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Summary: Shawn holds you back from meeting up with your friends for a moment alone...
Warnings: Smut, porn with little to no plot(literally just a fic about giving Shawn head.), oral / m!receiving, face fucking, cum eating, drooling, gagging, choking, mentions throwing up, coercion(?), degradation, fwb, casual, outdoor activities, fear of getting caught, gult tripping(Shawn shames reader by calling them "a prude".), dismissive behavior, mentions gator attacks(being eaten by them/missing limbs), smoking, littering.
I am not responsible for the media you comsume.
I haven't written smut in a couple of years, so please give me feedback.
No specific character description other than reader having hair to hold back and still having their tonsils.
It was hot and humid in Florida, the kind of weather that attracted annoying mosquitoes and uncomfortable chafing.
Hardly anyone other than your trio visited the dock you so often loitered on. Even less of them swam anywhere in the water. Too deep and too dark, any of the gators that lurked below could snag a soul and roll them all the way to the bottom, likely to only be identified by floating fingers.
Boaters would ride through sometimes, rippling the water with the motors on the back of their chosen vessel. Sometimes, they were bigger. Sometimes, they were smaller, like the one at the end of your dock.
Shawn drove you each and every time, picking you up in his dark blue Chevy, which reeked of burnt tobacco.
Much like today, the trees you passed were familiar, glanced at every time you rode out. His radio played some song from the satellite that you hardly listened to, ignoring the nearly blasted out bass of his speakers.
He had been relatively silent, too busy with the cigarette hanging from his lips to care about filling the cab with useless chatter. He just saw you two days ago. What could have happened in such time?
The terrain got smoother as Shawn drove off of the dirt road, following the path his car wheels had created after driving over the same patch of grass for so long.
The trees got denser in this part, which meant he would kick you out and tell you to walk the rest of the way unless you wanted to sit in his hot truck for the next few hours.
He'd call you stupid if you chose the latter.
Shawn's brakes squeaked when he pushed down on the peddle, slowing the truck down. He didn't cut the engine after he shifted the gears to park. He sat back like he had all the time in the world— like Julie and Anna weren't waiting for the two of you.
He exhaled smoke out of his nose and watched you from the corner of his eye when you unbuckled yourself and opened the door. It was only when you hopped out and rounded the hood of his truck that he finally opened his door, partially leaning out of it.
"Hey." He called from around the orange butt of his cigarette, expecting you to come back over to him.
"They're waiting for us." You reminded him, staying rooted on the spot for just a few more seconds before following the sound of his voice. The earth crunched between your shoes as you stepped past the open door, standing in front of him.
"Jus' wanna finish up here," Shawn's lips quirked up slightly when he plucked the stick from his own lips, knocking off some of the ash that collected on the tip.
Not an entire lie on his part.
"C'mere..." He whispered, facing you with his knees spread and arms resting on top of them. An invitation, one you shouldn't accept, but nearly always do.
When you hesitated, he sighed and rolled his eyes. "Look. It ain't like they can't entertain themselves. Come here."
He was a wroth creature who often got what he wanted simply because he went for it. And like many young men with inflated egos, he expected people to listen to him. It didn't help that you often did. This game had been played a thousand times before.
Your feet dragged you closer to the open door, and his insistent hand led you further. Fingers curled around your thigh to bring you between his own. He smirked, placing his cigarette back between his lips for a drag that he exhaled into your face.
He chuckled at your scowl. "Wipe that look off of your face. Promise I got reason."
As if to prove himself, his legs spread and he leaned back slightly, making himself more comfortable. More open. Shawn reached down to unbuckle the belt around his hips, leaving the leather and metal to flap when he managed to undo it.
His lips curled up into the same obnoxious smile he often had when he got what he wanted. Shameless.
"Shawn, they're waiting on us." You quickly turned your head, eyes darting around the trees as if Julie and Anna would come out to find the two of you.
His line about the cigarette was a farce. Your suspicion was proven true by the audacious act. He didn't even try to ease you into the idea.
"It ain't gonna kill you not to be a prude." He grumbled around the filter, already moved on to the button of his jeans. He huffed, bearing the front of his black boxers through the open gap.
"Shawn, m'not gonna fuck you out here."
His eyes rolled, growing annoyed simply because of your refusal. "I ain't askin' you to." Another plume of smoke drifted out of his mouth— his cigarette was nearly at its end. "Jus' want you on your knees."
"But they're—" Shawn cut you off, eyebrows furrowed.
"They got each other to entertain. You know Julie's obsessed with that girl. I'm sure her tales about New York are to die for." He was being sarcastic, poking fun at the way Julie immediately took to Anna when she stumbled across the three of you a few weeks ago.
Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, messing with the already bitten skin. Shawn plucked his cigarette from his own mouth, glancing down at the way it had finally burned down to the sullied filter. He flicked it away, not even watching as it landed on the grassy ground.
His head tilted to the side, and his hands settled on your arms.
"We're jus' gonna be a little late." He explained, voice softening only to try and get you to believe him. When your head nodded, he nearly smirked again.
"Alright..."
"Good." He preened like the cat who got the cream, already lifting his hips so that he could tug down the denim and cotton that covered him. "Well, what are you waitin' for?"
He eyes you expectantly, raising his eyebrows in a way that shows his dwindling patience. Slowly, you began to kneel. The pebbles in the dirt dug into your kneecaps, cold on your skin and biting. A sacrifice made for his pleasure.
He tugged down his garments, exposing himself not only to the fresh, clean air but to your eyes. It wasn't a surprising sight anymore. Shawn's nude form was something you were only growing more and more familiar with.
He was half-hard already, but he reached to stroke himself, staring down at your face while the flesh grew firmer. This part of him was paler than the skin on his arms, which was to be expected. However, the tip was always flushed a light pink, blushed nearly the same shade as his lips.
