#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.

[boilingheart]

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

[the-becom1ng]

Is it true that my taste in men is atrocious?

yes.

[biggerbagingos]

How does Rise eat out Naoto's massive, hanger door clogging ass? This is vital information

It can be tough to eat out such a fat, juicy, jiggly, rippling, overwhelmingly enormous ass, but if you're driven by an intense lust anything is possible.

First, she tears open those tight trousers, an easy task given how they're constantly at their breaking point. Then, she wedges her own overexaggerated body between the detective's plump, towering cheeks, pulling herself closer and closer to her delicious holes. Before she's even halfway there, Rise's already came multiple times out of anticipation and by being smothered by Naoto's heavenly ass.

After days of journeying through the pillowy crevice, the idol finally gets to tonguefuck her lover. Her technique is perfect, Naoto is cumming within seconds, but this is only the beginning of their fun. The average sexual experience between the two can last for weeks, months even. Both because they have so much pent up energy, and they can't get enough of their hyper sized bodies.

[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

[sexynetra]

omg i wanna know what the fics r about, especially the sashnetra one

Oh boy, there's so many worlds living in my head currently hahaha!

There's the boxer continuation I still need to plot out, more one-shot collection pieces including an amusement park AU, a couple different stripper ones (I can't help myself oops), drunk Anetra at a party with Marcia taking care of her (tbh this one might leave the one-shot folder and become a whole story)

Then there's the non-one-shots, which has a bodyguard/celebrity AU that I have plotted but need to suck it up and put to paper, a (shocker) Vegas stripper and 21st birthday AU, and yes I know it's cheesy as fuck but I love cheesy fics but I'm currently working on my tattoo shop owner AU where Marcia comes to get some tattoos and accidentally falls in love.

The Sashnetra is a fun one! Very directly inspired by the top 4 episode (and I will cry if anyone steals this) but Sasha is a pop girlie, Anetra is a model/dancer who was hired to be in her MV, and working with Sasha is a gay awakening (feat. am I gay BuzzFeed-esque quiz taking)

[ofpd]

im leyning this shabbos at a shul ive never been to and like ok i get that they don't know me and want to make sure i know how but whyyy are they making me read it for them beforehand. dude trust me

[hraunwyf]

my plans to obtain my intended sidepiece are going IMMACULATELY

[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!”

[outlanderalien]

I can't remember the full translation, but what really makes this is that the first line of dialogue is him saying "Hey. It's me." 😭

Therapist: Orange Mayuri isn’t real, he can’t hurt you. 

Orange Mayuri:

[swordgrace]

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃.

KINKTOBER WEEK ONE — RISK OF GETTING CAUGHT.

⤿ pairings: (S1) jon snow x fem!reader

⤿ word count: 3.4K.

⤿ warnings: smut (mdni), public sex, risk of getting caught, experienced reader, sub!jon, reader is definitely more dominant, heavy kissing, teasing, mild praise kink, cunnilingus, oral sex (fem!rec), p in v sex, unprotected sex, riding, descriptions of cum, soft ending

⤿ note: lowkey I churned this out pretty quick, this was so so fun to write! honestly this is also dedicated to @dipperscavern , a lot of their jon snow content fuels my inspo for him, so thank you!

“You’ve got to be mad.”

Jon Snow’s bewildered, sour Northern timbre rattled throughout the stables, twisted with palpable uncertainty as you led him back toward bales of hay. His stomach was coiled into knots — knots of excitement, but nerves seemed to prevail.

Ever the honorable one, he often cautioned you against these hasty, secret meetings you orchestrated. A sliver of him thoroughly enjoyed the exhilaration of it all, the thrill of being with you between corridors and in darkness.

Trysts like these were exceedingly dangerous — if any question came into being regarding your virtue or his honor, Eddard would have his head for it, and you would be scorned.

“Yet you willingly partake,” A quip as sharp as a longsword dug into his side, prompting him to huff in response. “If this is madness to you, Jon, you have not yet lived a life.”

