#exceedingly chill

[monards]

the way dain refers to them as the 5 sinners of khaneri'ah even though in almost religion or religious concept to include the idea of sin it's an established point that all humans are inherently 'sinners' due to being human im going insane

[cementcornfield]

[Zac] was just trying to tell me to be happy with the win, and I appreciate that about him. Because I can get lost in, just like everybody can, you get lost in the adversity of the season. You can't take winning for granted and I've tried to get better at that.

[yaoiadderall]

what if instead of going to sleep so i can feel ok at work tomorrow i stayed up to write lesbian stsg

[boilingheart]

"why is anduin 40" have none of you seen a 25 year old man before

[my--possession]

Is it true that my taste in men is atrocious?

yes.

[hraunwyf]

my plans to obtain my intended sidepiece are going IMMACULATELY

[dyed-red]

I think of that “slightly more unhinged Dean” s1 au at least once a week, I need you to know that. Dean’s eyes dilating when Sam asks if Dean would want to be there when Sam is with someone, it not being clear if Sam is also unhinged or is just humoring his brother but still has no issue with his brother being so unhinged, Sarah definitely noticing it’s super weird, whatever Sam’s Stanford friends must think about this because they probably noticed that Sam’s brother was really really weird and intense about him and he had some kind of issue with them despite having never met them before and Sam clearly not having any issue with them so it’s not Dean disliking them because his brother does, John being worried by how the brothers are so either John only just noticed what they’re becoming or the catalyst was Dean getting Sam back and that makes me think of that post about how getting Sam back from the Cage was the absolute worst thing for Dean because he faced living without Sam once and can never do that again, Dean not listening to John when his relationship with Sam comes up, Sam of course follows Dean’s lead rather than John and it’s like that scene when Dean insists John is possessed and Sam automatically sides with his brother despite there not being any solid evidence, Meg adding fuel to the fire when she’s around the brothers, Azazel having been informed about what Sam and Dean were becoming and this being part of why Sam’s the favorite, this also reminded me of how Dean has a hit placed on him by demons in s5, it really struck me that it looked like this was done simply to weaken Sam, what with Gabriel having once told Sam that the bad guys knew Dean was Sam’s weakness and the demon in Swap Meat being so focused on getting Lucifer in his vessel upon realizing Sam is not Sam at the moment, Azazel taunting John about how desperately Sam needs Dean vs not needing John as much, etc. Climbing the walls over this

anon i really do love your brain when my own manages to process all the words you write <3

[swordgrace]

❝ 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥, 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: after your husband returns from battle in the riverlands, you share a rather passionate moment together.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: robb stark x baratheon!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.8K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), smut with fluff, lots of teasing and sweet banter, robb is a chronic yearner, hint of dirty talk, making out, hair pulling, wet robb (he was in the rain), unprotected p in v sex, obligatory stark breeding kink, missionary position + prone bone, scratching, biting, robb is horrendously down bad.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’���� 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: I wrote this because I was rewatching S2 of Game of Thrones and got hot & bothered. End of story. I have a lot of smaller works like this in-progress! I feel like this is not good as my usual stuff but y’know! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! 🫶

Tides of thunder echoed over tempestuous skies, darkened by a deluge, lightning piercing wisps of veiled cloud, akin to slicing steel. Rain fell in gray sheets, bathing the Riverlands in a bitter chill, encampment blanketed by an assailing squall.

For a sennight, the weather had raged, weeping icy tears onto both Stark and Lannister armies.

Murky were the marshlands of the Riverlands, the Green Fork’s banks now laden with silty earth and sunken grass; still, the deluge persisted without any end in sight.

Despite the sour conditions of the outside world, you were fortunate to remain within the sanctuary of your tent, one shared with your husband, Robb Stark. The King in the North valiantly took to the battlefield, blood hot with the surge of war, desiring to sink his fangs into Lannister footsoldiers.

Worry often stirred within your heart, concerned for his wellbeing — it didn’t begin that way. At first conception of your betrothal, you and Robb began as acquaintances, a Baratheon and a Stark, a byproduct of Robert’s longstanding relationship with the late Lord Eddard.

Sometimes, the sting of discomfort lingered; two youths spouting oaths thrust upon them by their forebears. Now, you often prayed for Robb’s safe return, pleading to the Seven that he would be unscathed, his safety paramount.

Without Robb, you had nothing — no allies, no friends, and no family.

Robb had treated you exceedingly well, his gentleness disarming yet gallant when it came to you, his heart honorable yet steeped in vengeance. He had grown fond of you, if not adoring, and you grew rather attached, in turn.

Thunder snarled at your doorstep, an ugly rippling that shook the skies, made them tremble in terror. A shiver passed through you as whistling gales shrieked outside, your tent well-fortified, but the torrential downpour proved to be a relentless beast, drenching any who stood within its path.

With the hour of the wolf upon you, exhaustion had not yet nipped at your heels, nervousness keeping you awake. It became difficult to seek true respite when Robb was away, and you feared that if you closed your eyes, he would slip from your grasp while you slept.

Busying yourself with menial tasks, you took to reading, swathed in his cloak, one given to you nearly a moon ago; a woodland scent clung to thick pelts. A silken nightgown accentuated your frame, hidden beneath wolf’s fur, your bed something of a refuge.

Candlelight flickered, wavering in the midst of the storm’s fury, an orange glow spreading warmth throughout the pavilion’s interior. A sharp clap of thunder made you lurch forward, gooseflesh icing your spine, grip tightening upon your book.

Concern festered violently within your belly, a volatile sensation, one that brought you not a shred of comfort. It made you sick, worrying about Robb to such an unhealthy degree, but you couldn’t help it — war was cruel, as unforgiving as it was callous, culling sheep to the butcher’s block.

As you turned the page, parchment proved to be a rather uninteresting diversion, more vexing than it was intriguing. If it weren’t for your current state, swaddled comfortably within the furs, you might’ve been pacing, restlessness akin to some plague, haunting your every step.

Rest eluded you, until it didn’t.

Unable to recall when you had drifted off, book splayed open within your lap, your position indicated that you had fallen asleep amidst your worrying. You kept yourself angled toward the tent’s mouth, hoping to see Robb emerge at some point during the night.

The Young Wolf’s victory was hard-fought, an ambush through the thick of dusk, effectively dismantling Jaime Lannister’s host entirely, the Kingslayer now taken captive. Men had been taken in the process, such was the heavy toll of war, a burden he now shouldered as King.

Eager to return to you, Robb moved through the pavilion’s burlap flaps, shouldering past the canvas as he stepped inside, auburn curls plastered to his skull. Soaked to the bone, the warmth of his quarters was a welcome relief, chest heaving with a soft exhale.

Cerulean hues waded through his surroundings, finding your slumbering form huddled within his cloak, brows furrowed even as you slept. Affection swelled within his heart, a sentiment he did not think himself capable of, many moons ago.

With hushed footfalls, Robb silently rustled about, desiring to let you have your rest. As much as he longed to rouse you, he knew the toll this war had taken on you, as much as it did him. Unburdening himself of damp furs, he stepped closer, within arm’s reach of you.

Calloused fingertips lightly traced your crown, as soft as a doe, a threadbare smile painting his rugged countenance as he lowered himself onto the feathered paillasse. In a wordless rapture, he ogled your visage, a thing of true beauty, tresses somewhat mussed from sleep.

Fingers remained tense within his cloak, as if you clung to it even when dormant, cheek pressed against the pillow. He found you enchanting, beguiling — if it weren’t for your Baratheon blood, you might’ve made a bewitching sorceress.

Robb’s warm gaze shifted toward the book, nestled comfortably beside your lap, parchment parted to reveal the page you’d left off on. Each shallow sigh you took exuded sweetness, visage worn with inklings of worry, the rest of it somewhat peaceful.

Beyond the tent, the tempest screamed into the night, washing away the blood of both Stark and Lannister into the Green Fork. Dampened leathers clung to him, soaked through coarse linens beneath, the feeling a touch discomforting.

Auburn curls remained slick with rain, droplets continuing to roll from his temples; carrying with him the scent of petrichor and firewood, tinged with faint copper. As his fingertips graced the soft plane of your cheek, he lightly brushed aside locks of hair, relieving them from your brow.

