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draino2025-03-01 08:00 am
saltburnmods) wrote in draino2025-03-01 08:00 am
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๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ โฃ MARCH TDM
MARCH 2025 TDM: RENEWAL
Welcome to SALTBURNT, a panfandom smut/thriller game based off the film Saltburn, where characters are encouraged to indulge their deepest desires. The money never runs out and the liquor never stops pouring, so you may as well indulge from the bounty. Of course, things are rarely what they seem, and the manor itself seems to have a consciousness of its own. Throw parties, trash the house, engage in youthful merriment, but remember โ dangers come out at night, and no one, no matter how rich you are, is safe from demons lurking in the shadows.
Threads can be considered game canon, provided the players agree. Players can also start fresh upon acceptance into the game. In game characters can post to the TDM directly, using ยซ NEW CHARACTER/IN GAMEยป in the header. There will be a spot below for new characters to link their toplevels for easy access. Alternatively, prompts on the Test Drive can be used for in game logs.
WELCOME TO SALTBURNT (THE REMIX)
CONTENT WARNINGS: drugs.
For once, it's not the pounding hangover that stirs you awake. Oh, it's still there, like little shards of glass being shoved through your skull — but your dry, cottony mouth should be the least of your concerns. When you turn over, it's clear that the glitz and glamor of your room has been ... well, neglected, as of late. The sheets are musty, the furniture covered in layers of dust that sets your nose off, the nightstand decorated with a glass of stale water growing a new bacteria culture. If you're looking for room service to cure your headache, you'll have look elsewhere for painkillers โ the maid has very generously left you a more traditional form of medicine. A neat little bag of white powder rests at your bedside, for those that need a little extra pep in their step. Don't say the help never did anything for you.
Unfortunately, that's where the perks of your accommodations begin and end. If you thought you had the room all to yourself, think again. Maybe it's a stranger snuggled up to you in bed that first clues you in. Or maybe it's the mattresses laid out on the floor, sleepover style. Complaining to the maid that enters won't get you very far. "We apologize for the inconvenience," she says, clearly a rehearsed script she's had practice delivering. "We're in the middle of repairs. Guests will have to share four to a room." Ask her again, and mumbles out a mousy apology, before scurrying away. Guess you'll have to rock-paper-scissors to see who gets to claim the bed.
Eventually, your curiosity or hunger (or anger) wins out. Entering the corridor, "repairs" suddenly seems like an understatement. A putrid scent sits in the air, maids scrubbing at bits of guts stuck into the carpet like chewing gum. No one looks up from the frantic cleaning as you stroll down the corridors where you might find yourself ending up in the twists and turns of rooms, lost in what they offer. Regardless, seemingly all hallways, covered in priceless artworks that have been ripped from the wall and ancient artifacts knocked down from their rightful places, lead to the dining room in all of its cobwebbed disrepair.
There, Giles ushers guests onto the lawn. "Breakfast will be served outside today," he says, tight lines around his mouth. Traditional gingham blankets have been sprawled out on the lawn, protecting your legs from the thin layer of snowmelt still on the ground, as you're nudged together and urged to share amongst yourselves. Open up the wicker basket to a strange assortment scrounged together last minute by the kitchens: champagne before noon, lobster salad sandwiches, fruit cakes, artisanal cheeses, apples that look questionably rotten, and old Valentine's Day chocolates in plasticky heart boxes to polish it off. Do those taste spiked to you? It's a good thing it's still a crisp day to cool you off, once you start feeling a little warmer under the collar.
For those of you attempting your daring escapes, the front gates are easy enough to jump over, even if the walk towards them gives you a strange sense of foreboding, or just outright discomfort, as if the ground itself doesnโt want you to leave. Those more sensitive or fragile might find they canโt make the jump, no matter how physically able, or desperately wanting. Still, a strong person could continue on, over the fence and into the lush English countryside. The feeling doesnโt dissipate, though โ this sense of wrongness, almost sickness, like a weight on your back. Walk into the evergreen, carry on, but the strongest will make it perhaps a mile or so before the weight of dread and paranoia brings you to your knees, and then to your face, flat in the middle of a dirt road. What were you thinking? Is this really better?
Wake up with a hangover, in a bed, the curtains drawn, the maid saying, "Breakfast is served," before scurrying out. The cocaine is there, just like you remember. The strangers in your room are there, just like you remember. In fact, itโs all exactly how you remember, as if you never left an imprint the first time. Walk to the estate lawns, and find everyone there eating away at their breakfast.
Welcome to Saltburnt, esteemed guests. Enjoy your treats while they last.
For once, it's not the pounding hangover that stirs you awake. Oh, it's still there, like little shards of glass being shoved through your skull — but your dry, cottony mouth should be the least of your concerns. When you turn over, it's clear that the glitz and glamor of your room has been ... well, neglected, as of late. The sheets are musty, the furniture covered in layers of dust that sets your nose off, the nightstand decorated with a glass of stale water growing a new bacteria culture. If you're looking for room service to cure your headache, you'll have look elsewhere for painkillers โ the maid has very generously left you a more traditional form of medicine. A neat little bag of white powder rests at your bedside, for those that need a little extra pep in their step. Don't say the help never did anything for you.