“Here, of all places?” Jon countered, tone bordering along exasperation and subtle excitement. The stables weren’t exactly the most conventional place to couple, but your options were thin. He feared someone stumbling upon the both of you.

Glancing over your shoulder, you peered at your brooding paramour through a half-lidded gaze, head canting to one side. “Here, of all places.” You parroted, tone dripping with amusement.

Gods, you were such a temptress.

It was difficult to resist you, the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, the hem of your dress shamelessly steeped in several inches of mud. Even the Northern chill could not ice his bones in your presence, as warm as the sands of Dorne.

The both of you were caught within the throes of youthful affection and what he called it, love. It pained him all the more to consider the Night’s Watch when he had you at his side.

“You do not have to follow me, Jon,” You countered, one hand twined with his, steering the doe-eyed boy back into the stables, enough for partial concealment. This was as reckless as it seemed — but you cared little for it. “You can always turn around.”

A pleading groan rippled from his throat, yet Jon relented, chasing after you like a wolf nipping at your heels. “What happens if we’re discovered? Your brother would take my head for this.” He murmured.

The thought of Jory Cassel dismantling his head from his shoulders was a gruesome thought — but not before Eddard Stark got to him first. Jon shuddered, dark brows creased with permanent frustration.

“Gods, you worry like an old crone,” Your bubbling laughter made his chest stir with warmth, the sensation spreading toward his stomach. “Why, you don’t trust me?” You suggested.

With furrowed brows, Jon’s countenance told a different story, one of incessant fear and boyish nerves, ones that only flourished in your presence. He seemed to accept defeat. “I do trust you.” He insisted.

Inching closer, you pressed a palm against his chest, nail picking at the finely-crafted leather. “We don’t have long,” You murmured, tone betraying your playful facade. “I wish it weren’t always like this.”

Jon exhaled, a somewhat trembling noise that finally evened out as moments ticked by. He reached to cup your jaw, calloused thumb soothingly stroking at your cheek. “Someday, it won’t be. I promise.”

The constant sneaking around had become exhausting — Jon was shocked that no one had discovered you yet. Even then, as much as he fought against brash decisions like these, it was all you had, and he would seize the moment.

With a cheshire smile, you rocked up upon your toes to kiss Jon, reveling in the sensation of his weeks-old stubble scratching your skin. You enjoyed his rugged appearance more than that of a freshly-shaved boy.

Sometimes you forgot that he was nine-and-ten, more a man now than boy — but that was who you’d fallen in-love with, the boy. Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell.

He could’ve been anything and nothing, and your feelings wouldn’t have changed. A bastard or not, Jon meant more to you than most. He was kinder, not spoiled or surly, yet still protective when it mattered most.

Jon very nearly buckled beneath the saccharine warmth of your mouth, absorbing every scrap of heat from you. Gods, you were the first woman he’d ever touched, ever laid with — he hoped that you would be the very last.

Your experience before he truly became your lover never soured him to you — in fact, it made him jealous. If Jon had it his way, he would’ve been your first for everything, but there was no use in dwelling in the past.

Fortune favored him, knowing that he had you now. His hands, initially hesitant, finally made their perch against the swell of your hips. The lovely outline of your body molded itself to his palms as you kissed him, digits toying with his dark curls.

“You could change your mind,” Your softened voice drifted between the both of you. “About me.” It was a gentle sigh in between kisses, your countenance becoming a touch melancholy.

A look of complete and utter shock made residence upon Jon’s features, lips agape at such a statement. “I wouldn’t,” He insisted, hooking an arm around your hips. “You know that I wouldn’t.”

Jon knew your being like the scrawlings of a map — every fine line, every landscape, the valleys and dips of your heart. You knew him just as much, and you knew that he was certain about you. It gave you comfort, placating reassurance in the face of insecurities.