Stirring from hibernation, a low hum tumbling past your lips, limbs aching with the heaviness of sleep. Robb did not intend to wake you, though it seemed much too late for that, his caress rousing you from what appeared as a deep slumber.

“Robb?” With a groggy croak, your lashes fluttered in rapid succession, brows still creased as you readjusted to your surroundings. To your complete surprise, there he sat, soaked as if he’d been wading through an ocean.

“I didn’t intend to wake you.” Robb’s Northern timbre hung heavy with an apology, thumb gingerly caressing your jaw as you moved to sit. Before another remark could escape him, your arms flung around him, drenched or not, clinging to him in an embrace as hot as fire.

“I don’t care,” Breathless, you refused to yield, nearly crushing him against you, if there were plausible. One palm settled atop the small of your back, the other cradling the base of your skull, calloused digits perusing through your satiny tresses. “I prayed for your safe return.”

He missed you terribly, more than he truly thought possible — Robb yearned for your presence, away on the banks of the Fork, dreaming of returning to you with each clash of steel.

Rugged lips peppered your temples, foreheads brushing against the other as he held you tightly. With each inhale, you breathed him in, fearing he might dissipate from your grasp.

“It was a hard-fought victory,” Ice-laden breath plumed across your brow as Robb exhaled, brow stalwart. “A blow hard enough to knock the wind from Tywin Lannister.” A pang of venom snaked through his words as he mentioned the Lannisters.

It was Joffrey’s head he wanted — golden crown mounted upon a spike, Lannister dead littering the South, wolves howling. The death of Eddard Stark was still an open wound, its sting evergreen, heart continuing to bleed in the wake of such atrocities committed against his family.

Empathy wept from your being, understanding of Robb’s plight, of his desire to purge the Lannisters and avenge Lord Stark’s passing. “I am thankful that you returned safely — unscathed, I should hope.” A sigh creased with worry left you, palms splayed across his chest.

A bemused chuckle escaped him as you surveyed for any injuries, only to find an endless sea of wet clothing and taut muscle — he must’ve been caught within the storm for hours. Caged beside him, you felt such relief, knowing that he was safe. “I am unharmed, I promise.”

“Gods, Robb — you are completely drenched,” An ebullient laugh spilled from your mouth, a heavenly sound that caused his breath to hitch. He smirked in the wake of your innocuous observation, azure hues dancing precociously. “You must be freezing.”

“Better now, thanks to you.” A twinkle of mischief sparkled within his gaze, the adrenaline of battle beginning to dissipate, leaving only a blossoming sense of triumph. Mouths gently sought another, tangling together for a soft kiss, one that roused a flame within his heart.

Wreathed in a thinly-veiled desire, Robb’s kiss echoed wantonly through your marrow, culling desire to the surface. Hands steadied themselves against your hips, reveling at your body, the way you molded yourself to him without a shred of hesitation.

Droplets of dew trickled onto your nose, the remains of the deluge still rolling from his tresses. He felt your smile, tangible against his mouth, thumb drawing circles to the swell of your waist. Still, his lips did not falter, growing with fervency.

It was you who withdrew first, fingertips ghosting over his countenance, over the light dusting of freckles beneath his eyes. From the first glimpse of your husband, you found him captivating, more handsome than any before him.

“You smell of wet wolf,” Tinged with amusement, the gentle lull of your cadence set his nerves ablaze, a huff leaving him as he playfully nipped at your bottom lip. “Robb! You must change!” Weak protests did little to deter your husband, who planted a kiss to your throat.

“As my lady commands.” Teasingly, his teeth scraped over your flesh before he departed, amusement clinging to his expression. It was comforting to return to you this way — despair nonexistent, with a sense of reprieve.

Moving from your bed, Robb went about unfastening his breastplate, prying leather aside, hoping to let it dry sometime on the morrow. It was the dead of dusk, the wolf’s hour, and yet he remained unburdened by exhaustion, instead replaced by exhilaration.

In rapturous silence, you sheepishly ogled your husband from where you sat, wandering eyes finding favor in his toned musculature. Robb was lean and hungry, a man turned wolf, tossing his tunic over the back of a wooden chair.

A generous smattering of freckles blanketed his back, pale flesh like marble, carved from stone. Dusky-auburn hair peppered his chest, like kisses of fire, broad shoulders turned a sculpture through smoldering candlelight.

Even from where he stood, your smitten hues pierced through him, as sharp as any blade, though it lacked such malice. Pearlescent teeth flashed in your direction, a knowing grin as he searched for a dry doublet, bare above the waist.

“You lack subtlety, my Lady.” Robb scoffed, catching you in the act, wolfish teeth around your throat. Words turned to ash upon your tongue, any retort smothered within your mouth, then and there. Instead, your features warmed as if it were a midsummer’s day.

Floating from the bedstead, you stepped forward, retrieving a cloth as you placed it atop his head, attempting to dry his soaked curls. “Perhaps it wasn’t my intention to be subtle, but for you to know that I find you painfully handsome.” With a sweeter remark, he found it difficult to tease you.

Allowing you to lavish him in plentiful sentiments, his frame shook with laughter, attempting to remain lighthearted in the wake of such a monumental victory. “Painfully handsome,” He parroted, a coarse tunic hanging between his fingers. “Is that so?”

As you dragged the swath of cloth over his crown, Robb stilled, chest reverberating with a subtle grunt. He found solace in your embrace, one that remained endlessly gentle, collecting rainwater from his tresses. Thumbs traced circles near his temples, swiping droplets aside.

“I may revoke my compliment if you continue to vex me,” Despite the playful lilt of your warning, Robb withheld a grin, curls now disheveled, partially dampened even still. Draping the cloth over the back of his neck, your wrist became ensnared within his grasp. “Robb.”

“Vex you? I dare not evoke your scorn,” A hint of a smirk betrayed his stony countenance, pearlescent teeth glinting, catching upon a sliver of dwindling light. Calloused digits stroked your flesh, gaze softening as you hid beneath your lashes. “You’re incredibly beautiful.”

A smile as gentle as springtime warmed your features, visage glittering with a thinly-veiled jubilation, heart fluttering beneath your breast. It was the very same smile he’d become enamored with in the beginning of your betrothal.

Robb brought you closer, able to catch your saccharine scent, an amalgamation of honeyed florals. “Is that so?” The tenderness of your cadence was unmistakable.

A low huff rippled through his throat, lips parting in incredulity, admiring both your charming wit and beguiling appearance. Songs would be sung of your beauty, regaled by those you glimpsed you; he found himself to be exceedingly fortunate.

Bewitched, Robb’s lips bridged the distance, already worn thin after he’d coaxed you closer. Mouths became immersed in a mutual heat, a dance of hearts — you succumbed so very quickly to it all, hands clamoring to hold fast against his nape.

A muscled arm slithered around your hips, caging you in against him, physique still damp from soaked garments. Even then, he warmed in your presence, exuding heat of a different breed, one born of desire that lingered within your heart and his.

His mind neglected to linger upon the hardships of war, with little desire to tarry within battle — instead, losing himself within your lips seemed a better fate than many. Awe glistened within your hues, a gaze that held an immeasurable affection, fingers interlaced between his shoulders.

Whatever frustrations he had coiled themselves into his muscle, anguish turned into action, crushing it all beneath the weight of your adoration. It was difficult to maintain any shred of propriety, throat rippling with a grunt as his teeth snagged across your bottom lip.

Steady hands knead eagerly into the swell of your hips, blood singing wantonly as the two of you unceremoniously clamor for your shared bed. Furs kiss flesh, nightgown still concealing your body from him, though it doesn’t seem to last for very long.

“Robb,” A gasp of startlement slips from you, thoroughly enthralled by his sudden blaze of furious desire, mouth as ravenous as a wolf. Kisses trail from your jaw to throat, jugular blanketed in passionate pecks and teasing nips. “Whatever is the matter?”

He knows you tease him, but he’s relentless, burrowing between your thighs as you welcome him with a thinly-concealed glee. “You,” Robb huffs, fire etched into your collar as he lavishes you in endless kisses, hands wrestling with silk and velvet. “A pretty distraction, you are.”

Lacking any malice, you feel his physique quiver with laughter, countenance alight with lascivious amusement. It eases your nerves, giggles tapering off into delighted sighs as he unburdens you of your nightgown, swatting the gaudy fabrics aside.

