#courage^21

[ask-lu-wild]

[skyward-floored]

Febuwhump day 21 - shackled

I’m gonna be honest with ya the shackling is not the focus lol

This one is a little different than the others have been! It’s actually a scrapped idea for the main fic, and is more of an au now because this is not how Cloud and Gloam actually meet. But I kept the little bit of it I wrote around, and decided to repurpose the idea for this.

So it’s basically an au where the Yiga’s plan actually worked in the first place, so instead of all the heroes bouncing around like time-traveling ping-pong balls, they’re all pulled to botw’s time first thing. Which leads to... a lot more stress.

Courage of ages explanation

————————————————————

Link awoke in a dark room.

He blinked his eyes open, but his view barely changed, dim shadows everywhere he looked. The ground was cold and hard beneath him, and when he reached for his pouch, he found that he didn’t have anything with him except the clothes on his back.

Could this be a dream?

His heart rate picked up a little at the thought, and he sat up, his head spinning as he tried to get his bearings. His forehead felt oddly sticky too, and he raised a hand to touch it, but his arm didn’t go as far as he wanted, a metallic clank accompanying the movement.

His arm was shackled to the wall.

Link swallowed, his stomach churning unpleasantly as he realized this wasn’t a dream. It was too real for that, even among all of the realistic dreams he’d had before. But if it wasn’t... Where was this? Nowhere on Skyloft was this dark, and the Surface... was this the Surface? It must be, there was nowhere else he could be. The ancient cistern maybe? Somewhere in the desert?

Well wait, where had he been before here?

Link searched his memory, but all he could come up with was going to bed for the night, Zelda giving him a slightly worried frown when he’d coughed a bit. He’d reassured her he was fine, and then kissed her...

Zelda...

He tried to take in a deep breath, but his breath rasped in his throat, and he coughed, wincing at the gunk he heard rattling around inside of him. Wonderful. He must be on the Surface; the air down here was too thick, and it was aggravating the cold he’d already had.

He closed his eyes as his head throbbed, and couldn’t help the small groan that escaped him. This wasn’t good. He had no clue what was going on, aside from the fact that he’d been chained up and put in a dark room by someone (something?) and his cold was getting worse. Wonderful.

And then a noise suddenly rang through the cell, a soft growl that made the hair on his neck stand up.

He wasn’t alone.

He squinted through the darkness, and realized one of the nearby shadows wasn’t merely a shadow at all, but rather a creature, intelligent eyes staring at him in silence.

Link startled, but then looked a little closer, trying to figure out what exactly it was. It appeared to be a large, furry animal, snout muzzled and leg chained. It stared at him as he looked at it, exhausted blue eyes trailing across his face and pausing at the blood no doubt staining his forehead.

It whined, and Link stared at it, scooting a bit closer as his head throbbed.

Something told him this animal wasn’t a threat, despite its large size and multiple scary features. Some deep-rooted instinct was urging him to trust it, and so he scooted even closer, both steadily watching each other.

He slowly reached a hand out, and the beast gently bumped its head against his palm.

“You’re trapped too huh buddy?” he rasped, running a careful hand along it’s fur before gently scratching his ears, “looks like it’s just you and me. Wonder what they want with us.”

The beast whined again, and Link rubbed his fur, hoping he’d enjoy being petted in the same way remlits did. It seemed to work, the beast gently butting his hand again, and Link almost smiled to himself.

“Wish I could get that off of you,” he said after a few minutes of silence. “Having something like that around your face can’t be comfortable.”

The beast huffed, and nuzzled his hand as best as he could, almost like he was saying not to feel bad about it. Link chuckled, then broke into coughs, his throat aching as he breathed harshly into his arm.

The animal whined and shuffled closer to him, resting his head on his lap and looking up at him with what seemed like worry.

“I-I’m okay, I’m okay...” Link rasped, trying to breath and not agitate his throat. “The air down here it’s just... a lot.”

The beast in his lap studied him for several moments, then let out a soft huff, pressing his forehead against Link’s arm.

“Thanks buddy,” Link murmured, running his hand through his fur.

The motion soothed them both, and the animal’s thick fur helped warm Link, chasing away the chill that had settled into his bones, and making him sleepy instead. He knew he should probably stay awake, figure out a plan or something, but the beast’s fur was soft and warm, and his eyes drooped against his will.

Link curled up a bit further, the animal settled comfortably against his chest, and the two of them dozed off.

(...)

Link awoke to an angry growl.

He startled, brain even fuzzier then before, and quickly wiped the sleep out of his eyes as he sat up. The beast he’d been curled up with was crouched protectively over him, a low growl escaping its throat.

There was light in the room now, coming from a torch. It was held by a person in a strange red bodysuit, and three more of them were approaching him and the beast, weapons glinting at their sides.

Link sat up and scooted backwards, looking at the soldiers as his heart thudded.

“Who are you?” he croaked, throat unpleasantly sore. “What do you want with us? Did you put me in here?”

The strange soldiers didn’t reply aside from chuckling, and they both suddenly leapt forwards, grabbing the beast and manhandling him towards the door.

He was snarling angrily as his chain was yanked, but the creature couldn’t do anything to the people pulling him away, only struggle madly as he was dragged. Link strained at the chain his wrist was in, but it didn’t stretch nearly long enough to stop the soldiers from dragging his cell mate out the door.

“Leave him alone, let him go!” Link shouted, then broke down into coughs as he shouted.

The soldiers only laughed and pulled the beast further away, still struggling and growling angrily through the muzzle. Link managed to raise his head through his coughs, and met the beast’s eyes as he was dragged away, an intense worry directed towards him bright in his eyes.

And then he was gone.

(...)

It took Link hours to fall back asleep.

Which normally would be so concerning Zelda would’ve taken his temperature, but the reason for it this time was pure worry for the strange beast that had been his cell mate.

What was he? Why had he been imprisoned with him? Why did his captors even imprison them both anyways? Where had they taken him?

Was he just a food source?

The options kept his mind racing for hours. And when he finally did fall asleep it was in small restless increments, after which he would jolt awake, his right hand itching and mind churning with dreams he couldn’t remember.

And his cough only seemed to get worse.

He’d finally managed to fall asleep a bit more deeply when a loud clank woke him back up, some dormant reflex of his urging him awake. Link looked blearily up at where the sound had originated, then blinked, staring at what was going on. The strangely dressed soldiers had returned, the same who’d taken his companion, but they had no blue eyed beast held between them.

No, they were instead dragging a hylian along the floor, one who was struggling viciously against the men who were manhandling him inside.

And also wearing a tunic surprisingly similar to Link’s knight uniform.

The soldiers unlocked the cell and near flung the hylian in, one of them quickly crouching down and chaining him with the same line they’d used on the beast.

