#i envisioned this ask so vividly

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

GRANDPA ??????

Come here, I'mma show you who's a grandpa

*runs towards you*

*trips on your crown*

*back is now Tetris*

HHHHHHH nooo blue i WHEEZED

[sluttysnowangel666]

The Wolf & The Wildling

Part 2 to The Woman Beyond the Wall, last part.

masterlist

Summary: One year after Cregan’s near death experience with the wildling woman he met, he returns beyond the wall to find and recruit her in hopes of fighting alongside him for Rhaenyra Targaryen at the start of the Dance of Dragons.

cw; smut af come on you know me, really rough cregan, overstimulation, bit of angst but a happy ending :3, talks of SA, childbirth, no use of Y/N but an x reader,

stop not me getting emotional at my own story bc i imagined the end of scott street by PB playing at the ending😭am i a cornball?? anyways, thank you to the anons in my asks for the inspo, i wasn’t even really sure how to continue this story, although i knew i wanted more for cregan and his wildling, you guys gave me the inspiration i needed to give them their ending! tag list: @rebeccawinters

Every day Cregan hadn’t gone back out there felt like another day wasted.

He struggled to do his duties, struggled to sleep, fight, listen, do anything that required attention from him.

And yet despite their rather harsh separation, Cregan still thought of her with every free moment he had. It didn’t help many lords were also insisting the Warden of the North marry a noble daughter. He knew he had to do his duty, but couldn’t find the strength to do it.

It had been so long since he’d seen her that he’d begun to forget his favorite parts about her. It felt as if her strange laugh no longer echoed in his mind, as if he could no longer envision her scarred yet still smoothed skin.

He had the dagger with him always. It was like keeping a piece of her with him. He remembered the pain so vividly, could still feel the throb in his shoulder if he thought about it too hard.

Yet, the ache was nothing compared to the painful thought that always seemed to stay in his mind.

Would he ever see her again?

He couldn’t help but wonder if the Gods had greater plans for them. He prayed that they did.

“My Lord.” A voice interrupted Cregan from his thoughts. He stood, turning to face the person. “A raven has arrived from Dragonstone.”

Cregan took the scroll from the maester, quickly opening it to reveal its contents. It was a letter from Rhaenyra Targaryen. She was sending her son in hopes of gaining the support of the North, and requested Cregan have an audience with her heir, Jacaerys.

He would have to return to the Wall.

He hadn’t returned, much to the dismay of the Nights Watch, since he had nearly died from his wildling’s arrows. Even the thought of going near the Wall made his heart skip a beat. She would be so close, yet so far. He knew he could no longer avoid the wall. His duty to the men there was dire, and he had let his own fears get in the way of that.

As for his lover, he wasn’t even sure she still wanted him. As far as he knew, she hated him; she wanted to put an arrow through his eye, his dagger through his chest. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to see her again. No lady had ever compared to her. He had found his other half, and now felt empty without her.

If he did find her, what would he even do? They were bonded by love, yet separated by more than a Wall.

The separation would soon not matter anymore.

Winter is coming.

———

A fortnight later

Castle Black

Cregan had welcomed the prince to Winterfell, then accompanied him to the Wall.

The young men walked, discussing terms of Cregan’s service.

“In winter, my duty to the Wall is even more dire than the one I owe to King’s Landing. I need my men here.” Cregan says to his prince.

“Whilst your men guard against wildlings and weather,” Cregan twitched at the word wildling. “the Hightowers plan to usurp the throne. If my mother is to defend her claim to hold the realm united, she needs an army. War is coming, to the whole of the realm my lord. We cannot wage it without the support of the North.”

Jacaerys trails off, standing against the guard that overlooked the entire outside of the Wall.

“My father brought King Jahaerys and Queen Alyssane to see the wall. His Grace stood at this very outlook and watched as their dragons, the greatest power in the world, refused to cross… Do you think my ancestors built a 700 foot wall of ice to keep out snow and savages?”

“What does it keep out?” Jacaerys asks.

Cregan finally looks beyond the Wall for the first time in a year, his mind thinking of her for a brief moment, and then the darkness that lies beyond it. “Death.”

“I have thousands of graybeards who have already seen too many winters. They are… wellhoned. I can ready them to march at once.”

“If your graybeards can fight, the queen will have them.”

“They’ll fight hard.” Cregan says, his mind once again thinking of his love as he says his next words. “Like Northerners.”

Jacaerys senses something; more words that the Warden of the North wished to speak.

“Is there something else you can offer us, My Lord?” Jacaerys asks.

Cregan hesitates. “There is a woman…” He looks. beyond the wall again. “She is fierce, deadly with a bow. If I can find her… I can ask her to lead the graybeards into war.”

“Should she accept, my mother will be more than pleased to have her.” Jacaerys asks.

“My Lord!” Cregan turns, “A raven has arrived… Urgent news from Dragstone.”

Cregan looks at the man holding the scroll, who holds a sight of worry on his face. Cregan quickly opens the scroll, reading its contents.

Cregan looks at the prince, and Jacaerys tries reading the man’s stoic features.

All Cregan can do is hand Jacaerys the scroll, and let him read for himself.

———

Another fortnight passed following the news of the death of Prince Lucerys Velaryon. Jacaerys had left the Wall at once to return to Dragonstone, whilst Cregan began to prepare his graybeards to march.

“My Lord, why must you go back beyond the Wall? The graybeards do not need a leader. I do not think it wise to let them be lead by a woman beyond the Wall, let alone the one who killed the Lord Commander of the Nights Watch.” His maester tells him, worried of how the people of Winterfell and the men on the Wall will react.

“They will not know she’s a wildling. Tis’ not important information. All they need to know is she will lead them well into battle. I trust you’ll keep this information I’ve shared with you private, Maester Windell.”

“Of course, My Lord. You can count on my discretion, always, but I fear wonder if this journey is for more than a leader.”

Cregan stops his packing, not wanting to share more information than he already has with his maester. “No, maester. I only am going to help the Queen. I will be back shortly, with or without the wildling. Winter is coming, and I will not get lost beyond the Wall.”

The maester didn’t argue, so Cregan made his fortnight journey back to the Wall, and then beyond it.

He felt fear when his horse took its first steps onto the icy tundra outside the Wall’s gate. He feared he would not find her, feared she may have died, feared she would kill him before he got to kiss her one last time.

The late summer snow was not too harsh yet, but Cregan knew he did not have long to find her before Winter came.

He searched for days for her.

He returned to the spot where he first set up camp, finding the bark where he had carved a dire wolf had been completely torn and shredded by a knife.

When he returned to the cave it was dark, and no trace of her had been left behind. It made it feel like the moments they shared in there never happened.

He felt lost. He set up his camp in the cave, but she had not snuck to it during the night like last time. If she had, she truly left no trace. But, he knew he hadn’t felt her yet. She wasn’t there.

2 weeks into the journey, he had dreamt of her.

He dreamt he was a wolf, hunting, when he finally saw her.

She was sleeping, ever so soundly, beneath a bright red weirwood. He growled at her, and she awoke quickly, immediately grabbing and aiming her bow at him.

She gasped quickly, catching her breath as adrenaline coursed through her veins.

She released the arrow into his eye, and he awoke.

He was sweating despite the cold, and the burning feeling in his eye was lingering.

He rubbed it softly, but then directed his attention back to her in the dream. It was really her. She looked different. She looked stronger somehow, and her hair had grown greatly. She had it in a long, thick braid. There were bags under her eyes, like she had been exhausted from something.

He stood and exited the cave. The sun was slowly rising, but there was a blue hue that made the snow on the ground glisten. He closed his eyes, stretched, and yawned when he heard a sound.

It was a familiar sound… the sound of a bow string being pulled tightly.

He lowered his arms from his stretch, and opened his eyes.

There she was.

There she was.

She knelt on one knee, aiming her arrow at his eye. Her eyes burnt with a fire that he’d never seen, her breathing was quick and angry, her lips turned in a sad scowl, she was fueled with adrenaline.

He smiled, laughing softly. He couldn’t believe she was here. She pulled the string tighter at his sweet smile, her heart breaking at seeing him truly here.

He took a hesitant step towards her, but stopped.

A soft whining sound came from her back.

His smile faded.

She lowered her bow slowly, eventually dropping it completely. She had a fabric diagonal across her body. She moved it underneath her arm, and then twisted it around her body.

Her hands gently found and cradled the babe.

Cregan gasped. He couldn’t believe it.

She softly hushed the babe, tracing her fingers over its face. She whispered soft, comforting words to it. The babe made gentle little noises.

“Is that…” His voice was barely above a whisper. She looked at him solemnly. His hand covered his mouth.

“This is your son, Cregan.” She finally spoke. Her voice was smooth and melodic, different from how he heard her last time. He stepped towards her, falling to his knees. His whole body was shaking, and not from the cold.

“Does he have a name?” He asks, holding his arms out, hoping she’d trust him enough to hold his son.

She nervously hands him his child, fearful he might take her little babe, her only piece of Cregan, and never return again.

“No.” She says. “I only birthed him a moon ago.”

Cregan can’t hold it in anymore, and begins sobbing. All of his emotions pent up from the last year pour out. He holds the babe close to his chest, sobbing relentlessly.

He’d missed her so greatly this past year and now seeing her here, alone with this little babe, he’d realized how badly he erred. He wasn’t there to comfort her, hold her, help her. She had suffered it all alone.

“I’m so sorry.” He sobs.

She stares at him, her face unwavering. She was so angry. She wanted to kill him so bad, to take back her babe and cut his throat.

But, she couldn’t.

He’d broken her heart in such an unimaginable way. She’d cried over him for weeks, and when her blood hadn’t came she knew the worst had happened. But now he was here, holding their babe and sobbing like a child. She didn’t even know Cregan was capable of such emotions. She didn’t truly know him, and he didn’t truly know her.

Her hand found its way to his broad shoulder to try to comfort him. Her other hand moved to cradle his cheek. He rested his face into her hand, spilling wet tears on her.

“Oh, Cregan.” She whispered, wiping the never ending tears from his cheek. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his, hushing him like she did their babe. She wrapped her other arm around him, bringing her warm body against his while still being careful of their infant.

“I’m so sorry.” He repeats. “I should not have left you. I should have killed those men and brought you home-“

“Sh, sh, Cregan.” She whispers again. “I’m yours, as you are mine.”

