#i feel more nimble and less heavy

[yondamoegi]

Did stretches twice today

And with profound sadness I must report, they do help making your body easier to move

[silkjade]

WICKED DRAGON, LAY WASTE TO ME

⤀ synopsis: neuvillette has always been the gentlest of lovers—and so tonight you ask him not to hold back ⤀ cw: afab!reader, unprotected + rough sex, size kink, praise, overstimulation, breeding + creampie, marking, monsterfucking (dragon cock), cervix fucking, multiple orgasms, dumbification, mentions of mates, lil bit of dom!neuvi (??) but he is still sweet — mdni || ꒰ 8.4k wc ꒱ ⤀ notes: leviathan fic for leviathan neuv ( i’m not talking abt his constellation ) rbs + feedback are always vry much appreciated ♡

“Well? What do you think?” You come home, twirling before him in a gown, different than the one you had left in. The short hem at the front lifts mischievously, teasing just a peek of what lies underneath, while the longer, flouncing layers of skirts behind you, wrap flirtatiously around your legs. Neuvillette feels his throat run dry.

“Navia and Clorinde thought it was high time I changed my look, and you know I can’t ever say no to Chioriya Boutique.” 

While he’s spent the better part of the night reviewing court documents in the parlor, you have been out with Navia and Clorinde, who he thinks have perhaps plotted to kill him. ‘Girls’ night,’ you had called it.

Draped in a vivid palette of the finest fabrics, decorated interchangeably with delicate metalwork and dainty ribbons, the blush on his pale skin is ever-present as he rakes his eyes up and down your body. The dark, patterned stockings, squeezing your thighs just enough, so that supple flesh spills obscenely over the top, the tight, whale-boned embrace of your corset, accentuating the curves of your waist, and pushing upwards the swell of your breasts…

A coy smile graces your features when you catch how his throat bobs in his silence. Giggling, you lean down, tracing the tip of your finger up the contours of his neck, skimming the gentle curve beneath his chin until you’ve tilted his gaze to yours. “Hydro dragon, hydro dragon, got nothing to say?”

How can he even think, much less find the right words to say, when the familiar scent of your perfume fills his head with indecent, lascivious thoughts? Everything about you is intoxicating, almost insidiously attractive, so would it suffice to say that he’d much rather see your pretty, new dress abandoned somewhere on the floor? 

That first pulse of arousal translates into the first twitch of his cock, and oh how he wishes to kiss away your teasing little grin, but his lust-driven eyes are drawn to the miniscule movements of your bodice sleeve, predatory as he watches how it begins to shift, ever so slowly, off your shoulders. 

“If you don’t like it, then perhaps…” You loosely roll your shoulder, letting the sleeve slide right off. “…you’d like to help me undress?”

That, he will gladly do. His hands fly to your waist, dragging you down into a straddle over his hips. 

“Temptress,” he murmurs into the skin of your neck, distracting you with a featherlight kiss as his nimble fingers waste no time in undoing the delicate clasps of your bodice, leaving the heavy outer garment to tumble off your shoulders, abandoned in a pile at your waist. 

Cool air licks at the now exposed skin, though it’s nothing compared to the warmth of his lips as he slots his mouth against yours, gently coaxing you open with a subtle swipe of his tongue. Your eyes flutter shut in honeyed complacence, allowing Neuvillette to kiss you slow and sweet; impassioned, ardent, each kiss an oath of love and longing and lust. 

Desire blooms like romaritime flowers upon water, and you just know the tension underneath his placid exterior, is ready to burst. It’s prevalent in the way his muscles grow taut, tense beneath your every touch, fighting to hold himself back as your legs squeeze around his hips. Demonstrated, again, by how he pulls apart your corset, impatient and haphazard as he unlaces each cross, before tossing it to the ground, forgotten. And of course, only you can attest to the searing sensations of his escalating kisses—gentle wisps, once faint and docile, now wanton and heated with depravity. 

You can already feel it in your chest, in your bones, in the wetness that’s begun to form between your legs; maybe it’s the anticipation, but despite the layers of clothing you’ve already shed, you find it even harder now to breathe, especially as he holds you so close, body pressed against yours, while he traces the bare curve of your neck with his lips. 

For one with such a carefully crafted visage of elegance and poise, Neuvillette becomes sloppier as his restraint fades and lust seeps through the cracks. Something about you drives him wild, draws out the more carnal side of him that he so desperately seeks to hide away from you, who he could never even dream of hurting. 

But perhaps he’s spent too much time amongst humans. Or perhaps he understands their nature more than he had initially believed, for he makes the most human mistake of all in letting his control slip—enough that his fangs graze upon your sensitive skin, sending a shiver that reaches all the way down to your core, eliciting a moan so mellifluous, he cannot help but utter a sigh of strained content as the undeniably sweet sound reaches his ears.

“If we don’t stop now, I’m afraid I won’t be able to hold back,” he mutters, tongue laving over the spot in apology. It doesn’t help that you voluntarily crane your neck, offering him even more access in your heated bliss. His fingers dig into your waist in a silent plea to still your rolling hips. 

“So don’t,” you breathe. “Don’t hold back tonight.” Desperate to have him closer, you arch into him, the loose material of his shirt firmly clasped in your hands, deepening the kiss with a quick tug, a silent request for him to let go, but he immediately halts his movements, pulling away in hesitance. 

Oh Neuvillette. Your sweet Neuvillette, who in spite of his stern exterior, is the gentlest of lovers—always so tender with you and steadfast in placing your pleasure before his. You know of his draconic origins, know that he holds back in fear of hurting you, but for all the times he’s pleased you to the fullest extent, you only wish to do the same for him.

Your hand reaches to cup his face and he leans into your familiar touch, steely eyes soft. “It’s okay, I trust you.”

It’s already difficult denying you anything on a normal basis, so how can he, now that you sit, straddled over him, determination colored in your bright eyes, and with nothing but flimsy cloth left between the two of you. His eyes linger at your chest, the scooping neckline of your lace slip doing nothing to hide the smooth crests of your collarbones, begging to be marked. 

Neuvillette sucks in a breath, and attempts to swallow his doubts, before exhaling. He can no longer ignore the tightness in his groin, and to you, it’s clear that the obvious erection poking from beneath his trousers, speaks much louder than the uncertainty storming in his eyes. Perhaps he just needs one more push…

Your fingers come to curve around the sharp lines of his jaw, unwavering as you tilt his head up into your gaze. “Don’t worry about me, I can take it.”

His heart threatens to leap out of his chest in a flash of excitement, gratitude, desire; it’s far from the first time you’ve lain together, but to choose to bear such vulnerability before him, to surrender yourself to a full-fledged dragon… He glides his hands over the round slopes of your shoulders, easily sliding off the straps of your slip as he goes. The silk garment collapses down your torso, piling atop your forgotten dress. 

“If that is truly what you wish…” He presses an openmouthed kiss to the bare skin between your breasts, and the warmth of his breath runs a chill even colder than the night air. His whispers hide a growl, and despite the blush apparent at the tips of his pointed ears, his hold on your waist tightens. One hand slides down to grasp at your rear, and you can feel him smile against your lips, the rattle of a faint chuckle rippling in his throat before your breath hitches as he picks you up in his arms, and carries you off to the bedroom. 

He sets you by your shared bed, tearing off his now wrinkled shirt, while you wriggle out of whatever’s left of your dress, until both sets of clothing are discarded somewhere on the floor, and you’re finally left in only your panties and your stockings.

Immediately, his hands find your waist, roaming up and down over your curves as he smothers you in hungry kisses, herding you along until the backs of your knees hit the edge of your shared bed. This Neuvillette nips at your bottom lip, not asking for, but demanding entrance into your mouth, and you have no choice but to let him in, what with the way he makes you whine as he sneaks his hands down to knead the globe of your ass, before lowering you onto the bed. 

The tingling sensations bloom in your stomach, buzzing with excitement while you ready yourself to surrender completely—pliant to his will, whatever it may be. Arousal swallows you like the sea and he has yet to even really touch you. Impatient, your hand wanders, though not far down enough before you’re caught in his grasp. 

“Patience…” he mutters, pinning your wrist beside your head, broad shoulders caging you in between him and the sheets. His other hand follows the natural lines of your body, tracing along the edges until he stops to fondle one of your breasts. 

It’s impossible to relax your speeding heart at this side of Neuvillette: less reserved in his touches, more candid in his wants. The untreated heat in your body makes sure to touch on every part of you, running like water through your veins, until you’re sure your dripping cunt is pulsing with a heart of its own. Unable to stand the ache any longer, you wriggle beneath him—rolling your hips and squirming until your knee unwittingly brushes against his crotch, eliciting a choked grunt from him, only slightly muffled by the fact that his teeth have dug their way into your exposed flesh. 

He immediately pulls away at the sound of your surprised yelp, eyes darting to and fro across your features in frantic search for even the smallest semblance of discomfort, completely missing the way your entire body had seemed to arch into his touch. His eyes finally settle at the light indentations now displayed upon your once unblemished skin.

“Forgive me,” he begins, “I should have been more careful.” Neuvillette is ever the gentleman, but his voice is clearly strained in a poor attempt at fighting back his instincts—instincts that demand a dragon to mark what is his. 

“There’s nothing to forgive.” A soft smile graces your lips as your hand reaches to cradle his face, curling around his jaw in hushed reassurance. It’s so easy to read the thoughts that plague him so. “It felt good, I promise.”

True to your word, his heightened senses easily pick up on the scent of pure arousal that drifts from between your legs, swirling in the air, and lulling him into a state he’s kept buried for so long, he’s unsure of whether he’d be able to hold himself back even if he wanted to. He admires your bravery for daring to poke at the slumbering beast; bravery he knows stems from a place of passion, but how can he release such inhibitions upon a mere human? So physically… fragile. 

“I meant what I said: I can take it. And I know you won’t hurt me so…” Your fingers clasp around his shoulders, pulling your lover down just far enough to whisper, low and sultry, in his pointed ear.

“Don’t you dare look down on me, o’ hydro dragon sovereign..” 

You lurch forward, manicured nails drawing light lines down his bare back, and he meets you halfway in a long, drawn out kiss. A quiet growl rumbles from deep within his throat, clearly aroused by the way you had drawled out his full title. He nips at your bottom lip, dragging out a single, short gasp before leaving to trail wet kisses down the column of your throat, never stopping until his lips hover over the very spot where he had previously made his mark. 

He doesn’t even have to touch you, just his presence, tangled with your own anticipatory excitement, invites a shudder so deep, you can feel it in your bones. The sharp edge of his fangs scrape along that still-sensitive patch of skin, lightly, as if testing the waters, though this time, he makes sure to take note of the quiver in your pretty little mewls. 

Slowly, he bites down again and a moan slips past your lips, forced out from the very depths of your chest as your fingers fly to tangle in his moonridden tresses. His hot breath seeps past the barrier of your skin, leaving every nerve privy to his effect, and combined with the building pressure, you’re left open for the stream of soft whimpers that leave the perfect ‘o’ of your parted lips. As he sinks his teeth deeper, you squeeze your eyes shut in the midst of all the pleasure.

“Do it again,” you gasp, “felt good… ”

And oh, he has absolutely every intention to, what with the way you’re putty underneath him. However, he must do something about how distracting your hands are when you tug at his hair: hard enough for him to groan with an ache so wanton, it sends tremors echoing down until his trousers feel far, far too tight. 

Neuvillette is neither here nor there when he alternates between kissing and sucking and biting at your tender flesh—anywhere is fair game when you’ve relinquished yourself to him like this. With how attentive his lips are along your body, you hardly even care for the absence of his hand when he reaches around to untie the ribbon in his hair… at least not until it’s too late and you're left bemused by the uncharacteristic display of boldness; after all, it’s all you can do when your wrists are suddenly so tightly bound overhead.

You whine as he wraps his lips around one of your nipples, suckling and swirling his tongue, while he ravishes the other between his fingers. Heat surges through you and the aching desperation congregating in your belly begins to boil; you’ve never felt so sensitive, never been more pervasive to his touch.

Inside. You need him inside of you. But with your hands currently incapacitated, you’ve no other choice except to buck into him, beckoning him with your hips in the hopes of redirecting his attention to where you throb. 

“Inside. Please. I need you. Need you inside.” 

He hums in acknowledgement of your wishes, tugging at the hardened bud with his teeth, successfully wringing another shaky cry from your throat, before he finally pulls at the delicate lace of your panties, and guides them down the length of your legs. You easily kick them off, but in his observation, his piercing gaze catches every thrum of your muscles as they tense underneath the hand that finally trails between your thighs. He drags his lithe fingers between your folds, coating them in your slick, while his thumb rubs your clit in slow, but firm, circles. 

“My apologies for the wait.” Neuvillette kisses you right above your heart, where his acute hearing easily picks up how it palpitates as he dips his fingers into your velvet walls. “Allow me to make amends, my love.”

With the way your cunt gushes so copiously, it’s easy for him to slide all the way down to the last knuckle. He flicks his wrist, pumping fast and hard, scissoring you open before slipping in a third digit, drawing out mewl after pathetic mewl, as you fail to pull yourself together. The bedsheets twist beneath your incessant movements: simultaneously squirming not only from the initial stretch, but also to feel him deeper.

The discomfort is all too familiar, but with just the curl of his fingers, it washes away into unadulterated pleasure, just as it always does. But with your arms tethered, leaving you open and powerless, everything—every touch, every twist, every curl—feels tenfold.

Plus, no one would even believe you if you were to say that the chief justice had such a playful side in the bedroom; his fingers have explored your insides far too many times for him to just miss the little spot that he definitely knows by muscle memory. Whining, you buck your hips, senselessly grinding into his hand, hoping he’d get the message, hoping he’d quell your heat right at the source. 

But something dangerous and wild and primordial shines in the blue-violet glow of his eyes. For all the times you’ve made love together, he’s never seen you like this: so desperate, so needy for him. He pinches a nipple, hard, before locking your jolting hips down; a show of strength to remind you of your place. 

“Please, more.” Your voice rises in congruence with how you struggle against your ribbon-bound wrists. His fingers tease the spot again, this time with more force, and he watches as you keen and clench around him—helpless and at his mercy. 

With a curl, his fingers crook inside your silken walls, pistoning in and out, fast and hard. Arousal continues to build, turning the low squelches into distinct suctions. Every nerve in your body is ignited, seared by the heat as he laps at the overflowing wetness that seeps out of your entrance. A satisfied purr sounds in his throat, and the vibrations dare your hips to buck in spite of the iron grip that holds you down.  

It thrills him to see you steadily fall apart like this, coming so undone before him, dissolving under the weight of your pleasure. It’s just as you had wanted. More. So you can take it, can’t you? You can take more? 

Neuvillette slots your throbbing clit into his mouth, hot tongue relentlessly striking the swollen nub with viscous lashes, while his fingers continue to bully your insides with no intention of slowing down. Sucking harder, fucking faster—you keen at the added stimulation, back arching clean off the bed in blinding pleasure, unable to do anything more than let out jagged sobs as you cum.

Your entire body grows taut as he sees you through the end of this high, before finally drawing out with one last sleight of his hand, so that his fingertips might graze along the velvet top of your walls, bidding farewell with another shudder-inducing wave of euphoria. He exits his soiled digits, clearly pleased as he inspects the amount of slick that coats his elegant hand. 

“You’re absolutely divine.” He hums whilst licking up the side of his wrist, so as not to waste a single drop of your liquid pleasure. It’s intoxicating how exquisite you are, more decadent than even the most pristine of waters. “Perhaps you’d like a taste?”

His offer is rhetorical at best, as he answers for you, already slipping his slender fingers into your open mouth, tangling them with your tongue, until the first bits of drool begin to dribble from your lips. 

He unties your wrists, releasing them from the ribbon’s hold; time and experience have proven that you’ll need something to grasp onto. In a haste, Neuvillette discards what remains of his clothes, and his cock springs forward in all its glory: long and thick, pale tip leaking and thrumming with desire. 

“You’re absolutely sure… ?” he mumbles, voice trailing off, almost embarrassed. He can no longer control the way his hips twitch in excitement, begging to bury his cock into your warmth, but for his gentle heart’s sake, he needs to hear you say it again.

You laugh out a soft ‘yes’ but just for good measure, you rake your nails down his chest, applying just enough pressure to tickle his nerves. “Use me,” you goad. “Come on. Be wicked, my dragon.” 

Neuvillette exhales, chuckling softly at humanity's arrogance. Wicked dragon. If that was what you wanted... “I wonder if you’d still say the same after I’ve finished with you.”

He pins you back down in one fell move, and aligns himself to your entrance, stopping after inserting only the tip. A delicate whimper leaves your lips as you wince at that familiarly sweet stretch, but you and your little cunt are both so eager to please—the continued arousal you churn out, weeping nonstop, and already clenching around just his cockhead. You wriggle into him, trying to fuck yourself deeper on his fat cock as you adjust to his size. 

