#i❤️sprinkles

[sayurinn]

Good morning la squadrians!!! If you’re even out there…😔💔 ghiaccio somehow became one of my favorite jojo characters despite being in only like 3 episodes and being annoying, irritating, and stupid the entire time… so here’s a ghiaccio drawing and some la squadra doodles :-)

^^^ these are charm wips… still deciding on a final style so if you have opinions lmk ;D

[sunsetsandsunshine]

~ 𝙲𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚙𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚔𝚒𝚗 𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 ~

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝚆𝙰𝚂𝚂𝚄𝙿 𝚈’𝙰𝙻𝙻 🔥⁉️ 𝙵𝙸𝙽𝙰𝙻𝙻𝚈 𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝙸𝙽 𝙱𝚄𝙸𝚂𝙽𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝚆𝚁𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰𝙶𝙰𝙸𝙽— 𝙴𝚇𝙿𝙴𝙲𝚃 𝙰 𝙻𝙾𝚃𝚃𝚃𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝙵𝙸𝙲𝚂 𝙱𝙲 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙼𝙰𝚃𝙷 𝙸𝚂 𝙼𝙰𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚁𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟻,𝟽𝟶𝟿

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 🐢🧡 (𝚂𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚁𝚊𝚙𝚑 🐢❤️)

𝙻𝚎𝚛: 𝚁𝚊𝚙𝚑 🐢❤️ (𝚂𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 🐢🧡)

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚍, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜, 𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚁𝚊𝚙𝚑’𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚖.

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝚃*𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝙳𝙽𝙸 𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜— 𝚢’𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚢 <𝟹)

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜 𝚋𝚌 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝: @tiggleebug @tmnt-th1ngs @creativecutie

@veryblushyswitch @snugglyfluffle @kanene-yaaay

@someone1348 @vxlepop @what-youd-expect

@ziipzeepzop-eez @my-l0v3r-v3rse @skye-minecraftyt-blog

@augonot @soft--dragon @titters-and-tingles

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐— 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚓𝚊𝚖, 𝚙𝚕𝚣 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 ❤️🧡

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙷𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢!˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

“No.”

“But Raph—”

“No.”

“But Raphie—”

“No.”

“But—”

“I literally just said no, Mikey.”

“But Raaaaaaphhhh, I’m bored!” The youngest groaned, flopping onto the second oldest’s bed dramatically. The second oldest in question raised an unamused brow, looking up from his comic where his little brother laid in front of him. The red banded turtle sighed, going back to reading his novel calmly and ignoring the younger turtle completely. 

Now, if you couldn’t tell by Mikey’s whole demeanor, or the fact that he just stated so…he was bored. VERY bored. EXTREMELY bored. 

TREMENDOUSLY bored if you will.

And if the youngest was bored, you’d best believe you’d hear him complaining all day in and all day out until he found something to occupy himself with. And Raph? Well, the young teen personally did not have the time nor patience to deal with all of that today. 

Or any day really.

“For the millionth time, Mike— I’m busy. Go bother Don or somethin'.” The hot-head grumbled, flipping through the pages of the comic book he was currently reading. The other rolled his eyes, turning his head to his older brother, “Don’t you think I already did that?” Raph chuckled at the statement. “Oh really? And how’d that go?”

“He threw a beaker at me…but I think it had acid in it—“

Raph visibly shuddered, “Okie-dokie then. Another reason for you to get out of my room. Buh-bye. Sayonara. Thanks for stopping by. Adios amigo.” He demanded, pushing Mikey’s face with his foot but the youngest stubbornly stood his ground. He pushed back with his head until the other eventually gave up, throwing his comic book at him in frustration. 

Mikey got up from the bed, annoyingly whining again.

“Just do an activity with me or something…! He huffed, shaking Raph by the shoulders back and forth. “I can show you the way out of my room! That can be an activity we can do together!” The red banded teen smiled with a fake sweet tone, which only caused the other’s frown to deepen. 

“I’ll never ask you for anything ever agaiiiiinnn! Just do something with meeee! Pleeaseee?!” Raph had to bite back a grin when he heard that bargain. In the next 5 minutes, Mikey would probably ask him to do the hokey-pokey or some shit like that. The second oldest let out a long yet playful sigh, rubbing his temples before crossing his arms. “Fine fine…what do you wanna do?” 

The youngest blinked, rubbing the back of his head and looking away for a bit. Well…Raph was surprisingly easy to convince today. It usually took him a solid 2 hours and 30 minutes (he’s counted) until he cracked. Usually 1 hour and 15 minutes on a good day…

“That’s…a very good question…I’ll get back to you on that…” The smaller turtle muttered. Raph tilted his head in complete and utter disbelief. “You came in here harassing me for, like, an hour straight talking about how you wanna spend time with me and now you don’t even know what you wanna do?!”

“I’m thinking, okay?! Don’t get your tits in a twist!” Mikey huffed at his older brother. 

“Don’t get my what in a what???”

The youngest then suddenly snapped his fingers, smiling brightly and turning to the second oldest, “We should play a video game!”

“Like…Fall Guys or something? Dude, I’ve beat you anytime we’ve played two player. Just accept your many MANY losses.” The green eyed mutant teased, laughing at the offended expression Mikey was giving him now.

“I think you might have hit your head a bit too hard when we came from the ooze, my dear friend. Because I clearly remember you losing when we were playing last weekend.” The orange banded teen challenged, sticking his tongue out at Raph who only scoffed in amusement, resting his hand on his hip. 

“I was being a good big brother and let you win.” He retorted. Mikey rolled his eyes, knowing full damn well Raph just sucked absolute ass and didn’t want to admit it. “Yeah yeah, whatever. But, no. I have an even better thing in mind. And it’s a board game.”

A pause.

“…so are you gonna tell me what the board game is?” Raph asked impatiently. 

“I’m pausing for emphasis! I request a drumroll, please.” 

…oh for the love of…

Raph sighed, drumming his hands on his bed for a couple seconds before stopping, waiting for Mikey to tell him the name of this soooo special game that he couldn’t just tell him already.

Because emphasis or whatever.

“Twister!” Mikey smiled, clapping his hands excitedly. “Twister.” Raph repeated, his eye-ridges (is that what they’re called—? Idk…) raising in surprise as he scratched the top of his head confused. “Why Twister of all things? We haven’t played that game since we were, like, 7.”

The blue-eyed mutant shrugged, leaning against his big brother’s beside and lazily checking his nails. “Eh. No reason. Just what first came to mind. What? Afraid you’ll lose, Raphie boy~?” He smirked, looking up at the taller green eyed mutant who only chuckled at his taunt. 

“Oh please. That game is so easy I could play it in my sleep.” He smirked, looking down at Mikey who only had a satisfied grin plastered on his face.

Raph was lying— lying right through his teeth in fact. He wasn’t good at Twister— he wasn’t even semi-good. He didn’t even qualify anywhere near semi-good when it came to Twister. Raph wasn’t the most…flexible turtle of the bunch, which made it hard to do some, if not most of the poses Twister had conjured up for you. 

And usually, he wouldn’t care so much about losing a game. Heck, it was Twister for crying out loud. But Raphael grew up with a family of competitors.

And so, he was competitive. Very competitive.

He didn’t like to lose— in fact, he hated losing. He’d rather beat up Kraang droids all day than lose. 

Well…he’d beat up Kraang droids any day but that’s beside the point! 

Point was, he absolutely sucked at Twister, period. And personally? It wouldn’t be so bad if he was going against Leo, heck— even Casey Goongala Jones himself would be a better opponent than Mikey.

If Mikey won (which he always did), he would make sure you knew all day in and all day out that he beat you. It was annoying as hell and that would only fuel Mikey more into reminding you that you lost against him. 

And like stated before…Raph did not like losing. He didn’t like it one bit. 

The elder straightened up his slouched posture, extending his hand to do a hand shake, which the youngest gladly accepted. “I accept your offer. But don’t be disappointed when I completely annihilate you.”  

“We’ll see about that.” Mikey chirped, grabbing Raph’s arm and almost soaring out of the room with him. 

Aaaaand so that’s where the two were now; spreading the well known dotted mat onto the floor carefully in front of the TV. The two spun a couple times already, the positions that were being requested weren’t hard. At first…just subtle movements here and there. Until Raph had his whole arm underneath Mikey and Mikey had his whole arm under Raph’s…

And by 12 turn’s, they were intertwining each other like a bunch of yarn. Raph, surprisingly, was doing really well. His stance being something along the lines of a downwards dog and a corpse pose— if that makes sense. Which it doesn’t. Because it’s Twister. Twister doesn’t make any sense in the slightest. 

Mikey on the other hand, was not doing so hot. His stance was just basically the Family Guy dead pose but just slightly standing. With every spin of that darn evil plastic wheel, the younger teen seemed to be getting more and more difficult adjustments, while Raph barely had to move a finger. Or…limb in this case. 

The turtle gods were on his big brother’s side today and Mikey was not having it. 

“Doing alright, bro?” The hot-head smugly asked, his voice a little strained due to the odd positing but a teasing grin was on his face nonetheless. “You’re shaking a bit there…” He mused at his little brother, whose limbs were shaking like a bunch of conjoined jello conjoined.

The smaller mutant then fixed his footing, not shaking anymore as he looked up at Raph, smirking smugly right back at him. “Oh I’m fine, big bro. Just. Fine.” The orange banded turtle gritted out.

Now, Mikey wasn’t going to lie, but this whole Twister thing was starting to not seem like such a good idea. His older brother was a complete abomination when it came to Twister! But apparently, he seemed like he was getting every single easy position, and he was doing a pretty decent job at it— and Raph…Raphael has NEVER done decent! 

