#king of hand veins

[veinsfullofstars]

-trips and drops all my eggs on the ground-

(ID: A small compilation of Kirby series fanart featuring Magolor in various silly and disconnected scenarios, with guest appearances by Marx, Kirby, and the rest of the RtDL team as well. More detailed descriptions and transcripts under the cut. END ID.)

I sketched out most of these months ago while I was playing through KRtDLDX for the first time. The Epilogue was giving me thoughts and the brainworms were feeding. Still, I didn’t really have any big piece ideas for these, so I figured I’d just slap them all into a comp, throw some lines and color on, and call it done. A little loose on context, I admit, but I think they came out okay in the end. I just love drawing this wretched man (and the clown that bothers him).

Sketches started 02/28/23, render started 11/02/23, finished 11/04/23. NOTE: This was originally posted on my deleted account on 11/04/23.

---

Image desc. & transcripts (in no particular order):

-Magolor points to a barrel, smiling pleasantly, and says “Trust me, it’s foolproof! Now get in~” Marx looks on unimpressed.

-Magolor (in his tattered gray outfit) grabs his head with a look of fear on his face, saying “No one told me there’d be consequences to my actions!”

-Magolor (in his Tome Trackers outfit) winks and twirls his mustache, saying “Of course I’m trustworthy! You can tell by my mustache and ridiculously high IQ!”

-Shopkeeper Magolor holding the Gem Apple sapling and giving the viewer a thumbs-up, saying “That’s right! Spin-off games have canon in ‘em! It’s all over for you lore bitches!”

-Magolor happily lifting Kirby by the hands via Helper mode

-a large human hand squeezing a frightened and very unhappy-looking Magolor

-Magolor smiling smugly while the RtDL gang (off-screen save for their hands) all point their weapons at him (see the Knife Cat meme)

-Magolor showing Marx a Gem Apple, a look of wonder in the jester’s eyes

-Magolor weeping and clutching his head as a pair of large hands reminiscent of his Soul form loom around him, ready to grab

-Shopkeeper Magolor smiling with his hands together, an arrow pointing at him reading “no longer evil :)”

-Magolor (in his tattered gray outfit), first standing neutrally, then looking down at his hands, then shrugging with his eyes shut, saying “Oh, well. Time to learn nothing.”

-Shopkeeper Magolor showing off a Gem Apple to the viewer, saying “This apple cured my sociopathy! Imagine what it could do for you!”

-Magolor and Marx sitting back-to-back on the floor, the former fixing a pocket watch with a screwdriver, the latter propped up on his side watching a Minecraft let’s play on a purple childproof tablet; Mags says, “So, anyway, that’s how I lost everything to a baby, went to hell, fought my demons, and ultimately grew as a person.” Marx responds in disinterest, “Uh huh, sure, buddy.”

-Magolor winking at the viewer with a hand on his chest, saying “Of course I have a heart. Several, in fact! In really nice glass jars.”

-Magolor and Marx holding hands (er, well, Mags holding the end of Marx’s hat like a hand), facing away from each other, looking flustered and nervous; an arrow points at them reading “Shhh… they’re on their first date

-Marx smiling innocently at the viewer, eyes shut, one tooth peeking out, waving the end of his hat; an arrow points at him reading “causes problems on purpose”

-Magolor looking at something off-screen, a hand over his eyes as if to block the sun

-a tear in the background shaped eerily like a smile, a goopy drip connecting top and bottom, a blank red eye in the center peering out from within

[dearest-alexander]

Give me a soft, disheveled, fluffy-haired, linen-shirt-wearing prince anytime.

photo tweet by @scuttlesz

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Free Day Thursday PART TWO!

Surprise, now you get Baby Croc stuff that needs no trigger warnings! Still borrowing Star Wars "swears", still not sorry.

Part One Here:

The Slam Dozer rolled to a stop in the midst of the Strider Range. Three Wastelanders stepped out, looking around them for what should have been a missing warrior. There was nothing. No vehicle, no sign of the Wastelander who had activated their beacon.

"Eyes open," their leader grunted, "Could be a trap."

Something moved among the boulders, and the men raised their rifles instantly. In response the pale something shrieked and dropped out of sight. Long ears were still visible from the sides of the rock it had chosen as its hiding place, trembling. Then, as if gathering its courage, it raised its head above the boulder.

The men recoiled.

It looked almost like a human child, but...but not quite. A leathery hide the color of a bloodless corpse, pupils so dilated that no sclera were even visible, horns poking out of wiry gray hair. This was not a human. But it didn't look like an animal, either.

"What the kriff!"

The largest of their number raised his gun, sighting down the barrel onto the creature's forehead.

The leader grabbed the barrel and forced it down.

"Hold your fire!" he snapped.

"But sire, look! The rottin' thing's gotta be a metalhead!"

The third man wrinkled his nose incredulously. "You see any gems on that thing? Strewth, man, I think that's a bloody spirit!"

Their leader eased closer to the rocks, noting with some disquiet that the beacon they'd picked up was in the same direction.

"Who are you?" he demanded, as if the creature could understand him, "Are you friend or foe?"

To the surprise of all three, the creature responded.

In the broken SparSign of an extremely young child, it signed, "I Croc! Help Croc? Help big brother! Help! Help!"

On legs shaped more like a Leaper's than a human's, "Croc" bounded away to crouch over a crumpled form in the sand. This time, it was clearly human.

"Eeeeg. Ep!" The spirit thing made a pitiful squeal and patted the boy’s face.

"Big brothers not get up! Too tired! You help? No hurt!" Suddenly he bared sharp fangs, revealing how he'd gotten his name. "No hurt my brothers! You not Red Armor Crunchies? I eat Red Armor Crunchies."

The men wondered whether they really wanted to find out what a "red armor crunchy" was. Slowly, one hand out in a placating gesture, the leader of the band began to move closer. He kept his eyes on the spirit-child and its human "sibling", ready to halt if they made any sudden moves.

"We will not attack you if you do not attack us," he said to the creature. "Where are your people, little traveler? How have you come to this place?"

The spirit-child nestled closer to the motionless boy and uttered a distressed chittering. "I no know. Fancy bad man say us are monsters and taked us here so us would get dead. I no wanna get dead!"

"Exiles?" The big man murmured to the man with the eyepatch.

"Haven's really gone to the crocadogs," Eyepatch muttered back. "I thought their nature spirits had already abandoned them. Didn't think they were killin' em."

"It ain't a spirit, Drake. Nature spirits don't wear clothes."

"Then what is it? Sure ain't a metalhead, tell you that much."

"Enough," their leader interrupted sternly.

He continued to approach the exiles, one foot in front of the other, and pointed his staff behind him.

"There are others here. Animals. At least one is a species capable of speech -- they may shed some light on this. Drake, get the animals and give them some water. Kleiver, put the boy in the truck. He's still breathing."

The child brightened, losing all trace of his former ferocity as if a switch had been flipped off. "You help? You good guys?"

"We try to be," the man with the staff answered, a little dryly.

As he came to a stop by the bodies, he knelt. The human "big brother" was painfully thin, cheekbones sharp against a face that looked younger than anticipated. He had the same matted hair "Croc" did, as if no one took care of him at all. The refuse of Haven: it was not an uncommon condition for exiles to be found in. But most were older, and either coherent or already dead. This boy was somewhere in between.

"He an' Daxter no answerin' me!" Croc fretted. "Not Bad Guy, you wake him up, okay?"

"Damas. Not "not bad guy"," the man grunted as he took a waterskin from his belt. It was half empty, but it would have to suffice. "If I'm to call you by your name, I request that you do me the same courtesy."

"I no can curtsy, Damas man," Croc answered solemnly, "Tail too heavy."

"I said courtesy, not- nevermind." Damas lifted the human boy's head and poured water into his mouth. "Where did you learn our sign language, little traveler?"

Immediately, the child pointed to the unconscious boy.

More mysteries.

🐊🐊🐊🐊🐊🐊🐊🐊🐊🐊🐊🐊🐊🐊🐊🐊🐊

"Yrrp!"