Her words send him back into tears. She presses soft kisses to the tears on his cheek, weaving her fingers in his curls that she desperately missed.

“Where have you been?” He asks, minutes after calming down. “I’ve searched these whole damn woods for you.”

She smiles softly, “You think I don’t know that?” He smiles. “Why did you come back here, Cregan?”

He looks down at their sleeping babe, then back at her. “I’ve wanted to come back every day since I have been apart from you… But, I couldn’t find the strength. I regret it more than anything. I regret leaving you, I regret not coming sooner, I-“

She cuts him off, placing her warm lips onto his. Not breaking the kiss, her hands take the babe from him, setting him aside next to them.

“What are you-“

She slaps him across the face, with such a strong hand that he can’t help but stop and look back at her in total shock. She pulls his lips back into her, confusing him with her back and forth attitude. “If you ever leave me again, I really will put an arrow through your eye.”

He smirks, pulling her back into him with his strength. “Now we’re even.” She whispers.

“We were even when you nearly killed me last year.” He says, she growls at him, but they continue kissing. “I wear these scars with honor.”

She tears into his soft clothes, “Take him inside, and then come back out here and make me yours again.”

He pulls away with haste, grabbing his babe gently and walking back into the cave. She follows, right on his heels. He finds a safe spot for their babe, setting the sleeping child down.

He turns, grabbing her by the neck and kissing her, pushing her backwards out to the cold.

“Be gentle with me.” She whispers into his lips.

“No.” Cregan says, ripping off her furs and throwing them on the ground. She smirks, not wanting him to anyway.

He grabs her by her hair and she shrieks. He pushes her down to her knees, and she sits in the cold snow once again. He unlaces his breeches, and she quickly tugs them down with his soft clothes.

She presses her cold fingers onto his pelvis, and she places gentle kisses along his length. She looks up at him with her big, doe eyes. He pulls her head back by her hair again and she gasps. He pushes himself into her mouth, immediately groaning at her warm tongue. She moans around him, placing her hand at what she can’t fit in her mouth. He grabs both sides of her face, thrusting his hips into her mouth, not realizing his roughness. He had missed her so much, and he was so lost in the pleasure of her mouth.

She gagged repeatedly, her eyes flowing with tears. Her free hand rested on his toned stomach for balance, and she scratched her nails into him from time to time.

He pulled her head back with a pop of her lips, and looked down at the little mess before him. Her cheeks were stained with tears, drool spilling from her lips, her thighs rubbing together to relieve the tension between her legs.

He pushed her back into the snow and got on his knees, placing himself between her legs. He wrapped his hand around her throat again, rubbing his fingers at the wetness between her legs.

“You’ve missed me?” He asks.

“I’ve missed that cock.” She teases.

“Don’t worry. There won’t be much to miss soon.” He presses a harsh kiss to her lips, sliding himself into her. She gasps into his lips, trying to pull away to cry out, but he refuses to let her go. He pulls one of her legs to his chest to give him a deeper angle and she whines into his lips. He starts thrusting, fast and harsh, into her healing cunt. His hand moves from her throat to her breast, now round and large with milk than the last time he’d had her.

“Cregan!” She cries out loudly, finally breaking free from his lips. She throws her head back into ecstasy, her hair becoming wet from the snow. Cregan moans loudly, his thrusts sloppy and quick.

“I’m putting another babe in you.” He moans, forgetting why he was there to retrieve her in the first place.

“I’ll fucking kill you.” She says, slapping him across the face. He looks at her angrily, a wolf awakening inside him. He grabs her face, his fingers digging into her cheeks as he fucks her harshly and angrily.

“I’m gonna cum.” She whines, squeezing her eyes shut tight.

“Don’t.” He says. She gasps, begging and pleading for her release. He slows his thrust, leaving her in agony. She bucks her hips towards him, but he pushes them down, locking her in place with his strong arm.

“I fucking hate you.” She moans.

“Cum for me then, and we can see if that is how you feel for me after.” His thrusts go back to their fast, sloppy pace, and she moans. Her hands grab his wrist, clawing her nails into his forearm.

She hits her peak and moans his name repeatedly. Her fingers dig into the snow again, the other hand digging into his arm. He growls, not stopping and continuing to thrust.

“Stop it.” She whispers, her body shaking at the sensitivity. Cregan doesn’t listen, only maintaining his harsh pace. He lifts both of her legs to his chest, his length touching her womb. “Please, Cregan, fuck!” She whines, tears spilling from her eyes at the overstimulation.

Her fists hit his chest, and yet he continues. She slaps him across the face, over and over again, and he still continues, his face stoic, desperate for nothing more than to see her writhing beneath him.

She sobs as she cums on him again, slapping and hitting him harshly. Her body is a trembling mess, peaking with pleasure and pain. Finally satisfied, he lets his own peak wash over him, filling her to the brim with his seed again, right against her womb. He rests over her, moaning and biting her neck, despite her nails scratching and drawing blood against his neck.

“Cunt.” She moans into his shoulder, holding him tightly against her shaking body. He pulls out, gently, allowing her to rest before he carries her back into the cave, stepping into the hot spring with her in his arms.

She rests against him, and it’s as if they had never been apart. He looks over at their sleeping babe on the ground, smiling gently. He looks back down at his love, his smile fading.

“There is a war brewing in Westeros.” He finally tells her.

“What for this time?” She asks, drawing little shapes on his chest, not seeming to really care about his answer.

He decides to wait to tell her, instead wanting to enjoy the moment with her.

“I’m sorry for what I said to you… before I left.” He says. She sighs.

“Cregan… Do you wish to know why I killed the Lord Commander?”

He looks down at her, confused. He assumed her only reason was she hated crows. She looks up at him.

“Why?” He asks.

She waits before explaining. “He’d come out there before with some of his men. They often hunted wildlings for fun. They’d tell the men back at the wall it was for a hunting exhibition, but really… They were tired of the women from some place called Mole’s Town.”

Cregan was still confused.

“That was years ago, when I was in a tribe… But, the crows just kept coming back… And our tribe refused to leave, because our ancestors had settled there hundreds of years before.” She pauses, “The Lord Commander always said I was his favorite… I left eventually. Turns out I’m safer alone. That’s when I started killing crows.”

Cregan realized he was gripping her arm too tightly, and loosened his hold. What she said changed everything. Men were coming beyond the Wall to force themselves on wildling women. He wanted to be sick. Cregan’s last words to her before he left… that he would kill her for what she did.

Anger ignited inside him, but there was nothing he could do. The Lord Commander was dead, she got her revenge. But, the thought of that happening to her, the words he spoke before he left her alone. It was too much.

She noticed his tension, and placed her hand on his cheek. “My wolf.” She whispered. He closed his eyes and turned away from her touch.

“I’ve failed you… Again, and again, and again.” He says, tears spilling from his eyes.

She straddles him, forcing him to look at her. “Aye. You have.” He looks at her, not expecting brr bluntness. She wipes his tears. “But you’re still mine, Cregan Stark… and I’m not perfect either.”

He presses a soft kiss to her lips, wrapping his arms around her.

“So, what were you saying about the war?” She asks, resting her head on his shoulder.

“There is a war forming between the dragons. It is growing more and more dire.”

“Dragons?” She asked. “Like in the stories?”

“Aye, my lady. Except these are no stories. The dragons are dancing, and the North must stand ready to fight with the true Queen.”

“Queen?” She asks. “Aren’t you King in the North?”

“No, my love. Starks bent the knee over a century ago.”

She leans back to look at him. “Bend the knee to me.”

“I do every time I stick my cock in you.” She laughs, a sweet and gentle laugh, no longer the chaotic one she used to do.

“You’re different.” He says, a smile on his face.

“I am a mother now. My child has softened my witch heart.” She jests.

Mother. The mother to his child, specifically. He couldn’t ask her to lead the gray beards no longer. She needed to return to Winterfell with him to raise their son. His smile fades and she notices.

“You’re different.” She repeats his words. “Why did you come? Truly?”

“You are a warrior… and the North must stand ready.” He looks at her, his eyes worried.

“You… You want me to fight?” She asks, stepping off him and standing. The water stops at her hips, and he tries hard to keep his attention focused on her face. “Just a moon after I nearly died pushing out your fat little babe?”

“No, no, my lady. I do not want you fighting no longer.” He looks at her, taking her hands in his. “I want you to come home… with me. To Winterfell.”

“My home is the North.” She says, taking her hand away.

“No, no.” He stands, resting his hands on her arms. He looks over at their sleeping son. “He changes everything.”

His son would be considered a bastard, by all traits, but he was his son nonetheless. He would raise him as a Stark… as his heir to Winterfell.

“Home is not a place.” Cregan says. “A home is what you make it… My place may be in Winterfell, but it is not my home if you and my son are not with me.”

She sighs. “I’m no lady, Cregan.”

“I know… and I don’t care.”

“I will not watch you marry a noble while I am your whore that you force to work in your castle and fuck at night.”

“I would never ask that of you.” Cregan says, putting his hand on the back of her neck to pull her closer. “Starks are honorable men. You will be my wife, and my son will be my heir. I will kill any man who ever dares harm you again.”

She stares at him as he continues. “I needed an excuse to come back out here… If I told them I came out here to get you to lead the Northern army, then it raised less suspicion. But, I care no longer. I only care about you.”

“What if I say no? That I won’t join you?” She asks.

“Then I would accept.” He looks at his son. “All I ask is you let me bring him.”

She looks at their son. Cregan continues. “He will never know a cold night, he will learn to fight among men, he’ll have a full belly every time he goes to sleep, he’ll be respected by all those around him… and if you came, so would you.”

She looks back at Cregan. “He will join you.”

Cregan closes his eyes, her hand resting against his cheeks.

“As will I.” He opens them to look at her again.

“Truly?” She nods. He laughs, breathlessly, pulling her in for a deep hug. His fingers weave into her hair, holding her tightly against his chest.

“I will fight for you as well.” He pulled away to look at her.

“No.” He says. “No, I need you with me at Winterfell.”

“Cregan… A queen! You honor me, choosing me to lead your Northern army.”

“I don’t want you to.” He says. “What of our son? You could be gone for years… You could not return.”

She laughs, “My Lord Stark… You’d be a bloody fool to think any man could kill me.”

“This is hardly a war between men, my girl. This is a war between dragons, and none will ever be so bloody.”