Reaching up, you pull him into a seemingly reassuring kiss, hands smoothing over the framing pieces of his hair, before curving around his jaw. His lips follow yours, but as you pull away and the short pieces of his hair fall back into place, you notice how his slitted reptilian pupils are dilated almost round. 

“You wish for me not to hold back,” his voice comes in a low growl as he inches further into your cunt, “so please show me how resilient you are.”

It’s all the warning you receive before he slides the rest of his length to the hilt, burying himself in your creamy insides. A shattered sob tears through the room, and your arms fly around his neck in a desperate attempt to anchor yourself, but it only pulls him closer as he leans more of his weight into you, pressing down and reinforcing the heavy plow of his merciless hips. 

Taking him all at once like this burns like wildfire. Pain from the sudden, rough stretch spreads hot and fast, the small embers bursting into a blaze of arousal as pleasure breezes through just as quickly—like air infinitely adding to an already devouring flame. 

“You’re taking me so well,” he praises, turning his head to reward a small kiss to your cheek. Your hole gushes, rushing to quell the heat, and the added lubrication helps you settle into his pace. Still, the dual sensations wash over you like the tide. It pulls you under, drowns you and consumes you with absolute ecstasy.

And just when you think you’ve grown accustomed, Neuvillette lifts your hips, aiming for the spot he knows will drag out the most wonderfully broken cries from your throat. Your nails dig into his back, and he groans at the vice grip as you clamp down around his cock. With each powerful thrust, he buries himself balls deep with a force that has your tits bouncing along to his rhythm, letting the wanton sound of your sobs ring throughout the room, loud enough to almost drown out the lewd noise of skin slapping upon skin. 

The coil in your belly is wound so tight that you’re sure it won’t be long until it collapses into itself. That it won’t be long until you yourself are about to implode, like a star ready to burst. 

“I’m going… going to…” Between the ragged breaths and the overwhelming sensations of ecstasy, you can’t even find it in yourself to think straight.

Neuvillette hums, his liquid smooth voice doing nothing to hide his amusement. “You’d do well not to break so soon.”

He thumbs your clit, drawing tight circles, ignoring the way you convulse beneath him. As your back arches, he drags the flat of his teeth from the edges of your collarbones, down through the valley between your breasts. 

Your entire body quivers, legs jolting by reflex to the intensity of your orgasm, vision blurring white as your lover continues to pound relentlessly through your high. There’s a layer of fuzziness over your mind that leaves you feeling as if you’re floating atop calm waters, but the fingers still thrumming on your abused nub are quick to drag you back into the salaciously dangerous depths of your own pleasure. 

A string of pitched whines follow in the aftermath, but the pretty noises you make has him throbbing even from within your tight hole. You ask him not to hold back, yet here you are before him, so small and pitiful, already writhing from the intensity—and he hasn’t even cum yet. 

Tears threaten to fall from your eyes, your body struggling for a break from the stimulation, but Neuvillette finds it quite adorable, in the way that a predator might toy with its prey. He slows his thrusts, but reaches deeper with every roll of his hips, each languid stroke hitting the exact spot that fills your sight with stars. 

The lascivious sounds of your soaked cunt perfectly swallowing his cock, followed by the slap of his heavy balls on your ass—he’s mesmerized by the way he disappears and reappears, and disappears again inside of you. His heart skips, and he bucks, breaking his rhythm. You undo him like no other, and it spurs him on that he too, seems to have the same effect on you. The way your pussy holds on to him so tightly, the helpless cries of his name amidst your hiccuped whimpering… 

He lets out a small chuckle, breath hot and ragged in your ear as he sucks at the inch of skin below. “Surely you can give me another,” he murmurs, the low grumble of his voice reverberating all the way down, until you can feel the vibrations in the hollows of your collarbone. 

Your eyes flutter, desperately blinking away the wetness that has begun to gather at your lash line. Sweet Neuvillette, your Neuvillette who reveres you more than he ought to and touches you like you’re made of glass. Even through the numbing haze, you know that for him, you’d give anything. 

A long, stuttered moan breaks out from between your lips. As if biding his time, he drags the entirety of his cock along your walls, the large vein that wraps around the length gliding along just right, that your back arches and your knees bend. It’s not that he means to move so tortuously slow, but you squeeze him to such an extent that in spite of his aching need to cum, he cannot help but try and savor the delicious way your walls are gripping for dear life. 

Neuvillette pulls out with the sticky squish of your slick. His throbbing cock, long and flushed, glistens with the sheen of your juices. In the emptiness, you think that perhaps he’s taken pity on you and your now overly sensitive cunt, but that just isn’t fair. Not to him, nor you and your once again looming orgasm.

“You haven’t even cum yet,” you gasp, trying to argue through baited breath. The whole point of this was so that he could feel just as good as he always made sure you did. So why would he—

“I know.” 

You can feel him as he lifts you, flipping you over like you’re nothing more than a doll, and manhandles you onto all fours. Limbs weak, mind frazzled, you’re barely able to hold yourself up, so when he realigns himself at your entrance and slams back through your folds with just as much power as before, you quite literally fall apart. 

“Too much?” The low chuckle in your ear is dangerously taunting, wickedly amused and with no sign of its usual sweetness. You’re able to muster a pitiful whine, but the way your entire body trembles tells him everything he needs to know, as he reangles you mid-thrust.

“I believe you said you could take it.” With a particularly powerful snap of his hips, your arms buckle, and you collapse onto the mattress. The intensity continues to send you jolting forward, but his reaffirmed grip on your waist holds your hips in place.

Nothing deters him as he ruts into you, hitting deep new angles that have your fingers grasping at the sheets while your cunt grasps onto his cock. With every slap of his skin against yours, his tip threatens to kiss your cervix, the aftershocks rippling through you until they’re released as broken sobs, muffled into the bed. 

How unfortunate that such noises, so very sweet to his ears, would be hidden from the world. Tangling his fingers along your scalp, Neuvillette tugs at your hair, lifting your head back so as to hear the pretty melody you sing when your cries ring around the room. Good. Just as the whole of Fontaine should recognize a dragon’s mark on your skin, they too should hear it’s he who pleasures your body so.

Little bits of drool trickle out of your open mouth, your eyes rolling back as he keeps up the brutal pace. Everything feels too overwhelming, yet so tantalizingly good, that your back curves and you’re creaming around him again. 

Electricity shoots through your veins, your lungs desperately racing to catch up with the rapid beat of your heart. The stars painted across your vision drop down to your stomach, exploding with an intensity that rattles you to your core. It’s a flood with no remorse—taking and leaving nothing in return, easily washing away any and all thoughts, until you’re left mewling the name of the only one who could ever give you such a sweet taste of heaven. 

But Neuvillette continues to thrust into you, and as he, too, nears his peak, his tireless strokes finally melt into something a little more forgiving. Just a little. The long drag of his cock slides so smoothly against your slick walls, gentle enough to fool your delirious mind into loosening your grip around him. 

What trickery from the wicked dragon who slams his hips forward with enough force so that your body jostles with every push and pull as he hits all the right spots again and again. Trapped under the weight of his body, all you can do is feel: the heat of the room smothering all your senses, the fervorous thrusts pushing you to your very limit—all you can do is feel and take it as he kisses the spongy head of your cervix, leaving you without a semblance of sanity, blabbering indiscernible nothings that beg to milk him dry.       

“Want more,” you keen, voice as broken as the crystalline tears that roll down your cheeks and melt into the pillows. “Inside. Wan’ it inside.”

Neuvillette laughs, low and airy, strained as his grip tightens, fingertips digging into your hips hard enough that it’d be sure to leave bruises come the morrow. “Is that what you want?”

“Please, please I–” You stop to let out something between a pant and a moan. “Want you to, h-hah, cum inside, wan’ your cum inside me.” Your walls clamp down even harder, as if attempting to trap his cock deep inside you forever, as if you weren’t already tight enough around him. 

White fills his vision, and white fills your womb as Neuvillette cums to the knowledge that you love this. He takes in the sight of you, his precious treasure, now reduced to the likes of a common whore: legs quivering, ass in the air, cunt filled to the brim and leaking from where the two of you merge. All for him. By his doing. 

Such splendor automatically evokes the instinct to claim you in a way far beyond that of human understanding… but you’ve already let him indulge more than enough tonight; he couldn’t possibly ask for more. 

You whimper when you feel him stir again inside you, careful as he brushes past your too-sensitive folds, but even such simple movements hazard to relight the flicker of arousal once again. Every ridge and vein, drawn out so agonizingly slow, sends an inadvertent shiver down your spine until he finally pulls out with a squelch.  

There’s no hope in tearing those sharp, reptilian eyes away from your puffy cunt, abused and messy and leaking with your combined fluids. Neuvillette sucks in a breath, trying to suppress his urges as much as he’s trying to swallow down the desire quickly boiling over in his belly again. Cumming inside you—no, breeding you—was a privilege. For dragons such as he, it’s a ritual reserved only for mates, and given the difference in your physiology, he had never allowed himself to do so—at least not until now, that is. 

In his defense, you had begged for it, and how could he ever deny the very one whom he has entrusted his heart to—especially when you were so beautifully fucked out and unraveled on his cock like that. And perhaps he’s lived among humans long enough to forgive this indulgence as a paradigm of fleeting desire, though nothing of what he feels for you could ever be considered fleeting. 

He parts your folds with two slender fingers, giving himself a better view as his cum now seeps out with suent access. You whine again when you feel him drag his digits down the sides of your pussy lips, catching the overflow before it can fall onto the sheets, and stuffing it right back into your little hole. No point in stopping now, if he’s already committed his sin.

From your half-lidded gaze, you manage to steal a glance at your lover, and judging from the erection that still stands stiff as a rod, he has yet to be satiated. In the attempt to break through the shadow of delirium, you lift your head, shifting your weight back onto your elbows, and forcing your battered body to turn just the slightest bit over. 

“You’re still hard,” you note through staggered breath, “We can go again if you want.”

Neuvillette looks down as if he hasn’t already been feeling the near painful arousal throbbing in his groin. Of course he’s still hard—how could he not be; you’re so complacent before him, offering yourself to him like that. But perhaps he is too soft-hearted, for he only lets out a reassuring hum as he leans forward to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

“You were beyond perfect tonight,” he murmurs. “It… might not be pleasurable for you if I continue anymore. I can finish myself.” 

Lovestruck, you shake your head. “I can take it r’member?” Your large eyes, red-rimmed and dreamy, plead for him to use you—use you to his own content, use you so that he’d feel just as good as he always makes you feel. You nibble at your bottom lip, bashful. “You can even use your other form if you'd like...” 

Your words catch him off guard, and he immediately stills in a half-hearted attempt to collect himself as another wave of pure, unadulterated desire pulses through his entire being. Neuvillette swallows hard before letting out a slow, shaky breath. His cock twitches and his muscles tense beneath the creamy skin that now seems to gleam with a soft shine, revealing scattered patches of effervescent cerulean scales. You affect him more than you could possibly know, revitalizing such carnal urges that ignore his will and allow his body to react so enthusiastically.

“You’re sure…?” His normally polished tone is husked in a defiant strain. Despite the way his pupils are blown wide and wild with lust, conflict still swims in the shallows of his expression, made clear by the way his voice rasps as he desperately claws to retain even a semblance of his composure. 

The tips of your fingers trace the blue streaks that protrude from the crown of his silver head, now hardened into twin ribbons of ivory; his horns, delicate but strong, glow a luminescent azure—so warm and inviting in its radiance… You grasp them tight, pulling him down with you, as you fall back into the bed, his lips pressed against yours. Of course you’re sure. He’d never hurt you, your Neuvillette would never ever hurt you.

“Devious…” he whispers between kisses, your tongue and teeth clashing in a waltz of their own, as his body drapes over yours. 

It’s not the first time you’ve seen him in this form, crossed somewhere between a human and a dragon, as beautiful as he is powerful. But it’s certainly the first time you’ve ever attempted to take him like this. He’s bigger in this form—you can already feel it as he grinds up between your legs. Longer. Thicker. Ribbed and embossed with the same pearlescent blue scales. Beautifully intimidating, just like the dragon sovereign himself. 

And as you continue to marvel, he lets his cock rest across your lower stomach, sizing you up. His fervor shines through in the way he’s already leaking a mess of sticky precum atop the smooth skin of your belly. A satisfied hum vibrates in his throat, clearly enthused. 

“This is how deep I’ll be,” he muses, almost apologetic of the incoming stretch you’d have to endure. “I’m beginning to wonder if I can even fit inside you.” 

Would it be wicked of him to admit, even to himself, that he enjoys the way you wriggle and cry just taking him in his human form? And yet… he’s forced to steady his breathing in a poor attempt at grounding himself—a task near impossible as you roll your hips up, ardently shaking your head no, outright ignoring the last out he offers.

“I will… make it fit.” They’re the last words you manage to wrangle out before being overtaken by the need to be full and filled. There’s no reason you should be so terribly, terribly hollow, when he’s right there. Neuvillette chokes back a laugh; your unyielding determination sends blood rushing to his erection, desperate to feel your velvet walls crowd around him again.

Finally relenting, he teases your entrance—running his cock up and down your slit, spreading your wetness, before slapping your clit with the tip—reminding you just how sensitive you still are. Gasping, you jerk away from the stimulation that once again taunts your nerves. Your hole, however, clenches around nothing, eager to please. 

But perhaps you’ve greatly underestimated just how big he is, because he barely makes it past the threshold of your folds, before the pleasure pain of the stretch begins to take over. That, and the overstimulation from your previous orgasms, already have you instinctively trying to snap your legs shut, but the firm hold on your thighs forbid you from doing so.

“Ha-ah N-neuvi—” A twisted sense of pride swells in his chest at the way you can hardly speak as your breath hitches and your lungs desperately search for air. “’s too big,” you sob.

He gives you a momentary reprieve to adjust, while his hand snakes down to run sloppy circles over your clit.

“More?” he whispers. 

It takes you a minute to respond, but he waits until finally your voice shakes with the violence of each hiccupped sob. “More.. please…”

A baritone hum sounds in his throat as he pulls forward, pressing wet kisses to your jaw in a quiet reassurance, effectively sliding a couple inches deeper, as he does so. “You can take it, my love. You’re so pretty like this.”

Your arms wrap around his neck, your hold eliciting a long, low groan from the dragon. Wherever you squirm, he follows, pressing more of his weight onto you, burying more of his cock into you. Each ridged inch that slides past your folds, seems to push the thoughts right out of your head, letting them dissipate into thin air until you’re left mindlessly moaning sweet praises to his name. 

Desperate to accommodate the unfamiliar enormity of his dragon cock, your walls ripple and tense around him, back arching into him, wanting to feel ever closer to the love of your life, determined to push your cunt to its limit for him. For your Neuvillette. 

Neuvillette. Neuvillette. Neuvillete. He’s all you can think about; him and his monster cock that seems to split you so deliciously open. It’s wave after wave of heat that sets your insides ablaze, soothed by the waters of arousal that have you begging for more, and restarting the cycle until he finally bottoms out, and you feel as if you’ve been electrified. You squeeze your eyes shut, but with the way his bulbous tip prods at your cervix, your mind goes blank, and the tears fall regardless. 

“There…” you pant, eyes glassy from the euphoria of feeling so incredibly full. “’s all in.”

“Yes,” he praises, softly. “Look at you, so nice and tight for me.” 

He wipes the salt from your cheeks, distracting you with a delicate kiss. His fangs are more prominent in this form; you can feel them as he grins against your lips, whilst whispering breathy nothings that tell of how good you are for him, how perfect, how he should be so lucky to have you like this, to have you as his. 

When your body eases enough, he pulls away, though the subtle shift of his cock still drags a pitched whine out from your lips. If he’s to be honest, he cannot tear his gaze from where the two of you are joined. It’s mesmerizing, hypnotic, to see how he splits you open, to feel how you mold into the shape of him, to imagine just how much your little cunt had to stretch so that he might rest comfortably inside.

Though, comfortable might be an overstatement due to the way your muscles tense and release so tightly around him, clamoring for more of his attention.  Eyes darkening with lust, Neuvillette smooths a hand over your abdomen, cerulean scales cold upon your skin.

“Can you feel me right…” He draws a clawed finger delicately across the skin of your belly, where his cock rests parallel underneath. “Here…”

He leaves more than just a faint line of red where his talon rakes. Yes, you want to say. You can feel the faint prickle of his claw on your skin, you can feel how the sharpness sends a shiver ringing through your body, and of course you can feel how he’s sheathed his dragon cock right into the very depths of your cunt, deeper than anyone’s ever been, deeper than he’s ever been… But the only sounds that spill through your lips are another stream of broken sobs, fever touched by how close you are to cumming just from being filled.