Jak was rudely reintroduced to consciousness by the full weight of his half-brother...clone...person...slamming into his stomach. His eyes flew open as the breath was driven from him in a pained wheeze. Instinctively, he shoved the scaly child off and rolled to his side, gasping for air. The kid was no lightweight.

"Jak!" Daxter's worried voice cut in over his wheezing, "Are- are you okay?! I tried to keep the menace distracted, but he was going crazy while they took the IV out!"

The what?

Jak slowly opened his eyes and blinked until his vision cleared. They were in a room made of metal and some kind of reddish brown stone, radiating a comforting heat -- nothing like the murderous sun in the desert. Jak made a face.

"Wh- rr?" he rasped, unable to say much more until he'd swallowed several times.

"Off. You could have hurt him," a new voice interrupted, deeper and sterner. It wasn't anyone Jak knew.

Croc chirped indignantly, and then the surface Jak lay on rose slightly as if a weight had been removed. Was he on a mattress? Oh. Yes, he was on a remarkably clean mattress. And for that matter, he seemed to be remarkably clean.

That was...a little disturbing. A lot disturbing, actually. Because Jak knew he hadn't washed himself.

"Cr-oc?" he croaked, and finally rolled back onto his back.

An unnecessarily spiky man stood at the end of the bed holding Croc, bundled up in his arms like a particularly naughty puppy. Croc didn't seem to be too upset about it, which was unusual, seeing as Croc bit anyone who wasn't Jak or Daxter. Even Tess had gotten nipped once.

Jak stared at the weathered warrior at the foot of the bed, and the warrior stared back.

"If this is another mirage, I'm going back to sleep," Jak muttered in a creaking voice.

The man laughed.

It was a crackling, raspy sound, as if he were unused to it.

"If this were a mirage, I wouldn't have to make sure the young goblin here did not undo the monks' hard work to repair your ribs."

"My ribs?"*Jak’s face twisted in confusion. "Nothing was wrong with my ribs."

The stranger fixed him with a measured stare that left him feeling oddly defensive.

"Young man, you had two cracked ribs and three that had healed improperly from past breaks. Surely you noticed that kind of pain!"

The boy's blank stare was dismally telling.

"Nobody cares about cracked ribs as long as you can still fight," Jak grumbled. "I've had worse."

Daxter cringed beside Jak. "He's not wrong. Jak here's been through stuff that would give a metalhead nightmares. Don't uh, don't take it personal, y'know? Him and me, we got raised to think pain only mattered when it happened to someone else."

"Why isn't Croc biting you?" Jak interrupted. "He hates strangers."

"Because biting one's host is not an acceptable way to treat the laws of hospitality," the man answered, then bounced Croc a little higher in his arms. "Is that not so, little one?"

"I not bite the Damas man, that's rude," Croc confirmed. "But I maybe bite the stinky man a little bit."

"No, we don't bite Kleiver either," the man -- Damas? -- corrected firmly. "You don't know where he's been."

"I bite only a little bit!"

"No."

"A just a little bit!"

The man adjusted his hold on Croc, shifting him to his hip as though a half-metalhead baby was a perfectly normal thing to encounter.

"You are not biting Kleiver and that is final."

Then he turned his attention back to Jak.

"This one led me to you and your friend in the desert. I brought you to my city. In return, I expect you to be honest when I ask you some questions."

Jak pushed himself up into a sitting position and grimaced at a faint wave of dizziness. "That's it? Just answer some questions? I don't buy it."

Damas looked annoyed. His lips flattened into a thin line for a moment, and his eyes grew calculating. Then he seemed to come to a decision.

"Answer questions for now. Should you choose to remain in my city, you will be expected to prove that you will contribute to the good of the community and not sit idly while others do the lion's share of the work. It is so for all newcomers, although dispensation can be made for your age."

Jak bristled. "What about my age?"

Their rescuer -- and host, apparently -- raised an eyebrow and Jak found himself quieting unexpectedly.

"Exiles as young as the three of you are rarely found alive. Most of our laws apply to older survivors."

Daxter blinked. "Huh. Well. Nice of someone to notice for once."

Damas barely nodded. "The monks will inform me when you are considered recovered enough to be moved. In the meantime-"

He bent and set Croc down on the floor.

"Go, amuse yourself, little one. No biting."

Then he reached into an open bag sitting on the table at the foot of the bed and held up the beacon.

"Let's discuss this."

[mintypsii]

the way he laughs while saying this . brook my sad sad man i would die for him

[thecahhh]

𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐗 (Kings Theatre)

[morganpdf]

hi morg not to diagnose but I just saw ur tags on that post about having to pray a certain way or terrible things would happen. that sounds eerily and concerningly like something that happened to me when I was a fundie kid. maybe look in to “religious scrupulosity”? it’s an OCD thing for me. like I had to say the exact same prayer or a bad thing would happen, pray after ppl “took the lord’s name in vain” even in movies or they’d go to hell. If I breathed in at the wrong angle (???) I interpreted it as a curse word and had to pray for forgiveness. if u wanted to talk about this more at any point I’d be down to DM with you??? sorry I don’t mean to overstep or anything I’m just worried that you feel alone in this

anon i appreciate you reaching out but i need you to know that im losing my mind. simply bc i have a running gag (mostly w myself) where im like. yes i will be talking to a friend w Diagnosed tm ocd like haha this is a normal thing i experience. and then they look at me like one would look at a child who doesnt quite grasp that their beloved hamster bijou #3 is, also, not coming back. kind of like video picture of a guilty dog making The Face but the regret is less guilt and more ohhhh shit im gonna have to be the one to tell him huh.

and this is literally one of 3 messages i've gotten since reblogging that post that boil down to "heyyyy buddy that's not... uh... i think you may want to, uh, actually look more into ocd, maybe."

(also dw lmao youre not overstepping for me personally)

[foster-the-moths]

@localvoidcat guess who went insane (it was me i went insane)

[faaun]

WARNING: The penalty for trespassing on the railway is £1000.

[neuromantis]

i've been actually wondering about how common it is. for your childhood imaginary friend to never really go away.

because, as a kid, it was acceptable for me to have someone like that. to care about and love someone like that. to actually see them and hold their hand. and even as a kid, i still had all those imaginary worlds and people in them in my head, alive, real to me.

but you're supposed to grow out of it. i can't see her anymore. but i can still talk to her in my head. she still has her hand on my shoulder, the weight of her on my back, her breath in my ear.

and as i grew, she wasn't the only one who ended up tangled in my head. there are at least 6 of us here. ones that talk, at least. and over the years, this play-pretend childhood thing... well. i used to think i can become one of them. that i can ask them for help. and they'd come and take my place for a while. give me reactions or resolve or strength i didn't personally have. and now. you can imagine.

i dissociate quite a bit. though it's almost never a complete switch of a personality. more like a set of personas that mix with mine, sometimes stronger. i remember my ex meeting her for the first time. i also remember my other ex meeting both brother and shadow. i remember. it's not a complete blank. but they'd do things i wouldn't do, things i am unable to do or ask for.

just as a kid, my sister was the one who'd always smile and take everything i hated so badly completely in stride. if something hurt too much, she'd be here for me.

and i still think. yes. i do not have did. i dissociate quite a bit, sure. but that's not really it. it's not a personality or a whole different person suddenly. they are their own people, of course. but they've been designed somewhat, they exist to help overall.

i am comfortable calling them parasites (some parasites are also beneficient) or spare people (who can take the load off) or voices (because every decision i discuss with them) or imaginary friends (the thing that started it)

i just wonder. how common it is. i don't even know how common it is where i live to have imaginary friends, to be quite honest.

[veinsfullofstars]

Okay, so, uh… I’m working on the winter piece, right? And I’m sketching out li'l Dedede, just figuring out facial expressions for one of the scenarios, and… this happened.

Heem squeent.

[oreo-creampie]

𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧’ 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐱 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲-𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚, 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭?