Mikey, on the other hand, was struggling. He might as well become the actual mascot for the game or something because his arms and legs were getting twisted like actual Twizzlers. It’s probably not even normal for his body to twist like this, but hey! He’s not losing and that’s all that matters, right? 

But he couldn’t keep this act on forever. He was going to fall sooner or later if he didn’t do something fast. 

The younger tried to move to spin the wheel but almost fell in the process; catching himself at the last second. “Yeah…I won’t be able to reach it…” The elder hummed in acknowledgement, also attempting to spin the wheel but ultimately failing as well.

Conveniently, a couple seconds later, the eldest turtle of the four quadruplets walked out of his room, walking into the lounge area where the two were playing Twister. Leo looked the two up and down before sighing, rubbing his face tiredly.

“It’s too early for this…” He grumbled, going to the kitchen to refill his tea cup. Raph and Mikey shared a confused glance with each other, before looking at the other turtle with even more confusion.

“It’s 4 in the afternoon…” The youngest giggled. Leo turned around, glaring at the both of them. And if looks could kill…Mikey would’ve been nothing but a bare shell.

“Yeah. And my statement still stands. It’s too early for this…” The blue banded turtle repeated, taking a sip of a now full tea cup. “Now. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go read some Captain Ryan x reader fanfiction…” He grumbled with the most deadpanned face and voice ever, but you could tell by the sparkle in his eyes that he was genuinely excited.

The young leader was probably too tired to acknowledge what he just said…oh well. More blackmail for Mikey then.

“Leo, wait! We need you to spin the spinny thingie!” The second oldest yelled in impatience. This stance was starting to hurt like shell! And losing is not an option here!

Leo turned around, looking his brother up and down again before sipping his tea again. “Do it yourself.” 

“I can’t, wise guy! The spinny whatchamacallit is all the way over there! If I try to spin it, I’ll lose!” Raph explained which only resulted in Leo blinking once before rolling his eyes.

“Then lose.” And with that, the young leader walked to his room, chuckling a bit to himself as he closed his door. “Smug bastard…” The red banded turtle grumbled under his breath.

After a few moments of thinking, Mikey decided he needed to do something to try and get an advantage in this game. That’s when he reached up with one hand and jabbed Raph in the side lightly.

The elder flinched violently, drawing out a surprised and loud shriek, but stubbornly staying in the same position he was before. The second oldest glared at his younger brother, who had the most innocent smile plastered on his face.

“Michelangelo. Hamato.” He warned, his glare hardening. “Poke me again and see what happens.” He said threateningly, which only caused the younger in question to innocently bat his eyes at him, continuously poking around his side.

“Mihihike— shihihit!” Raph cursed, trying to squirm out of reach of the poking with the little room he had. Mikey continued to tickle him, now moving his fingers to scribble on his stomach, which obviously made Raph shriek louder.

“MIHIHIKEY!” 

“Aw…there’s that smile!” The youngest grinned. And finally, to the smaller turtle’s delight, the older fell down on his shell, officially concluding the game and granting Mikey his 100% hard earned victory. 

“I won!” The menace giggled, doing a small little victory dance on the mat before he made eye contact with Raph— who looked like he was ready to KILL.

Victory dance over. Victory dance WAY WAY over. 

The younger got up almost immediately, quickly backing away as the other turtle scaringly followed right behind him. “W-Wait wahait…dude, bro, my man…we can talk about this! We can talk this out like the civilized mature mutants we are! There’s noho need to doohoo anything drahastic…” He rambled, taking multiple upon multiple steps back as Raph inched closer and closer towards him, game obviously loooong forgotten at this point.

The elder cracked his knuckles, an evil smirk spreading across his face almost like a wildfire. And that, ladies and gentleman, was enough evidence for Mikey to know that he was absolutely in for it.

The youngest bolted for Donnie’s lab, running as fast as his little legs could carry him, only to be hoisted onto his big brother’s shoulder as the red banded turtle walked back to the lounge area.

Nervous giggles escaped Mikey’s mouth as he tried to get out of his older brother’s grip, squirming, pushing, kicking— basically all the things he could do in this oh-so-horrible-situation-that-he-definitely-did-not-plan-out-what-so-ever!

Raph put Mikey on the ground, sitting on his legs. “Mihike, I haven’t even done anything yet...” He commented at the squirmy giggly mess that was his youngest brother. Mikey snickered, a small blush creeping to his face. “Shuhut it!“ He squeaked as he felt three fingers on his sides, not moving but just resting there in anticipation. 

The youngest helplessly held the taller turtle’s wrists, shaking his head back and forth while sputtering out giggly pleases as his eyes were closed shut. “What’s gotten you so giggly?” Raph asked innocently, smirking down at his baby brother who was currently losing his mind.

“Just gehehet it oveheher wihith already!” He giggled desperately. If getting absolutely wrecked wasn’t gonna kill him…then the anticipation definitely would.

“Get whahat over with, Mike? I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about…” The orange banded turtle lightly smacked at Raph’s arm, loving and hating every single second of this. Mikey looked to the side, hiding his head in his shell a tiny bit out of embarrassment. 

“Is there…something specific you’re talking about? Something oh-so embarrassing that you apparently can’t even say it out loud?” Raph grinned, his fingers clamping lightly on his sides as the other giggly whined in annoyance and desperation. 

“Will yohou plehease juhust tihihickle me already???” The smallest turtle squeaked; the last part barely audible to the turtle ear and of course Raph felt the need to comment on it. 

“Hm? What was that~? I couldn’t quite hear you…” He smirked, his fingers twitching against the other’s sides. 

“Rahaph!!”

“You gotta speak louder, bud. I can hardly hear you.”

“Rahahaphie plehease!”

“Well since you asked so nicely…” Raphael smiled, starting to actually tickle Mikey’s sides now.

“You know, you could have just…told me you wanted me to tickle you, instead of doing the whole ‘let’s play Twister’ bullshit.” The taller turtle stated calmly, only causing Mikey’s blush to deepen. 

Was he seriously that easy to read? Well that’s embarrassing…he honestly thought he had his older brother fooled with the whole ‘Let’s play Twister bullshit.’

Random fun fact, one of the best and worst things about being tickled by Raph was that he could just casually say the t-word as if it was an everyday word as you can see.

Well…in retrospect it is an everyday word.

But it’s a very embarrassing everyday word.

A very VERY embarrassing everyday word.

And you best believe he always used it as an advantage to gain the upper hand in every situation. Whether he was tickling one of his brothers or not…you bet he would randomly use it in a sentence.

“Literally what are you talking aboHOUT?” Mikey screeched as Raph prodded and poked his lower ribs. “Oh, don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I mean.” The second oldest smirked. “Playing duhumb is not my forte— thahat was yohou duhuhuring Twister.” Mikey managed to giggle out.

Raph sent daggers to Mikey as he pinned one of his hands to the carpeted floor, digging his free hand into his exposed underarm. 

The blue eyed mutant automatically squawked at the sudden sensation, trying desperately to pull his arm back down. The other let out a satisfied huff from the noise, “You were saying~?”

 “ScREHEHEW YOHOU!” He squawked. Raph flinched slightly at the turtle belle’s sudden yell but chuckled at it nonetheless. Oh this is gonna be so so easy…

Mikey’s feet helplessly kicked behind Raph, his legs going up into the air every so slightly every now and again. “Your gonna break the sound barrier with all that screaming, baby brother...” Raph commented.

“But, you okay? You’re voice raised a bit there…” He asked as he heard Mikey’s laughter spike up suddenly. The youngest wiped a couple happy tears from his eyes, giggling still. “Yeah, yeah…I’m okay…”

Raph nodded at the response, rubbing some of the ghost tickles away before going back to tickling him, now squeezing his hip area.

The freckled turtle’s eyes completely shot out of his sockets as and of course his big brother had to make a smart remark.

“Uh oh…did I happen to find a bad spot?” Raph smirked, raising a brow as the younger shook his head back and forth. “NOHO! NAHAT THEHERE! RAHAPH! PLEHEASE!” The teenager cackled loudly, grabbing the other’s wrists but making no attempt to push them away of course.

“Not there?? Whaddya mean not there~? You mean right…here?” Raph giggled, “Right here? Is this a bad spot, Mike?” He questioned innocently.

“RAHAPH *squeak* PLEHEASE!” Mikey squealed. “Please what? I can’t understand you because of my little brother’s mouse squeaks. Sorry man…” Raph said as he dramatically wiped a tear from his eye, before going back to tickling Mikey’s hip area.

“SHUHU— *squeak* SHUHUT UHUP!”

At times like this, you would not question the fact that Mikey’s Dad is a 6'2 rat mutant. Just listening to his laugh you could hear the resemblance.

“My gahaHAHASH! JuhUST STAHAP!” He whined throughout his laughter as Raph continued to knead his hip bones, causing Mikey’s laughter to rise in volume tremendously now and again.

The youngest arched his back with a loud squeal, pushing on his older brother’s wrists again as he tried to turn himself so his shell was facing upward.

“Now where do you think your goin'?” Raph snickered, now using both his hands to tickle Mikey’s underarms now, instead of just tickling one.

“WAHAHAIT! WAHA— *squeal* WAHAIT! IHIHIT TIHI— *squeak* NAHAHAH!” The youngest stammered through his laughter, his bandana long gone off of his face due to how much he was squirming around.

“It tickles? Ya don’t say.” Raph deadpanned, snickering at the small squeal the turtle below him let out after the comment. “Can Dr. Name-Einstein not take what he dishes out~?” He continued, digging deeper in Mikey’s underarms.

“Tickle tickle tickle~!”

“NoHOH—!”

“Tickle tickle~! Kitchie kitchie coo~!”