Satisfied enough, he let out a breath and gathered part of his loose shirt, lifting it enough to reveal the trail of hair that led up to his navel, moving the fabric out of your way.
"'Kay," He murmured, granting you the permission to touch him. He never did like waiting.
Your fingers rested on his spread knees now, but one creeped up his thigh. Inching closer to his dick, you watched as his stomach tensed up.
He was on the thinner side, but the elongated length of it oftentimes proved to be a challenge.
"Don't leave me waitin' too long. Won't beg you for it, baby."
You squinted your eyes up at him, wrapping your fingers around the shaft. "I never expected you to."
Because he never would.
Not unless he was at his absolute wits end.
A short lick to the head of his length made him sigh through his nose. His own tongue poked his cheek, watching the way you prodded his sensitive skin with the wet muscle.
Your lips parted, sliding the dull tip up the entirety of your taste buds, pausing before he could go any further. One of Shawn's hands settled on your head, caressing the locks before moving to collect strands to hold back.
It was an unspoken moment of preparation.
Slowly, your head ducked forward, and your jaw opened wider.
He could ease down your throat, but the areas it reached reacted to the intrusion, contracting when you gagged.
Shawn's eyes closed, scrunching up for a second before easing. Each time you gagged your throat would try to close, and the noise you would produce vibrated up his length.
You eased up slightly, going back to only taking half, breathing heavily through your nose. Your cheeks hollowed, sucking on the parts you reached.
His hand pushed you, forcing you to go back down further. "C'mon... fuck." He whispered, eyebrows furrowing once more.
Already aggravated, your throat constricted again, eager for a break from the breach. Shawn's hips twitched, lifting up only slightly to push more of him in.
You sputtered, ugly noises falling from your stuffed lips. A cough was fighting its way up but was unable to escape due to the blockage. The young man above you only let out his own breath, almost as if he was taunting you with what you could not do.
Just as bile began to make its way up, Shawn pushed your head away, forcing you up and off of him, earning you the chance to breathe.
"Jesus." His chest raised in a ragged motion. "The fuck's wrong with you?"
"You're an asshole!" There was a raspiness to your tone that sounded like utter debauchery.
Shawn's lips curled, giving way to his smile. His fingers brushed away some of the hair he had let go of, only to slide back and hold the side of your head, urging you forward again.
He watched you frown, not yet fully recovered. "Relax. S'just the tip..."
As if to prove himself, he rubbed the slippery head over your mouth, following the seam to the corner.
You're half aware that you'd never want your friends to stumble across this. Anna didn't deserve that, and Julie would call you disgusting even though she'd be a fool to not already know that the two of you had been fucking on the down low.
She bore witness to far too many wet kisses and hands stuffed into back pockets. She wasn't oblivious, no matter how badly you wanted her to be.
Shawn also just didn't know how to keep his mouth shut when it came to things he felt like he should be boasting about, which is probably why he let out a satisfied sigh the second your lips wrapped around the pink tip.
This was easier. Sucking on the bulbous point and occasionally lavishing it with your tongue. Shawn reveled under the attention, continuing to pet your hair even though you didn't trust his hands not to push again.
You had to ease yourself down his erection, going at your own pace, much to his dismay. Sparing a glance up at the young mans face gave you a small boost of confidence. He was all slack-jawed and watching.
With your hands, you caressed the parts your lips hadn't yet touched, earning more strained sighs. The slow descend proved to be the move, seeing as he was approaching the back of your mouth with ease. You slurped, beginning to drool around his appendage, eliciting a slight jolt from him.
The head slid between your tonsils before prodding the back of your throat. You released a breath from your nose and raised your head back up, falling into a rhythm that would prove to be fruitful.
Up and down, back and forth, Shawn's length traveled in and out of your awaiting lips. He groaned and curled forward, guiding you back down until your nose pressed up against the brunette hair that framed his dick.
"Fuck," He panted, face twisting into another look of satisfaction once again. "You're such a whore."
He watched the way your eyes fluttered shut and lifted his hips to meet your movements, trying to get you back to his own speed. "Kneeling in the fuckin' dirt while they wait for us."
A whine worked its way out of you then, causing him to curl his fist into your hair, tangling some of the strands. "But it's f'me... huh? All for me..."
The only further noises that sounded around the space were the birds tweeting from up above, his heavy breathing, and your occasional slurping
Shawn's hips twitched again, sputtering with their subtle movements. You pressed against his hands, rising back up to kiss and lick the tip, slapping the smooth skin against your tongue.
"Oh, fuck." He mumbled, closing his own eyes. When your lips bordered the cut head again, he ignored the scrape of your teeth and pushed himself back deep inside, taking action by canting himself in and out of your warm throat like it was a cavernous cunt.
The rapid movement spurred on another gag that would likely turn into a cough that couldn't escape, and then more choking.
He ignored the noise and focused only on the constricting feeling that made him respond all the same. He whipped his head back to get fallen strands of hair away from his sweaty forehead. "C'mon... shit."
He laughed when your hands touched his bare thighs, nails digging into his skin. "Fuck, baby. Almost there. Promise you."
Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn't. Shawn never prided himself on telling the truth.
He was suffocating, both literally and figuratively. He had the kind of presence that tied to overtake the space around him, and with the way he bullied himself down your throat mirrored that.
The tears that prickled the corners of your eyes were nothing new, and the sound of his strained groan was all but memorized by now, just as the smell of his skin was.
Worse things had happened in his truck in far worse places. Perhaps that was why his shame was nowhere to be seen
One more aggravated noise escaped you before his climax reached its peak. It spurted before streaming, and then it dwindled all together.
"Oh," Shawn breathed, cursing under his breath as he stilled, fingers going lax. That was your chance to pull back, and you did, lips pursed from the salty, masculine taste on your tongue.