Link didn’t shout, knowing it would only make himself cough, but he did level the soldiers with a glare. They ignored him, and when the hylian leapt at the soldier who’d chained him again, the biggest of the group kicked him squarely in the chest, throwing him backwards with a grunt.

They stalked away, laughter echoing behind them, and the room went silent.

“Hey,” Link called softly once they were gone, trying to stop his voice from wheezing too much. The other hylian hadn’t yet moved from where he’d been kicked, but at Link’s words he grunted and slowly raised his head. “Are you okay?”

The hylian blinked at him, something odd shining in his eyes as he slid himself up into a sitting position. He sat up with a slight jerk, then clutched at his side, hissing at the movement that was obviously faster then he’d meant to make.

His darkish-blond hair hung in his face, looking unkempt and dirty, and there was blood smeared on his cheek, still leaking slowly from a cut dangerously close to his eye. He stared at Link for several moments before replying to his question.

“I’m... I’m okay,” he answered finally, and concern sparked in his eyes as he looked over Link. “I wonder if I should be asking you that.”

Link blinked at him.

“I’m fine,” he rasped quietly, confused at the man’s seeming familiarity with him. “Who... who are you? Do you kn-know—”

Link broke into a coughing fit, unable to stop himself, and before he knew it the other man was rubbing his back and telling him to breathe. His head felt fuzzy as he tried to catch his breath, and a chill shuddered up his spine, making him shiver.

But when he finally caught his breath, the man gave him a worried smile, and patted him on the arm.

“My name is Link,” he said gently. “And we’ve... well, we already met.”

Link stared at the other Link in disbelief, and the man chuckled a little, then winced.

“You uh... remember the wolf that was in here a few hours ago?” he asked, and Link hesitantly nodded, supposing that a wolf must be the large beast that had been keeping him warm. “Well, I’m... him. The wolf.”

“How is that possible?” Link said in a dumbfounded rasp.

“It’s a long story,” the other Link sighed. Something equally sad and angry flashed in his gaze, but it only lasted a few seconds. “And a bit much to explain right this second. Who are you?”

Despite how awful he felt, Link couldn’t help but smirk.

“Link.”

The other Link raised both eyebrows in surprise. “Your name is Link too?”

“Yep.”

The other Link let out a hearty laugh, amusement making his eyes twinkle. “What are the odds? I don’t suppose you’ve ever fought a fellow named Ganon, have you? Or been turned into a wolf?”

Link shook his head. “I never fought anyone named... Ganon. And I didn’t even know what a wolf was until you showed up.”

Other Link’s face turned more serious then, and he rubbed at his side, looking thoughtful.

“Hm. I don’t suppose... have you seen anyone else in here? A guy a little younger than me, blue tunic, blonde hair?” he asked, and Link shook his head. Other Link sighed in relief, and leaned his head against the wall. “Thank Ordona. He must have gotten away.”

“Pardon me for asking, but who?” Link asked, and Other Link’s face softened.

“Another Link. This is his world, I’ve been traveling with him. We were ambushed, totally and completely overwhelmed, but if he’s not in here with us then that’s a good sign. He must’ve gotten away,” he said with a smile. “We’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Link coughed again, and Other Link’s face darkened.

“Well... maybe not nothing. You okay?”

“Fine,” Link croaked, blinking tiredly. He felt sore and exhausted despite only waking up a little while ago, and his head still felt fuzzy with sleep. Other Link placed a tentative hand on his forehead, and Link was silent as he hummed worriedly.

“You feel pretty warm,” he murmured, and Link shook him off.

“Doesn’t matter. I need to get out of here, Zelda... I can’t remember what happened and I don’t know if she’s okay—”

“Okay, whoa, hold your horses bud,” Other Link said, holding a hand up. His eyes were wide, but something knowing shone in them. “Your name is Link, you know a Zelda, and you were put in here with me? That’s too much of a coincidence. Have you ever heard of a fancy trinket called the Master Sword?”

Link blinked at him. “I forged it.”

Other Link blinked back. “You— Wow. Well that would explain a few things then.”

“Explain what?” Link said, starting to get annoyed. All of this Link talk was just making his head hurt even more. “What does this have to do with a-any—“

He broke down into a coughing fit again, one that went on longer than any of the previous. A hand rested on his shoulder, and Link probably would’ve flinched if he hadn’t been coughing so hard his lungs felt like they were on fire. The hand started to rub, and Link continued to cough, the sounds rough and quite honestly gross sounding, not to mention painful.

But he did eventually stop, and didn’t resist when the other Link pulled his head over to rest on his shoulder.

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to keep secrets,” Other Link said gently. “I just... wow. Did you really forge it?”

“Reforged really,” Link rasped. “But I still don’t know what that has to do with anything.”

Other Link sighed, and looked around the darkened room, Link just barely able to see the blue in them. “It has to do with everything. And since I don’t think we can escape at the moment, I’ll try to explain.”

He smiled, and Link suddenly noticed how similar they looked, even apart from their clothing. Other Link’s eyes nearly matched his own blues, and their hair was close to the same color, even styled similarly.

They could’ve been brothers.

“I’m a Hero of Courage,” Other Link said, holding out his palm. “Just like you.”

And a soft light shone from both of their hands, three familiar triangle sending warmth through their spirits.

[kittzuxp]

Art class

[irl experience, shitty notes doodle version]

This is was the second time he asked me.. and it was also pretty loud so idk if he heard that

(Context: i blush and sweat so very easily because i am an internet goblin with no actual irl social life)

[salt-pile]

Here’s my progress in terms of multiplier battle wins for Team Wisdom, including a 100x battle win that I sure wasn’t expecting.

[northwoodsfan]

Grace Nugget for 3.2.23

Grace Nuggets: Simple reminders of God’s great love for you.

[kmac4him1st]

In Awe Of God

It is a good day when you decide to develop your AWE of God. I promise you will never regret it. God bless ya. KimberlyMac

Amazing Awe-GOD Amazing Awe-God! I don’t think I will ever get over how incredibly amazing God is. He is a spectacular Advocate for us. He does intervene majestically in our lives, there is no doubt about that. It is not always very comfortable the way He does things, His methods are definitely not the way we would sometimes choose to do things. God is very unique, but we can trust that He will…

[bloodveinsgenes]

.

[xxsabitoxx]

Yuji being obsessed with the eating your pussy and accidentally teaching Sukuna how enjoyable it can be.

Sukuna, who’s never seen the appeal in going down on a woman. He figures he would personally gain no pleasure from it so why even bother?

Yuji, who’s the polar opposite and dreams of the day he can finally get you in his bed. Just so he can shove his head between your thighs and eat you out until you’re crying

Sukuna, who’s been forced to listen to these thoughts for years now because Yuji won’t grow a pair and just ask you out. Seriously, it’s been years, he’s losing his mind.

