#long as amber of ember glows

[likehephaestionwhodied]

Remembered I saw Would that I live at red rocks

[unknownths]

sad spicy little fox

[chcnges]

✦ eve mason tag dump ✦

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 19

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: Have a good day.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The queen rises, restless as her skirts sweep around her, streaked from the hem with the filth of the road. Her insistence on finery has proven fruitless. Her once prized gown will likely never be free of stains. She has many more, you only hope they survive the journey. 

She struts back and forth, scowling as she faces the wall and drops her shoulders. 

“Why is there no mirror?” She pouts, “this place is drab. How am I supposed to keep from going blind with dullness.” She flops back onto the bed, “ugh,” she rolls over, “maid, I need wine.” 

“Your highness,” you say sheepishly. 

“Do not,” she raises her hand in a harsh point, “I don’t care about the king’s orders. I have been on the road for weeks, I am sore, I am filthy, and I am tired!” She snaps her fingers, “if I want wine I will have it.” She puts her hand over her middle, “it is for the king’s child. He is thirsty.” 

You avert your eyes. You can’t deny her. Even if the king ordered that she be deprived, you cannot look her in the face and tell her no. If they king never knows, it mightn’t matter. You turn, your disobedience nipping at your ears. 

You emerge into the corridor. The orange-haired guard remains, along with the shadow standing across from him. Bryce looms, picking his nails with a small dagger.  

“Has the queen retired so early?” He asks. 

“She requires wine,” you return, “I won’t be long, sir. Might you point me towards the kitchen?” 

“I will accompany you,” he insists as he stand straight. 

“Do not trouble, sir, I am faster alone. I only need direction.” 

You see the disappointment tick in his cheek. You’re not so mad as you were, only cautious. The king will always come first, his will shall always circumvent your own. It is a reality you knew before but now it gleams in a much different light. 

“Down to the east, on the lower floors behind the statue of the knight in black armor,” he explains, “do take care not to lose yourself.” 

“I will, sir,” you nod and glance over at the other soldier. The man with carroty hair eyes you up and down. 

You flit off, hurrying upon your quest for a bottle. You’re not certain you’ll find bounty in your mission. This is not the king’s castle and you are not a thief. 

You descend and come around the bottom of the wide stone railings. The great hall is empty and only a few lanterns remain lit to guide you. You go east and find your way, coming upon the knight in black armour that at first appears as a real sentinel in the dark. You stop to look upon the suit, admiring the ripples in its forging. 

You go into the kitchen and find the haze of the stove lighting the empty space. You peer around at the dark alcoves as the air glows amber, pulsing with the heat of the embers. You tiptoe inside, narrowing your eyes to see through the dim. 

“Are ya lost?” A growl rises from the darkness. 

You spin and face the black silhouette of a large man stood on the other side of the thick wooden table at the center of the kitchens. You gulp and sway on your feet. He must be the cook or perhaps the cellarer. He likely thought you a rat scurrying around looking for crumbs. 

“No, sir, I... would there be a bottle of wine? For the queen?” You ask, your voice catching in your throat as he looms like some great husky bear. He reminds you of the white beast in the corridor as he comes around the table, the light catching the white of his thick locks. 

His body is as thick as a barrel and his shoulders broader. The flickering hue reveals the scar above his left brow and his pocked cheeks. You wonder at the tint of his hair as you try to tell if it’s the age the lines his face or if it is the same effect as the king. 

“Wine? For the queen?” He echoes sonorously, “hmmm.” 

“Yes, sir, if there would be any to spare?”  

“Mm, suppose a bottle might go missing,” he backs up and turns. He doesn’t beckon you onward but you follow anyway. Something about him bids you without a word. 

He takes you to the far end of the kitchens and grunts as he squats and reaches to his belt, jangling a ring of iron keys. He shoves one in the thick lock in the clasp of the hatch and unhooks it. He lifts the heavy door, thick cedar bolstered with steel and throws it back to hit the floor. 

“Ah, hold,” he signals you with a palm as he stands and retreats. 

He strides across the kitchens and without a word, shuffles in a cupboard. He mutters as he takes a tallow and lights its wick from the embers, setting it into a brass holder. He offers it to you and you take it without a word, curious at the grumbly cook. 

He descends the steep stairs first and you follow, balancing the candle carefully. He takes you by the elbow to help you to the beaten floor and you raise the candle to light the expanse of the cellar. It extends well past the limits of the flame’s eye. 

He goes to a shelf and slides a bottle free of its cubby. He tuts and puts it back. He pulls out several bottles before he makes a decision. He comes closer to examine the glass by the flame. 

“Summer wine,” he says and flicks his pale eyes up to you. They remind you of the king’s though they are paler in the candlelight. “And you, serve the summer queen?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“You are a summerer?” He asks. 