He gave you a shit eating grin and rubbed his softening dick against your lips again, holding the flaccid length with his hand. "You gonna swallow it?"
Nearly laughing at the look you gave him, he watched your throat bob when you did just as he said.
"That's disgusting." He told you the second you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.
What a sight the two of you were. You, with your mussed up hair and glassy eyes, trying to catch your breath. And then there was Shawn with his suspiciously sweaty skin and confident gait.
"You're disgusting." Your voice was raw when you shot back a retort, finally standing up from your spot on the ground, knees aching and dirty.
"You still sucked my dick." And curse him for being right. "Relax. I'll make up for it later."
He tucked himself back into his jeans and buttoned them up, fully situating himself before stepping out of the truck, slamming the door shut behind himself.
"The girls are waiting."
Again, I haven't written smut in a couple of years, and this is my first Shawn fic. I was so scared to post this. Please give me your thoughts. (Only I you want to.)
Hiiii! So sorry to bother but I was looking through tumblr for art deco divider and found yours (https://www.tumblr.com/olenvasynyt/793992046371291136/hello-your-dividers-are-amazing-and-if-youre?source=share) which are beautiful. I was just wondering if you did recolors and if yes could you recolor them to a gold & dark pink? It's colors I would like to use on my tumblr!
Hello ofc! I wasn't sure what kind of shade you wanted for dark pink so I did a few different ones!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
i loved the amnesia aerion one shot so much!! your writing it addicting
Omg!! Yay, I am so happy!
I definitely could have made it longer and added more dialog that went further into Aerion's amnesia + when he started gaining his memories back, but I ultimately decided to cut it off and keep it shorter just so I could have an easy start in order to shift back into posting.
Your compliments mean the world to me. I was so worried about getting back into this. However, by breaking the barrier and finally posting, I have gained the will to actually post more without worrying as much.
I currently have (eighteen) fics in the works and it has been hell. Fourteen of which happen to be more ASOIAF fics. Plus, I have upcoming collabs with my best friend, @letrid-moonbow.
But I am so excited to get them out to all of you!!
♡
- Much love!
[UPDATE!]
This made me immediately work on an Aerion smut fic I have been meaning to finish for two months.
Summary: Shawn holds you back from meeting up with your friends for a moment alone...
Warnings: Smut, porn with little to no plot(literally just a fic about giving Shawn head.), oral / m!receiving, face fucking, cum eating, drooling, gagging, choking, mentions throwing up, coercion(?), degradation, fwb, casual, outdoor activities, fear of getting caught, gult tripping(Shawn shames reader by calling them "a prude".), dismissive behavior, mentions gator attacks(being eaten by them/missing limbs), smoking, littering.
I am not responsible for the media you comsume.
I haven't written smut in a couple of years, so please give me feedback.
No specific character description other than reader having hair to hold back and still having their tonsils.
It was hot and humid in Florida, the kind of weather that attracted annoying mosquitoes and uncomfortable chafing.
Hardly anyone other than your trio visited the dock you so often loitered on. Even less of them swam anywhere in the water. Too deep and too dark, any of the gators that lurked below could snag a soul and roll them all the way to the bottom, likely to only be identified by floating fingers.
Boaters would ride through sometimes, rippling the water with the motors on the back of their chosen vessel. Sometimes, they were bigger. Sometimes, they were smaller, like the one at the end of your dock.
Shawn drove you each and every time, picking you up in his dark blue Chevy, which reeked of burnt tobacco.
Much like today, the trees you passed were familiar, glanced at every time you rode out. His radio played some song from the satellite that you hardly listened to, ignoring the nearly blasted out bass of his speakers.
He had been relatively silent, too busy with the cigarette hanging from his lips to care about filling the cab with useless chatter. He just saw you two days ago. What could have happened in such time?
The terrain got smoother as Shawn drove off of the dirt road, following the path his car wheels had created after driving over the same patch of grass for so long.
The trees got denser in this part, which meant he would kick you out and tell you to walk the rest of the way unless you wanted to sit in his hot truck for the next few hours.
He'd call you stupid if you chose the latter.
Shawn's brakes squeaked when he pushed down on the peddle, slowing the truck down. He didn't cut the engine after he shifted the gears to park. He sat back like he had all the time in the world— like Julie and Anna weren't waiting for the two of you.
He exhaled smoke out of his nose and watched you from the corner of his eye when you unbuckled yourself and opened the door. It was only when you hopped out and rounded the hood of his truck that he finally opened his door, partially leaning out of it.
"Hey." He called from around the orange butt of his cigarette, expecting you to come back over to him.
"They're waiting for us." You reminded him, staying rooted on the spot for just a few more seconds before following the sound of his voice. The earth crunched between your shoes as you stepped past the open door, standing in front of him.
"Jus' wanna finish up here," Shawn's lips quirked up slightly when he plucked the stick from his own lips, knocking off some of the ash that collected on the tip.
Not an entire lie on his part.
"C'mere..." He whispered, facing you with his knees spread and arms resting on top of them. An invitation, one you shouldn't accept, but nearly always do.
When you hesitated, he sighed and rolled his eyes. "Look. It ain't like they can't entertain themselves. Come here."
He was a wroth creature who often got what he wanted simply because he went for it. And like many young men with inflated egos, he expected people to listen to him. It didn't help that you often did. This game had been played a thousand times before.
Your feet dragged you closer to the open door, and his insistent hand led you further. Fingers curled around your thigh to bring you between his own. He smirked, placing his cigarette back between his lips for a drag that he exhaled into your face.
He chuckled at your scowl. "Wipe that look off of your face. Promise I got reason."
As if to prove himself, his legs spread and he leaned back slightly, making himself more comfortable. More open. Shawn reached down to unbuckle the belt around his hips, leaving the leather and metal to flap when he managed to undo it.