“Go on, darling. Cum for me.” He can feel you pulsing around him, clenching and unclenching in search of sweet release, yet he makes no additional moves to help you, leaving you to your own devices.

At this point, you can no longer tell if you’re making things better or worse, as every little movement knocks you into reaction—like dominoes toppling over until every piece of you has been unraveled. You writhe atop the soiled sheets for any sort of friction, but it’s too much when his tip knocks against the entrance to your womb. So you shift away, letting the ridges on his shaft graze against your syruped walls, inciting another wave of need. The scales continue to tip between ‘too much’ and ‘more’, until you finally work yourself into a delirious orgasm, on nothing but his cock inside you and your own incessant squirming. 

As you continue to ride out your high, Neuvillete finally begins to move, tearing himself away from your fluttering vice grip with a tremulous moan, because fuck you’re still so tight around him, still so warm and wet even after cumming for what? The fourth time tonight? Pressure lands heavy over your frame as he begins to rock into you, folding you in half as he does. 

He fucks you slow and even, stretching you out even more with every new stroke. Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as this new position affords him the privilege to reach impossibly deeper. Despite his shallow thrusts, each drag of his cock still blooms an ache from all the hidden spots that he has no choice but to touch, though it’s quick to pass, as pleasure continues to coil in your belly. 

It’s so much all at once. You can’t take it, it’s too much. But the soul-shattering euphoria of being so utterly full, is unparalleled. You want more, you need more.   

“My pearl,” he whispers, though his voice is gruff, “my heart… I want to hear you.” 

And so you oblige him, wailing something broken and pitched and strangled, at the sudden snap of his hips, at the way he bumps into your cervix and seems to rattle your organs about. 

“F-fuck,” you cry, without thinking. Not that you can anyway, when the push-pull tide of his thrusts raises you to new heights of delirium. “H-ah god, fuck Neu–”

Another sharp, jutting thrust cuts you off as the dragon above you snarls, clearly agitated by your crass choice of words. “There are no gods to help you here.” Not in Fontaine where he rules, and certainly not here in his home.

There’s a feral wildness that shines in his bright vishap eyes, and his possessive streak flares—dragons have no natural inclination to share after all. It’s clear in the way his pace changes: faster, harsher, more ragged—a ferocity befitting of an elemental dragon ruler. But titles aside, he’s still your Neuvillette, and every move he makes is still laced with a tenderness, so as not to break you more than he already has. 

“Tell me you’re mine,” he commands, dragging his tongue up the length of your throat.

“Yours. ‘m yours, Neuvillette.”

In and out, in and out. His long strokes guide the ridges of his cock back and forth through your tender muscles, leaving you to mumble mindless nonsense as you convulse and keen beneath him. Whatever pain you had felt earlier has long chipped away into undeniable pleasure as you near the precipice of yet another orgasm. Eyes glazed over in all consuming ecstasy, all you know to do is to chase your lust, and so your hips grind back, rolling together like waves in a storm. 

Amidst the flagrant wet sounds of your rabid fucking, you cum again, lashes fluttering as your eyes roll, muscles tight as they tremble from such rapture—so lovely, so beautiful. Your siren call of pretty cries spill from your lips, intermingled with weak babbles of his name. You’re so breathtaking like this in your post-climax haze: fucked out and cloudy-eyed, panting into the cool air as his slowed thrusts still rack up an aftershock of shudders.

Neuvillette bows his head, once again trailing wet kisses across your collarbones, before pausing to hover his lips right over the juncture of your neck and shoulder, his warm breath a familiar spot of comfort in this maddening pleasure. Perhaps it’s some sort of sixth sense unique to only the most attuned of lovers, ones whose souls seem to harmonize in perfect resonance, but there’s hesitance in the way he suckles at the spot, fangs ghosting over your tender skin.

“S’okay… you can do it.” Your soft, dreamy sighs of approval are accompanied by the languid tilt of your neck, jeopardizing more of your delicate skin to the dangers of his teeth. “You can mark me… w’nna be your mate…”

Choking back a moan, Neuvillette pistons thrice more into your cunt—pulling out until just his tip remains, and then plunging back into your gooey insides, sending you into another round of dizzying convulsions. His own orgasm follows, seeing stars as he places an amorous bite to the crook of your neck using only the flat of his teeth. 

With how deep he’s buried, ribbons of his cum shoot right into your womb, spilling out into every cavity, and painting your interior white. Warmth blossoms from the inside out. Your heart is full, mumbling happy nothings of ‘mates’ in between sniffles, while a creamy ring forms around the base of his cock, thick liquid oozing from where he ends and you begin. His own chest rises and falls in jagged patterns, but his only want is to seek your lips, to drink in your mewls, and exchange sweet kisses, so that your soul and his, may meld together as they dance in the shape of your breaths intertwined.

He strokes your hair, planting easy kisses all around as he unplugs himself, letting loose the flood of cum that seeps out of your hole, but you whine at the loss, wanting nothing more than to be ever close to your newly consummated mate. Neuvillette only nuzzles into your neck, deep purrs of content reverberating from his chest as he lazily rubs his scent all over you. Meanwhile, a quick swish of his sapphire tail up the sticky underside of your thigh, teases another pulse from your cunt, and by reflex, you push out another dollop of white. 

A small tap tap to his shoulder distracts him from his scenting, and he looks up with a tilt to his head and a small furrow to his brow, his normally sharp eyes full of earnest concern, relaxing only once he finishes reading through the bleary, dulcet tones of adoration that glow in your half-lidded eyes. You poorly suppress your little giggles—although he often disagrees, your lover really can be quite adorable. 

Fontaine’s Iudex Neuvillette is elegant, poised, and meticulously polished… but here in the quiet night hours, in the privacy of your hearth, your Neuvillette is unruly-haired and damp-skinned from satiating the beastly desires of his still tender heart. You reach out a tired arm, first brushing back the pieces of hair that cling to his skin, then wrapping your palm around to cup his face. 

“Was I a good mate?” Your hand slips down from his cheek to play with the tips of his silvery hair. “W’nna be the best for you.”

“You already are the best for me.” His hand, no longer clawed nor scaled, brings yours back up for a kiss to your knuckles. “The only one for me.” 

He rolls off of you, sweeping you into his embrace, as he carries you off to the bathroom. Your head rests heavily against his chest, but your happy hums and quiet murmurs of ‘good,’ tell him that you have not drifted off into slumber just yet.  

“You truly are a wonder,” he breathes, dipping his head to place a soft kiss to your forehead. “And it would be my honor to have you as my mate… but not tonight.”

His instincts had urged him to do it, to permanently claim you as his, and mark you as a dragon would, but his heart vehemently disagrees. The most sacred bond known to his kind is an ultimatum in your relationship, and it is one he refuses to be the sole architect of, so perhaps the two of you can revisit this conversation again once you’re more clear-headed; his answer would remain the same anyways.

edit 10/2024: please Do Not Follow if you are “just here to read,” with the expectation that i will post more fics of this caliber, or any fics At All. this is mainly a selfship blog with VERY occasional writing, thanks.

notes2: writing this took years off my life, but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless ! as always, thank u sm for reading, and reblogs + feedback are very much appreciated ♡

notes3: here is a little visual of how i imagine the dress at the beginning to look like, but of course you can always imagine it however you like since i’ve purposely left it rather vague : )

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

[trappolia]

SUNDAY IS FOR REST ── sunday x halovian!reader, 918

"do be careful, my dove," he murmurs as you straighten out the light feathers behind his ear.

"you haven't preened yourself in a while, have you?" your voice is soft, a hint of chiding to it that makes his heart flutter — there's a groggy rasp to your tone as well, having just stirred from your own dreams. sunday dares not look back at you, for there is a sweet domesticity to be found in the impression of rumpled bedsheets against your cheek and the heavy-lidded eyelids that make it known that you would love nothing more than to go back to sleep — proper sleep.

a hum resonates in sunday's chest as he allows himself to be fully immersed in the moment; early morning, messy hair and feathers, the sleepy press of lip against lip. his head tilts to the side, allowing greater access for you to tidy the feathers in question.

"you are correct. there's no need for me to do such preening in the dreamscape, though i prefer it when you offer your generous help," he replies, a mix of contentment and fondness pervading his voice.

"i'll help you only if you stay still," you grumble. your hands, which were straightening out his feathers, are now hovering just above them as sunday tries very hard not to shift in place again.

he cannot help it, truly. it is not just the factor that sunday is unused to, well, anyone touching something as intimate as his halovian wings, but also the fact that the slightest brush of your skin against his is a sensation like no other.

not that he would ever tell you, of course.

sunday nods, a silent affirmation that he will try his best to remain still, although a trace of a smile dances upon his lips. as you resume tending to his wings, each brush of your fingers brings a newfound appreciation for the sensation of your touch. he can feel the slight tingle, akin to electricity, every time your skin makes contact with his wings.

"my apologies," he murmurs, a chuckle slipping past his lips — as if he is not willing his chest to rise and fall rhythmically, having to manually breathe under your intimate ministrations. "i shall endeavour my utmost to be an inanimate statue. your wish is my command."

"haha," you say dryly.

in spite of your tone, sunday cannot help but chuckle at your jest. a cruel man he is, to find amusement in your grumpiness in the early morn. your nimble fingers gently untangle his feathers, and the sensation is a mix of tingles and warmth that spread across his wings. the act of having someone, especially someone he holds in such high esteem, tend to these parts of him that are reserved for only the most intimate moments is endearing, to say the least.

as you work, your movements deliberate and precise, your lover muses softly, "only you could make tending to feathers feel like a luxury."

"it is a luxury when you are not the one doing it yourself," you huff, hands moving around with practiced ease: smoothing a feather here, tugging a broken one out there.

sunday's chest rumbles with barely suppressed laughter at your huff of annoyance, but he remains true to his word and does all he can to keep still. his skin feels electrified with each brush of your touch, even more potent than before, and he wonders idly if it's because he's aware of how much effort you're taking in taking care of him. he is always the one caring and fussing, rather than being cared for and fussed over. it is strange, for the tables to be turnt. strange, had it been anyone else but you.

"perhaps," he manages to say between bouts of laughter, reaching back to catch one of your wrists and presses a chaste kiss upon it. "we could make a habit of this."

"is it truly proper of the head of the oak family to make a habit of keeping himself less than pristine?" you murmur.

how embarrassing; the passing thought occurs to sunday at your words. indeed, it is unbecoming for him, who stands at a position of such power and authority, to be so unkempt, so careless around you. it feels… freeing.

and so his response is a gentle tug upon your wrist, guiding your arms to wrap around his shoulders and link with his fingers. with a smile full of affection and a touch of teasing, he gently brushes his thumb over the tender flesh between your thumb and forefinger.

"i am simply indulging in the pleasure of being cared for," he answers in that same gentle rumble. "and if that means i am a tad bit less than pristine as a result, so be it."

"i suppose so," you hum, and from where sunday sits in between your legs, he feels you lean forward, hooking your chin over his shoulder. your own wings tickle his cheek, like a lover's kiss in the early morning. "preen me next?"

a low rumble resonates somewhere deep in his chest at the feeling of your breath against his neck. the closeness you've allowed between you is not something sunday takes lightly, and he relishes in it with every beat of his heart.

"with pleasure," he answers, unable to help the upwards tug of his lips as he squeezes your palms.

"let me take care of you, my dove — as you do to me."

© trappolia 2024

[cherryheairt]

Pearls

Cregan Stark x named!fem!reader no desc (gif just for vibes)

18+!

my first smut writing and it was an intrusive thought that hasn't left my mind all week I need to get it out NEOW. I don't know my audience for this but please let it not be too niche idk 😭

Lately, Cregan had been absent from their marital chambers until the darkest parts of the night. Work had been keeping him apart from his Lady wife for far too long in her eyes. One night was almost unbearable, let alone weeks of it. Sometimes, he fell asleep in his study after pouring over scrolls and plans for hours.

It was hard to sleep without her husband, she found. After their marriage less than a year ago, they had shared the same bed every night after. Their relationship was most likely the healthiest in all of Westeros. Always in sync and filling what the other lacked. Whereas Vanya was compassionate and kind, Cregan was stern and unyielding. Together, they led the North as any Stark Lord and Lady should: In harmony.

Vanya had taken care of her tasks well, managing what Cregan could not in his time of occupation. Winter was upon them, cold and unrelenting. Vanya's first as Lady Stark, and one she intended to run smoothly to set a precedent for her live's rule.

However, even though she kept herself busy til late evening, she found her needs growing by the day. Usually, her and Cregan found themselves enjoying many rounds of pleasure before they tucked in for the night. Now, since he'd been busy, they hadn't even kissed in weeks. Simple glances at him or the feel of his arm's warmth draping over her in the early hours of the morning made her almost feral with want for her husband.

But he was always gone when she awoke. She was left to get ready for her own day of duties completely alone, longing for her husband's company. An emptiness struck her heart—one that she was determined to fill.

She got to work after her day was through. Knowing Cregan wouldn't join her til long after she was finished, she enjoyed the secretive project in the privacy of the chambers.

Pearls.

Lace.

Thread.

The only three things she dained to need for her little excursion. She worked quickly and nimbly, a nervous fluttering feeling drifting in her belly and staying there until she had finished. Quickly, she put the garment on. Satisfied by the mirror's view, Vanya giddily got dressed into her sheer white night shift.

She settled into bed, only being able to fall into a light sleep in her excitement.

It was not too long before she heard the quiet creeking of the door open and close, Cregan always making a point to enter and exit their chambers considerately. With a heavy sigh, she heard him drop his clothes and boots to the floor.

Weight dropped onto his side of the bed, and a familiar arm draped itself around her waist. Cregan sighed once more into the back of her neck, breathing in the comforting scent of his wife.

Vanya reached up gingerly, lacing her fingers with his. "Husband," she whispered, gauging his mood.

"Wife," he muttered back, thumbing absentmindedly at the space below her belly button.

"How was your day? You've been kept busy, far from the warmth of our hearth." She brought his hand up to kiss gently, starting to wake herself fully.

Cregan hummed guiltily, nodding into her smooth skin. "Tiring. I promise, once Winter starts to come to a close, I will make up every minute I spent leaving my dear wife waiting." The words were muttered slowly into the shell of her ear.

Vanya only huffed a laugh, shaking her head though he couldn't see her face. "There is time now, isn't there?" She asked coyly.

When she recieved no answer, "Cregan?"

None again, but the soft breaths coming from his nose. Turning to face him, she was met with closed eyes and a content slight smile gracing her husband's handsome features. She lay her head back on her pillow, sighing in accepted defeat. Brushing a piece of hair back behind his ear, she kissed his forehead, "goodnight, my husband."

The next day was the same as the last ones. She woke up alone again, only this time Vanya was much more determined to stoke the fire she knew Cregan had. Keeping the garment on underneath her day dress, a light powder blue number with tapered sleeves, she made her way about the Great Keep conducting her business.

Her mind was heavy with thoughts of Cregan, hunched over his desk and stressfully raking his hands through his dusty brown threads. Vanya finished her duties early, freshening up in their chambers before she returned outside of them. Hurriedly, she changed into a light blue shift, similar in color to the one she had worn out. She dabbled some sandalwood perfume oil on her neck and wrists, fixing her hair quickly before making her way towards Cregan's solar. The windows she passed by showed the fresh night sky and the dotted stars along it, the perfect time for any stray servants or maids to be tucking away for their own leisure time before bed.

Vanya took a short breath in before opening his solar door, spotting the exact visage she had imagined the whole day. Dressed in only his grey tunic visible above the pine desk, he had clearly discarded his pelts and leathers for the day, seeing as he had not even left the room once. The hearth was dying, only embers remaining. Clearly, he had wished not to be disturbed by any servants throughout the day.

He was still engrossed in writing a scroll when Vanya approached his desk. A tap on the spot above his elbow had jerked his head up, a shocked look in his eyes as he looked up at his wife. "Vanya, you should be abed already—" he said quickly.

Vanya shook her head, sitting herself on the edge of his table stubbornly. "Couldn't sleep." She lied. "I missed by husband's warmth next to me."

His lips pursed as he glanced between her and his work. "I'm sorry, I will finish as fast as I can. Wait for me?" He offered, though they both knew if she left now, he would only be swallowed up by his duties once more.

Vanya placed a hand on his cheek, running her thumb over the dark undereyes that deepened his tired expression. "I wish to stay with my husband, if it please him."

Cregan's eyes softened, nodding his agreement. He scooted his chair outwards, leaving ample room for Vanya to sit between him and the desk. Instead of sitting across his lap, as she normally would when accompanying him in his seat, she lifted her skirts to her thighs and sat facing him.