It brought you solace to know that Jon intended on being with you, even if your union was somewhat unconventional. It was a love whispered between corridors — stolen glances, a yearning that transcended duty, touching behind hay bales.

“Good,” Your assertion made his belly erupt with fire, stoked by your constant teasing and prodding. Jon savored it nonetheless, even if it did make his features burn with scarlet. “Are you blushing?”

Seven Hells — Jon nearly tossed you into the hay for your inquiry. He huffed, playfully pinching the pliant part of your haunch. “No,” He grumbled, silently commiserating over your observant nature. “But you don’t make it any better.”

With a laugh as bright as the first inkling of springtime, it prompted Jon to smile too, even if it was threadbare. A comfortable silence drifted between you both, simmering with a thinly-veiled tension, wreathed in desire.

Desire was a perilous thing, especially for Jon.

He was still somewhat clumsy during your lovemaking, inexperience glimmering through, but he was an adept learner. Jon thoroughly enjoyed learning your body as one would learn to wield a broadsword.

The ardor that glistened within your hues made his heart pound like a hammer against an anvil, steel to be molded by your capable hands. He was often the more subservient one in your union, not that he minded it.

Jon seemed content to become lost within your gaze, reduced to a mere pup. Swallowing the growing lump within his throat, he bent to kiss you, disarmingly gentle as he squeezed at your hips.

A beat fluttered between the both of you; love blossomed, yet lust flourished like a swiftly-spreading fire. Soft fingers found their purchase against the nape of his neck, preening through his dark curls.

Beams of a dying sun pooled in from the gaps in the wood, painting your features with burnished gold. It was nearly dusk, and the castle would be settling — Jon’s incessant worrying began to diminish altogether.

Lips tangled together, a sweet dance that stole every wisp of air from his lungs. Jon felt your palms glide downward, planting themselves against his chest as you wordlessly directed him to the firm bales of straw.

“Wait,” Jon rasped, voice hoarse with desperation. Before you could slip into his lap, you ceased, head cocking to one side. “I want to taste you first.” He wanted it more than anything else.

A coy smile caused your lips to quirk, and you sauntered backwards a step or two, back hitting the wall of the stables. Brazenly, you gathered the material of your dress in one hand, slipping it up along your legs.

Jon did not waste a second, moving off of the straw and onto his knees, crawling to you like a starving animal; a wolf on all fours. Those dark hues of his sparkled with affection, even as he parted your legs with his shoulders.

His tongue raked hot embers across your cunt, greedy laps causing you to shiver in delight. Nimble digits found their way to his crown of curls, coaxing him closer. “Jon.” You sighed his name as if it were a prayer.

It was ambrosial, your taste; a finest stout, the sweetest of nectars that stained his lips with your perfection. Jon sloppily lapped at your cunt, dutiful and attentive, ensuring to find every spot that made you gasp for air.

Nimble digits fisted into your tattered skirts, mouth agape as a myriad of throaty moans escaped you. Your hand roamed through his tresses, tugging and pulling whenever his tongue graced the pearl of your cunt.

Jon wasn’t tactful nor graceful, but passion and enthusiasm was all he really needed to please you. Each kiss he placed against your cunt drove you to madness, arching into the eager ministrations of his mouth.

If he were to perish, let it be between your thighs, exactly like this. An aching sensation throbbed along his length, straining against his leather trousers. He gripped your thigh, letting you rest one leg atop his shoulder.

The scratch of his stubble caused friction between his cheek and your thighs, yet it was a pleasant sting. You sang Jon’s praises, a myriad of hushed whines and wanton moans between the distant whistling of the Northern gales.

Warmth blossomed throughout your body, a familiar coil of heat unfurling within the pit of your stomach. A stab of pleasure struck at your nethers when Jon’s tongue briefly rolled over your clit, prompting you to tug on his curls.

A low groan rippled through his throat, reverberating as a grunt throughout his chest. He savored your taste, each twitch of your thigh, brusque tug of his tresses from your greedy hand.