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: they are your ex hubby and baby daddy and they want you back, make up sex, monster fucking with true form!sukuna - why let something like logic stop me from being horny when we can have the king of curses for a baby daddy, jealous!possessive!Satoru, sukuna isn’t jealous but crashed your date with pride, daddy/mama/princess, praise/praising degradation/mocking/teasing/light humiliation/embarrassment, squirting, manhandling, choking, smacking, satoru uses a clone, jerking off, pain kink, pussy slapping, vibrator, forced quick orgasm, overstimulation, Toji is doing his best to sweet talk you

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧: Toji being your hot ex-husband who comes over Gumi every week and trying to fuck you as well

Oreo: in my quest to answer old asks here we are! Thank you for waiting anon if you did, if you didn’t I hope this reaches you one day! 🫶🏽

𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢

He turns on your small vibrator, climbing onto your bed. Staring down at you with stunning forest green eyes. “This is what you got to replace me?” You hate how much you love the sight of his massive chest, cocky smirk and thick thighs.

Toji’s cock hangs and lightly sways as he comes closer. You want to him to stretch you out and fill you up. Make you his dumb cock drunk mess who only whines for more.

Ignoring your better judgment to kick your ex back out. You spread your legs, showing Toji how wet your soft cunt is for him. “It makes me cum without bein’ an cold hearted asshole.” You voice isn’t firm like you want. It’s trembling from four months of pent up frustration meeting your desperate anticipation.

The smirk in his face drops a little. “Deserved that.” His smirk softens to a charming smile. “Lemme make it up to ya mama.” He spits on your clit, stroking you with the pulsing toy. Nudging your soft wet cunt with two thick fingers slowly gliding them in.

“I been missing seeing your sweet cunt stretch for me. You feel so soft, wet n’ warm wanna feel ya cumming on my cock. Nothing else gets me off like seeing you soak my cock.” Stroking your sweet spot, focusing on you making you cum quickly.

Closing your eyes moaning, clenching his thick fingers, digging your heels into the bed. You’re lost in the immense relief, muffling your moans with your hand.

Toji pouts, “Look at me beautiful lil mama.” Pumping his fingers faster, adding more pressure to your clit with the toy.

“Let’s make a bet, if I make you cum harder with your toy then you can I win.” The pleasure is intense with the toy pulsing on your soft clit and his fingers working magic. He isn’t playing fair, using his knowledge of your body against you.

Whimpering, “Just tell me you need money.” He’s gaze is too intense, closing your eyes. Biting your lip trying to muffle your cries refusing to give Toji more satisfaction.

Keeping his pace steady, coaxing you towards cumming on his fingers. “I do want money but not from you. What I need is for ya to look at me. Wanna see the look in beautiful eyes when you cum.”

His cheeks flush pink, dripping his voice low whining. “Please.” It shoves you over the edge. Your soaking wet, sensitive cunt spasms, the vibrations on your sensitive clit becoming too much.

“Since I’m winning I wanna take ya out to dinner.” Biting your soft tight, the sweet pain adding at the intense pleasure. “I missed ya sweet tits, squishy thighs, soft stomach, and soaking wet cunt.”

You already came, you couldn't, not again so quickly. Yet you’re quivering, eyes watering, your moans getting louder. Toji muffles your cry with his lips

Rentlessly fucking your sensitive, sloppy wet cunt in a squirting mess, soaking the bed. He doesn't stop, fucking you through your high.

It’s too much yet you want more. You want to feel Toji’s thick cock twitching, his veins pulse seconds before he cums in you. Tears trickle down the side of your face.

Toji breaks away, smirking, “You’re so breathtaking tremblin’ n’ nearly crying cause the pleasure is too much. I've barely done anything and your soaking the bed. Shows how badly she needs me.” He sits up, turning the toy off tossing it aside.

Grabbing himself slapping your cunt with his heavy cock. Jerking your hips back, reflexivly trying to close your legs to escape the overstimulating stinging slaps. He croons, “Is it too much for your poor little cunt?” Dragging himself himself between your lips, running away when he nudges your sensitive clit.

Whimpering, “Yes but I want more, please daddy fuck me with your fat cock.” He flips you over, putting your ass up in the air. Lining himself up, gliding just his fat tip admiring how you stretch to take him. “Or should I call it mine?” You can't wait any long, pushing your hips back taking his cock.

“Nnn fuck that’s it mama fuck yourself with my cock. How good does it feel? Does it make you feel like a whore to fuck yourself like this? Using my cock like a toy.” He groans, it's a deep sound you’ve been missing.

He grabs your hips, meeting your hips with a harsh thrust. Stroking your sweet spot making your eyes roll back. He leans over you, pinning you down with some of his weight.

You’re clawing at the sheets unable to run away. “Come on lil’ mama give me another chance.”

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

He’s in the shirtless. You want to fondle, squeeze, and bite his thick chest. Let your hands wonder down his beautifully sculpted body. You could dig your nails into his broad shoulders, spread your legs and take best cock you've had again.

You know how pleasurable it’s to be underneath and on top of him. Which makes not touching him for the past few months even worse. Finding someone that does it like Satoru is impossible.

“Got my shirt going in the washer with some of your clothes. Ya mind if I crash here for the night? It’s gonna be late by the time it’s dry.” Your brain freezes, and you’re thinking only with your cunt.

You’re caught, weakly snapping, “Fuck you for being hot.” You’re missing his warm, large hands groping your body, fingering your cunt. His soft warm lips peppering kisses like he’s worshiping you.

Satoru's pecs are fuller, and his arms are thicker, with two extra veins running down his forearms. When did he get this big?

He croons, “Careful sweetheart.” Grabbing the top of the doorway, filling it up, showing his size off, smirking. “If your date from last they knew how badly you want to fuck your hot baby daddy what would they think?” You’re stuck on his happy trail dipping into his jeans.

He hooks his thumb into his jeans. You rip your gaze away, cheeks burning, your cunt soaking your panties. "It was a second date so it’s none of their concern.” He steps closer, dipping his head down.

Leaning your head back, closing your eyes. “It’s not serious yet then good.” Opening your eyes, your body engulf by heat. The cocky smirk on his lips is infuriating.

He walks past you, standing in your bedroom door. “Why do you think you can help yourself to my room?” He turns around, his expression is cold, angry. It shouldn’t make you so horny.

Is he jealous?

He motions with two fingers, “Tonight it’s our room ya can fuck me for being irritatingly hot and I’ll show you who is better.” You follow him into your bedroom, closing and locking the door behind.

You suggest, “N’ if you fail to be better in bed?” Another Satoru grabs your hair from behind shoving you towards the original.

Nudging your lips with his thick fingers, gagging you when you part your lips. “Thank fucking god these walls are proofed imma make you moan my name like a prayer. I’m gonna have you cry out calling me god and worshipin’ my cock by the time were done.” Squeezing your neck, grabbing your tongue pulling out out to spit on it.

Stuffing your tongue back in with his long fingers. He unbuttons his jeans, pushing them down with his underwear, getting out his long, veiny cock.

Gliding his fingers out of your mouth, Satoru smears his spit on his cock. You wrap your fingers around him, smear his pre-cum with your thumb. Swirling your fist sliding your hand down his cock.

The clones lifts you off the ground, lining his cock up with your soft lips. Rocking his hips, grinding his warm, hard cock along your soft lips, softly stroking your sensitive clit.

Satoru loosens his grasp around your neck. “Stupid beautiful slut you brought him back here fucked him in what was our bedroom.” The clone Satoru pulls you back by your hips to meet his thrust. “Like your cunt doesn’t belong to me.” He grabs your thighs spreading you in a mating press.

Satoru groans at the sight your soft wet cunt taking his clone’s cock. “You wore this dress for him too.” He rips the front, smirking. He slips his blindfold off, tossing it on the bed. His eyes are cold, hard with intense jealousy you’ve never seen before.

You can’t glare up at him for ripping your dress. Unable to get mad with his cock stirring your guts up with each merciless, quick, deep stroke. He’s fucking a confession out of you. “Got it with you in mind. Knew it was something you liked to see on me.”

“It’s something I love seeing on you. It looks so much better like this, ripped with it bunched around your hips for you to take my cock.” You can’t focus on stroking his cock anymore. You’re too lost in the sweet pleasure of your needy, wet cunt stretching to take his long cock with it’s toe curling thickness.