“Cregan… I am of the free folk, which means I will always be free. Being free means I have the choice to fight for you… and for a Queen.”

———

Cregan returned to Winterfell a week later, carrying his babe in his arms on his horse, with a wilding woman behind him.

His maester was bewildered at the sight before him. “My Lord… Who is this babe you carry?”

“Maester, this is my son and this woman here is his mother… and my betrothed. She will be leading the graybeards in the war. Call upon wet nurses and maids to help foster our son while she is gone.”

“A-At once, My Lord.” The maester stumbled over his words, giving the wildling one last look before going to do his task.

Later that night, her and Cregan sat in his chambers. His lover couldn’t help but explore and ask questions about everything in the castle.

“What is this?”

“A pen and paper.”

“What does it do?”

“Well, you tell the maester a message and then he writes it down and gives it to a raven to send off.”

“And this?”

“A tub.”

“What does it do?”

“Bathes you.” It went on like this for hours, but he didn’t care. He was glad to share with her his way of life. Her naiveness at noble life was sweet.

When they cuddled up in his furs in their now shared bed, she laughed with giddiness. “Ask them to bring more.”

“My love, you’re under four bear pelts and the hearth is at full flame, you’re going to get hot.”

“Hot?”

“Warm, my girl. Too warm.”

“I don’t care. This is all so exquisite. You should’ve brought me here much sooner, you know.”

Cregan simply smiled, looking down at their son in his arms. “Did you have any names in mind for him?”

She hums, resting on her elbow to face them. “Cregan is quite a handsome name.”

“We can name give him a Stark name if you like mine.”

“Like what?”

“How about… Benjen Stark.”

“Benjen.” She whispered, sitting up and touching her son’s dark locks. “I love it.”

Her and Cregan locked eyes, staring at each other in silence. “You don’t have to go, my love.”

“I do.” She says, cradling Cregan’s cheek.

“I wish to marry you, make you Lady Stark of Winterfell.”

“I will be your… Lady… when I return.” She says, unsure of the proper term to use.

He laughs, “Wife. You will be my wife. I can have the maester teach you to read and write upon your return.”

“Truly?” She asks. “Like stories?”

“Stories, history, anything my betrothed wishes to read she can.”

“Betrothed?”

“It means we’re to be wed, at some point.”

She presses her forehead to Cregan’s. “I can’t believe I am here.”

“Neither can I, my love.”

He presses a gentle kiss to her lips, and they fell asleep like that, Benjen full and warm in his father’s arms.

Cregan and his love were only able to share a few nights together before it was time for her to march with the graybeards.

“You are strong, my lady. Command these men like you did me, and they’ll follow you anywhere.”

Cregan lifted her onto her horse, and she nervously settled into the saddle. He stepped onto his own, Benjen tightly secured to his chest as the babe was to his mother when Cregan stumbled back upon them.

She took her hand in his, and he pressed a gentle kiss to it. “Come back safe to me, my girl.”

She smirked, “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to kill some Southerners.”

“Goodbye, my sweet boy.” She says, touching Benjen’s hair one last time.

“Take care of our son, Cregan.” He nodded, tears welling in his eyes.

“I have a gift for you before you go.”

His master at arms came to him, handing him the freshly made dire wolf crest. He pinned it on her chest, and she looked down, tracing her fingers over the craftsman ship.

“You are a Stark… from this day, until your last day.” He said. She looked at Cregan, pride in her face.

“I’ll make you proud, my Lord Stark.”

He handed her the dagger, the very thing that brought them together. “I know you will.”

With that, she turned and slowly began to leave with her horse.

She turned to look back at them. “By the way, I killed your horse last year.”

Cregan’s smile faded, but then she laughed, and he couldn’t help but laugh too. She turned back around, and he looked down at his son, his beautiful little pup. The babe’s big gray eyes staring back at the ones he inherited from his father.

Cregan rode the opposite direction from her. He turned again to look at her one last time, and she turned to look at him too.

He smiled at her, letting the tears fall. She smiled back. He watched her ride the opposite way, and she watched him as he rode back to Winterfell until they could no longer see each other.

He would miss her greatly, but he knew she would return. This parting would not be forever, for they knew that they were bonded by love, seperated by only distance this time. No wall, no duty, no pain would ever come between them again.

He couldn’t wait for her to get back to them so they could start their life together.

Forever.

[mingoooossii]

Soft spot.

Yeosang x reader ft. ateez

Synopsis: yeo introducing you to the other members<3

Warnings: fluff fluff fluff, brief moments of anxiety w yeo but it's all good. Whipped! Yeosang and when i say whipped, i mean WHIPPED. He's so in love 😣. The reader is mentioned to be a university professor. And also Mother Hwa makes an appearance 🙏

A/n: this had me 🤧🥹😭 kicking my feet and everything. Men in love >>> Also my first time writing multiple characters so it might be a lil awk.

Words: 1.0k

Requested ♡

Ateez masterlist.

Yeosang stood at the entrance of the university, his eyes scanning the lively campus scene. He had never been one to immerse himself in such vibrant energy, but everything had changed, precisely six months ago.

He recalled that Sunday morning vividly when you entered his life like a literal ray of sunshine piercing through a dreary sky.

Innocent conversations had led to this, to him and you. You, who he considered his total opposite. You, who managed to break through his otherwise cloudy existence and you, who he had fallen for completely and hopelessly.

"Yeosang!"

A sweet voice pulled him from his reverie.

He turned to see you approaching, your bag in hand and a radiant smile lighting up your face. That smile sent a wave of affection through him. Though he typically shied away from public displays of affection, in that moment, he yearned to kiss you.

"Why are you looking at me like that? It's making my heart race."

You teasingly remarked, stopping right in front of him and linking your arm with his.

"Come on..." Yeosang murmured, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks. His heart raced uncontrollably, or perhaps it was just the anxiety of the question he was about to ask you.

In that instant, he spotted a group of students strolling past, one of them calling out cheerfully, "Professor Y/n!" while waving enthusiastically.

You responded with a wave of your own, playfully adopting a mock serious expression that couldn't quite mask your grin. "Make sure you keep up with your studies, alright? I’ll know if you don’t!"

Yeosang observed the exchange, a soft smile gracing his lips. He had certainly noticed the admiration and respect in the students' eyes when they looked at you. You had a unique ability to connect with others, or perhaps this was always your world. And he was glad to be part of it.

"Oh, right! Didn't you have something to tell me?" you asked, redirecting your focus back to him as they continued walking.

"Yeah..." he replied, a nervous flutter coursing through him. Even though you had been together for some time, he wondered if he was rushing things. "My members... they want to meet you..."

He had envisioned that very moment countless times—introducing the love of his life to the people he considered family. Though he wasn't sure what to expect. Surely, they'd love you yet there was nagging feeling of worry in the back of his mind. And he wasn't sure what you'd feel about it...

"What?" You halted abruptly, spinning around to face him with eyes wide open, disbelief etched across your features. For a fleeting moment, he felt a pang of regret. But before he could take back his words, you interrupted him.

"Gifts... gifts! I have to get something ready for them!" you burst out, a trace of anxiety flickering on your face, yet the joy emanating from you was undeniable. "You should've told me this earlier!"

He watched as you rambled on, something about wanting to give a good impression and something about handpicking gifts, a wave of relief and warmth washing over him. Seems like he was worrying for nothing.

જ⁀➴

Or maybe not. Standing in front of his dorm room, his heart raced as if he were the one being introduced. He glanced at you beside him, feeling his nerves ease at the sight of your beaming smile. You definitely seemed more calm than him.

His gaze then shifted to the bag you held, a small smile forming on his lips. True to your word, you had spent hours carefully choosing gifts for the members, drawing from what you had learned about them from him. You were always so attentive and so particular about the small things, a trait that he adored so much.

Turning back to the door, he inhaled deeply before grasping the doorknob, twisting it open, and stepping inside.

"Oh, Yeosang...-" Seonghwa, who was lounging on the couch engrossed in his phone, glanced up and froze, realizing they had company.

"Hyung, this is...Y/n, my...my partner..." Yeosang introduced you with a tentative smile as you emerged from behind him, a bashful grin on your face. "Nice to meet you, Seonghwa."

A warm smile spread across Seonghwa's face as he took in your presence. You matched every detail Yeosang had shared. "It's great to finally meet you; Yeosang talks about you all the time."

You laughed lightly at that, while Yeosang's cheeks turned a shade of pink, though the fleeting embarrassment was overshadowed by the relief he felt.

Meeting the other members led to similarly warm exchanges. Seonghwa and San, in particular, took an instant liking to you. Wooyoung, thrilled to have found "his match," quickly opened up, leading to laughter and a strong connection between you two.

And as the afternoon wore on, he noticed the others starting to warm up to you too. Mingi and Jongho had began to partake in the conversations, the latter a bit more after finding out you had similar interests. Even Yunho and Hongjoong, who were bit on the sceptical side initially, could see why you were special.

Hongjoong exchanged a knowing glance with Seonghwa, both sharing the same sentiment.

Seonghwa cast a quick glance at Yeosang, whose gaze was locked onto you, like it had been the entire afternoon. The admiration in Yeosang's eyes sparkled brighter than anything else around.

A smile began to spread across Seonghwa's face. Yeosang was a gentle and soft-hearted, often a bit reserved person. Blame his motherly nature but as endearing as it was, it sometimes left Seonghwa with a sense of concern.

But now, Seonghwa realized he had discovered his sanctuary, his one true person. You undeniably brought out the joy in Yeosang, and for that, he felt immense gratitude.

"They're perfect," Seonghwa whispered, his voice laced with warmth, just loud enough for Yeosang to catch, as he reached out to give his shoulder a reassuring pat.

Yeosang turned to him, a wave of warmth enveloping him. Then, he shifted his attention back to you, a gentle smile gracing his lips as he watched you engage in a lively yet heated discussion with Wooyoung about something trivial. (Oh, Wooyoung...)

It was enamouring. He had not only found someone who loved him but also someone who fit effortlessly into his world. As if you were that final piece of a puzzle he had been searching for all his life.

And... you truly were. For this, he was eternally grateful.