Yuji, who finally asks you out after one shot for courage and can’t believe it when you’re telling him that you’ve been waiting forever for him to ask that question.

Yuji, who forgets that even a single shot of liquor can get him buzzed and in no time at all he has his hands all over you. Not that you mind, you’ve waited just as long for him.

Yuji, who’s dragging you into a random bedroom at this house party and is locking the door behind you, lips glued to yours as he backs you up until you’re falling onto the mattress with him on top of you.

Yuji, who’s kissing his way down your body, falling to his knees before you as he nearly drags your lower half off of the mattress. Tugging your pants and underwear off in one go just to toss them somewhere into the room

Yuji, who’s spreading your thighs apart to finally catch a glimpse of the cunt he’s been dreaming of for years. Saliva pooling in his mouth at the sight of your dripping cunt.

Yuji, who’s whining as he moves his head lower, nipping and sucking the plush flesh of your inner thighs. Your nosies only egging him on as he moves his way upwards.

Yuji, who’s breath is coming out in short pants as he hovers just above your cunt, asking your permission one last time since he knows he’ll be too far gone to stop soon.

Yuji, who’s whimpering against your cunt as he eats you out, tongue licking greedily along your slit before prodding at your swollen clit. Drool leaking down his chin and subsequently your cunt, mixing with your arousal.

Yuji, who has you falling apart on his tongue over and over before he’s even satisfied enough to come up for air. His cheeks flushed pink and hair a mess from where your hands had been pulling at it.

Yuji, who’s begging you to let him eat you again, as if his lips and chin aren’t covered in your sticky arousal. Watching as you struggle to catch your breath, not thinking he would make you cum as many times as he had.

Yuji, who’s practically crying when you lazily nod “yes”, your eyelids almost impossible to keep open as you fall back against the mattress and let him eat you out for the umpteenth time that night.

Sukuna, who’s eyes have been fully opened (against his will) to the appeal in eating a woman’s cunt.

Mildly unfinished but like… the vision is there my

Edit: based on some recent comments and anons I’ve received, there seems to be some confusion with this post.

So let me clarify that Yuji is 21-22 in this, he is in college, I’ve written him the age he would be in 2024.

If you don’t agree with aging up characters? Don’t read the post, or just block me. It’ll save all of us the time and sanity.

[shamballalin]

You Were Not Born a Horrible Sinner Needing to Repent Forever

All human beings were born with the manifestation of the LIGHT of Eternal Universal Life Force Energy animating each one of us, regardless of creed, gender, nationality, race, color, age, eye color, opinion, indoctrination or any other difference humanity can contrive. Over the eons of time our DNA got messed with. It is that process and the result of their manipulation, that humanity was “dumbed…

[eyesxxyou]

First Drink 🥃

🍺・・・l. howlett x fem!reader

rating. m

word count. 2.2k

synopsis. you were everything logan shouldn't want. young, religious, and innocent. you were sweet to everyone. and you've never been touched. logan wants to be your first everything.

or

Logan gives you your first drink

warnings. age gap relationship (reader is 21, Logan is nearing 50) , religious reader, innocent reader, drinking, forced alcohol consumption, dubious consent, fingering, squirting, not edited

↳ pt.1 / pt.2 / pt.3

Logan is far from a holy man. He drinks too much, smokes too often, hasn’t even stepped foot in a church in his entire life. He’d like to think he’s a good man though, one who tries to make the right decisions when he can, but he knows that what he’s like to think and the reality of it all were two wildly separate things. For how could he be a good man when he’s got it out for you, a pastor’s daughter?

He didn’t mean for it to happen. Kind of stumbled into it as one stumbles into trying cocaine. That is to say, he didn’t stumble into it at all. It was a deliberate decision made with addictive consequences. You were his neighbor, a meek, kind little thing often wrapped up in your bible while you sit quaintly on the front steps of your family house. You were young, not too young though. Freshly turned 21. Yet you still wore your modest clothing and pretty mary janes with frilly socks.

Logan was a perverted man. There was no way to get around it. You were as kind and as innocent as any one person could be. You spoke to him kindly, you brought him lemonade while he was working on his motorcycle and all he could think about was how pretty you’d look in his lap with his large hand on your tummy, feeling the bulge of his cock nestled nicely against your womb.

It was one of these days when you brought him lemonade and sat with him in his garage that he turned to you, hands covered in grease and oil. “You’re 21 now, right doll?” Logan grabbed a towel from out of the waist of his jeans and used that to clean off his hands before grabbing the small crystalline cup of fresh lemonade to sip on. It was almost as sweet as you, not nearly as pleasing to taste.

You sat on a small crate with your knees close to your chest. The toes of your sleek, black mary janes pointed to each other. “Yes sir.” He liked that about you, how respectfully you spoke to him. It reminded him of how much power he had over you, how many years, how much authority. Oh, he is far from a holy man.

“You had your first drink yet?”

You were a sweet, little thing, flustered at the mere suggestion of drinking alcohol. “Oh, no sir. I don’t drink. My father would never allow it.” You and your tender sensibilities. You and your innocent nature. Logan thought about how easy it would be to have his way with you. You wouldn’t fight, wouldn’t scream, wouldn’t so much as make a peep. You’d be too entranced by the way his fingers slide along your tongue and his length snuggle sits way into the walls of your unused cunt.

Logan hummed softly. “You wanna?” He watched the way your eyes shifted as you considered it, a world within your grasp if you just had the courage to reach for it. He’d give it to you, all of it, a universe of worldly pleasures. Why restrict yourself now to go to heaven when you can have heaven on Earth right here?

“I shouldn’t.” Your voice is slow and unsure. All you needed was a little push and you’d tip right over the edge into depravity. That’s the thing about little girls like you, you long for a touch of what’s beyond you but you’re always too scared to get it.

Logan stood up to his staggering height, all legs and muscular torso. “Come on, no one will know but me and you.” He offered a hand to you and after a moment of hesitation, you placed your hand in his large palm and let him pull you up to your feet and guide you into his house. It was a world you had never before seen, rustic and dark, smelling so strongly of Logan you thought you might faint.

He had a whole cabinet for his alcohol, bottles of scotch, whiskey, and bourbon. Logan grabbed a bottle out of the cabinet along with a whiskey glass for you to sip out of. He poured some out and you watched with utter fascination. The golden brown liquid long kept from you for fear you may lose your spot in Heaven. Worldly pleasures such as drinking doomed you to Hell.

“Come here, doll.” Logan coaxed you towards him with two fingers as he sat down on his couch, legs open just enough to offer you a comfortable seat on his thighs. You trembled like a newborn deer, scared of this strange, new world you’ve found yourself in. He brought you into his lap, his hands resting on your thigh as he pushed the glass of whiskey into your hand. “Go ahead and try it.”