His lips curled up into the same obnoxious smile he often had when he got what he wanted. Shameless.
"Shawn, they're waiting on us." You quickly turned your head, eyes darting around the trees as if Julie and Anna would come out to find the two of you.
His line about the cigarette was a farce. Your suspicion was proven true by the audacious act. He didn't even try to ease you into the idea.
"It ain't gonna kill you not to be a prude." He grumbled around the filter, already moved on to the button of his jeans. He huffed, bearing the front of his black boxers through the open gap.
"Shawn, m'not gonna fuck you out here."
His eyes rolled, growing annoyed simply because of your refusal. "I ain't askin' you to." Another plume of smoke drifted out of his mouth— his cigarette was nearly at its end. "Jus' want you on your knees."
"But they're—" Shawn cut you off, eyebrows furrowed.
"They got each other to entertain. You know Julie's obsessed with that girl. I'm sure her tales about New York are to die for." He was being sarcastic, poking fun at the way Julie immediately took to Anna when she stumbled across the three of you a few weeks ago.
Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, messing with the already bitten skin. Shawn plucked his cigarette from his own mouth, glancing down at the way it had finally burned down to the sullied filter. He flicked it away, not even watching as it landed on the grassy ground.
His head tilted to the side, and his hands settled on your arms.
"We're jus' gonna be a little late." He explained, voice softening only to try and get you to believe him. When your head nodded, he nearly smirked again.
"Alright..."
"Good." He preened like the cat who got the cream, already lifting his hips so that he could tug down the denim and cotton that covered him. "Well, what are you waitin' for?"
He eyes you expectantly, raising his eyebrows in a way that shows his dwindling patience. Slowly, you began to kneel. The pebbles in the dirt dug into your kneecaps, cold on your skin and biting. A sacrifice made for his pleasure.
He tugged down his garments, exposing himself not only to the fresh, clean air but to your eyes. It wasn't a surprising sight anymore. Shawn's nude form was something you were only growing more and more familiar with.
He was half-hard already, but he reached to stroke himself, staring down at your face while the flesh grew firmer. This part of him was paler than the skin on his arms, which was to be expected. However, the tip was always flushed a light pink, blushed nearly the same shade as his lips.
Satisfied enough, he let out a breath and gathered part of his loose shirt, lifting it enough to reveal the trail of hair that led up to his navel, moving the fabric out of your way.
"'Kay," He murmured, granting you the permission to touch him. He never did like waiting.
Your fingers rested on his spread knees now, but one creeped up his thigh. Inching closer to his dick, you watched as his stomach tensed up.
He was on the thinner side, but the elongated length of it oftentimes proved to be a challenge.
"Don't leave me waitin' too long. Won't beg you for it, baby."
You squinted your eyes up at him, wrapping your fingers around the shaft. "I never expected you to."
Because he never would.
Not unless he was at his absolute wits end.
A short lick to the head of his length made him sigh through his nose. His own tongue poked his cheek, watching the way you prodded his sensitive skin with the wet muscle.
Your lips parted, sliding the dull tip up the entirety of your taste buds, pausing before he could go any further. One of Shawn's hands settled on your head, caressing the locks before moving to collect strands to hold back.
It was an unspoken moment of preparation.
Slowly, your head ducked forward, and your jaw opened wider.
He could ease down your throat, but the areas it reached reacted to the intrusion, contracting when you gagged.
Shawn's eyes closed, scrunching up for a second before easing. Each time you gagged your throat would try to close, and the noise you would produce vibrated up his length.
You eased up slightly, going back to only taking half, breathing heavily through your nose. Your cheeks hollowed, sucking on the parts you reached.
His hand pushed you, forcing you to go back down further. "C'mon... fuck." He whispered, eyebrows furrowing once more.
Already aggravated, your throat constricted again, eager for a break from the breach. Shawn's hips twitched, lifting up only slightly to push more of him in.
You sputtered, ugly noises falling from your stuffed lips. A cough was fighting its way up but was unable to escape due to the blockage. The young man above you only let out his own breath, almost as if he was taunting you with what you could not do.
Just as bile began to make its way up, Shawn pushed your head away, forcing you up and off of him, earning you the chance to breathe.
"Jesus." His chest raised in a ragged motion. "The fuck's wrong with you?"
"You're an asshole!" There was a raspiness to your tone that sounded like utter debauchery.
Shawn's lips curled, giving way to his smile. His fingers brushed away some of the hair he had let go of, only to slide back and hold the side of your head, urging you forward again.
He watched you frown, not yet fully recovered. "Relax. S'just the tip..."
As if to prove himself, he rubbed the slippery head over your mouth, following the seam to the corner.
You're half aware that you'd never want your friends to stumble across this. Anna didn't deserve that, and Julie would call you disgusting even though she'd be a fool to not already know that the two of you had been fucking on the down low.
She bore witness to far too many wet kisses and hands stuffed into back pockets. She wasn't oblivious, no matter how badly you wanted her to be.
Shawn also just didn't know how to keep his mouth shut when it came to things he felt like he should be boasting about, which is probably why he let out a satisfied sigh the second your lips wrapped around the pink tip.
This was easier. Sucking on the bulbous point and occasionally lavishing it with your tongue. Shawn reveled under the attention, continuing to pet your hair even though you didn't trust his hands not to push again.
You had to ease yourself down his erection, going at your own pace, much to his dismay. Sparing a glance up at the young mans face gave you a small boost of confidence. He was all slack-jawed and watching.
With your hands, you caressed the parts your lips hadn't yet touched, earning more strained sighs. The slow descend proved to be the move, seeing as he was approaching the back of your mouth with ease. You slurped, beginning to drool around his appendage, eliciting a slight jolt from him.
The head slid between your tonsils before prodding the back of your throat. You released a breath from your nose and raised your head back up, falling into a rhythm that would prove to be fruitful.