He tilted his head slightly, instinctively placing his hands over her hips to adjust her. "Won't this be uncomfortable for you?" He asked, though a faint blush dusted his cheeks and ears at the position.

Vanya shook her head, choosing to sit herself closer and bury her face into his neck. "Go on, don't let me interrupt." She said innocently, earning a glance from her husband before he followed her instructions and started back on his writing.

After a few minutes, she felt enough time had passed to make him inconspicuous of her actions. Slowly, she pressed herself closer to his chest, squishing her breasts again his own thinly clothed skin. She felt him pause and take a deep breath in before continuing, and had to bit her lip to prevent herself from smiling into his tunic.

A few more minutes passed, though she grew more impaitient with every second his hands were not on her. Slowly, she pressed her pelvis into his, revealing the hardened texture of the garment to him.

This time, he paused fully, confused. Setting the quill down, he leaned back. "What is that?" He asked, placing a hand on her hip again.

Vanya only smiled, grabbing his other hand and guiding it ever so slowly down to nethermost regions. "Feel for yourself." She cooed as she led a finger to run over the string.

"What—Pearls?" He asked, brows knitting together curiously.

Vanya nodded at the question.

"Where did you find such a thing?" Cregan asked, though did not recind his hand.

"I made them myself. Don't worry, no loud-mouthed seamstress will know of Lady Stark vying for some promiscuous garments."

"And they are..." He trailed off, swallowing heavily at the indication. Indeed, he shared in his logging and need throughout these weeks apart.

"For you, dear husband." Vanya purred, nipping softly at his bottom lip and pulling away just as fast.

Immediately, he lifted her from his lap and onto the desk, tossing aside his papers to the floor. He lifted her skirts further, bunching them carelessly at her hips as he tugged her legs to wrap around his waist.

Pinching the strand of pearls between his index and thumb, his eyes stayed glued to the glistening white pearls lying between her lower folds. Vanya felt herself throb with need at the lustful glare he held, leaning back on her hands to watch only his face.

Softly, he lifted the string to make it press against her own sensitive pearl. At her slight gasp and squirm, Cregan knelt to his knees faster than he ever had before. Glancing up at his wife's face, he silently asked for permission.

After she nodded, he was quick to move. The pearls, covered in her own essence, were moved slightly to the side as Cregan pressed his face to her core. Vanya threw her head back at the sudden stimulation, Cregan's tongue wildly moving from place to place as if he couldn't find a favorite spot.

Up and down, a solid stripe from her hole to sensitive bud. Circling the pearl with an eager swipe of his tongue, he moved down just as quickly as he began. With desperate, shallow thrusts into her clenching hole, Cregan tried and failed to press himself closer, already having no air to breathe with the space between them being nonexistent. Not that he minded, of course.

With a firm tug at his loose hair, Cregan turned his head with a heaving chest to face his wife. Looking offended at the separation, his fingers clenched at the soft parts of her upper thighs, ready to dig his face back to its spot.

Vanya whined out for him, shaking her head. She closed her thighs over his head, urging him up to meet her lips. She tasted herself on his tongue, enjoying the bittersweet slick with a deep moan. Cregan pressed himself closer, moving her by her waist to seat her on the edge of the table.

"I need you, Cregan, please." She pleaded, hards still carding through his hair to ground herself. She was so empty, only able to be whole again with Cregan's help.

At her plea, Cregan couldn't help but oblige, he unlaced his breeches urgently, allowing Vanya to strip him of his tunic and run her hands over the lean muscle of his chest and back.

He stroked himself a few times, smearing himself at her entrance. They both groaned in unision as his tip hit the string of pearls. They pressed to her swollen bud, making her jerk her hips up closer to meet his own. He slid the string to the side to make room for his length, sinking into the wet heat with a soft groan.

Her head found his shoulder again as she clawed at his shoulders, mewling. He mimicked her action, hands gripping onto her hips as he bit at her neck and collarbone sharply to conceal his moans.

His thrusts were fast and desperate, both wasting no time with soft touches and sweet nothings. That could be done later, after they were both saited and content in their own bed.

She panted heavily, reaching down between them both to rub loose circles around her pearl. He groaned as she tightened, knowing what it meant.

"Where?" He grunted out, kissing at her shoulder as a wordless apology to the angry red bite lying there.

"Inside," she gasped, tightening her legs around his waist to keep him closer.

It was not long before they both reached their peaks. Cregan continued his ministrations, thrusts becoming slower and less powerful as he winded down from his high. He stayed inside her even after they both came down, the warmth too good to pass up in the cold solar. The embers had long disappeared, leaving only the cobble to block out Winterfell's chill.

Vanya couldn't mind, either, enjoying the fullness it brought even in the sensitive state.

"What brought this on?" Cregan asked after a few long moments passed. He soothed over the marks on her hips, sure that bruises would appear in the morrow.

She hummed, kissing the space connecting his ear and jawline affectionately. "Is it too obscure for a wife to want for her husband?"

Cregan raised a brow, "of course not. I have missed you, too." He said, bringing her lips to his to kiss.

She deepened it, dragging him back to her after he pulled away. Tilting her head, she shivered at the brush of his tongue over her own, the texture a familiar delight.

Cregan pulled back after a while, a heavy look in his steel eyes. "I don't think we'll get much sleep tonight if you keep doing that."

She laughed, "I am far from tired, my Lord."

He growled playfully, bringing her from the table and carrying her in his arms. Cregan chuckled at her gasp, starting his journey to their chambers.

"Someone might see us!" She squealed into his neck, hiding her face uselessly.

"Let them. The whole of Westeros will know how my wife is the most beautiful in the Seven Kingdoms." He said, pinching her bottom with a cheeky smirk.

His solar was left open behind them, work long forgotten for the next day. Tonight was for Lord Stark and his Lady Wife.

🗡

Get yourself a munch like Cregan Stark

[belovedcloud]

Treats

pairing: leon kennedy x fem! hybrid reader

✎ REQUEST: I love you for your fluffs, literally marry me, I don't really know if it's a dark cw but can you make fluff about hybrid!reader and like an owner Leon but in a sweet way? We warm up to his, just a little slowburn if you squint. Pls pls pls psklsplfpd<3333

✎ synopsis: his mission to alcatraz took way too long for his liking. he couldn't wait to come back to see you - to walk in seeing you all teary eyed, he had to make this reunion perfect.

✎ notes: thank you so much for the request and sorry for taking so long to do it! i hope you like it :) also this isn't proofread so i'm sorry if there are any mistakes! this is so short ffs

➤ WC: 1.3K

➤ CW: kisses, cuddles, basically all fluff, owner leon, reader is sensitive, very sweet tho, baking (kinda)

You didn't understand why Leon was taking so long to come back from wherever he went. He never could tell you what he was doing but he always said it was top secret! No fair. Although you weren't his for that long, you seemed to warm up to him well. Well, at least you thought you did.

Days went by with a simple message from Leon, pinging your phone just to alert you that he was still breathing but it wasn't enough. He brought out a side of you that you thought wasn't even real. The shelter he got you from discarded you away, made you feel inferior to the other hybrids that were accommodated there. With Leon adopting you and becoming your owner, the level of clinginess shot through the roof. Every step he took, you would take it too. If he was making a coffee, you would stare at him with pleading eyes. How come he was paying more attention to that damn coffee machine instead of you?

So now that your irregular but regular routine was disrupted due to his departure. It felt like step one all over again. You would have to slowly warm up to him, trust him, love him.

Leon's time over at Alcatraz was one of pure misery. His main mission being discarded due to the sheer amount of chaos occurring in the four walls that surrounded him and some people he knew long ago. Although it wasn't really a dream reunion seeing Claire or her brother Chris - alongside Jill, it was still nice seeing them all in great shape. Minus the infection but they were all still fine right?

Wrong.

Perhaps physically Leon was fine. The minor cuts and bruises he accumulated was common practice at this point. 'Unavoidable' as he would say. But this was the first mission where he would be coming home to someone. It wasn't an ordinary visit home to drink yourself to sleep like past years. His home had a new essence to it; a new being. His mental state was one of excitement and nervousness.

He left you with enough food right? Or maybe the thing he should be concerned about is your wellbeing.

It pained him that he couldn't tell you what he worked as. Bioweapons would just confuse your pretty little head and he definitely didn't want to make you panic for when he goes out to embark on such tasks.

So the footsteps he took from his car to the front door were heavy. He missed you. He missed his girl so so much. Leon promised to himself he would spoil you rotten these next few days to make up for the time lost. His fingers twitched in his jacket pocket, the smooth leather feel contrasting the calloused pads of his fingers. A slight jingle erupting from the keys as he lassoed them out.

Flicking through the multitude of keys, something caught his eye. It always caught his eye when he looked at the key circuit. A picture. A mini picture of you and him stuck in resin. Your sweet smile with his hand on your head, petting your ears softly. Leon could remember the day vividly in his mind. Your nimble fingers twitching to take the picture on his phone with giggles leaving your soft lips. A fat smile plastered Leon's lips, those blue eyes boring into the image - more or less burning it into his mind.

Snapping out of it, the front door key scratched at the lock, twisting the door open. His hands shaky; matching his breathing pattern as he took a step inside. Leon scanned the hallway, peering his eyes to try and find you somewhere near. Nope, you weren't in the kitchen, living room or downstairs bathroom. His footsteps echoed the silent house as he approached his bedroom.

The silence he once knew faded away as he heard sniffles coming from his room. A frown automatically made way to his lips as he thought about you crying. What could be wrong?

Walking in, all he could see was a fat lump under his duvet - the cover shaking every so often. Leon didn't want to alert you in your cry sesh, so all he could come up with was a hushed whisper with his hand slowly tugging the blanket.

"Sweetheart?" Oh that pet name you oh so loved. Your bunny ears twitched to the sound of his voice whilst your head popped out of the little blanket fort you had made for yourself. Blinking to try and see him properly, clumps of tears fell from your eyes landing onto the cover. Staining it with a deeper colour. No words left your lips, it was impossible to speak after seeing Leon again.

"Why are you crying sweetness?" The rough skin of his fingers wiped the tears from your wet face. All you could do was look up to him with sorry eyes. You felt almost... guilty. Here he was, comforting you and all you could do was sit there silently still moping about.

Leon wanted to know what was wrong. His pretty girl sobbing was not a sight he wanted to come home to. Especially after such a long mission. His relationship with you was more than a pet and an owner. He saw you more important than just some hybrid animal he adopted.

He would make sure you would know that too.

He managed to get you to speak even if it did take 20 minutes and a cuddle. You seemed to look a little happier in his arms - though he had a small feeling you still weren't up in your spirits. Looking down at you, your eyelashes enchanted him. The way they fluttered as you blinked whilst your head laid on his chest.

"Love?" A deep voice rumbled in your ears. Shooting your head up, you managed to smack Leon in the cheek with your fluffy ear. A giggle erupted out of you as you responded, "yeah?" Seeing him chuckle whilst giving you a heartwarming smile made you twitch in excitement. "How about we treat ourselves tonight?" Leon mumbled out, kissing your forehead.

Treat? Treat. Maybe not a treat for Leon but definitely a treat for you. Cookies! Now, yes you would make these with pure love but you wouldn't dare clean up the mass amount of flour on the countertops or on your clothes. That was Leon's treat.

Looking down into your mixing bowl, you grab the chocolate chips on the side. Leon's arms wrap around you, leaving a few pecks on your cheeks. "You're making all this mess on purpose baby, is this my punishment for going away for a long time?" He questioned, watching you mix the dough into a good consistency.

"Well... you shouldn't have left for so long!" You huff out, though your bratty behaviour isn't kept up for long when Leon tickles your sides. "Yeah?" He continues his attack on you, making you giggle and squirm under his touch."

"Stop!" The snickering word escapes your mouth as you gasp out for air. The flour is everywhere at this point. On the floor, counter and on your face.

"Look up at me." He stares down at you, awaiting for your head to turn up. Your nose twitches as you feel something touch it. Looking up at Leon and squinting at the reflection of the window - you see a dollop of wet dough on your nose.

Leon's arms around you leave your sides as he takes a step back, chuckling at the sight and snatching his phone from the countertop. Before you could say anything, a quick snap of his phone alerts your ears. "You look so silly." He laughed hysterically.

"Hey!" Your fingers paw at the pile of flour next to your bowl, without thinking - you throw it on Leon. His eyes widen and blink rapidly whilst he registers what you've done.

"Oh you're so done."

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! thank u for reading :)

-> masterlist

[cramathonn]

Hello! How are you? When you have time, could you please do a Seth x FoxThiren! GN reader please? I am so obsessed with this dude but there's almost no content about him. :( I love your work! 🫶💜💖

Ohoho, say less! I've also been super onto this lil' fella and GOSH I love him sm, there needs to be more reader content with him. Made reader specifically an Arctic fox because, hmmm white fur with white fur.

Headcanons under the cut, I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: bigotry directed at reader, but besides that fluff!

Pronouns: none were used and reader can be viewed as any gender

Seth Lowell x FoxThiren!GN!Reader

So, foxes are know for being sneaky little tricksters and are often portrayed as great liars in media, which makes me think you'd work in the same sector as Jane;

However, you've known Seth since you two were kids, you were practically inseparable;

You two loved playing hide and seek together, Seth to train his vision and instincts better to become an amazing cop once he got older and you to train your camouflaging skills, to become a great spy for PubSec;

Yes, the two of you agreed to work for Pub. Sec. together like the true besties you were;

"Hey, Seth?" you asked, looking at the sky, clouds looking white and fluffy as always.

"Hmm?" he asked, turning his head to you. His ear flicked, eager to hear what you had to ask.

"When you become a cop, promise to not let it get to your head?"

Seth's eyes widened. He knew there were cops that turned into inconsequential idiots, believing they were above the law just because they worked to enforce it. The thiren understood your worry, but he couldn't help but feel a bit offended that you'd think he would turn out like that in the first place.

"I promise! I'd never turn out like that, and if I do, I know you'll be there to smack me across the face and bring me back to my senses!" he exclaimed, certainty in his words. After all, you were always there to snap him out of his negative daze.

You couldn't help but smile, finally turning your face to your friend.

"Then keep me in check as well. If I ever become scummy like that, you snap me right out of it!"

"Deal!"

The both of you were now turned to each other as you laid down in the grass of your local park, linking your pinky fingers to sediment the promise.

That memory played in Seth's head evey day whenever he looked at his ring finger on his right hand. It was his favorite memory, after all, making him giddy to this day;

You and Seth started dating right before each of you enroled in a training school to become a Pub Sec officer. Albeit going to different institutions, you always made time for each other;

Late night walks were a must for you two, enjoying the quiet and relaxing atmosphere. Finally having respite from the arduous training from prep school while your tails linked behind the both of you;

You also had study and training dates. You excelled in more textual exams while Seth prevailed in physical ones, so you agreed to help each other;

Now, don't get me wrong. You were the best at the academics and theoreticals, having almost fully memorized the laws of New Eridu. You were also nimble, the most agile and dexterous in your class. But you could never seem to be able to pass the physical resistance exams...;

Same for Seth, dude was the peak of endurance tests. He could run for minutes, almost hours without exhausting himself. He could lift heavy stuff easily, swam pretty well too, be whenever it came to agility or academics he was... Not the best. He has also memorized the laws of New Eridu, don't get me wrong, but he fell short in anything that didn't involve citing the law book or physical workouts;

When the two of you graduated, you applied to enter for the same district, not wanting to be too far away. Unlucky for you, however, being a member of the Criminal Behavior Specialist department means you get sent out to many undercover missions;

You obviously were not as great as Jane, considering she's done that almost her entire life, but you were pretty good at your job. You rarely ever got caught due to your mischievous nature and cautious habits. However, that never stopped Seth from worrying about you;

Whenever you were sent to missions, he would insist you sent a message whenever possible to at least let him know you were doing well. He often times personally requests to review your mission reports just to keep tabs on you (Qingyi reviews the reposts with him because she knows very well that boy AIN'T reviewing shit, he's just worried about his partner);

That doesn't mean you don't worry about him as well, however. When Seth gets called for a case of his own, be it in a team or solo (which rarely happens due to how dense he is), you always worry sick. Jane has caught your tail swishing in anxiety many times when that was the case;

But when you two get assigned to a job together? Hoo boy, you THRIVE! You keep an eye on Seth's back, stopping any sneak attacks, while your wonderful boyfriend blocks the heavy blows with his shield. Power couple at its finest;

Don't get me wrong tho, as much as both of you love your jobs, you get tired as well. Whenever you are not on missions and he isn't up late at the office doing his daily reports, you two can be found cuddling on the couch of your shared apartment, watching series or tapes Seth had brought back from Random Play with a snack you bought on the way back;

Talking about Random Play, Seth introduced you to the place and you were amazed by how good their movie stock was. You simply had to sign a family subscription with them (which Seth went red for, since you essentially just said out loud that you were a family);

And on the topic of family... FAMILY WEEKENDS! Seth has a tradition of always going to visit his parents on the weekends and you always go along;

If you're on good terms with your family, Seth agrees to alternating which parents' house you visit. One weekend you go visit his, while the next you go visit yours and so on so forth;

However, if you're not on speaking terms with your parents, then he won't force you to visit them like he does his, offering to always take you to his parents' instead. Seth is a very caring man and, while he insists on the importance of blood family, he is very much aware that not everyone has the same luck as him in having good parents;

Also, his parents love you, I'll just say that. When Seth announced he was dating you to them, they just went "Finally! We were waiting for the two of you to get together for ages!" which prompted a very red and embarrassed Seth and a very happy tail wag from you, albeit you tried (and failed) to keep your composure;

"Hey, have you heard?"