You looked into the glass, golden brown sloshing around. It didn’t look so intimidating, like drinking Coca-Cola. But it didn’t taste like Coca-Cola when you lifted the glass to your lips and took a sip. It tasted bitter and burned your throat as it went down. “I don’t like it.” You pouted softly, turning to look over your shoulder at Logan. His fingers slowly began to gather the fabric of your skirt, pulling it up your thigh. “Just keep drinking, doll.”

You were a good girl. You did as told, entirely unaware of the way his fingers kept pulling at your skirt until it was entirely up your thigh. You felt his rough fingertips against your bare flesh and shivered as he traced figure 8s into your skin. “Mr. Howlett?”

“Shh, keep drinking.” Logan murmured as he felt up your thigh, closer and closer to your heated cunt. You writhed in his lap, simultaneously uncomfortable and aroused as you felt his rough fingers brush against the damp fabric of your cotton panties. The stuck to your pussy lips, wet and sensitive as he pressed his thumb to your clit through the fabric and began to rub. Logan took his free hand and pushed the cup back to your lips, tilting it to force you to drink.

Logan couldn’t help himself. You were here, splayed out before him for the taking. He’d be stupid not to take advantage of, take advantage of you. You didn't fight it, just as he had expected, like a good girl. “Spread your legs now.” He clicked his tongue and crooned into your ear.

Trembling, you shook your head. “I– I can't.” Your voice, all small and meek, only made his pants tighter. You could feel it, the bulge against your ass through his jeans. Or maybe that was the large buckle against his pelvis.

“Yeah you can. Open up, doll.” He shifted you slightly so that you were sitting on one of his thighs. He used his leg to part yours a bit further, skillfully. He’s had many girls in his lap, none as pretty as you.

Logan stroked your quivering cunt. “What a wet little girl you are. You been thinking about this, pretty girl?” He bounced you on his thigh and let you slide further into his fingers. A stifled whimper escaped you as you braced yourself against him. “Mr. Howlett– please.” You pleaded for your innocence, for your integrity. Most importantly, you begged for him not to expose your innermost thoughts. The sinful way you look at him, all muscle and hair and man.

Your fingers grasped at his wrist and forearm, nails digging into his skin. It wasn't like you were trying to move his hand, not like you could if you wanted you.

You gasped as he curled a finger into the side of your soaked panties and pulled them to the side. Your cheeks began to swell with the heat of embarrassment. Of course, you never expected to have any sexual experience before marriage so you hadn't shaved between your legs. Logan didn't mind at all it seemed, his finger dipped between your lovely lips and stroked in tender touches.

You squirmed in his lap, whimpering. “Mr. Howlett, I…I shouldn't. Please.” His thumb pressed on your puffy clit, pulsing with arousal, and you choked as the electrifying jolts of pleasure shooting through your body. You had ever been touched like this before, not even by yourself. Logan’s experienced fingers circled your leaking entrance, teasing at all the possibilities of pleasure.

“No one has to know, doll.” Grunted Logan. He felt the way your pussy fluttered, the whole thing aching with want. He eased a single finger into you, sighing out a sweet “Jesus” at the way your walls clamped down around him. You let out a squeal, back arching away from him, your nails sinking into his hairy forearm. Your entire body shivered. “Too big,” you murmured, “‘s too big.”

You were small, tight, and already complaining that a single finger was too much. How could he possibly fit his fat cock into your cunt? Logan was sure he'd tear you in half, his precious girl. “Relax, grab that bottle and drink some more, baby. It’ll help you loosen up.”

With a shaky hand, you reached out and grabbed the bottle off the table in front of you. You brought it to your lips and sipped at the liquid while Logan rubbed your hip with his free hand. “Good girl. I gonna keep going now.” You shook your head viciously. “No, no, no, ‘m not ready.”

He cared not for your concerns. Free hand pulling your legs apart, Logan curled pulled his finger from your gripping cunt before sliding it back in. You were all warm and soft on the inside, just like you were on the outside, even more so. You squeaked and squealed in his lap, his thumb attacking your clit in ferocious circles.

It’s a feeling you’ve never experienced before, being fucked with a single thick finger. You mewled, mind growing hazy as your hips rocked against your will. Logan knew you wouldn't be able to handle a second finger. He’d rupture your hymen and he wanted to save that honor for when he pushed himself into you and possessed you completely.

You were dripping down his knuckles. He fingered you so hard and fast, you nearly screamed as you thrashed in his lap. “Mmmh ah, ah… ngh.” Something wet trickled out of you and down Logan's hand, clear and dripping. A weak, little squirt, followed by a much larger one.

“I– I’m sorry, I didn't…” You panted out, whining. Logan cooed lowly in your ear. “Got myself a squirter.” He chuckled, a nice puddle on his leg and couch from your sweet show of pleasure. He curled his finger, messaging your soft walls in desperate search of that soft ridge where your g-spot lay.

When he found it, Logan smiled, chucking as you yelped and cried out, a rattling moan shivering up your spine. You tried to slow his hand, grasping and scratching at his arm. You fell back against his chest, legs splayed open while he took the time to abuse your pretty cunt. “You okay, doll?”

You whined vaguely, hazily, your body rolling then slumping, tensing then relaxing. “I– It feels weird.” Something was building within you. Something tight and breathtakingly beautiful. Tears pricked your eyes, wide and pretty, weeping with the brutality of your orgasm, pressing on the edge of unknown pleasures.

And it snapped like a rubber band. Everything that had been held back released all at once, ravishing your body to the point where there goes pointed in your Mary Jane's and your back arched. Shaking, you clawed at Logan's arm so hard you left bright red marks lining his flesh. “Mr. Howlett!”

“Shh, shh, don't want the neighbors to hear you, do you doll?” Logan slowed his hand, pulling his finger from your aching pussy. His entire hand dripped with your cum, sweet and creamy, some slick with your squirt. “Open up, little one.” He teased the tips of his fingers to your lips like he had that glass of whiskey. Coaxing your mouth open, Logan slipped his fingers between your lips and pressed his fingers to your tongue.

You tasted nice, sweet. Your body unmarred by the poison of excessive alcohol, smoking, or junk food. You were clean and pure, untouched by anyone but him. Logan loved it, knowing that he’s the first man to ever touch you. The knowledge was almost as good as an orgasm by itself. You were his, he possessed you. You were his before you were anyone else's.

When you stood, skirt falling back down to your knees, your legs trembled with the aftershock of your first orgasm. You let out a deep, shaky breath, trembling as you turned to look at Logan’s sitting figure. “M–M–Mr. Howlett.” It’s all you could manage to say to him, choking. You had been violated; your sacred temple desecrated.