Letting your thighs go when the clones grabs your thighs. He sits down, man spreading, spitting into his palm stroking himself. “Tell me lil baby mama whose fucking your sweet cunt in a sloppy wet mess?”

𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚

Glancing Sukuna’s lips, he grabs your neck pulling you in close. His lips are so soft despite the roughness in his passionate hungry kiss. Slipping his hand up your dress squeezing your thigh digging in his nails. He slips his tongue in when you whine.

Dragging his nails up your thigh, squeezing your ass, lifting you off your feet. You wrap your legs around his waist. Desperately trying to keep from moaning into Sukuna’s hungry passionate kiss.

He’s hands and lips feel better than you recall, better then when you touch yourself at night. You missed his cocks, his deep groans, all four of his large hands fondling, restraining and playing with your fragile body pushing you to the point of breaking.

Carrying you through the hallway, closing the door locking it behind himself. Pinning you to the wall, dragging his nails up your thighs, fondling your ass.

He breaks the kiss, yanking your head aside by your hair. Biting your neck, you moan from the sweet pain. Using the second you steady to croon, “Aw you jealous Sukuna? Chased my date off.”

Rolling his crimson eyes Sukuna scoffs, “He isn’t enough for ya lil mama. And by the way you were undressing me from across the room I didn’t think you would mind.” His lips stretch into a cocky smirk that makes your cunt throb.

“You’re suck a rude slut with a broken lil cunt that craves both my cocks.” You want to sit on his face and cum till you’re trembling.

You plead with Sukuna, “Can you please?” Trailing kisses along his jawline, dragging your nails along his scalp. You bite his neck, he tilts his head to the side biting into his bottom lip. He moans from you sucking on the soft spot on his neck.

Stepping away from the wall, tugging you off his body dropping you onto your bed. He demands, “Say your a whore who thinks whose greedy lol cunt loves my monster cocks n’ I’ll fuck you stupid.”

Dragging his fingers along the inside of your thigh stopping shy of your cunt. Waiting for you to admit, “I’m your filthy whore who can’t stop thinking with her needy cock hungry cunt. Need ya to fuck me stupid please my King.” He bites his lip, his breath hitching.

“I need your cocks please no one else can compare to you. You make me cum so hard I can’t think straight or walk. Wanna be fucked into a stupid cum stuffed slut!” Lightly stroking your clit through your underwear. grinding your hips.

He croons, “That’s it! I missed hearing you beg. When I think my cock can’t get any harder, it’s almost hurtin.” Fondling himself through his pants, groaning.

“Please take my underwear off. Please my king!” Slipping his finger underneath your underwear. It shouldn't feel so good to have his finger brush your lips but your cunt is clenching.

He groans, “Fuck princess your so damn beautiful, makin’ you my baby mama only made you hotter. That makes you my Queen, my personal cumdump.” Transforming quickly. He’s twice your height and beautifully monstrous with four muscular arms, a mouth stretching across his hard abs. His dark pants outlining his hard cocks.

Unbutton his pants and freeing his cock with a loud sigh. Kicking his pants aside. Massaging his balls, admiring the sight of you laying down in bed with your dress pushed up and legs spread. Your soft cunt soaking wet for him.

Leaning over you, forcing you to look up, grabbing your hands pinning them above your head. Sukuna he slaps your cunt. “This is mine! It’s always been mine!” You reflexively jerk away from the intense sweet sting.

Sukuna yanks you back into place, pinning your legs open. Slapping your cunt again, licking your clit with his stomach’s tongue. Stroking your soft numb quickly, easing the stinging, gliding one thick finger one.

Curling it, remember how your sweet cunt likes it. Massaging your soft spot with the perfect speed and pressure reducing you to a moaning quivering mess, clenching his finger.

The sound proof bedroom containing your loud needy cries. “I miss how you double stuff me. Please, pleaseplease pleaseplease!” Your words are slurring together. His thick fingers are three of your combined, stretching your soft cunt out.

“I know lil’ mama no one can fuck ya like I can. It was a matter of time till ya missed me.” You’re creaming on his fingers too quickly. You shouldn’t be able to. Yet your cunt is clenching and creaming on his fingers.

Your cheeks burning. “Did you cuming so easily?” He smirk grows, “That barely more than a minute, you haven’t been treating her right.” His tongue strokes your puffy clit faster.

Oreo creampie’s m.list

[etfrin]

⤷❝Can't be Shared | Coriolanus Snow❞ˎˊ-

⇢☾Warning: NSFW | somnophilia, mentions of prostitution (Snow was going to 'share' you) cunnilingus, pinv sex, creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it dumbfucks), possessive af Snow, impact play (he slaps your thigh once), ruined orgasm (you do cum in the end) | lmk if I forgot anything!

⇢☾Pairing: young president! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

⇢☾Summary: Snow was going to share you with the elite of the Capitol but changed his mind halfway through only to have his way with you and make you the First Lady of Panem

⇢☾A/N: hehe, the longest fic I have writing so far, hope y'all enjoy this and reblog ;)

<masterlist> < bc: @cafekitsune >

He thought he would be okay with it. He was sure he would be okay with it. But he wasn't. Snow's blood boiled when the rich elitist of the capitol had begun to touch you, whisper you praises, and whatnot. The only thing that was going in his mind was his, his, his.

When had he gotten so attached, he wasn't supposed to be. Letting them touch you, and play with you was a strategic decision to get them hooked and you weren't meant to be his Queen but something had changed. Something snapping in him when the Capitols’ richest eyed you like a meal.

His jaw was clenched and he cleared his throat, “I changed my mind.” He said, “I am not sharing after all.”

You are his. His property. His bird locked in his cage and now his Queen. He pulled you closer, away from prying hands. He glared, memorizing the face of any and everyone displeased, thinking of plans of how to dispose of them quickly because even if briefly they had touched you that was a sin. No one taints the Queen but a King.

He cordially finishes dinner, keeping in mind he was a president, a newly appointed one at that even if he wanted to he couldn't drag you into his room and have his way with you. But he wanted to. His free hand is on your thigh, gripping it hard enough to leave a small bruise. His hold gets tighter the more he has to smile pretty and act polite.

You hadn't said a word, you weren't sure what to say. You were ready to be shared, used, and then discarded. Snow had told you of this beforehand, but he had changed his mind and you were grateful.

Even as he marked you, made you whimper with his grip, giving your thigh a warning squeeze to be quiet. You were relieved that he decided not to share. You were his, you liked that you were his.

Dinner took longer than you would have preferred, but when it finally came to an end, Snow leaned into you and whispered, “Be on my bed wearing my shirt and nothing else, my bird.”

You didn't reply. You get up, walking into his room, heat choking your veins and making your pussy ache and wet. You close the door as you reach the master bedroom of the manor.

Going into his closet you picked on a red shirt, knowing that it would match your skin tone well. You had taken everything else off, your panties and previous clothes on the floor. You were in full display as you didn't even button up the shirt. Your breasts are exposed to the cold air making your nipples harden.

You sat on the bed, waiting for him to come. One minute bleeds into ten and you laid down on the bed. One hour turns to several and your eyes close up. Sleep catches up with you.

You woke up with a gasp. Sleep at the edge of your mind but your mouth lets out a moan wantonly as several things hit you at once.

One. Snow was here.

Two. Snow was between your thighs, his hands keeping your thighs wide and spread for him.

Three. His lips were on your clit, sucking it vigorously making you arch your back and wanting to flinch away from the intensity.

And you tried to move away, your bud sensitive more with pain than in pleasure. How long was Snow like this, sucking at your clit. Your pussy was now impossibly slick and throbbing, wanting to be filled.

A slap was delivered onto your thigh, a hitched moan leaving your lips because of the delicious pain. “Behave,” Snow sneers at you, his blue eyes looking ravenous, his face smeared with your arousal. This was Snow? You thought for a brief second. For once he felt like a man brought down to his knees by a woman instead of something untouched.