“SHUHUT— *squeak* SHUHUT YOUR MOHOUTH!”

“Aww…well, that’s not very nice, now is it?” The green eyed teen fake pouted, continuing to tickle Mikey’s underarms, but slipping his hands out every now and again to poke the other’s neck lightly before going back in.

“Ahh tkltkltkl….ahh tkltkltkl— what? I’m abbreviating it for you because you hate that word soooo much, see? Ahh tkltkltkl…”

“IHI’M GOHONNA MUHUHURDER YOHOU!” The youngest shrieked, banging his heels on the floor in a futile attempt to escape his big brother’s VERY mean comments. “Oh yeah? You and with what hands, little man~?” Raph grinned, grabbing both of Mikey’s wrists to put above his head, scribbling all over his stomach.

Mikey’s hyena cackling only raised in volume after that. Raph evil laughed at the reaction, chuckling to himself as he tickled the younger to pieces.

“Woah. I think I hit the jackpot…what do you think, Mike?”

Mikey squeaked.

“Yeah, I think so too.”

Behind all the evil laughing and teasing, Raph took glances at his baby brother’s face every now and again to make sure that he was actually enjoying himself; and that he wasn’t uncomfortable in any way.

…And before you even think of calling him a softie for thinking this, being a softie and being caring are two completely different things.

Don’t get them twisted.

Anyways, even if Raph never openly says so or displays so…he genuinely cares about his brothers, and if he ever hurt them in any way, physically or mentally…just know that he’s taking that with him to the grave. No further questions asked.

Unfortunately for the youngest, this didn’t mean Raph would be merciful while tickling him in any way, shape, or form right now…

But Raph didn’t want his baby brother’s voice disappearing all the way to Timbuktu, so stopping right now would suffice.

The older turtle ceased his tickling onslaught, crossing his arms across his plastron to glance at the flustered and oh-so giggly mess he created.

“Yohou…suhuck…” The maskless turtle giggled, refusing to look at his big brother who just snickered at the purely adorable behavior.

“Yohou okay?” The elder turtle asked, “Like seriously, I didn’t hurt you or anything, right?” He asked genuinely. And now wasn’t that sweet? Asking if someone was okay after almost committing a first degree murder to said person. Yeah. Reeeeaaal sweet alright.

“Mhm…yeah I’m okahay…” He nodded, sitting up slightly to look for his mask that flew over to who knows where.

”I don’t remember your stomach being that ticklish, Mike.” Raph teased, snickering softly at his comment which Mikey only rolled his eyes to. “Whehell, my neck isn’t embarrassingly sehensitive. Especially the bahahack ohof ihihit. I don’t thihink yohou can relate, but I’m juhust putting thahat out there…”

…Remember how I said Raph loved his brother very dearly? Well…forget it. Stopping right now would not suffice. It would do anything but suffice.

The hot-head simply gave his little brother a look that would be known as the look of ‘You are getting your shell HANDED to you.’ Now Leonardo was the turtle who invented this scary yet effective gaze (because of course he did…)

And so naturally, the look got passed down to Raph. Then to Donnie. And even Splinter found a way how to.

The youngest on the other hand, never really had any reason to learn the look, as he had wonderful looks of his own. Obviously.

But now…he was kinda wishing he did, so that the look didn’t look so scary (see what I did there? I’m hilarious, I know)

“I-Ihi’m sohorry?” Mikey giggled out meekly, immediately going to grab Raph’s wrists again for, like, the hundredth time in the past hour.

Sometimes it’s best to keep your comments to yourself…even if you are spitting straight up facts…

“Oho you will be sorry.” The elder effortlessly grabbed his baby brother’s wrists, slowly bringing his head down towards the other’s stomach. Mikey kicked his knees into Raph’s shell, hoping to at least faze him, but all his attempts to stop his brother were in vain as the other took in a deep breath and lowered his head at an agonizingly slow pace to his plastron...

“W-WAHAIT! RAHAH— *squeal* PLEHEASE!!!” However, even if you’re a strong, cool and fast mutant like Mikey himself here, you would never be able to go up against the power of an older sibling in a tickle fight (a very one-sided tickle fight but a tickle fight nonetheless…)

Raph had to stop to chuckle at the wriggly mess that was his baby brother— the dude was wriggling and giggling like he planted some drug in him! And he hasn’t even done anything to him!

Yet, anyway…

“SHUHUT UP! STAHAP LAHAUGHING AHAT MEEHEE!” The youngest screeched as he felt his mind going on an anticipatory rollercoaster, thrashing in his big brother’s hold which he knew he was never getting out of. Well…acceptance is the first step to anything right?

“PLEHEASE! IHI’M— *squeak* SOHORRY!” Mikey cried, now frantically trying to get out of the hold. Screw acceptance. Mikey didn’t want to see heaven’s gates early. And besides, he has a slice of pizza in the fridge that he’s been dying to eat. So dying right here, right now, isn’t an option.

Raph hummed in amusement, “Oho yeheah? Where were all these apologizes when you made me lose in Twister?” Mikey giggled, “Ihit’s nahat MYHY fault YOHOU suhuck at gahames! Ehespecially board games. Ahahand video gahames…dohoo I have to go ohon?”

Raph was shocked as he was impressed. The pure nerve of this teen. Mikey definitely got that attitude from him…that’s for sure. “Okahay that’s it. No more mister nice turtle…”

“Sihince whEHEN were yOHOU NIHICE?”

Instead of making another sassy remark back, Raph tightened the grip of his hands on Mikey’s wrists slightly, lowering his head to his little brother’s stomach and taking a huge breath…

“RAHAPH— nohoHO— WAHAIT! RAHaph dUHUDE PLEHEASE!” Mikey rambled through his laughter, shaking his head back and forth with his eyes shut. Oh…this was gonna tickle so freaking bad. Maybe instead of provoking Raph he should of just tickled himself— because Michelangelo would not come out of the lounge area ALIVE after this. 

With one last evil chuckle, the elder lowered his head to the center of Mikey’s plastron and…well, let’s just say all of New York City presumably heard the high-pitched shriek that ascended out of the youngest’s mouth.

Raph was mean. He was the definition of mean. He might as well be cast as the next Regina George if Mean Girls gets another reboot because this. was. mean.

Because not only was this smug dunderhead blowing raspberries on his stomach without barely taking any breath’s (kinda impressive honestly), but he also was using one hand to squeeze directly on Mikey’s knee.

Evil. Pure evil.

And you would think that it was pretty nice of Raph to let one of his hands go so he could at least attempt to escape, right? Well the youngest’s free hand was too busy happy stimming in order to do said task…so he’s kinda-sorta-maybe-possibly stuck

“I don’t remember you being this sensitive to raspberries when we were little…” The elder teen commented in between his breaths. Because…honestly. Did Donnie make Mikey one of his nerd concoctions to make the youngest embarrassingly ticklish or has he always been like this? Because there’s no way he should be giggling and wriggling this much.

“IHIT’S NAHAT MY FAHAULT!” And it wasn’t! It’s not Mikey’s fault he’s a literal walking talking tickle spot! Besides, you haven’t met walking talking tickle spot until you’ve met Leo.

“It tickles that bad, huh?” Raph laughed at the inhuman screeches coming from the teen below him. “SHUHUT— *squeak* SHUHUT UHUHAHAHA—!” The youngest cackled loudly, still kicking Raph at the back of his shell with his knees.

Now, was kicking Raph in the shell going to do him any favors in the long run? Most likely not. He’s still getting tickled to pieces and no matter how much he bucked, wriggled, writhed, or squirmed from side to side, Raph’s grip would remain the same until he felt like letting go. His hold was scaringingly better than his nunchucks— and that’s saying a LOT. 

The smaller turtle just helplessly kicked behind him, just laying there and laughing his heart out. Raph took a glance at his younger brother and his snarky, evil smirk turned into a fond smile, he shook his head, laughing to himself. 

“Y'know…Leo is just a couple steps away. I’m sure he’d loooove helping me turn you into a more giggly puddle than you already are…”

“NAHAH— *squeal* DAHA— DOHOHON’T—!”

“Or…what if I got Donnie? I bet he has some tools that would help me…”

“NOHOH—!”

“What about Dad? I’m positive he would just record the whole thing and coo you all day long about you’re adorable giggles—”

“RAHAPHIE!!!” Mikey screeched, kicking Raph in the shell extra hard this time which only made the elder huff out a laugh in amusement.

“OW! Okay okahay! No need to shout!” He chuckled, getting off of the other turtle and helping him up. Raph sat down on the couch, soon followed by Michelangelo who dramatically collapsed into his lap.

He giggled tiredly, sitting up and flopping on the other’s plastron. The elder laughed at the theatrical gesture, rubbing his shell comfortingly. “You okay, bud?” 

“Nohoho. I’m lihihiterally dying.” Mikey giggled tiredly. Raph hummed in acknowledgment, resting his chin on Mikey’s left shoulder, causing the youngest to let out a subtle squeak.

The two made eye contact as Raph’s signature smirk spread across his face again.

“Huh. Which reminds me…” The elder turtle mused, wrapping Mikey in a hug with his one arm while the other was free. He shook his head, anticipatory giggles pouring out of his mouth more than ever before. “Raphie— Rahaphie nohoho don’t you dahare!”

Now, you’re probably wondering why Mikey is freaking out so much right now…let me explain.

As you know, Mikey has freckles. A lot of freckles. It was something he’s always been insecure about ever since he was a turtle tot. He used to absolutely loathe his freckles with a burning passion…and he tried to keep that fact a secret.

But sadly, when you live with 3 other brothers and you’re the youngest, there’s no such thing as secrecy.