Gossamer curls around your frame, material dangerously transparent, candlelight casting you waning embers. His breath hitches, a subtle sound that fades as soon as it occurs, cerulean gaze beset by a fervent ardor.

The soft peaks of your breasts pebble beneath your shift, though it is of little consequence to your husband, who eases it down to place his mouth against your chest. A moan draws from your lips, gooseflesh icing your spine.

A strong, firm hand palms at your thigh, roughened digits grazing beneath the hem of your shift, guiding the fabric toward your hips. As Robb lovingly caresses the length of your leg, your hands tangle against his nape, raking through damp, auburn curls.

The scratch of his beard prompts you to gnaw at the flesh of your cheek, a sensation that leaves naught but ash in its wake, arousal beginning to stir within your belly. A wolfish hunger claws at Robb, lips descending upon your breast, lavishing satiny flesh in countless kisses.

Legs shift against him, thighs haplessly squeezing at his leather-clad hips, nails sinking into his skin. A blissful whimper erupts through your diaphragm, taking with it each wisp of air, lungs stinging with exhilaration.

“Robb!” A moan, strangled within your throat; desire screams within your marrow, as violent as the crash of a tidal wave, heat flooding your insides. He has only been with you, and yet he seems well-versed, practiced in navigating your body.

Lips release your breast from his maw, mouth raking fiery kisses through your sternum, teeth piercing soft skin as he trails towards your mouth once more. Hands fly to the leather ties of his breeches, swift and needy, aiming to cement this heated tryst.

Arousal warms your nethers, belly rolling into taut coils of excitement, bodies flush, the space between all but nonexistent. It is all done in some frenzy, nerves crackling with fire as you keep your legs parted, shift disheveled, fabric wrenched in all directions.

The hotblooded fervor of youth prevails, wanton need exchanged between your flesh, all heat and desire. Through the brief clamor of Robb wrangling against leather trousers enough to free his cock, you coax him in for a kiss, his smile palpable through joined lips.

Outside, the deluge continues its torrential assault, winds whipping against sturdy canvas, the onslaught of the tempest providing ample ambiance. A strangled moan pierces your lungs as his cock presses against your petals, swollen head dragging through a time or two.

A breathy ‘fuck’ spilled from his lips, caught between wanton sighs and groans of rapture. The warmth between breath and body kept you feeling feverish, and you hitched one leg around his hips, evoking a growl from your wolfish paramour.

Translucent fabric pools around the swell of your hips, cunt growing slick with your nectar as Robb briefly dips his hand between you, a chuckle resonating through him. As deft fingers rake embers over your nethers, you writhe, unable to mask the choked whine that splits your diaphragm.

“Already?” Robb taunts, more loving and mischievous than cruel, pressing a hot, sharp kiss to the sensitive flesh beneath your jaw. “Didn’t have to touch you for it.” The naked reality of his amorous truth makes you flush, with no retort to make the embarrassment any less.

There is no place to hide from his smoldering stare, merely averting your gaze instead, but he’s swift to intercept, mouth reaffirming its hold upon you. Each kiss is a shockwave, rattling through your bones, bringing with it a fire that demands to be squashed.

“You are cruel.” Your words hold no bite to them, spoken through a partial moan that makes him yearn, ravenous lust festering within him like a plague. Teeth capture your bottom lip briefly, your eyes doelike and permeated by crystalline ardor.

Robb chuffs, the noise possessing a playful lilt as his thumb briefly circles the pearl of your cunt, toying with the clutch of nerves. “Am I?” His Northern timbre fills your stomach with molten heat, coalescing between your thighs as you suppress a hapless whimper.

Through half-lidded lashes, your gaze falls upon Robb with incredulity, lips parting as bliss unfurls from your visage. Any jocular feeling seems to dissipate, giving way to a sudden neediness, his cock incessantly urging against your nethers with wanton desire.

Azure hues burn with lust intermingled with adoration, no longer veiled as it sits heavy upon his rugged countenance. Lips hungrily capture your own, his position readjusting as a firm hand parts your legs, kneading over the plush flesh of your thigh.

Hips lightly rut forward, the friction crackling between flush bodies, evoking a sharp moan from your mouth. A grunt stirs from his chest, akin to the feral snarl of a wolf, ensuring that you’re comfortable before he begins to tilt forward.

A sob of delight wracks through your frame, a shiver slithering along your spine as Robb groans, burying his mouth into the hollow of your shoulder.

As he moves forward, his cock beginning to sheathe itself within your cunt, your nails dig crescents into the nape of his neck, back arching forward.

Carnality consumes you like some blistering fever, sinking its talons into you, as sharp as knives that stab at your belly. Robb’s passion is one you revel in, knowing his appetite is often an insatiable thing, one that you gleefully partake in.

Everything is heated, desirous — flesh to flesh, hearts clawing for one another, limbs entangled. A well-fought victory made his blood run with adrenaline’s cry, coupled with his own ardor for you, something that he no longer is shy in sharing.

Canines nip at the satiny flesh of your shoulder, hot breath pluming over your skin, causing you to shudder as he adopts a sluggish rhythm, allowing you a moment to relax. Digits grip at the auburn curls of his nape, countenance flourishing with inklings of bliss.

“Robb,” A breathy sigh tumbles from your lips, clinging to him as if you were drowning, body aching for him in every way imaginable. His ministrations are deliberate, rhythm drawn-out, intended to torment you. “Please.”

Foreheads brush against one another, his chest stinging with an incendiary want, brows creased in concentration. It is a slow incline, hips rutting against yours, friction simmering, akin to a flame roaring to life.

A low, animalistic groan tears through his maw, sending a cascade of shivers throughout your body, born of a tantalizing excitement. With each sluggish rut of his hips, you feel everything, his cock rocking into you with a rhythm that only seems to climb higher, higher still.

In the wake of war, it is you he dreams of, thoughts constantly torn asunder, between the mantle of an unwanted leadership and being your husband. It is not an easy task, this balance — yet, he finds himself wishing to forsake his kingly duties, if it meant a second spent within your presence.

Sighs tangle together in a heated snare, flesh joining, a fervent heat slithering between bodies. One hand departs from his tresses, reaching for his forearm, muscle taut beneath your fingertips as digits intertwine, now pressed into the furs.

Robb’s grunts are strained with pleasure, intensity building as he seizes your leg, hitching it further around his hips, angle deepening. A blissful cry emerges from your lips, visage contorted into one of ecstasy as the newfound position makes your heart shriek with desire.

“I thought of you, while away,” The husky cadence of his lull stokes a volatile fire within you, belly coiled into knots of excitement. Words plume against your collar, whispered like some fiery brand, emblazoned upon your heart. “Wanting to feel your body.” A growl sent shivers through your spine.

Awestruck surprise rippled through your brow, gaze briefly locking with his own, subservient to the starving rapture that lingered within his eyes. A darkened, auburn beard scratched ragged against your countenance, lips marred by another kiss, enough to rip the air from your lungs.

Candlelight wavered, casting pools of an ember glow across his flesh, now dappled with perspiration and remnants of rainwater. Mouths clashed in a passionate duel, poured with a thinly-veiled desperation, thigh quivering within his grasp.

Rooted within you, Robb’s hips withdrew, enough to rut forward with a sense of urgency, filling you to the brim with his cock. Lewd, crass noises reverberated in the haze of heat that enveloped you, his thrusts gathering in rhythm, becoming more invigorated, ardent. Hands squeezed another, anchored firmly beside your head.

“Gods, I need you,” It was nearly forced from you, choking upon a delighted sob that wretched from your lips, which clamored for his own. A low whimper left you as he snapped forward, letting passion and want pour into each ministration, cock sheathing itself inside of your aching cunt. “Robb!”

Heat persisted even still, gazes meeting with such ardor, causing you to shiver beneath his stare. Arousal permeated between your thighs, slick and ambrosial, the scent of coupling invading your senses.

A shudder wracked him, as sharp as steel as your nethers clenched around him, taking him perfectly, as if you were molded entirely for him. Nails pressed crimson indents into his back, nearly scratching at his pale flesh as he continued to urge forward, cock kissing your womb.

“Turn over.” Filled with a strenuous impetuosity, an urgency that is nearly a whine, you obey with a sudden swiftness, clamoring to move onto your stomach. He does not take you callously, blanketing your body with his own, chest flush to your back.