“Sorry,” you gasp out as he dives into your cunt. His tongue drew circles onto your clit as your cunt clenched around nothing. You never thought Snow would be sloppy at anything, you thought wrong because his breathing was loud, warn air of his pants grazing your sex. His stubble brushed against your sex as all of his attention was overstimulating your clit.

He finally lost interest as you cried out that you were close just by him playing with your clit for who knows how long. It hurt. It felt good. Perfect, delicious pleasure and pain. You were dizzy, your eyes glistening with unshed tears.

He leaves your clit alone, but his tongue finds its way to the rest of your pussy. His tongue traces your folds, your slit, and the inside of your walls. Leaving no parts of your cunt untouched by his mouth. He was licking every drop of your juices, all the while he made you wetter.

Your hands were fisted into the sheets, your hips subtly moving for friction. A notion that was stopped with a squeeze of his hand on your thigh. You were brought to your high, so close to the edge you would fall in a second as moans spilled from your lips.

Only for that to be snatched away as Snow moved away. You cry out, “No! Please!” But Snow merely raised an unamused eyebrow while his hand wiped his mouth. “Snow, please,” you whispered, feeling the heat and the high of your lost orgasm.

He lets out a scoff as he sees your desperate state. “My meal is finished,” he merely said. His hand takes off the red suit, the same color as your (his) shirt. His fingers unbutton his white shirt, revealing his toned physique. Those same hands now unzipped his pants, his boxer down to the floor revealing a hard cock. The well-rounded tip leaking pre-cum.

“But I am not done with you yet,” he muses, as he moves in closer. You were sitting up now and his hand was on your nape.

“I don't think I'll ever be done with you,” he whispers, the words sealing a promise of forever. “Don't be,” you whispered back, leaning to catch his lips. Your arms around his shoulders to pull him on top of you, to feel his weight, his skin against yours.

Primal instincts take over you both as you kiss. Desperate whimpers and deep groans could be heard and his teeth sank into your bottom lip. Making it bleed and making him suck your blood into his mouth. He pulls back with a gasp, his eyes wide, his lips swollen. His taste was of a dessert you couldn't name. Addictive and delicious.

His left hand was on your cheek, another still on your nape. His thumb brushes your cheek in a manner of caring. “You're the Queen of Panem now,” he announces, making your heart jump in surprise. “The First Lady of Panem.”

With that, he seals his words with a kiss. Soft and ravishing, his tongue explores your mouth. Your hand is in his hair, the blonde locks between your fingers as you kiss back with everything you have.

“You're mine,” he whispered, his lips brushing with yours, “My bird in a cage. My property.”

“I'll make sure everyone at Capitol knows it,” he said, his eyes looking at you with the ferality of an animal stripped to his bare instincts. “Is that understood, my bird?” He asked.

The answer couldn't be anything but yes. So you replied exactly that and he grins. He looked beautiful in that moment, his charms coming out making you even more needy.

You pulled him in for another kiss, his lips smiling against yours as both of your tongues tangled. His hand lowered itself and cupped your cunt. His fingers trace your entrance and you whimper into his mouth but he doesn't breach in.

He gathers your arousal on his digits, and he pulls back from the kiss to take the digits into his mouth. After sucking his fingers clean, he kisses you again, letting you taste yourself.

His hands pushed you down on the bed, your legs on his shoulder. He takes a deep breath, taking you in, his bird being such a pretty mess.

He placed a kiss on your thigh that was unbelievably soft that for a moment you didn't believe it was action done by Snow's lip but the harsh bite of his mouth marking the skin of your inner thigh proved otherwise.

He leaned down, his hand in your hand above your head. Your free hand dug into his shoulder, forming crescent marks that made him groan, a choked-off desperate sound that you wanted more of.

All the while he placed his cockhead right at your entrance. You gasp as you feel the tip slip inch by inch into your velvety warmth. You wondered if he was going so slow because he wanted you to adjust to his length. However, one look at his face told you were wrong. His blonde strands clinging to his forehead, his lips parted and letting out hot breaths all the while his eyes closed shut, his eyebrows furrowed as he buried his dick into your cunt with the slow pace.

The reason he was going slow was because he wasn't sure if he could last and fuck, that got into your head. Birds are little teasers and you were no different so you clenched around him. His length half pushed in and felt your pulsing cunt wrapping itself tighter around him.

His eyes fall open as he lets out a grunt of surprise and pleasure, “Fuck.” His icy eyes glare at you, “Don't.” Your pussy only clenched further in reply and his hold gets harder, pressing your hand into the mattress as he sank in completely without a warning. “Ah!” You let out in surprise, the stretch painfully perfect.

“Take it,” he whispered to you, his lip biting your earlobe before he dragged his mouth to the pulse of your neck to mark you up properly as his property. His hips now beginning to move, calculated and controlled just like every other action of Snow. Every thrust hits your g-spot relentlessly, making you gasp and moan, back arching in pleasure.

“Gentlemen make their women cum but you're not a woman. You're my property but I am merciful so cum. Cum on my cock untouched, my bird.” He groans into your ear as his pace gets faster, a tad bit of desperation creeping in as his hips slam into you without a care. You could only moan in reply, truth is you didn't need to be touched to cum. His cock, his skin against yours, his mouth sucking your neck, and placing love bites were enough. More than so.

The heat was already forming in your stomach, waiting to be released and spread all over your body. The final push hadn't come long after. As you and Snow shared a filthy open-mouthed kiss, he had thrust so hard and deep, a small bulge had formed, your cervix being kissed with his cockhead.

You cry his name and your pussy comes on his cock, milking his length with repeated squeezes. “That's it, my bird,” he praises as he continues to abuse your cunt with his dick. Your nerves are oversensitive making you whimper and teary-eyed. He found his release with a whimper, his hot cum filling your womb. He pulled out with a small gasp and you wanted him again.

His hand ran through his hair, pushing the sweaty strands up. “First lady of Panem,” he stated, looking at you and then your body, his cum falling out of your cunt.

“First Lady…” you whispered, in disbelief and for whatever may come in the future.

[kbwrites]

The Lord's Favorite CH.3

Synopsis: “And there you were, lying underneath the terrifying king, a man of immense power and ruthless intent, who would watch the world burn on a whim.”

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⚝content: trueform!Sukuna x f! reader, nsfw, mild language, voyeurism, sukuna has two cocks, pure smut, gentle sukuna

⚝wc: 2.2k

⚝a/n: please the messages I’ve been getting from this series have been so unhinged?? I love it

“I believe your presence is precisely what I crave.”

And you swear your brain ceases to function. When you regain awareness, you find yourself against the black silken sheets of Ryomen Sukuna’s enormous bed. The air is thick with the scent of incense, and the dim light from flickering candles casts long shadows across the room. And there you were, lying underneath the terrifying king, a man of immense power and ruthless intent, who would watch the world burn on a whim.

He looks down at you, two of his strong arms gripping your hips, the rough pads of his fingers digging painfully into your flesh. Your gaze flickers down to his body, taking in the sight of his rippling muscles, flexing with each subtle movement. His broad chest rises and falls at a steady pace, a stark contrast to the thunderous beating of your own heart. His crimson eyes hold a possessiveness, the gaze of a predator stalking its prey, intense and unyielding.

Ryomen Sukuna was alreadyterrifying fully clothed, but his naked form elicited a different fear in you altogether. Two thick cocks stood proud and eager. You try to take in every detail, thick veins running up the sides, flushed angry red tips dripping pre-cum down his monstrous shaft. Your breath catches in your throat, all of your saliva drying up as you force a swallow. His lips curl into a smile that sends shivers down your spine. He lowers his head to your ear, his breath searingly hot against your skin.

“You are aware I do not like waiting.” He growls.

“W… what would you like me to do My Lord?” The uncertainty in your tone is evident. He pulls back slightly, his gaze piercing through you with a mixture of disbelief and dark amusement.