The brothers had this whole talk about how his freckles made him, well, him. How it signified his uniqueness, adorableness, and blah blah blah sappy stuff. And that talk actually made Mikey love his freckles a lot…which he really needed.

Point being, his older brother’s created this game where they would count and poke how many freckles he had— because he had a whole LOT and they wanted to point out each adorable individual one; his freckles mainly being on his shoulders, face and neck.

But the thing was, the pokes to said spots tickled. A lot. Mikey was able to hide his reactions at first, but then a squeak went to a squeal, and a squeal went to a giggle…if you catch my drift.

And ever since then, it’s been a friendly competition on who could poke and count the most freckles on his face without him squirming out of reach (the highest score was 23 by the one and only Donatello).

“Hm. I forgot how many freckles you have…did you get any more? Seems like you got more…” Raph hummed again.

“NohOH I diHID NAHAT—”

“I think I should check just to make sure…” And with that, the poking and counting began…or as Mikey likes to call it: his complete and utter demise.

Speaking of which, Mikey might be competing with Leo for the Most Ticklish Turtle award because these pokes to his shoulders and face tickled like absolute SHELL. And Raph was barely touching him! Like…barely.

“1…2…3…4–! Mike! Stop moving! You made me lose count!” The older tried to sternly say, but it was really hard due to how much his little brother was laughing his shell off at the slightest of touches to the face and shoulders.

“PLEHEHEASE! RAHA— *squeak*! IHI’M GOHONNA DIHIE!!!”

“You’ve said that, like, 3 times. And you’re still here, aren’t you?” Raph mused, continuing to poke and prod.

“And a seven, and an eight, and a nine— wait. What comes after nine…?” He fake pondered, poking on the exact same freckle on Mikey’s shoulder to keep him a squeaky giggly blob.

“Seriously…I can’t think of the number. What comes after nine?” The hot-head asked again, going after Mikey’s neck now— causing the younger to scrunch his shoulders almost immediately. Though, that maybe wasn’t the best idea because Raph’s fingers were now stuck.

“I honestly think you’re the one with an embarrassingly ticklish neck, little bro.” The elder turtle stated smugly, wriggling his fingers in the crook of Mikey’s neck as the younger laughed even louder (if that’s possible).

Mikey flapped both of his hands, happy tears threatening to fall from his eyes, “RAHAHAPH!!!” He shrieked, his legs kicking the couch as well as the floor.

“Okay! Alright! Okay! No need to shout out me! Heard you loud and clear, giggles.” He drawed his hand away from Mikey’s face and shoulders, resting them on the other’s shell, rubbing it soothingly. The smaller turtle rested the back of his head on Raph’s shoulder, catching his breath slowly but surely.

“Are you done torturing me now?” He giggled tiredly, becoming relaxed and comfy in Raph’s arms due to the shell rubs.

“For now, yeah.” The older winked which only caused the youngest to roll his eyes at. Raph could be such a dork sometimes, but he loves him nonetheless…sometimes anyway.

“Thanks. For, uh…y'know…doing that…” The orange banded turtle mumbled after he calmed down fully, getting his mask that flew up on the couch earlier. “Yeah. No problem.” Raph shrugged nonchalantly, sitting back on the couch before creasing his eyebrows together, looking at Mikey in confusion.

“Wait. Didn’t you tell Leo like a week ago that it was 100% okay to ask for tickles? Why aren’t you taking your own advice?” He asked.

“Wha— you heard that?”

“The sewer walls aren’t that thick, Mike.” The elder explained, rolling his eyes fondly at the new silence he was being wonderfully graced with.

“Freaking hypocrite…” The green-eyed teen sighed, shaking his head and wrapping Mikey in a hug, squeezing him gently. “Again, you didn’t need to come up with an excuse for me to tickle you. You can just ask me.” He smiled softly, making Mikey return the smile tenfold.

“Yeah…I know. But playing Twister made it more fun didn’t it?”

“Pff…yeah. Yeah, I guess it did.”

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙���•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸��˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

[authenticaussie]

May I request Sad Dad Times for WIP Weekend please? That sounds fun (for me, if not for anyone actually in the fic) 💚

Sad dad time is a two for one special!!!!!!!

"You ruined it!" Damian shouts, and then hates the drop of guilt that forces his blood from his face. It's true, and it's real, and it's Tim's fault that his Father returned, but it's not fair to say it was ruined, how could he have ruined something Damian had waited his whole life for-

But his father had been overbearing. Had been stern, quiet, and demanding, with no clear goals for Damian to exceed. But his father had been disappointed in him, had pulled away during the first few awkward attempts Damian had made to find common ground, and it - this - felt like a fracture in a wound he had never noticed.

But Damian had waited his whole life for his father's love, and his father had not been the one to give it to him.

Timothy stares at him with confusion and frustration warring in his gaze, an exasperated edge to his tone when he says, “Look, baby brat, I'm allowed to join you and B for dinner.”

----

It was with baited breath that the people of Gotham waited for Bruce's curse; with parents such as his, with a silver spoon and want for nothing, it would be strong but lovely. What price would stand in the way of another Wayne patriarch improving the city, and how often could Bruce pay it?

There was no question of if he would; you always had to, no matter what, and what Wayne would hold back from serving Gotham?

And then there was the murder.

The lovely string of fake pearls scattered along the streets of Park Row, and Bruce Wayne, too young, huddled insensate over his parents' bodies. By the time the police arrived, they were long dead, and the blood had soaked into Bruce's pants.

It was a spectacle when Gordon and Pennyworth helped him to his feet, for that was when they thought that the last Wayne had been injured too, blood blooming over his chest and dripping down his arms, and the pictures of Bruce's curse and Alfred Pennyworth were front news for the next week.

What an irony, they whispered, when the news came out, that she would have served him better alive then dead.

What an irony, that Thomas' curse had been twisted so much, in the tragedy, that Bruce's bleeding heart became reality.

It had been hard to get news of the Wayne heir after that; the pictures of him could be constituted as gore, sometimes, with the way blood would seep through any fabric he wore, and no-one in Gotham was truly comfortable with the fact that their city's most prominent figure was now the child that had seen his parents die. They were just curses - but this one felt pointed, felt sad, and while it was never easy to live with a Gotham curse, at least the fridge having teeth was a silly story to share with friends, in comparison to the constant tragedy Bruce Wayne wore.

It was almost a relief when he vanished. Even more so when, upon his return, the bleeding had eased - and Bruce had taken to wearing red undershirts under his suits, well-disguising his bleeding heart.

Alfred Pennyworth never told anyone about the blood trails through Wayne Manor, which had not abated in the intervening years, nor did he talk about what did eventually ease Bruce Wayne's curse.

After all - everyone knew you had to pay the price of your curse, and no Wayne would hold back from serving Gotham.

[wilsons-hotlittleprettyboymouth]

Officially deciding that once we have the money for it I’m going to get my food and safety license so I can try to start a home baking business. I am like really really good at it and it’s the most fun thing in the entire world and the course is only $25 online anyway so it’ll be fast and easy to finish. I am determined like hell to contribute to this little family lol

[nulltune]

she takes babykuno, cradled in her arms, &&. if anyone comes near her, they will not survive.

unprompted,  always accepting !   @necroethes  ♡

the woman may be seen as nothing short of intimidating to the others ——  even without words,  the unspoken threat looming in the air was almost palpable.  the baby in her arms,  however,  felt none of that,  comfortably nestling into her arms.  though she could easily strike fear upon many,  what hakuno kishinami always felt with when in the presence of tara was a sort of tranquil peace,  safety.  the baby form of hakuno,  despite her stoicness,  seemed to have boundless energy which manifested in a notable state of wakefulness.  but the gentleness of being held like this seemed to lull her into a peaceful slumber—  that little head of hers bobbling softly as she dozed off.

[maehemthemisfit]

Oh and one of your misconceptions about Mikey is you think that he wants you to focus on helping him and running the gang bc you're a former leader too, but what he wants is physical affection and quality time from you. There were times when Mikey dragged you away to cuddle when you're discussing things with Koko.

Okay I'll let this one slide... Only because it's cute

[haebails]

This fucker

[needlenxggin]

Anonymous asked: How about some trivia, Mr. The Stampede? The world’s largest donut was a whopping 16 feet in diameter, 16 inches tall and weighed about 1.7 tons. It was a jelly donut too, which is best kind of donut. (Love how you write him by the way!)

"I'm sorry?! Why are we not making more donuts this size?!" Oh what he would do to get his hands on this donut!

[cypaira-the-skeleton]

Trick or Treat!👻

I just tought of Raven dressing up as a Ghost for Halloween🎃

Honestly she looks adorable ❤️👻

[herlittlebunnyboy]

Been in a lonely mood the past couple days and I'm curled up on my couch with a bowl of peach ice cream and a blanket with some comfort movies on TV.

If you have ever wanted to ask me anything or talk in dms or anonymously today is the day!

[succulentstrawberries]

Nothing like thinking you were gonna write a short semi-fluffy diaper fic... and then you blink and it's become an 8,000+ word trainwreck with vomiting and a dubcon handjob...

[polyamoryprincess]

There’s a special sort of joy when you decide to look up a horror creator you haven’t looked into for a long time and see that they’ve transitioned 😭😭 I love them all so much

[flops]

i simply dont feel the need to take care of myself anymore and my god my skin is literally dying 😭😭😭

[swordgrace]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ cregan stark x fem!targtower!reader.

SYNOPSIS: a blissful marriage to an honorable man — it is more than you could’ve asked for. with the heir on the way, you make a request of your husband.

anonymous request. unofficial sequel to wolfsblood, dragonsblood.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anonymous.