And you liked it.

Logan hiked himself up to his feet from his couch and stood before you, towering. His hands on your hips, he pulled you in close to him. You braced yourself with your hands against his solid chest. Your cheeks were still wet with tears which Logan wiped away with the pads of his thumbs. “Why don’t you come back tomorrow, doll?”

You were such a good, obedient girl. You nodded slowly. “Yes sir.”

“Good girl.”

[ask-lu-wild]

Be gone sky

[aria0fgold]

I was gonna do something else today but I saw all of mahoyaku's main story 2 has been translated so time to drop everything and read that finally.

[k-eke]

Surpriiiise ! Biscotte, the muscular tiger fan of music is here!

He might not be as bouncy as the foxes or pigeons but his pecs sure can bounce as much!

This is the first time ever a merch of my characters exists, many asked me in the past but I never had the courage nor the time to do it, so to this day, I am happy to show you what Makeship could make possible ❤️ Biscotte is now real!

The campaign last 21 days (will ends the 29th) afterward it will never ever be possible to order a plush of him anymore so, if you are interested, go for it while it's still possible!

[kleopatra45]

Degrees of Mars in the Natal Chart

Mars in Aries Degrees (1°, 13°, 25°):

These degrees suggest a highly passionate and driven approach to action and assertiveness. Individuals with Mars at these degrees may be impulsive, courageous, and quick to initiate new endeavors. They have a strong desire to lead and can be competitive, enthusiastic, and proactive in pursuing their goals.

Mars in Taurus Degrees (2°, 14°, 26°):

Degrees in Taurus imply a determined and persistent approach to action and physical energy. Those with Mars at these degrees may exhibit patience, endurance, and a methodical pace in pursuing their ambitions. They are grounded, practical, and focused on achieving tangible results, particularly in areas related to stability and material security.

Mars in Gemini Degrees (3°, 15°, 27°):

These degrees suggest a versatile and mentally agile approach to action and assertiveness. Individuals with Mars at these degrees may excel in communication, networking, and multitasking. They are curious, adaptable, and energized by intellectual challenges, often seeking variety and stimulation in their pursuits.

Mars in Cancer Degrees (4°, 16°, 28°):

Degrees in Cancer imply a protective and emotionally driven approach to action and assertiveness. Those with Mars at these degrees may channel their energy into nurturing and defending loved ones, home, and security. They are sensitive to emotional cues and may act from a place of instinctual protectiveness.

Mars in Leo Degrees (5°, 17°, 29°):

These degrees suggest a bold, expressive, and sometimes dramatic approach to action and assertiveness. Individuals with Mars at these degrees are confident, charismatic, and motivated by creative self-expression and recognition. They thrive in leadership roles and may exhibit a flair for theatrics in their endeavors.

Mars in Virgo Degrees (6°, 18°):

These degrees imply a meticulous, detail-oriented approach to action and physical energy. Those with Mars at these degrees may excel in tasks requiring precision, organization, and problem-solving. They are diligent, analytical, and motivated by a desire for efficiency and improvement.

Mars in Libra Degrees (7°, 19°):

Degrees in Libra suggest a cooperative and diplomatic approach to action and assertiveness. Individuals with Mars at these degrees may seek harmony, fairness, and balanced outcomes in their pursuits. They are skilled negotiators, value teamwork, and may act with consideration for others' perspectives.

Mars in Scorpio Degrees (8°, 20°):

These degrees suggest an intense, passionate, and sometimes secretive approach to action and assertiveness. Those with Scorpio at these degrees are driven by deep emotional intensity, determination, and a desire for transformation. They are resourceful, strategic, and may pursue their goals with unwavering focus.

Mars in Sagittarius Degrees (9°, 21°):

Degrees in Sagittarius imply an adventurous, optimistic, and expansive approach to action and physical energy. Individuals with Mars at these degrees are motivated by exploration, freedom, and the pursuit of knowledge. They thrive on challenges, seek new experiences, and may act impulsively in pursuit of their ideals.

Mars in Capricorn Degrees (10°, 22°):

These degrees suggest a disciplined, ambitious, and goal-oriented approach to action and assertiveness. Those with Mars at these degrees are driven by a strong sense of responsibility, determination, and a desire for long-term success. They are willing to work hard, endure challenges, and strategically advance towards their ambitions.

Mars in Aquarius Degrees (11°, 23°):

These degrees imply an innovative, unconventional, and sometimes rebellious approach to action and assertiveness. Individuals with Mars at these degrees are motivated by humanitarian ideals, social causes, and a desire for personal freedom. They are independent thinkers, catalysts for change, and may challenge traditional norms in their pursuits.

Mars in Pisces Degrees (12°, 24°):

Degrees in Pisces suggest a compassionate, imaginative, and intuitive approach to action and assertiveness. Those with Mars at these degrees may act from a place of empathy, creativity, and sensitivity to the needs of others. They are spiritually inclined, adaptable, and may find motivation through artistic or altruistic pursuits.

©️kleopatra45

[021894s]

Twisted Ties - psh smau

PLEASE DO NOT SPAM LIKE CHAPTERS

PAIRING: brothers bsf!sunghoon x f!reader

GENRE: childhood friends to loves, forbidden love, fake dating

SUMMARY: In the midst of her chaotic college life, Y/N is blindsided by an invitation to her ex's wedding. With no date in sight and the event looming, her brother throws a lifeline by suggesting she bring his best friend. the mix of nostalgia and free-flowing champagne leads to an unexpected night of passion. Now, Y/N must navigate through a storm of emotions and the potential drama within her tight-knit circle, all while juggling her academic responsibilities. Will this one night stand alter their friendship forever, or could it be the beginning of something new?