[anantaru]

cw. yandere blade, toxic, suggestve, fem! reader

blade doesn‘t fall in love easily.

beyond everything, he never envisioned himself to be faced with such vigorous sentiments by origin— from first principles and a closer look at his perceptions, you can refer to his views as ignorance or blindness, something he gazed down on in an almost smug way.

but when he does, he doesn't think it was fun nor comfortable, but entirely has he decided that he‘d burn entire worlds down if it meant for you to remain close to his side, so you wouldn't be able to leave him behind.

then again, maybe he should burn them down regardless, not only for you, but to demonstrate the love he felt, or the very emotion he confused as love...

"it is a necessary hardness." a remembrance of his first sentence towards his cruel directions in life, you reminisce about it vividly. but you hold his eye contact, only distantly, yet refuse to give him any further satisfaction.

it really doesn’t need a genius to figure out what was displayed before one, it being the heart of a passionate, driven person— the emotions intense and wild, allied with a roaring storm, the bolds of lightning signalizing his darkened perceptions and blanketing any good, as if there was any good to begin with.

so he stood calm where he was standing before slumping down next to you, mattress shifting at his added weight. "you didn't have to do this." you silently speak again, just from below him, your breath hitching ever so slightly as his entire body leans into your figure.

you have to remain careful, you realize, but his eyes would be an intoxicating weapon, flickering up before you watch him place his hand on top of your lower stomach.

"do you love me?" his expression stood still, passive for the most time, but awaiting a quick response, he wasn't even sure you would answer his question, because his trust in you had graven limits.

you remark back, "i wouldn't be here if i didn't." and force your body to relax under his freezing handle before allowing him to slide his large hand into your garments, your entire skin slowly beginning to feel the untwist under his heedful but possessive ministrations.

"good." blade was simultaneously fascinated and petrified by your outwardly real devotion, "but do you love me?"

silence, blade again, doesn't think it was funny for you to ask such insolent question and demand an answer from him in the first place, so he leaves it unchallenged to obscure through the dark room and carried on to smoother a painfully slow motion on your cunt.

you found yourself longing the intimacy and pull your hips upwards, cradling your arms around the man and holding him close by his shoulders, but the lack of response flooded your mind with deeply broken thoughts. "you're mine." yet at last, there it was, a subtle meaning, with a hidden truth.

his fingertips were warm and dampened by your slick, working in sharp angles on your soft skin. it burned your body with a sort of desperate fever to be able to call yourself his. he could tell that you weren't entirely satisfied though, but blade, could he really answer your question how you so desired it?

your heart grew louder, pounding hard against his strong chest and a 'o' of bare lust formed on your glistening lips, pushing against him further, letting him get to know your scent— the one that set his loins on fire, made him lick his lips with a devil-like grin crossing the outsides of his mouth.

blade could feel you constrict around his first finger and wanted to push himself aside, he wanted to feel you for real now, feverishly dragging his skin against your own as he coos sweet ministrations into your ear.

did his words hold any graven significance? they might, he recalls becoming vulnerable whenever he had gotten intimate with you and it scared him, the thought in particular was frightening— of letting his cruel mask fall flat in front of another person.

but the man wanted to sink into every secret part of your body, experience each bend and curve, and be held. blade watches your back arch into his body as he adds a second finger into your tight hole, flawlessly pulling in and out of your entrance, in and out in and out, scraping his finger pads along your slicked walls.

he wonders how far he could go, or if he should ever tell you about the things you do not know, about commodities he did in order for you to remain devoted and obedient, unknowing and naive.

at the inside, he prefers the idea that came inwardly, occupying his mind— about the secrecy of it all, that he doesn't want your pretty head to worry about anything or everything, why else would you love him if he were to expose you to his blood stained intrigues?

he shrugs himself into your neck before locking a bundle of flesh in between his sharp teeth, sucking on your sensitive parts and keeping an almost calculative pace on your pussy, well, the one that belonged to him of course.

you should feel honored that he always feels the painful need to touch you the moment he sees you fly over his mesmerizing pair of eyes.

with a higher pitched whine, you writhe under his now warmer body, your thighs clamping desperately around his arm as blade adds a third and final finger to lengthen your orgasm filling you whole, laughing lightly as you came on his palm, hard and catching an unimpeded view of his erected length brushing against his pants.

he feels that impulse again and begins to unconsciously rub his hips into your thigh— right after feeling your little hole tense up and down, he hears you whisper a soft "please", only watching a few seconds longer before pushing his long fingers back into your cunt and catching you off guard, your lack of breathing control making itself visible in your aching throat.

to touch you more, to rip your clothes off your skin, to kiss every inch of your body, worship, it's feral, that's what it was, but was it love? there is much about him that you do not know, can never know because it would scare you even more, blade fears.

but presently, even just by doing this, by pleasing your needs, blade knows it's the only way for him to convey his love ...

... or the frightening emotion he mistook for love.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[eliciana]

SAGAU SERIES: Misunderstandings

-> Chapter 1 | Chapter 2| Chapter 3| Chapter 4 (Here)| Chapter 5 |...

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_________________________________________

Tw: Sagau, Cult!Au

Reader: Gn!Reader, Creator!Reader, God!Reader

Characters: Reader, Unknown Voice, Ganyu, Keqing, Aquilo

Note: Revised and corrected spelling mistakes

____________________________________

You’ve been acting like a fool for an entire hour now. Honestly, you feel like those hero days you have imagined after knowing you are the Creator is now over. You can’t even bring out a single dirt out of your fingertips. Even resulting to saying “Abracadabra” didn’t even work. Might as well give up right now. Is what you would have said if you were a little bitc- /jk. You once again paced around your now new entirely furnished house.

“Hm. What to do? What to do?” Either you were tapping your foot or going around in circles trying to figure out how to fix your predicament, there was no in between. Maybe you should try imagining the magic you were going to summon? That is a possibility. After all, it always somehow works in the novels or Mangas that you always read. Or perhaps touching the Statues of the Seven? It worked for the Traveler, why wouldn’t it work for you? Yet, the thought of the Vision users or Archons catching you caused dread to cloud your mind.

You released a heavy sigh, settling onto the plush sofa provided by the Hilichurls, acquired possibly through less-than-licit means from a merchant's carriage. The sofa's appearance of comfort was not deceiving; its cushioning enveloped you like a gentle cloud. Yet, as you indulged in this luxurious moment, a voice within chided you.

[Why are you procrastinating right now, dear Creator? Shouldn’t you be trying to find out how to summon magic so you could eat the cuisines you said you wanted to try above the surface? This is not a moment for leisure, Your Majesty, chop chop time is ticking.]

“Oh, shut up!” you yelled furiously. Your outburst cut through the tranquil ambiance, a vehement assertion against the nagging voice. You sat up once again, parting ways with the plush sofa. “I need to do this. For the food!” you told yourself repeatedly.

“This time, let’s try to envision it more vividly.” You took a deep breath in and tried to relax your muscles. “I got this. I got this. This is an easy task, [Reader]. You have always done this every time you sleep. Imagining as if [Fave Character] is beside you, snuggling with you as you sleep.” It did help in cheering you on. With your eyes shut, you visualized a delicate wisp of Anemo energy twirling around your fingertips. [Just small though. Don’t overdo it. You might summon a tornado and your house will be gone.] The voice ringed in your head once again. [That’s right. You’re doing good.] It said once again.

Seconds after, you felt a small breeze in front of you. Did you really did it? Can you finally eat all the foods you want? You took a small peek and you opened your eyes immediately. Your eyes shined like the stars below.

“Yes! I did it!” You ran towards the kitchen and picked up the slime that was dazedly looked at you. “Aquilo, love! I did it! Look! I can use magic!” Excitedly, you showed him the small wind that formed at the tip of your index finger. “I CAN FINALLY EAT THE CUSINES I HAVE ALWAYS WANTED TO EAT AT THE SURFACE! MY REDEMPTION ARC IS HAPPENING! JUST YOU CHARACTERS WAIT! I WILL NO LONGER BE AFRAID OF ANY OF YOU AFTER I MASTERED MY MAGICAL PROWESS!” You yelled vigorously and laughed like a madman. Aquilo is truly concerned for your health.

_________________________________________

“The Traveler hasn’t been showing up. I am quite concerned for them. Ever since the Creator was said to have descended upon our land, the Traveler was never seen again. Do you think they went ahead and tried to find Their Majesty, Keqing?” Asked Ganyu solemnly.

“Perchance. The Traveler is, after all, the one closest to Their Majesty the most and is the direct Acolyte. They may have felt Their Majesty’s aura and decided to follow it and never told us because they were rushing.” Keqing deduced. From the reports gathered, it was said that The Traveler after finishing all of their commissions suddenly ran towards a waypoint and disappeared to who knows where. Even the Archons don’t know where they might be as of now.

“Finding The Creator would have been much easier if The Traveler was only here.” Keqing looked at the starry sky above the Jade Chamber.

Ganyu's brow furrowed as she pondered aloud, her voice tinged with genuine concern. “I truly wish that we would be able to locate Their Majesty sooner. I wonder why They have run away from the Favonius Knights…” she mused, the weight of the situation pressing heavily on her mind.

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A/n:Hi guys. Sorry for the very very very very late update of this Series. My school sucks as* and they give so many assessments so I coudln't finish the draft. So sorry, I promise to drop the next chapter either 20-21 or 27-28 of April. If not, i'm probs dead with all of the projects we do. Lmao

[frownyalfred]

Okay the Bruce dying in Ethiopia asks have been INSPIRED, I can so vividly envision the moment Bruce snaps back to his former self RIGHT before he fights his kids (older, changed, but still HIS KIDS, always always always). His kids just KNOWING that it's their dad, the reunion, the CATHARSIS!!!! I'm bawling

As @trekkele said, maybe it’s time for someone to write a Winter Soldier AU for them! (if it doesn’t already exist which I suspect it does, I think I saw someone rec something yesterday on here that was similar)

[hayatoseyepatch]

𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓬𝓻𝓲𝓹𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷: Barou had intended for this evening to be spent much differently. A nice little stroll down candy cane lane. However seeing you so starry eyed at the homes and families that surrounded you both had his heart warm and his cock straining in his pants.

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓻: Shoei Barou (Blue Lock)

𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 3k

𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓼: Barou x Eve. SMUT. Friend's selfship, physical descriptions are tailored to Eve unapologetically. 𝓒𝔀: Breeding, penetrative sex, car shenanigans, fingering, praise, degradation, mentions of their shitty HOA fuck the Barou's HOA, mentions of insert's body's changes due to pregnancy, downright them being in love (cause they are), did I mention breeding? cause yeah theres a shit ton of that.