“Sir,” you bow your head, “you can tell?” 

“Aye, no winter’s blood wears a cloak with walls to hold them over,” he chuckles and looks around. 

You glance down at the cloak. You hadn’t thought to remove it as the cold radiates from the stone. Even without the wind, a shiver creeps through your flesh. 

He frightens you as he reaches for you, only to touch the fur collar of the cloak, rubbing a tuft between his fingertips, “it is well made.” He lets his hand trail along the front and turns out the interior of the trim. You look down your nose as he reveals a patch you didn’t notice before; a wolf’s head. 

“Yes, sir, it is warm,” you agree and he withdraws his hand. 

“Suppose a summer’s maid needs it more than a winter’s king,” he says. 

You’re quiet. You have nothing to say to that. How many others took note of you in the king’s cloak? Do they whisper about it? 

“Your queen may take the wine,” he holds out the bottle, “and the king, might have a cask of ale should he require. Only one,” he lets go of the bottle as you accept it and holds up a finger, “he does not have leave to drink this cellar dry. Crown or no crown.” 

“Yes, sir. Many thanks.” 

He snorts and shakes his head, peering down at you, “a dove like you is out of place in this nest of vultures,” he muses and gently takes the candle from your hand, “better fly back to your queen, bird.” 

“Sir,” you turn towards the stairs as the candle illuminates your shadow against the shelves. You turn to climb and peer back at the man. He watches you, his eyes flickering with the flame. 

“Gentle creatures don’t fare well in the cold,” he clucks, “best keep that cloak close.” 

You ascend and cradle the bottle at the top, keeping it close as the liquid sloshes heavily inside. You pad over the kitchen floor and into the corridor. The great hall is even colder as the shadows ripple over you. As you come up the stairs, a shiver quakes through you. 

Something about that man, about his words, clings to you. His way of speaking is ominous, like those card readers who would visit Lady Rezlyn. Or perhaps it is only that you are waiting for the inevitable. 

As you near the queen’s chambers, you hear distant footsteps from the other direction. You come in sight of the grey soldier, spinning his knife as he whistles, the redhead guard sending him an irritated glower. You slow, preparing for the guard to repel you or at least seize the bottle from your arms. 

He does not. Even as he turns his scowl on you, he only reaches for the door to let you in. Before he can push inward, a throat clears. You all pause and turn to face the new figure. The king looks between you all; from the guard, to you, to Bryce. Your nerves flutter wildly. You haven’t been this close since the night on the pass. 

“I hope that wine is meant for you, Sir Bryce,” King Geralt booms, “as my queen is not permitted to indulge. She has a vile reaction to the stuff.” 

“Your highness,” the guard swallows audibly, “I... the queen--” 

“The queen is my wife and a wife must bend to the will of her husband,” the king insists hotly. The guard’s expression draws and he mutters an apology. 

“I was unaware of the ban,” Bryce intones, “but I’ll gladly claim the bottle for my own.” 

“Gilles,” King Geralt ignores the quip and points to the redhead guard, “you will inform the queen that she needs retire for the night. In her condition, it is necessary that she rests. If she requires sustenance, she may have bread and cheese and a bit of goat’s milk.” 

“Your highness,” the guard, Gilles, nods diligently. 

“And you will fetch it yourself,” the king insists, “I trust you might find your way around a tray.” 

Gilles stares at the king then slowly pushes into the queen’s chamber. The king nears and takes the bottle from your hand. You let him and back up as Bryce steps closer. 

“Your highness,” the soldier begins, “if I’d been aware--” 

“Hardly matters now,” the king shrugs and steps close to his man. He leans in and whispers something you cannot hear, “as you were,” he slaps his shoulder then continues on. You watch after him, perplexed but relieved at his indifference. Perhaps he has rethought his intent. 

Bryce is quiet until the king’s footfalls fade off. He lowers his chin, rubbing his thick beard. He touches your cloak, a small tug on it, “this way, maid. Let us find you a place to lay your head.” 

The promise of a bed is nice and reminds you of your weariness. Your legs ache as you follow Bryce along the corridor. Your shoulders rack and the remnants of the road begin to lace through your muscles. It is only as you think of laying down that you feel the effect of those last months. 

You yawn and stifle it in your hand. Bryce glances over and lets out a willowy breath. He is certain of his path despite the twists and turns. He directs you to a door at the base of one of the castle’s towers, opening it to a spiraling staircase. 

“Would be at the top.” 

You look up at the winding ascent. The walls are mounted with lanterns over every fifth step. You frown and pull back, turning to the soldier. Your stomach churns. 

“Up there? May I not rest in the servant’s quarters?” 

