this is The Most Chiho Saito you are ever going to get. I’ve tried my best to make sure there is a way to get it that works for everyone:
Do you just wanna scope 'em out? Look at some disaster gays? Grab your favorite one or two? This is the path for you! Check out the ‘compressed’ (not very) 10k ‘web friendly’ (not really) copy at the Bibliothèque, the media archiving wing of the Something Eternal forums at Empty Movement*. All the following links are also available from here. Do you want these copies? All of them? Don't just grab them individually, friend. This batch is 375MB and can be downloaded as a zip of the individual files here on our Google Drive.
Do you like digital archiving? Are you looking for a copy that preserves the archival quality of the effort but sits nice and comfy in a single file? This is for you. A minimally compressed 10k, 513MB version worked into a PDF is now up, shiny and chrome, on the Internet Archive. Do you like the idea of the minimal compression, but want the individual files in a zip? Yep I did that too, here's the drive link.
Are you looking to print these in a larger size? This is probably the only reason on Earth you’d ever want them, and yet a bunch of you are going to go straight for these. Here are the zero-compression JPG full size copies, most of them are 15k across, like simply a ridiculous size. Pick your fave and download it from our Google Drive! 
I am genuinely really proud of this work.** I was able to tease out so much new detail from these…her incredible layering techniques, the faintest brush of her highlights, and the full range of her delicate hand at whites and blacks… details commonly lost in digitization. I sincerely hope you find something here that you’re looking for, as an artist looking for inspiration, as a weeb looking for a desktop, as an archiver excited to see incredible 90s manga artwork saved forever in the digital realm. I feel like I have already said so much about them, and could keep going, but you know what? This work speaks for itself. Enjoy, use, explore, and definitely tell us what you think!
We love y’all. ~ Vanna & Yasha
* AHEM ASTERISK AHEM
You might be wondering what any of that is. Something Eternal? Biblewhatawhat??? EmptyMovement.com? You might even have done a double take at the word ‘forum.’ And you should!!!
I have a confession. This artbook was my ‘side project’ as I worked on this, *the main project.* For a couple years I’ve been banging around with a new domain, and originally I had other plans for it, but Elon Musk ruined my Twitter and Discord is well along on its way to enshittification, and well….we joke on the Discord a lot about ‘reject modernity, embrace forums’ and you know what? We’re right. So Yasha and I are putting our money where our mouths are once again, and doing something insane. We are launching, in 2023, a website forum. Obviously, this is not the official ‘launch’ per se, but I cannot announce the artbook without directing you to the forum, since it sits on the attached very cool gallery system. Oops! Told on myself. Another post more focused on the forum will be forthcoming, but if you are just that motivated to get in right away, you absolutely can! (This will help stagger new arrivals anyway, which is good for us!) If you would rather wait for the ‘official’ launch, by all means that’s coming, including a lengthy screed about how and why we’re doing this. In either case, remember: this is a couple weebs trying to make internet magic happen, we are not website developers by trade. Give us grace as we iron things out and grow into this cool new website thingie…hopefully along with some of you! :D
If you do join up, naturally, there is a thread about this project!
** If you like this kind of content, consider helping us pay for it! We do have a Patreon! If you’re wanting to use these in some public-facing distributive way, all we ask is for credit back to Empty Movement (ohtori.nu or emptymovement.com, either will work.) 
I would like to say ‘don’t just slap these files on RedBubble to get easy money’ but I know that saying this won’t effectively prevent it. Y’all that do that suck, but you’re not worth letting it rain on the rest of this parade. :)
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vixvaporub · 2 years
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September 5th to September 11th Reads:
Currently Reading:
Accomplishments of a Duke's- chapter 23 to 34
Berserk chapter 21 to 33
Fruits basket - chapter 47 to 48
Insomniacs After School club - chapters 28 to to 40
Updates:
Gokurakugai - chapter 3
Switch me on - chapter 19
Blue period - special
Bitten contract - chapters 40 and 41
Call of the night - chapter 140
Completed/Caught Up:
Nothing this week :/
Dropped:
Pocha Climb! - chapter 3
Anime:
Made in abyss - episodes 3 to 11
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usedtobecooler · 5 months
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"daddy, sit still, you gonna ruin it!" the frustrated little huffs from your three year old echo down the hall as you step foot into the apartment, toeing off your shoes next to the door after a long day.
"i'm trying, baby girl, it's tickly," eddie's soft dad voice makes your heart melt, the tender way he coos to her like she hung the moon and the stars.
you walk in through the door to see one of your old eyeshadow pallets balanced haphazardly on the edge of the sofa, your baby girl in her fuzzy pyjamas sat atop eddie's stomach as she runs an old fluffy brush over his eyelids.
"baby love, what're you doing to daddy?" you laugh, sneaking up behind her to check out her handywork. when she notices your presence the widest smile appears, little dimples poking in as her face scrunches up.
"pupple!" she grins, little curly pigtails swaying as she turns around to look at you with her big brown eyes, full of mischief and pride as she shows off the masterpiece.
eddie looks like he's been punched six ways from sunday, dark mauve and vibrant lilacs dusted along his eyelids, right up to his eyebrows. fanning out over his temples, down his lower lash line and onto his cheeks.
"sure is purple, baby," you smile back, sticking two thumbs up in her direction, which she copies with enthusiasm, "you look so pretty, daddy!"
eddie peels one eye open, wild curls fanned out over the sofa pillow from where he's slumped, hands on your daughters back to keep her upright, "pretty enough to take on a date?"
"absolutely," you beam, leaning over to give him a small kiss, grinning against his lips, "maybe to the movie theatre... or on a late night stroll... or anywhere dark."
"ha ha," eddie responds dryly, rolls his eyes, before putting his attention back on your little one, "and what do you think, princess? where should we go to show off your gorgeous artwork?"
her little chubby finger points towards the door, "park!" she giggles, high pitched and screechy, as she clambers off of eddie with great enthusiasm.
you end up in the park, in broad daylight, amongst giggling mothers and other small children who look mixtures of mortified and awe struck.
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ventique18 · 4 days
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Ghost Chef: "It's great that you're learning so quickly! You never know when you'd need to cook good when you graduate!"
🐉: "Me? Prepare food? With my own effort? Haha, how ludicrous! But an entertaining thought, nonetheless."
Five years later, the man is flipping a third batch of pancakes at four in the morning, with his brat of a son glaring daggers at him and threatening him with the loudest, most obnoxious shrill cry in the kingdom's history unless he serves the flawlessly dragon-shaped pancake that the little prince demands.
🐉: "Ridiculous! What is with your unhealthy fixation on a pancake's shape? It will end up an unrecognizable mush in your stomach anyway! Just eat the dam-- the perfectly cooked pancake in front of you! Do you understand how many people are starving around the world?"
🐉🍼: "I want it green!"
🐉, magicking the food: "You have an unrefined palette. This is entirely unappetizing. But fine. There you go! Just eat and go back to sleep!"
🐉🍼: "NOT A DRAGON! THAT'S SHREK!"
🐉: "What is a Shrek?!"
🐉🍼: "MAMA! MAMA! PAPA MADE SHREK!"
🐉: "Stop! Stop! Hush! Don't cry! I'm going to redo it, okay? I'm going to unshrek it. Just stop crying."
Normally, he would keep a firm foot and not relent to his child trying to order him, a king, around. He has a duty to raise his children properly. But it's four in the morning and his wife is tired and heavily pregnant with their daughter and he didn't want to burden her any more than she's already going through...
So he exasperatedly goes back to the frying pan to try and make an artwork out of a kid's snack. Sevens, does he need a vacation right about now.
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wifeofasith · 2 months
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Stupid girl with perfect little cunt ༘♡ *.。˚
ׁ ֶָ֢ ⏤͟͟͞͞☕️ ׁ ࣭ warnings ! ۪ ׁ ⊹ || Dom!Anakin × Sub!Fem!Reader, dubcon, pussy torture, orgasm denial, degrading, praising, pet names, swearing, panty stuffing, PinV, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink, daddy kink, pain kink, dacryphilia, begging, clit play, fingering, tied hands, male masturbation. MDNI
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"Oh my, what a needy pussy you got, hmmm?” Anakin coos, his fingers caress your drenched panties right over your slit. “It’s just getting wetter and wetter.”
He speaks with great amusement present in his voice, no remorse for your exhausted, writhing self; you’ve been restrained in his bed for around an hour, and all he’s doing is just edging and edging and edging... Anakin didn’t care how your wrists hurt or how your cunt trembled with each ruined orgasm; all he knew was that seeing you at his mercy made him incredibly hard, and he anticipated producing a lot of cum to stuff you full with later. But that has yet to come.
“There we go, feels good, doesn’t it?” His thumb rubs tiny circles over your covered clit, making another spark of electricity tingle your lower tummy. It felt amazing, the pain felt amazing.
“’S too much, Ani—” You cry, involuntary, trying to free your arms from the tight rope he’s bound you with.
“Yeah, baby, keep begging like that.” He rolls his eyes at your words, only speeding the movement around your swollen bud while his fist wraps around his cock, pumping it to the matching pace.
Your back arches, lower muscles ache from unnatural movement, making tears form in your eyes. There was no point in begging; your throat was sore from pleading cries, hands were bruised, throbbing pussy puffed, and sensitive to the smallest caress; and yet none of those things made Anakin consider stopping.