Unfortunately, that's where the perks of your accommodations begin and end. If you thought you had the room all to yourself, think again. Maybe it's a stranger snuggled up to you in bed that first clues you in. Or maybe it's the mattresses laid out on the floor, sleepover style. Complaining to the maid that enters won't get you very far. "We apologize for the inconvenience," she says, clearly a rehearsed script she's had practice delivering. "We're in the middle of repairs. Guests will have to share four to a room." Ask her again, and mumbles out a mousy apology, before scurrying away. Guess you'll have to rock-paper-scissors to see who gets to claim the bed.
Eventually, your curiosity or hunger (or anger) wins out. Entering the corridor, "repairs" suddenly seems like an understatement. A putrid scent sits in the air, maids scrubbing at bits of guts stuck into the carpet like chewing gum. No one looks up from the frantic cleaning as you stroll down the corridors where you might find yourself ending up in the twists and turns of rooms, lost in what they offer. Regardless, seemingly all hallways, covered in priceless artworks that have been ripped from the wall and ancient artifacts knocked down from their rightful places, lead to the dining room in all of its cobwebbed disrepair.
There, Giles ushers guests onto the lawn. "Breakfast will be served outside today," he says, tight lines around his mouth. Traditional gingham blankets have been sprawled out on the lawn, protecting your legs from the thin layer of snowmelt still on the ground, as you're nudged together and urged to share amongst yourselves. Open up the wicker basket to a strange assortment scrounged together last minute by the kitchens: champagne before noon, lobster salad sandwiches, fruit cakes, artisanal cheeses, apples that look questionably rotten, and old Valentine's Day chocolates in plasticky heart boxes to polish it off. Do those taste spiked to you? It's a good thing it's still a crisp day to cool you off, once you start feeling a little warmer under the collar.
For those of you attempting your daring escapes, the front gates are easy enough to jump over, even if the walk towards them gives you a strange sense of foreboding, or just outright discomfort, as if the ground itself doesnโt want you to leave. Those more sensitive or fragile might find they canโt make the jump, no matter how physically able, or desperately wanting. Still, a strong person could continue on, over the fence and into the lush English countryside. The feeling doesnโt dissipate, though โ this sense of wrongness, almost sickness, like a weight on your back. Walk into the evergreen, carry on, but the strongest will make it perhaps a mile or so before the weight of dread and paranoia brings you to your knees, and then to your face, flat in the middle of a dirt road. What were you thinking? Is this really better?
Wake up with a hangover, in a bed, the curtains drawn, the maid saying, "Breakfast is served," before scurrying out. The cocaine is there, just like you remember. The strangers in your room are there, just like you remember. In fact, itโs all exactly how you remember, as if you never left an imprint the first time. Walk to the estate lawns, and find everyone there eating away at their breakfast.
Welcome to Saltburnt, esteemed guests. Enjoy your treats while they last.
CUPID'S ARROW STRUCK ME
CONTENT WARNINGS: possible sex, violence, a/b/o themes (pheromones, mating, heat/rut), breeding, body transformation/body horror, aphrodisiacs.
They say all is fair in love and war, but making war instead of love is a tiresome sport. While the help mops blood from the floorboards, the Balfours have kindly arranged for a (very belated!) Lupercalia celebration. What better way to distract yourself from your pesky mortality, if not with the life-giving act of sex? Just ask the Ancient Romans.
For those guests who like to watch (we see you, voyeurs), the lawn's knolls offer a perfect viewing. There, you can participate in a hunt of a more innocent sort. Sprinkled throughout the lawn, hidden in flower pots and tree alcoves, are brightly colored plastic eggs. Pop them open, and you'll find hidden trinkets inside. Those lucky enough might win a new pair of Tiffany's diamonds; some, to your annoyance, explode in your face with glitter and confetti. Others contain chalky conversation hearts, stamped with their own sayings. Some lean more innocent, but there's no mistaking the X-Rated hearts in the bunch.
Whether yours are PG or NC-17, they share one thing in common: you're compelled by the spirit of whatever heart you munch on, whether it be embodying its mood or acting out its instructions with a partner.
For those guests who are a little more daring (helped along by the chocolates that might have you feeling bolder than normal), Jonty has agreed to lend his expertise to leading a hunt — of sorts. With his expert knowledge on nature, HALSIN has been appointed to lead the charge alongside him, calmly watching over those who take an interest in signing up. By the edge of the forest, volunteers are divided into various groups and given all they need to transform. Masked hunters browse through an assortment of flogs, bindings, collars, leashes, and riding crops for the pleasure (or pain) of their captured prey. As for guests who draw the short end of the stick? You're the prized catch of the day. You best run, rabbit, and hope the wolves don't catch your scent.
PREY is, at least, given the mercy of a head start — we're not complete animals, here. Stripped naked and vulnerable, with only a mask to protect you, the only goal on your mind is to outlast the hunters. It's all in good fun, at first. Women and men alike are dragged laughing and kicking by their ankles, a reward for their captor to do with as they please. Eventually, the thrill in your stomach turns to dread, and the dread turns into a cramping ache that leaves you gasping on the forest floor, unbearable pain wrenching through your insides. For a horrifying moment, you're certain your bones are going to split apart from your flesh. You burn and burn and burn with no relief, caught between your desire to run and your need to fill the emptiness within you.
HUNTERS aren't immune, either. There's something animal within you, clawing for escape. Instincts overtake all sense and logic, leaving behind the natural, predatory drive to claim. Participants gradually lose themselves in their roles, reduced to nothing more than a mess of base instincts. Your fellow hunters, perhaps once friends, are nothing more than competition to you now; you snap, violent and territorial, at any who cross your path. Your senses grow stronger, scenting the sweetness of your prey on the wind, single-mindedly chasing their trail.