𝓐𝓾𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓻’𝓼 𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮: @eevees-hobbies MY LOVEBUG, when I tell you I was so excited to be your secret santa for the Roppongi Strip Club's exchange l really was. I have been asking you dumb questions for weeks so I hope you enjoy my love. Merry Christmas! Also so sorry in advance for incorporating myself into your selfship lore but likeeee I'm your wife so its alright isnt it? LMAO

Barou couldn’t help it, couldn’t help the spur of his hips, the way they were guided forward with one notion. One that not only guided his thrusts, but one that caused more than a hefty ache in his balls. Part of him felt embarrassed, no mortified, that someone who held so much pride in his composure had been taken down to his barest instincts with just one simple conversation. You had such a hold over him, one that made him weak, desperate. His thoughts consumed him, and as he watched your face contort in pleasure beneath him, writhing in ecstasy, he was sure you didn’t mind too much.

The evening had started off innocently enough, your beautiful brown eyes lighting up at the prospect of going to see the above and beyond decorations of those who “have so much money they don’t care about their light bill”. Your condo was more than enough to accommodate you both, nice, spacious, but you didn’t have the accessibility to go all out. Your decorations all remained interior. So as you both got ready he mentally cursed this condo and your HOA for dimming your holiday spirit. He had several arguments with its head, but it seems like you call the head of your HOA committee a donkey ONE TIME and they retaliate with ridiculous fines for the smallest infractions.

He watched the mirth in your eyes, the way you bounced around your living space as you readied yourself to head out, he couldn’t help the warmth that blooms in his chest. Barou had never considered himself someone who relied on others. An extremely, sometimes to his own detriment, independent person who obtained everything on his own He didn’t need to be surrounded by people. Often times even thinking down on those who had such dependencies on others. There had been a time in his life where all he cared about was what he could achieve, never envisioning himself as someone who would even foster a romantic relationship But as looked around your shared condo, little touches of you all throughout, he couldn’t help but to think that he was so grateful for breaking his character and going to that party all those years ago.

He remembered it so vividly, even in the dim lights of that stupid frat house, you had been radiant. Your warm skin, infectious laughter, and that smart ass mouth was more than enough to have intrigued him. And even more than enough to keep him coming back for more. Admittedly he hasn’t always been the most romantic, not at first, but he couldn’t be more grateful for your patience with his “emotionally constipated ass” as your annoying best friend called it.

He loved everything about you, but that woman was the bane of his existence. Taking up your time, always having something smart to say. He wasn’t sure how on earth his teammate put up with her. But he supposed he had her to thank for you both meeting Taunting him for not attending their teams afterparty at a teammates fraternity. Knowing he hated to be challenged, gaslighting him into attending to prove he wasn’t a “socially isolated donkey”. To be fair the party hadn’t been the first time he had seen you. Sam was dating their midfielder, having drug you to more than a few of their games. The first time he had seen you he was taken. At the time he was more than frustrated with himself at the way in following games he would search for you in the crowd.

His eyes would tread through the sea of meaningless faces, he had supposed he was grateful for your lesser half’s brightly colored hair at the time as it made it easier for him to find you. After every goal every achievement on the field he would let his eyes fall to you, even then he supposed he was searching for your approval. For the look now that held pride at the attendance of his games. Being his and screaming it from the sidelines. But one particular time he had found you in the crowd but met the eyes of your friends moments later, a self-satisfied smirk (that he would come to know meant nothing good) lacing her features. In less than a week he was leaned against a wall, grimacing at those in attendance before his eyes locked with yours. Not from the crowd at a game but right in front of him. He supposed your best friend wasn’t too bad. Especially with the way she loved to credit herself with your first meeting. Hearing the tone of an incoming message he takes his phone out of his pocket, glancing at the notification; speak of the devil.

Merry Christmas, Donkey. ( •؎ • ) Heard you and Eve are going out tonight, better propose to her soon bud before I do it for you~ (•̀ᴗ•́ )و

Never mind, he was right, he hopes that monster of a woman chokes. Even if she did go with him to get the piece of jewelry tucked away in your bedside drawer. His deepest condolences go out to his teammate she was preparing to marry.

The brisk December air whipped against your cheeks as you walked down the “candy cane lane” the lavish homes brightly decorated and covered in an array of glittering décor. He watched the way your face lit up as you past the scenes, giggling at the ones you had claimed to bee “too gaudy” or looking like a “hot mess”. He felt you shiver against him, the cold getting to you. Pulling from you a bit, he unravels the scarf that he had worn. Its red color a stark match to his eyes. Standing in front of you as he fastens the fabric around your neck to add an additional layer of warmth.

“I told you that you were going to be cold without one, baby.” He huffs, doting on you to assure your comfort.

“Well I just wanted to get here before the crowds got too bad, my king.”

He felt his cheeks flush, unable to be blamed on the cold. His heart picking up speed as it did every time that name had slipped past those beautifully plump lips. There was something about you using the title he had dawned himself with that had his heart racing and his cock stirring to life within his jeans. Coughing to conceal the effect your words had on him continued down the street with you. Taking in the scenery and enjoying each other’s company. You both has approached a stand ran by a few kids selling hot chocolate hoping to bite through the cold. Watching you interacting with the little ones, more specifically the baby that rested on the hip of one of their parents, had a sensation bubbling in his stomach.

The same one he got every time he saw you interacting with his younger sisters. The one that saw how good you were with them, the one that had his head filled with thoughts of one day it being your shared child you were cooing at, the one that had his balls aching with a need to stuff your cunt full enough of his seed until it took. Broken from his thoughts when you waved a hand in front of his face, offering him the warm beverage. After teasing him a bit for dazing off you both set back to your path.

“You know, Shoei, I can really see us settling into one of these.” Your voice held a thoughtful tone, looking more at the homes you passed than him specifically.

“Oh, yeah? Is that something you would want, Eve?”

“Yeah, I mean just think of it. Maybe one day we’ll have a house we decorate like we don’t pay for the electricity.” You giggled before continuing, a dreamy tone taking over your voice. “Maybe standing our front while our kid sells hot chocolate. I could see us in one of these, children of our own, maybe a German Shepard or two.” You giggle once more, completely unaware of the effect your words had on him.

He couldn’t help but let his mind wander. The thoughts of you holding your own child in your arms as they giggled. The idea of the both of you looking up at him as you welcomed him home after a game he had won. Coming in to envelop you both in his arms, only to put them to bed to give them a sibling for Christmas. These thoughts consumed him. And as much as they made his heart fill with warmth, he couldn’t help but feel the strain of his cock in his pants once more. The thought of your tummy becoming swollen with his child plagued his mind. Breast swollen and filled with the nutrients needed to feed your child. It almost stoked a primal urge inside his mind. He needed to have you, and he needed it now.

Barou had sworn the drive back to your condo had never been longer than right now, his cock straining against the confines of his pants, the thoughts from earlier still running rampant in his mind. The grip he hand on your knee as he drove served as a warning. The indicator of how this evening was about to go. It wast long before his hand began to wander, rubbing up and down the expanse of your plush thighs as he drove.

“Shoei?” You questioned, his behavior unusual, not often risking touching you when operating a vehicle. But damn, he couldn’t bring himself to give a fuck. He needed to feel you in some capacity.

“Shh, Eve, just let me take care of my queen.”

His words dripped with desperation. Deft fingers unbuttoning your pants with practiced ease. Wasting no time in sliding them past the waistband of your panties. Grinning as he comes into contact with your already drenched cunt. Always so responsive to his touch.

“See baby, you question me, but your cunts already dripping baby.”

His hand slips from your pants, to show his glistening fingers from one pass of your slick. Making a show of separating his index and middle fingers, letting your see the string of your arousal that connects the two digits. Popping them in his mouth, adding lubrication while getting a taste of your arousal.

“Sweeter than fucking honey, Eve.”

Sliding his hand back where it once was, his fingers sliding past your slit to your sensitive clit. Rubbing slow agonizing circles against your bundle of nerves. He relishes in the grip you have on the center console, moans falling from your lips as he keeps his attention on you. Sliding further into your folds he slips a finger past the ring of your entrance, your velveteen walls drawing in the digit greedily, being rewarded with the squelch of your arousal as he begins to pump his finger.

“Your cunt’s sucking me in so well, Eve. So responsive to me. That’s my good girl, this fucking cunt is mine to touch whenever and wherever I please isn’t it baby?”

All you can muster is a nod, and for now that’s enough for him. Your rewarded with the addition of another digit, fingers setting a steady pace as they invade the welcoming walls of your cunt. Curling his fingers to abuse that spot he knows always has your eyes crossing. He can feel your hips bucking against his hand, positioning it in such a way that your clit would be nudged by the heel of his palm with every grind of your hips. He had always taken full advantage of just how sensitive you were, how easy it was to have you unravelling for him. Taking advantage of the red light he just stopped at to increase the speed of his fingers, fucking your cunt until your hips were jerking against him. Your walls spasming against his digits as you came, eyes welled with tears.

With a grin, his ego stroked as his cock ached within its confines. That first orgasm being the promise to be the first of many that evening. Slipping his fingers into his mouth once more, cleaning your honeyed arousal from his skin, knowing that the moment you were both back in the safety of your condo he would have you on his cock for the remainder of the evening.

“Please Shoei, please, wanna come please I don't care, my king.. I just need to come all over your cock, daddy, need to feel it so bad baby. Fuck.. Please, daddy cant take it.” Desperation bled into your voice, spurring him to move his hips rougher, deeper, harder, to force more pf his cock into your tight cunt.

“Need to feel you come inside my cunt.. want you to breed my pussy Shoei make me a mommy daddy.” Those words were Barou’s last nail in his coffin. Releasing your curls from his grip, he removes himself from your cunt, hearing the whining whimper you let out in response to the loss of him stuffing your cunt. The feeling of emptiness doesn’t last long. He was quick to swap your positions, flipping you with ease until you were on your back, looking up at him with those beautiful brown eyes now rimmed with tears of pleasure and frustration. His hands found the backs of your knees, forcefully pressing your thighs to your chest. He sheaths his cock into your drenched depths with one surge of his hps. Eyes rolling back at how well you take him.