{ WORD COUNT: 6.1K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), overprotective cregan, reader is pretty horny for cregan (valid), pregnancy, reader is pregnant, sexual activities while pregnant, cregan is a father in his mind, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, cregan loves munching, vaginal fingering, teasing, biting, hair-pulling kink, obvious size difference + size kink, slight face-riding, lots of cregan admiring in this one-shot, very soft ending + aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I love writing for Cregan so much, y’all don’t understand the depths of my adoration for him. I churned this out pretty quickly, but I loved writing it, Father Cregan is the best! I hope that you all enjoy, & thank you for your support! ❤️

𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐩, 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬.

It was easier to breathe, you’d realized — King’s Landing had always been so stifling and pungent, the population too thick, the air acrid. Here, in the North, it was sprawling with open spaces, regions of untouched forest and unsettled countryside.

The bite of the harsh, Northern chill was not an easy adjustment to make after a lengthy life spent in Southern regions — the gnawing wind often seared your extremities, and it was not any easier on Silverwing. Fire ran through your veins, tempered by your tender heart and kindly disposition.

Your beloved husband would not have it any other way.

What had started as an unsteady, tumultuous betrothal marked by obvious bitterness from your family and wariness from his own House, had blossomed into a fruitful union. You couldn’t have asked for a better partner, and it made you realize how fortunate you were.

Snow was uncommon in most of the South, yet it remained constant in the North, mountains blanketed in endless horizons of white. It was a particularly icy day, winter winds stinging your cheeks, prickling your flesh with its pinpricks.

Mounds of pale, grayish fur swaddled your form, lined in the finest fleece, downy and plush against your skin. The trodden path to the Godswood was marked by frozen dirt, dusted over with a fresh layer of snowfall. Sprinkles of crystalline drops fell from the cloudy skies, and your breath emerged in hot wisps of air.

Lilac hues drifted toward the mountainous form of your husband, whose back was turned to you, swathed in the dappled pelt of a direwolf. Ice hung from his shoulder, a massive longsword of Valyrian Steel, an heirloom passed down through generations of House Stark.

Someday soon, it will pass to your firstborn son.

You recalled the night that you were wed, beneath the crimson leaves of the Weirwood Tree. It was serene, a moonlit dusk that struck the snow with an ethereal glow, your hands bound as you recanted your vows. It had been some moons now since that day, and you had only felt joy since then.

Cregan listened to the light crunch of snow beneath your footfalls as they reverberated throughout the Godswood, the pond frozen-over with a layer of ice. Pale bark marked with a foreign face peered back at him — this was a place that he and Rickon visited many times.

Before his little brother had passed, they pretended to fight wars here, forge their weapons, sticks found from the forest floor, and envision themselves as Knights. He could still feel his brother sometimes, his presence a whisper in the blood-red leaves, somewhere within the forest’s song.

Religion was a complicated thing for you. Your mother wielded the Faith of the Seven like a crudely-worn shortsword, letting it strike to her advantage even when it was rusty, at best. You had little interest in it, and Cregan seemed to respect your growing distance from your old roots. The Old Gods were his — you had nothing.

Inklings of snow drifted from the pale skies, growing darker as evening approached. The North became unyieldingly harsh after the sun began to wane, the sting of biting wind swirling around you, seeping into your bones. You were rather cold, but persisted for Cregan.

“Ser Rodrick said that I might find you here,” Silence dissipated, filled with the sound of your voice, as soft as feathers, a soothing balm. You stepped closer, beneath the boughs of the great tree, the canopy thick with vermillion leaves. “How are you faring?”

With Winter approaching, spreading its cold, brittle tendrils across the North, Cregan’s duties had increased tenfold. Preparing his people for winter, ensuring that food was plentiful, that they were safe — it was the burden of leadership, but there was no one better suited for it in your eyes.

“Well enough,” Cregan murmured, storm-colored hues drifting over the Weirwood tree before they turned to you, completely and utterly transfixed. You stole every wisp of air from his lungs with your beauty, clad in the trappings of his people. “I apologize for running off.”

An amiable smile crossed your features as you reached for your husband, slipping a gloved palm against the crook of his arm. “You needn’t apologize, husband. You are owed your solitude, and I wouldn’t dare tell you otherwise.” You have his bicep a gentle squeeze.

Cregan’s gaze softened, sparkling with a warmth reserved only for you, his beloved. Your presence always seemed to melt away his hardened exterior, but he much preferred it that way. He stepped closer, towering above you in all of his indomitable glory, craning down to press a kiss against your brow.

The gloved leather of his hand moved to cup your abdomen, and the growing life within. The joyous news of your pregnancy had been the talk of the North, the new Lady Stark, preparing to birth an heir of Winterfell. Those thick furs you wore obscured your belly quite well.

“I should be asking you how you fare, carrying our child,” Cregan insisted, gingerly caressing around your stomach with the pride of a doting husband. “Here you are, walking all this way to the Godswood, when it is I who should be by your side.” If there was one word to describe Cregan, it was overprotective.

Gods, he was attentive — if he did leave your side, he ensured that you were well looked-after, under the watchful protection of his guardsmen. You couldn’t fault your husband for his safeguarding nature, given that it was to be your firstborn.

Sometimes he forgot that you were a dragon-rider.

“Being beneath the open sky has done me a world of good, husband,” You mused, canting your head to one side. You were not completely round and waddling just yet — halfway through, as the Maester stated. “I cannot stand to look at that dreadful cobblestone for days on-end.”

Cregan did not protest, nor invalidate your claims. He was not the one carrying a child — he did not have a right to speak on behalf of you. A shiver rolled down your spine, due to the bitter chill of the wind, coupled with the encroaching snowfall.

Instead, he reached for your jaw, cupping your face within the roughened texture of his leather-clad palm, presenting you with a kiss. It was kept brief, yet the ardor lingered, as strong as a burning flame. “You are shivering, beloved. Let us return to the Keep.” He rumbled, shielding you beneath his cloak.

A respite from the cold would be welcome. Even if you possessed the blood of the Dragon, you did not fare well in such blisteringly glacial conditions. The thick cover of your husband’s cloak brought a sense of comfort, coupled with the natural heat that radiated from him.

Snow crunched beneath his heavy footfalls, your own masked by his boots. Cregan made sure to guide you every step of the way, hovering with his impressive shadow. “I have been contemplating a name for our child.” You spoke softly, a smile toying upon your lips.

“Have you?” Cregan appeared appeased, a stoic smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You don’t know if we are to have a son or a daughter.” He remarked, letting your hand wrap around the bulk of his forearm, guiding you through the Godswood.

“Perhaps not, but I wanted you to hear,” Such ideas had been stirring around within your mind for weeks, and with Cregan so preoccupied, you hadn’t broached the topic of conversation. “Gilliane, after your mother, should we have a daughter, and … Rickon.” You hesitated. “Should we have a son.”

Cregan’s steps began to slow, and he looked upon you with such love and devotion that it was nearly overwhelming. He couldn’t have loved you anymore if he tried — and he had tried. Towering over you, he pressed a kiss against the top of your head, one that blossomed with fondness.

You gave him the greatest honor of all — that of fatherhood, and now, you had bestowed upon him sentimental names, those of his family. Love flourished within his storm-colored hues, and he seemed to soften at your words. “You would honor me beyond words, wife. Do you not wish to pay tribute to your own family?”

Placing a hand over the growing swell of your stomach, you seemed somewhat indifferent to talk of your family. Helaena and Daeron were the exceptions in this, but it did not pain you any less. “I pay tribute by carrying our child,” You replied, your smile threadbare. “That is enough.”

Solemn, Cregan simply nodded, understanding your strained relationship with the family you had left behind in King’s Landing. From what you told him and from what he discerned, you seemed much happier here, liberated and free of such poisonous clutches. “Of course.” A soft rumble reverberated throughout his chest.

Winterfell’s snow-laden gates were now within reach, as guards in Stark tabards harkened the return of its Lord and Lady. He thoroughly enjoyed watching you interact with the denizens underneath his protection — you often greeted them with smiles and laughter.

He watched you grow into your station as Lady Stark, a growth that showed such promise. You had been shy around Northerners at first, but you now walked as if you had been in Winterfell your whole life. Cregan kept you close, his stance that of a protective husband, hovering above you with his hulking stature.

The Keep was close, and you could feel the crackling warmth of the hearth lick across your skin in the forefront of your mind. Cregan was characteristically stalwart, keeping you wedged against his side, swaddled in the thick furs of the direwolf.

Once inside, you welcomed the gust of warmer air. The Keep burned many fires and braziers when winter became sharp and bitter, your cheeks stinging from the cold. “Shall we retire this evening, or are you lacking in nourishment?” Cregan inquired, knowing that your penchant for foodstuffs had increased while pregnant.

“Could something be brought to our chambers? Perhaps a stew or a broth, that sounds rather warming.” As if on-queue, your stomach lurched with inklings of famish, as if your child also demanded something to eat.

“It will be done,” With his stoic assurance, your husband bent down to press a kiss against your temple, smoothing a palm across your back. “I will join you shortly, wife.” Cregan had a tendency to walk the Keep before retiring — spare a word to the guards, those in the kitchens, and anyone underneath his care.

“Do not keep me waiting for too long.” You mused, lips curving into a warm smile that could melt even the hardiest of ice — including that of your husband. The vulnerability that seemed to come to him in your presence was a comforting thing.

With a soft huff, Cregan cupped your chin, looking upon you with tempestuous hues, as gray as a winter’s storm. “I wouldn’t dare.” He assured, presenting you with a tender kiss. Gods, you had sorely missed his mouth in many ways, and you were swift to reciprocate.