“You must be closer to the queen,” his lip trembles. He raises his chin and looks away. When his eyes meet yours again, he puts his hands on your shoulders, “rest your head, mouse, you’ve come very far. You’ve earned it.” 

You look at him. You know he isn’t saying all he could. He can’t. You put your hands on his arms and squeeze.  

“I’ll try,” you affirm, “thank you, sir. I am very tired.” 

“Yes, mouse, sleep,” he pulls away. 

“Good night, sir.” 

He hesitates, “good night.” 

He turns stiffly and marches off. You step into the staircase as his shadow disappears and you pull the door shut. You look up, climbing step by step, legs shaking as you get higher and higher. You reach the top step and another door. 

You push the handle down and the lever rises on the other side. You enter the chamber to find it empty. You stand at the threshold and turn, searching for any shadow, any shimmer in the low light of the fireplace. It’s only you. 

You breathe and turn to look down the staircase. You listen. Nothing but the winds battering the walls without. You close the door and slowly wade into the warmth of the room. The windows are hung in heavy curtains and there is a tray waiting on the table. An ewer, cups, a plate heaping with delights. You aren’t hungry for any of it, you’re too uneasy. 

You unbuckle the cloak and drag it from your shoulders. You turn it over your arm and feel the patch sewn into the lining, examining the wolf’s yellow eyes. He’d marked you and you never even knew it. You fold the heavy length over a chair and back away. 

You untie your cap and unveil the short shanks of hair jutting out from your scalp. You haven’t had a chance to shear your unruly locks before they could get too long. You fold the cap and put it on the bed. You remove your apron then your dress and leave them with your cap. 

You take a pillow and a blanket from the mattress and bring them down to the bench at the end of the bed. You fit yourself onto the hardwood and watch the fire’s light pulse on the stone wall. Your eyes glimmer with tears, turning your vision to speckled hues. 

It’s all so nice, too nice for you, and knowing why you’ve come upon it, turns it sour. It is not kindness, there is expectation attached to such generosity. You should’ve known. You did. You were just too stupid to see it, just as the queen always said. 

You twit. 

You close your eyes and pull the blanket to your chin. You embrace the warmth, your one comfort left. There’s a long road that awaits you still. Not only through the Hinterlands but another, more treacherous path. One you never meant to stumble upon. 

Your body weakens, succumbing to your fatigue, overtaking your wrought mind. Your eyes roll back behind their lids and your breath peters out. Sleep enshrines you as blackness eclipses the orange haze of the chamber. 

[delirious-donna]

Hiromi stood by the window; his jacket and tie were discarded by the couch, and his white shirt wrinkled and creased from the stresses of the day. It made you pause in the doorway, your steps lightening so as not to alert him to your presence.

There was no noise except for the continuous pitter-patter of the rain. It drummed against the slate roof overhead, tinkled against the windows and formed ever-growing puddles in the divets of the street below. Your umbrella had saved you from the worst of it. Head down and focused on your footsteps, you hadn’t taken any enjoyment in navigating the pools of water that were not taken care of by the drains along the road, yet right now… it felt different.

Hiromi was framed by the open window in your living room, leaning against the sill with the sleeves of his shirt rolled back to his elbows and a cigarette dangerously close to being extinguished by the droplets falling steadily to the ground. The tobacco mingled with the petrichor, muted by the earthy aroma to a more pleasant level that had you inhaling deeply as you stepped closer. Your lungs filled with the magic of nature despite being deep in suburban Tokyo, but what drew you in was him.

A white haze surrounded him, one that called out to you and spun playful tendrils around your wrists to pull you close. Perhaps it was a manifestation of what you had fallen for all those years earlier, or maybe it was simply in your head. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the way your heart sped up and your body instinctively reached out for the solace that only he could provide. Hiromi was your haven, your nirvana. This may be your home but that home was truly wherever he was and you didn’t think he knew that—somehow that only made it all the more true.

Your arms encircled his waist, the cooler air brushing against your skin like a lover’s caress, and your head rested on his shoulder. Tension leaked out, his muscles relaxing and shifting until his breathing evened, and he placed a sturdy hand atop your own. For a while you both stood there; unspeaking yet baring your souls, unmoving but travelling together. The embers from his cigarette flared one last time before flickering out, spent.

“How long have you been standing here?” You asked, at last, breaking the spell of silence and hurtling you both back into the here and now.

“Hm… long enough.” His tone was light, jovial even, and you squeezed around his waist until he gave a small wriggle of protest.

“Long enough to watch your umbrella bob past. I wasn’t sure why you didn’t say something when you got home, but this is nice,” he conceded.

“I was admiring you, Hiro. Hardly a crime for a woman to admire her husband, is it?”