Up and down, back and forth, Shawn's length traveled in and out of your awaiting lips. He groaned and curled forward, guiding you back down until your nose pressed up against the brunette hair that framed his dick.
"Fuck," He panted, face twisting into another look of satisfaction once again. "You're such a whore."
He watched the way your eyes fluttered shut and lifted his hips to meet your movements, trying to get you back to his own speed. "Kneeling in the fuckin' dirt while they wait for us."
A whine worked its way out of you then, causing him to curl his fist into your hair, tangling some of the strands. "But it's f'me... huh? All for me..."
The only further noises that sounded around the space were the birds tweeting from up above, his heavy breathing, and your occasional slurping
Shawn's hips twitched again, sputtering with their subtle movements. You pressed against his hands, rising back up to kiss and lick the tip, slapping the smooth skin against your tongue.
"Oh, fuck." He mumbled, closing his own eyes. When your lips bordered the cut head again, he ignored the scrape of your teeth and pushed himself back deep inside, taking action by canting himself in and out of your warm throat like it was a cavernous cunt.
The rapid movement spurred on another gag that would likely turn into a cough that couldn't escape, and then more choking.
He ignored the noise and focused only on the constricting feeling that made him respond all the same. He whipped his head back to get fallen strands of hair away from his sweaty forehead. "C'mon... shit."
He laughed when your hands touched his bare thighs, nails digging into his skin. "Fuck, baby. Almost there. Promise you."
Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn't. Shawn never prided himself on telling the truth.
He was suffocating, both literally and figuratively. He had the kind of presence that tied to overtake the space around him, and with the way he bullied himself down your throat mirrored that.
The tears that prickled the corners of your eyes were nothing new, and the sound of his strained groan was all but memorized by now, just as the smell of his skin was.
Worse things had happened in his truck in far worse places. Perhaps that was why his shame was nowhere to be seen
One more aggravated noise escaped you before his climax reached its peak. It spurted before streaming, and then it dwindled all together.
"Oh," Shawn breathed, cursing under his breath as he stilled, fingers going lax. That was your chance to pull back, and you did, lips pursed from the salty, masculine taste on your tongue.
He gave you a shit eating grin and rubbed his softening dick against your lips again, holding the flaccid length with his hand. "You gonna swallow it?"
Nearly laughing at the look you gave him, he watched your throat bob when you did just as he said.
"That's disgusting." He told you the second you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.
What a sight the two of you were. You, with your mussed up hair and glassy eyes, trying to catch your breath. And then there was Shawn with his suspiciously sweaty skin and confident gait.
"You're disgusting." Your voice was raw when you shot back a retort, finally standing up from your spot on the ground, knees aching and dirty.
"You still sucked my dick." And curse him for being right. "Relax. I'll make up for it later."
He tucked himself back into his jeans and buttoned them up, fully situating himself before stepping out of the truck, slamming the door shut behind himself.
"The girls are waiting."
Again, I haven't written smut in a couple of years, and this is my first Shawn fic. I was so scared to post this. Please give me your thoughts. (Only I you want to.)
Summary: Aerion was humiliated by the hedge knight, leaving him bedridden and suffering. A few knocks to the head left him forgetting much of his life— and even his ways...
Warnings: Fluff + angst, amnesia, Ooc!Aerion, mentions of bloodshed, death, cremation, grotesque wounds, mentions of infertility, mentions of blood magic, arranged marriage, Aerion doesn't like his wife(until he does), mentions of incest, mentions of consummation, it is said that Aerion mistreats his wife.
I am not responsible for the media you comsume.
I know this trope has been done many times before, but I was struck with a desire to write it myself.
Forgive me. It has been almost two years since I have written fanfiction(on a different account). This is a test to see if I should transition back into posting.
The intro is really long, I'm a yapper.
The Targaryen lineage had long since been deemed cursed, a price to pay for defying the old Gods in Valyria.
Dragon blood flowed through the descendants of those who once performed magic to control the beasts. It is said that the Gods had tried to eradicate them for their sins.
The Doom of Valyria; where the ground split itself in half and burst.
And then infertility for those who survived.
When the last dragon died, it was also said that the magic in a Targaryens veins had nowhere to go, resulting in a madness that was swiftly becoming common for the royal breed.
"Every time a Targaryen is born, the God's flip a coin."
Perhaps Maekar's line was cursed.
His brother had created two honorable young men to continue on the legacy of leaders. One to be King of Westeros and the other to be Lord of Dragonstone.
His own wretched offspring had not been as blessed upon birth, no matter how Maekar wished to shape them.
Daeron, his firstborn, had been a child who cried throughout the night. His restlessness never ceased, even as he reached adulthood. Cursed with dreams of death and destruction, he was well on his way to drink himself into an early grave.
Not a warrior.
Not a scholar.
Not a politician.
A whoring drunk.
Aerion, his second born, was worse. Capable and intelligent. Beautiful and lithe.
But above all else, he was delusional and cruel. He had been promising in his youth, but wickedness was planted when he learned of the blood he harbored. The young man fancied himself a dragon, and for that, he would one day suffer.
From torturing his own siblings to throwing cats down wells and even forcing servants to drink boiling wine, Aerion was rotten.
Out of his siblings, he was the first to be wed. The hope Maekar held arrived in the shape of a highborn lady.
With no Valyrian blood flowing through your veins, Aerion detested you. He hated the lack of silver-gold hair on your head, and he hated the lack of violet in your eyes.
He had wanted a sister and would have even settled for a cousin, but his father brought forth a complete stranger.
No traditional Valyrian wedding took place either. He did not get to bind your blood and claim that at least some dragon blood flowed through you now.
A dream he had since he was a boy was thrown out of the window the second he entered the Great Sept of Baelor and draped a cape over your shoulders instead. His Houses sigil was embroidered into it, but he couldn't help but think that you were an imposter amongst his kin.