Seth's ears flicked, standing straight up as he caught the whispers of one of his fellow officers.

"Apparently a fox thiren got accepted to our district. Can you believe it?" the man whipered, disbelief in his voice.

"What?! I can't believe it... They're letting those sneaky types of thirens in now? Tsk..." Another whipered back, disdain and disgust tainting his words.

Seth's fingers curled in frustration, closing his fists. How dare they speak so illy of you when they don't even know you? Judging you merely because of a stereotype of your thiren species... And they have the courage to call themselves officers? The lynx thiren was about to get up and confront the two when he catches another voice joining in on the conversation.

"You two are aware that fox thirens have good hearing, no?"

It was your voice. And by the sounds of it, the two officers were caught off guard by your silent approach.

"Yes, us fox thirens are good at tricking and mischief... But that just means we're better at fetching criminals, no?"

You questioned them, the usual eagerness in your voice laced with a slight anger that went unnoticed.

For everyone but Seth.

"W-well, when you put it like that..."

One of the officers started. However, it didn't take long for Zhu Yuan to call them out, scolding them for judging their fellow officer merely by misconceptions and stereotypes. Seth smiled, tail gently swaying behind him as pride fueled his system. He knew he was in the right district. Having his captain aid in defending you made the lynx boy feel incredibly happy.

He knew how much judgement you went through during your prep school days. The nights when you returned to your shared apartment looking beaten up because some idiots had a brawl with you simply because of your species playing in his mind. Seth knew how hard you worked to get where you are today, and he is glad that he is not the only one ready to step up to defend your efforts.

I wasn't out of the ordinary for you to get weird looks in the street and in your office. After all, fox thirens were known for being liars and tricksters, how could one be a Public Security Officer? Well, much to your dismay, many still doubted your capabilities due to that. However, Seth made sure to not let that get to your head, always affirming that you were a much better officer than those that judged you, since no officer should judge by appearance, considering the exterior is often times misleading;

Being a couple of PubSec officers is not easy, your lives are constantly at risk and you often times come back with a couple of scratches and wounds, but neither of you would want it any other way. Life may be hectic, yes, but the two of you always managed to make do with what you had.

In the end, Seth loved you and that's all that matters to him. You share his dreams, his passions and help him improve as a person. Tldr: you're all he could ask for in a partner and more.

At night time, when you two are cuddled up in bed, Seth can't help but smile fondly at you. He can't understand how he got so lucky, but he won't complain. The lynx wraps his tail in yours and nuzzles the top of your head, happy to have you by his side and hoping it'll stay like that for years to come

Written by Cramathoon at 08:54am on 24/07/24 (24th of September of 2024)

Please don't repost!

[mindless-existence1]

Chapter Two of unnamed fic

Chapter One, Chapter There

Bakugo x GN!Reader fluff fic based off this audio

"How many men have you kissed?"

"Very few."

"But you offered me a kiss, why?"

"Such a foolish reason I'm afraid. I just wanted to kiss you." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Summery: You have practically latched onto Bakugo since the beginning of the school year. Why? Who knows.

Reader is very in tune with their emotions and speaks how they feel. Bakugo is the opposite. What a mix.

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

Content: Slow burn, romance, reader is flirty but they dont realize it kinda, y/n is used once, curse words, no pronouns mentioned but is kinda fem (not fem heavy tho just reader does more feminine stuff ig), it's fluff guys

Words: 1,174

Loud music filled the small dorm you and Bakugo were in. You mindlessly read through a manga on the others bed while he worked on his hero gauntlets. Bakugo had put on one of his favorite bands only too fond out you liked them to, this spurd on a talk that was more enjoyable then he care to admit.

Every once and a while bakugo would look up at you from where he sat on the floor. Your head bounced to the beat of the songs blasting through the speaker, he watched as your eyes skimmed the pages beneath you. Nimble fingers flipping the pages every few seconds.

The two of you had grabbed a snack from the kitchen together before heading to his dorm, the trash long forgotten in his bin. All that was left now was a soda sitting on Bakugos bed side table. A vibration from his pocket snapped him out of his daze, checking the caller ID he saw it was Kirishima.

With a groan and eye roll he begrudgingly picked up the phone. You curiously looked towards Bakugo, he mouthed Kirishimas name and you gave him a nod in return. Bakugo listened to the red head go on about needing the blonds help in his dorm.

Bakugo cursed under his breath but agreed non the les. After hanging up the teen pushed himself off the floor and made his way towards the door. "Shitty hair needs my help for something, I'll be back in a minute. Don't mess with any of my stuff you got it?" With a nod you waved off the young hero.

The red head needed help moving stuff around his dorm and needed his many friend to help. It had taken Bakugo longer than he wished, almost half an hour went by before he was heading back to his dorm.

When he walked through the door he was met with the sight of you splayed out on his bed, almost in the same position yiu were in when he left. What caught his eye was what you were wearing. It was one of his black skull shirts. You were practically drawing in the oversized clothing.

A mixture of annoyance, confusion, and an unknown feeling washed over the blond teen. "The fuck are you doing?" His voice wasn't as sharp as he intended, in fact is was a lot weaker. You looked good amazing in his clothes. No what? Katsuki Bakugo was not thinking that, he couldn't be.

The smile you had on your face when he came in contorted into confusion at his words. "Huh?" You looked at your friend in confusion. He scoffed in response, "The fuck you wearing my shirt for?" Understanding flooded your features when you looked down.

"Oh yeah. I spilled my drink and I didn't want to have to walk all the way back to my dorm soaked in soda so I thought I'd just put one of yours on." You explained like it was the most obvious things in the world. The longer you spoke the less Bakugo paid attention. More so focused on the way you looked lounging in his clothes.

The shirt was oversized sure, but the way you were laying made it accentuate you features in ways Bakugo hadn't noticed before. Sure he realized you were attractive but he didn't think about stuff like that, untill now at least. It took him a moment to realize he was staring untill h a looked towards your face riddled in confusion.

"Sorry if I did something wrong just our dorms are far apart and-" "It's fine."Bakugo practically blurted out his response, embarrassment seeped into his veins. He closed his eyes at his desperate voice, he hoped you didn't realize just how much this affected him.

"Oh good, you scared me for a second." You pause, thinking for a second before saying. "You know, this smells like you. Not to sound creepy but I like it." Your voice was soft and warm, like you truly meant everything you said. A deep red blush rose to his face and fortunately you either didn't notice or just didn't mention it. That familiar twisting in his gut signaled he needed to be alone.

He couldn't be around anyone, specifically you, when he was like this. What would you do if you realized how weak he got at a few of your sweet words. No one ever talked to him like that yet you did it so flawlessly it drove him crazy.

To Bakugos luck it was about time for dinner, at least for him since he went to sleep sp early. "Hey I-" he stumbled over his words, how was he supposed to ask you to leave when he wanted you to stay? "I'm going to get done dinner so-" you cut him off.

"Oh yeah you eat really early! I forgot sorry Bakugo." You began grabbing your things. Along with the still wet tee and you backpack. "Hey is it cool if I return this short to you tomorrow? I can wash it for you since I was the one that made it dirty." You chuckle a bit as you amke your way to the door.

Bakugo mumbles out a rushed string of "Yeah that's cool." As he moves out of your way to the door. You make it half way out the door before you are turning around with an excited, "Oh I forgot!"

Confusion floods Bakugos features as you grab your phone out your pocket. "Can I have your number?" Your words are blunt as you hand the blond your phone. His response is delayed from surprise but he still grabs the phone. "What why?" The confusion is real, no one had asked him for it before let alone so bluntly he wasn't sure how to react.

"Well for when I want to talk to you and I'm not, you know, around you." You explain to him so simply that he is grateful his hair has been growing out and it covers his now bright red ears. "Oh yeah right." You just beam brightly at him while he puts in his number practically on auto pilot.

"Thanks! I'll see you later Bakugo!" You call out to him as you make you way out the door and down the hallway. Bakugo waves slightly and goes back into his dimly lit dorm. He falls onto his bed and practically dies at the smell of you covering his sheets. He put his head in his hands for a moment before a ding from his phone makes his head perk up. The text reads:

Unknown Number: Hey its Y/n! Since it's the weekend tmr do you want to go to this new restaurant with me for dinner?

God Katsuki Bakugo cannot be this flustered by a dinner request. He types out a meek yes hoping his uncharacteristic nervousness doesn't transfer through his screen. The only thing he could think of was how much he actually did want to go on this...date.

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

Holy shit dude I just pumped out like 2,200 words so fast I don't know where this came from but it's currently 1 am so am going to snooze

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venus-xxoo

[wolftoken]

Ticklish

a/n: my friend needs comfort???? writers block GONE ❌ i love you @pastlives-pastlie

word count: 696 • tags: gn reader, fluff, cuddling, ticklish vessel, ticklish reader

• masterlist •

He’s tired, his head resting heavy in your lap and his eyes half-lidded. His hands are softly kneading your thighs while yours rest in his hair and on his jaw. Absentmindedly you gently massage his scalp, savouring the big sigh he lets out at the feeling. Nuzzling further into you, he brings his arms up to hold your waist and since he’s entirely too tall for the couch, his feet dangle off the edge of the armrest but he couldn’t care less because all he can think about is you, your warmth, your softness.

“Should we go to bed?” you whisper, not wanting to break the gentle atmosphere. Vessel doesn’t respond, just tightens his grip on your waist. You bring your hands down to cup his jaw so you can get him to look up at you, and his eyes shine softly in the low light and you feel a swarm of butterflies start to take flight in your stomach.

“You’re comfy,” is all he can muster. His voice is quiet and monotone like he can’t summon the energy to speak properly. He does this every time you end up cuddling on the couch late at night when he has to rearrange all his limbs in order to get comfortable and you know he’d be complaining about a sore neck or back tomorrow morning if you stay here. But getting him off of you is a challenge in and of itself, especially if he’s sleepy and unwilling to move.

“You can lay on me all night if you come to bed, Ves. But you’re gonna be sore tomorrow if we stay here.”

“M’warm. Bed’s cold,” is his reply, muffled by the way his face is pressed into you.

You sigh, but a smile creeps its way onto your face nonetheless. He’s adorable even when he’s being annoying, it’s terrible. How are you supposed to survive in these conditions? He’s draped over you like a big sack of flour with insistent hands. But then you remember one thing that will get him up no matter how cozy the situation is.

Your nimble fingers find themselves at his sides and mercilessly tickle him and the reaction is almost instant.

His gleeful yelping is probably not what the neighbours want to hear at 11:45 at night but they sound so beautiful to you, especially if it’s what gets him up and moving. Only problem is, you forgot he can retaliate. His hands are much bigger than yours and can cover a larger span of sensitive skin and it feels so so good to laugh with him like this even if you can barely breath and you’re both writhing so much you’re sure to fall off the couch in a minute.

“Ves- fuck! I just want you to come to bed! Please-“ you can barely get the words out past the breathless giggling but he understands you just fine.

“Oh really? You want me to come to bed with you after you’ve viciously attacked me and disturbed my peaceful slumber? Hmm?”

Words seem you fail you as his hands find even more skin to tickle, each spot more sensitive than the last and you’re both teary-eyed and red in the face until he stops. You can tell he’s thinking about starting it again when he bites his lip and stifled a giggle, but he refrains, knowing he can get away with more tickling tomorrow when both of you are wide awake.

“Fine, you win. Let’s go to bed,” he smiles, begrudgingly getting up from on top of you and pulling you with him. He sees your hands creep down to his ribs and the mischievous smile on your face and raises his eyebrow at the sight.

“You’ve fallen victim to my hands once, you will fall again,”

“You talk like some sixteenth century knight sometimes,” you reply, retreating your ready-to-attack hands and opting to hold his instead.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now come to bed or you’ll fall asleep on the couch,” he grins.

“You are awful!” you laugh, following closely behind him to your bedroom. You should definitely wake up him with more tickling tomorrow.

[diremoone]

— best of both | nanami kento.

w — female reader, mentions of periods, blood, and menstrual headaches, slight wordvomit haha

During his youth, he learned how to make his hands strong. Curses fell by his hands left and right, hands becoming stronger with every mission. Especially after Haibara. He wanted to be strong enough to not die, to be able to take care of himself and live another day.

That’s how he rose the ranks within jujutsu society and became a Grade 1 sorcerer.

And then he left.

Nanami’s hands became soft as a salaryman. He learned to be more nimble, going through books nowadays without bending the corners of the pages. They learned to be gentle, tending to the few pots of fragile flowers he had in his home. The callouses he’d developed over his teen and early adult years faded off slightly. Perhaps part of it was because of the lotion you’d suggested he started using.

And then there was you.

When you two first met, he’d almost broken the coffee cup in his hand. You had been in the same aisle as him in the 7-Eleven, with him gazing at you out of his peripheral vision as you grab three strawberry and white chocolate donuts and a cup of ramen and head to the checkout. You’d barely had enough to pay for them, and that’s when he stepped in—paying for them and thus introducing himself.

You’d taught him to be gentle. When you inadvertently walked him back to your apartment, you profusely apologized to him for the accident. But you realized that his attention wasn’t on you, but the cute white orchids on the little patio. Those flowers were what got you two together. But that was a story for another time.

His firm hands learned to be gentle under your love. And he was so glad he had become softer, because it wouldn’t have gotten him here—exactly where he wanted to be.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

“It’s perfect,” you mumble, less coherent than the last time you replied. “Headache’s almost gone. Thank you, Ken.”

Your period had struck you hard, first with a heavy flow in the middle of the night that made you have to throw a pair of underwear away. Then next came the debilitating cramps that left you unable to stand up and move around, ultimately keeping you confined to the couch. And to come in and top it all off, the headache finally arrived.

The blood you could deal with. The cramps you could deal with. But the headache you couldn’t. It was the absolute worst. You couldn’t think straight, or at all, really. All you could think about was the literal feeling of feeling your brain just hurting and being in agony, to the point where you thought your brain was pulsing. There was one time you’d tried to stand up to go to the bathroom, and about halfway there, a sharp pain shot through the back of your head and sent your knees buckling under the sudden pain.

Thankfully, Nanami had just come around the corner to ask how you were doing when he saw you fall backwards, reaching you in the nick of time to brace your fall. His big, burly arms wrapped around you and gently brought you to the ground. Your back was pressed against his chest as he asked if you were okay.

“I’m fine,” you replied shortly, “just needing to use the bathroom. Got a massive headache.”

Nanami insisted on staying outside the door, only to listen if you fell again. You didn’t, thankfully. But once you’d opened the door, that didn’t seem to stop him from bending down and hooking his strong arms under your knees and back, holding you to his chest while taking you back to the couch.

Sitting sideways to meet your eyes, he gently guided your head down to his lap and asked, “Your head, right? I saw you reach for it before you fell.”

All you could manage to get out was a, “Mmhmm,” over the pain.

Nanami’s index and middle fingers rubbed at the sides of your temples, alleviation instant. It was only when his thumbs reached to the back of your neck to rub out the hypertension did you let out an embarrassingly loud moan. But damn did it feel good. And you couldn’t help but come to the realization of how large your boyfriend’s hands really were—large enough to reach from your temple to the nape; encompassing half of your head.

Lord, have mercy on your soul.

And your head. Even Nanami’s massage was beginning to reach the point of being ineffective, fighting against the throbbing pain in your skull.

“Still hurts?”

“Mmm, yeah,” you hissed softly.

“Do you want some of the painkillers in the cabinet?”

“I’ve already had two today,” you say, not missing the inquisitive hum from him. “But maybe one.”

“You can take up to four in a day,” he says. “We’ll do one now, and another in two hours if the first doesn’t work.”

“So calculating,” you muse. “Or we could just get some chloroform and—”

Nanami scoffs. “As if.”

You pat his forearm and giggle. “I’m kidding.” You lift yourself up off of your lover’s lap and rub your eyes, feeling another wave of tired wash over you. “But I’m getting kinda sleepy. One may work.”