Fiery lips brand themselves to your shoulder, forehead brushing over your dampened flesh, a moan tearing through your throat as he enters you once more. It is laden with haste, actions done in a flurry of passion, your legs spread apart as he thrusts with a wanton vigor.

Still, your hands are interlocked at one side, the other fisting at the sheets, Each rut of his hips are drawn-out, deliberate; it is a lascivious torture that torments the both of you, cunt tightening pathetically around his length.

It was this intense pace that you so adored, craved — it kept you grounded, made you understand the depths of his growing devotion. A breathy string of expletives flutters from your lips, joined by his cacophony of low grunts, steaming sighs pluming over your shoulder.

Within your belly, a fire stirs, billowing into a blissful oblivion — arousal coalesces between your thighs, a slick ambrosia that only seems to grow. Robb groans, pressing a string of kisses to the space between your shoulders, teeth grazing over unblemished flesh.

Grunts continued to spill beside your ear as he reached his peak, but you were already there. It was a perfect storm of sensations, ones that made you delirious with desire, crying out to the heavens. A sharp moan punctured your lungs, lips agape as your hips erratically rocked into the furs.

Calloused digits flexed against your own, and you met your release with a haze of white, a blinding heat that nearly dazed you. It was sticky and desirous, a union of bodies that had craved another, come to find their respite in such salaciousness.

“Robb!” A sweet moan left you as you reached your pinnacle, and he joined you, hips thrusting forward once more, gentler and steady. A coil of heat began to unfurl within the both of you, bodies constantly shifting against the other, an amalgamation of friction.

With an incessant throbbing, he released his seed within you, painting your insides with a wave of warmth. He kissed your shoulder even still, visage momentarily buried against the crook of your neck, beard scratching ragged along the hollow of your throat.

Lungs burned as the both of you gasped for air, caught within the aftermath, an afterglow so satisfying that it brought some semblance of light to your shared tent. Robb allowed himself to stay sheathed within you for a moment more, lips curling into a smile.

Clinging to composure, he sluggishly tumbled to his back, propped up against the pillows, allowing you to be absolved of his weight. As you reached for your shift, he canted his head to one side, unable to suppress his bemused grin.

“Getting dressed already?” Teasingly, he reached for you, arms caging in around you as he tugged you backward, though the garment was already halfway settled upon your frame. “Hiding won’t change anything.”

Laughter spilled from your lips, tapering into squeaks of amusement as he planted messy kisses all over your neck. “Stop it!” Despite your numerous protests, they seemed to fall upon deaf ears as he eased you against his chest.

With a warm chuckle, Robb decided to let it rest, tugging you into the expanse of his body, feeling your cheek press along his collar. “You are so beautiful,” He murmured, hand moving to idly massage your hip, inhaling a gust of your scent. “Very beautiful.”

“Hm,” A gentle hum fluttered from you, head canting upwards, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Do you think that this deluge will pass?” It was an idle inquiry — this raging tempest had struck a sliver of fear into you, the rain howling outside, a clap of thunder piercing black skies.

“Soon, I think,” Robb’s eyes began to crinkle. “Why? Does it frighten you, my wife?” His teasing was endearing, a persistent banter that had always felt so effortless between you, something lighthearted to remove the edge of frustration. If he did not jest often, he became overwhelmed with anguish.

“No,” You mumbled, wincing at the flash of lightning that pooled through the burlap canvas, earning you a warm laugh from your Northern paramour. “A little, perhaps. That is why I have you to shield me from the storm.” Lips curled into an ebullient smile, and Robb was enthralled.

Beguiled, the Young Wolf planted a kiss to your brow, a comforting gesture. “I’ll keep you safe — I can promise you that.” It was a solemn oath made in the throes of youth, a determination that Robb wore as a cloak.

When the first splinter of dawn had struck down the black tides of the storm, bringing with it glitters of daylight, he kept you safe, even still.

[cutetanuki-chan]

sometimes I see people being confused where alectostasia ship came from so here's a little bit of run down

I'm not really good with words so it might be clunky

what we know from the text

Anastasia tries to achieve 'perfect lyctorhood', something goes wrong during her ascension, John kills Samael, Anastasia fails her attempt

Anastasia moves to the ninth, continues working on the house or only founding it at that time

John asks Anastasia to help build the tomb 'I built that tomb with Anastasia, designed every inch of it.'

somewhere between working on it and Alecto's entombment, Alecto and Anastasia make a vow where Alecto basically swears as a cavalier to her 'Alecto said, I remember my vows. As I swore to Anastasia I swear to you. I am in your service until you bid me the favour, and whatsoever you appoint I shall perform, and consider the vow rendered. This is what I promised, until such a time as you deal with me as you see fit.'

as John leading Alecto to the tomb, she asks to see Anastasia 'She had said, There are almost no beautiful things left. Where is Anastasia? Let me talk to Anastasia.'

presumable Anastasia is the one to inflict to the ninth house importance of keeping her bloodline and worshiping of the tomb through all of those years

Anastasia's bones are in the tomb 'She looked back beyond, and she saw Anastasia, tucked where nobody would find her: Anastasia, all bones. Not really Anastasia. But Anastasia’s body without the meat on it, snuggled right into the curve of the rock, ready to close the door whenever it was opened. She remembered Anastasia.'

Alecto immediately getting chill after tasting Harrow's blood 'The child was silent; but her blood was on Alecto’s lips, and through that blood Alecto was made to understand what it was, and was astonished exceedingly. Alecto put away wrath and said: Thou art the blood of the tomb-keeper.'

Alecto saying sorry for Samael

the implications

the vow on itself is very interesting, at first we all know how usually normal cavalier and necromancer relationships are. then for Alecto to comply to that, indicates she should be pretty trusting of Anastasia, and their relationships at least somehow better than with other lyctors who were terrified of her

then there's also the tombkeeper blood thing, what serves as a check note for Alecto after waking up, and means the initial purpose of the ninth house was actually waiting for rock to roll away

and one part of the vow seems to imply 'if anyone beside a tombkeeper wake you, slay them as they came to hurt you', as could hinted on a protection from other lyctors who wanted to kill Alecto? (Then Alecto remembered the vow, and turned back upon the altar to face the second child and raised the sword with wrath in her heart, for they meant to bring destruction upon her.)

then the matter of Anastasia's bones laying in the tomb next to the rock. not sure if it's just her skeleton or she made herself a some construct mechanism from her bones. and not clear if she got entombed on her own volition or John closed them both there, but being entombed together five feet apart cause we are not gay

there's also some oddness in Alecto immediately after waking saying she's sorry for Samael, but I won't go into that here, anyway Anastasia was trying to find a better way to lyctorhood and I think in her more close relationships with Alecto she figured out something that John wasn't telling them, before or after her ascension

and some theories

I think I first heard this theory from @/mayasaura, that ninth house tradition of telling secrets while submerged in the salt water could've corelate with Anastasia trying to have a talk like that with Alecto since she feels the most at ease in the salt water, so means pool time for alectostasia too

another one that I really like but not sure how much legs it actually would have in canon, one of the reasons Nona was so enamored with her body cause Harrow is a spitting image of Anastasia, first saw @/corvophobia talking about it

coming back to Harrow, could there be anything more to her taking immediate affection to the Body a la some fuckery with Anastasia's spirt/tombkeeper's blood

more people explained it better, I try to reblog most of the theories in my side blog, you can check it out there but some of it explicit just in case

anyway in conclusion, as I keep procrastinating with my work, I don't think they were making out 24/7 in Canaan house in canon but something for sure happened there between them

[yameoto]

giving fuckgirl!cait (+basketball) the best head of her life (she still doesn’t know what the hell to do about it)

sub!caitlyn, blowjobs, caitlyn cums in approx 2 seconds and is then humiliated, smut n fluff, ohhh she’s definitely in love with you

fuckgirl!cait who is just a little needy. the first time you ask her she’s all wide-eyed and her mouth is dry and suddenly she’s nervous for the first time in her life. which makes zero sense because (“not to sound like a dickhead—“ “prefacing that everytime doesn’t make you any less of a dickhead, cait.”) she’s been bobbing her cock down willing girls’ throats since she hit puberty. to destress or for fun or if she felt like it. whatever. the point is; she’s well-versed in this.

so, why her palms are suddenly sweating and her cheeks are glowing she has no idea. croaks. “uhm. are you sure? because you really don’t have to—“ like she hasn’t been harassing you for the past couple months and even if she’s had countless fantasies of this moment; imagining you, and your plush, soft lips wrapped around her cock as she splatters her load against the shower wall or a tissue or her dedicated cumsock (ok, sometimes she is just a jock. sue her. she’s a busy woman! and she, admittedly, no longer has a maid waiting on her beck and call.)

you laugh, all deep and throaty and it makes caitlyn want to sink between your couch cushions and die.