How could he stop? Why would he stop when you pleased him so much? Your cunt clenching around nothing, undies soaked through with your sweet juices dripping onto the sheets, tainting his bed with the remains of you that he would later bask in. You were a pretty little doll, all for him to love and all for him to torture; your pain and pleasure belonged to him.
“Let’s take a look,” His fingers hook under the waistband of your underwear and slowly tug them down, soft cotton unsticking from your abused pussy, sending shivers down your spine. Anakin pulls them all the way off, admiring the artwork that was created because of him.
“Look at these…” He brings the ruined material to his nose and inhales deeply. “Slutty pussy ruining all the pretty things; I should punish it more, mmm?” He pats your tender folds, making sure the tips of his fingers smack right against your pulsating clit so you whimper for him more.
“N-no!” You sob, trying to squirm your hips away from his bitter touch, which only makes his cock twitch towards you, aching to be welcomed deep in your guts. 
“You are in no place to complain, little whore.” Anakin, quite obviously unpleased by your actions, grabs your legs and pulls you back to him. Snaking under your knees, he pushes your legs up, raising your pelvis. His muscular arm is enough to hold them in place, with your knees almost touching your ears. “Pretty sopping cunt, all for daddy to spread.” He tsks, enjoying how it pulsed and trembled from the lack of pleasure.
His words were instantly followed by two thick fingers sliding easily knuckles deep and proceeding with a scissor-like motion, opening up your most sacred place. He swirls his digits around, juices sloshing around his flesh, pussy full of wetness that he’d love to eat out of you. But that would drive you over the edge, and it wasn’t on his to-do list. No, you were going to be a good toy and enjoy pleasing him instead. That’s what the dirty slut of a girlfriend is for.
“So greedy, just asking to be fucked.” He sucks you off his fingers, savoring the taste, a sight almost invisible through your glossy eyes. Anakin reached back for your damp, discarded panties, folding them messily.
His index slides back in you, accompanied by the cotton of your undies, material scratches your moistened skin, making your legs tremble.
“N-no, please!” Your voice breaks, pretty begs catching his attention.
“Tell me what you want, baby.” Anakin hums, continuing to stuff you full of your own underwear slowly. “Need daddy’s cock? Is that why you’re so squirmy?”
“Yes, yes, daddy, please, need to cum, fuck— fuck me, please!” You blabber, trying to make him fuck your delicious, dripping pussy. “Please, need it s’ bad!”
He chuckles at your desperation, slipping out of your cunt, leaving the pink material peeking outside just a tiny bit while the rest of the lace soaks up your wetness.
“Of course, honey, I couldn’t just not cum in such a pretty hole.” He releases your legs, dropping them down at each side of his thighs as he lines himself to your entrance.
He slides in slowly, careful not to drive your panties further than he intended. Once his swollen head is wrapped between your spongy walls, he stops completely, making you whine in frustration.
“Pleasepleaseplease need to cum, please!” You try bucking your hips forward, not even caring what will happen to your expensive garment, for it was probably already ruined beyond repair, leaving its only purpose to make your pussy even more sore.
Anakin pushes you down, pinning your lower body to the bed, annoyed at your whinny, stupid self. He pinches your puffed-up clit between his fingers.
“Shut the fuck up.” He hisses, making tears drip down your cheeks. “One more squirm, one more peep, one more dumb word from your stupid mouth, and you won’t be walking for weeks.”
Naturally, you do shut the fuck up. Your glossy eyes stare at him, trying to keep still so his treat won’t become reality. You know what happens to disobedient sluts. You know what Anakin does to you when you fail to please him.
“Thought so.” His anger eases when you cooperate, and yet he remains still, only the tip of his cock stretching your entrance. He wraps his fingers around the rest of his length and starts pumping it.
Planting your hips into the mattress, you try not to move as he uses you like a little cum dump, not even trying to properly fuck you. Your brain scrambled from how perfect his moans and grunts are; you are proud; you are grateful to be the one who gets his precious seed; and as long as he deems your womb as usable, you are fulfilled.
“Good girl, gonna stuff you full.” He grunts. His hand strokes faster and faster.
Feeling the lack of your moans, he grants you the pleasure of his thumb back on your clit, caressing it up and down to the speed of his hand.
“That’s it, my stupid breeding hole, you’ll take daddy’s cum, yeah? Get that womb nice and busy…”
He talks you and him both into a sweet release, his filthy words making your insides tremble with the need. Even if he won’t fuck you, you’re thankful. Pussy split, ready to receive the load, pretty panties stuffed inside, tortured clit finally being rubbed to its content, and the prospect of your daddy knocking you up finally gets you over the edge. Your trembling body shakes his bed as you finally get to feel the release, highlighted by Anakin’s hot cum leaking inside of you. His fist keeps milking all of the viscous liquid, filling you to the brim, leaving your poor panties and sore pussy ruined.
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art · 2 months
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Creator Spotlight: @jijidraws
Jiji Knight is a latina pinup illustrator. Her work is overall geared toward thick ladies and dedicated to fat positivity out of a purely selfish need to create art she wished she had seen growing up. She often features sexy and soft macabre themes on vibrant or sweet colours and takes great joy in making folx feel good about themselves with her work. She holds a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Illustration and operates out of her very sunny hometown of Las Vegas.
Check out our interview with Jiji below!
Have you ever had an art block? If so, how did you overcome it?
Oh my gosh… I have art blocks all the time. My favorite way of overcoming it is by making fanart. Funnily enough, that’s something I don’t do in my own work anymore. But there are still IPs I return to that still bring joy to my heart. I love returning to drawing Sailor Moon like when I was in first grade. Or I’ll even look up the last fashion week and start drawing the fashion week outfits from the Paris or New York show. Stuff like that is what gets my creative juices flowing.
What medium have you always been intrigued by but would never use yourself?
Resin. Resin art is so stunning. People make the most amazing and beautiful sculptures using resin, and I don’t think I could ever bring myself to play with something so complicated. There are a lot of ways to cure it, and sometimes, it doesn’t cure properly…I already work with enough chaos as it is! I respect resin artists, but I don’t think I would ever touch it. I’ve admired it from a distance. There is an artist I follow who does these resin layer paintings. So they’ll paint a layer of resin, then cure it, and paint on top of the cured layer. They build up these amazing paintings using resin…I could never. Maybe one day!
What is one interaction you had with a fan of yours that has stuck with you over the years?
I still remember…It was my first and only Flame Con in New York. I had a fan come up to my booth. They didn’t say hello or that it was nice to meet me. They started to cry! They cried, and the first words out of their mouth were, “I’ve never seen myself in artwork before.” So, of course, I started to cry! So we were just crying across the table at each other. It was just one of the sweetest interactions, and it really sticks with me still to this day.
What is a recent creative project that you are proud of?
My latest collaboration with the artist Missupacey. We’ve been collaborating for two years now, and our last collaboration was for Midsummer Scream. It was two very cute clown girls, and I designed our T-shirt. It was one of the most fun projects we’ve done in a long time. We love doing collaborative work because it keeps working in the art industry fresh—being able to bounce ideas back and forth. So we do it where someone picks the color palette, and someone picks a theme. We’ll get references together, put them on a big board, and send each other sketches. It’s really nice to work with somebody else.
How has technology changed the way you approach your work?
Honestly, it changed everything. I mean, I used to draw for myself a lot. And while I still do that, I now predominantly draw for my Patrons. For a while, I was drawing for the internet. So I was drawing stuff people wanted to see in terms of plus-sized versions of characters—a plus-sized Poison Ivy or a plus-sized Sailor Moon. My Patrons have allowed me to start drawing for myself again. But technology, for a while, essentially dominated what direction I was taking with my art, so I’m grateful to take some of that power back.
If there is one thing that you want art enthusiasts to remember you by, what would it be?
Body positivity. I would love for them to remember that there is an artist making work that is making people feel good about themselves and about the way they look at themselves.
Top tips on setting up an Artist Alley booth?
Have a method of taking money, have a method of displaying your work, and have a way to take a break. I have a plastic picnic cover that costs like a dollar at any store. All I have to do is clip it to my display grates, and it covers up my entire display. I feel secure enough to take time for myself in a 10-hour workday to eat something, go to the restroom, or even take a moment to breathe and reorganize my inventory. So it’s so funny that this one-dollar piece of plastic is like the most life-saving item in my display of items.
Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?
@mayakern comes to mind. She is another body-positive artist who expanded into making body-positive clothing. She’s amazing, and just to see someone else out there promoting body positivity. Maya’s been doing it longer than I have, I believe. It feels good to know that I’m not alone. Her work is always stunning, and I love her body-positive DnD characters and the fact that she’s still plowing through the clothing industry. For example, she’s expanded from skirts to button-downs and even custom-wrap shirts. I love to see what she’s doing, and it inspires me to pursue different avenues with my own work.
Thank you so much for stopping by and sharing, Jiji! Be sure to check out their Tumblr blog over at @jijidraws.
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mysteriouswolf · 30 days
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I'm going to start this off with saying it hurts. It fucking hurts. It hurts so, so much, and there's parts of me that still desperately want to look for a way out, to make him not the bad guy, but there isn't one.
Wilbur Soot is a fucking asshole. A piece of absolute trash, and it hurts. Because I've looked up to him for so many years now. He's been such an inspiration and comfort in my life, from dealing with issues I have myself, and giving me all the more reason to stay here. And now he's turned out to be like this. To anyone who's been following what I reblog about him, it's conflicting, because my thoughts seem to change by the minute. But I'm hoping in saying this I can clear my head and make a definite decision.