You move to stand, but Nanami firmly puts his hand on your shoulder. “I’ll get it.”

As if he’d let you anyway. Not after seeing you fall backwards earlier. Even that brings up painful memories, ones that he doesn’t care to recollect in the slightest.

As he opens and closes the cabinet, his eyes linger on his large hands—on how rough they look; on how gentle they’ve become. And when he looks to you he can’t help but acknowledge that his hardened heart has become soft, too.

He has to thank you for being with him, for teaching him that there was more to life than the callousness of being a jujutsu sorcerer and the monotony of a salaryman. He has to thank you for teaching him to care for himself, for teaching him to slow down and smell the roses that he walked past every day. For enjoying every little moment in life that he was sure to miss, had it not been for you.

“Ken…? Kento?”

You’re flopped over the arm of the couch, snapping your fingers at him to regain his attention. Your eyes are filled with concern for him, despite looking so tired. And then he remembers what he got up for.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he says. “You don’t need to be falling asleep on the couch.”

“Okay…?” You raise a brow. “Are you okay though? You stood there for a solid minute.”

“I’m fine,” he insists.

You yelp as he easily picks you up in his arms (for the second time that day) and carries you to your shared bedroom.

“Kento! I can walk!” you whine.

“Just let me take care of you.”

You want to retort back, but a wave of fatigue washes over you and you rest your head on his shoulder.

Besides, how can you argue about your boyfriend wanting to take care of you when he looks so happy doing it?

started out as a simp fic for nanami’s big hands in the pv then took a slightly different route than I intended after some of it got deleted 🥲

also: shibuya happens but gojo wins — the end 🥹

[d0llcuries]

Hey beautiful! What do you think it would be like to have a childhood love with Neteyam? I would love to see this written by you, your writing is impeccable❤️

TWO FLYING FAN LIZARDS

pairing(s): neteyam x fem!na'vi reader

summary: alongside a boy destined for greatness only, you suffer

author's note: my first ever request i am geeking out rn!!! ◝(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) ◜♡ this was such a delight to write and i truly hope it lives up to ur expectations :3 also pls send more requests i begggggggg. second also,, to gain the most out of your reading experience i recommend listening to “let you go” by clara la san

(i would link it but it doesn't work for sum reason ( ˶•ᴖ•) !!)

edit: oh wait nvm i figured it out :p

your earliest memories of neteyam are filled with the fond experiences of your shared childhood. you remember the days when your mothers would gather under the open sky, their laughter ringing out like music while you sat beside neteyam. he was the boy with golden eyes, always grinning, always curious, and with him, even the quietest moments seemed to hold something special.

you were shy, clinging to your mother’s side, too nervous to speak or even meet the gaze of others. but neteyam, with his patient nature, never made you feel awkward or rushed. his presence had a quiet sort of assurance, like he knew you'd come out of your shell when you were ready. all he had to do was wait. he was oh so patient and gentle with you in fear that by even speaking too loud he might scare you away from him. you didn’t have to say much, anyway; he’d simply be there, drawing you into his world without a single word.

one day, when you were no older than six, the two of you sat by a small stream, its crystal-clear waters bubbling softly as they wound their way through the lush, bioluminescent foliage. nearby, a pair of glowing fan lizards darted between the trees, their wings shimmering as they moved through the thick, humid air. neteyam pointed them out to you, comparing them to your friendship with him. “that would be us if we were kenten.” you laughed softly at his silliness. he always tried to make you laugh, being the one to make you smile brought him immense pleasure, even then.

“come on, let's go fishing.” he said, turning to look at you with that smile of his, the one that made your stomach feel fluttery and warm. you had only blinked at him, unsure of how to answer, you didn't know how to fish. but that didn’t stop him. he stood up, pulling you gently by the hand. “come on, i will show you how.”

and that’s how it was with him. he didn’t push you to speak when you didn’t want to. instead, he’d offer you his hand, his patience, and his unspoken promise that whatever he was leading you toward would always be safe.

you and neteyam shared countless quiet moments like that. together, you wove crowns from soft vines, his strong hands clumsy at first while your nimble ones worked with natural ease. when his attempts would unravel, he’d laugh, his cheeks flushing the faintest shade of blue, but you’d always fix it with a smile and a flower tucked behind his ear, then everything would be okay again.

as you grew older, you noticed that things began to change. not so much between you and neteyam—no, he was always the same, always there—but the world around you shifted. neteyam was growing into his role, becoming more of a warrior, more of a leader. he spent less time with you, not because he wanted to, but because he had to. training demanded long hours, and when he wasn’t training, he was surrounded by other boys—future warriors, like himself. there were fewer afternoons by the stream and more days where you’d find yourself watching him, your heart oddly heavy with despaira sickening feeling that made your nose burn. they laughed loudly, joked around in ways you couldn’t quite relate to. eywa.. the way your heart would twist when one of the girls would playfully shove him, her eyes bright with something you didn’t want to name. you didn’t like feeling jealous. it wasn’t something you were used to, and it made you uncomfortable. but there it was, that little knot of jealousy, always sitting heavy in your stomach whenever you saw him with someone else. maybe there was something wrong with you. while neteyam was the easygoing, confident and popular warrior, you were still the quiet one. the shy one. the one who couldn’t quite shake the feeling of being on the outside looking in.

you told yourself it didn’t matter, that this was just the way things were supposed to be, but it hurt. a lot more than you were willing to admit. you’d tell yourself it didn’t matter, you had your place in his life, but the ache in your chest told you otherwise. you couldn’t help but feel out of place, as if you were being left behind, still sitting on the sidelines while everyone else moved forward without you.

you missed him. you missed the quiet connection you shared, the way he’d look at you like you were the only person in the world. you missed having him all to yourself.

you wondered if he missed that too.

you couldn't even wallow in good conscience, either. he wasn't doing anything wrong, he hadn't hurt you intentionally. and it wasn’t that neteyam ignored you. he never did. whenever he saw you, his face would light up in that way that made your heart skip, and he’d always make time for you, even if it was just a brief moment between his training sessions. but it wasn’t the same. you weren’t the same.

you weren’t blind to the fact that some of the other boys teased him for it—hanging out with a girl, the way he always seemed to make sure you were okay, even when you were off to the side. they’d throw comments his way, playful jabs meant to make him feel embarrassed, but neteyam never let it bother him. he’d shrug it off, flash them that confident smile, and maybe toss back a joke of his own. but he never let their teasing get in the way of the way he treated you. you were his friend, his closest friend, and nothing anyone said would change that.

what you didn’t know was that neteyam never let their words change the way he saw you. no matter how much they teased or questioned why hung around you, he would always defend you, though he never told you as much. to him, you were more than just a childhood companion. you were the one who knew him in ways no one else did, the one he could always count on, even if the two of you had drifted a little. you were his person. the one he could be quiet with. the one he could just be neteyam with, not the future olo’eyktan, not the skilled hunter. just him. he’d speak of you in ways that made their words fall flat. he’d tell them about how skilled you were with weaving, how you had a way with animals that no one else did, how your quiet nature wasn’t a weakness but a strength. he’d say all these things with such conviction that eventually, the teasing would stop, and some of his friends even began to speak to you with a newfound respect. not that you ever knew why. no, neteyam never told you how he stood up for you, how he made sure everyone knew just how important you were to him.

he thought about you more than he should, really. even when he was training, his mind would wander, wondering what you were doing, if you were sitting by the stream like you used to, if you missed him the way he missed you. he never said anything, though. not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t know how. neteyam was a leader, a warrior—he wasn’t supposed to get caught up in feelings like this. but when it came to you, he couldn’t help it.

sometimes, he’d catch you watching him, your eyes soft and sad in a way that made his chest ache. and on those days, he’d find a way to slip away from the others, to find you and remind you that you still mattered to him. he’d sit with you in the quiet places, just like you used to, and you’d talk about everything and nothing all at once. or sometimes, you wouldn’t talk at all, and that was okay too. because being with you, even in silence, was always better than being anywhere else.

the years went on like that, this quiet dance between you. a push and pull that neither of you acknowledged but both of you felt. neteyam would go off and train, surround himself with the others, and you’d watch from a distance, feeling that familiar sting of jealousy. but then he’d come back to you, in those small stolen moments, and everything would feel right again.

in the stillness of the night, when the village had quieted and the stars blinked softly above, you would often find yourself beneath the great tree, kneeling before its glowing roots. with trembling hands, you’d reach out to the sacred tendrils, allowing them to intertwine with your queue, the warmth of tsaheylu forming a direct connection to eywa herself. as soon as the bond was made, a soft hum filled the air, a rhythm of life, and the world seemed to fade away. you would close your eyes, letting the sensation of eywa’s presence wrap around you, offering comfort to the ache deep within. through the bond, you would silently pour out your heart, sharing the loneliness that had taken root, the hurt of watching neteyam slip further into the world of others while you were left behind. you missed the days when he was yours—if only in the quiet ways no one else saw—and the memories of those moments felt like threads slowly unraveling in your hands.

as you made tsaheylu, eywa would listen, her presence gentle yet unwavering, and you could feel her understanding pulse through you, as if she too mourned the shifting tides of your life. you sought her wisdom, asking why it was that neteyam’s laughter with others felt like a knife to your chest, and why you no longer felt enough in his eyes. in that sacred connection, though, eywa offered something more than answers—she gave you peace, a quiet reminder that your worth was not tied to neteyam’s presence or absence. though your heart still ached, there was a growing strength within you, a stirring realization that you, too, were part of the balance of this world, and it was time to let yourself grow. the bond with eywa whispered gently, nudging you forward, reminding you that while you could not control neteyam’s path, you could choose your own, and in that, there was a power you had long forgotten.

it was clear that the great mother had heard you.

as time went on, you changed too. slowly but surely, your once-soft voice became stronger, more assured. you spoke up during gatherings, your words thoughtful and careful, earning the respect of those around you. your smile seemed a little brighter, your laugh rang out a little louder. even the other girls began to take notice, welcoming you into their circles in ways they hadn’t before. the quiet, shy girl he’d known since childhood was beginning to take up more space, stepping into her own.

the older women would often call on you, noticing the quiet grace with which you handled tasks. your hands had become deft at weaving intricate patterns into cloth, your fingers swift and sure, and soon enough, your skill was sought after for more than just small adornments. you became a familiar presence in the community, helping gather herbs for healers or assisting with the intricate beadwork on ceremonial attire. the elders would smile as you passed, offering words of praise, their eyes warm with approval as they watched you grow into yourself. in their gaze, you no longer felt like the shy girl trailing behind—there was a new respect, one you had earned for all by yourself.

neteyam was so proud of you. maybe now that you weren't so painfully uncomfortable in public settings, he could spend more time with you! you were more vibrant now, more seen. it was like the world was finally catching up to what neteyam had always known—that you were special. some of his friends, the very ones who used to tease him for spending so much time with you, began to gravitate toward you. they were curious, drawn in by the way you carried yourself now, with a grace and confidence that was undeniable. he’d catch glimpses of them laughing with you, their eyes lingering a little too long, and it stirred something in him that he didn’t quite understand at first. it was a strange, uncomfortable feeling—one that settled deep in his chest, coiling tight and hot.

his now, increasingly annoying, friends admired you, spoke of you in ways that made him violet with discomfort. neteyam didn’t like it. he didn’t like the way they looked at you, as if they were seeing something new in you, something that had always been his to see. he wasn’t used to sharing you like this, wasn’t used to watching other people discover the parts of you that he had cherished in private. it didn’t sit well with him, though he told himself it was just because things were changing, and change was always hard.

the realization hit him one afternoon, as he watched one of his friends catch your attention, making you laugh in that bright, easy way of yours. neteyam felt a pang of something sharp and uncomfortable, something that burned hot in his chest. jealousy. it was jealousy. and with it came the sudden, undeniable truth that he’d been avoiding for far too long.

you weren’t just his childhood friend anymore. you weren’t just the girl he’d spent years playing with, weaving crowns by the stream and catching the light in the water. you were more than that. you were special in a way he hadn’t fully understood until now, and the thought of someone else seeing you like that—of someone else making you smile the way he always had—made him feel like he was losing something important.

in that moment, as he watched you laugh, so vibrant and full of life, neteyam realized what he had been denying for far too long. maybe you weren’t just his closest friend. maybe you were more than just the girl who had always been by his side. maybe, just maybe, he liked you in a way that made his heart race and his thoughts stumble. it was a slow realization, creeping up on him like the setting sun, and by the time it fully settled in his chest, he knew. this wasn’t just friendship anymore.

lmk if this whole “shy yn” bit is annoying or uncomfortable, it feels like the most comfortable thing to write for me but i can swing in any direction u guys preferrrr

[saunne]

You Are A Weakness I Cannot Afford To Possess - Aventio/Ratiorine Snippet

[You are welcome to yell at me and demand monetary reparations to pay for your therapy because I'm not sorry]

Every risk was cautiously considered and weighed, every move carefully calculated. Obviously, emotions were something based on a much less stable basis than mathematical calculations but... 

Veritas Ratio was not blind. 

He wasn't a fool either, despite feeling like one at that very moment. 

“...What do you mean no ?” 

The man looked at him, a bittersweet smile on their thin lips, even as one of their poker chips twirled nimbly between their graceful fingers. 

"Before you ask a question, why don't you consider whether the answer has already been determined ?" Aventurine responded softly, their eyes drifting to gaze outside as they wearily parroted Veritas' own words. "It is better for everyone if such questions are not asked... Don't you think, my good Doctor ?" 

These words, Veritas uttered them regularly.  To his colleagues, his students, Enid, his superiors, strangers even. 

To be the recipient was... painful. 

Unexpected. 

"I don't understand," Veritas whispered, his voice hoarse and his throat tight. "You love me."

Every risk was cautiously considered and weighed, every move carefully calculated. Veritas Ratio would never have risked a move if he had not been absolutely certain that his feelings were returned.

And yet… And yet.

“I do,” Aventurine laughed airily. “Gaiathra help me, I do.”

The chip was strangely warm in Veritas' palm as his hand instinctively gripped around it, the smooth edges digging into his palm. Aventurine's hand was soft against his cheek, barely a caress, ghostly and fleeting presence. 

Their lips were soft and just slightly wet as they kissed him, for barely more than a heartbeat. The faint caress of their sigh as they retreated felt as icy as the incessant blizzards of this planet of eternal winters, to which Veritas had accompanied them only weeks earlier. 

Where he had warmed their frozen fingers between his. 

Where they shared laughter and kisses as light as the snowflakes that ended their fall in their pale eyelashes.

Where a cheerful “Why not, Veritas?” had met his cautious questioning, where only a silence heavy with lost words now met this same question, this "why" trembling with dashed hope.

"Because... All or Nothing only works because there is nothing left, Veritas. Nothing except myself, which is nothing in itself,” the Stoneheart confessed in a breath, in a plea that sounded more like a condemnation. “I can’t…”

They closed their eyes, taking a deep breath.

When they looked at him again, the heat of their gaze was not that of an inviting hearth, but that of a raging fire. 

A heat of desert wasteland bathed by a blind sun, of an age-old drought that a cataclysm would not be enough to repair. A heat made of prayers as numerous as the grains of sand of Sigonia-IV and as sticky as the blood that had stained it.

 “You are a weakness I cannot afford to possess, Veritas Ratio.”

A silence.

"And for what little it's worth, I'm truly sorry."

[hanlimz]

[midnight thoughts: park jongseong + end of beginning]

rando posting on a thursday night bc this has been in my drafts 4ever. no summary you die like men. maybe i'll write a part 2. maybe.

whether the guitar is a meager subject bending to his will or an extension of his very own body, you are unable to decide. enveloped by the dim lighting and clouds of cigarette smoke, the black stained alder wood manages to melt into the obsidian of his leather jacket. the angularity of his face cuts through the darkness; the length of his nose is perfectly straight, the slant of his jaw is sharp enough to cut, and his eyebrows are two, thick lines of focus. he plays with so much precision that it almost makes you overlook the way he still purses his lips when he's concentrating—a habit he was never able to shake. it transports you back to a simpler time in which he wasn't a rockstar. instead, he was a college student studying business management who had a silly band on the side. he was a college student who never planned to make it big, who never planned to leave.

a break in the set forces you from the depths of your memories. he is almost unrecognizable as he works the crowd; a sea of people at this intimate show are screaming for him, begging for his attention, and you can't help but laugh to yourself. years ago, he used to play for you. with a timeworn guitar and a handful of hope, he shared his musings of the future. they were long-shots, pipe dreams, fantasies he entertained when his assignments proved too difficult and his imagination too wild. his voice was sultry as the nimble tips of his fingers waltzed over the fretboard; the melodies he created were happier than the ones he sings now. his stories chronicled a life with you, but now they're bittersweet—tales of olde, reminders of the past.

the show is coming to a close; the throngs of listeners are beginning to thin out. minute by minute, there are less bodies to hide behind, less background to blend into—but, you can't seem to make yourself leave. there's a part of you that wants to be seen, to be noticed by him once more. turning to the bartender, you order an elixir to forget. before you can take the first sip into oblivion, however, a shadow sits down next to you. he smells familiar—amber, sandalwood, a dark thicket. he orders a whiskey sour, and it reminds you of the first time you met. like an aged souvenir, you hold the memory delicately in the palms of your hands.