“what’s with the deer in the headlights look?” you’ll never grow tired of teasing her, even if you no longer think of her as the arrogant basketball prick who pads around you like a lost puppy and instead; now, something closer to an.. acquaintance with benefits.

(caitlyn has no clue how she made it this far with you. it’s like you just randomly decided to give her a shot one day, on a whim, and she desperately doesn’t want to blow it. even if acquaintance-with-benefits is a title that disgruntles her, at the very least. hurts, at the very most. like, very very most, okay?)

“i just..” caitlyn lets out a quiet whine when your fingers curl against the hem of her basketball shorts and—ah, shit. and now she’s hard. “now look what you’ve done.” she hisses, though she’s not quite sure what she expected when you texted her for netflix and chill like it’s still the 2010s.

“there’s that pretty thing.” you completely ignore her in favour of continuing your blasted teasing, fingers snaking underneath her waistband and pulling, guiding the shorts down the sharp v-line at her crotch and eyes travelling down the fine, inky lines of her happy trail to the spring of her cock, over the edge; half-glazed and all pretty and pink.

“you really want to..?” she doesn’t know why she keeps backtracking, like she hasn’t been talking and talking about how fucking good she’d be. and now that it’s really happening she’s getting cold feet, of all things.

“it’s just a blow, cait.” you roll your eyes.

right. just a blow. like she’s done, a million times before. god. god. she doesn’t know where the fuck this performance anxiety has suddenly arose from (pun unintended). she’s (gracefully and intentionally) bruised countless girls’ throats, for fuck’s sake. twisted her hand in the hair and yanked them sharply with each forceful snap of her hips, and told them to swallow without so much as a blink.

except you—you—

“mmgh—“ caitlyn throws her had back, as she lets out an exceedingly unflattering grunt, with the gusto in which you take her into her mouth. your tongue swirls, along her tip, and—hah—her mind melts to butter. her eyes are all cloudy, head spinning. “wait—mmf—i didnt—“

caitlyn’s hips buck, heedlessly, into your mouth. fuck. she usually has more rhythm than this. more—control. but then your tongue is sliding underneath and your hand running over to curl around her base and she’s rutting upwards aimlessly, like some stupid teenage boy who doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing. only that—shit—she’s never felt this good in her life and this is not just a blow—this is the most beautiful, nirvana-inducing, mind-shattering experience she could’ve ever—ungh.

oh.

oh, nononono. nono— no. she didn’t just—

your mouth hangs open, still, as you stare up at her with wide, surprised eyes; throat bobbing as if you were preparing to maybe do that really hot vacuum-type motion again except there’s kind of no fucking point because her dick is twitching uselessly as it slips out of your mouth and she watches in horror, as cum drizzles down your chin.

you swallow. caitlyn dreads that glimmer in your eyes, already.

“i usually—i last longer than that!” caitlyn’s cheeks are beet-red and she’s blinking up at you with those big, sad blue eyes and you’re laughing. crawling on top of her stomach as her dick presses flush and sticky against your lower torso and you’re laughing at her plight. ok, that’s it. it’s over. her reputation that she’s fought and fucked so hard for is dead and gone. she’s got to pack her bags, move countries, and start over.

she buries her face into the crook of your neck. surprisingly, you don’t push her away. “you can’t tell anyone.” she orders, petulant. she’s fucking humiliated.

“why would i tell anyone?” you snort. she whines.

“i don’t want you to think—“ caitlyn digs her short-cut nails into palms, looking frustrated; brows knit and cheeks still flushed, stray strands of hair a mess against her forehead. “i didn’t come over just for a blow.”

“i know, cait.”

caitlyn doesn’t know how much you know, frankly, because she doesn’t know how much she knows—considering she’s just had the most earth-quaking orgasm of her life in all but two seconds like some lame loser virgin and not the cool, suave playgirl that caitlyn kiramman is so known to be; but you’re sinking back into her arms and letting her keep leaking leftover dribbles into your couch as she clings and maybe, she doesn’t care. just wants to stay like this for a little while, and blink the spots out of her vision.

“i’m normally really very good.” she insists, words spilling out in an accented rush against your skin, half-slurred. “seriously.”

“caitlyn.”

“seriously!”

[scribblestatic]

The autosave didn't work. Thrice.

*kicks my feet and screams*

THE WORLD SHAN'T STOP ME, tho do excuse me if some of the stuff seems short. I got tired of writing some parts over again lol.

Spider Shen Yuan, aka, continued creaturfication of the twink.

--

More people ask for silk so they can use it for repairing clothes, making rope, and other necessities. It's stronger than iron and softer than a silkworm's well-treated cocoon. They use it for rope, integrate it into their utilities, everything. And it's such an iridescent color, very enchanting to look at.

Considering the thick forest and the mist that flows through it, perhaps someone could mistake them as a village visited by a god responsible for clouds, capturing rays of light and stringing them into form for their favored worshipers.

But, well, no. It was a spider.

A spider that, despite the agreement and the comfort many people came to have with him, they never quite forgot that he was a beast. Of course, that was well and good enough. Their relationship was built on mutual respect with some reverence built in.

Fan Zhenzhen's relationship with him was much closer to that of a devout follower, it seems.

That was the only way he could explain her standing in the snow of winter, bundled warmly in fur coats and thick boots, her cheeks pink from the chill as she held her infant.

"He is Ruoxing. 'Like a star.' Because of Zhizhu and your blessings, he was born safely."

(若星 - Ruò Xīng)

Shen Yuan's largest two eyes focus intently on the child, who coos and gurgles, unable to move in his warm swaddle. He smells like milk, and looking at him evokes memories of a life he perhaps had begun to forget. If he'd been a little girl...

"Zhizhu, this lowly woman has a request. As payment for today's story, please bless this little boy, that he may have a good fate."

"...Mm. Commence."

This time, Zhenzhen tells a story about her husband, the man she'd lost just a few months before. She talks about how they met in their old village, he being a known playboy and she being a stalwart visitor.

It was through communication and budding love that he decided to marry her. But his family didn't approve. While he wasn't exceedingly rich, he wasn't a commoner either. His family was relatively affluent, and his marriage to her was seen as a slight, like someone trying to pull themselves out the mud by hugging someone else's thighs (not the term she used, but it felt right to think of it that way). This disdain toward her only became stronger when she failed more than once to have a child.

But her husband loved her. Defended her for as long as he could, even after they cut him off from his wealth, sabotaging his business and saying they would only return his earnings if they divorced. He was stubborn, though, and refused. He even began doing hard labor to try to feed the family, eager to make a living.

It was during that hard labor that a bull went awry. He was gored in the stomach by its horns, and he was made bedridden. He suffered in pain, but he tried to recover for his wife. They spent his last days cuddled in his bed when she was home from work. One morning, she woke up, and he was gone.

But, he hadn't left without leaving her a gift. A little star in her stomach.

...Having gained the ability to speak more clearly, Shen Yuan murmurs his dissatisfaction with her family. Whispers little curses, that they would never know peace for what they did.

But he turns his words around upon the request for a blessing.

This isn't just a story to critique. There's a little boy here, and she wants him to bless him.

He's just a spider, however. How could he do something like bless someone? Even so, her story had been genuine, full-hearted, and overall, not yet a tragedy. If this boy lived well, she said, she would consider her life and success.

In the face of that, he must repay her for the tale she told.

"...Burn brightly, little star. Stay true to your path, young stallion. May you weave a tale that blesses those who bless you, and curses those who curse you. Be firm, and be kind."

He gives her a little woven blanket for the child, and Fan Zhenzhen, with tears in her eyes, bows as low as she can manage with the babe in her arms.

As she leaves, Shen Yuan wonders how he knew the boy was born during a Fire Horse year.

...

Winter turns to spring, and spring to summer, and so on.

The seasons change, and Shen Yuan receives many stories, from enchanting and thorough to boring and benign. Regardless, he continues to trade with them as he always has.