Hiromi snorted and turned slowly to envelop you against his chest. You could hear the steady beat of his heart, smell the fading scent of his cologne and you rubbed your nose into the stiff fabric covering his chest.

“Not one that I think would stand up in court,” he teased, his nose buried deep in your hair.

“That’s never stopped you before.”

“True, but I’ll admit that I’d much rather have you here, in my arms, where you belong… than in a courtroom. They can be awfully stuffy.”

“Sounds like you.”

“Oh ho! I’m stuffy now, am I? Well then, I guess I’ll see you in court you—you… husband ogler.”

At that, laughter bubbled up and out. Frothing and eager to fill the room with your humour. You could feel Hiromi’s body judder with the want to join in, only subdued by the bite of his lip. His warm brown eyes fixed upon you as you lifted a hand to cup his jaw and teased your fingertips over the scrape of stubble adorning his cheeks and chin.

“I’m home,” you sighed wistfully.

Hiromi smiled, leaning back to feel stray raindrops land amongst the peppering of greys in his thick black head of hair. The petrichor intensified as if heralded by your declaration, the setting sun breaking through the grey clouds to dapple your bodies in an amber glow. All was right in the world and he felt lucky to be able to say that with conviction.

“Welcome home, my love.”

an: I saw this beautiful piece of art by @kanashiki79 and they were kind enough to allow me to draw inspiration from it for the above. I guess I was in a bit of a sappy mood for Hiro today, but who could blame me?

[little-annie]

Just a little drabble inspired by @sentient-trash and this beautiful piece of artwork.

Since last night everything around him just seems a little bit brighter.

The sun, the sky, the light in Eddie's eyes when they met Steve's just this morning.

Even working at Family Video with the musty carpets, crackling speakers and Robin's constant nattering. It all seems a touch more bearable with the taste of Eddie's good morning kiss on his lips.

“You're in love? Steve, really?”

‘Yeah,’ he thinks to himself as he enters another returned tape into the system, forgetting to answer Robin completely. ‘Fucking yeah he is.’

It's just… last night was perfect. Something out of the movies. Eddie's hand in his, the feel of his calloused skin against Steve's palm. Their laughter and how it was accompanied by the gentle chitter of crickets in the grass, their melody carried away by the late night breeze.

It wasn't supposed to end up that way.

Smoke a joint. Yell at the moon. Go home.

Not dancing in the din of the moon and the stars. The lights of Eddie's van casting their shadows over the open grassy field as they swayed in each other's arms. The silhouettes of their bodies cascading over the land.

“Dingus?”

All it took was for Steve to hum the tune of Faithfully and Eddie to admit he actually liked the song, and then suddenly they were dancing. Steve was pulled from his position in the tall grass and up into Eddie's arms where they laughed and sang and eventually settled against each other until they fell quiet. And then the evening turned into something else entirely as they swayed and the grip they held on one another grew tighter.

“Do you even hear me?”

It was there in Eddie's arms, the moon as his witness, that Steve thinks he fell in love. He never wanted to leave that moment. If he could live eternity in Eddie's grasp, in some long forgotten field with the light of the moon and stars raining down on them, he would. He'd dance in fields of fireflies and live with the knowledge that even their glow was nothing compared to the fire burning in his heart. Let it scorch his soul and alight his veins only to live a few mere seconds more with Eddie's breath against his neck and arm around his waist.

He'd let the fire consume him completely to feel Eddie's lips press to his for the first time again.

“You're a lost caus-” Distantly Steve hears the ring of the front door's bell, and the beginning of Robin's bored company mandated greeting, “Welcome to family- oh, hey Eddie.”

Eddie

Never has Steve's attention been grasped so fast.

He doesn't even realise he breathes the man's name out himself. Lost to the trance that's amber eyes and a striking smile.

“Light of my life!” Eddie crows happily in response, moving with an uncharacteristic sort of grace to the checkout counter Steve's still standing behind, forgotten return tape still grasped in his hand.

His knees feel a little weak as Eddie approaches, eventually leaning with an elbow on the red formica and pillowing his chin on a ring clad fist.

His eyes are just as beautiful as Steve remembers, the glow of burning embers locked away in his earth toned gaze.

They're both silent for a moment, ignoring the way Robin's fake gagging only a few feet away. But eventually Edsie speaks again, this time though, voice low enough for only Steve to hear as he asks, “You want to do that again?”

Only for every night for the rest of my life

Cheeks suddenly so much more rosy than they just were, Eddie reaches for Steve's hand and whispers, “I could live with that.”