"what does it feel like, hm?" there's a momentary pause, then you hum into the thick, musky air, "to be a star?"

he takes in a labor-ridden breath. when he lets it out, it seems like more than air escapes him; the heavy exhale is almost painful as he ponders the question. a minute passes, and the quiet is stifling. "it feels good, at first. everything you want, anytime you want. but, it becomes hollow after a while—all the drinks, all the blurry faces, all the memories melting together," he admits. "it's like i'm floating, y'know ... aimless, in space, millions of miles away."

"is it lonely up there?" you ask.

"most of the time, yeah," he answers, stopping for a few seconds to think. "but, it's what i wished for. it's what i wanted."

glancing over at him out of the corner of your eye, you see he's still nursing his drink. the fingers of his left hand trace circles around the rim of the glass while he itches at his wrist with his right. the blonde streaks in his hair are tousled with a mixture of gel and sweat, and the darker parts fall forward to shield his gaze from yours. remnants of the boy you used to know, used to love are resurfacing from the deep recesses of your mind—where you had kept them hidden for years.

"you're still a terrible liar," you say.

his body tenses at the comment. as his muscles remain rigid, he scoffs, disbelieving and defensive, "what do you even know about me, anymore?"

"nothing, really ..." behind your blasé facade, there's a particular ache. his words cut you, a serrated blade shoved between the gaps of your ribs; it hurts because you know he's right. he is no longer yours to know, no longer yours to love. soon, you fear that he may not even be yours to remember—disintegrating, falling, lost to the sands of time. "i knew who you were, though. kind and gentle, the guy who would buy me flowers for no reason. every day, you would call me to tell me you loved me. you would cook dinner, light candles, wash my hair ..."

it grows quiet again; the only sounds filling the air are a symphony of closing ambience. dishes are clattering, glasses are clinking, and chairs are scratching against the floor. this time, however, the silence is not deafening. in a way, it is almost familiar—reminiscent of spring nights spent in the diner close to campus, faces full of pancakes and hearts full of joy. but, this quietude—while being peaceful—also breeds cruelty.

"i'm sorry," his voice pierces through the wisps of smoke and the faint scent of burning incense off in the distance. he leaves the rest unspoken—for leaving, for not saying goodbye, for not giving you an answer. but, you hear it. in spite of it all, you hear it. the words don't penetrate the toughened shell around your heart; instead, they echo in your mind. everything you wanted but nothing you needed.

you hesitate, "i don't know if i can believe you."

"why did you come then?" he asks, voice solemn.

pins and needles prick at the skin of your cheeks as the question makes the tips of your fingers go cold. it's almost unreal. he shouldn’t have the right to question you like this, to interrogate you like you’re the criminal—like you’re the one who left. his words make slow work of you like a bullet to the stomach. as you pour out everything for him, you come to the bitter realization that it ended this way all those years ago. it would always end this way. you, dead on the floor; him, gun in hand. “i wanted to see for myself, i guess—” you spit, “if it was all worth it.”

turning towards him, you break down the wall that time and distance had erected between the two of you. there's a ferocity that shines in your eyes; it makes them glow with a certain conviction. he avoids your pointed stare, instead choosing to swirl his watered down drink. only now do you allow yourself to take a closer look at him. his skin is pallid, a ghost of the deep, tawny beige you used to run your fingers along; the dark circles under his eyes accompany sunken cheeks and slumped shoulders. fatigue seeps down to his very being, and this life the has managed to sap the life from his veins.

"was it worth it, jongseong?"

hearing his name fall from your lips seems to send a bolt of pure lightning down the length of his spine. no one has called him that in years; the thought makes you wonder who else he left behind. the corners of his eyes crinkle as he shuts them tight, trying to be anywhere but squirming under the weight of your gaze. after a few moments, he shakes his head. it starts slowly, a gentle back and forth movement before it becomes violent and erratic. when he stops, the man finally connects with you.

his rich, umber eyes are the one of the only things you still recognize. behind the severity of his face, there is a softness dancing within them; at his waterline, tears twinkle like diamonds under a jeweler's light. jay has never cried, never felt the touch of someone who loves him for who he is—but, jongseong? jongseong misses that feeling. the freedom of being loved unconditionally, the all-encompassing warmth of not just being seen but being known.

"it wasn't worth you."

[thespiritssaidso]

Just A Pinch of Magic

Summary: Shawn is brewing up a potion. Lassiter is on standby in case something goes wrong (like it always does). 

AKA: PotionMaster/Witch!Shawn and PowerfulWitch!Lassiter

Notes: AAAAHHHH WE’RE FINALLY HERE MY MOST ANTICIPATED DAY ITS HERE!!! 

You guys have no idea how excited I’ve been for this prompt, oh my sweet goodness. Just the thought of Shassie as witches just makes me go dhsjfjsljdkals and just fucking shake /pos 

Anyways, hope you guys enjoy! Literally all of my knowledge of witches and familiars come from a Webtoon I haven’t read in over a year called Accidental Magic (go read it, it’s super cute and hella gay). So I used some of the lore on witches from that along with a little bit of my own twist~

Flufftober day 11: Ingredients and Spells

—————

Shawn leaned over his miniature cauldron, sniffing it and nodding in satisfaction. The liquid inside it bubbled and popped, the consistency resembling that of mud. But it seemed to make the potioneer happy, so it must have been right. 

Ingredients of all kinds scattered the countertop surround the electric stove. Bottles of dried herbs, jars of strange powdery substances, a mortar and pestle filled with some kind of pink glittery paste, and even a small bowl filled past the brim with twigs that sparked from the tips every now and then. 

Carefully, Shawn reached over and pinched a tiny amount of white powder from one of the many. He sprinkled it around the edges of the cauldron and let it sit, allowing it to slowly soak into the mixture. Then he lifted the tip of his pointer finger and hovered it directly over the center of his potion. With extreme concentration, hand trembling from strain, his fingertip glowed a soft yellow. Slowly, it began gathering and soon materialized into a golden liquid, dropping into the cauldron once it grew heavy enough. 

Shawn let out a breath he’d been holding in. That never got any easier, no matter how many times he had to do it. He shook his hand in an attempt to loosen up the muscles.

“Alright, just gotta let that sit for a few minutes. Startinggg… now.” The second he said that, a plume of green smoke erupted from the cauldron, staining the ceiling above. 

Inside the cauldron, the mixture had gone from mud-like to a more liquidy texture, becoming a bright shade of chartreuse where originally it had been brown. 

Quickly, Shawn reached over for the egg timer and slammed it down, setting it to go off in exactly five minutes, no more no less. If it went more than that… ah, it was best not to think about it. 

Behind him, the door opened and in stepped Lassiter with a large black cat – a familiar – draped over his shoulders. It nimbly jumped off of him as he shrugged off his matching black suit jacket. “I’m home!” 

“In the kitchen, Carly!” 

At the sound of the other man’s voice, the cat quickly trotted over to the other room to greet Shawn. Swiftly and full of agileness, it leapt onto the counter – dodging all of the objects with grace – and onto Shawn’s expecting shoulders.

“Smith! Hey buddy! Did you have a fun day with Carly? Catch any bad guys? Ohhh I bet you did! I bet you got all of them, huh?” 

The cat, Smith, purred like a motor and leaned into the finger scratching his cheek. 

Lassiter had gotten Smith when he was only eight, the age when all witches' magic matured. He could remember the naming ceremony like it was yesterday, when he could feel half of his magic being transferred to his cat and turning it into a familiar. 

Commonly, children only kept their familiar until they themselves had also matured enough to handle the full weight of their magic on their own. But Lassiter was a special case. He had so much magic that even now, at his age, if he tried to take it back — which would revert Smith into a regular cat — his body would simply be overwhelmed. No, keeping his familiar was the best choice, for his own health and safety. 

Shawn, on the other hand, didn’t have a familiar. Mostly because of the fact that he simply didn’t have enough magic inside of him to need help regulating. It was why he took to making potions so often, desperate to be part of the magical world in some capacity. 

Lassiter smiled at the sight of his two boys getting along. It felt like just yesterday they were both fighting over who got the detective’s attention at the moment. “If I had to guess, I’d say you liked Shawn more than me, Smith.” 

Smith’s head shot up, as if awakening from a daze, and quickly leapt down to the ground. He began circling Lassiter’s legs, acting as though he’d been there the whole time. 

Lassiter sniffed at the air, slightly wrinkling his nose. “What is that smell?” 

Shawn, not seeing his boyfriend’s slight look of disgust, smiled proudly and gazed at his concoction. “Oh, nothing special. Just a new sleeping draught I’ve been workshopping.” 

Immediately, Lassiter became wary. “Shawn…” 

The fake psychic was a master at potions, although he sometimes really didn’t act it. He loved experimenting and trying to improve on already existing recipes. More often than not he’d just barely miscalculate some ingredient or add it at the wrong time, causing it to explode in his face. 

Or it would, if Lassiter wasn’t always there to cast a containment spell over an unruly potion Shawn had made on a whim. 

But there were moments when Shawn would indeed improve something. One of his most successful modifications had been a newer and easier way to get rid of migraines. That one was one of his favorites.

“Don’t worry! I’ve got it all under control. I added some ground essence of moonlight this time, so it should stabilize it.”

“Should?”

“Well, it either settles after the timer goes off. Or, it… doesn’t.” 

Lassiter ran a hand down an exhausted face. “Well, I’m just glad I got home in time. What if it does something it’s not supposed to and I’m not here?” 

“But it hasn’t! And you’re here now! So if it does go up in flames and fireworks, I know I’ve got you to protect me.” 

“Mmmh… Can’t argue with that logic.”

Smith bumped his head against the detective’s shin and let out a single meow. 

Lassiter raised his eyebrows. “I’m not telling him you said that.” 

“What? What’d he say?” 

“Nothing. How much time did you say until it was done?” 

“Uh, hang on.” Shawn leaned over and checked the egg timer. “Thirty seconds left. If all goes well and it doesn’t explode, I need to add another splash of magic,” he groaned when he said that, “and then stir it counterclockwise with a stick blessed by a druid until it turns dark green.”

Lassiter noticed his less than enthused expression at the notion of having to use his already very limited magic supply. Again. “Does it have to be yours?” 

Shawn immediately caught on to what Lassiter was implying. “Well, that depends. Are you offering? Because you know it won’t work unless you actually say it.” 

“Yes. I’m offering.” 

Just then, the egg timer went off. Almost immediately the potion began to softly whine and let out bright blue sparks. “Crap on a cracker…” Lassiter mumbled under his breath, rushing to the cauldron as fast as he could. 

Like Shawn had earlier, Lassiter held his finger over the concoction. Although he didn’t have to concentrate nearly as much as his boyfriend had to. Almost immediately a drop of golden liquid dripped from the tip of his pointer finger and splashed into the potion. 

The liquid stopped throwing off sparks, and instead began to smoke. 

Lassiter looked at it with mistrust and backed away. “Is it supposed to do that?” 

Instead of answering right away, Shawn began laughing with glee. “Yes! Oh my god, yes! This is great!” He reached over to the bowl of sticks and grabbed the longest one. Without missing a beat he began stirring the potion counterclockwise. 

Nothing changed. The potion stayed the same shade of light green, smoke still pouring out heavily, and Shawn’s grin never wavering. 

“Okay, now I just need to do this until-” 

BOOM

Lassiter, ever the quick thinker, cast a containment spell — a spell he was becoming all too familiar with — faster than he’d ever done in the past. And it was just in time, too. One second later and the entire kitchen would’ve been doused in Shawn’s concoction. 

The two (three if they were counting Smith) stood in shocked silence at the disaster they had just barely managed to avoid. 

Through the cracks of liquid splattered on the transparent dome of Lassiter containment spell, they could see Shawn’s potion raging. It splashed angrily against the walls of the spell, thrashing desperately. 

A bead of sweat ran down Lassiter’s temple and he gripped a hand into a fist in an attempt to strengthen his spell. He waved the other hand, magically supercooling the heating coils of the stove underneath the cauldron. 

Lassiter held on for at least two minutes before the rogue potion finally settled down. He released the spell, and he and Shawn looked to see what the damage was. 

It was a complete mess. The cauldron — one that Shawn had bought recently — had melted halfway, the potion inside spilling all over the counter and onto the floor. 

With another wave of his hand, Lassiter was able to make the disgusting remains disappear to save them the hassle of cleaning it up. 

“Dammit!” Shawn angrily tossed the blessed stick back onto the counter. “I thought I really had something there…” 

“Hey, look, it’s alright. Accidents happen, Shawn.” Lassiter consoled his boyfriend. “What were you trying to modify, anyways?” 

“I was just trying to see if I could make the sleeping draught pineapple flavored. Don’t get me wrong, the grape flavored stuff from the store is great.” Shawn sighed. “I’m- I dunno, getting a little tired of the taste. It got really old really fast.” He looked over where the mess once was. “Back to square one now. Yippee.” 

Lassiter couldn’t help the amused grin. “Pineapple? Really?” 

“Hey! That fruit is a gift to this earth!” 

“Right, of course.” Then he remembered something. “Hey, know what’ll cheer you up?” 

Shawn looked at Lassiter, all previous signs of disappointment completely gone. “Ooo what? What is it?”

Lassiter reached behind his back and into his pocket dimension. His hands closed around the handles of a plastic bag. “Tacos from your favorite food truck,” he dramatically presented the bagged styrofoam boxes that held their food, “and we can watch whatever movie you want.” 

Shawn’s whole demeanor brightened up even more, if that was possible. “Oh Carly, you always know exactly what to say.”

—————

Notes: This was super fun to write! I hope you guys loved it as much as I do <3

ao3 link

[wearesorcerer]

How I Learned that Sleep is a Death Spell

I do not know how word from Mithral Hall had managed to reach the home of the Lórëlindalë in Arvandor nor why it was that I was selected to answer the call. That's probably from hitting my head after falling out of the portal that had opened ten feet above the floor of the stronghold's main receiving hall. Still, my rather abrupt and graceless appearance was not the biggest faux pas an outsider made that day before the shield dwarves. A random elf appearing out of nowhere unceremoniously is nothing compared to a goblin attempting to gain entry by passing himself off as a halfling. Whatever mercy stayed the dwarves' hands proved a godsend, as that goblin was a capable scout and more than willing to aid us. Nor was I alone of the faerie folk to come to the shield dwarves that day. No doubt the fair swordmaster would have wanted a better entrance to make him feel less out of place than he already did. I myself felt sheepish for other reasons: given the two dwarves who joined us -- both in heavy plate, one bristling with weapons of all descriptions, the other a devotee of Moradin -- it seemed a certainty that they'd wanted someone with more insight into the arcane than I had, and it's not like I'd made a good impression of my skills with that performance. As they say in Tethyr, c'est le vie. But beggars cannot be choosers, so despite our discomfiture we were quickly appointed to our task. It was overly simple: enter the Underdark and verify rumors of an impending incursion the drow and perhaps their allies were planning on Mithral Hall. Nothing in the Underdark is ever simple, which probably accounted for our group's great deal of experience relative to such a task. It took maybe an hour of spelunking before we came upon an advance party of hobgoblins; their leaders, one of sorcerous might and another whom I didn't have time to assess, rode their giant lizards high upon the opposite wall of the cavern. We were outnumbered two-to-one. As the dwarves charged, leaving us elves at the chamber's entrance, it became apparent that this was an ambush: our party divided, others set upon us, likely laying in wait. The dubiousness of the early incursion proved coincidental, as our roguish goblin didn't seem to be bound by notions of greatly extended kinship. I say this not because I recall specifically what the goblin did, just that he didn't try to stab us in the ensuing melee. The klink of the warrior dwarf's hammer as it split hobgoblin skulls and was quickly swapped for a variety of other weapons only barely managed to cover the prayers his compatriot intoned to the Forge Father as they held the front line, while my saber and the swordmaster's secret blade-twisting techniques were enough to fend off the few assailants on our end. It took one spell from the sorcerous goblinoid for me to realize we were in trouble. But it did give me an idea. I reached into the purse manpurse large, conspicuous pouch on my side for the only spell components I carry: rose petals. I grabbed a handful, whispered an incantation as I drew my hand up in an arc, and blew. The petals flew towards the ceiling on a swift breeze, forming a cloud around the hobgoblin, then stopped suddenly before imploding upon him. The hobgoblin blinked, shook his head a few times, then went limp as slumber -- and gravity -- took hold of him. He fell. His lieutenant and the lieutenant's lizard mount, being directly underneath him, were unable to get out of the way in time. They, too, fell. All three fell upon the front line, hobgoblin and dwarf alike. But the dwarves are a hale folk and surprisingly nimble for short men with short legs wearing large panels of metal over every inch of their bodies, so in the end were more than fine. Mostly. The same cannot be said for what had remained of the hobgoblin advance party, now a pile of limbs squashed beneath the broken remains of their commanding officers and a horse-sized reptile.