Yes, you were younger than the other women in the castle, most of whom had come to serve after being widowed or hardened by life. But he assumed you’d had some knowledge. He had no need for concubines with no experience, anyone else who would dare enter his chambers without it would be swiftly dealt with. ��Training pets’ was of no interest to him. But he couldn’t seem to ignore the way his cocks twitched at the thought of being the one who would ruin you. With a swift, almost effortless motion, his four powerful arms shift your position. Within the span of a heartbeat, he flips you over so that you find yourself straddling him, the change in position startlingly abrupt.

You’re momentarily paralyzed, a jolt of panic surging through you. What exactly were you supposed to do now? Theoretically, you knew what was expected, the steps that were supposed to follow, but… how?

༺═────────────═༻

On occasion, you found yourself wide awake during the night, the sound of the bed frame creaking and exaggerated moans muffled through the door connecting your room to Sukuna’s. Of course, Curiosity, that dangerous and ever-present impulse, got the better of you—and you innocently pressed your ear to the door. And of course, your eyes found their way to a convenient crack in the dark mahogany.

‘You should be ashamed, spying on your king’

You cursed yourself as you watched him. He laid on the bed, a woman—who you’d seen enter his chambers multiple times was bouncing up and down on his length. Crying out as her hands rested atop his broad chest. Two arms guided her hips and the other two rested behind his head. Her loud moans of pleasure, a stark contrast between his low grunts. Your hand clasps over your mouth, suppressing your gasps as your own hand reached under your nightgown.

The sounds of skin slapping, squelching, and the woman’s theatrical wails acted as cover to your own quiet moans. As it continues Ryomen's head suddenly turns to the side, eye locking directly onto the door. A menacing smile spreads across his lips. Your blood runs cold as you make direct eye contact with your lord.

You cease your movements, tiptoeing back to your bed. Squeezing your thighs together, to desperately cool the unbearable heat.

“My…. lord… what are you looking at?” She gasps in between thrusts. You only hear a slap before covering your ears and praying it was just coincidence his eyes fell on that part of the room.

And from his lack of mention, you thought you had gotten away with it.

༺═────────────═༻

And now you sit between his two muscular legs, the same way you saw that woman do. Staring down his two thick members. A shaky hand wraps around one, unable to grip him fully. A soft moan escapes his lips as you feel his cock twitch under your touch. You begin to pump slowly, your movements hesitant. 

“Don’t..act so coy, I know you’ve seen this before.” And your heart drops in your stomach. You search for an excuse, a denial, but they all die in your throat. He only grins in response, looking at you through half-lidded eyes. One arm reaches behind your head, gently pushing your face mere inches away from his throbbing length. Your eyes flicker up to him then back down to his angry red tip, after a deep shaky breath you gather some spit in your mouth allowing it to flow onto him. He groans at the sensation, hand gripping your hair tightly. 

You loll your tongue out, smearing the spit and pre-cum around his tip. Your other hand wraps around as well. Sukuna growls as your mouth engulfs him, tongue swirling around his head. He pushes your head down slowly, your mouth stretching at his size. Tears well up in your eyes as he hits the back of your esophagus, sinful gagging noises emanate from your throat. He hums amused.

“This view suits you…” He chuckles lowly as his hands guide your head up and down his shaft. He sets the pace, before letting go of your head. You look up at him through your fluttering eyelashes, the tears pooling in your eyes. Sukuna lies against the plush pillow, hands giving attention to his aching second cock. His breath hitches as his hips buck up, his length pushing even deeper into your throat. A sudden feeling of choking causes you to come up for air, coughing as oxygen finally enters your lungs again. A wave of embarrassment washes over you. 

How pathetic you must look to your king, not even able to provide him with pleasure.

Ryomen grabs your waist, pulling you back under him. His eyes, darken as he pushes his body closer to you. A low thunderous rumble reverberates from his throat as his spit-soaked length finds friction against your stomach. You feel your own arousal pool between your legs as you are overwhelmed with a dangerous mix of fear and desire.

His lips capture yours in a rough kiss, sharp teeth baring down on your bottom lip as his tongue explores your mouth. Your soft moans are swallowed by him as his strong hands roam your naked body. He parts from the kiss, a trail of spit still connecting you two. He looks upon your panting form, without a second thought diving into your neck nipping and sucking at the delicate skin. Two hands grope your breasts, rolling the swollen buds between his fingers. He squeezes gently as you whimper under him, moving his mouth to encircle your nipple. The heat between your core nearing unbearable.

“My.. lord… p-please..” You cry out, his teeth graze your nipple, a warning. He huffs against your skin.

“Do not rush me, woman.” His mouth moves to your other breast. Staring up at the high, ornately decorated ceiling of Ryomen’s chambers, you find yourself drifting into a daze. Suddenly coming to when you feel a rough hand reach between your wet folds. Sukuna purrs lowly, gathering your slick between his fingers. Your gaze meets his once more, you desperately squirm against his hand.

“Already so eager… surely you realize you’ll break if I try to fuck you.” His voice laced with playful menace as his fingers tease your entrance. Your vision hazes as you look up at your king, your bruised lips part taking in shaky breaths in anticipation.

One thick finger enters, pumping into you slowly as you feel your whole body turn to jelly. Sukuna chuckles darkly as you writhe under him, he adds another thick digit giving you just a second to adjust to the slight stretch. You feel a pressure building in your abdomen, similar to the one you felt the night you spied on your king.

“You’re close, aren’t you… How disappointing it's just from my fingers.” He coos bringing his other hand to your throbbing clit. He speeds up his ministrations, slipping in a third finger to bring you closer to the edge. A slight curve upwards is all it takes for your sinful walls to clench around his fingers, your back arches as you are delivered to a place you’ve never been before. The unfamiliar feeling of orgasm, the pleasure of release washes over your body.

Ryomen removes his fingers from you, watching as your hole flutters around nothing, he brings the slick-coated fingers to his mouth, tongue darting out to taste the fruits of his labor. You catch your breath as you feel his weight pushing you deeper into the sheets. His crimson eyes bore holes in your soul as he looks down at you with pure hunger in his gaze. One of his cocks rubs between your folds, gathering your arousal. A flash of hesitation crosses your face.

“I do not expect you to take both your first time.” He attempts reassurance. His cockhead rubs up and down, kissing your clit before pushing into your hole. 

He growls as he slowly enters you, feeling the warmth of your walls enveloping him. You wince at the stretch, tears pricking your eyes. His hand reaches to cup your face, thumb wiping away the tears as they fall. He hushes your cries with a gentleness previously unknown to him.

“Relax little one… I hnng am going as slow as possible.” He moans as more of his length is surrounded by you. The way your warm walls clench around his thick cock makes his eyes roll, you were so tight, a temptress made to bring him to his knees. A vision of utter seduction. Buried deep in your pussy, you could ask anything and surely he’d grant every one of your desires. “You.. fucking minx.” He curses as his tip kisses your cervix.

Your hands claw at his chiseled chest as you feel him reach the depths of your cavern. 

“Lord Sukuna! T’much!” Your words come out jumbled and slurred as he begins to thrust into you. His pace slow, painfully so. His face etched with utter concentration as he tries to control his urge to split you open. With each long stroke, you feel every vein as he drags along your walls. Feeling deliciously full as King Sukuna pumps purposefully into your cunt.

“F…Faster please my lord..” You whisper shamelessly, his eyebrow quirks up in amusement.

“You dare…order your king?” He sneers, picking up the pace anyway. His hips stutter as he feels your cunt squeeze around him. Sukuna pulls you up to him, now resting on his heels as his two strong arms hold your back and the others hold your hips in place. Your arms snake around his neck supporting yourself as he pistons into you.

His thrusts become less rhythmic as he nears his breaking point. He grunts louder, his breath quickening.

“You belong to me… fuck… you hear me woman?  All mine. Mineminemine...” He groans and babbles as he delivers one last thrust, his cock twitching as he paints your walls with his hot sticky seed. Your back arches in his hold as you reach your climax. He watches as your body convulses, melting like putty into his hands. He lowers you back onto the mattress, watching as your chest heaves. He slides his cock out of you, still semi-hard now covered in a mixture of your slick and his cum.

You take in the sight above you: his slightly damp pink hair, tattooed arms now bearing tiny welts from your scratches. And the look on his face—his red eyes nearly black from arousal. Gods, you wished you could take a picture, a snapshot burned into your brain for eternity.