[threewordusername]

you deserve a reprieve—

    a gentle release from the world’s ceaseless hold,         where warm, tender hands cradle your own,

sunbeams cascade downward,           spilling like honey,     over the lines etched in your weathered skin—         softening each scar, each burden.

    within this peace, this private paradise,

the quiet hearth, nestled in the deepest corner     of your spirit, glows in hues of amber and burnt orange,     its embers pulsing like a heartbeat.

    you are cherished here,         as you always should have been;

rest here, as long as you need—         every life, including yours, is precious.

"who do you call 'home'?"

d.b.a

"i found myself at peace, her in my arms, resigning myself to sleep in again; the world won't go anywhere while we rest."

[druidwolf21]

As per the votes, here's some loving smut with everyone's fav space viking!

Leman Russ/F reader

Content warning-

sexual content

A bit of fluff

Homesickness

Saying I love you during sexy time???

@moodymisty @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @lemon-russ @beckyninja @jaghatai-khock

Hope you like some sexy lovins

Words and meanings

Skitja- fenrisian curse

Volda Hamarrki- the mountain range of fenris

Skitnah-dirty/foul

Aett- clan hols/ heath fenrisian name for the fang

Stormurstjórn- stormcaller (I used this as a little pet name

Skíthof- another fenrisian curse

Gmorl-fate

The fire roared and blazed, spitting sparking embers across the marbled guard as you stared listlessly into the light. The book you had been reading hung limply from your hand as your eyes followed motes of flames dancing from one cindered log to another as it's warmth gently toasted your skin.

You allowed your eyes to wander from the embers to the room you sat in. Cold steel walls rising high above you, dispersed with woven tapestries of great battles and flickering oil torches. You sighed wistfully as your sight fell on a painting of a forest, trees frosted with diamond snow and silvered icicles, shadowy wolven figures dancing through the wood with amber eyes that seemed to glow.

You fisted the furs on the bed you had perched on as you threw the book aside and fell backwards, staring at the canopy above you, willing it to turn from soft cotton into the grey fenrisian sky. Squeezing your eyes shut and inhaling, you could almost smell the frozen sap, warm mjord and smelting iron that hung perpetually through the halls of the fang.

But home was a long way away and no matter how hard you willed it, upon opening your eyes, the dream of Asaheim faded into the distance. Your memory of warm meals and warmer company left a bitter taste in your mouth as you swept a hand across your face. Your thoughts were dragged back into the present by a wet nose against your thigh and a quiet whine.

Resigning yourself to your current situation, you drag yourself upright, smiling gently as you come face to face with golden eyes and a maw of teeth as long as Eldari daggers. Thick lines of spit coated each fang as the beast breathed heavily in your face before letting out another low whine.

You snorted and place a hand on the wolf's snout, playfully pushing it away.

""Skítja, fenki!" You curse "what have you been eating, your breath is worse than...well I don't know, but it's bad!"

You recoiled as your question got you a long, hot lick from your bare ankle to the top of your thigh. You hopped off the bed and rushed to an oaken dressing table, ripping a towel from a drawer and dragging it along your leg.

"you are so gross" you laugh lightly, dropping the towel and walking back over, pressing your face into warm fur and inhaling deeply.

"I guess you miss home too, huh?"

You nuzzled in deeper, wrapping your arms around the giant canine as far as you could, twisting your fingers through coarse fur and feeling the slow, steady rise and fall of it's chest.

"I promise, as soon as we can, we'll take you back home, back to Volda Hamarrki. Me, you, Russ and Geri, does that sound good?" You whispered, trying to stem tears before they fell

"we'll go back, away from this Skitnah ship, feel the snow under our feet again"

The tears flowed freely as you buried your face, gritting your teeth, willing them to stop as you fought to push the home sickness from your thoughts.

"Making plans for me, my little Stormurstjórn?"

You spun round, hair whipping around as you turned to face the owner of the deep voice that thrummed through you.

Lemans grin faltered as he saw your face, wet with tears, he threw down his thick cloak as he rushed over, dropping to a knee and cupping your face gently.

"my heart, what happened? why do you cry?" His face darkens and a snarl starts forming on his face, his hands and eyes gliding over you "did someone hurt you? If someone touched you I'll.."

You shake your head gently, looking into lemans icy blue eyes and smiling shyly.

"no my lord, I'm fine, just wishing for the comforts of home"

You see the tension leave your primarks body as he leans back slightly and your heart fluttered as his easy smile found his face again. He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips before pressing his forehead against yours.

"The Aett may be far, but you are here and that is home enough for me" he murmured, his voice as thick and sweet as honey mjord as he brushed the tears from your face.

You pulled away and pressed your hands to his cheeks, admiring the way the dying embers cast a warm glow across his face and down his neck. His eyes shone, almost reflective as the light flittered and sputtered.

A thick golden braid had fallen over his shoulder and You leant back in, running the hair through your fingers before pressed a kiss against his lips. His arms wrapped around you and you felt like you were melting into him as he returned your touch, running his tongue along your lips, deepening the kiss.