He performed his duties that night and felt slighted when no child bloomed. He didn't visit your bed again.
It wasn't until Ashford Meadow that he finally slept beside you, forced to share a chamber.
A tourney for Lady Gwin Ashfords nameday was held in the Reach. Neighbors to the Stormlands, the journey had not been long nor tiring.
Prince Baelor and Prince Valarr rode south to join their family as well.
When Maekar left to search for his missing sons, Aerion's front finally dropped.
No longer having to deceive his father, he drove his lance through the jugular of a horse, resulting in its death and the broken leg of its rider.
That night, he broke a puppeteers fingers.
A "mockery", he claimed.
A "veiled attack" on house Targaryen.
A simple hedge knight challenged him, and the Prince would not forget that.
By the next morn, the first Trial of Seven since Maegor the Cruel was conducted.
"Fear not for me, wife." Aerion had told you when he was dressing in his armor, voice mocking. "The God's rule in my favor. They know who the true champion is."
If only Aerion actually believed in those God's.
The Trial started with a shock. Hand of the King, heir to the throne, Prince Baelor joined the opposing side, fighting against his two nephews and younger brother.
The horn sounded, and horses startled.
It was a foggy day, and the silver metal of each fighter's armor left it easy to mistake one for another. Aerion's spiked visage stood out amongst the others, even as he rolled about in mud.
Competitors fell, and others persevered.
Aerion's screams were heard when a sword caught near his groin, slicing through a weak spot in his armor. When he thought he killed the hedge knight, Ser Duncan rose again.
In the end, beaten beyond belief, Aerion was forced to withdraw his accusations, lest he succumb to a worser fate.
No real consequence came from the grounds until Prince Baelor fell, skull caved in by his own brothers mace.
Those in attendance took a pause.
In a land he did not hail from, Baelors body was laid to rest. He should have been back in Kings Landing or even Dorne, not in Ashford Meadow. Instead, his pyre was built the day after his death.
Nobody but the Septon spoke, wishing the man well in his transition to the afterlife.
Maekar, beaten and bruised, stood like a statue, unaware that his brothers last words were praises of how strong he could be. His mace struck true, and his big brother suffered because of it.
At the end of the service, only Valarr lingered.
You joined your good father and his sons back to the castle, observing the glum atmosphere as lesser Lords and Ladies packed up to leave the grounds.
The Tourney had ended.
Before the procession, Maekar had sat silent in the room while Aerion rested in a milk of poppy haze. By Baelors funeral, his last sip of the elixir had worn off while he was alone. He was awake, aching beyond belief with no help.
Daring to set your eyes upon your mangled husband, the door opened with a creak. The hinges were not oiled as well as the ones in Summerhall.
The Prince could not turn his head, laid in bed with the sheets just above his sternum, his swollen eyes were set upon the ceiling.
He was gnarled with open gashes upon his face, bruises along his forehead, and matching black eyes. Never had you seen him like this.
Your hand raised, covering your mouth as you stood over him. It was a ghastly sight, one you were sure he would not have wanted you to see. He did not want to be vulnerable with the likes of you around. It was why you had not visited him the day before.
His dry lips parted, parched for water, but also reacting to his obscured vision of you.
"Is it the Mother or the Maiden who looks down upon me?" He rasped, speaking words you had not expected. His jaw barely moved, likely sore. "Mayhaps the Gods are cruel and such a beautiful sight is really the Stranger..."
Never had Aerion described you as such.
Your mourning clothes were nothing far from the colors of his house, which you were often forced to wear. You had not expected to be attending a funeral and were unprepared when it came to it.
Surely, Aerion was jesting. It was like him to jape about such a thing, especially when Baelor had gone against him. He likely thought his uncle deserved it.
"I ache, my Lady..." He whispered then, eyebrows stringing together.
"You are healing, husband." Lord Ashfords Maesters had attended to him, and his wounds were clean, but the stench of festering flesh permeated around the chamber.
His features softened. "What?"
"You are bruised. And your leg..." You trailed off, unable to truly speak of the extent of his injuries when Maekar was the only one to truly know. Too close to his manhood with the possibility of permanently altering his gait.
"No," He tried to shake his head, but he did it with a slowness that showed the ache. "Husband. You called me husband."
Confusion struck you then. You had referred to him with the title since you wed him.
His tongue darted out, wetting his lips. "My lady, I do not recall having ever seen your face before..."
You had never seen him so unguarded, so soft. Now, he claimed to have never seen you before. This time, your eyebrows furrowed. "I am your wife, Aerion. We wed late last spring. Do you truly not remember?"
You were dumbfounded upon hearing such a thing. Could Aerion be toying with you again? Or was this a serious result of the Trial?
"I am wed to you?" He questioned, his lilt gentle. Slowly, his split lips spread into a subtle smile. "Truly, my lady?"
Your head nodded, and your hand lifted, hovering, hesitating to touch the one he had resting on his abdomen.
"Yes..." You breathed.
He sighed loud enough for you to hear, looking as if his smile would widen, only for his face to twist up. His jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared while his upper lip curled.
All he knew was that he was in pain. He recalled no dragons. No blood purity.
"Do you require milk of the poppy?" Your eyes darted to the bedside table, where there was no more of the suppressant. "I will alert the Maester. Please wait here, my prince."
You were unaccustomed when it came to taking care of your husband, but when that same confused tone left his lips, you paused.
"Prince?"
Aerion often took arrogant pride in his title. He thought it to be well deserved for someone like him. The three Conquerors paved this path for dragons and in turn— him. He would not let anyone forget that.
Your skin finally met his own when your hand settled over the back of his wrist, barely touching it.
"Need you anything, husband?" Your voice was nothing more than a murmur, wary of this forgetfulness.