Jon cared little for the mess, content to drink you in, rougher palm caressing against your thigh before trailing down to your calf. He squeezed again, to ensure that you were real and not some lascivious fantasy he’d dreamt of.

You were everything — flesh and blood, the lament that echoed his name, a lover so beautiful that he dared not look away. Jon did not consider himself a romantic, but he found himself putting in the effort with you.

He devoured you like a man starved, a hungry wolf, seeking its final meal. Jon continued to trace your cunt with his tongue, kissing you wherever he could. Your little tugs of his tresses often coaxed him further into your heat.

As his lips rolled over the pearl of your cunt again, your knees buckled, ecstasy mounting, electrifying your very veins. He did not cease, tongue stoking the fire, delighted to lap at your core until you forced him to stop.

Tugging at his tousled curls, you pried Jon away from you, flushed with a delicious shade of scarlet. Warmth permeated your skin, a heat that sank into your bones, kept you oblivious to the growing cold that came with dusk.

His chin glistened with your slick, pliant lips seeking your mouth. “You are so handsome.” You purred, watching Jon preen beneath the softness of your compliment. You thought him to be perfect in every way imaginable.

Rising to his feet, Jon did not resist when you began to push him back toward the bale of straw, palm planted against his chest as he sat. He was more than willing, peering up at you through thick lashes.

“You’re beautiful,” Jon reciprocated your kindly words, timbre steeped in an awestruck appreciation for you. His breath hitched within his throat when you slid into his lap, hitching your skirts up towards your hips. “Seven Hells.” He groaned.

Excitable hands grasped your hips once more, brazenly sinking towards your derrière as you kissed him. Jon’s sigh was audible as he returned such a heated kiss, brows creased in concentration.

There was a lack of uncertainty in his actions, and in the beginning, he was often unsteady and hesitant. Now, Jon touched you greedily, wanting more of you, savoring the sensation of your body pressed so closely to his.

Able to taste your own nectar upon his tongue, you allowed one hand to clasp at the nape of his neck, the other slyly working to slip beneath his tunic. Jon was growing in muscle, flesh as pale as a moonlit snowfall, broad-shouldered and comely.

Your dress would be riddled with pieces of hay in the aftermath, but it was all worth it. Your kisses were rather domineering, but disarmingly gentle. Perhaps your desire to take initiative always lingered in your entanglements, but your love for him never faded.

Jon let his kiss linger, lips pressing to your jaw, and then to your throat. A shiver iced your spine with anticipation, hand traveling from beneath his tunic toward the laces of his trousers.

It was then that you scanned his features for any hints of hesitation or uncertainty. “Do you want this, even still?” You uttered, lips tugging into a reassuring smile. He did not seem as nervous as before.

With a nod, he reached to cup your jaw, pressing a chaste kiss to your brow. “More than anything.” The rasp within his tender tone filled your stomach with an eruption of butterflies, gooseflesh tingling along your skin.

There was certainly no rush, but with daylight burning and Jon expected to be in his quarters soon, you began to act with haste.

Eager fingers unraveled the coase ties of his breeches, with Jon attempting to aid you wherever he could. With bated breath, you looked to him, brimming with a thinly-veiled adoration.

His hands held your hips, allowing you to maneuver yourself as you saw fit, freeing his cock from its confines. You hovered, soft palm guiding his length to your slick cunt. Jon inhaled — a sharp, poignant noise that signaled relief.

“Jon,” You moaned, grasping for his broad shoulders, still shrouded in leather. Gods, you wished you could see him bare, unobstructed — he was surely a ravishing sight. “Gods, I missed you.”

Jon groaned at the sweetness of your words, spoken through a wanton moan. He held you close, hands tracing the outline of your curvaceous physique through your gowns.

Twilight painted the skies above Winterfell, bringing with it the bitter bite of nightly chill and a canvas of stars above. Darkness settled in throughout the stables, save for the burning of dying braziers within the stables.