You gasped as a callused hand found your ass, snaking beneath the metal blue dress you were wearing. Leman took advantage of your shock, pushing is tongue into your mouth and tasting you, his other hand locked in your hair. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you sucked his tongue, tasting mjord and smoke, earning a growl in return.

You separated and leman admired the mess you had become already, lips pink and cheeks flushed.

"I can give you a taste of home, if you miss it so much" he smirked, running his tongue along his fangs.

You rolled your eyes and grinned, before leaning back in for another kiss.

Russ took this as an open invite and swept you in his arms, dropping you on the bed and slowly slid your dress off your shoulders, peppering kisses and bites marks down your neck and shoulders as he swept the garment from under you and tossed it to the floor. His hand gripped your waist and ran down your thighs as he took a perk nipple in his mouth and ran his tongue around it, he grinned again, lifting himself from your breast to look at you.

Your eyes were slightly glazed as your chest rose and fell, looking at your lover with doe eyes.

He returned his gaze to your body, trailing his tongue down your stomach before reaching where you wanted.

He lifted your thighs higher as he dove in, licking and sucking on your pussy like a starving man. You gasped and instinctively locked your fingers in his hair.

His tongue felt rough but throne did he know what he what he was doing

Your moaned his name, hips jerking fruitlessly as he held you down, his eyes locked on your face as you came, your hands tightening in his hair as your orgasm rocked through you.

Leman rose, licking away your taste from his lips as he looked down at his work, you lay, flushed and gasping on the warm fur across the bed.

Just the way he liked it

He quickly made light work of his own clothes, throwing them into their own heap next to yours

Your eyes grazed over his body as he stalked towards you, trailing down his broad, scarred chest, following the line of his abs and the trail of hair, lower and lower...

Leman, climbed over you, his braids tickling your skin as he gently gripped one of your hands, locking it next to your head and gazing down at you. You felt your cheeks flush at the intensity of his eyes. The concern, care and feral arousal in his stare raised a heat in your core.

"my little queen" he whispered in your ear, as he slowly slid inside you, inch by inch filing you. You moaned as you felt yourself stretch to your limit, his dick reaching deep inside you as your back arched, pressing your breasts into his chest. He pressed a kiss to your cheek and slowly withdrew, before sliding back inside you, over and over.

"I'll fuck all the sadness right out of you"

You moan his name as he ground into you, one hand still gripping yours as the other held your thigh up, fucking you deeper than you could imagine. His dick touched every part of you as he filled you, over and over. The knot in you stomach getting tighter and tighter...

"L..leman right there!" You mutter into his ear, biting at his lobe "p please"

"Skíthof" he cursed as he felt you tighten around him, "so tight for me" your muscles fluttering around his cock as he drove deeper into you as you came.

Yes, scream my name, you belong to me, my sweet, my heart

You panted as you finished, wrestling your hand free, you gripped around his neck and looked deeply into his eyes.

"I love you, leman" you sighed, biting you lip as the feel of his driving into you, the sound of his breath and skin on skin and the heat from his body drove you towards another peak. "I love you, my wolf"

A brief look of shock passed across Russ's face, his movements became erratic and he growled and dropped his head to your shoulder as you felt him finish, feeling his cum fill you up as he jerked into you, pushing it deep inside your pussy and biting your shoulder, marking you as you cried out, finishing with him.

You stayed like that, wrapped under the body of your lord, his face pressed into the crook of your neck and your arms around him, his dick still wreathed inside you as his cum slowly leaked out.

The reality of your words set in

I love you leman...

The sweet comfort of your afterglow vanished and you blushed furiously.

"did I seriously say that for the first time DURING SEX?!" You screamed internally

Finally, you felt your partner moved, slowly raising off you, his locks tickling across your breasts sending goosebumps across your bare skin as he looked down at you wordlessly, the blue galciers of his eyes looking down at you, almost searching.

"mmm my lord I.." you stutter, trying to find the right words.

He silenced you with a firm kiss, grinning that stupid sexy grin. But despite the smug smile creeping across his features, his face was soft and he met your confused look.

"And I you, my Gmorl"

You lay in shock for a moment, your brain twisting at what was happening as leman pulled away from you and stretched, looking over his shoulder at you. You sat, bolting upright.

"I.. you..."

He smirked at you over his shoulder before rising to his feet and throwing your dress at you.

"come then, sweet one, do you still wish to see fenris again?"

He loved the way your eyes sparkled and you jumped off the bed towards him, clutching your wrinkled dress to your chest.

"really?? We're going home?" You laughed and spun and leman felt his heart skipped a beat in his chest.