I will never be supporting Wilbur ever again. No matter how much better he gets, I don't care. What he did was unexcusable, and if you think otherwise, you can fuck off of my blog. His "apology" wasn't an apology, and for the most part all he did was defend himself. The responses from other content creators have pushed me to agree that yes, fuck Wilbur. He's an ass. I think I've stated this a couple times.
What he did to them, especially Niki and Tommy was inexcusable as well from what we know, and since Tommy is going on tour in about a week (if he's still going/up to it) PLEASE no one harass him with questions, or how he feels. Please, just leave him alone. I'm sure it's a lot to process for him too- even more than us.
I've seen some posts saying how we should be angry at other content creators for not speaking out sooner, but some of them have hinted at it/tried. And others haven't known enough, or didn't want to start causing something against him. The same reason Shelby didn't want to say his name. Maybe they couldn't. Please leave them alone.
The last thing I would like to say, is maybe controversial. If you disagree with me, I don't care, this is purely my opinion.
You can still enjoy his character. Your stories, your artwork, all that you've done with it. Don't feel bad about keeping it up, because that's yours now. You've worked so hard on it, and cared for that character so much that it's become far more yours than his. In regards to his music, I know his songs have provided a lot of us with comfort, including me. It's going to be really hard for me to stop listening to something I loved, but I'm going to make the effort- especially with his solo albums. Also, please don't harass the other members of Lovejoy. From what we know, they're lovely people, and if you're going to stop listening to them, great, do that, but don't harass them. Please. And if you do choose to listen to them, there's ways you can listen to music without supporting him- in my opinion covers are the best way to do that, but that one is up to you.
To wrap this up, I'd just like to say...please don't send death threats, or threats in general to anyone involved in this situation- including Wilbur. Leave them alone. Please.
This is subject to change if we get more information, but for now and the foreseeable future, this is my stance. I wish everyone hugs and comfort. This sucks. I'm sorry.
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tallulah477 · 3 months
Text
Pretty, But Not Stupid
Extra of Hunting the Tawtute
Kinkmas Day 10: Breath Play
Pairing: Lo’ak x Fem!Human!Reader
Word Count: 3.8K
Warnings: AgedUp!Lo’ak, Dark!Lo’ak, ***NON-CON***, Dub-Con, Breath Play, Choking, Size Difference, Alien Genitalia, Oral (male receiving), P in V, Belly Bulge, Creampie, Scenting, Mention of knots (but no knotting yet), Slight threesome (and Dark!Neteyam), Mentions of death/dead bodies, Reader is not having a good time (although idk...i think she’s having a great time), Mentions of war
A/N: Guess who’s back, besties!! Been MIA, slacking on prompts, and about to lose my fucking mind with all my family around, but I somehow got this done and I’m about to read as many fics as I can before someone else demands my attention.
A/N 2: This was not intended to be a full Part 2 yet, but it's way too long to be called a drabble. So I’m calling it an extra for now until I decide what to call it lmao. Hope y’all like it 🧡
A/N 3: DEDICATED TO @oakbuggy AND THEIR AMAZING ARTWORK (Everyone stop reading and go look at their art rn, all of them are god-tier but the one for Hunting the Tawtute definitely holds a special place in my heart. Thank you again, Buggy! You're amazing!)
Summary: With their father’s impending retirement as Olo’eyktan, Neteyam has more responsibilities to the clan and less time to see his favorite human. Thankfully, Lo’ak is there to pick up the slack.
**PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS - DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ**
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Translations:
Vrrtep - Demon
Tawtute - Human
Sevin - Pretty
Palulukan - Apex predator resembling a lion or panther
(Mountain) Banshee/Ikran - Large, dragon-like aerial predators
Mawey - Calm
Narlor - Beautiful
Tam tam - Calm, be content, there there
Srane - Yes
Yawne - Beloved
Paskalin - Sweet berry (term of endearment)
Their father is stepping down as clan leader - at least that’s what Lo’ak tells you when he comes to visit you in the isolated hut the brothers have set up for you on the side of a cliff face. It was for your own protection, they told you. You couldn’t stay in the village yet, their father would never allow it, and you clearly couldn’t be trusted not to run away if they built you something on the forest floor. 
“Tawtutes with their tiny brains are stupid,” Neteyam had sneered as he hauled your combined weight up the cliff side. Your arms locked around his neck tightly, legs wrapped around his lithe torso as your eyes squeezed shut, determined not to look at the insane height you were being pulled to. “You might think to run away and then become the next meal of a hungry Palulukan.”
“Nah, bro,” Lo’ak said, the grin on his face audible in his teasing words as he climbed up the cliff behind you, ready to catch you if you decided to end it all right there and try your hand at plummeting to your death, no doubt. “Our little vrrtep would never run from us. Right, sevin?”
The hut they built for you was as cozy as it could be. Assembled further into the cave and away from the treacherous cliff side, thick material wrapped around sturdy posts to keep out any harsh weather that the cave itself couldn’t keep out. They’d given you plenty of blankets, assuring you that even though your human nose can’t smell it, their scent is all over them.
“To keep you smelling like us, when we can’t be here to do it ourselves.”
But they’re always around, day after day they come for you. Lo’ak grinning a deceivingly sweet smile and Neteyam’s amber eyes burning holes into your face as they grab at you, pulling you towards them as they all but rip off the loincloth and chest covering they gave you, baring your marked up body to their hungry gazes. They spread you open, fucking you and fucking you until you’re a crying overstimulated mess, drooling and teary under your mask as they fill you up. 
They know exactly how to touch you, where to press, where to rub, where you’re most sensitive. They learned how to play with your body better than you could ever know how, dragging orgasm after orgasm out of your trembling, exhausted body until your left limp and they’ve decided they’ve had enough for the day. 
Your body still struggles to take their cocks (although they love to tell you that you were made for it - “made to be our little cocksleeve”). Your only saving grace is that they’re still not sure if they can knot you. They’ve gotten close to trying, instincts desperate to push that large ball of tissue at the base of their cocks inside your already stuffed to the brim pussy. You feel how they test the resistance, pushing juuuusttt a little deeper, the swollen knot stretching you even farther than you ever thought you could stretch before they back off. 
When they fill you full of their cum, it’s with their own hand squeezing tightly around the knot. 
Usually, it’s both of them. This time, you’re shocked to see only Lo’ak climbing over the edge of the cliff. 
“Neteyam sends his regrets,” Lo’ak says, kneeling down to wrap his arms around your body and press his face into your neck. His flat nose presses against your rapidly increasing pulse point and breathes in your scent. “He said to tell you that he’s sorry he won’t be able to visit you today, but that he’ll make sure to come see your pretty face and fill your tight pussy tomorrow.”
Your face flushes hot at his words, shivering when his nose slides up to nudge just behind your ear, but you stay silent. 
“But that’s good news for me,” He continues. “Because that means I get you all to myself for tonight.”
Neteyam isn’t coming to visit you today because their father is stepping down as clan leader, which means increased training, more hours at council meetings, and less time to sneak off with his captive human. 
“What does that mean?” You can’t help but ask. Lo’ak’s hands smooth down your sides, large palms dragging over your bare skin until they’re squeezing your ass. Your voice cracks at the feel, but you push on, your eyes doing their best to keep contact with his bright amber ones. “Your father stepping down? What does that . . .” 
What does that mean for me?
“Nothing you have to worry about right now,” He says.
Without warning, he stands, pulling you with him so your legs wrap around his torso as he supports you with a hand on your ass. A loud yip rips from his throat, echoing through the cave as he walks you both towards the cliff’s edge. The responding roaring shriek makes you cower against him as the large dragon-like animal lands on the platform behind you, wings flapping hard against the wind. 
“We’re going on an adventure,” Lo’ak says as he walks you closer to the banshee. You whimper, arms locking around his neck so tight you’d think you would be choking him if you could think straight. But you’re not, head whipped around staring wide eyed at the monstrous creature as it turns its head sideways to stare back at you. 
“Lo’ak, no,” You beg through gritted teeth, but he ignores you as he approaches the banshee, his hand settling lovingly on its snout. 
“Mawey,” he coos, carefully rubbing along the blue leathery skin on the banshee’s snout, but you’re not sure if he’s trying to calm the large animal or you. “Mawey, narlor,”
“Lo’ak, no,” You plead, still clinging to his upper body. Tears pool in your eyes and a panicked whimper escapes your lips when you feel the puffing breath of the mountain banshee on your back. “Please, please, no!”
But you’re ignored again, even when your body goes rigid at the feel of that rounded snout pressing against the curve of your spine, hot exhales practically burning your skin as the banshee sniffs at you. Fuck, fuck–you could die. Right now, you could die in a second, that snout pressing into your skin could disappear, replaced with dual rows of long curved teeth that would take only a second to open and bite down and rip you clean in half. 
You can hear the smile in Lo’ak’s voice from where your mask is digging into his collarbone, his soft murmurs of encouragement loud even through your terrified thoughts. “Srane, tam tam. Look at my two beautiful girls, getting along so well.”
He moves swiftly, not leaving room for any more pleading as he bonds with his banshee and climbs on, bringing your clinging body with him. The rush of air as the large animal takes flight makes you squeeze Lo’ak tighter, desperate for safety as you feel the wind bat at your back as the banshee cuts through the sky like a bullet from a gun. 
“Is this all it takes for you to cling to me, sevin?” Lo’ak teases as he rests a secure hand on your trembling figure, all five fingers spread so wide that they nearly span the entirety of your back. “A little ikran ride and I get you all cuddled up, nice and close?”