After you had become with-child, fuller and round with the heir to Winterfell, you had not engaged Cregan as much in terms of intimacy. He wanted you to relax, to not have to lift a finger. You missed your husband in more ways than one, giving way to your own basic desires and carnal instincts.

The kiss possessed a charged edge, tension looming above, the fringes of it seeping into your lips. You held onto his forearm, an audible sigh slipping past your mouth when Cregan withdrew. He could detect your yearning — the sentiment was a mutual one, but he feared hurting you, as any man would.

With a gentle hum, you allowed your husband to leave you, watching as his impressive form encapsulated all space within the corridor he walked in. You let him tend to his duties, and you made for the spiraling stairwell, making your way to your chambers without a hitch.

Thick, wooden doors gave way to the sanctuary within, the hearth being stoked and tended-to by one of the servants. “I thought you might want it warm, m’lady.” She mused, having laid out a series of new wardrobes for you across the foot of your bed.

“Thank you, Tanea.” The new gowns and dresses seemed to be made with your new specifications in-mind, accommodating for your growing belly. Part of you felt self-conscious when it came to your pregnancy — you no longer seemed to fit into your own skin.

“You must be excited, with the babe on the way,” Tanea was easy to speak with, an exuberant young woman with cherubic features. “Your Lord-Husband certainly is.” She chimed, finishing with the hearth as she moved about.

“Is he?” Cregan was sometimes difficult to read, countenance permanently etched with that stoic Northern scowl of his, but you knew how happy he was. Knowing that your servants could see it filled you with delight. “I may need your assistance, Tanea.”

“Very much so, m’lady. He speaks as if he is a father already,” She fluttered to your side, assisting you in relinquishing the weight of your fur cloak and overcoat you wore. Tanea arranged the garments back into the large, wooden wardrobe. “Do you need anything else?”

“I do not,” You smiled, moving to sit atop the fur-laden footlocker at the end of your shared bed. “You have my gratitude, Tanea.” The girl curtsied, a proper gesture, before making her way from your chambers.

Intrigued, you happened to admire the new gowns strewn across your bed, many of them styled in the Northern way of dress, save for your evening shifts. One in particular caught your eye, made of sage-hued silk, translucent and frilly, the sleeves billowing.

Pinching the fabric between your fingers, you decided on wearing it to bed, pushing yourself up right as you organized the rest elsewhere, into the space of your wardrobe. Heavy footfalls resonated outside of your door, with it creaking open to give way to Cregan.

Your mountain of a husband carried two bowls of steaming stew, placing them down along the small, rounded table. The intricate carving of a wolf rested along the table’s edge, made of wood from the Wolfswood. “Are you tired?” He inquired, removing Ice from his shoulders, scabbard and all, placing it near his bedside.

After you had become with-child, he kept it close, in case of any unsightly, dire circumstances. He would not ever allow himself to be defenseless in your presence. You had thought it to be somewhat overly cautious, but you did not dissuade him otherwise.

“Not really,” You hummed, reaching for the many pins keeping your braids in-place. You removed them one by one, placing the ruby-studded needles upon your vanity. It felt better to let your hair down, pale tresses cascading across your shoulders in soft waves. “I am perfectly awake.”

Cregan’s visage was one of clear appreciation and adoration as he stepped closer, admiring the way you looked. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” He insisted, hands moving to assist you in unlacing your dress. This was a common practice with each passing night — you enjoyed it.

Warmth crept along your features as you stood still, allowing him to untie your bodice with his calloused fingers, until the garment loosened. “You are much too kind, husband.” Stepping from your gown, you were left in a white slip, one that had grown somewhat uncomfortable with its tightness.

“It is not a kindness, but the plain truth.” Cregan replied, pressing a kiss against the pale crown of your head, inhaling a gust of your saccharine scent. “You are my beautiful wife.” He affirmed with a grunt, and moved away to change into his own smallclothes. Abandoning his leather and armor always felt unusual for him.

There was no debating your husband, whose stubbornness was sometimes renowned. Instead, you smiled, abandoning the snug, ivory fabric for your field of sage, hastily pulling it on over the swell of your stomach.

It gave you ample time to observe Cregan, whose musculature ensnared you time and time again. He was impressively thick, broad-shouldered and built like the Wall itself. Seeing him standing there in just his trousers made something hot stir between your legs.

You crept forward, shamelessly wrapping your arms around him from behind, and you could feel a tremor throughout his body when he huffed. “I have a handsome husband, a perfect husband — and that is the plain truth.” You hummed, cold cheek burying itself against the warmth of his skin.

Wordlessly, you peppered soft kisses against his spine, and to any scars and bruises that you could see. You listened to the sharp exhale from your husband, who did not protest your actions. Your lips felt like the kiss of snow, still cold from the chilly outdoors.

Cregan let you stay that way, and in-truth, he enjoyed it thoroughly. Those large, calloused hands placed themselves atop yours, lifting both to his lips as he kissed your knuckles. He let them drop, and you caressed him wherever you could. The gesture was soft, but he couldn’t deny the growing sensuality present between you both.

“For the blood of the dragon, your hands run cold, wife.” Cregan rumbled, soothingly tracing his fingers across your wrist, feeling your physique against his back, including the swell of your belly. You pressed your palms against his abdomen, able to feel the taut, subtle muscle there.

“It is a good thing that I have you to warm them,” The silky, soft resonance of your voice brought him comfort. You sounded so relaxed and blissful, feeling him sluggishly turn around within your hold. Cregan cupped your cheek, rough pad of his thumb tracing across your lips. You kissed his thumb. “Kiss me.”

Cregan’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smile, and he instead gestured to the meal he’d brought with him. “Once you eat and have proper sustenance, I might indulge you then, beloved.” He mused, noticing the twinge of disappointment on your face.

“Might?” There was an upward inflection within your tone, as if the mere suggestion of might had offended you to some degree. Your burly husband then caged you within his embrace, palms soothingly caressing along your hips. “Must you insist on tormenting me?” You teased.

With a low grunt, Cregan reached for his tunic, eyes twinkling with mirth. “For now.” Tugging on the dark blue linen of his nightshirt, he gestured for you to eat, sitting beside you at the table. His own chair groaned in protest, and before he knew it, you were devouring your stew.

A mouthful of warm, seasoned broth filled your maw, accompanied with hearty chunks of venison and stewed vegetables. The cuisine in the North differed greatly from the South, not that you minded. You often felt more fulfilled after meals than you used to.

“Gods, that was wonderful,” You groaned, the stew satisfying your cravings. It warmed you to the bone, causing a shudder to roll down your spine as you finished, nudging the bowl aside. “I could eat several servings of that.” Your confession prompted Cregan to smirk.

“Famished, were you?” Cregan mused, watching as you moved out of your chair, cradling your stomach with one hand. He very nearly rushed to assist you, but he knew you would’ve swatted him aside.

“Quite, but I am eating for two. Your child needs it as much as I do,” You remarked, wandering toward the hearth as you extended one palm toward the fire. The comforting heat licked across your flesh, the orange light dancing over your features. “Much better.”

Cregan joined you not long after, guiding you to sit atop the large footlocker at the end of your marital bed, closest to the open flames. His rough fingertips glided over the plane of sage-hued silks, as he admired your womanly form through the fabric. “This suits you.” He rumbled, gently tugging on the silk to accentuate his point.

“Tanea had the seamstress craft me new clothing, given that I’ve grown quite a bit,” Admittedly, you felt some insecurity in your current state, afraid that your husband may not enjoy you as he once had. “I am glad that you like it, husband. I was worried that you wouldn’t.”

Perplexed, chestnut brows furrowed together, his countenance one of clear concern. Slipping an arm behind you, he calmly stroked your side, silently beseeching you to tell him of your worries. He knew what it pertained to, even if it was left unspoken. “Your worries are misplaced. I love you.” He assured.

“It isn’t just that, I — I suppose I feared that you wouldn’t still enjoy me this way. Most husbands in the capital seemed so disinterested when their wives began to show.” This wasn’t the South, and Cregan was as far from a disinterested husband as one could get. He kissed your jaw, letting you rest against him.

“You are carrying our child, the heir to Winterfell — I would continue to love you regardless of what your body might look like. Damn the Southerners,” Cregan murmured, planting a hand atop your belly. “I look at you and I see my wife — I see perfection. My heart calls your name.” For a man so rugged and rough, his words made your blood surge with exhilaration.

Joining his hand, you placed your palm atop his, the one firmly perched against your belly. If Cregan were being truthful with himself, he found you to be painfully beautiful like this, swollen with his child, knowing that he put a pup in you. Those lascivious fantasies had now become reality.

“Ñuha dōna zokla,” My sweet wolf — your High Valyrian often brought him to heel, bringing out the siren’s lull within your voice. Cregan had made a valiant effort to learn some of the language for you, but it never sounded as pleasant on his Northern tongue. “I am yours.” You beamed, lilac hues glistening with ardor.

Bringing a calloused palm to your face, he traced the fine plane of your cheekbone, reveling in the velveteen texture of your flesh. A wolf, brought to heel at his dragon’s side. Cregan studied your Valyrian features, basking in your beauty, coaxing you in for a kiss.

Your mouth was disarmingly soft, catching him off-guard, stealing away all of his coherency. He felt you turn inward, palm planting itself against the thick, corded muscle of his thigh, gripping him tightly as he deepened your kiss.

Something warm stirred within him, a longing to feel your body against his, able to detect the hitch within your breath as he drew you closer. Your wanton need radiated from you in thick, permeating waves, enough to bring him into the intricate web of your desire.