He shook his head and bared his fangs in a wide love sick smile

"anything for you, my little love"

[danibee33]

The Queen’s Guard

*COD medieval au - Simon Riley x reader

cw: arranged marriage, dark themes, attempted sa & non-graphic sa but pls *read at your own discretion*, gore/violence, sexual themes, etc.

word count: 1.1k

“Again.”

You can’t help but to flinch at the sound of swords being drawn; it rings in your ears, echos in the recesses of your brain. The piercing, metallic clangs resound throughout the room-

How long had you been here, anyway? Judging from the sunlight that peers through the high transom windows, its golden rays giving the great hall an ethereal sort of glow, it must be nearing time for dinner-

“I’ve seen enough, thank you.”

With a dismissive wave, you rise from the bronze throne and turn on your heel, eyes focused straight ahead, fixated on the intricate carvings in the doors, your escape just within reach-

“Your Grace..”

General Leon’s voice is laced with exasperation and warning, and your long history with him is the only reason you halt, your handmaid nearly bumping into you as you turn again- the young woman struggling to rearrange the ridiculous train on your gown as the man speaks,

“You cannot continue on without a Queen’s Guard- His Grace demands the position be filled.”

Oh, of course. How thoughtful of your kind husband. The husband who only sees you when the physicians deem you fertile enough to produce an heir. The husband who you’re not even sure could pick your face in a crowd because he only ever fucks you from behind, your face pushed down into the animal furs beneath you.

The husband who killed your last guard, gods rest his soul.

Yes, I’m sure he’s very concerned for my safety..

You give a heavy sigh, fighting the urge to roll your eyes as you feel the placating smile tug at your lips; the one you’re so, so good at. The practiced smile that puts everyone in the room at ease, the one you’ve perfected in your relatively short existence of being groomed for this very life.

The life everyone dreams of, a life of royalty, of the highest privilege and power- how little they truly know.

“Of course, please, let us meet the next one then.”

Taking your place upon the throne once again, you sit properly, prim and demure, just like you were taught. The very picture of perfection in your emerald colored silks, not a single hair out of place-

Yet, inside, you were wasting away, your thoughts boiling and raging, your anger smoldering just under the surface, like a vein of coal in the earth that’s been lit aflame- the embers never dying, but never able to turn into the inferno they so wishe to be.

You don’t bother to spare your gaze when the doors open with a low groan, the quiet footfalls that enter the space only really given away by the shifting of chainmail and armor.

They’re confident strides, you notice- long and steady, and without even seeing him yet, you can feel the energy shift around you, his presence seeming to fill every available void,

“Ser Simon Riley, Your Grace.”

With one look, you’re utterly struck by the imposing man walking towards you- shoulders and hips swaying with each deliberate step, left hand resting lazily on the hilt of his long-sword.

His armor plates are dark, obsidian in hue, so different from the usual flashy silver you see everywhere you look. He is a looming shadow in front of you, somehow as wide as he is tall, if that were possible- and his eyes. The skin around them have been smudged with kohl, making the mottled amber of his irises look preternatural, his unmoving gaze entirely focused on you, even when he bows,

“Your Majesty.”

Your mind screams danger, much like it would if a fully grown wolf had just sauntered through the doors, looking for its next meal- and yet, for as much fear as he inspires, there’s something that draws you in- like a siren singing to sailors lost at sea.

Returning his gesture, you gently nod, holding his eyes until the General calls him back to assume a fighting stance; and even then, you swear you see his head tilt just so, just enough to flash you an arrogant look as the guard takes his place across from him. Ser Simon must easily stand a head and a half taller than the other man, you think, his figure even more impressive than it was before.

The men exchange nods before drawing swords, their dance beginning the same as all the others, assessing and calculating each other until the guard makes the first move-

The heavy whoosh of his blade is dodged with little effort, the giant wraith of a man moving far faster than any of you expected. He gracefully ducks under the other’s still outstretched arm, placing himself in the perfect position to swing his own sword towards his opponent's exposed neck- a maneuver surely meant to behead if this were anything other than a mock duel.

“Reset-”

“No.” You stand abruptly, stepping down from the throne much to your own surprise, “Ser Simon, what experience do you have as a Royal Guard?”

“Your Grace, this is-”

With a raised hand, you quiet the General, watching the mysterious knight sheath his sword once more, bowing again as he faces you,

“None, Your Majesty.”

Well, at least he’s honest.

“What experience do you have then?”

His head tilts to the side, and you watch the other guards tense when he takes a single step closer, those damned eyes gleaming down at you with a hunger you’ve never quite seen before,

“Battle, Your Grace. I’ve seen far more than most.”

This time, it’s you moving towards him, and when you step closer, the Kingsguard follows suit, though it seems nothing goes unnoticed by the towering specter.