You ignore his dig, teeth clenching together as you fight to find your voice around the wind rushing around your ears. “W-where are we going?”
Lo’ak nudges his chin against the top of your head. “You’ll see,”
The flight feels like hours. Hours of watching miles and miles of trees and forest thousands of meters below from over Lo’ak’s shoulder. Logically, you know you’re exaggerating. It hasn’t been hours, and even though you’re still high enough to die as a splat on the ground if you were to fall, it's probably not as high as it feels. But heights have never been your friend, and frankly, neither has time management. 
It’s only when the banshee lowers to the ground and Lo’ak dismounts, depositing you on your own two unsteady feet, that you realize where he’s brought you on your ‘adventure’. 
Your mouth opens in horror at the remains of your old home. The RDA outpost, a once tall and strong fortress that housed the lives of hundreds of humans, now practically nothing more than a heap of rubble. The walls once meant to provide safety to those within them have crumbled down, victims of their own explosives used against them by the enemy. Debris lines the paved ground, thick boulders and metal platings that were once walls, bullet shells glinting in the sunlight. There’s a few AMP suits scattered around the battlefield - you can’t see inside them from your vantage point, and you’re terrified of what you might see if you get too close. 
“This way, tawtute,” Lo’ak says, reaching for your hand, but you yank it away before he can grab it. 
“No,” You say, but the firmness in your voice is overshadowed by the shakiness. “No, I’m not going in there.”
“Yes, you are,”
Another headshake. “No,”
Quick as lightning, his hand shoots out and grabs the bottom of your mask, gripping on the valve at the bottom as he bends down so his face is level with yours.
“Demon,” He growls, fangs on display for just a moment. A warning. “You are pretty, but not stupid. You do as I say.”
Fear claws at your throat and your hands immediately latch onto his wrist, silently begging for him to not pull your mask off. He never does, and neither does Neteyam. Not as a punishment at least. When they use your mouth, there’s always a warning - a “hold your breath, yawne,” before the air is cut off from your lungs and your mouth is full of alien cock. But the fear never leaves, the possibility is always there at the forefront of your mind, and you cling to his wrist like the lifeline it is. 
Lo’ak’s face softens at your expression, grip loosening from your mask as his hand slides to cup the back of your neck. “You know I would never hurt you. You need to trust me,”
Hesitantly, you shake your head again. You’re pushing your luck, you know it. But you’ve learned Lo’ak is the more lenient of the brothers and will tolerate more ‘disobedience’ than Neteyam will. “I can’t,”
“Yes, you can. Nothing in there will hurt you. If anyone is left in there, they’re dead,”
And that’s the problem. The terror of facing the place where life as you knew it was ended in a heartbeat. If there’s still people in there, people you once knew, people you talked to, some people who were good, lying on the ground . . . lifeless . . .
In the end, it’s not a choice. Lo’ak sighs, pulling you back in his arms and cradling you to his chest like a toddler. You sniffle, eyes sliding shut, determined to not watch as he walks you towards the remains of the outpost. 
It’s hard to admit, but being carried by the brothers can be really soothing if you let it. They move swiftly, with grace and confidence in every step, careful not to jostle you despite the usually uneven terrain of the forest. It’s even smoother now as Lo’ak walks across the flat pavement of the base. If you close your eyes, it can almost feel like you’re floating.
There’s a loud chu-chunk sound followed by the rapid hiss of air and the loss of sunlight behind your closed lids. You open your eyes to see that Lo’ak has found a still intact entrance, the airlock working to adjust the oxygen levels to whatever lies beyond the interior door. He smiles when the pressure stabilizes, opening the door and stepping into the inside of the base. This time, he doesn’t warn you when he pulls off your mask, the sound of escaping air hitting your ears, but you don’t choke. Instead you can breathe, deep complete breaths without the need for a mask covering your face. 
Lo’ak wastes no time nuzzling his face against yours, sliding his cheek across every new inch of face and neck that he can comfortably reach, a deep content rumble vibrating through his chest. 
Scenting you. 
“I can smell you,” He whispers, lips pressing against your cheek. “Not just you right now, but where you were, where you’ve been, here, within these walls.”
“W-what?”
His feet carry him, guided by an old scent that you can hardly believe is here after so long. But it is, it has to be - you know the journey, have walked it hundreds of times during your time on Pandora, but you can’t imagine that Lo’ak would. You don’t think he ever went inside the outpost during the attack. He shouldn’t know that it's the second hallway instead of the first, shouldn’t know it’s two left turns and one right, and that your door is the 3rd on the left. But he does. 
He even knows which bed was yours and which was your roommate’s, only confirmed when he drops you down onto the thin RDA issued mattress against the far side wall. You land with a yelp, bouncing slightly from the force of the drop, but your noise of surprise is cut off by Lo’ak’s lips against yours.
“Stupid humans,” He growls against your lips. “Can't even breathe air without help. Wish I could teach you, so I wouldn’t have to go without your pretty lips on mine every day.”
You whine into the kiss, his big lips nearly twice the size of yours as they capture your mouth completely. It’s not the first time he’s kissed you, but it’s the first time you can breathe while it happens. 
He pulls away after a few more kisses, his breathing shallow as he reaches for something tied to his loincloth. It’s only then that you see the CO2 mask that’s been attached to his hip this whole time. He pulls the cross strap around his body, the mask hanging low on his chest and the CO2 canister hanging around his hip. He brings the mask to his face with one hand, taking in a few deep breaths, while the other hand works at the ties on his loincloth. 
The material of his covering falls to the ground and he drops the mask in favor of gripping your chin, thumb rubbing soothingly across your cheek. 
“Someone wants to play with you,” He purrs. “Be a good girl and invite him out, okay?”
Your breathing is shaky as you rise up on the bed, knees pressing into the mattress as you come face to face with the flat plane hiding Lo’ak’s cock. His hand moves to the back of your head, guiding you forward until your lips press against the smooth space between his thighs. 
Experience has you knowing what to do now, how to hold onto his thighs with both hands to keep yourself steady as you pepper gentle kisses along the hidden slit. Lo’ak tips his head back at the feel of your tongue sliding along the seam, little teasing kitten licks against the engorging slit that are always from him demanding them, demanding the slower teasing buildup, rather than you being coy. 
He pushes your face harder against him, hissing a ‘yeah, good girl. Like you fucking mean it,’ as he urges you to lick him deeper. When his slit opens, puffy and dripping, you can’t help the moan that falls from your lips as the sweet taste of his slick coats your tastebuds. It controls your body, whatever is in the slick. You feel it, making your body heat up, making you want things you definitely don’t - and you’re in the thick of it now, no mask or breathing breaks to cut whatever effects it usually has on you. It sets your body on fire now, making your thighs clench together as wetness pools in your core, and your brain fuzzes as the first touch of Lo’ak’s cock teases your lips as it starts to slip past the slit. 
You don’t know how long he keeps you there, sucking his cock. He’s dragging it out, taking advantage of the rare opportunity he has now of you without your mask. He drags your mouth along his cock, staring down at you with hooded eyes and letting you suckle gently on the lavender tip. Sometimes he’ll growl, pushing you down harder on his length just to hear you gag when the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat. Other times he’ll pull you off completely, twisting your head so that your lips wrap around his girth from the side, before sliding you slowly back and forth along his length, tongue running over each and every bump and barb along the hot cerulean skin, the bright bioluminescent freckles decorating his cock practically shining under the layer of slick and saliva. 
When he’s finally used you to tease himself enough, he pushes you back flat on the bed, large hands wrapping around your calves and pulling you closer so your ass is just barely hanging off the side. You whimper when he pulls your legs apart, ripping the soaked loincloth from your body, hungry amber eyes staring at your swollen, wet cunt.
“Such a pretty girl,” He moans. The tip of his cock slides along your folds, nudging against your clit before sliding back down and positioning at your entrance. “You ready?”
Your brain is fuzzy and your clit is throbbing, hole clenching with the need to be filled. You close your eyes, looking away from his intense gaze - you don’t want it, you try to remind yourself, you don’t, he’s making you. But a swift smack on your thigh makes your eyes fly open again, Lo’ak’s hard gaze seeming to cut into your very soul.
“Say it, demon. Wanna hear you say it,”
A small cry escapes your lips, body unconsciously trying to bear down on his cock even as you shake your head. He shifts forward just the tiniest bit, lavender tip just barely pressing against your drooling hole enough for it to start to stretch before stopping again. 
“‘Need you, Lo'ak,” he recites, brow cocked, expecting you to repeat it. “Say it.”
“Fuck!” Is what comes out instead - a whiny, frustrated curse, that has your eyes tearing up again and Lo’ak’s ears pinning back against his skull.
His hand is quick to wrap around your throat, fingers digging into the blood vessels at the side of your neck as he hisses down at you. Your hands wrap around his wrist again, fingernails digging in and no doubt leaving red crescent shaped marks in the blue skin. He’s not squeezing your neck, not crushing your windpipe out of anger. You can breathe, the gulping breaths your gasping for are making it into your lungs, but the fingers pressing into the blood vessels make it feel like you can’t. Your head is clouding again, fuzzing like TV static, vision going blurry as his hand doesn’t relent. 
“Fine,” He grunts. “You don’t wanna talk? Don’t.”
You want to scream when he pushes forward, cock bullying its way past your entrance and inside you, stretching you and filling you up. It’s slow and torturous as he fills you impossibly full, the barbs along his length scraping ruthlessly against your slick walls. He sighs, ears flicking in pleasure as your heat envelopes him, stretching around his girth so perfectly he swears you were made for him. 