He sinks into the space next to you, catching his breath. You are quiet for a moment, mind still reeling from the events that just transpired. Should you stay? Were you meant to just up and leave after? Unease coils in your chest as you sit up, gathering yourself for the short walk to your room before you hear his voice again.

“ Where do you think you’re going?” His voice laced with a hint of annoyance. You glance over your shoulder to see him propped up on one of his hands, his gaze dark.

“I thought you’d want me to—”

“You will stay. You will… sleep here with me.” he commands softly, his grip firm yet gentle as he pulls you onto his broad chest. Your ear presses against his pectoral, the strong, steady beat of his heart thrumming through you like a soothing lullaby. You look up at him, his eyes are closed as he rests his hand atop your head. 

“Sleep…” he murmurs, his voice a deep, husky whisper before his soft snores soon rumble in his chest. You close your eyes as well, drifting off as you lay on the man who’d watch the world burn… for you.

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[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.

[nachojaehyun]

head so good, she a honor roll

pairing. idol wonu + new staff! fem! reader

summary. if wonwoo had to describe his new stylist in one word, it would be unpredictable. i mean, who would have known you were this good at sucking his soul?

warnings. [PLEASE READ] oral (m), light throat fucking, messy/sloppy head, the best head he had EVER received, wonu wears glasses, teasing, he almost cries, mentions of past sexual encounters, THICK dick wonu, no gag reflex queen reader — 18+ MINORS DNI!

note. jeon wonwoo, you genuinely deserve the best head in the universe. thank you for existing king.

wonwoo felt like he was going to pass out.

the tides of pleasure were overwhelming him, making his eyes roll to the back of his head as he bit his lip to subdue his noises.

initially, he hadn’t thought much of you at all. when PD Na announced that a new staff member was joining the Seventeen crew, wonwoo could only clap and bow as you entered the room.

you were pretty— he’d give you that. your features were pleasant to the eye, and the thick framed glasses you adorned on your first day made him smile.

he was happy to know that he wasn’t the only one who was batshit blind in the room.

you were his stylist. of course you had taken him to get his color analysis done, taken him to multiple stores across Seoul, brought him piles of clothes for performances and off duty days.

you were his stylist. of course you had seen him almost naked, but you had never bat an eye at him, only instructing him to “wear his clothes faster.”

you were his stylist. of course you had first hand experience in the most embarrassing encounter in jeon wonwoo’s career— you had seen his dick rip out from a pair of very tight slacks. you still remained stoic, carefully asking him to take his pants off as you went to search for another pair. he was red in the face, cock half hard as he tightly fisted the curtain of the changing room in shame.

you were his stylist. so why on earth were you sucking his cock like your life depended on it?

wonwoo swears he didn’t know how it happened. you had texted him half an hour ago that you were going to drop off some clothes at his apartment before his fitting tomorrow.

it was supposed to be a simple exchange— you would give him the bag and you would leave.

but of course he had his phone silenced and didn’t see your notification.

of course he was sitting on the living room couch, fisting his length in his hand as he tried to relieve the tension in his muscles from dancing for 4 hours straight.

of course he forgot to lock the door to his apartment while he was blatantly moaning like a whore—

here you were, mouth dragging along his tip as you looked up at him through your long lashes, glassy eyes blinking innocently. the bag of clothes you had brought to him was long discarded, laying limp on the floor near his coffee table.

the grey contacts you had on make wonwoo shiver, whimpering as your tongue swirled around his tip.

“fuck baby, quit playin,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair as he watched you down his cock like a champ. wonwoo’s glasses were sitting at the edge of his nose, lenses fogging up.

his hand reached out to fist your hair in a makeshift ponytail, mouth falling into a near pornographic growl as he felt your hands fondle his balls.

his cock was unbelievably thick. your jaw was nearly falling slack. however, the salty taste of his precum was far too addicting for you to care about your own discomfort.

you hollowed your cheeks, trying to feel every ridge and every vein that his pretty cock had to offer. you pulled him out of your mouth soon after, placing kisses along his side as you suckled on his tip.

your free hand came to jerk off his base, spitting onto his leaky tip to use as lube, adding more pressure as his eyebrows scrunched.

“ ’m close— hah!” he whined, tears coating his lashes as you took him in with no warning.

unable to hold himself back, wonwoo harshly yanked your head back, rolling his hips into your mouth. you moaned at his rough treatment, sending vibrations that tightened the knot in his stomach.

“shit shit shit!” wonwoo grunted, feeling his dick weigh down on your tongue that continued to lick and torture him while he used your mouth as his personal fleshlight.

you could feel him twitch inside you.

to give him the final push over the edge, you lazily dragged your freshly manicured nails gently against his balls, cupping the two as he emptied inside your mouth.

wonwoo’s hips stuttered as his thighs shook, feeling ropes of his cum spurt into your open mouth.

he pulled out slightly, jerking off to give you the rest of him. you simply sat on the floor, wagging your tongue, catching every drop of his seed. as soon as you swallowed his release without any question, wonwoo felt himself getting hard again.

wordlessly, you wiped your mouth of the drool that had dribbled past your lips. pushing your weight from your thighs, you glanced at your wristwatch before smiling.

“see you at 8 tomorrow, wonwoo-ssi. don’t be late.”

with that, jeon wonwoo watched you wave him goodbye and walk out the door.

his mind was blown as he breathed out softly, still coming down from the best orgasm he ever had in his life.

sure, he had been blown before. but most girls were too scared to keep him in for more than a few minutes, complaining that their jaw hurt from his sheer length and thickness.

but you? dear god, you and your perfect self never complained, silently taking his cock in your mouth. you didn’t care about your own pleasure, mind consumed by the man wearing glasses in front of you, shock written all over his features.

“fucking hell, what is she doing to me?” wonwoo groaned, fisting his once again hardened member as he begin to circle his tip with a thumb.

he felt sensitive from his last high, closing his eyes as he imagined the scene all over again— wondering how many positions he could bend you over in.

if only he knew that you were in your car, fingers curling inside your folds as you moaned out his name. his cock had moulded your throat.

click here for part 2

© nachojaehyun, 2024

[aemondfairy]

Blood Lust

summary: With his ego inflated after Rook’s Rest, Aemond makes another move against the blacks — taking you.

pairing: Aemond x Niece!Reader

word count: 1.8k+

warnings: Explicit smut, dark!Aemond, incest, oral sex (f recieving), p in v sex, heavy dubcon, loss of virginity, mention of blood, knife play, angst!!! 18+ MDNI

Destiny was a fickle thing but Aemond Targaryen knew three things for certain: he was destined to lose an eye, destined to claim the largest dragon of the known world and destined to be with you.

For as long as Aemond could remember, he wanted you, dreamed of you. The mere thought of you made his cock ache at any moment.

It was not as if Aemond had no other options. There were plenty of Lord’s willing to send their daughters to King’s Landing to be married off to a prince.

As lovely as those girls might have been, they all shared the same detrimental flaw: they simply were not you. You were a member of House Targaryen — bastard born or not, the blood of Old Valyria ran deep within your veins. You were a skilled dragon rider, you carried yourself with grace, held a quick wit, spoke your mother tongue. Above all else, you had been there for Aemond when no one else was. You were perfect.

Aemond had no interest in being betrothed to a Baratheon or a Lannister, nor an Arryn or a Stark; even the most beautiful girl the Tyrell’s had to offer would simply never compare. After a denied proposal for a betrothal and you being taken away to Dragonstone Aemond felt powerless — until now.

Your entire body aches as you make out your surroundings. You had been taken in the middle of the night, forced onto dragon back with your hands and feet tied.

“Listen to me,” your uncle says as he crouches in front of you, “if you scream the guards will come and you’ll be thrown in the dungeons. You have no friends here except me. Do you understand?”

You nod your head in agreement, desperate to be free of the makeshift gag he had made for you.

“Aemond, this is treason,” you state plainly.

“Treason, would be betraying the crown, sweet niece,” he responds, “I am the crown.”