Think that's the worst of it? Think again. You might become so absorbed in your role that your body follows suit, transforming before your very eyes. Furry ears sprout, tails emerge, fangs descend, claws sharpen, mating glands throb in your throat beg for attention, your anatomy grows new changes to accommodate your fun, compatible mates smell especially enticing — all determined by the mask you don, now trapped in your new form.
Happy hunting, dearests. Don't let your prey be the one who got away. You never know who might get to them first.
They say all is fair in love and war, but making war instead of love is a tiresome sport. While the help mops blood from the floorboards, the Balfours have kindly arranged for a (very belated!) Lupercalia celebration. What better way to distract yourself from your pesky mortality, if not with the life-giving act of sex? Just ask the Ancient Romans.
For those guests who like to watch (we see you, voyeurs), the lawn's knolls offer a perfect viewing. There, you can participate in a hunt of a more innocent sort. Sprinkled throughout the lawn, hidden in flower pots and tree alcoves, are brightly colored plastic eggs. Pop them open, and you'll find hidden trinkets inside. Those lucky enough might win a new pair of Tiffany's diamonds; some, to your annoyance, explode in your face with glitter and confetti. Others contain chalky conversation hearts, stamped with their own sayings. Some lean more innocent, but there's no mistaking the X-Rated hearts in the bunch.
Whether yours are PG or NC-17, they share one thing in common: you're compelled by the spirit of whatever heart you munch on, whether it be embodying its mood or acting out its instructions with a partner.
For those guests who are a little more daring (helped along by the chocolates that might have you feeling bolder than normal), Jonty has agreed to lend his expertise to leading a hunt — of sorts. With his expert knowledge on nature, HALSIN has been appointed to lead the charge alongside him, calmly watching over those who take an interest in signing up. By the edge of the forest, volunteers are divided into various groups and given all they need to transform. Masked hunters browse through an assortment of flogs, bindings, collars, leashes, and riding crops for the pleasure (or pain) of their captured prey. As for guests who draw the short end of the stick? You're the prized catch of the day. You best run, rabbit, and hope the wolves don't catch your scent.
PREY is, at least, given the mercy of a head start — we're not complete animals, here. Stripped naked and vulnerable, with only a mask to protect you, the only goal on your mind is to outlast the hunters. It's all in good fun, at first. Women and men alike are dragged laughing and kicking by their ankles, a reward for their captor to do with as they please. Eventually, the thrill in your stomach turns to dread, and the dread turns into a cramping ache that leaves you gasping on the forest floor, unbearable pain wrenching through your insides. For a horrifying moment, you're certain your bones are going to split apart from your flesh. You burn and burn and burn with no relief, caught between your desire to run and your need to fill the emptiness within you.
HUNTERS aren't immune, either. There's something animal within you, clawing for escape. Instincts overtake all sense and logic, leaving behind the natural, predatory drive to claim. Participants gradually lose themselves in their roles, reduced to nothing more than a mess of base instincts. Your fellow hunters, perhaps once friends, are nothing more than competition to you now; you snap, violent and territorial, at any who cross your path. Your senses grow stronger, scenting the sweetness of your prey on the wind, single-mindedly chasing their trail.
Think that's the worst of it? Think again. You might become so absorbed in your role that your body follows suit, transforming before your very eyes. Furry ears sprout, tails emerge, fangs descend, claws sharpen, mating glands throb in your throat beg for attention, your anatomy grows new changes to accommodate your fun, compatible mates smell especially enticing — all determined by the mask you don, now trapped in your new form.
Happy hunting, dearests. Don't let your prey be the one who got away. You never know who might get to them first.
A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME
CONTENT WARNINGS: nsfw (exhibitionism, ritual sex, orgy), dubious consent via magical compulsion.
After a debauched weekend, the Balfours eventually get sick of cleaning cum and blood off of their expensive Tuscan curtains courtesy of their guests' constant animal urges, and search for a solution. It starts with a magic pull in the pit of your stomach one night, guiding you further into the woods, back to where it all began. The further you step into the darkened forest, the more that feeling unspools, until you find yourself at the base of an altar. Branches and flowers decorate its sides, but it's the whorling sigils that draw your eye. To even the most educated eye, they're indiscernible, like nothing you've ever seen — yet they seem to soothe you, as if you know this is where you were meant to be.
Gentle hands from servants shed your clothing. The night air is a balm on your overheated skin as countless hands paint the same symbols ritualistically over your stomach, your chest, your neck, imbuing you with a sudden overwhelming burst of ... something. Something ancient and powerful, a vessel for magic growing root in your belly. Regardless of gender, they name you LORD or MAIDEN as they step aside to form a holy circle, watching you with reverent stares.
As a Lord, you don't know how you know, but you're aware you must choose your Maiden from the crowd. Maybe it's your mate, if you've taken one; maybe it's a stranger, inexplicably calling to you. But the magic leads you to them, unable to deny the call, as you bed them on the altar for all to see. Others around you do the same, pairing off or joining couples with wandering hands, smudging lines of paint in their ecstasy. Upon completing the rite with your chosen (or several chosens), magic releases itself into the land like a ripple, urging on the fertile beginnings of springtime. Trees sprout full leaves. Rose bushes come into full bloom. Those who suffered transformations come back to themselves, losing all of their animal features, and regaining their minds.