He continued to stare up at you before attempting to shake his head again. "Nay.... I think I would quite like to keep looking at you."
You nodded and brought a chair closer to his bed, making promises to stay by his side, watching over this alternate of your husband. A version of him you had never once seen, but would cherish.
You brought his ailment to the attention of the Maesters and helped feed Aerion more suppressants. You helped him into robes when the family had to depart from Ashford Meadow and kept a keen eye on him as he scowled from the front of the wheelhouse.
When the idea of sending this vulnerable version of Aerion to Lys was spoken by Maekar, you protested with tears in your eyes. In the end, Aerion gained his lucid state back, reminding you just how monstrous he truly was. Horrified by his recollection of softness, his tongue was sharper than a blade.
He was shipped off the second his deepest gash scarred.
A/n: I have wips for Maekar, Daeron, Aerion, and Valarr. I need motivation. Omg. This is why I was on break for two years. :P
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I hardly finish games nowadays, and I don't really remember the ones I played when I was a little kid. My opinions probably aren't the best.
I really like the backstory in Until Dawn. The hatred and the revenge, only to reveal that Josh had been unstable his entire life. None of them(except two) are good people.
I love it.
Now, lore?
I do not know. Things that go together to create a masterful world and give nod to an entire story? Uhhhhh....
I used to watch my older brother play Fallout, and I liked all of their canon trademarks (Ex: NukaCola.) And I know the show has definitely helped people create an entire untold history. But I know virtually nothing about the lore in just the games.
I really like the Resident Evil games and how they all go together. I like the different storylines that all intercept one another to show that in the end, there's just corruption.
Also, as a DC nerd, Arkham Knight has always intrigued me. I love exploring Jason's background.
Omg, and Alice Madness Returns. Her trauma all weaving together to create Wonderland? We explore things in Wonderland, only to find out just how horrid it was in her real world. Everything is connected. Perfect.
I'm such a sucker for Alice in Wonderland, and I also enjoy horror. That game definitely had me from the start. Even though it makes me sad.
ever since i was a little girl i knew i wanted to deny location sharing and turn off personalized ads and reject all non-essential cookies and not set up siri and face ID
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Summary: Aerion was humiliated by the hedge knight, leaving him bedridden and suffering. A few knocks to the head left him forgetting much of his life— and even his ways...
Warnings: Fluff + angst, amnesia, Ooc!Aerion, mentions of bloodshed, death, cremation, grotesque wounds, mentions of infertility, mentions of blood magic, arranged marriage, Aerion doesn't like his wife(until he does), mentions of incest, mentions of consummation, it is said that Aerion mistreats his wife.
I am not responsible for the media you comsume.
I know this trope has been done many times before, but I was struck with a desire to write it myself.
Forgive me. It has been almost two years since I have written fanfiction(on a different account). This is a test to see if I should transition back into posting.
The intro is really long, I'm a yapper.
The Targaryen lineage had long since been deemed cursed, a price to pay for defying the old Gods in Valyria.
Dragon blood flowed through the descendants of those who once performed magic to control the beasts. It is said that the Gods had tried to eradicate them for their sins.
The Doom of Valyria; where the ground split itself in half and burst.
And then infertility for those who survived.
When the last dragon died, it was also said that the magic in a Targaryens veins had nowhere to go, resulting in a madness that was swiftly becoming common for the royal breed.
"Every time a Targaryen is born, the God's flip a coin."
Perhaps Maekar's line was cursed.
His brother had created two honorable young men to continue on the legacy of leaders. One to be King of Westeros and the other to be Lord of Dragonstone.
His own wretched offspring had not been as blessed upon birth, no matter how Maekar wished to shape them.
Daeron, his firstborn, had been a child who cried throughout the night. His restlessness never ceased, even as he reached adulthood. Cursed with dreams of death and destruction, he was well on his way to drink himself into an early grave.
Not a warrior.
Not a scholar.
Not a politician.
A whoring drunk.
Aerion, his second born, was worse. Capable and intelligent. Beautiful and lithe.
But above all else, he was delusional and cruel. He had been promising in his youth, but wickedness was planted when he learned of the blood he harbored. The young man fancied himself a dragon, and for that, he would one day suffer.
From torturing his own siblings to throwing cats down wells and even forcing servants to drink boiling wine, Aerion was rotten.
Out of his siblings, he was the first to be wed. The hope Maekar held arrived in the shape of a highborn lady.
With no Valyrian blood flowing through your veins, Aerion detested you. He hated the lack of silver-gold hair on your head, and he hated the lack of violet in your eyes.
He had wanted a sister and would have even settled for a cousin, but his father brought forth a complete stranger.
No traditional Valyrian wedding took place either. He did not get to bind your blood and claim that at least some dragon blood flowed through you now.
A dream he had since he was a boy was thrown out of the window the second he entered the Great Sept of Baelor and draped a cape over your shoulders instead. His Houses sigil was embroidered into it, but he couldn't help but think that you were an imposter amongst his kin.
He performed his duties that night and felt slighted when no child bloomed. He didn't visit your bed again.
It wasn't until Ashford Meadow that he finally slept beside you, forced to share a chamber.
A tourney for Lady Gwin Ashfords nameday was held in the Reach. Neighbors to the Stormlands, the journey had not been long nor tiring.
Prince Baelor and Prince Valarr rode south to join their family as well.
When Maekar left to search for his missing sons, Aerion's front finally dropped.
No longer having to deceive his father, he drove his lance through the jugular of a horse, resulting in its death and the broken leg of its rider.
That night, he broke a puppeteers fingers.
A "mockery", he claimed.
A "veiled attack" on house Targaryen.
A simple hedge knight challenged him, and the Prince would not forget that.
By the next morn, the first Trial of Seven since Maegor the Cruel was conducted.