You can feel the bulge in your belly, the pressure disappearing and reappearing again as he begins to move inside of you. Long, purposeful strokes meant as a punishment, meant to make you feel every agonizingly blissful inch of him as he fucks into your soaked cunt, harder and harder with each thrust. Your mouth moves trying to form words, sound fleeting save for the barely there whispers of ‘fuck’, ‘oh my god’, and ‘please’. Lo’ak hears them anyway, leaning down to silence you with a filthy kiss. His hips pound against yours, unrelenting in their mission to completely fuck the soul of your body, and the sound of slapping skin against skin mix with Lo’ak’s groans and your barely audible breathy whines. 
Lo’ak’s fingers find their way to your swollen clit, rubbing persistently at the sensitive nub until you're crying into his mouth, thighs trying desperately to close together but can’t because of his body between them. The thick press of his knot against your entrance is what pushes your oversensitive body over the edge.
At the first suffocating clench of your pussy around his cock, Lo’ak releases your throat letting all the air it felt like you weren’t getting back into your lungs in a rush of oxygen. You gasp, crying against his lips as you arch up against him, creaming pussy fluttering around him as you cum on his cock. He growls when your teeth latch onto his bottom lip, blunt teeth digging in enough to draw blood, but the way he immediately grabs your hips, shoving his knot against you as hard as he would dare without actually penetrating you, tells you that it was a lust filled growl this time, not an angry one. 
He moans when he spills himself inside you, face pressed against your neck as he fills you up. You swear it feels almost scorching hot, heating you up from the inside and then out as it spills from around Lo’ak’s still buried cock and runs down the curve of your ass and onto the bed sheets. 
Someone clears their throat from behind Lo’ak, and you gasp at the sudden sound, frantically trying to look around Lo’ak’s hulking body to see who it is. 
Lo’ak sighs, undisturbed by sudden intrusion, even going as far as rolling his eyes before slowly pulling out of your used cunt - more of his cum spilling out onto the bed now that he’s not still inside you to keep it in. “Wasn’t expecting you today, bro,”
Your eyes widen when he moves out of the way, revealing a smug looking Neteyam in the doorway, still very much dressed up in his warrior’s gear. 
“I had to make time to see our pretty little demon,” Neteyam says, bright amber eyes sweeping over your exhausted form. He crosses the room with three long strides, one knee pressing into the bed as he leans down to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “That was a nice show. I know you’re tired, paskalin,”
His eyes meet yours, amber irises practically swallowed up by the blacks of his pupils. A hand presses against your belly, sneaking down towards your oversensitive pussy, his pointer finger reaching out to tap against your clit as you whine. 
“But it’s really not fair that you smell more like Lo’ak than me now, is it?”
**Special thanks to @neteyamsyawntu for the prompt!
Taglist: @eywaite @loaksulluyswife @erenjaegerwifee @f-cklife @beautiful-brown-skin-05 @anastasia1777-blog @localjasmine @tsewtx @skywonder @neteyamswillow @luvv4j4ybe11 @pandoraslxna @avatarwifey
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saint--claire · 2 months
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When I was a little child, there was a particular library book I checked out week after week, endlessly renewing it as much as I was able. The book, How to Raise and Keep a Dragon by John Topsell was a quasi-nonfiction guide to, as you guessed, rearing different species of dragons. I loved it. Tiny-me had plans.
As an adult, I tried to buy it a few times. No dice. The book was so old that no mainstream bookseller stocked it. Even when I tried niche websites recommended by various booksellers and librarians, I still couldn't find it. It was sadly lost to time, apparently not popular enough to make it into the archives.
But.
My best friend had a copy of that book. We're going to call her G, for several reasons not relevant at the moment. I was discussing my search with G one day, for some reason I can't remember now. She got a funny look on her face, asked me a few questions about the cover, listened to me do a very poor job of explaining with my hands how the hardcover copy had included a real gemstone in the dragon's forehead, and then went off to fish it out of her bookcase.
I was Gobsmacked.
I should not have been, given that the history of shared childhood books between us both would have made a circle with ragged edges, more so than a venn diagram, but I digress. The book came home to live in my house for a few months, and I was delighted by the chance to read it again.
Do people remember those type of books? Dragonology, Egyptology, The Stone Age - a way of introducing children to non fiction. They very earnestly spoke about the responsibilities needed to raise dragons, the practicalities involved. There was a record of registration you could fill out, if you had carefully considered the information to your self and felt you were responsible enough to to go through with adopting a dragon.
I vaguely remember filling out some of the riddle and puzzle questions in the Dragonology books. I would never have written in John Topsell's book, it was a library book.
But.
When I re-read G's copy at home, smiling over the familiar artwork, I was surprised to turn the page and find the painstaking, somewhat-wonky handwriting staring back at at me. Baby G, with her name spelled out in freshly-joined but still-not-quite-got-the-hang-of-this-yet cursive lettering. Baby G had filled the registration out in her best handwriting, in glittery green gel pen to denote the importance of the document. This was compared to the earlier, less important checklists done in plain black ink.
I read the registration certificate. Smiled. Smiled some more at the names listed for G's dragon, her dam, and her sire - Eragon was also a great book. Go off, Christopher Paolini.
Breed; standard Western Dragon. The box 'miniture' was ticked, to show that G's dragon was of the minature specic variety, rather than a full size dragon. This was, as she would later explain to me, chosen on the basis that baby-G felt it was the more financially responsible choice. Also so she could keep her dragon in her house with her, but we're not there yet.
I looked at that certificate. Looked at it again. Looked at the calendar, and then looked at the sewing machine I had just been given for Christmas.
G celebrates her birthday in January.
The template came first. I studied the different images of the standard western dragon through the book, picked my favourite, and re-drew it to a significantly larger scale.
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Inking the design to the fabric, four times over probably took the longest.
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I very subtly asked G the next time she was over (after hurling all dragon-related materials in a panic into the depths of my wardrobe) what type of colour dragon she would have, should it come up. As G later said, that type of question from me truly did not register as anything other than a question asked from theoretical interest. I transitioned the topic as discreetly as I could after she answered, and delightfully, my sneakiness went in one ear, out the other, and she forgot I had ever asked until several weeks later.
I enjoyed painting them.
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Don't ask me how many mistakes I made through this process. So many. I do already know how to sew, but it's been a long time. I'd been meaning to get back into it for a while.
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Given that various aunts and grandmothers and my mother had a knack for calling when I was up to my elbows in either paint or pins, it became a family affair. Each of them peered at the project through face time and offered their advice.
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Some of the advice I took, some I didn't. No regrets about sewing it in pink thread. Considerable regrets about accidentally slicing one of the feet in half and having to fix that.
In the end though, she was finished.
I carefully pinned on her name tag, with the name baby-G had chosen with a little blue ribbon. A collar was unacceptable, this is a dragon, people, come on. Dragon's don't wear collars.
I put the book in the box, open to the registration certificate, and put the dragon on top. Wrapped the whole thing up with a bow and then refused to touch it before I sent myself mad trying to fix details that didn't really need to be fixed.
A bit late for her birthday, sure, but there we are. We'd gone for a trip off to nowhere for a weekend, to go try wine made out of blueberries and hike up a waterfall. (And climb on it. And swim in it. It was a very good waterfall).
I gave her the box, informed her she wasn't allowed to keep the box, just the contents (it was the only thing I had that was big enough for me to keep all of my A3 portfolios in, it had only been temporarily-repurposed as dragon housing), and then left the next bit up to the gods.
A surprise, sitting un-awaited for some 15 years in amber, to catch up to baby G and adult G together.
Happy Birthday, baby and adult G.
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sapphire-writes · 1 year
Text
Teacher's Pet (modern!HOTD)
read the second installment Lessons
pairing: professor!Aemond x student!Reader
summary: A night out during the spring semester of your senior year of university leads to a run-in with your former professor.
warnings: NSFW 18+ (explicit sex, unprotected, fingering, oral fem-receiving, overstimulation, titty sucking, praise, degrading language) mature themes, power imbalance
word count: 4.5k
note: I got a saucy little anon saying y'all needed a student x teacher fic from me, and to celebrate 3,000 besties I had to deliver!! thanks for all the love and support, you all mean the absolute world to me! Excited to keep creating for you all, ilysm 😘
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You and your best friend Sara Snow grew up together, and spent nearly every waking moment attached at the hip. You know those friends you have that are more like siblings than friends? Sara was more like your twin. So when she stayed in your hometown going to Winterfell State, and you traveled to Citadel University, it was like you’d lost a limb. 
Which meant you had to visit each other as frequently as possible. Sometimes you’d travel back home and visit Sara, and other times she’d come to you. Sara preferred visiting you, she loved the wine bars and clubs of Oldtown.
“The vibe is just different here,” she says, sipping her wine, “I love it. Very chic.”
You’d chosen a new wine bar to explore this time around. It’s a super cute place, with low lighting and a chalkboard bar and tables, with chalk for drawing laid out on all the tables. Sara, being mentally 12 years old, had already drawn a veiny cock in front of you. You swipe it away with your hand.
“Rudeness!” she says, pouting as you destroy her artwork. 
“Stop drawing dicks,” you tell her and she narrows her eyes.
“You’ll have to kill me,” she teases, eyes flickering toward a blonde girl who passes on her way to the bathroom.
“You’re staring,” you tell her and she sticks her tongue out at you.
“She’s been staring at me for a while,” Sara tells you, grinning, “I for one, plan to get laid tonight.”