“Easy, wife.” Cregan rumbled, wanting to temper your carnality before it raged into that of a dragon’s flame. Your pleading gaze suggested otherwise, prompting him to caress along the length of your spine. “I do not wish to hurt you.”

A begrudging sigh escaped your lips as you incessantly tugged at his tunic, staring at your husband with furrowed brows. “You wouldn’t,” You uttered, tracing your fingers over his heart. “We do not have to commit the entire act. I simply want to enjoy you in other ways — I miss it.”

Subtlety wasn’t your strongest suit, and Cregan knew this. Arousal stirred within him, cock twitching at your lascivious insinuations. “Hm,” A soft growl left him, one that seemed to share your sentiments. “Is that what my lady commands of me?” He murmured, holding you close.

“She does,” You hummed, treating him to a playful smile as you reached for his chestnut tresses. One of your hands slithered beneath his tunic, feeling along the solid, thick muscle of his abdomen. He stroked at your belly, a stern hum reverberating within his throat. “Gods, I need you.” You exhaled.

With your need laid bare, Cregan heeded you with a fire swirling within his gut. His hand dipped down to the apex of your thighs, pushing beneath your silken shift until he found your cunt. Gods, you were wet already, a tantalizing thing, one that he found delight in.

“You are warm already, beloved.” Cregan’s thunderous timbre raked down your spine, effortlessly gaining your subservience with ease. You shivered, feeling his thick fingers deftly caress across your slit, teasing and toying with you, gathering your slick.

Feather-light touches would have to suffice as Cregan lazily pressed one digit against your clit. His mouth found the slender expanse of your neck, delivering hot, passionate kisses against your throat.

A simpering whine tore past your parted lips, one filled with such urgency as you shifted closer, writhing against the sensation of his hand. Any lick of friction would do, consuming your body with its amatory heat. He grunted into the hollow of your throat, kissing you wherever you could.

Your own mouth found the impressive bulk of his shoulder, seeking to bring your teeth into his flesh. A sonorous, rumbling grunt left your husband when you bit him, leaving behind the crescent marks of your teeth. If it weren’t for your pregnancy, he would’ve marked you in this way, too.

Seeking the softness of your mouth, Cregan’s mouth twitched into a threadbare smirk as he kissed you hard, letting it linger as his hand withdrew from your skirts. A groan of disappointment left you, but he intended on making up for it fully.

He moved off of the footlocker, planting a lasting kiss against your brow. Towering over you, Cregan’s shadow eclipsed most flickers of firelight, gray hues swirling with warmth as he bent the knee to you, his beloved. It was a mesmerizing sight, one that you reveled in.

His massive musculature bullied its way between your thighs, warm palms shifting to caress along your legs, from ankle to calf. He had never seen someone as resplendent as you, breathtakingly beautiful, the blood of the dragon, his wife.

Gathering your skirts within your hands, you fisted the silks, dragging them up until they pooled around your hips. Warm lips embraced the crook of your knee, peppering kisses across your leg, until he reached the velvet flesh of your inner thighs.

Your hips began to tilt forward, seeking the pleasant heat of his mouth, a heat that he gladly granted you time and time again. Cregan kissed his way to the slick warmth between your legs, a thunderous exhale escaping him, chest vibrating with a grunt.

Cregan gingerly adjusted your position, letting your legs rest against his broad shoulders, your back sloped against the furs and footboard of your bed. He pressed a kiss against your mound, nose buried near your pelvis before he made his descent.

A warm lap of his tongue dragged itself over your core, like hot embers raking across your cunt. You sighed, blissfully succumbing to wanton desire, reaching for his crown of chestnut tresses, gripping at the back of his skull. “Cregan.” You whined, head rolling forward just a bit.

Pale waves framed your face, countenance contorted into an expression of sheer and utter bliss, brows furrowing together. Your husband happily found his solace between your legs, mouth pressing hot kisses across your cunt. His hand gripped at your haunch, the other trailing against your leg.

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

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

Splitting past your folds, Cregan tasted every inch of you, tongue seeking your cunt with a fervor. He was vigorous in his ministrations, not shying away from consuming every drop of your arousal. His nose brushed against your mound, hands kneading into your thighs to reassure you, let you know that he had you.

Any inkling of roughness had dissipated from him in the wake of your pregnancy, replaced with a passionate devotion, a rapture reserved only for you. His strong hands held you close, caressing you wherever he could.

You tasted sweet upon his tongue, honey-thick and a feast to sate his appetite. If he would choose his fate, it would be in between your legs, listening to the myriad of moans and throaty whimpers leave you. It was satisfying to know how much you enjoyed this; derived pleasure from it.

A tremor gripped your legs, little spasms of delight making their way throughout your body. Cregan’s mouth forged a blazing path from the hood of your cunt to your entrance, tongue greedy and hot, before he went back up again, seeking your sensitive pearl.

“Cregan!” Gods, he brought you such pleasure, a pleasure that seemed to seep into your very bones, sate your endless yearning, for now. Your legs curled inward, tight atop his shoulders as you rocked yourself into his mouth, doing little to suppress the volume of your moans.

He pressed closer with a wolf’s appetite, throat burning with carnal hunger as he continued to lap at your slick cunt. Your arousal felt honey-thick upon his tongue, something reserved only for him, chin glistening with your nectar. Your legs squeezed at his head, and he knew that he pleasured you well.

Molten heat churned within the pit of your stomach, a sensation that you had been longing to feel again. Cregan did not relent, yet he happened to slow just enough to savor you, dragging his tongue toward that clutch of nerves at the hood of your cunt.

As soon as he pursed his lips around your clit, you nearly forgot your own name, thoughts completely derailed, scattered into a blissful abyss. Your body reacted with shivers and tremors, hand gripping at the nape of his neck with a reckless abandon.

Your back arched slightly, collarbone glittering with perspiration through the thick, warm haze of your chambers. The hearth had brought about a feverish heat, coupled with the throes of your intimate entanglement. Cregan derived satisfaction from your pleasure, delighted to please his wife.

Pliant flesh filled his palm as he cupped your derrière, bringing you closer, letting you grind yourself against his mouth, use him and take whatever you needed. A grunt stirred within his chest, reverberating within his throat as he went about seeking your clit, suckling on the pearl of your cunt.

“Oh Gods,” You moaned, nearly clasping a hand over your mouth to hide the salaciousness of your voice. Surely, the servants had heard you by now — you would be fortunate if all of Winterfell didn’t hear you. “I — I’m close!” Rocking forward again, you let out a whimper.

With a strangled whine, you desperately chased after your release, one that you had sorely needed. Cregan’s cock twitched at the sound of your delicious moans, a shudder rolling down his spine whenever you whimpered his name. “That’s it,” He rumbled, hot breath fanning over your core. “Go on.” His encouragement was softly spoken through his Northern timbre.

He wanted to stay there, rooted between your legs, mouth consuming your cunt as if it were his last meal; a man wrought with starvation.

Cregan favored it, thoroughly reveling in the way your body reacted to him, visceral and ecstatic. He gingerly suckled on your clit, feeling your fingers tighten within his chestnut locks, gripping him tight. He wanted you to have your release, built upon this pent-up feeling.

He could feel your encroaching release, feel the tension in your grasp, the way you let your hips continue to lurch forward. Without relenting, Cregan continued to suck at your clit, letting it intermingle with hot laps of his tongue, dutiful and fervent between your legs.

A comfortable silence filled the gap between you, intermingled with the sounds of your pleasured cries and Cregan’s sonorous grunts. That heated coil within your stomach began to unfurl, bringing an onslaught of arousal with it as you bucked into his mouth.

At last, your peak consumed you in a white-hot oblivion, and you very nearly saw the stars themselves. With a strangled gasp, your legs tightened on either side of his head, followed by a blissful rush of liquid heat. Your grip began to slack upon his tresses, chest heaving from exertion.

Cregan lingered there for a few moments more, tongue caressing your cunt, cleaning up any last drop of your nectar. His mouth glistened with it when he did inevitably withdraw, lashing across his lips before he kissed your thighs, showering you in affection.

“Do you feel better?” He mused, kissing the crook of your knee before standing to his feet. You were positively hot, feeling a feverish warmth crawl across your skin, thighs shaking in the aftermath. You hastily adjusted your slip, regarding him with a gracious expression.

“Very much,” Your confession made him smirk as he helped you into bed, abandoning his tunic at the iron-wrought foot. As he settled down, you joined him, curled within the space at his side. “Would you like me to return the favor?”

Cregan never expected you to do anything that you didn’t want to — never feel obligated, either. He would survive without a night of release. “Tomorrow, perhaps.” He murmured, moving to rest a hand against the swell of your stomach, caressing your growing bump.

“Thank you, husband — for everything.” A gentle hum left you as you placed your hand over his, allowing him to protectively cradle your stomach. You let your head rest against his shoulder, his arm holding you at his side.

A bemused huff escaped him as he peered at you with mirthful hues, gray eyes that resembled a thunderstorm. “You needn’t thank me,” He assured, briefly pressing a kiss to your temple. “You needn’t ask for it, either.” Cregan enjoyed the taste of your cunt more than anything else.

You couldn’t help but smile, sheepishly moving to press a kiss against his jaw. “I love you,” You sighed, letting your ardor for him be known as you felt your eyes grow heavy. “Tomorrow, I would like for us to see Silverwing. She grows lonely in my absence.”

Cregan knew how much the creature meant to you. He had met Silverwing before, but he dared not climb upon her back — you’d asked it of him several times before. “Of course, beloved.” He murmured, basking in the heat of the firelight.

A sharp, fluttering sensation blossomed throughout your abdomen, prompting you to gasp. It was sudden and unexpected, but not painful. It was foreign, and had been happening on rare occasions.