Even through such slim illumination, Jon could make out your countenance, a picture of beauty, contorted into a look of bliss. He was at your mercy, slumped back against some of the bales, letting you ride him as you would a broken gelding.

Intermingled noises of breathy moans and strenuous pants reverberated in the space around you, heat prevailing where the cold could not.

Jon shuddered at the feeling of your cunt, tight and warm around him, clenching around his cock with each roll of your hips. You took him perfectly, as if you were made for him, molded together.

It was a sluggish start, agonizingly so, bodies finding moments to adjust to one another, grow accustomed. You drew yourself up, his cock filling you in such a pleasant way, nothing discomforting about it.

The way in which you milked him, moved agonizingly slow, allowing him to feel your cunt tighten around him — it was nearly overwhelming.

The very image of grace, tarnished with lust; a maiden worth worshiping. Jon huffed, chest erupting with a string of pants and soft groans, lips agape as you adopted a steady rhythm.

His hands caressed circles into your hips, dark hues wide and mesmerized, doelike in their silent appraisal of you. Through the moonlit dusk of the stables, you met his gaze, blushing beneath the intensity of it.

A whimper of bliss bubbled from your lips as you became invigorated in your pace, rocking yourself up and down along his cock, aided by his grasp upon your hips.

The lewd, crass union of flesh against flesh joined the ambiance, yet all he could focus on was you, the lovestruck look within your eyes, exuberance glittering beneath. He kneaded along your thighs, squeezing when the pleasure mounted.

“Perfect,” A soft sputtering between exhilarated breaths, enough to ensnare Jon’s attention. “Gods, Jon, you’re perfect.” Such wanton praise nearly made him spill his seed into you then and there.

His hips stuttered, bucking off of the bale and right into you, cock reaching new depths. It made you moan, significantly noisier this time, enough for Jon to become mildly concerned about someone investigating.

A familiar coil of heat began to unfurl within the pit of your stomach, just as it did his own. Jon sat up enough to seize your lips in a kiss, one that blossomed with passion, letting his affections bleed through.

Your pace was tantalizing, nothing too swift to let it feel sloppy and rushed, yet fervent enough to make his head swim with the haze of desire. Jon’s mouth did not part from yours until you drew away, only to release another moan.

Jon fought against his release, not wanting it to end so quickly, stomach tight as could be. He let out a string of sighs, vocalizing your comeliness, digits squeezing into your hip once more.

“Don’t stop.” He huffed, and if he could plead with you, he would’ve. Your current rhythm was perfect, made to torment him as you sank yourself down upon his cock again.

Your cunt clenched pathetically, snug around his length as you continued to ride him, his cock bottoming out within you. It was a perfect storm of sensations, ones that made you delirious with desire, crying out to the heavens.

It was your release that came first, and it was swift — the intensity of it nearly blinded you, white-hot and sticky as you began to still. The tightness of your cunt sent Jon cascading over the edge.

Jon’s swift thinking caused you to move off of him, with seconds to spare as he spilled himself across your thighs, ropes of seed painting your flesh. Embarrassment rippled through him, but you understood why he didn’t come undone inside of you.

Chests rose and fell with labored sighs, basking in the aftermath of your tryst. Pieces of straw had stuck themselves to your dress, to his clothing, to his dusky curls.

It was difficult not to let your seriousness diminish in the wake of your orgasm, body tingling with such bliss. You couldn’t help but giggle at the ridiculousness of this — the stables, the disheveled hay, your recklessness.

He found himself smiling with you, dutifully assisting in cleaning his seed off of your thighs with the handkerchief tucked away within his tunic. Your shared joy brought him comfort.

“What will Lord Stark think of your unkempt state?” You teased, plucking golden twigs of hay from his hair, nose wrinkled with mild amusement. “Romping around in the hay?”