“I love that for you,” you tell her, smiling. 
“This guy at the bar, totally checking you out right now,” Sara says, sipping on her wine. 
Your face flushes and you turn your head slightly to look. Sara makes a noise of disapproval, setting her glass down.
“Don’t look,” she whispers, pushing some dark hair over her shoulders. 
“I’m not,” you hiss, tilting your head.
“You totally are,” Sara accuses.
“What’s he look like?” you ask.
Sara’s dark eyes scan the man, you watch them move seemingly over his form.
“Tall, platinum blonde, like seriously, must have an extensive hair care routine,” she says, nodding, “We love that, love a man with good hygiene.”
You snicker, living for her analysis. 
“He’s lean, but like you can tell he’s muscular,” she glances at you, “I know you’re a hand whore, and I can tell he’s got nice hands.”
“You’re so rude,” you accuse, blushing because she’s right. 
Sara scoots off of her seat. 
“C’mon, we’re going over there,” she tells you.
“Okay,” you agree and she links your arm pulling you from your seat.
You finally get a look at the guy and your stomach drops.
It’s your professor.
Not this semester, but last semester. Westerosis Literature taught by Professor Aemond Targaryen. A great class, hard as hell. He worked you fucking hard for that A. You mean to tell Sara but you’re still in shock as you come face to face.
“Hey there,” Sara says, smiling sweetly, “I couldn’t help but notice you checking out my friend, thought you’d like to buy her a drink? Maybe keep her company while I visit the loo?”
Aemond’s eyes rake over you, clearly recognizing you. You blush furiously, mouth gaping. 
“She likes Sauvignon Blanc,” Sara tells him, motioning to the bartender, “I’ll be back, take care of my girl.”
And with that, she flounces off toward the restroom.
“I’m sorry professor,” you tell him, nervously playing with your fingers, “If I had known it was you I wouldn’t have let her drag me over here.”
“Something tells me your friend would be hard to deny,” he tells you as the bartender comes over, “A glass of Sauvignon Blanc please, and I’ll take another gin and tonic.”
You flush as the bartender nods, getting your drinks. 
“She’s very persistent,” you tell him, nodding in agreement and casting your eyes to the floor. 
Aemond cannot keep his eyes off your glowing cheeks, the way your lashes flutter against them as you avert your gaze. 
“I can just take this back to the table,” you say, grabbing the glass of Sauvignon Blanc he paid for. 
Aemond shakes his head.
“You shouldn’t drink alone,” he tells you, patting the empty chair next to him, “Indulge me for a bit, will you?”
You look back towards the table you shared with Sara, though she has yet to return to it. She’s probably chatting up that girl she had her eyes on. You bring your gaze back to Aemond.
“Okay, if you’re sure you’re comfortable with that,” you tell him, slipping onto the stool. 
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“Because that paper was cruel and unusual punishment, even for you,” you tell Aemond through a laugh.
You’re on your third glass of wine, the hours ticking away as you converse with your former professor. Sara has made herself scarce, though she’s been texting you. 
“You did rather well if I recall correctly,” he says, with a sly smile on his face.
You roll your eyes, taking another sip. You’ve always been a good student. 
“Only because I dedicated a week of sleepless nights to that assignment. Seriously, you should be paying for my therapy after that,” you tease, leaning your cheek against your hand. 
You’ve gotten closer to him during the night, your knees brushing against his thigh, heel clad foot mindlessly rubbing against his calf. You’re not sure if it’s the wine or the ease of the conversation that has you feeling so comfortable around him. 
“Send me the bill,” he jokes back, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. 
“I’ll put it in your mailbox tomorrow,” you giggle, taking another sip, “You know, I was really disappointed when your Essosi Literature class was full this semester.”
“Is that so?” he asks, sipping his gin and tonic, raising an eyebrow at you. 
“Now I’ll never have the chance to take it,” you continue, “Unless you teach a summer course, otherwise your popularity has thrown off my entire plan of study.”
“My apologies,” he insists, grinning at you, “My popularity, you say? I thought I was a hard ass.”
“Oh you are,” you assure him, “But that doesn’t mean you’re not popular.”
“How so?” he pushes, a long finger dancing around the rim of his empty glass.
Your eyes follow the circle he traces, up the veins on the back of his hands. How have you never noticed how sexy his hands are? You’ve never been this close to him, his lectures always held in one of the large lecture halls on campus rather than the more intimate classroom settings. You wet your lips, desire pooling in your belly before you meet his eyes once more. 
“You know,” you tell him, unable to keep the secretive smile off of your face, “I mean, you must know.”
“Know what?” he murmurs, staring at you with such intensity it makes your thighs tremble. 
You brush a strand of hair behind your ear, chewing on your lower lip. This will be your last glass of wine, you feel too giddy, too at ease in the presence of your professor. You’re going to regret this little flirtation in the morning, you can feel it in your bones. But the alcohol is liquid courage, and you’re a senior after all. Once this semester is over, you’re out in the real world, done with Citadel University. 
“You’re popular with the ladies of campus,” you tell him, “and the men, and everyone else.”
Aemond quirks an eyebrow at you. 
“Oh really?” he asks.
“Of course, I mean you’re the youngest tenured professor, you are a hard ass grader but your lectures are so enticing, and it helps you’re easy on the eyes-”
You choke as soon as the sentence escapes you. A freudian slip if you’ve ever had one. Aemond’s mouth quirks up into a wolfish grin.
“I’m so sorry,” you tell him, covering your mouth.
“It’s alright,” he assures you, but you’re off on a nervous ramble.
“That was seriously so shallow of me and inappropriate to say-”
“Y/N,” he says, resting a hand on your knee, “It’s alright, really.”
You laugh nervously, enjoying the feeling of his hand on your leg. You can feel the heat it emits through your tights. His hand is huge, and you lose yourself in the moment wondering how it might feel against the bare flesh of your thighs, you neck-
“I should see if Sara texted,” you tell him, reaching for your phone.
You’re greeted by a dropped pinned location and a text from Sara saying she went home with the blonde from earlier. Lucky bitch. 
“And she’s left me,” you say aloud. 
“Everything alright?” Aemond asks.
“Yeah, yeah. This has been great,” you tell him, “Thank you for keeping me company, but I should probably get home, call an Uber.”
“Let me drive you,” Aemond insists, “It’s no problem.”
You bite your lip. You shouldn’t do this right? He’s your professor, your teacher. 
“Are you sure?” you ask and he nods.
That’s how you end up in the passenger seat of his mercedes, the dark leather seats warm and inviting. You know you’re staring as you watch him drive, long fingers gripping the wheel, the other hand resting on his knee. 
As you pull up to your apartment, you swallow the lump that has formed in your throat. You almost want to invite him up. He watches you closely, as though sensing the words swimming around your head. No, you're not doing this.
“Thank you, professor, I appreciate it,” you tell him, leaving it at that. 
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“I think I embarrassed myself big time Sara,” you tell her groaning on the phone. 
There wasn’t much time to debrief the night before Sara had to head back to Winterfell. You brought yourself to the campus coffee shop, settling in to complete some homework while you had some free time. 
You’d been staring at your laptop screen, and the empty word doc that was pulled up, for the better part of an hour before deciding to call Sara. 
“You did not,” she insists, “I don’t care if he is your professor, he was totally into you.”
“He was just being polite.”
“I know polite, and I know eye fucking. Professor Big Dick was the latter,” Sara insists.
“Sara!”
“You know I’m right,” she tells you.
“Fuck,” you tell her, placing a hand against your forehead.
“Look, if you’re that worried about it, go talk to him,” Sara says, “Drop by his office or something, bring him a coffee and tell him you’re sorry.”
“You don’t think that’s weird?” you ask, nervously chewing your thumb.
“I think it's weird you didn’t suck his dick when he drove you home,” she answers honestly.
“Bye Sara,” you tell her.
“Love you too bitch,” she says, making a kissing noise into the receiver. 
You decide to take Sara’s advice, bringing Aemond a coffee as an apology for your behavior. You walk through the building; it’s quiet with no classes, not many people pass you on your way to the faculty offices. Most doors are closed, but you see Professor Targaryen’s door is ajar, signaling his presence. 
You’d been to his office one time before, dropping in for office hours the previous semester when working on your midterm. He grilled you hard, and you left feeling frustrated but with a strong desire to please him. You always did crave academic validation. 
You knock on the door, greeted by Aemond’s gentle timbre telling you to enter. He’s seated behind his desk, a book open on his lap. He’s wearing gray slacks, a simple button down shirt and his silver hair is pulled away from his face in a loose, low bun. His violet eye lights up as you enter, blue sapphire prosthetic winking in the afternoon light that filters through his window.
“I don’t mean to intrude,” you tell him, closing the door behind you.
You walk further into the room and place the coffee cup on his desk.
“What’s this?” he asks, closing his book and placing it on the desk. 
“An apology from a tremendously bright student?” you tell him, smiling nervously.
“What do you need to be apologizing for?” he asks, picking up the coffee, inspecting the order on the side.
You chose black to be safe, not knowing this is how he preferred his coffee. Aemond takes a sip, humming appreciatively. 
“I just really didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, I know I was a little tipsy, and I hope I didn’t cross a line or anything,” you tell him. 
Aemond stands, picking up his book and walking over to his bookshelf. It’s stacked with books, classics and other contemporary novels. 
“You’re very thoughtful, Ms. Y/L/N,” he comments, sliding the book back where it belongs. 