“God, Eve, this cunt was fucking made for me. Always taking my cock so fucking well my queen.” He groans pistoning his hips, the squelch of your arousal bouncing off the walls sweeter than the most beautiful symphony. “Gonna stuff you so full of my cum you’re gonna be leaking for fucking days, you hear me? Might just keep this cunt plugged up with my cum 24 fucking 7 until I’m sure you’re having twins, my Eve.” He groans, head dipping down to sink his teeth into the soft flesh of your shoulder, the way your cunt spasmed around his cock told him all that he needed to know about how you felt about that idea. His fingers come in contact with your sensitive bundle, rubbing harsh circles on your clit to overwhelm you with pleasure.

“Yeah, my queen, you like the sound of that? Me sliding a plug into this greedy cunt, only to be taken out to give you a fresh load, hm my little breeding bunny?”

He watched the way you threw your head back against the sheets, curls surrounding your head like a halo, such a stark difference to what was taking place and the words that fall from your lips.

“Fuck, my king, yes! Want you to stuff your cuntfull of your cum.. stuff me and plug me until I make you a daddy Shoei.”

Your words were the catalyst. He ducks his head lips tugging the peaked bud on your chest into his mouth, teeth grazing it, biting harshly before soothing it with his tongue. Your words spoken directly in his ear have his eyes rolling back and the coil tightening in his belly. He knew from the moment he sunk into you he wouldn’t last long, his games having kept him from your cunt for too long. The thoughts from earlier plaguing him in a way that he knew the first round of the evening would have him spilling into that perfect cunt. Having missed the feeling of your suffocating walls. His hips snapping harshly speed of his fingers picking up as he rubbed your clit in tight circles

“Yeah Eve? Fuck, show me then show me how much you want me to fill you up baby. Come for me my queen, come on my cock so I cant breed this tight fucking cunt kitten.”

Throwing your head back at the attention suddenly given to your chest as you cried out his name once more, his words were the last thread on the rope before it snapped in half. Pulling him impossibly closer than what he already was, nails digging into his shoulders a chant of his name whimpering as you were thrown over the edge. Walls strangling his cock as you came, body convulsing with the overwhelming pleasure.

 “Please fill me up Shoei… please I want it so bad breed me please.” Your words came out breathlessly, whined into his ear.  ‘Please give me it to me.. I need it so bad please daddy I need you to stuff my cunt full of your cum.”

You shivered at the feeling of being more filled than what you already were at the hot ropes of cum that flood your cunt in direct obedience to your pleas. A rather loud cry, almost a scream ripping past your lips. The sensation of his seed flooding your womb having triggered a second orgasm, cunt gushing as you soaked Barou and the sheets below with your wetness. His hips slapping violently against your own as he paints your insides with a loud scream of your name. His thrusts slow after a moment making sure he had filled you with every drop he had to offer. Heart racing, as his arms wrap around you and he pulls your trembling form to his chest pressing tender kisses everywhere his lips could reach.

The two of you stay there for a while, collecting your breaths, locked in each other’s warm embrace. Lips press to your skin as you bask in the afterglow of your orgasms. Sweet kisses stoke a trail to your plump lips, capturing them in a searing kiss. Heat steadily building, his tongue invading your mouth as he claims it as his own once more. His cock barely having the time to soften completely before you felt it stirring to life within your depths once more. Barou swallows the surprised noise that bubbles up in  your throat. Pulling from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips that snaps as he speaks.

“The night is long from over, Eve. You’re not leaving this bed before I’m sure this cunt cant take another single drop of my cum.”

Character banner and dividers by me.

[lunicho]

thinking about sub!anton who gets so needy but isn't very vocal about it, and he tries to express it subtly by looking at you with his pretty doe eyes and playing with your hands. the way you'd catch on to what he's doing because he isn't as subtle as he thinks he is, but you'd tell him "use your words, anton" and he's just so shy and his cheeks are tinted pink and he's looking at you so desperately, "you know what i want" but poor baby isn't getting touched until he speaks his truth

— 🪨 (ur favorite eunseok enthusiast who loves anton on the side occasionally sungchan!!)

(send riize asks to @angeltsan)

u wanna be special so bad bro like u just wanna be different so bad 🙄 also sungchan is MINE. (this is my bestie guys im not being mean to a random anon i promise)

ughh this is so true like i can vividly envision this playing out. he's definitely the type to give u the "fuck me" eyes from across the room instead of just telling u what he wants. he'll look at you with those desperate eyes and he'll hope u know what he wants which ofc u do because he's not slick fr. he'd keep coming to u and just lingering around, randomly playing with your shirt or your hands and he'd keep looking at u with pleading eyes.

when u finally do say smth to him and it's not you just fully giving in he'll get a little more whiny honestly. like when u tell him to use his words he'll whine (quietly) about how ur so mean because you know what he wants and he shouldn't have to say it but its more of a reason for him to directly ask for it! anton needs a dom with some backbone fr cuz he's pretty bratty and needs someone to really make him do things cuz he's really such a princess. he gets desperate and frustrated quite quickly so it won't take too too much to get him to say what he wants.

[nalyra-dreaming]

hi nalyra, absolutely love your blog, it's my favourite in the whole fandom

what do you think about the idea of louis being schizophrenic/schizoaffective?

i see what people mean when they say it but I'm not sure we need mental health condition to explain something fantastic on a genre show

So glad you like!! 💕

No, I don't think Louis is really schizophrenic. I think, and I talked about that here as well wrt the photographs, that Louis ... enacts his interactions with "Dreamstat". I talked about those here as well.

I mean, theoretically, the definition would fit:

"Any of a group of psychiatric disorders associated with dopamine imbalance in the brain and usually characterized by psychotic behavior including delusions, hallucinations, withdrawal from reality, and disorganized patterns of thinking and speech."

Louis does hallucinate, willingly invites delusions (as he says in 2x01 he does invite the vision of Lestat as a distraction!), and thereby does withdraw from reality.

But... I don't think he really is mentally ill. I said it in the linked asks as well, but I see it more as an intensified daydreaming. Escaping reality. We all do that. And they do, too, canonically.

Vampires have a lot stronger mental abilities. Spell and mind gifts. It stands to reason that if a vampire can spell bind that he can also conjure a mental image quite vividly. Louis, in his golden cage, and thrown into the reality of his existence after NOLA simply... recalled and envisioned, I think. Intensely. And willingly.

It is book canon that Louis has a tendency to spell-bind victims inadvertently (Armand mentions that in his book) - for me that fits very well in a way, because it means he does not quite know how to regulate the intensity of that gift.

Daniel's labeling of Louis' state of mind fits - if Louis were a human.

But he is not. And in this show, and in the VC, that fact is important. They are not human. There are vampiric factors to consider. And that ... changes the diagnosis a bit, imho.

[stayxlix]

below the cut is a little bit of otde han's background.<3 (ft. minho, before either of them met the others). its just something that popped into my head, but if this isn't what you'd envisioned for their backstory then pls feel free to ignore lol. i love all of you very much, i see your asks, they mean the world to me, and i promise to get to each and every one of them. i also hope to be able to release more for this story soon.💕

wc: 2.3k

warnings: violence, fighting, injury, blood, language

Han Jisung's head hurt.

A splitting headache. The kind where every beat of pain sent sharp streaks of light flashing across his vision. The cheering crowd—a chaotic blend of voices that felt like a hammer to his already pounding skull—had him fighting the urge to double over. But, when he really thought about it, Jisung supposed the fact that that the crowd was cheering for him made it worth enduring.

Standing in the center of the fighting pit, Han Jisung lifted his aching head. He gritted his teeth, peering through the haze of pain to cast a lazy smirk in the direction of the spectators. And, as expected, the noise surged.

Mugs of warm ale sloshed as the onlookers swayed in tandem with the rhythmic chanting of his name. Among the sea of faces, Jisung locked eyes with a particularly dreadful-looking man in the front row. The man's teeth were yellowed and broken, and a leering grin spread across his scarred face as he raised his mug in Jisung's direction.

Jisung's smirk grew into something wild—as sharp and untamed as the danger that lurked beneath his charismatic exterior. The acrid scent of sweat and spilled ale mingled with the metallic tang of blood in the air as Jisung inhaled deeply—senses heightened by the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Oh, his head was throbbing now. It very well might have been the worst headache of Han Jisung's life, but he was certain he would never get enough of this. This life, this moment. Though he didn't know any of these people personally, they knew him—knew his name and the reputation that came with it in the underworld beneath District 7.

With the feral smirk still dancing on his lips, Han Jisung cracked his bandaged knuckles, the sound echoing in the dim light of the pit. His dark eyes gleamed with challenge as he tilted his head to the side. With a single flick of his wrist and an inward curl of his fingers, Jisung beckoned his opponent forward—an invitation.

The burly, muscle-bound man before him emitted a low growl in response. His massive fist—nearly the size of Jisung’s head—clenched as he surged forward with a powerful swing. But Jisung was a predator in his element, reflexes honed to utter perfection. With a mere pivot of his heel he slipped effortlessly out of the path of the oncoming blow.

Keeping his movements lazy, Jisung slipped his hands into his pockets. "Is that all you've got?" he drawled, voice dripping with an arrogance that had always been just as much a weapon as his fists.

The cheers turned deafening in response to his taunt. But as Jisung fought the urge to bring his hands up to cover his ears, an unexpected call from an unfamiliar voice in the crowd sent a jolt coursing through his frame.

Somewhere above, a stranger shouted, "Let’s go, Ji!" and that simple nickname—Ji—so casually tossed into the air, struck a chord deep within him.

Memories of a time before the pits crept into the edges of Jisung's consciousness. Despite the foolishness of it, he cast another glance upward. The sea of spectators blurred, and a face flashed vividly before his eyes. A face from his past, one that now existed only in his memory. A ghost amidst the living.

Absence pressed against his chest, the reminder of a past that stubbornly refused to fade. But Jisung wouldn't allow himself to dwell on the past. Not now, not ever. Because he was Han fucking Jisung. His very existence was a testament to survival. And he was too viciously cunning, too dangerously charming, and too goddamn good at carving his way through this hellish excuse for a world to let himself succumb to grief.

So Jisung blinked away the face from his past. The face that wasn't really there at all. He blinked once, twice. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to focus on the present, and it was in that fleeting moment of distraction that his opponent seized the opportunity to deliver a powerful strike to his jaw.