To fully embrace the season's change, you're invited to the lakeside festivities that follow. Several fires flicker warmly, dancers in various states of undress beckoning you to join them as they twirl themselves around. Some call for you to leap over the flames, showing you how it's done with a bit of drunken grace. All guests are urged to "purify" themselves in the spirit of rebirth, starting with your fears and hang-ups and rancid vibes. Choose a sentimental item to sacrifice, and release yourself from the bad memories attached, by feeding it to the flames. Or pen those letters you can't bring yourself to send, pouring out those emotions you've kept inside, and watch the pages burn away the baggage they contain.
Be careful with them, however — those letters are delivered to rooms the very next day, airing out your dirty laundry to their intended (or unintended, oops) recipient. You might even find they've been left in very public view, carelessly strewn onto the dining table or hung up in the corridors, for anyone to read. Those text drafts you also never meant to see the light of day? Fired off to the person you thought better of sending them to. Did you mean for those to stay private? Too bad, so sad. Part of purification is making amends with yourself and your loved ones, so get to it if you want to clean your dirty soul.
More of a "wash that guy right out of your hair" kind of person? Come join the communal bathing in the lake, where you're encouraged to give your neighbor a helpful hand. Is it just the moonlight, or do they look much more irresistibly beautiful? Whatever the case, pouring a palmful of water over each other seems to wash away old pains, whether physical or mental. Scars begin to fade as complexions become brighter. Your anxieties melt away until you can't remember ever having them. Festering grudges disappear. You are well and truly free for the night, unburdened by what came before. Nothing can hold you back.
If you're not looking to get your toes wet, you can participate in love fortune-telling at the seed planting and flower-making station. Individuals are paired off and led to a patch of garden where they can plant new life for the upcoming season, encouraged to write down their intentions and hopes for the upcoming spring, and share them by burying them alongside their seed. In another area, supplies have been left out to twine together your own flowering wreaths, which are then sent to float in the lake. Whoever picks up your wreath is rumored to be your soulmate, and if you didn't believe in them before — you do now. As if struck by Cupid's arrow, you fall head over heels for them, no matter how you felt about them before.
As you sip on tea and munch on sweet dumplings, be sure to make your final stop the Wishing Tree. Ribbons hang from its branches in delicate pastel colors, each of them bearing someone's desire. Blank scraps wait nearby, encouraging you to write and share your own. Who knows? It might just come true.
After a debauched weekend, the Balfours eventually get sick of cleaning cum and blood off of their expensive Tuscan curtains courtesy of their guests' constant animal urges, and search for a solution. It starts with a magic pull in the pit of your stomach one night, guiding you further into the woods, back to where it all began. The further you step into the darkened forest, the more that feeling unspools, until you find yourself at the base of an altar. Branches and flowers decorate its sides, but it's the whorling sigils that draw your eye. To even the most educated eye, they're indiscernible, like nothing you've ever seen — yet they seem to soothe you, as if you know this is where you were meant to be.
Gentle hands from servants shed your clothing. The night air is a balm on your overheated skin as countless hands paint the same symbols ritualistically over your stomach, your chest, your neck, imbuing you with a sudden overwhelming burst of ... something. Something ancient and powerful, a vessel for magic growing root in your belly. Regardless of gender, they name you LORD or MAIDEN as they step aside to form a holy circle, watching you with reverent stares.
As a Lord, you don't know how you know, but you're aware you must choose your Maiden from the crowd. Maybe it's your mate, if you've taken one; maybe it's a stranger, inexplicably calling to you. But the magic leads you to them, unable to deny the call, as you bed them on the altar for all to see. Others around you do the same, pairing off or joining couples with wandering hands, smudging lines of paint in their ecstasy. Upon completing the rite with your chosen (or several chosens), magic releases itself into the land like a ripple, urging on the fertile beginnings of springtime. Trees sprout full leaves. Rose bushes come into full bloom. Those who suffered transformations come back to themselves, losing all of their animal features, and regaining their minds.
To fully embrace the season's change, you're invited to the lakeside festivities that follow. Several fires flicker warmly, dancers in various states of undress beckoning you to join them as they twirl themselves around. Some call for you to leap over the flames, showing you how it's done with a bit of drunken grace. All guests are urged to "purify" themselves in the spirit of rebirth, starting with your fears and hang-ups and rancid vibes. Choose a sentimental item to sacrifice, and release yourself from the bad memories attached, by feeding it to the flames. Or pen those letters you can't bring yourself to send, pouring out those emotions you've kept inside, and watch the pages burn away the baggage they contain.
Be careful with them, however — those letters are delivered to rooms the very next day, airing out your dirty laundry to their intended (or unintended, oops) recipient. You might even find they've been left in very public view, carelessly strewn onto the dining table or hung up in the corridors, for anyone to read. Those text drafts you also never meant to see the light of day? Fired off to the person you thought better of sending them to. Did you mean for those to stay private? Too bad, so sad. Part of purification is making amends with yourself and your loved ones, so get to it if you want to clean your dirty soul.