“Fuck you!” you grumble at him.

“Iksos bona skoros ao jaelagon?” Is that what you want?

Against your better judgment, you spit right in his face, observing him nervously as he wipes it away.

“Fiesty little thing you are.”

“What do you want with me, Aemond? Will you force me to kneel before you? Carve out my eye? Perhaps I’ll suffer the same fate as my brother?”

Ah, Lucerys. He was waiting for you to bring that up.

“While I’m sure that seeing you on your knees is a glorious sight, I have other plans for you.”

“I have no desire to bed you, Aemond. I am betrothed.”

The smirk on his face slightly drops at that. Betrothed.

“And where is Lord Stark now?” He questions casually.

“Preparing his army for war.”

“I wonder how it must feel?” he goes on, “to be whored out? Practically sold like a broodmare so that your pretender of a mother can build herself an army?”

“Better to be his whore than your war prize.”

The mask of cruelty on Aemond's face fades for a moment, and for a second, he almost looks hurt at your words.

“Is that what you think? That you’re merely a ‘prize’? You wound me, dear niece. Do you not remember that I love you?”

Ice fills your veins at his confession and your heart drops into your stomach. Things could’ve been different, they should’ve been.

“I don’t understand why things had to escalate in this way, Aemond,” you say as you start to cry, “you could’ve —“ you choke back a sob, “you could’ve had me.”

Aemond takes your chin in his hands as he lets out a laugh.

“I do have you, baby.”

Fear courses through you at his words. Aemond unsheathes a knife from his jacket pocket and holds it to your chest for a brief moment before pulling away.

“Hold still,” he demands as he cuts the rope that holds your ankles together.

You wince as Aemond forcefully spreads your legs apart, violently cutting a hole into your undergarments, exposing your cunt to him.

“Tell me, has Stark fucked this pretty little pussy yet?”

He knows he hasn’t, he knows you and Cregan still have yet to meet. He wants to hear you say it.

“N-no,” you stutter as you continue to cry. Gods, you look so pretty when you cry, Aemond thinks to himself. He only smirks in response.

“You are still a maiden, right, sweet one? You haven’t let little Lord Strong defile you, have you?”

“Gods, Aemond. No.”

“Hm,” Aemond frowns, “a shame for him, really. Now he’ll never have the chance being that you will never see him again.”

“They’ll come for you,” you tell him.

“If they wish to keep me away from you and your perfect cunt they’ll have to kill you,” he muses, “But even then…”

A darkness takes over your uncles face and you soon realize the Aemond you once knew is gone. You are dealing with a whole new monster. He is an animal, a beast — and you are merely prey.

“Do you touch yourself?” he asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

“S-sometimes,” you whisper, feeling ashamed, but finding it difficult to lie to him.

“What do you think about when you do?”

“Not you,” you retort.

He runs two fingers through your soft folds, causing you to gasp, before bringing his fingers up to the light.

“Liar,” he states as his fingers glisten, coated in your slick. “You know you don’t have to lie to me, baby. I think about you, too…”

You can’t help but notice the evident bulge in your uncle's pants, his cock strains against the delicate fabric. You can tell how big he is. You try your best to divert your gaze elsewhere.

“Now, I’m going to untie your wrists. Might I remind you of what I said earlier: You are far better off in here, with me, than out there,” he says, pointing to the door with his dagger.

You’re not sure if you believe him. At this point, you might prefer to be thrown in the dungeon with the rats, left to starve. Instead of arguing, you simply nod your head as Aemond cuts you free.

You feel wobbly as you stand on your feet, Aemond holds your hands as you gain your composure. Your ankles and wrists feel sore, but Aemond rubs his thumb against your wrist soothingly.

Your heart is practically beating out of your chest as that familiar ache between your legs begins to grow. You know you shouldn't be aroused by this behavior, but your body is betraying you.

Aemond picks you up swiftly and places you onto his bed. There was a time where you dreamed of this. If only your younger self could see you now.

Your thoughts are interrupted once again as Aemond’s large hand wraps around your throat. He squeezes lightly, trying to keep you in your place. You make a feeble attempt to push him away, but he is too strong and you can’t break free.

“Please, don’t be afraid of me,” he pleads, “I need you,” the timbre of his voice is so low that you aren’t sure if he meant for you to hear. His free hand moves to your breast, massaging it roughly through your chemise.

"You are so beautiful," he says, leaning over you. You feel him press himself against you, his cock rubbing against your leg, pre-cum leaks out of the tip and smears onto your thigh.

He pushes back and nestles himself comfortably between your thighs. His dexterous fingers part your folds ever so gently, exposing you to him completely.

“Gods, you’re perfect. The most perfect girl in the entire realm,” he groans before his face is buried between your thighs. His plump lips suck at your clit as he prods at it with his tongue before moving up and down your slit. You feel yourself getting wetter, arousal leaks from your core and Aemond laps it up eagerly. On instinct, you spread your legs even further apart, your body betraying you once again.

Aemond licks harder, and you feel the soft muscle of his tongue slip inside you. A loud moan erupts from your chest as a tight knot forms in the pit of your stomach. Your hand shoots down to to tug at Aemond’s silver tresses.

You’re so close, you’ve never been touched like this before and one final glide of his tongue pushes you over the edge. You cry out loudly as you cum, your vision going blurry as your cunt contracts around him.

Aemond pulls himself from your core and stands up, grabbing your hips. He harshly pulls you to the edge of the bed and you feel his cock pressing against you. You eagerly push towards him this time. There is no point in fighting him. You gasp as he enters you fully, filling you completely. The stretch is overwhelming, a tight burning sensation. The fullness begins to feel good as your silky walls flutter around him.

“Just relax,” he coos, “I know you want me.”

You feel his cock twitch inside you slightly as he groans, leaning down to bite your shoulder.

“Fuuuck,” he drawls, “you’re so tight and wet, baby, so perfect; just like I dreamed you would be.”

Your cheeks bloom crimson at his praise and you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him tightly as he fucks into you. The sharp pain soon fades into pleasure. The fat tip of his cock relentlessly bullies that sweet spot inside you that you were never able to reach on your own.

Aemond reaches up to paw at your breast, pinching at your nipple roughly, and a wave of pleasure crashes over you. Your spine tingles and your toes curl, causing you to moan in response.

"You think Stark could fuck you like this? Make you feel the way I do? That anyone could?" He rasps as his thrusts become relentless. He slaps your face when you fail to give him an answer. A shameful whimper escapes you.

"Answer. Me." he demands between thrusts, his teeth gritted together, his thumb swiping over the rosy, delicate flesh where he hit you.

“N-no, Aemond! Only you, just you! I'm sorry!” you all but choke out to him.

“That’s right, my sweet. You were fuckin’ made for me,” he grunts before pausing his thrusts, his hips stuttering before he pulls his cock out of you almost entirely. Making note of the blood that coats his shaft, hoping you don’t notice.

“You know it, I know it, your mother knows it,” he grits out, “you’re mine.”

“Yes, Aemond, I’m — fuck! I’m yours,” you mewl.

“Do you love me?" he asks, your mind is hazy, and stars blur your vision as he continues to drill into you. Even while he is taking control, his insecurity still has a way of shining through his cruel demeanor.

You loved him once, long ago. Maybe you could love him again? You know the answer he is looking for is not ‘maybe.’

"Kessa, Avy jorrāelan." Yes, I love you.

Aemond grins at this, impressed with your knowledge of your shared mother tongue.

He slams his cock into you full force, stilling as he presses hard against your cervix, making you cry out again. His hand tangles in your hair as he places his forehead against yours.

“I’m not gonna last much longer,” he tells you.

You grip at his hips, pulling him into you.

“C-cum inside me,” you moan through bated breaths, “claim me as your own, once and for all.”

“You’ve always been mine,” he says as he complies, pushing into you deeply as he shoots his hot cum inside of you, warmth blooming in your chest as he does so; before collapsing on top of you.

“What happens now?” you ask, as he gently pulls himself out of your heat, allowing his seed to seep onto the bed sheets.

“This is just the beginning.”