The sudden impact sent a shockwave through Jisung's senses, snapping him back to reality as pain erupted from his bottom lip. It was the second hit he'd taken that night.

Two hits. Two rare lapses in his otherwise flawless defense.

The first had been a single, calculated blow that Jisung had purposely allowed the man to land to his temple, sparking the beginning of his headache.

The second punch to his jaw may have been unintentional, but Jisung hadn't flinched at either of the two hits. No, he welcomed them. He craved the warmth of the coppery blood as it pooled in his mouth, savoring the reminder of his own mortality. Not because he was some kind of sadist, but because Han Jisung had someone to see.

Behind a tattered black curtain in the stuffy underground cavern where the fighting pits lay, there was a young man with skilled hands and a quiet sort of intensity—a healer who called himself Minho.

In exchange for a portion of Jisung's winnings, Minho would discreetly tend to his injuries at the end of each fight. And if that meant Jisung would, at times, deliberately allow his opponents to get in a few hits...Well, whose business was it anyway? Longer fights meant bigger profits, and with Minho's skilled hands to patch him up afterward, Jisung was more than willing to oblige.

Feeling a sudden surge of determination at the thought of what—or rather, who—awaited him at the end of his current fight, Jisung decided enough was enough. He spat out a mouthful of blood, grimacing at the scarlet droplets on the dusty ground. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing the stickiness across his skin. He cocked his head, and with a series of devastatingly accurate jabs to his opponent's weak points—followed by a well-timed sweep of his leg—it was a matter of moments before his nameless opponent lay sprawled on the ground in defeat.

A pouch of gold coins tugging heavily at his waist, his signature smirk plastered across his face, Jisung climbed out of the fighting pit with practiced ease. He pushed through the densely packed crowd, ignoring the outstretched hands reaching for him in celebration as he began to make his way across the bustling den.

As Jisung walked, his gaze swept over the faces of pretty young men and women—many of whom he recognized. Among them were individuals who had once been the recipients of his fleeting affection. Some still held in their eyes the simmering desire to fulfill his every whim, their stares following him with hungry longing. If he tried hard enough, he could still hear their voices, how their words had dripped with honeyed praise as they’d pleaded for his attention. A select few had even begged him to run away with them. Claiming to hail from the infamous District 9, their promises of endless wealth and material possessions were spoken with such fervor that it was almost convincing. Almost. But in those moments, Jisung had only chuckled, dismissing their lavish promises with a smirk before fully indulging himself in their company until the first light of dawn.

As tempting as it may have been to give in to the allure of those past desires again tonight, Jisung maintained an air of charming indifference as he continued on. He flashed grins and casual nods, and though his eyes might have lingered on some of the prettier faces, he kept moving.

With a determined stride, he pushed through the tattered black curtain into the cramped alcove where Minho worked.

The healer’s lips twitched up ever so slightly, as if he'd recognized Jisung from his footsteps alone. However, as he turned and his gaze lifted from his small workbench to Jisung's battered face—as his eyes roamed over the split lip, the trickle of blood staining Jisung's temple—the subtle warmth in Minho's expression vanished. Concern and something like disapproval flashed across his eyes before his features settled into stone once more. "Do you get paid more if you make the fight look real?" Minho asked, his eyes flicking down to the pouch of gold at Jisung's side.

Jisung blinked, caught off guard. It was unusual for Minho to initiate conversation, let alone be so direct. Surprise colored his face as he took a seat on the cot beside the healer. "You were watching?"

"I watched until you allowed that guy to hit you," Minho's voice was soft as he examined Jisung's temple. Leaning in slightly, his brow furrowed as his fingertips traced the contours of the wound. He reached for a clean cloth, soaking it in a solution that carried the faint scent of medicinal herbs and something acidic.

"How did you know—" Jisung hissed as Minho pressed the cloth to his wound, the sting causing his eyes to water.

"Relax," Minho interrupted, "You're not the only one who knows how to read a fight, you know."

A flush crept up Jisung's neck as his next attempt to form words turned into a series of awkward stammers. He opened his mouth, closed it, cleared his throat, and squirmed uncomfortably on the cot until Minho snapped at him to stop moving.

Eventually, for what might have been the first time in his life, Jisung gave up on speaking altogether.

Minutes slipped by as Minho continued his work, the only sound the soft rustle of bandages and the hum of activity beyond the curtain. Jisung sighed, closing his eyes as he allowed himself sink into the familiar routine of Minho's care.

"You need to be more careful," Minho murmured, his voice breaking through Jisung's reverie. "I can only patch you up so many times before the damage becomes permanent, and.." His hands suddenly withdrew, putting a pause to his work. "I won't be around here much longer."

Jisung's heart skipped a beat, his eyes snapping open. "You're leaving?" he asked, the words coming out a bit more panicked than he'd intended.

Minho nodded, his gaze dropping to avoid Jisung's stare. "I never planned on staying here long,” he admitted quietly. "There might be others out there who could use my help."

Jisung's mind raced as he processed Minho's words. Despite his suspicions about the healer's origins, he'd never asked how Minho had learned his trade. And sure, he supposed there were plenty of people out there who could benefit from Minho's skills—people who weren't deliberately getting themselves hurt—Jisung knew all too well the cutthroat nature of the world. The brutality of the outer districts.

"Where will you go?" Jisung's voice trembled with desperation, and he didn't give a damn if it made him look weak. Vulnerable. Jisung had grown accustomed to the routine of visiting Minho after each fight—the quiet moments of conversation with someone who wasn't chasing after him for their own benefit. Someone who genuinely listened and understood him. He'd come to rely on Minho's steady presence more than he cared to admit, and suddenly, the quiet healer felt like a lifeline slipping away.

Minho offered a slow shrug, and a familiar sense of absence settled over Jisung as he realized that Minho's departure would leave yet another void in his life. "I'll miss you," Jisung blurted before he could stop himself.

A softness touched Minho’s expression, a glimpse of sadness reflected in his eyes. "I know, Jisung.”

"When?" Jisung demanded, “When do you leave?” Though he was fully aware that Minho owed him nothing, he needed to know.

"Two days, maybe three." Minho replied, his tone gentle yet firm—resolute. As if he had been planning this. As if he had known for quite some time. As if leaving Jisung behind meant nothing to him at all.

Jisung withdrew the pouch of coins at his waist and held it out. The healer's dark eyes narrowed in confusion as he glanced between Jisung and the pouch. "What are you doing?"

"Take it," Jisung insisted, his jaw set in determination. "For everything,” he swallowed, the pouch shaking with the slight tremor in his hand.

Minho hesitated, shoulders tensing. "You've already paid me for—“

"You'll need it more than I do out there. I know that bracelet on your wrist holds more value to you than coins. So just take it." With a decisive thud, Jisung dropped the pouch at Minho's feet. He stood, and as some fundamental part of him cracked so violently that he could feel it in his chest, Jisung turned away from the quiet healer.

For the weeks Jisung had known him, Minho had healed far more than his external injuries. He had been a constant. The only constant left in Jisung's life. There was nothing Jisung wanted more than for Minho to understand the depth of his gratitude, to recognize the significance of his presence. But the words stuck in his throat, suffocated by his own damn pride and stubbornness as he took a step to leave.

Reaching to push aside the curtain, Jisung hesitated, his hand hovering in mid-air as he considered the path he'd chosen. The chaos of the fighting pits and the thrill that came with a life spent in the underworld had been enough for a long time. He’d settled on the notion that it might always be enough. But now..What if there was something else he needed? Something he couldn't quite name but felt stirring within himself. The desire for something more. A desire that Jisung feared would continue to grow and gnaw at him until he found the courage to explore what lay beyond the underworld of District 7.

In that moment of uncertainty, it was Minho who ignited that spark of courage in Jisung's soul as the healer stood, cleared his throat, and said, "Come with me."

--

[a-student-out-of-time]

Okay, so, a couple of things.

One: I don't know why people are even making that assumption, because even on DR Survivor, while the anons do have more universal power over reality on my blog, one of the CLEAR CUT RULES of their abilities is that they are NOT ALLOWED TO KILL CHARACTERS. They can maim them, torment them, and put them through as much hell as possible with their abilities, but the characters cannot die unless I make them die.

Two: I know how it feels for people to be more concerned with throwing insults at your characters, and it really sucks when it doesn't give you ample opportunity to move the plot along. But this is why I make story posts and ask posts as two different things on my blog, because ultimately, you can't control what the people say on this blog, or what they want to see happen. Such is the sacrifice for a blog that pertains to an audience, although I'm sure I don't need to tell you that. Just don't be afraid to move the plot along yourself if the askers aren't doing it.

And Three: I genuinely don't know why people are acting pissy about this, because my god, that was an amazing conclusion, and by god, I WISH I had the ethic to stage a scene like that. I mean, I can't speak for everyone, but for me personally, I knew that somehow, this was gonna come back around to Hajime having to be the one to put an end to it, whether he liked it or not. It was so obvious this is where it was going, but it doesn't matter, because it's not the twist itself that made that scene awesome, but the way it was staged and portrayed. This is why you're one of my biggest inspirations for my own blog. Like, genuinely, I could so vividly hear Dorothy Fahn/Komatsu Mikako (Tsumugi) and Johnny Yong Bosch/Takayama Minami (Hajime) voice acting that whole scene, as if it were a showdown from DR canon.

But hey, despite everything, what are you gonna do? Just block out the haters, stick to what you're doing, and make what you envisioned a reality. Stay safe, stay awesome.

//Thanks, everyone <3

//I'm alright, I'm more annoyed than sad that this was the immediate response I got. Plus, it's true, some people really are a lot more quick to judge a story than others, especially when it's a single plot point they don't like.

//Tbh, if there's anyone I relate to in this situation, it's the DRDT Dev. They got so much visceral push-back over the reveals in Chapter 2, apparently to the point that people were raging at them and telling them to their face that they're dropping the fangan just because of who the killer was. Even I got a little preemptive in my judgements and I honestly feel bad about doing that to them, but I withheld my thoughts until the whole thing was out.

//Then the ending proved to be amazing, I'd say miles better than I was initially expecting. It's why I don't judge things that aren't done, because the outcome can really make or break them, especially in retrospect when the creator is either weaving together a solid storyline or they're just spinning their wheels.

//Sometimes things in a story that seem hopeless or pointless turn out not to be, and you can really hurt someone when you decide you understand their incomplete story better than they do.