Little spiders that once had nothing to do with him were steadily coming under his control. After eating the insects that would try to eat his plants, it seemed their little minds connected to him, and they went out of their way to follow his will.

His own qi was also getting stronger, and his abilities more numerous. Cultivation and meditation became second nature to him. Along with his diet of qi-dense fruit and spiritual and demonic creatures, he felt like his skin was growing a tad thin on himself. For sure, it would be time to molt within the next few years.

As that time approaches, he watches as Ruoxing grows. He goes from being held in his mother's arms to holding onto her hand as he toddles beside her, to walking on his own and bowing to him when his mother does.

He also starts telling him his own stories. As a toddler, of course, it was mostly nonsense babbling, but it had been more entertaining that some of the half-assed attempts a few other villagers tried. The older he grew, the more his stories took shape, although the characters didn't always make sense and the plot could change at a moment's notice.

Shen Yuan, being himself, couldn't help but lightly critique the stories with genuine intent. After all, a child raised with too much praise and not enough guidance could quickly become a fool. He wasn't nearly as tough on the child as he was on the adults, so he was clearly just teaching him the elements of a good story.

...Apparently these critiques caused a slight shift in how Ruoxing saw him.

While Fan Zhenzhen revered him, Fan Ruoxing seemed to see him like some sort of uncle.

That was probably what explained the boy's reliance on him for decidedly human issues.

"I don't know what to get Miyun for her birthday. But I really want it to be nice. Zhizhu, what do you think I should get her?"

Ruoxing, now a young teenager, is cutting into some wood, trying to sculpt something, but clearly not trusting that whatever he made would be enough for her. He gazes up at him hopefully, as though he's a reclusive neighborhood uncle and not a giant spider that could quite literally eat him whole.

Being a spider notwithstanding, he also had never mated, not in this life or the one he feels he may have lived before. As such, he was, quite literally, the worst being to ask for romantic advice.

"...This spider cannot be sure what little Miyun likes. Xing-er would know more. However, a gift given with heart and meaningful intent often means the world to those receiving it. Perhaps Xing-er could recall something little Miyun finds of particular interest?"

"Erh...she likes clothes, I think. Not the hemp ones. I'd want to give her something fancy. She's the eldest daughter, so she works hard. She deserves something nice to wear, like A-niang has. You know, A-niang still wears the coat you made for her. She only ever wears it in the house..."

He sits up straighter, as if in realization.

"A coat! Zhizhu, if I, ah—" He clears his throat. "If this servant tells Zhizhu a story, could he make a coat for Miyun?"

"...It...would be difficult. The coat this spider made for your mother was done in her presence, where this one could see and hear her, measure her. Little Miyun does not visit this spider, so he cannot make a coat to fit her. Unless. If Xing-er describes her well, perhaps he can make one anyway."

Ruoxing hums, his fingers pausing on whatever he'd been sculpting.

"Well...she's older than me by three months, but she's a little shorter than me." He illustrates this by holding his hand horizontally, just a bit above his chin. "Her hair is dark brown, like chestnut skins. She's not pale like some ladies in the big town, but she's really pretty."

Shen Yuan had really meant for the boy to describe her size and features more, but he didn't stop Fan Ruoxing as he started waxing poetic about her personality and beauty.

The more he listened, the more he decided against anything particularly fitted. Something like...a poncho. Yeah. A poncho-like cloak that can fit over her clothes. Something that looks nice, but not so nice that she'd get robbed or accused of theft...

By the time Ruoxing finished, stuttering to a stop with a red face, Shen Yuan had finished most of it.

"Hmm... Heartfelt. Earnest. This one thinks this gift could use a personal touch."

Per his suggestion, Ruoxing carved the wood into a triangular, rounded pin with a hole through the base. Shen Yuan wove thread through the hole, making the pin into a clasp, and had a small hole on the other side of the shawl-like cloth. Pushing the pin through that hole would secure the shawl around her shoulders.

"Thanking Zhizhu for his guidance!"

"Mm. You guided yourself to this. May your gift be received well."

Fan Ruoxing grins eagerly before running off. He only just remembers to turn back and bow in respect before making his way down the hill.

Humming, satisfied with himself, Shen Yuan crawls through his webs, back to his cave for him to relax and meditate in peace.

...

And despite his efforts to accommodate their economic status, it seemed he still made Miyun's poncho shawl too nice.

A few weeks later, a demoness stands where humans usually would, surrounded by demon guards. She has her hands on her hips, glaring up at him. Her eyes are a bright yellow, hair black and skin pink-toned. She wears long, silken clothes that are, honestly, ill-fitted for trouncing around his forest, gold vambraces and necklaces denoting her status.

"This is what you said made your coat? This dumb beast?"

She sneers at her captives, one of whom is Ruoxing. He leans near a shivering girl, who, by the looks of her and the shawl on her body, is Miyun. However, she doesn't seem to be shaking completely from fear, judging from her furrowed brows and severe expression. Fan Ruoxing does his best to shield her, but with his own arms caught and held tightly, it is difficult to do so.

"It probably can't even speak. Ugh. Whatever. Human, how does Li-er make this...thing...produce the silk to make my clothes?"

"...What does the miss want?"

She turns back to him, eyes wide with clear shock. The demon guards also stiffen, becoming more wary of him. They point their swords and spears in his direction.

Miyun flinches in fear, toward him, her eyes shutting tight.

Ah, he probably understands now. Is she arachnophobic? No wonder she never visits. Quite understandable.

"Oh... So it speaks." The demoness huffs, putting her hands back on her hips. "If you understand this girl, listen well. There's no reason for a mere human to have such clothing. This benevolent one shall give you the opportunity to rectify your sin. Make her a beautiful dress, and she shall let you live."

If Shen Yuan had eyelids, he would certainly lid them.

Instead, he just crawls down a little further, staring at her intently.

"...Tell this one a story."

"Excuse me?"

"Tell this spider a story. It is payment."

"Payment? What need do you have of any sort of payment? The only payment you deserve is to keep your—"

"Guuakk!!"

A guard jumped out in front of the demoness. Despite the hard armor on the guard's body, Shen Yuan's leg pierces easily through their torso.

He smells the blood dripping from the demon's body...and can't resist.

It was like putting a prime steak drizzled with butter right in front of him, okay? Sure, he had an audience, but food was food!

So, not minding the iron armor, Shen Yuan's teeth pierce through the chest plate as the demon cries out. He screams in agony as his organs began to liquify, but Shen Yuan's venom acts quickly. Once the demon chokes on his own blood and falls still, he easily sucks up all the guard's innards and qi with a deep, hearty slurp. Not a single thing is wasted, not even the marrow in the demon's bones.

Once emptied, Shen Yuan drops the guard's body like a crumpled carton.

The demoness had stepped backwards, more guards standing in front.

Shen Yuan sighs, then settles in his web.

"Tell this one a story, and the miss may have her dress."

[ilovecatfr]

things to script for you dr

beauty edition

(None of these are my work) these are some of the acc on tt I got them from and I recommend: @ theunknownshifter / @cattleya_ley / @reality_traveler_ / @irenesrealiity /@shiftingwithmily /@kiintsugiis

To others,there something about me unreal and and divinely beautiful,something that's from another world.

I'm bewitchingly and overwhelming beautifu.l

Im insanely seductive and charming to any gender.

My eyes have a jewel like effects that when light hits them, they light up with many different colours, like a gem would.

My beauty is like unspoken beautiful things in life and such brung to bring life in colours.I make everything seems much more colourful around me.

Just by my presence everything seems better and more colourful and brighter.

My movements are effortless, as il I glide through the world with an ethereal lightness. My posture is naturally poised, landing an air of regality to mine presence. The softness of mine skin invites gentle caresses, and mine touch is as gentle as a feather's kiss.

I hold an insane amount of pure femininity-a natural and exquisite state of perfect beauty.I am the best example of one of earths finest creations, the universe took its time perfecting every inch of me, down to the smallest flawless details. a sublime figure, graced with a certain magnificent aura to match.

My aura is a manifestation of my inner beauty, an ethereal glow that surround the l exudes a sense of purity, goodness, and an irresistible magnetism that draws people towards me. My presence is calming, as if I carry a piece of heaven within them. It is a palpable energy that radiates from my being, capturing the hearts and minds of all who encounter me.