“What is it?” Cregan questioned, visibly concerned before you dismissed it with a bright, delighted smile. You gently guided his hand elsewhere atop your stomach, pale brows furrowing together as you searched for the source.

“There,” You mused, joyous laughter escaping you as another kick fluttered against your joined hands. “Do you feel it?” It was heartwarming to watch the happiness glisten within his eyes, the way in which he adjusted his position to truly feel. Cregan’s true smiles were a rarity, and you saw it now.

The blood of the wolf and the dragon stirred within, prompting you to smile appreciatively at your husband. This was something the both of you had made with your love, the heir to Winterfell. “They seem strong,” Cregan remarked, leaning over to plant a kiss against your brow. “Perfect, just like their mother.”

His hand never left your belly, even as he maneuvered the furs over the both of you, letting you move to lay against the warm expanse of his chest. Cregan exhaled, staring into the dying embers of the heart, tracing his digits along the swell of your stomach.

“Strong, just like their father.” You whispered, pressing a kiss against his jaw before you settled down for slumber, shielded by the protective grasp of your Lord-husband.

[captainfern]

hellos!! i’ve been missing ghost :( maybe this boring but i just need some nice soft smut w him! maybe sprinkle in a breeding kink if you feel so inclined.. love you fern ❤️

requesting a breeding kink ?? ily more !!

18+, fem!reader, hashtag balls deep and breeding babyyyyy (sorry)

the weight of simon on top of you was always something you loved. to feel the sheer mass of him press down against you, to have the soft ridges of his belly and chest against your own, was something you cherished.

and when he was balls-deep inside the tight heat of your cunt? even better.

he had your legs spread wide, revealing the sopping core of your cunt to him in the darkness of your bedroom. you didn’t know what time it was, nor did you care— you woke up in the middle of the night, horny as fuck, and needed your husband’s cock. right then and there.

and he was more than happy to do so.

he had sunk into you with a guttural groan, your pussy already slick with arousal. you let him in so easily, the way your gummy walls stretched to take his thick cock. he never got over the feeling. never will get over the feeling of your sopping cunt opening up for him and clutching him tight.

he buried his face into the crook of your neck when he bottomed out, grinding his hips against yours. he groaned into the soft skin of your throat at the feeling of you clenching around him. he could feel the softness of your belly and tits beneath him, his large arms caging you under him. heaven on earth.

“s’that feel good?” he asked you, nosing at the pulse below your earlobe. simon canted his hips forward, starting a pace of thrusts, the head of his cock finding that perfect spot within you in seconds. “s’that good, baby?”

“yeah,” you whined, nodding as his big body shunted you up the bed, but the weight of his body atop yours kept you anchored. he was reaching so deep inside you with this angle.

your hands rubbed up and down the wide expanse of his back, grappling at the soft muscle there. your legs kicked up and locked around his thighs, holding him impossibly closer to you as he pushed his cock in and out of you. each thrust of his cock drew wet sounds from your cunt, causing heat to ripple through your body and pleasure to settle deep in the pit of your stomach.

“simonnn,” you dragged out through a moan. the pleasure in your tummy was building, sweat accumulating between your pinned bodies.

simon grunted and groaned into your neck, lips attached to the soft skin there. he sucked and nipped between sounds of pleasure, focused on the rock of his hips against yours and the deep plunge of his cock near the plug of your cervix. his soft belly pressed to yours, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander to all the possibilities. the possibilities of filling you up— getting you pregnant.

the thought made simon moan, loud and dramatic. the sound had your pussy clenching hard around his cock, arousal dribbling from where it was split open over his cock. the pleasure in your stomach twisted tighter, tingles beginning to set in the base of your spine.

“i love you so much,” simon suddenly said, picking his head from out of your neck. he looked down at you with a soft gaze. but there was infatuation in those dilated pupils. “‘m gonna get you pregnant, baby.”

you moaned, back arching off the bed, sweat gathering across your skin. you were burning up as he pushed you closer to release.

“yeah, you like that?” simon lilted, smiling down at you as his thrusts rocked the bed— and you. “‘m so deep, aren’t I? so deep in this pretty tummy. just wanna fill it up.” he added, slipping a hand between the two of you to pet your belly, but only for a few seconds.

“how’s that sound? you want me to come inside you? you want me to get you pregnant?” simon continued as your body slowly began to shudder, pleasure bubbling inside you, static bursting in your nerve endings. simon leaned down and kissed you. “yeah, i know, baby. i’ll come inside you and stuff your pretty tummy full.”

“simon, fuck, m’gonna come—” you mewled, clutching on to him in the fear that your orgasm would make you lose your hold on him.

simon kissed you again. “you can come for me, baby. then ‘m gonna come deep inside this pussy and make you a mama.”

you came with an explosion of stars behind your eyelids. your body jolted and shuddered beneath his, orgasm wracking through you. your cunt pulled tight around the thick of simon’s cock, gushing with each twitch of your legs. you moaned and whined, whimpering his name as he fucked you through the entire thing.

“make you a mama…” simon repeated in some kind of delirious whisper, before he was grasping and moaning out your name, desperately and with a rasp to the syllables. he stuffed himself to the root inside you and came up against the base of your cervix, moaning the entire time.

you felt the warmth fill you, your body hot and sweaty. as his cock emptied inside of you, twitching with the last of it, simon kissed you gently, smoothing his lips against yours.

“i meant it, you know,” he said quietly, cock slowly starting to soften inside you.

“what?” you smiled. “that you’ll get me pregnant?”

simon chuckled and pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose. “no, not that. i mean, that’s true, but that’s not what i meant.”

“no?”

“no,” he said, kissing you again. “i meant it when i said i love you.”

you smiled against his lips. “i know. i love you too.”

[lewisvinga]

an old friend | charles leclerc x fem! reader

summary; y/n and charles used to be best friends and even had crushes on each other until she had to move away to england at 13. but thanks to her job as an influencer, she’s invited to the miami gp where there she reunited with a childhood friend.

fc; merveyano

warnings; ? idk maybe a suggestive comment

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1

notes; requested !

masterlist !

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yourusername uploaded to their story !

[caption 1; guess where i’m goingggg] [caption 2; monacoooo!! hoping to meet some old friends here 😁]

yourbestfriend replied to your story !

yourbestfriend just say ur still in love w charles

yourusername i’m not in love 😭😭 besides i was just a 13 yr old girl w a crush🤒🤒🤒

yourbestfriend yeah and he got rid of that bieber cut and he’s a cutie now

yourbestfriend and ferrari invited you, there’s your chance! 😁

yourusername i just wanna be friends w him again, i don’t necessarily need to date him😐

yourbestfriend yeah but like i said, he’s a cutie

yourusername i mean…. true🫢

yourusername i’m sure he has tons of models wanting him though, i just miss my old best friend!

yourbestfriend OUCH wow🤕🤕

yourusername c’mon y/b/f😕😕

yourbestfriend set me up w lando norris and i’ll forgive you ( and kiss charles )

yourusername ????? Y/B/F??

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liked by yourbestfriend, charles_leclerc, and others !

yourusername: monaco u were amazing as always n that ferrari dining hall is fire 🔥

tagged; scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc

yourbestfriend: and that d is fireeeee🔥🔥 ( was it tho ??? )

yourusername: y/b/f ur on a timeout.

username: help the second picture ??

username: my role model😍😍

username: base is always flawlessssss

username: the 🫶 around charles she’s just like me lmfaoooo

charles_leclerc: glad to show you where the best food on the paddock is😎😎 your love for pasta never went away, huh?

yourusername: cha i have a bowl of pasta at least once a day since i was 10 🥸🥸🍝🍝

username: omg charles and y/n????

username:gorgeous gorgeous girls are f1 fans 💆‍♀️💆‍♀️

scuderiaferrari: we loved having you in our garage 😎❤️

yourusername: tysm for inviting me🥹🥹

charles_leclerc: YES thank you thank you😁

username: y/n and charles knew each other from before?

yourusername: he’s an old friend !😁

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

yourusername uploaded to their story !

[caption 1; the photographer] [caption 2; the outcome 😸]

yourbestfriend replied to your story !

yourbestfriend so did y’all kiss?

yourusername noooooo

yourbestfriend LIAR

yourusername he took me out for lunch then we maybe shared a kiss or two 🥸🥸

yourbestfriend LIARRE

yourusername okay definitely more than 2 kisses😁

yourusername so maybe i still did have a crush on him and maybe he had a crush on me this whole 🤓

yourbestfriend TOLD UUU

yourbestfriend now wyd talking to me go kiss mr. cutie

yourusername u don’t gotta tell me twice 🫡

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

liked by charles_leclerc, yourbestfriend and others !

yourusername: i forza’d his ferrari

tagged; charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc: i’d let you forza my ferrari anyday 😊

landonorris: i have a feeling this has a different meaning,..

yourbestfriend: you’re definitely right (heyyyyyy)

yourusername: 🤫

username: the caption???? i’m???

username: WOW she’s so pretty i can’t

username: charles 🤤

username: girls who drive ferraris>>>

username: she sprinkle sprinkled too hard n is now a wag

yourusername: the best type of sprinkle sprinkle 😇😇😇

username: QUEEEEN

username: she’s a ferrari gyal now

username: ugh she is the moment 😍

francisca.cgomes: miss u sm!!!🥹

yourusername: miss u too😢 next time we hang out just us girls so we don’t third wheel our bfs💆‍♀️

pierregasly: hey now, it wasn’t like that!

francisca.cgomes: ….. i’m not even saying anything 😁

charles_leclerc: ??????? what

yourusername: so true bae so true