//But I've developed a thicker skin compared to when I started this blog, so it doesn't bother me. Honestly, I'm really happy to know you all have enjoyed this outcome, especially since we still have so much else to cover now.

//I really do appreciate all your support, it means the world to me ^^

[vaehbae]

Peace. Quiet. Calm.

Ezra Bridger could only have dreamed of such things during his time as both an orphan, and during his time in the Rebellion. He may have experienced some of it while isolated on Peridea, but this was something he preferred more.

The view of Lothal's capital city was something that literally came from a dream. He remembered first seeing it vividly alongside the spirits of his late parents during the night he learned of their deaths. However, the dream became a reality.

The galaxy was indeed shaken following Thrawn's return, but over the past few months, the tactical genius was no match for the stubborn will of New Republic military officials, and the famous Heroes of Endor, whom with joined hands of the Heroes of Lothal, turned the tables and put Imperial Remnants to route once again.

Regardless if there was nothing safe or sacred, it was a much deserved moment of relief Ezra wished he had earned earlier. For all the strife, fighting, and death that had to resume over the desire of totalitarian madmen who wanted to reclaim control over the galaxy and restart their ideas of suffering, the best thing he could do was live for all the good people that were lost. And for a very important reason...

He had been entranced by the shining and bustling beauty of the previously envisioned city when Sabine Wren -- his wife joined his side on the balcony. In her arms, the artistically destructive Mandalorian held a still bundle in her arms. Their ninetine month old daughter, Mira Wren-Bridger.

"Everytime I see you come out here, it's like you're always distracted by something that isn't even calling your name." She quipped. Sabine sure knew how to deliver sassy remarks, even after her life changed through marriage and motherhood.

"It's a good sight to go to sleep to." Ezra replied innocently, giving off a small chuckle when he felt his longtime best friend elbow him on the side.

"Well, I don't blame ya. I remember you mentioned seeing this after realizing what happened to your parents."

In the past, Ezra would have felt a tang of pain hit his heart about such a cruel and unfair reminder, no matter the wording, but he knew he was no longer the only one to have lost family after Sabine vented to him about her Clan getting slaughtered on Mandalore.

"It's not just that anymore."

Sabine looked over at him with a questioning gaze at his comment, making sure she still maintained a fair grip on little Mira in her arms, and so that the baby would not be awaken and make a fuss.

"We've made it happen, Sabine. All of us. I know deep down, my mom and dad would've been proud to see this. Right now, however, I just don't think I could ever thank you guys enough for helping to achieve this."

"As a Mandalorian, I don't take even the smallest of promises lightly. And as much as it's exhausting to bring up... you were counting on me at the same time."

That phrase had become very synonymous with Ezra's faith in his longtime best friend, and he already knew that when she brought him home, her promise had been fulfilled. There was truly no better person than Sabine that he could ask to ensure such things were sought through to the end, and he would never have it any other way.

"And you've kept your promise, Sabine. Thank you." He told her, turning his head to meet her gaze as his lips curled up to a warm smile. That smile was shared as they kissed briefly, before finally retiring inside their tower for a good night's rest.

Ezra was still unsure what new challenges awaited him for the future, but with Sabine by his side, he felt more at ease and ready to face them head on.

It felt like I just had ASMR cleanse over my brain cells reading this. It was so nice and welcoming oh my goodness. All the stress of the final episode just washed over me with this beauty!

Thank you for submitting! Genuine, It's the perfect amount of everything but not too overwhelming and so freaking cute!

[screampied]

hi angel! 🩷🩷🩷 im so sorry if u been asked this before so feel free 2 ignore this but i was wondering how u write smut that’s so descriptive/actually has a great flow/storyline??? im trying 2 write smut but its so… boring and doesn’t flow well/not as vividly descriptive so i was jus wondering if u had any technical tips or anything like that?

PS. ur also such an amazing writer + ur so kind for always helping ppl/indulging in everyone’s interests/asks so yea just wanted 2 say i appreciate u sm!! 🩷

hi pumpkin thank u sm && sure !!! 🌼

sure! okay so i’ll speak personally. to be honest and blunt—coming up with actual good structured storylines / plots for a fic for a particular character sometimes takes a while. i know for me it takes me a while to actually settle on writing it bc i procrastinate heavyyyy. flow is another thing ! you’ll know the flow is good when you know. it’s hard to explain, but like reread your work. multiple times, maybe even read it out loud. (reading ur work out loud is kinda silly but it helps proofread for you ngl!)

strengthen your vocabulary with lots of synonyms ! a good way at being descriptive is to simply be dramatic with your writing. use metaphors, actually picture the things that’s taking so you can envision it. by being dramatic, i mean use captivating word choice. describe how they sound (breath, moans, groans) that typa thing. be exaggerating !! >:)

but yuh. i think that’s all. synonyms help a ton as a writer — especially if you feel like you’re repeating words, it helps be more descriptive. also make sure you describe everything that’s happening. who’s doing what? who finishes first? at the same time? what position is it? lots of stuff to think about, hehe 🤍

[ohmeadows]

Hey hey! This is my first ask, but I recently saw a fanart of Jingliu and Ruan Mei on Twitter and couldn’t help but think about you, as I always like seeing the posts you tag them with. You don’t have to click on it, of course I wouldn’t blame you if you thought it was a virus 😭

https:// x.com/hadalogic/status/1755890419542495535?s=46&t=ESf-SYmh6qdxeFuzUoLrNQ

Have a good day or night!

thank you anon i did see it!! i also replied twice to the artist to gush about it i may have lost it a little (positively) but that art really is exactly how i envisioned that scene in the fic so seeing it brought to life so vividly made me emotional 🥹

to everyone else: if you like the fic definitely check this art out its 🌺🌿🥀🌸🪻🌾 so beautiful (slight gore for ribs and exposed heart tho)

[dreamstone28737]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to five other writers! 💗

Awww!! 🥰 Thanks, friend!!

Okay it’s super weird to rank my own stories, but I tried to pick the ones that make me happiest to remember??

1. Stars by the Pocketful — Midnights Kanthony fluff. I originally envisioned this one in regency-era, but I’m glad it ended up here. It’s got feel-good vibes for me.

2. Can I Ask You a Question — Sharma family road trip in the Midnights series! Something about the dynamic between the Sharma women plus the wish fulfillment of the homestay gives this one a special place in my heart.

3. Karma is My Boyfriend — it’s a Valentine’s Day story in the Midnights series, and it’s full of rom-com shenanigans. I liked trying a different style within my stories and mapping out the details of the misunderstanding they go through.

4. Make the Whole Place Shimmer — Midnights Kanthony wedding — this quite literally terrified me to write, and actually drafting it was a sprint, but it ended up being such a joyful experience and I’m really satisfied with the result.

5. Viscountess to Viscountess — this is the only non-Midnights fic on the list, but it sort of came to me so vividly that the story just flowed out of me. It was delightful to write Kate and Violet having the kind of conversation I wanted to see between them on the show.

[useless-moss]

The Story

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Vigcup

Description: He'd heard the rumors. Knew the basics. But he'd never heard it from the source. He may as well ask, right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"... Soo..." Viggo stared absentmindedly into the water still swirling within the cup he held. It moved with the gentle, soothing motions of the boat. Motions that would have lulled him to sleep long ago if he wasn't acutely aware of and watching the young, tense as a board brunette who was begrudgingly sitting across from him.

"... Um, so..?" The question and raised eyebrow made Viggo realize he'd let the silence stretch too long. Let it become uncomfortable as he zoned out, listening to the subtle creaks that echoed through the ship with every gentle wave that hit it.

"Ah, apologies my dear. I just, well, I've grown a bit curious. I'd like to hear the story."

"The... Story..?"

"Of how you lost your leg." Viggo smiled, making sure the expression was as soft and sympathetic as he could possibly make it. He figured it was a sensitive topic for the chief-to-be, regardless of how long it had been since the injury had been sustained. And he didn't want to make Hiccup uncomfortable. Or, well, anymore uncomfortable then he already was.

"Oh-oh, yeah. That story. Well..." Hiccup trailed off. He didn't seem nervous or even necessarily apprehensive, no. If anything he seemed to be wondering where to start. Wondering if he should share the tale to begin with. Then again, why not? There was nothing in the story Viggo could use against him. He didn't think so, at least. And if the older man was simply curious, which appeared to be the case, there was no real harm in appeasing the interest.

Viggo, however, took the prolonged silence as a sign of discomfort.

"You don't have to share if you aren't comfortable. I don't mind. I can remain curious, if it's what you'd prefer. I imagine it was quite a traumatic event."

"Huh? Oh-no, no. It's fine. I was just-well-it's a long story-"

"We have all night, my dear." And they did. It would be at least until morning before help would arrive for Hiccup, and the sun had only recently gone down. They had an entire night. Hiccup let out a breathy, nervous laugh and leaned back in his chair.

"Well, it started after I shot down Toothless..."

And the story was told. With every other sentence Viggo's eyes grew slightly wider, his expression slightly more impressed, and his posture slightly more slouched as he leaned forward. He was fully invested in the tale. Fully enamored. He watched as Hiccup visibly grew more relaxed as he talked. As he tried to talk with his hands despite them being tied together. By the time the Red Death was even mentioned Viggo was more infatuated with the younger man then he'd ever thought possible. Was nodding along with the story and asking the occasional clarifying question. He caught himself holding his breath as Hiccup recounted the battle that had cost the brunette his leg and a small bit of his sanity. As he described how the airborn fight had been both exhilarating and terrifying. How wonderful it had felt to fly with Toothless like they were one singular unit and how the Night Fury had saved him during the plummet to the ground. How, for a while, he was convinced he'd died. That the queen had won, and he'd, in 'true Hiccup fashion', failed everyone once again.

Viggo felt his heart racing as the story was concluded. He'd gotten so into the tale, been envisioning what he could so vividly, it was almost like he was there. Like he was a helpless bystander left to watch the chaos unfold. Left unable to do anything about it. He swallowed, cleared his throat, and downed half of his cup of water in one go. He had never before in his life held so much respect and admiration for another human being. But Hiccup, scrawny, future chief Hiccup Haddock who had taken down a Red Death and walked away with only a missing leg at fifteen years of age, had completely captured the remainder of his heart and soul within the twenty or so minutes it took to tell the story. Had left him even more enamored with the younger man than he thought possible.