More of a "wash that guy right out of your hair" kind of person? Come join the communal bathing in the lake, where you're encouraged to give your neighbor a helpful hand. Is it just the moonlight, or do they look much more irresistibly beautiful? Whatever the case, pouring a palmful of water over each other seems to wash away old pains, whether physical or mental. Scars begin to fade as complexions become brighter. Your anxieties melt away until you can't remember ever having them. Festering grudges disappear. You are well and truly free for the night, unburdened by what came before. Nothing can hold you back.
If you're not looking to get your toes wet, you can participate in love fortune-telling at the seed planting and flower-making station. Individuals are paired off and led to a patch of garden where they can plant new life for the upcoming season, encouraged to write down their intentions and hopes for the upcoming spring, and share them by burying them alongside their seed. In another area, supplies have been left out to twine together your own flowering wreaths, which are then sent to float in the lake. Whoever picks up your wreath is rumored to be your soulmate, and if you didn't believe in them before — you do now. As if struck by Cupid's arrow, you fall head over heels for them, no matter how you felt about them before.
As you sip on tea and munch on sweet dumplings, be sure to make your final stop the Wishing Tree. Ribbons hang from its branches in delicate pastel colors, each of them bearing someone's desire. Blank scraps wait nearby, encouraging you to write and share your own. Who knows? It might just come true.
DIRECTORY
no subject
no, it's not enough. it's unbearable, only having his fingers inside of her, her legs spread for him in hallowed welcome. saber needs to fuck, needs to come, and he's fueled by her words, burning for her. her soft hand around his cock is the message he's been waiting for, careful as he removes his fingers to bring them up to his lips. he has to give this to her, but he wants her to see how he hungers.]
Look at me, and don't stop looking at me. [his free hand palms over her forehead to push back any strands of hair, he's sharing this moment with her, watching her watch him. he sucks two fingers into his mouth, slick with her juices and now his own saliva. covering hers with his. messy, dripping down his chin. he presses them to her lips when he's finished, coaxing them apart.] Taste yourself. Taste me with you.
[her legs and hand guide him enough, but even if her hand weren't wrapped around his length he'd be able to find her entrance. she's especially wet and all it takes is a slight adjustment of his hips to slide the head of his cock inside and oh - that's dangerous. a new, animalistic heat washes over him. she's tight, he can feel how he stretches her, how he might need to slow down but can't, as if her body is pulling him in.]
Just like that, you're taking me so wellโ [and he keeps praising her, feasting his eyes on her reaction as he pushes himself deeper with every rock of his hips.]
no subject
alicent whines as he removes his fingers, clenching around nothing. near desolate at the emptiness, begging with the hand squeezing his cock, for want of words. even when forsaking saintliness in her chambers, she has never felt so needful, on the verge of ruin. her curls have fallen everywhere, wild until saber tames them with a strangely gentle touch, at odds with the filth that follows.
she can hardly catch her breath for the sight of his fingers disappearing into his plush mouth. impossibly, this โ of all things โ pinks her cheeks, the unfamiliarity of it demanding her full attention, too-big eyes blown wide. why did she deny herself his tongue? now commanding her so prettily. itโs more debaucherous than any subject would dare and all the better for it. criston would not dream of instructing her so, and he certainly wouldnโt expect anything of her prim lips, tentatively parting first to accept, then lap at his fingers, moaning as she takes them. proof she can take him elsewhere just as well, she hopes, eager to please and be pleased in turn (a foreign instinct, after holding herself above others for so long).
it must work, for how he finally pushes into her, an inexorable slide that stretches her beyond what his long fingers could manage. her eyes shutter, momentarily, before she recalls his ask that she look at him, cracking open again to take in his ravenous expression. has anyone wanted her this much? she whimpers, aching to accommodate him faster, hand flitting to his hip to urge him onward, even as her mouth parts on a ragged breath. ]
Oh. [ itโs never felt like this before, like carving open a space made for him alone, filling her up as no one else can. her back arches as he sinks to the hilt, hands sliding from hips to chest to neck, seeking purchase in the tidal wave of overwhelm, every nerve alight with pleasure at having accomplished the first goal of the hunt, to be taken. ]
You feel โ [ she drags him in for a bite-kiss, teeth nicking his lip, before she noses into his neck, scraping his pulse. impossibly, sheโs still burning. her legs cinch tighter at his lower back. ] Gods, donโt you dare stop.
[ not for anything, when sheโs teetering at the edge, and she still needs him to spill inside her. ]
no subject
I won't-
[breathed out in a promise, knees get dug into dirt as he fucks into her with more fervor, addicted to how she clenches around his dick, wet and leaking. his rhythm grows more merciless, bottoming out inside of her to grind his hips against her when there isn't any space left for him to go. having to tear his hand away from her mouth is a terrible thing, he thinks, but he'd rather replace them with his mouth so he can dig into the grassy forest floor. perfect timing since she's already begging for his mouth, his skin, his twisted adoration.]
โ Bite me, Alicent, you deserve to.