Im what most people would see as a beauty fit for royalty, the kind of beauty that would capture the attention of a king or emprior, and send all men and women to their feet

it's not a burden to gift me expensive things it's only a reward for their hard efforts to provide for a beautiful princess

People constantly feel the need to re-visit where they last saw me for a dopamine spike.

My voice sounds like it was straight out of heaven itself, people beg for me to speak just to hear my voice.

My hair is always perfectly in place and sits perfectly, my hair has a beautiful shine to it as if the moon is being reflected on it.

My presence and gaze itself makes others begin to see the world through different lenses, and notice the beauty of being alive; my very being can drive others to tears, my beauty is unable to be comprehended by the human mind, im unreal.

My existence itself baffles anyone who sees me, as if im testament to the idea that life itself was a work of art. I'm a composition of countless perfect melodic notes, each one contributing to the symphony of existence.

My presence is overwhelming and exceedingly strong. it holds so much pure soul and life, all while being centered around someone so mystically beautiful as me is chilling and intimidating.

My beauty transcends the ordinary and is ethereal, evoking a sense of being from another world. It is unlike any other and has a mesmerizing quality that captivates those who lay eyes on me.

My distinctiveness sets me apart from the rest, making me an exceptional individual who cannot be replicated or duplicate.

it's not just my delicately carved facial features that are enchanting, but also my impeccable sense of style and graceful demeanor that radiate an undeniable charm.

My beauty cant be put in any category; it is unable to be defined by preexisting 'types', setting a new standard of unobtainable perfection. some cold and sharp features, some soft and whimsical, I am the perfect balance of beauty. an equal amount of each and every kind of look you could imagine; bringing it all together and forming something brilliant.

My eyes are magical almost brainwashing. People lose their focus on anything but my hypnotizing eyes when having eye contact with me.

I am the kind of beautiful people never recover from. There is something so devastating about the way I exist-like I was sculpted not just to be admired, but to be longed for. My presence doesn't just enter a room-it lingers, curling into the corners of people's minds and refusing to leave. I don't just catch eyes-I hold them hostage. They don't just want me-they ache for me. I am the addiction no one wants to quit.

[stargirlinterludefr]

RIPTIDE: Rafe Cameron x Pogue!gf

POV: You and Rafe go for a late night swim (partially inspired by Percabeth!)

TW: slight sexual remark, mentions of drug usage (weed)

0.7k word count

Both you and Rafe are lounging on his bed at Tannyhill, the sun having set hours ago as you both aimlessly scrolled on your phones his head on your lap as you mindlessly scratched at his scalp.

After another minute, you huff and drop your phone onto the bed not caring as it bounces from the bed and to the floor making Rafe pause his scrolling as he asks, “Everything okay, baby?”

“I’m bored.” You point out, despite having already been surfing earlier in the day with JJ, Kiara and Pope alongside going for an ice cream with Rafe you found yourself entirely bored.

Rafe chuckles softly as he turns his body so he can look up at you, “And what is it you want to do at like….“ He starts, briefly checking the time on his phone “Twelve in the morning?”

You quirk a brow, “Aww why? Is it too late for you, pretty boy?” You tease making Rafe pinch your side as he tilts his head to assess what you actually want to do.

“Why don’t we go for a swim?” You suggest, eyes bright at the idea of a late night swim, a frequent occurrence you, JJ and John B took up in the third grade when you’d first became friends. But with you and your friends being exceedingly busy working at the minute, you hadn’t had the chance to in a while.

Rafe looks confused at the idea, “It’s a bit late for a swim, baby.”

You raise a brow as you let out a sarcastic scoff, “It’s never too late for a swim… come on, you live in OBX, you telling me you’ve never been for a late night swim?”

“I mean…yeah, but in a pool.” Rafe responds, watching as you smile slowly.

“But never in the ocean huh?”

-

The beach is empty and desolate, as it usually is on figure eight at this time but you wouldn’t doubt that on your side of the island there were a few people chilling on the shores.

“You telling me you used to do this like all the time?” Rafe asks, his mind clearly whirring at how unsafe it could’ve been in the ocean at night especially on the south side of the Outer Banks.

You laugh slightly as you strip down to your bikini, “It’s fun, one time me, JJ and Kie went in high and well…” You turn your back to him, pointing down to your ass to the crescent shaped scar that resided making Rafe’s brows furrow as he comes over and assesses it more sincerely than he ever had before.

“What the fuck? I thought you’d gotten that as a kid or something.” Rafe says, snorting out a laugh at the peculiarly shaped scar making you turn your head and smirk at him, a playful glint your eyes.

“Last one to the ocean gets no head for a week!” You shout before beginning a sprint toward the moonlit sea, Rafe shouting out “Unfair!” in protest behind you as you smile widely pushing your body to run as fast as it can, immensely aware of Rafe beginning his own sprint through the sand.

You reach the water first, due to your “unfair”head start. Not that you’d live up to the wager you’d spouted out but you’d give it a try.

As you splash into the sea, strong arms wrap around your middle making you squeal and twist in Rafe’s arms to attempt to escape as he plunges you both under the water.

After a moment, the two of you resurface, your now wet hair clinging to your face as you glare playfully at Rafe who stares adoringly at you under the moonlight.

“When i said fun, I didn’t mean dunking-“ you began but were interrupted by the feeling of Rafe’s lips on yours, his hands looping around your waist as you grin into the kiss.

As you kiss, you take the upper hand and push both Rafe and yourself under the water, the Cameron boy letting out a loud groan before you fall into the waves.

Before you can resurface above the water, Rafe eagerly pulls you back to him, latching your lips to his once more and well….

It was pretty much the best underwater kiss of all time.

[dubiousanon]

Do you have any other Naruto fic drafts?? Even if they aren't romance I don't care I want to hear

Soooo sosososo many!

Title: Grey to Green (KakaGai)

Summary:

After nearly thirty years of marriage, Kakashi figures all that's left for him and Gai is achy joints and reminiscing. He guesses he should've known better. A seal gone wrong and suddenly they've both got a new lease on life— and all the agile perks that come with it. Being twelve again isn't the best thing in the world, but if there's one thing Kakashi is good at, it's coping.

(AKA: Kakashi and Gai, after thirty years of marriage, time travel back into their twelve and fourteen year old bodies (respectively). They're having the time of their lives, Obito and Rin are confused, and Minato just wants to know what's going on.)

Notes:

-Kakashi and Gai are married and really, their relationship isn't all that different from how it always was, with the addition of Gai randomly proclaiming his "youthful love" for Kakashi and trying to smother him in his arms. There's nobody Kakashi trusts more than he trusts Gai, and vice versa.

-Minato when his grumpiest student rolls up and is suddenly reading porn all the time, gives no shits about training or rules, is effortlessly proficient in just about everything, and acts like the chillest guy on the block: 🧍‍♂️

-Obito and Rin when Kakashi suddenly chills out, knows a trillion jutsu, and is suddenly best friends with Might Gai, who keeps crying about love keeping them young and trying to kiss his face: 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️

Title: It's The Running That's Easy

Summary:

All his life, people have been telling Naruto to go away. That they don't want him there, that they wish he was never born, that the whole world would be better off if he simply didn't exist. Eventually... Eventually, when someone tells him to leave, what else can he do but listen?

Notes:

-After years and years of growing up in a village where it's clear he's not wanted, Naruto decides he's finally gotten the memo. He does exactly what they've always told him to do— he packs his bags and he leaves.

-It takes Konoha a week to notice he's even missing. By that time, Naruto is already long gone and living his best life like... not there, I guess. Nobody knows him outside the village, and people are actually kind. It's like a whole new world.

-He's ten years old by this point and pretty self sufficient as far as taking care of himself. He learns more on the road than he ever did in the village, anyway.

Title: By The Moon (SasuNaru)

Summary:

Naruto heard once that, if you wanted for it hard enough, the moon would grant you a wish. That if you were a good enough person, it would give you something. Naruto doesn't think he's all that great, but damn if he doesn't want a family.

(OR: Naruto just wants someone, and Tobirama wants to know how the hell he got here)

Notes:

-The moon grants Naruto's wish and presents to him... someone. Tobirama was exceedingly fond of his sister-in-law, Mito, he's all about village honor, and moreover, he is unprecedentedly responsible and good with troublemaking kids. Growing up with Hashirama trained him well.