“Thank you, professor,” you tell him.
“If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me,” he tells you, walking in front of his desk.
He leans his back against it, resting his palms on the edge. 
“Why would you apologize?” you ask, tilting your head with curiosity.
“Well, if anyone’s responsible for making our interaction inappropriate it's me,” he tells you, jutting out his sharp chin, “I’m your professor, you’re my student.”
You flick an eyebrow up at him.
“You were my professor,” you tell him, “I’m not in your class anymore.”
“Still, that power imbalance doesn’t just go away,” he insists, eyes meeting yours.
There it is again, that look. The one with such intensity it makes your knees weak. You can see his tongue poking his cheek as though he’s contemplating something. Your breath catches in your throat and you nervously wet your lips. 
“I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,” you tell him, “No more flirting with strangers at wine bars for me.”
“I’m not a stranger,” he says.
“You know what I mean,” you tell him. 
The air between you is warm and inviting. It’s like the bar all over again, you can feel some invisible force pulling you closer to him with every word you exchange. It’s so effortless, this playful banter, you fall into it easily with him. You have to stop, have to stop before you cross another line. 
“Anyway, take the coffee,” you tell him, “and let me know if you decide to run that summer class, cause I’ll totally take it.”
“You’re graduating,” he teases.
“They’ll let me hang around, I can be very persuasive,” you insist, kicking yourself for the insinuation.
Aemond lets out a breathless laugh. 
“I’m sure,” he says smirking. 
You stare a moment longer, appreciating how his tall, lean frame looks resting against his desk. Your gaze drops to his hands again. His hands. You blink, steadying yourself, but he’s definitely noticed the mental lag you had. 
“Goodbye, Professor,” you tell him, “Have a good rest of your day.”
You turn walking toward the door. You reach for the handle, pulling it open slightly before a hand reaches above your head, pushing it shut. He keeps his hand on the door as you turn around to face him. 
“Don’t leave,” he murmurs, bringing his opposite hand to trace a line down the side of your face, before cupping your cheek.
Your breathing turns ragged as his thumb strokes your cheekbone. He’s so close you can feel his breath on your lips, and smell his cologne. His hand strokes the doorframe, following into down until he reaches the handle, flicking the lock into place. 
“I thought we weren’t doing this,” you whisper, hands clenched into fists at your sides. 
“Then why’d you come here?” he purrs.
“I was being nice,” you tell him, as he brings his other hand to your waist, pulling you against him.
“Such a good girl you are,” he whispers and then his lips are on yours. 
Your hands fly to his neck instinctively, pulling him as close to you as possible. His mouth feels so perfect against yours, the mingled taste of spearmint and coffee sharp on your tongue as you greedily drink him in. Your hands fist the back of his shirt. 
You’re practically gasping against his mouth as his hands move to cup your ass, before he bends his knees to lift you up by your thighs. You wrap your legs around his slender waist, continuing to kiss him all the while, moaning as he slips his tongue into your mouth. 
He turns, walking you away from the door and placing you on the corner of his desk, hastily brushing his arm to move loose papers and knick knacks out of the way, sending them crashing towards the floor. Not that either of you care. Your hands work quickly, tearing at the buttons on his shirt, revealing his chest. Your nails rake down his abs, reaching for his belt. You’re desperate and you don’t care, you need to feel him inside you. 
Aemond removes his lips from yours, laughing breathlessly at your eagerness before swatting your hands away. 
“Let me,” he murmurs, sinking to his knees in front of you. 
His hands travel up your thighs and you squirm against his touch as they disappear beneath your skirt. You feel his dexterous fingers loop through your underwear pulling it off of you. You assist him, bunching your skirt in your hands revealing your dripping cunt to him.
“So wet for me,” he purrs, “Are you always like this?”
“Fuck,” you mewl as his tongue flicks out, tasting the wetness between your folds.
He hums with appreciation, as though tasting a fine wine. Aemond pressing his face into you, nose nuzzling against your clit, sending spark waves of pleasure dancing upwards toward your navel. His tongue swirls around your center, dipping into your tight heat. 
“Did you sit through my lectures with your pussy dripping like this?” he asks, voice rough with desire. 
You squirm against his mouth as he wraps his lips around your needy clit, suckling gently and flicking his tongue around the sensitive nub. Your hand flies to the back of his head, foot digging into his shoulder blade. 
His hand squeezes your inner thigh roughly, before slapping the tender flesh causing you to cry out. 
“Oh gods,” you moan, head tilting back in the throes of pleasure. 
“I bet you did,” he answers his own question, smirking at you. 
He moves his attention away from your clit momentarily, dragging a finger through your folds. You can’t see his hands but you can picture them, his long, skilled fingers as you feel him sink one into your tight heat. 
Your spine curves, pushing your pussy closer toward his face as his finger searches for that special spot inside of you. 
“Oh fuck, fuck!” you cry as the pad of his finger pressing against the spot inside of you that paints stars behind your eyelids.
Aemond glances up at you, watches as your brow creases with pleasure, and your mouth forms a perfect O shape. 
“There we go,” Aemond purrs, wasting no time and slipping another finger inside of you. 
Every crook of his fingers has you trembling against him, his pace relentless as pressing against your g-spot. He brings his attention back to your throbbing clit, increasing the pleasure building in your abdomen, tingling up your spine. His tongue laps away, little kitten licks against the sensitive button drawing you closer and closer to orgasm with each flick. 
Tears well in the corners of your eyes and your nails dig harshly into his scalp, not that he seems to mind. Aemond simply groans against you, the vibrations only adding to your pleasure. 
“I’m gonna come,” you pathetically whine, shaking against the desk.
“That’s a good girl, c’mon,” Aemond insists, slipping a third finger inside you.
The wet slurping of your soaked cunt echoes in the room as he never relents the stokes of his fingers, the flicking of his tongue. It’s all too much and the tightly wound coil of pleasure inside you snaps with a strangled sob. As your high washes over you, all the tension in your body releases. 
Only Aemond doesn’t stop.
“Professor,” you moan, feeling the wave cresting inside of you again.
His fingers are soaked, easily sliding in and out of your greedy cunt. 
“Please, please, it’s too much,” you beg, slumping against the desk.
“But you’re such a good girl,” he insists, “You deserve one more, give me one more.”
“I can’t- holy shit!” you squeak, as his lips suck your clit.
You’ve never been treated like this before. One orgasm-if you’re lucky-has been your experience with your past lovers. But you can’t deny him as his fingers work their magic, his tongue swirls around your puffy clit. 
“Yes you can,” he purrs, and of course he’s right as you feel yourself thrown over the edge of pleasure once more. 
“One more,” Aemond insists and you feel tears leaking down your cheeks.
“Professor I can’t-” you tell him, and he shushes you.
“One more, on my cock, huh?” he asks, unbuckling his belt, “Yeah, you like that idea baby?”
Your eyes light up, and you push yourself on your elbows to watch as he reveals his impressive length. Sara’s always told you guys who are lean are usually well endowed. Boy was she right. Your eyes widen taking in his length, as he grips it in his hand, pumping it. You bite your lip, watching precum leak from the reddened tip.
“I changed my mind,” he says roughly, dragging you toward him like a wolf with its prey, “Two more, you’ll give me two more.”
Your eyes are round as he drags his cock through your folds. You wiggles as he drags the tip over your clit, up and down, using your arousal as lubricant. 
“You’ll cum just like this,” he says, continuing the movement against your sensitive clit.
You’re squeaking and moaning embarrassingly, wriggling like a trapped kitten as he holds your thigh tightly with one hand, while the other continues to rub the head of his cock against your clit. Your third orgasm builds quickly and crashes over you just as powerful as the first two, leaving you gasping for air. 
“So pretty like this,” Aemond murmurs, bringing a hand to the back of your neck to kiss you. 
You whimper against his mouth and his hands move to your shirt, breaking the kiss only to pull the material off of your head. You reach around to unclip your bra, leaving your breasts free and hanging heavy with need. Aemond brings his attention to them immediately, his erection pressing against your thigh as he circlies your nipple with his hot mouth, sucking on your breast. 
You’re babbling uncontrollably at this point as he switches, suckling at your neglected other breast before aligning his cock with your soaked entrance. 
“You sure?” he asks, hesitating for a moment. 
“I’m on birth control,” you manage to gasp, “I’m sure, please, please.”
Aemond grins wolfishly before sinking into your wet heat. His jaw slacks as your pussy greedily accepts him, warm walls holding him firmly inside as he stretches you out.
“So fucking tight,” he murmurs, slowly dragging out only to thrust back in, balls slapping against your ass. 
Your head is full of cotton at this point, unable to form coherent thoughts as he plows into you. His hands rest securely on your lower ribs, as your own hands grip the back of your thighs, allowing your legs to bend at the knee. Your back is arched off of the desk, head thrown back and mouth hanging open in pleasure. 
“You like that?” he asks.
You can’t find it in you to reply, answering only in a breathy moan. Aemond merely chuckles.
“Awww did I fuck you stupid, baby?” he teases, causing you to whimper.
He feels so fucking good, sliding easily in and out of your tight walls, the sounds of lewd, wet slapping filling his office. It’s filthy, it’s erotic, and it’s so so bad of you but you can’t help but love the position you’ve found yourself in. 
“I think I did,” he continues, “Poor, silly, baby thought she could handle it her professor fucking her.” 
Desire and humiliation tingle up your spine, spreading across your body like wildfire at his taunts. The pitch of your moans increase as he brings his fingers to play with your clit. 