[he's barely holding himself together, muscles taut and dick throbbing - aching - to come since he's gotten his hands on her, around her, in her. he's doling out words to stimulate her, ones she might find to be commands, but he knows she can take them. will take them. he dips his head into her neck again to bite โ hard โ with little warning, only this time there is no tongue to sooth over pain, just the vibration of a rumbling moan as he spills himself inside of her, pressed so deep, pulsing for her womb.
saber only has eyes for her, will bed her until she forgets about anyone else. she needs him as much as he needs her. the first release brings some clarity, some relief. his instincts can allow some relaxation now that she's soaking him up. not that it means anything. there's no stopping him now, his purpose not yet fulfilled. cock still hard and rhythm barely interrupted, he fucks his come back inside of her, tongue licking the indents of his teeth on her skin. he repeats the process over and over while he thrusts into her: biting until he can't or she won't allow him, finding her mouth to eat up her noises and return his own, urging her to leave any marks she likes.]
cw internalised misogyny, slut shaming
she canโt come until he does, the horrible emptiness inside keeping her from that jagged ledge, stomach cramping, thighs trembling. fucking her mouth, her cunt โ none of itโs enough until he spills inside her, fuller, deeper than anyoneโs ever been. unprecedented pleasure, complemented by the brilliant pain of his teeth in her neck. she knocks her head back into the hard ground and keens at how well he fills her (at the thought of him taking root, so she can give him a child, an heir, whatever he wants). ]
Ah โ [ walls of her cunt fluttering, the first spasm of her own peak. itโs a matter of moments, then, before she comes on his cock, around the juddering thrusts that chase his release. itโs just the start, splitting her open, because she needs more โ even as the corners of her eyes grow wet with the overstimulation. her back drags against the grass, another unfamiliar burn. the slick sounds of him working her through it and up, over are maddening. fucking the cum in and out of her, making her whine not at being overfull but at the trickle that escapes her cunt. she was always meant for this, the targaryen broodmare, the hightower whore. finally, alicent will appear as ruined as she has felt since she knocked upon the kingโs door.
thereโs no stretch of soft, pale skin that isnโt his to claim. itโs apparent that she likes his harshest thrusts and meanest bites best, arching into his mouth and never away. her nails claw down his to leave scratch-marks and grip his hips to bruise. she steals his breath from his mouth. (this is, after all, what she deserves.) but itโs her third orgasm, hot on the heels of his second, that has her canting her hips higher and hitching her thighs that bit wider, so he hits that tender place within her with every roll of his hips. ]
One more. [ plaintive, the most coherent thing sheโs managed in a minute, seizing upon the brief flash of lucidity that comes from satisfying their roles (with her otherwise lost to sweet sounds and softer pleas). ]
Please. [ a tear catches on her lashes, eyes screwing shut. everything aches, even her mouth red and wet. she finds his hand, fingers braceletting his wrist, then guiding it to where sheโs stretched and filthy around him, the heel of his palm flush to her clit. ] At least one more. [ willing herself to squeeze his cock again, to arch her back invitingly. ] You can do that, canโt you? For me, Saber. Just for me.
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make her a mother make her a mother make her a mother pounding in his thoughts as he ruts into her, the pulsing of her cunt around him when she comes once more getting him close all over again, the thought that it's only him to make her weak its own driving force. he doesn't stop, fucks her through each wave and savors her with every thrust. every time she twitches and writhes beneath him he's in the space she makes for him, be it bending lower to her collarbone to add more blooming of color with his mouth or even nip at her jawline.
more begging reaches past the haze and he obliges, allows her direction. she has to take it, has to need him. she's desperate, desperate just like him. through the rut and heat of it all, he still loves properly, kisses the corner of her eyes. gentle devotion that contrasts how his fingers splay into their combined juices, massaging up around his own cock and her slit that holds him there.]
Just for you โ [breathed out around a moan, hips rolling forward so he sinks into her hilt over and over, movements slower, like he's trying to keep what he's already spilled inside of her from dripping out.] I'll never give this to anyone else. It's yours. Don't ever forget that.
[he can see how undone she is, the pinks of her cheeks, the stuttering rise and fall of her chest, her sweat-sheen skin and parted lips. still he demands more from her, licks up her neck to find where her pheromones are most prominent, teeth dragging below her ear.]
โ you're mine.
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(itโs what she wants, even when wholly herself โ though perhaps not with him, moonspun tresses haunting her mind.
to be desired, chosen, claimed instead of an afterthought.)
and he takes to guidance well, pupils blown wide, so she nips at his ear and hums approvingly. his hand feels so much bigger than her own, cupping her sex, fingers dragging along the seam of her. better even than his adoration, for him to brush the tender flesh stretched around him. her way of returning his words, proof of their unmatched fit: itโs just for you. no one else has had her so undone, filthy with their shared release on her thighs, in the auburn curls beneath his fingers. madly, she doubts anyone could but him. ]
I wonโt. [ forget, tone assuring or pleading, so he never stops. she wraps her arms around his neck, pressing on the same spot that he tends with his tongue sweetly. urging him to apply his teeth to her already bruised mating bite. she wants it to hurt. ] No other could fill me so perfectly.
[ but him, meant to be hers. chosen by the gods. the wretched magic of the manor. fate. alicent couldnโt say how long theyโve been at this, arousal still lingering, close like humidity, a haze over her mind and body, no longer burning but simmering with continued need. this deep, slow grind works her up again, for it will surely get her with child.
she groans, then, moved by him vocalising his claim. it feels โ impossibly right. unbelievably good. writhing on his cock, nuzzling into his cheek. debauched and tenderer for it, queenly armour discarded. ]
Yours. [ the new ache, not of emptiness but of being used so well, proves it. it almost stings, to near orgasm again, these heights of oversensitivity never before reached, squirming both away and towards. ] Yours. Say it โ [ not just that, but โ ] My name, Saber. [ hushed so low, he might think he imagined it, her lashes kissing his cheek. ] When you claim me again.