WARNINGS: smut, angst, fluff, language

FEATURING: enhypen hyung + makenae line, fromis9 saerom, nct jeno, occasionally other idols

STARTED: april 26 2024

STATUS: completed

join taglist (CLOSED)

- profiles: scholars ksana

- 01 life of the party

- 02 the invite [1.5k w]

- 03 just don’t fuck him

- 04 rules and regulations

- 05 night out

- 06 shopping spree

- 07 stress reliever

- 08 exam day

- 09 japan

- 10 the wedding [4.9k w]

- 11 I fucked up. [1.6k w]

- 12 liquid courage

- 13 jealousy

- 14 unbothered, always

- 15 unexpected guest

- 16 petty [1.3k w]

- 17 longing [3.5k w]

- 18 I wish it was easier…

- 19 pretty

- 20 complicated [0.7k w]

- 21 my girl

- 22 idiot

- 23 back to school

- 24 who are you? [1.7k w]

- 25 they’re onto us

- 26 girlfriend era

- 27 revelation

- 28 betrayal, hurt, reconciliation

a/n: AHHH i’m so excited to introduce my first full length smau!! i really hope you guys enjoy it, it’s been stuck in the back of my head for a while now. more updates to come!!

taglist: @cornenhapovs @myjaeyuns @magssu @leeknowsgfsblog @luminouskalopsia @jentlecoeur @heeslut4life @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @jaeyungxrl @rapmonie2047 @anormieee @nishislcve @leesura @en-happiness @kimsunoops @heelariously @rikiwaify-blog

[novaursa]

The Wolf's Flame

- Summary: When you take your son flying, Cregan keeps fires warm for your return.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is only daughter of Rhaenyra, has silver hair and violet eyes and is bonded to a dragon. These events happen after Fires That Never Freeze. To read all parts in chronological order, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @daeryna @21-princess

Your fingers gently trace the downy softness of Alysane's silver hair, a mirror of your own. Her tiny eyelids flutter as she breathes steadily against your chest, her warmth a comfort in the quiet of the nursery. The light filtering through the windows casts a soft glow, making the strands of her hair shimmer like moonlight on water. She stirs slightly, letting out a small, contented sigh, and you can't help but smile, though it is tinged with sorrow.

You can still vividly recall the first time Jace held your son, Killian. He had been so careful, so reverent, as if the boy was made of the finest glass. 

"He's got your spirit," Jacaerys had said, cradling Killian in his arms with a grin that could have brightened the darkest day. "And a bit of Cregan's stubbornness too, I reckon. He's going to be a strong one."

You remember how his brown eyes had softened, his usual warrior's stoicism giving way to a tenderness that was rare to see in him. You had laughed then, a light, joyful sound that echoed in the stone halls, lifting the spirits of those around you. 

But now, that memory is a dagger to your heart. Jace is gone, another brother taken by the cruel hands of war and treachery. The Battle of the Gullet claimed him, like it claimed so many others, leaving behind only a hollow ache where once there had been warmth and love.

Your grip on Alysane tightens ever so slightly, as if you can protect her from the world that has already taken so much from you. She shifts in her sleep, her tiny fists clenching, and you wonder what kind of life she will have in this world that seems so determined to tear your family apart.

The door creaks open softly, and you glance up to see Cregan standing in the doorway, his gaze heavy with unspoken thoughts. His presence is a comfort, a solid anchor in the storm of your emotions. He steps into the room, his boots barely making a sound on the cold stone floor.

"She's beautiful," he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion as he comes to stand beside you. His hand comes to rest on your shoulder, a warm, steadying presence. "Just like her mother."

You smile faintly at his words, but it's a fragile thing, easily broken. "She reminds me of Jace," you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "The way he looked at Killian… it was as if he could see all the good in the world reflected in him."

Cregan's jaw tightens, and he nods, his eyes darkening with shared grief. "Jacaerys was a good man," he says after a moment, his voice low and filled with respect. "He would have been proud to see how you're raising our children, Y/N. Proud of the mother you've become."

His words are a balm, easing the sting of your loss, even if only slightly. You lean into him, resting your head against his chest, drawing strength from his steady heartbeat. "I just wish he were here to see them grow," you admit, your voice thick with unshed tears. "To see the family we’re building…"

Cregan wraps his arms around you, careful not to disturb Alysane, who remains peacefully asleep in your arms. "We'll make sure they know who he was," he promises, his voice strong and resolute. "We'll tell them stories of their uncle Jace, of his courage, his kindness. He won't be forgotten."

You nod, a tear finally slipping free, tracing a path down your cheek. "I just miss him so much," you confess, the words breaking like waves against the shore.

"I know," Cregan whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

For a long moment, the two of you stand there in the quiet of the nursery, holding each other close, sharing the weight of your grief. Alysane stirs again, and you look down at her, at the peaceful innocence on her tiny face. She is a beacon of hope, a reminder that even in the darkest times, life continues, new stories begin.

As you gaze at your daughter, you feel a small spark of determination flicker within you. You will protect her, protect Killian, and ensure they grow up knowing the love and legacy of those who came before them.

"I'll make sure they know," you whisper, more to yourself than to anyone else. "I'll make sure they remember him."

Cregan nods, his grip on you tightening just slightly, a silent promise that he will stand by you, no matter what. Together, you will keep Jace's memory alive, woven into the very fabric of your children's lives, a legacy of love and courage that even death cannot erase.

The chill of the northern wind bites at your cheeks as you stand in the courtyard of Winterfell, the ancient stones of the castle walls towering around you. The sky above is a pale, wintry blue, the kind that stretches on endlessly, promising the first snows of the season. Thraxata, your beloved dragon, is a dark silhouette against the sky, her massive form casting a shadow over the courtyard as she awaits you with the patient stillness of a creature who knows her place in the world.

Cregan stands nearby, holding Killian in his arms. Your son's violet eyes are wide with excitement, his small hands clutching at the fur-lined collar of his father's cloak. His breath comes in quick, excited puffs, visible in the cold air, as he watches you secure the last of the straps on Thraxata's saddle. 

"Is Mama ready?" Killian asks, his voice high with anticipation, his gaze flicking between you and the towering dragon. 

"Almost, little wolf," Cregan replies, his deep voice softened with affection. He adjusts his hold on Killian, allowing the boy to lean forward slightly, getting a better view of the magnificent creature before him.

You finish tightening the final strap and turn to face them, your heart swelling with love at the sight of your son’s eager face. "She's ready," you confirm, walking over to them with a smile that feels more natural now, more present. The cold air feels invigorating, as does the promise of the flight ahead.

Killian wiggles in Cregan’s arms, his excitement barely contained. "Can we fly now, Mama? Please?"

You chuckle at his enthusiasm and reach out to take him from Cregan, who hands him over with a tender smile. "Of course, we can, little one," you say, holding Killian close for a moment before lifting him up to press a quick kiss to his forehead. "But you must hold on tight, alright? Just like we practiced."

Killian nods eagerly, his little hands gripping your cloak as you turn to face Cregan. Your husband’s grey eyes are filled with warmth, the kind that always makes you feel grounded, no matter how high you fly. He steps closer, wrapping an arm around your waist as he bends down to press a kiss to your lips, a slow, lingering gesture that speaks of love and longing. 

"Fly safe," he murmurs against your lips, his breath warm in the cold air. "And bring him back to me in one piece."

You smile against his mouth, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. "Always," you promise, your voice soft but filled with the certainty that comes from years of shared battles and shared love. "We'll be back before the sun sets."

With a final kiss, you turn back to Thraxata, your heart thudding with a mix of excitement and the familiar rush of anticipation that always accompanies a flight. You cradle Killian with one arm as you approach the great beast, who lowers her massive head in greeting, her violet eyes shimmering with intelligence and recognition. 