"Fear not for me, wife." Aerion had told you when he was dressing in his armor, voice mocking. "The God's rule in my favor. They know who the true champion is."
If only Aerion actually believed in those God's.
The Trial started with a shock. Hand of the King, heir to the throne, Prince Baelor joined the opposing side, fighting against his two nephews and younger brother.
The horn sounded, and horses startled.
It was a foggy day, and the silver metal of each fighter's armor left it easy to mistake one for another. Aerion's spiked visage stood out amongst the others, even as he rolled about in mud.
Competitors fell, and others persevered.
Aerion's screams were heard when a sword caught near his groin, slicing through a weak spot in his armor. When he thought he killed the hedge knight, Ser Duncan rose again.
In the end, beaten beyond belief, Aerion was forced to withdraw his accusations, lest he succumb to a worser fate.
No real consequence came from the grounds until Prince Baelor fell, skull caved in by his own brothers mace.
Those in attendance took a pause.
In a land he did not hail from, Baelors body was laid to rest. He should have been back in Kings Landing or even Dorne, not in Ashford Meadow. Instead, his pyre was built the day after his death.
Nobody but the Septon spoke, wishing the man well in his transition to the afterlife.
Maekar, beaten and bruised, stood like a statue, unaware that his brothers last words were praises of how strong he could be. His mace struck true, and his big brother suffered because of it.
At the end of the service, only Valarr lingered.
You joined your good father and his sons back to the castle, observing the glum atmosphere as lesser Lords and Ladies packed up to leave the grounds.
The Tourney had ended.
Before the procession, Maekar had sat silent in the room while Aerion rested in a milk of poppy haze. By Baelors funeral, his last sip of the elixir had worn off while he was alone. He was awake, aching beyond belief with no help.
Daring to set your eyes upon your mangled husband, the door opened with a creak. The hinges were not oiled as well as the ones in Summerhall.
The Prince could not turn his head, laid in bed with the sheets just above his sternum, his swollen eyes were set upon the ceiling.
He was gnarled with open gashes upon his face, bruises along his forehead, and matching black eyes. Never had you seen him like this.
Your hand raised, covering your mouth as you stood over him. It was a ghastly sight, one you were sure he would not have wanted you to see. He did not want to be vulnerable with the likes of you around. It was why you had not visited him the day before.
His dry lips parted, parched for water, but also reacting to his obscured vision of you.
"Is it the Mother or the Maiden who looks down upon me?" He rasped, speaking words you had not expected. His jaw barely moved, likely sore. "Mayhaps the Gods are cruel and such a beautiful sight is really the Stranger..."
Never had Aerion described you as such.
Your mourning clothes were nothing far from the colors of his house, which you were often forced to wear. You had not expected to be attending a funeral and were unprepared when it came to it.
Surely, Aerion was jesting. It was like him to jape about such a thing, especially when Baelor had gone against him. He likely thought his uncle deserved it.
"I ache, my Lady..." He whispered then, eyebrows stringing together.
"You are healing, husband." Lord Ashfords Maesters had attended to him, and his wounds were clean, but the stench of festering flesh permeated around the chamber.
His features softened. "What?"
"You are bruised. And your leg..." You trailed off, unable to truly speak of the extent of his injuries when Maekar was the only one to truly know. Too close to his manhood with the possibility of permanently altering his gait.
"No," He tried to shake his head, but he did it with a slowness that showed the ache. "Husband. You called me husband."
Confusion struck you then. You had referred to him with the title since you wed him.
His tongue darted out, wetting his lips. "My lady, I do not recall having ever seen your face before..."
You had never seen him so unguarded, so soft. Now, he claimed to have never seen you before. This time, your eyebrows furrowed. "I am your wife, Aerion. We wed late last spring. Do you truly not remember?"
You were dumbfounded upon hearing such a thing. Could Aerion be toying with you again? Or was this a serious result of the Trial?
"I am wed to you?" He questioned, his lilt gentle. Slowly, his split lips spread into a subtle smile. "Truly, my lady?"
Your head nodded, and your hand lifted, hovering, hesitating to touch the one he had resting on his abdomen.
"Yes..." You breathed.
He sighed loud enough for you to hear, looking as if his smile would widen, only for his face to twist up. His jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared while his upper lip curled.
All he knew was that he was in pain. He recalled no dragons. No blood purity.
"Do you require milk of the poppy?" Your eyes darted to the bedside table, where there was no more of the suppressant. "I will alert the Maester. Please wait here, my prince."
You were unaccustomed when it came to taking care of your husband, but when that same confused tone left his lips, you paused.
"Prince?"
Aerion often took arrogant pride in his title. He thought it to be well deserved for someone like him. The three Conquerors paved this path for dragons and in turn— him. He would not let anyone forget that.
Your skin finally met his own when your hand settled over the back of his wrist, barely touching it.
"Need you anything, husband?" Your voice was nothing more than a murmur, wary of this forgetfulness.
He continued to stare up at you before attempting to shake his head again. "Nay.... I think I would quite like to keep looking at you."
You nodded and brought a chair closer to his bed, making promises to stay by his side, watching over this alternate of your husband. A version of him you had never once seen, but would cherish.
You brought his ailment to the attention of the Maesters and helped feed Aerion more suppressants. You helped him into robes when the family had to depart from Ashford Meadow and kept a keen eye on him as he scowled from the front of the wheelhouse.
When the idea of sending this vulnerable version of Aerion to Lys was spoken by Maekar, you protested with tears in your eyes. In the end, Aerion gained his lucid state back, reminding you just how monstrous he truly was. Horrified by his recollection of softness, his tongue was sharper than a blade.
He was shipped off the second his deepest gash scarred.
A/n: I have wips for Maekar, Daeron, Aerion, and Valarr. I need motivation. Omg. This is why I was on break for two years. :P
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