“She’s all cockdumb now,” Aemond croons, squeezing your breast.
He releases your breast to bring a hand to grab at your chin.
“Look at me,” he demands, and you do so with tears in your eyes.
The head of his cock bullies against your sweet spot, rubbing the tender spot with precise devotion. 
“You’re going to cum all over my cock,” he tells you, “Soak my cock like the good little girl you are.”
He keeps his hand on your face, forcing you to look at him as he plows into you and your fourth orgasm rolls over you. It’s intense, almost painful with the pleasure it brings you as your walls clamp down against his cock. 
“Fuck, baby,” he moans as you tighten around him and he chases his own release.
“I’m going to fill this pretty pussy up,” he tells you, and you feel him spill inside of you, warmth flooding through you. 
You stay connected for a moment, relishing the feeling of him inside of you. You’re incredibly sensitive from the overstimulation as he begins to pull out, moaning slightly with the loss of contact. 
Aemond grabs some tissues, gently wiping down your inner thighs and beginning to clean you up. He glances up at you as you attempt to find your bearings.
“Holy. Hell.” you tell him, breathing heavily. 
Aemond smirks.
“Was that too much?” he asks, a note of concern in his voice. 
You shake your head. 
“That was amazing,” you tell him, shyly looking away. 
You grab your bra, putting it on and reaching for your shirt as he stands. You clip your bra, pulling your shirt over your head as he hands you your discarded panties. 
“Thanks,” you tell him, standing on shaky legs.
You nearly fall over putting your panties back on, Aemond’s arms catch you, helping you stand. 
You chuckle nervously. 
“You sure you’re alright?” he asks, his arms still holding you.
“Yeah,” you assure him, “I should go though.”
“Of course,” he tells you.
You move toward the door but pause, turning to look at him. He’s just finishing buttoning up his shirt.
“Was this…was this a one time thing?” you ask.
Aemond looks up at you.
“It should be,” he tells you.
Your heart flutters in your chest, and a smirk tugs at your lips.
“That’s not an answer,” you tell him.
He smirks at you.
“No, it isn’t,” he agrees. 
You hold his gaze a moment more. 
“I’ll see you around, professor,” you tell him, unlocking the door and leaving his office. 
You walk quickly, heat pounding, desperate to get back to your apartment and call Sara. You hop on the campus bus, holding tightly to the railing, trying to ignore the dull ache between your legs, and the warmth of Aemond’s cum that is still trickling down your thighs. 
Boy are you fucked. 
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note: I hope you liked it my loves! Again, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!! For all your support and love. I'm truly so lucky to have such amazing support on this site and a place to post my silly little stories. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!! until next time besties 😘
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difficultdomains · 3 months
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affection
summary: after suguru leaves, you notice curses lingering around you. you go to confront him about it, but by meeting him again, you discover that some things seem to remain intact, even when you expect them to have been broken long ago.
c/w: sfw, sorcerer!reader, cultleader!geto, swearing, smoking & cigarettes, lovers to enemies to lovers kind of??, reader was negatively impacted by geto leaving & is lowkey obsessed with him, geto is lowkey obsessed with reader hehe, POV switches, no use of y/n
w/c: 1.2k
a/n: this was a just random thought that refused to leave my brain after i saw this (artwork by the great @521jie on X/Twitter!!). this is the verY first time i’ve ever written a proper fic (in my noTES APP ekkxkd) and posted it soooo (hELP LMAO) see it as an experiment. anyways enjoy - or don’t, your choice.
💿: no devotion - TENDER (A-side) // ache - FKA twigs (B-side)
————————————————————————
An auditory hallucination.
There was no other plausible way to explain this.
When he heard his own name cutting through the pattering hum of the rain, he couldn’t help but choke on the cigarette smoke he’d just inhaled, violent coughs instantly ripping through his lungs.
Lured into turning towards the strangely familiar voice, he expected to be met with nothing but endless rows of trees surrounding his temple.
Auditory and visual? Can‘t be.
It really was you - stalking towards him through the muddy grass, hair glued to your wet cheeks, and wearing a scowl he had never seen on your face before.
His name slipped over your lips again, raw animosity packed tightly into each syllable. It made his heartbeat stutter - but not out of fear. He tried his best to suppress a smile.
”You need to stay the fuck out of my business,” you snarled, almost baring your teeth at him like a wild animal.
You looked disheveled at best, uniform dirty and ripped like you‘d just come from a fight - or a particularly rough mission.
He tilted his head, losing against the lopsided grin that spread across his lips.
You were even more alluring than he remembered.
Your stance, your demeanor, your energy - you were there, right in front of him - but you felt so different.
It must be true then.
Mere months after he had left, the rumours surrounding you caught up to him. You had changed, evolved, fallen heir to that damned position that previously belonged to him.
It had made you impulsive. Reckless even.
There were whispers of binding vows and devilish pacts - your soul exchanged for power. That one he could only ever scoff at.
Ridiculous.
Your soul was already spoken for, traded on a mellow spring evening many years ago, the same day he had lost his own.
Through the nagging ache in his stomach he had tried to convince himself that you were someone who wouldn’t venture out and look for trouble - just because you could.
At least that’s who you used to be.
So the very moment he sent out that first curse, tasked solely with keeping a watchful eye over you while you complete your missions, he was aware that you would absolutely hate this - if you ever found out.
And now it seemed like you had.
”You came all this way just to tell me that?“
He took another drag of his burned-out cigarette, feigning nonchalance to conceal his shaky hands. Fucking adrenaline.
”This could’ve been a text, darling.“
Withstanding the look of your frozen-over eyes was easy. But he did wonder if the ice around your irises was unbreakable.
You scoffed at him. What a bastard.
Three years.
For three whole years, you had seen remnants of his face in every person you passed on the street. Found traces of his energy in every grotesque curse you exorcised.
The slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, the limitless patience in his eyes - you were cursed with never forgetting them. There was hardly a day where your subconscious hadn‘t forced you to face him, awake or asleep.
And now there he was - flashing you that same old stupid smile. Your lungs constricted with every breath.
His hair was longer than the last time you’d seen him, his features sharper, more refined. You clenched your cold fingers into fists, physically denying yourself the primal urge to just reach out and touch.
He must have been woven out of pure magnetism, his mere presence was enough to pull you towards him. It was impossible to blame anyone for mistaking him for some celestial being and finding themself trapped in his orbit.
You had been his first victim, after all.
However, he had made his choice.
And you had made yours.
A definite, irreversible reminder, stomping out any links that existed between you two.
Or at least it should have.
The driving anger that had brought you here in the first place crept its way back into your guts, pushing away any residual fondness and making you cross your arms and lift your chin. You were not going to humor his remark with a response.
“Why?“ A demand, not a question.
“Why do you send them after me?“
No combination of words could answer this without revealing to you what was locked away deep in his chest.
He chuckled quietly, seemingly unbothered, but his restless hands gave him away, driving cracks into his carefully crafted facade. They disappeared into his pockets, only to pull out a pack of cigarettes.
“For old times‘ sake?“
He extended his arm, just enough so you could reach the top of the pack but not the fingers that held it at the bottom.
You glared at him with knitted eyebrows when a bright orange something, carefully stuffed between the remaining cigarettes, caught your attention.
When you realized what you were looking at, your eyes widened, instantly shooting back up to his face.
His grin had turned sheepish. Caught.
”Your lighter. Is it-„
”Yes.“
Slender fingers quickly pulled the lighter out, throwing it to you effortlessly.
You managed to catch it, flipping it around in your palm a couple of times. It was cheap, worn out from extensive use, and painfully ordinary.
Scribbled on the back, however, was an almost faded, uneven black heart. Done with an equally cheap permanent marker and by no one other than yourself.
You had given it to him a lifetime ago, shortly after the two of you had acquired your first shared pack. You had felt so awfully grown up back then.
”I can’t believe that thing still works,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.
His eyes darted away from you as if you had turned into the blinding sun herself.
”I take care of it, you know.“
Did you just walk into a trap?
You took in a sharp breath, the implication that came with the tiny mundane object in your hand was more than you could handle.
Your vision blurred for a fraction of a second, you tried to blink it away - but all you could see in front of you was him. Not the cult leader, the murderer, the curse user. Just him.
He’d expected many things to happen between the two of you, but not this kind of silence. Curiosity overwhelmed him, forcing his gaze back onto your face.
What he found there was a kaleidoscope of emotions, rapidly flickering across your features. Like hinges on a rusty old gate, they broke, tearing down what you had so rigorously molded around yourself.
The window he was peering through was small - and he could feel that he had absolutely no time to lose.
So he gave in, cutting across the two wooden steps leading down from the veranda, cigarettes long forgotten and dropped. Cold, merciless little daggers of rain immediately punctured his skin, but when his hands found your skin, it was so velvety, so warm under his touch.
You flinched at the familiar contact and closed your eyes. The soft pads of his fingers on your cheeks were a siren’s song, engulfing you, tugging you further and further into depths that you knew you wouldn’t ever be able to emerge from.
He didn‘t move his hands away.
You didn’t want him to.
His fingers brushed across your right cheekbone until they found their way through the tangles of your hair and to the back of your neck. He gently pulled you towards him, until your foreheads met and the air you breathed became the same.
”I‘ve been expecting you. Every day.“
Eternity passed.
You opened your eyes.
Maybe it was just the reflection of his own eyes in your blown-out pupils.
But there it was again.
Affection.
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I’m kinda playing with the idea of writing a what happens after to this, but who knows…
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