Jon huffed, eyes crinkling with mirth as he pulled you in for a kiss, allowing it to linger, knowing that he would be parted from you soon enough. “If I’m lucky, Lord Stark won’t see me.” He mused.

You would pray to the Old Gods that Jon was not accosted by his stern-faced father. “If you’re unlucky?” It was not something that Jon wanted to consider, but he did for the sake of your playful inquiry.

“We’ll have to find a different location.”

[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.

[wolves-in-the-world]

#ohhhhhhh #thinking about this again

#WARNING: angsty ramblings in the tags with characters discussing character death (NO actual character death depicted) forthcoming: #filler line for people who don't want to see that. also wolves if this is not welcome please let me know and i'll delete!

#anyway: what if the first time they put a tracker on him it gets removed the next time he gets captured #'cuz it's emitting a signal and most half-way competent thugs these days know to scan for that

#and that's okay. it's normal. right? he's been in this position before #he's used to there being nobody looking for him and now. there may be someone Looking for him #but they won't be able to Find him and that's not so different really

#anyway he gets himself out and he keeps going as he's always done in the past #but suddenly it IS different: there was a moment when he was genuinely not sure he'd be able to make it out

#and that's ALSO something he's used to! in their line of work you never know which job may be your last! #but this time. this time. in that moment he was... something. something almost like worried. almost like scared #not of dying. not even of dying alone. everyone dies alone anyway #but maybe of dying alone and never being found by the people he's learned over the years would be sure to be looking for him

#it takes him a while to realize he's upset about this situation and even longer to realize why #in the end hardison is floored when quinn asks him if he can put a tracker in him that would only activate when quinn dies

#(hardison knows that quinn is not sentimental about things like what happens to his body after he dies.#that this is about quinn understanding how the rest of them would feel about never finding his body or finding out what happened to him)

[via @trivalentlinks]

hey. HEY. get back here—

thinking, in the vein of quinn being a figurative stray cat who eliot and the team adopt, in the vein of some sort of neurodiverse quinn (and off the back of watching this sort-of-spoken-word-poem, sort-of-personal-update again), about him checking in ten times in one month and then not at all for two months after.

the way the team quietly brace for the worst the first time, and eliot at least has a bit of an idea by then that this is just a quinn thing, but it's still not easy. (nothing about being friends with someone in their line of work is easy.)

thinking about almost a year in, quinn chilling with hardison while hardison talks games at him a bit and quinn's half just adjusting to being around people again, people who like him, people who he can be himself around, more or less. thinking about alec gently broaching the topic of leaving a tracker in quinn's shoe, a program on his phone, an earpiece in his pocket. something to quietly let them all know that quinn's alive and doing his own thing. something quinn can use to call in help if he needs it.

thinking about quinn not saying yes that time. not yet. trusting that they won't betray him is one thing; trusting that they'll always want him to come back is another.

it takes another eight months. eight months, and calling in eliot for an assist once, and being so on edge when eliot brings parker (getaway driver, never really in danger, hardison on the phone and watching the camera feeds from their base) that eliot has to shove him into the car, injuries and all, to get him to come with them.

it's not any big thing that decides him. it's a little bit that they're firm about not letting him work alone until he's fully healed up. it's a little bit the way eliot glares at him and pushes plates of actual food at him, adjusting the recipes until quinn likes them. it's a little bit the way parker just sits with him when he's feeling it, invites him up to the roof with a tilt of her head, the way he knows she's a bit like that too.

it's a little bit that they already gave him the key. it's a physical reminder, a small shape in a hidden pocket in his duffel bag that he can reach out and press between his fingers and know the invitation's there.

maybe he can't quite admit to himself yet that he'd rather work with the team than solo. maybe he hasn't made that decision yet. maybe he can't trust them yet, not in his heart, and he's still working on a more deliberate trust when he makes his decisions. but he can go find hardison, keep his face composed so it's easier, and agree to what he suggested before.

he can do that, at least.

[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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