“Hello girl,” you whisper, your free hand brushing against her polished obsidian scales, which glimmer faintly with hues of violet and blue in the sunlight. Thraxata rumbles in response, a sound that vibrates through the ground beneath your feet, as if she’s sharing in the excitement of the day.

With practiced ease, you swing yourself up onto the saddle, positioning Killian in front of you. His small hands reach out instinctively to grasp the pommel, and you secure him with a careful, reassuring grip. He giggles with delight as he feels the warmth of Thraxata’s body beneath him, the thrill of the impending flight already bubbling over.

“Ready?” you ask, your voice a blend of both motherly concern and the thrill of the adventure ahead.

“Ready!” Killian exclaims, his voice filled with a joy so pure it sends a spark of warmth through you, despite the cold.

With one last glance at Cregan, who watches you with that same steady look, you give Thraxata the command to take flight. The dragon responds immediately, her powerful wings unfurling with a sound like thunder. She launches into the air, her great body rising smoothly from the ground as the wind rushes past you, carrying the scent of pine and snow.

The world below falls away quickly as Thraxata soars upward, the chill of the wind tugging at your hair and cloak, but the cold is nothing compared to the exhilaration of the sky opening up before you. Killian’s laughter rings out, a bright, joyous sound that echoes across the open sky. He turns his head back to you, eyes wide with pure wonder. “Mama, we’re flying! Look, we’re really flying!”

You tighten your grip on him, feeling the steady thrum of Thraxata’s heart beneath you, the power of her wings carrying you higher, above the walls of Winterfell and the endless expanse of the North. “Yes, we are,” you say, your voice filled with the same awe you see reflected in your son’s eyes. “Just like I did with my mother when I was your age.”

The dragon’s flight is smooth, a testament to the bond you’ve shared since her hatching in your cradle. She’s been with you through every trial, every loss, and every victory. Now, she carries your son just as faithfully, as if she understands that he is a part of you, a continuation of your legacy.

As Winterfell grows smaller beneath you, you feel a sense of peace settle over you. Up here, with the sky stretching out infinitely above and the world below far removed, it’s easy to forget the weight of your grief, the loss of Jace, the uncertainty of the future. Up here, there is only the sound of the wind, the warmth of your son in your arms, and the steady, powerful beat of Thraxata’s wings.

You glance down at Killian, whose eyes are now glued to the horizon, a look of pure wonder on his face. “What do you see, little one?” you ask, curious to hear his thoughts.

“Everything, Mama,” he breathes, his voice filled with awe. “I can see everything.”

You smile, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple. “Then let’s see where the wind takes us, my brave little dragon rider.”

As Thraxata glides effortlessly through the sky, you let yourself enjoy the moment, the rare freedom it offers, the bond between mother and child, between rider and dragon. And for a time, as the cold wind whips past and the world falls away beneath you, you are simply Y/N Velaryon, a daughter of House Targaryen, a mother, a wife, and a rider of dragons. The rest of the world can wait until your feet are back on solid ground.

Cregan Stark watches as Thraxata’s obsidian-black form rises higher into the sky, the great dragon’s wings beating with a rhythm that reverberates in his chest. He stands in the courtyard of Winterfell, eyes locked on the shrinking figures of his wife and son as they ascend into the endless blue, until they become little more than a speck against the pale sky. The wind whips through the courtyard, carrying with it the scent of pine and the distant promise of snow, but Cregan remains still, his gaze unwavering as long as they are visible.

There’s a sense of awe and pride that fills him every time he watches Y/N with her dragon. Even after years of seeing her soar above the battlements, it never fails to stir something deep within him. She is a true daughter of the Targaryen line, a force of nature bound to the skies, and it amazes him that she is his—his wife, the mother of his children.

As Thraxata and his family disappear from sight, he finally lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, a mix of contentment and longing. He knows she’ll be back before long, but there’s always that small pang of separation, as if part of him takes flight with her every time she ascends into the heavens.

With a final glance at the now empty sky, Cregan turns and heads back toward the Great Keep. The stone walls of Winterfell rise imposingly around him, offering a stark contrast to the boundless sky from which he has just watched his wife and son disappear. The weight of his responsibilities returns to him with each step, grounding him in the reality of the world below.

As he enters the Great Hall, the warmth of the hearth fires greets him, a welcome change from the crisp air outside. The hall is quiet this time of day, the usual bustle of Winterfell subdued, with most of the household attending to their duties. He makes his way down the familiar corridors, his boots echoing softly on the stone floors, until he reaches the chamber where his daughter, Alysane, is being tended to.

The door is slightly ajar, and as he steps inside, he is greeted by the sight of a nursemaid cradling the infant in her arms. Alysane is awake, her bright violet eyes—so much like her mother’s—tracking the nursemaid’s movements with the curious intensity only a baby can muster. The soft, cooing lullaby being sung to her halts as the nursemaid notices Cregan’s entrance.

“Lord Stark,” she says with a respectful dip of her head, adjusting her hold on the child. “The little lady has been a delight today, though I daresay she misses her mother already.”

Cregan crosses the room in a few long strides, his gaze softening as he looks down at his daughter. “She’ll have her back soon enough,” he replies, his voice a low rumble of reassurance. “Let me hold her.”

The nursemaid carefully transfers Alysane into his arms, and Cregan feels the familiar, grounding weight of his daughter settle against his chest. She’s so small, so delicate, and yet she has a strength in her grip that makes him smile every time she reaches out to grasp his fingers. Alysane’s eyes, so much like Y/N’s, meet his, and he can’t help the rush of love that fills him.

“Have you been good for the nursemaid, little one?” he asks, his tone lighter, more playful as he gently rocks her. Alysane coos in response, her tiny fists waving in the air as if to say, Yes, Papa, I’ve been very good.

“She’s taken to her feeding well, my lord,” the nursemaid informs him, a smile tugging at her lips as she watches the interaction. “And she seems to enjoy the warmth of the fire. Perhaps she takes after her mother in that regard.”

Cregan chuckles softly, nodding. “She has the blood of the dragon in her, no doubt. But she’s a Stark, too. She’ll grow to love these cold winds, just as we do.”

He spends a few more moments with his daughter, savoring the simple joy of holding her, of feeling her small heartbeat against his chest. It’s a different kind of peace than what he feels when he’s with Y/N, but no less profound. Alysane is a part of them both, a perfect blend of fire and ice, and he treasures these quiet moments with her.

After a while, he gently hands Alysane back to the nursemaid, who resumes her gentle rocking and humming. “Thank you,” he says, his voice warm with gratitude. “Keep her close to the fire. The day will grow colder before it ends.”

The nursemaid nods. “As you wish, my lord.”