-From an account of an Underdark excursion written by Árëlómion, scion of the Lórëlindalë, moon elf bard.

This was my first Forgotten Realms campaign (though it turned out to be a one-shot), back in late Fall of 2005 (my first semester of undergrad). The DM was a friend of mine (whom I was crushing on hard at the time) and the other players were his suitemates (save one, a mutual; he effectively took the place of the remaining suitemate, who either couldn't or didn't want to play). The other noteworthy bit about the session was that I was experiencing my first bout of acute hyperglycemia: I was not yet diagnosed with type 1 diabetes, but had anyone recognized my thirst and trips to the bathroom for what they were, I would have been a textbook case. I still managed to pull off killing much of the assault squad and ending the combat with a single 1st-level spell (as a ninth-level character, though that didn't affect the spell's save DC or power at the time).

Árëlómion was meant to be the elfiest elf bard that ever did elf bard. "Fop" doesn't even begin to describe him/them. Yes, I dug through a Quenya-English dictionary to make those names. Surprisingly, no, Árëlómion is not a well-made character; I got lucky with the spell working. I have since made the character a cover identity for another, but in looking at the character sheet I'm tempted of rebuilding him/them.

[spectrechosts]

April Fools - Chapters 16-18

As one problem is resolved, another rears it's ugly head.

Full Series

DAY 16: AUTUMN WINDS

And just like that, the heatwave breaks.

The heavy, suffocating, overpowering summer air is swept away by autumn winds, and they carry with them the cool relief of change.

The Queen walks the gardens; admires the flowers before they're gone, the multicolored leaves before they fall. With her as always is the Knight, following a dutiful half-step behind.

And alongside them- not following per se, but orbiting; dancing around the two as if she follows her own path, but never straying from them- is the Fool.

The blooms aren't as beautiful as they were in the spring, but the Knight takes one and gives it to the Queen nonetheless. She takes it, and places a kiss on the Knight's offered hand.

The Fool darts in and takes the Knight's other hand, pressing her lips to it before twirling to the other side of the pair and doing the same to the Queen.

The Knight rolls her eyes as the Fool jingles nimbly away, and the Queen giggles, and all is as it should be.

~~~

DAY 17: MASQUERADES AND MARKS

"I know that I have been overly cautious in the past, but I would like to reiterate that this is a terrible idea."

"Nonsense!" Says the Queen, as she flits about overseeing preparations. "We always have a masquerade ball in the autumn, it's tradition!"

"Will you at least let me guard you?"

"My knight, it's a masquerade ball. If you're beside me the whole time, won't everyone know who I am?"

"Yes, but-"

"And won't I be safer, if I'm hidden?"

"I suppose, but-"

"Hang on-" Interjects the Fool. "You actually can't tell who's who behind those silly masks?"

The Queen tilts her head to the side.

"Weeeeeell, mostly." She says. "It depends on the mask. Mine is pretty good!"

The Queen demonstrates, and her mask is… okay.

It covers her entire face, sure, but there are other ways to identify someone. It's ornate, too ornate to be worn by at least half the attendees. Her hair isn't hidden, her voice is unmuffled- Not to mention all the things no mask could hide: Her height, her build; the Queen is small, not extremely so, but enough to narrow things down. These are all things that the Fool would use to pick out a mark at a masquerade, and so she must assume any would-be assassin will be at least as competent.

"Well, it does look rather fetching." She says. "But I wouldn't count on your anonymity."

The Knight snorts.

"And you're an expert on recognizing people by looking at them, aye?"

"This again? You know as well as I that she gives memorable kisses, I'm not shamed by my memory."

"You should be, methinks. As it is, you're liable to forget me entire."

"How awful that would be! Prithee, aid my recollection!" Says the Fool, sticking her tongue out.

~

The masquerade is wonderful, as it is every year. The Queen mingles, and dances, and makes merry. For one night a year, she isn't viewed by the rest of the nobility as some combination of pity case and obstacle to their own ambitions.

Her knight is around, somewhere. She wears the standard closed helmet of all the other royal guards on this night, and acts in a less personal capacity. She doubtless watches her even now, while she cannot be by her side.

The Fool is more noticeable. She wears no mask, for a jester's paint is mask enough. She is quite drunk, her movements lacking their usual grace and her mood raucous and joyful. She gambols through the crowd, stumbling and crashing into partygoers all the way.

"Quite some party, isn't it?" Says a masked figure beside her.

"Quite a party." The Queen agrees. "Though I dare say I'm not as jolly as Her Majesty's fool."

"I'm thankful for that, the wretched sot damn near bowled me over."

She giggles. "She seems the sort, yes."

"Yes, well, I won't waste your time with idle chatter." Says the masked figure. "Goodbye, Highness."

They walk past her, bumping shoulders as they do. She feels them jab something into her stomach, then smoothly drop it and continue moving.

She blinks and looks down.

The remnants of a banana, mashed flat against her skin, lay on the ground.

"Uh..?" She says, taking a moment to parse what's just happened.

"…What." Whispers the figure, having felt something was off and looked back at their very much unharmed target. They scramble for a weapon, grabbing a knife off a nearby table before the Knight crashes into them, pinning them to the ground.

The Queen just stands there, frozen with shock. "Oh." She says. "Oh my. Oh no, oh no no no no."

She feels a guiding hand at her back, and the Fool shepherds her into a seat as the crowd retreats and gawks.

"Keep calm, Your Majesty. You're safe." She says.

"Oh, oh my poor knight, she's going to be so upset." Says the Queen, shaking her head, and the Fool chuckles.

"You're really something else, you know that?" She says, sitting down beside her and pulling a snack out of her coat. She takes a bite, and then holds it out to the Queen.

"Banana?" She asks, and the Queen squints at her.

~~~

DAY 18: STILETTO AND CROWN

The Fool plinks her confiscated stiletto point down into the table, leaving it stuck.

"Lifted it off 'em a couple minutes before. Didn't like how they watched the crowd."

The Knight picks it up to inspect.

"Doesn't look magic." She says. "Poisoned?"

"Probably?" Says the Fool, shrugging. "Seemed pretty certain they could just stick her and walk away."

The Knight sighs shakily.

"Thank you, truly. I don't know what I would have done, if not for you."

"Don't mention-"

The Fool is cut off by a quick punch to her shoulder.

"Wh- ow!"

"Idiot clown! Did you not think perhaps to accost them!?"

"Hey!" Whines the Fool. "We aren't all armored brutes! You would have me tackle an assassin?"

"Not tackle." Hisses the Knight, and the Fool blinks.

"Oh!" She says. "Well, you should have said before. I assumed you would want them jailed, all proper like."

The Knight grumbles, and the Fool gently places a hand over hers.

"She's safe, fair knight. They failed."

"They failed this time." The Knight counters.

"And every failure makes it harder for them to try again. We'll get her through this, just-"

The Fool pauses.

"Hang on."

She quickly strides to the door to the Queen's chambers and pulls it open, and the Queen stumbles into her arms.

"You are meant to be in bed, my sickly sweet." The Fool says softly, wiping sweat from her brow.

Her Majesty doesn't do well in the damp cold of autumn. Illness abounds, and hits her harder than most. In the wake of the ball she is wracked with fever and an awful, wet, cough.

"I can hear you, talking out here." She says. "But I can't make out the words from my bed. 's infuriating."

"I'm sorry, Majesty. We'll be quieter; please, try to rest." The Knight says, and she tries to guide the Queen back into bed only to be shooed away by a weakly flailing arm.

"Nooo!" Mumbles the Queen. "'m fine, let me listen." She insists, as she escapes both of their grips and slumps against the doorframe. "Have you gotten anything out of my would-be killer?"

The Knight grimaces, watching the Queen slide slowly downward.

"Here, we can move the conversation into your room-" She starts, and the Queen shoos her away again.

"No! I like it here. I want to be on the floor." She says, and the Fool shrugs, and the Knight begrudgingly lets her be as she finishes her slow descent. "Mm. Floor time."

She fetches a thin sheet from the Queen's bed and drapes it over her before continuing.

"They won't talk. Say they'll just wait for the new king to let them go."

"New king, eh?"

"Tell 'em I'll let them go if they tell us. No hard feelings." Murmurs the Queen.

"King, yeah. Which narrows things down, but not a lot. We can rule out any unmarried women, for this assassination plot anyway."

"And if they don't tell us, then we have 'em executed right now. See their king save 'em from that." She continues, half listening.

"Well if we solve this assassination plot hopefully anyone else thinking about it will think twice." Says the Fool.

The Knight grunts. "'Hopefully' is doing a lot of work, there."

"Could I have some water please?" Asks the Queen, after a short coughing fit; and her knight is up before she's finished asking.

"Of course, I'll be right back Highness."

She leaves, and the Fool joins the Queen on the floor.

"Hello, Your Majesty."

"Hello, my charming fool." The Queen says, smiling weakly. "I didn't tell you. The banana thing, where you stole their knife and replaced it with a banana? That was funny."

"Thank you, Highness."

"Tried to kill me with a banana, how absurd."

"I know, Highness." Says the Fool, straight-faced. "That shit was bananas."

[fayamn]

Feedee or Feeder: Bridget

This is two scenes with Bridget from Guilty Gear as a feedee or a feeder. Gender neutral reader.

Feedee Bridget

E-Easy as pie...! Ayayay... I'm so full... It's fine I can count on you to prepare my food without the stuff I dislike... Yeah, you know it! Bitter herbs and shiitake mushrooms, bleh... It's not like there is space for that between the sweets and the greasy food huh? It's no good, you're filling me on quite the unhealthy diet... Don't you worry about that, I love all of it. The food, the extra weight, the attention... You just have to accept you've made it hell for me to find cute clothes, meanie! Wait! No fair! You can't threaten me with giving me less food! I know you enjoy this at least as much as I do. And you can't deny it, I almost have the imprint of your hands on my belly by now. All right feed me more, I really want to make my wasted bounty hunting career worth every single pound.

Hmph! Wait! Too fast! My limit? I'm just getting started! You're too eager, my cuteness requires you to be more gentle and - UuurRrrp! Oh... That wasn't very professional of me... Not that there much professional left on display here, except professional eater. And professional cutie of course, you're right. Hmmm... I know you wanted me to keep the handcuff hula-hoop around my waist until my absolute limit... Well... It's now... Oh, I'm dizzy... It's too tight, help me remove it! Hmmm... Aha! Much better! Behold! Unleashed lard! Oh I look so much fatter without that pressing in... I know there's no way I'm ever putting it back on, you're making sure of that - umf! Right Now by schtuffing my fache even - ulp! More. You can wait between two sentences you know, I'm not going anywhere! Urp...

Slow, huh? Of course look at what a blimp you made me! I'm short too, so my BMI shot through the roof... And I'm definitely not burning calories and yo-yo tricks and moving... Don't tell me you think those clumsy weak fat hands are for holding anything more than junk food now! And my flabby legs are for jumping around, I'm not getting an inch off the ground. I'm not even getting off my butt most of the time anyways. Hmph! Woopsies! Oh yeah that was definitely my skirt... Appropriate that my butt ruined it when I was talking about it. It's okay don't bother trying to retrieve it now, no spelunking of my fat rolls until you're done feeding me. Going easy on me? Does it look like I can't take it? Keep the calories coming, I need more belly to cover any indecent parts, and to have more of the cutest thing around~

UuuUurrrRrpp!... Oof! How's this? Okay now I'm reeaaally getting stuffed... Which means... Time to get your hands on my gut. How yeah it's huge and soft and heavy? You bet, I only have the biggest and fattest belly around. So, happy to have engorged, fattened, plumped me this much? Reaching down for the skirt? Good luck digging it out, I'm not budging while you're all up on me, it's too good. Hehe, got you! Did I fluster you pushing your head in my belly fat? S-Stop! You're making me blush~ Ah, your hands feel so good yes! Knead my plump fat dough, I'm so stretched from the stuffing but there is too much blubber on top you can even barely feel it. And what I'm digesting now is gonna make me so much fatter than now, a poor little obese thing that is filling our couch.

Now now, help me get up! I want to lie down, and we're gonna have a way better time in the bedroom anyways. Haaa... Haaa... And I'm up, aha! Huff... Look what I can do! I can stand, I can waddle... Enjoying the show of my gut reaching my thighs? You better, it's not going anywhere. What? No, I'm not jumping, I'm already tired!... Fine, I wanna try too. And... Whao! What happened? I didn't leave the ground did I? But that noise the planks made... That was scary. I better go to the bed before I break something. Well, might break the bed soon given how I'm overfed like a piggy. Aaah, finally! I'm not the nimble thin cutie I used to be... Now I'm a ton more cute~ Well, not yet. You know what? That little walk freed some space in my stomach that requires a snack...

Feeder Bridget

Whoever you are, welcome to the show! Too slow! Whoop, caught ya! Too easy! Mind holding yourself right in my yo-yo string for a while? Let me give your face a good look. Oh, you're cute... But I'm way cuter. And also I don't have a bounty on my face, meanwhile you have, and I'm going to be the one who claims it. You're not going to resist if I unbind you? Yeah, would have guessed you'd try and be a pain in my butt. Guess it's time for plan B then. Or F, for Fattening. Oh yeah, I've tried it before, it's effective at pacifying baddies like you. Oh, I wouldn't? Don't underestimate the cute ones! You already did, that's why you're bound and on the floor, and you're the one of us that is going to be morbidly obese and all docile soon. How's that? Woo boy... I'm definitely going to prefer you with cheeks too puffed up to protest.

Of course I'm prepared for that, I gotta admit it's super fun. How about a treat? Take this! Here we go! The little candy I made you swallow is just gonna make you fat. How did I get that? Money can get you a lot. Looking plushier already. And it's just the beginning! My yo-yo string is starting to feel snug huh? Don't worry, you won't break it, it's pretty solid. Not soft, unlike what you're getting. What's this, getting tubby aren't you? Ripping? Oh, that's your clothes, still not my yo-yo. Let me check those legs... Yeah should be fine, those are soft and plump now~ Here's a bonus! I should have told you before, but the fat forms by reducing your muscles, so you're gonna feel extra weak. And you're gonna feel that because you'll be. As soft and weak as a plushie!

Here you go. Get going! You're free! Are you even trying? Just kidding of course. must be so hard to be obese and weak now. Aha, you're waddling already? Out of breath... Come on, you're not that fat. You're still squeezed in your clothes! Although that's not an outfit I'd be going outside with. Huh, you're kidding me? So not cute, I'm glad I made you ruin it with lard. Too bad there aren't any cute outfits that's going to fit you once I'm done fattening you up. You thought it was over? Not done yet~ The first candy did well, but I'm sure you're gonna try something, you're not fat enough! Want some more? No? Come on, you'll love this! Oh of course it's too much. I don't know the meaning of quit. And you just had not to act tough. Aren't you happy you're given attention and a new body?

Here it goes! You're growing again! Aww, it's already too late for escaping... How slow do you waddle? My casual walking outpaces you. Aaah, giving up, that's more like it. Or is it the lack of muscles in your legs now with the extra blubber to lug around? Oh you're so tired. You're done! Just as your clothes, geez. It's so indecent... Luckily you have a natural apron to hide your crotch huh? Might have to roll you in now. I hope they'll recognize you with your bounty poster, because that lard has made you quite the disguise. I guess we'll find out when we get there. What's that look? Embarrassed? I mean, you should be, you're a bloated fatty standing in the shreds of your former clothes, just for being caught for your bounty by the cutest bounty hunter there is.

There! Come here... Oh, you won't move now? How frustrating! What can I do... It's not my first bounty not cooperating after extreme obesity you know? And I know exactly what to do with a piggy your size. Aww, blushing? Read you like a book. You're enjoying this, all of this, right fatty? Come on, you like having a cutie like me groping you, teasing you? What a wonderful thing I did to engorge you like you're cattle, don't you think? I'll charge up your batteries for you to walk, a massage of your massive body will be enough huh? Let me press right there... Aww, what a cute burp. Good, I'm sure you're going to enjoy it. I might give you a treat too if you beg enough. And if that's not enough to make you follow me, I guess I'll have to drag you in with my yo-yo string around your neck like a leash. Are you ready? Because I sure am!