[ gods above, she needs to hear it. not aemma, rhaenyra, all the women who came before. alicent. ]
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she has him. nothing else but him.
his jaw yearns for another mouthful, to latch on to the spot that alicent is pulling him into. canines sink past bruising and hyper-sensitive skin to draw blood and leave the imprint of his teeth. even the tiny droplets of blood that surface are taken up on his tongue without hesitation. devours as she absorbs him, eat as she eats, and she's eating well. he's only able to give her this much because it's her.
the way her body reacts, all the shivers and trembling gasps, alerts saber of a terrible hint. a woman awfully neglected of pleasure, and how right it is that he's the one to take her for himself, regardless of the forest's heated magic coursing through their veins.]
No โ no, they can't. They never will.
[warmth pools in his abdomen when she tells him she's his. to him that means forever, and forever he'll make it. dick swelled and pumping inside of her, each roll of his hips building him closer. if his first or second orgasm didn't take, this will. his fingers still messy with their sex, slick and sticky skin eliciting wet sounds for every thrust, he keeps his hands in her soft curls, fingers playing with the flesh that swallows him so well, circling over her clit. the slower rhythm allows him more control, but the stimulation isn't anything more than that.]
Alicent โ Alicent, Alicent, Alicent.
[each time with more urgency, breathless and hungry. watching her squirm, he's an animal bent over eager prey. teeth on her skin gets replaced with lips, with softness, until the undeniable falter of his hand on her cunt and the hitch of his breath that gives him away. saber's muscles tense almost painfully, body worked up on animal natural to fulfill his duty as he buries himself as deep as he can and holds himself there, cock pulsing with each spurt of come. only when he's finished does he begin to rock into her again to urge her into another with him.]
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itโs more gratifying than any victory, that brilliant pain in her neck, tender and aching (for him, because of him). the woman who stood before the dragonโs maw, willing it to swallow her whole โ sated, at last. it pulls an animal howl from her chest, cunt spasming around him. an orgasm too quick to be savoured. heaving breaths stutter into whimpers as he licks her blood from his bite. undeterred by the throbbing pain, she only presses closer, nosing into his damp curls. heartbeat calmed by the scent of him surrounding her, a dip into cool waters.
her nails bite into his nape, while his fingers play at the edges of her entrance, inflamed and glistening. itโs what she wanted, exactly where she guided him, and far too much, thighs trembling, squeezing like sheโd close her legs if not for the whole of him between them. sheโs grateful for it, in the end, echoing his groan when he fucks another load inside her. itโs ecstasy, for as long as his cock pulses. she doesnโt realise sheโs saying his name all the while, in between soft ahs.
finally, in the aftershocks, she manages a punched-out, ]
So full. [ a goblet running over. head thrown back, unable to hold it up any longer. how is he still so big? plugging her up so none of him goes to waste. her lashes flutter, wet and ink-dark. ] Oh, gods. [ a shuddery inhale. ] Iโve never โ I donโt know how much more โ [ she can take, despite the inviting cant of her hips. her mindโs catching up to the situation before her body, still eager to be bred. ] I need it, but I canโt โ
[ take the maddening pounding any longer, fit any more cum inside her when it already leaks down her thighs, climax again with his fingers barely brushing her clit โ except she feels herself tightening up, breathing quickening, kiss-red lips permanently parted and begging to be taken by his mouth, his fingers. ]
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his mouth waters seeing his little doe gone limp, fighting to get a full sentence out. she prays to gods and he prays to whatever allowed this to happen. he kisses the curve of her neck, pauses to let his eyes flit over the marks he's left all over her throat, then to the scar left by some unknown beast. he wants to erase it. wants to be the one permanently carved into her body.]
I know, I know. You've taken so much, it's okay.
[his mouth finds hers again, perhaps an apology while he carefully pulls himself out of her, then he's prying away from her completely to sit between her legs. hands take hold of her waist to pull her closer, resting her hips at the slightest tilt on his thighs, cock sliding over her cum-filled entrance, dripping to the forest floor. he wanted to see all of her.]
You want me back inside of you? Or do you wanna stayโ [hips rolling forward, cock parting her folds with slick noises] like this?
[one hand splays over her stomach, messy with cum, while the other stimulates her clit. his dick threatens to re-enter her with every little movement, and the teasing is just as agonizing for him as it is for her. he's getting himself all worked up, heat flushing his cheeks, precome leaking over her.]
Or do you want me to fuck you 'til you pass out? I can do that. Real slow, I'll put you to sleep and carry you back. I know you need this, Alicent.
cw ref to consensual somno ๐ฎโ๐จ
her hands feel useless, so far from him, but she brings delicate fingers to her ravaged neck, pressing down on the mark until her lashes stutter. the other finds her breasts, circling a peaked nipple and pinching it harshly, air hissing past her teeth. instincts she feels helpless to indulge, because her body isnโt done with her yet. ]
No โ [ immediate, expression pained at the thought of him only teasing her like this, the tip of him spreading her and then leaving her wanting over and over. demanding, ] Inside.
[ the better option, made the best by his final offer, every nerve singing at the thought of it. she couldnโt have asked for it herself, and now itโs all she can think of. vulgar as the words are, alicent hears the truth of it: sheโll be taken care of, for once, the very thing he promised her when she tended his wounds. she didnโt believe him then. now โ she nods fervently, ]
Until then. [ a parting squeeze at her breast before she finds his hand on her stomach, covering it with her own, possessive at the thought of him finishing with her and finding another before heโs done. ] Even after. Until you canโt give me anymore. [ gripping him tightly, gaze unwavering. ] You deserve to.