-Tobirama goes to sleep in his time, wakes up in this one, and proceeds to just roll with it. Everyone he knows is dead? Whatever, the moon has assigned him into parenthood. So.

-The Uchiha are (mostly) gone, hurrah! Except the last Uchiha definitely has a crush on his new son which is... not so hurrah. There's also this irritating Hatake who won't go away, his former students are fucking morons, and why is Madara still alive?

Title: An Eye For An Eye

Summary:

After clashing with Tobi over something that wasn't even worth fighting over to begin with, Itachi hits his head and wakes up with no memory of the last five years. Panicking and with no idea what's going on or where he is, Itachi does the only thing he can think to— he goes home.

Notes:

-Itachi loses his memory and when he sees his slashed headband, he assumes he's on some undercover mission. With his memory compromised, the correct thing to do would be to forego the mission and go home to regroup, so he does. He goes straight back to the Hokage.

-Imagine his surprise when he shows up and his baby brother is grown, his family is dead, and he's promptly arrested for something he doesn't even remember doing. And now he's freaking the hell out because he would never. He would never kill his clan.

-Kakashi knows something isn't right and honestly, Inoichi Yamanaka and Shikaku Nara do too. Even Sasuke is on the fence. With Danzo breathing down their necks and Itachi spiraling, they're sitting on top of a conspiracy just waiting to blow.

[rs-hawk]

Nobleman Minotaur Part Three

After your official debut, Minotaur started avoiding you even more. It hurt. You tried to find reasons to be around him, but he always found an excuse to leave quickly. You had thought the two of you had grown closer, especially after the dance you shared. You thought maybe he liked you, but maybe you were wrong.

One day, you were walking through the garden, lazily picking grapes from the vine, with Pasiphae appearing in front of you. "Your Rarity!" you gasped, quickly dipping your head, grapes dropping from your hands as you grabbed up your dress to curtsy.

The immoral laughed, setting her hand under your chin to draw it up. "No need for such formalities, Princess. I've come to check in on your family, and my son. Have you seen him?"

Your face fell as she took her hand back. "I don't know, ma'am. Minotaur has been avoiding me lately."

"What did you say?" her voice sounded hard, angry even. It sent a chill down your spine.

"Minotaur has been avoiding me," you whispered, your throat felt tight as you repeated your sentence.

"Is that what you all have been calling him? No wonder he has been avoiding you," while she didn't mean it as cruelly as it came across, it still struck your heart.

"Is that not his name? I thought-," you started, only to be cut off by a wave of her hand.

"That is the name my last husband called him. The name given to him by nurse maids to try to appease him, as if he were Hera and my lovely boy was Heracules. No, Minotaur is not his name, and never had been," she sneered, looking towards the building where your love had been residing.

"Why would he never correct me, or anyone?" your voice quivered as she began to take long strides towards her son's home, and you followed obediently.

"Asterion has always been a curious child," she paused, sparing a glance over her shoulder at you. "Even curse aside."

"Asterion? Is that his true name?" you asked as you rolled the name on your tongue. It tasted like a warm blanket and honey tea.

"Yes," she said with a smile, coming to the stairs leading up to his doors. "A strong name for a strong boy."

Lifting her hand to the door, she rapped lightly on the door. It only took a moment for her son to open it, though his eyes went immediately to you. Under his gaze, your face flushed. It was so intense. How could he look at you like that and then not even want to speak a word to you?

"Oh, am I interrupting something?" Pasiphae grinned, looking between the two. "I thought you said my shy son had been avoiding you."

"He has been," you muttered, your cheeks glowing redder.

"Mother," he groaned, though you thought maybe you saw a blush under his fur.

"Alright, alright. I won't push," she smiled as she made her way inside as he side stepped to let the two of you in. "I just wanted to check in on my sweet boy."

"I am doing well. Y/N and her family are exceedingly kind to me," he said in a quiet voice, side eyeing you.

"And yet you haven't even told the poor girl your real name. Are you ashamed of it? I agonized over your name," she puffed up her cheeks playfully, glaring at her son.

"Of course not, but everyone already knows me as Minotaur, so it just felt strange. It's not like anyone actually referred to me as Asterion... before," his eyes were downcast, his tail and ears drooping.

"I like it," you chimed in, rubbing your arm nervously. "I think it suits you."

"Thank you," he muttered back just as shyly.

"I think I will continue my visit with the King and check back in later," his mother nearly purred as she gave you a slight shove before stepping back towards the door. "You two should get better acquainted, I think. I can trust the two of you unchaperoned, can't I?"

Minotaur, no, Asterion, glared at her as she rushed away, laughing lightly. He didn't understand how she could be borderline cruel to her. She knew him better than anyone else. She had to know how his heart had always ached for love and kindness, and here you were, all of that embodied. You looked up at him through your dark lashes, the blush finally subsiding. Gods, it was such a gorgeous sight.

"So, you haven't been avoiding me. Then what has this all been about?" you said in what you hoped was a playful tone.

He was definitely blushing under that fur. There was no doubt in your mind about that with the way that he was acting. "I have been trying to be respectful."

"How so?"

"You are a Princess. It's not as if I am really deserving of the kind of attention I... well," he ran his fingers through his hair as he looked away. "Well, the kind of attention that I wish you would give me. I might have a title, but most will always see me as a monster."

"What kind of attention do you wish that I would give you?" you were breathless, your blood pounding in your ears. He shrugged and didn't respond. "I don't see a monster when I look at you. I see a man. A man who has been through so much. More than anyone else could imagine. A very handsome man."

His eyes met yours quickly as he jerked his head up to look at you. "Please, don't say things you don't mean."

"I would never," your voice was strained. Your mouth dry.

Cautiously, you took a step closer to him. He let out a soft groan, his brows furrowing together. "Princess, you don't know what you're saying when it comes to a creature like me."

"What does it mean for me to say it to a man like you?" you whispered, taking another step closer to him. You reached out, your fingers just barely grazing his muscular forearm. "Tell me."

There was silence for several seconds before he reached out to you, cupping your face in his large, calloused hands. You were able to look up at him, your heart racing. His dark eyes seemed impossibly deep. After a moment, he lowered his head. Your eyes fluttered shut with anticipation. You gripped his forearm now, drawing him closer to you. You could feel his breath on your lips. Your entire body was shaking with excitement.

"Princess," he sighed, and you could almost feel his lips moving as he spoke.

"Well, that was a quick visit. Y/N, your father is waiting for you," Pasiphae's voice filled the air as she opened the door.

Asterion jumped back, snorting with clear irritation. "Mother, we were-."

"Doing something that a chaperon would fully allow, I'm sure. Now, Y/N, I do believe you would be interested in what your father and I discussed," the immortal smiled at you, her eyes creasing as it brightened her face.

"Of course," you bowed your head, casting a look at Asterion before exiting, with your heart still nearly beating out of your chest.

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[adventuresofalgy]

After his amazing Hogmanay Hootenanny had finally drawn to a close, Algy slept for many, many hours, and when he awoke he found that all his party guests had vanished, no doubt returning to the many magical places around the world from which they had come.

Feeling that he needed a wee bit of fresh air and exercise after such extensive partying, Algy flew around his assistants' garden several times. But he found that it was unpleasantly cold… It was early January, after all; the ponds were covered with thin sheets of ice, and the garden was hushed and quiet.

Suddenly, the sun burst through the wintry clouds, and although it was still exceedingly low in the sky, only just managing to clear the rocky ridges of the surrounding hills, parts of the garden were bathed in a beautiful golden light… at least for a few minutes, for the sun could evidently feel the chill too, and soon retreated to warmer climes.

It was glorious while it lasted, however, so Algy found himself a perch on a sunlit tree stump and indulged in a harmonious duet with a wee robin friend nearby, until the light faded into greyness once again. And while the two fluffy birds sang in wordless harmony, Algy took deep gulps of the January air and thought:

Something’s moving in, I hear the weather in the wind, sense the tension of a sheep-field and the pilgrimage of fins. Something’s not the same, I taste the sap and feel the grain, hear the rolling of the rowan ringing, singing in a change. Something’s set to start, there’s meadow-music in the dark and the clouds that shroud the mountain slowly, softly start to part.

[Algy is thinking of A Poem for the New Year by the contemporary English poet Matt Goodfellow.]