Cregan leaves the chamber, his thoughts now turning to the evening ahead. The wind outside has picked up, and he knows Y/N and Killian will appreciate a warm welcome when they return. He heads toward the Great Hall once more, this time with purpose in his stride. The fires need to be tended, more wood brought in, and the hearths stoked to a roaring blaze. Winterfell might be a cold, unforgiving place at times, but it was also a home—a sanctuary for his family—and he would see to it that they returned to warmth and comfort.

As he reaches the Great Hall, he calls out to a nearby servant, a young man quick on his feet. “We’ll need more wood for the hearths,” Cregan instructs, his tone commanding but not unkind. “Bring in what you can carry and see to it that the fires are stoked high.”

The servant nods eagerly, hurrying off to fulfill the request. Cregan moves to the main hearth himself, where the fire is already burning but not nearly to the level he desires. He takes up a heavy iron poker and stirs the embers, watching as the flames leap higher, their glow reflecting off the stone walls. 

As the fire roars to life, filling the hall with a warm, golden light, he steps back, satisfied with his work. The crackling of the flames, the scent of burning wood, and the comforting heat are all reminders of why he fights, why he endures. It’s for these moments—for the quiet, peaceful evenings after the storms have passed, when his family is safe and together under one roof.

He can almost hear Killian’s excited laughter already, the way his little boy’s voice fills the hall with joy whenever they return from a flight. He imagines Y/N’s smile, the way it lights up her entire face, and how her silver hair catches the firelight as she steps inside, Killian in tow, both of them flushed from the cold and the exhilaration of the sky.

The servant returns with an armful of wood, and Cregan helps him stack it near the hearth. The warmth is already spreading through the hall, driving away the chill that had begun to settle as the day waned. He can feel the sense of home building around him, the very thing he’s fought to protect, to preserve for those he loves most.

With the fires now blazing, he takes a moment to himself, standing in the center of the hall and letting the warmth seep into his bones. It’s a simple pleasure, but one he doesn’t take for granted. The flickering light of the flames plays across his face, casting shadows that dance along the stone walls. 

He glances toward the door, knowing it will soon swing open, admitting his wife and son back into the safety and warmth of Winterfell. He’s ready to greet them, to hear about their flight, to listen to Killian’s breathless recounting of the view from above and to feel the reassurance of Y/N’s presence beside him.

As he waits, the fire crackling at his back, Cregan Stark feels a deep sense of contentment. There’s a storm coming, as there always is in the North, but for now, his world is warm, his heart full, and his family is safe. And that is all he could ever ask for.

The warmth of the fire mingles with the lingering heat of your bodies, still flush from the passion that had just consumed you both. You lie nestled in the soft, thick furs of your bed, the heavy pelts providing a cocoon of warmth against the biting cold that lurks just beyond the walls of Winterfell.

Cregan's strong arm is draped around you, his hand tracing lazy, soothing patterns on your bare back. Your head rests on his broad chest, rising and falling with each steady breath he takes. The intimacy of the moment is profound, the kind of peace that only comes after such intensity, when every barrier has been stripped away, leaving only raw, unfiltered affection in its wake.

His fingers slide through your silver hair, untangling the strands that had become tousled during your lovemaking, and you feel a contented sigh escape your lips. The connection between you is tangible, a bond forged not only in love but in shared trials, in the promises whispered in the dark and the strength you find in one another.

"Sometimes," you begin softly, your voice barely more than a murmur in the quiet of the room, "sometimes I wish I could be down there, in the thick of it, fighting alongside my mother. Facing the Greens with fire and blood, like we were meant to."

Cregan’s hand stills on your back for a moment before he resumes his gentle caresses. He knows how deeply the conflict weighs on you, how much you struggle with the separation from your mother and the battles you were born to fight. "You’re a warrior at heart, Y/N," he says, his voice low and full of understanding. "It’s in your blood, in your very soul. But you’re here now, and there’s strength in that too—in being the heart of this family, in raising our children with the knowledge of who they are and where they come from."

You nod against his chest, taking comfort in his words. It’s not easy to be away from the fight, to know that your family is out there, risking their lives while you remain here, safe in the North. But Cregan is right—there is strength in what you’re doing here, in the life you’ve built together, in the legacy you’re creating.

"I know," you whisper, tilting your head to press a soft kiss to his chest, right above his heart. "I know. But I’m grateful, Cregan. For this, for you, for everything we’ve found here in Winterfell. It’s more than I ever imagined for myself."

He shifts slightly, turning so that he can look down at you, his grey eyes dark and intense as they meet yours. There’s a tenderness there, a love so deep it nearly takes your breath away. "You’ve brought light to this place, Y/N," he says, his voice filled with conviction. "You’ve made it a home, not just for me, but for everyone within these walls. You are the heart of Winterfell now, just as much as you were born both of Dragonstone and Driftmark. And I will always be grateful for that, for you."

You smile up at him, a warmth blooming in your chest that has nothing to do with the fire. "And I, for you, my love," you reply softly, lifting your hand to trace the strong line of his jaw, feeling the roughness of his beard beneath your fingers. "I never thought I could find such peace, such happiness, in a place so far from the warmth of the South. But here with you, it feels like I’ve found something even better. Something that feels like home."

He leans down to capture your lips in a slow, lingering kiss, one that speaks of love and promises, of the future you’ll face together. When he pulls back, his gaze is serious, his expression thoughtful. "Winter will come soon," he says, his voice taking on a more somber tone. "The snow will fall heavier, and the North will sleep beneath its blanket of white. But when the spring sun melts the snow, when the rivers flow again and the ice recedes, the North will rise. And we will march south, to deliver the justice that has long been owed. Just as I promised you, Y/N. The time will come."

You see the resolve in his eyes, the fire of his conviction, and it stirs something within you—a spark of hope, of purpose. You’ve always known that the North was a place of endurance, of long winters and even longer memories. But with Cregan by your side, you also know it is a place of honor, of loyalty, and of promises kept.

"And I will be ready," you say, your voice firm with determination. "We will be ready. For whatever comes."

He nods, the tension in his expression easing as he presses another kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if to seal the promise between you. "But for now," he murmurs against your skin, "we have this. These moments, this peace. And we will hold on to it for as long as we can."

You close your eyes, letting his warmth and the steady beat of his heart lull you into a state of calm. The world outside can wait for now—the battles, the struggles, the uncertainties of the future. Here, wrapped in Cregan’s arms, you find solace, a reprieve from the weight of the world, and the strength to face whatever comes next.

As you drift off to sleep, cocooned in the warmth of the furs and the security of Cregan’s embrace, you feel a deep sense of contentment settle over you. The future may hold its challenges, but in this moment, all is well. You are together, and that is all that matters.