[ an echo of what he told her (manipulative, perhaps, because sheโll do anything to keep him for herself alone). ]
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he can't take his eyes off her face. her sweet mouth parted for him and panting, reddened, asking for it. surprise - no, delight at her greed. lust. whatever is keeping her burning for him. deep down saber will agree that the manor had its influence, but he's had women whimpering, legs quaking beneath him enough times to know: alicent wouldn't be begging if it wasn't so good. hand twists beneath hers, interlocking their fingers to pin above her head as he bends down over her.]
I'll do whatever you want. You think I deserve you?
[of course she can't handle a taste when he's given her an entire meal. a full course they aren't halfway through, not for him, not when his tip is slipping inside of her. deserve to deserve to deserve to, caught up in his head until he's thinking she's said i deserve you. noisy, needy sounds as his cock is thrust deeper, made easy from the how much he's emptied inside of her. he can feel how much her cunt tightens around him, ready to accept whatever he has left.]
This is why I chose youโ
[the pain is becoming less from a need of a release and more from releasing, but the end isn't here yet, and saber is prepared to do as she says, to breed with her until his dick finally softens. he brings his other hand up to grip her jaw, thumb and finger digging into cheeks as he kisses her, hips rolling forward in a deliberate, agonizing pace.]
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such madness makes whatever you want a comfort, despite knowing it to be an impossible promise.
off the back of it, thereโs no quibbling his interpretation. having treated her to bliss, he deserves her. and to take his pleasure, her own building steady and sure with his every thrust, too, the angle that much more dangerous for dragging against the spot within that rends her insensate. she bites his lip at a particularly slow grind, impatient, and laps the blood from his mouth, kitten licks that savour the taste. her free hand slips lower, daring him to seize it. rolling her nipple between her fingers, nails scraping down her soft stomach, then circling her inflamed clit, making herself moan into his mouth. sheโll come quick, like this, rutting into her hand and his cock. ]
[ a tease the tips into questioning, ] This?
[ why? her wanton body? her obvious need, unfulfilled by what came before? something innate, evidence of their fine match? why, when so few have ever โ ]
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it's good that she's already broken for him today. broken in and around, kneading into his skin in every which way, making a show of herself. she feeds into how much he feasts, nibbling into the flesh of his mouth and making him sink into her, into the pain and her tight, cum-filled cunt, leaking between her thighs. a mess of each other, red smeared over both their mouths and staining skin.
he wants her to come until she can barely manage a wandering hand, until her lashes are wet with tears and he can lick them up. eager to eat the sounds she makes, his mouth is a dangerous silencer, from her lips to her neck for an unyielding bite.
Yesโ [murmurs and moans, impossible to maintain a full sentence without them, on a one track mind of how he has to fulfill her needs. an animal.] I need youโ [she's testing him to take her, to hold her down and forbid it, but all he can think about is-] show me how you play with yourself. Make yourself come on me again, I have to feel it. Have to, Alicent.
[and he lets her. watches her make herself come to snatch her hand up afterward, now with both of her wrists held in one hand above her head, elongating her body. so easy to get back into the rhythm of making her come and fucking her through it, her muscles pulsing around his cock, getting him close. he takes over where her hand had been, cupping and massaging her breast, which he can't seem to settle on, giving attention to both in greedy servings, pinching and rubbing her nipples to see which she favors more.]
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Fill me up.
[ again, as if she isn't stuffed and leaking. ]
You have to. [ mimicking his words, trying for mocking and failing, voice wrecked. ] Don't you want it to take? To make me yours?
[ the ultimate claim, in westeros. the kind that would ruin her family for generations, and yet she can think of no higher calling. a tidal wave of relief overwhelms her when he comes again, giving herself over entirely to her role (and the pleasure he seeds within her). intentionally tightening her walls, milking his cock. it isn't long before she's coming again, hands jerking weakly in his hold, eyes wet with overstimulation, tears tracking down her cheeks. she doesn't want to fight it, instead sinking into the feeling of โ not helplessness, exactly. more like succour, because saber is both the cause and the cure of the fizzling heat within her, carrying them both through the final, sputtering flames of it, licking at her insides. ]
๐ cw a lil somno mention
You're already mine, Alicent.
[he repeats her name, a constant between them. claiming again as his mouth claims hers, taking everything that leaves her. sweat, sound, breath. she gave herself to him and he's never going to forget it. he doesn't know when she did, maybe when she tended to his wounds, or when she handed him that cigarette. dainty hands now covered with come and dirt and him. he said he'd take care of her and he's a man of his word. fingers dig into her breast to leave marks there, too, outlines of more tiny bruises that he knows she likes.
he fucks her until he feels her body go slack, until her hands no longer try and grasp around his own and her noises dwindle and her eyes flutter shut. a warm body to rut into, to come into, to release. he sees her exhaustion, grinds into her for a little while longer for the sake of his seed taking. it's what she wanted, what she asked for. when he's finished he can't resist taking a mouthful of her cunt to taste himself on her, in her. delicious when her muscles still react to that. he hopes she dreams of him when he carries her out of the forest, tucking her in to bed. he doesn't leave her alone, wrapping her up in his arms beneath the sheets.]