“Well, Ser, I do not go into battle.. You might be better suited for my husband’s army, no?”

You watch the very corners of his eyes crinkle slightly, his gaze narrowing in amusement, and you’re positive you would see a devilish smile on his lips if he removed the helmet,

“I might.” He says flippantly, broad shoulders shrugging as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, “But, I came here to serve you, My Queen.”

A deep and burning chill blooms in your core at his words and the resolute way he says them; it lights every nerve on fire, every cell and molecule, every atom in your being vibrating at a frequency you’ve never felt as the title rolls off his gilded tongue.

No, you’ve never met a man quite like this, and part of you questions if he truly is just a man at all- because no man has ever felt like this, no man has ever been able to pick you apart so quickly, make you feel bare with just his gaze alone.

He terrifies you as much as he excites you, and oh, how you’ve longed to feel something other than loathing, and boredom.

There is nothing practiced or placating about the smirk on your lips now as you nod toward your General, your handmaid once again adjusting the cumbersome fabric of your gown as you move forward-

“Well, you’ve gotten your wish, Ser Simon.” You coo as you breeze past him without a parting glance, “General Leon, make sure my guard is taken to his new quarters, will you?”

They fall into a sweeping bow as you exit, a quiet acknowledgement being the last thing you hear before the deep pulsing of your own heartbeat fills your ears.

What in the seven hells have I done..

[chapter 2 >>>]

[arcielee]

Taste of It

Summary: Modern!FemaleReader has a delightful sex dream. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemReader Word Count: 2406 Warnings: Smutty smut, fingering, choking, language, p in v. Author's Note: Hey, this is my first Reader fanfic I have ever written. I am open to all criticism, because it will help me be a better writer and is definitely not a degradation kink. This was inspired by the story you can pretend it's not meant to be (but you can't stay away from me) by @themotherofhorses​. I just loved the idea of a lucid dream with Aemond Targaryen. ♥ Thank you @f4ll-for-you​ for being so kind to read this over! Series:  Call It Dreaming 

“What are you doing here?”

His voice is low, lethal, and somehow familiar to you, despite the unfamiliar setting you find yourself in. Your hands wash over your body, feeling your favorite oversized shirt, an old David Bowie print that was comfortable with age and just long enough to cover your ass, with the hem touching the peaks of your bare thighs. There is a coldness to your surroundings, which was all the more apparent on your bare feet and the skimpy, cotton underwear you wore beneath your nightshirt. 

You remembered being cozy on your couch after a long, hot shower that peeled away the stress accumulated from both work and schoolwork, partnered with a mask to exfoliate your pores. You remembered the scent of your new lotion, a mixture of vanilla and brown sugar, while you admired the reflection of the black underwear and matching bralette on your figure before you decided to put on the oversized vintage top before you crawled beneath your blanket to rewatch House of the Dragon. 

“I asked you a question,” his voice repeated, his tone sharp. You could hear the sound of a book snapping shut that caused you to jump and turn on your heel. Your eyes flit over your new surroundings; you were in a room with tapers lit that added to the warm, amber glow emitting from the hearth and its embers, highlighting the meticulous placement of furniture and its grim vibe.

You nearly choke on your heart when your eyes finally find who the voice, the one that was both low and lethal, belongs to. 

Aemond Targaryen was seated in a leather chair by the fireplace, one hand holding a closed book by its spine and his brows knitted above his gaze, one lavender eye and one sapphire eye, focused on you with a look of sheer annoyance. 

You could scarcely react when he pushed himself from his seat, his long legs allowing long strides to cover the distance of the room, and you could feel the heat from his body as he pinned your back against the door. His large palm was on your neck and he slowly squeezed the sides.  

You can still breathe, but your vision begins to fog and he pushes closer, his nose pressed against the side of your head with the hot whisper repeating his question, “Who are you?” 

This is a dream, your mind rationalizes. A sexy dream you guess from the heat that pools in your lower abdomen and melds with the heat that exudes from the prince. His scent is intoxicating; he smelled clean, mixed with a woodsy musk and the hint of smoke. It was a dream, you decide, and gods be damned if you would not utilize this subconscious interaction. 

“I have been sent for your pleasure,” you finally manage to say, your mind spinning from the lack of blood.  

Your words release his grasp, but his hand remains rested on your collarbones. “Another one of my brother’s whores?” He asks with the curl of his lips. Perhaps he tried to sound annoyed, but you hoped instead for him to be intrigued since your modern garb was hardly the fashion of the Streets of Silk. “You may show me what you have to offer and I will make my decision.” 

This is promising, you smile at him. Aemond takes a step back but you note he remains within arm’s reach, thinking you may try to flee but he is completely unaware you have no intention to leave this room. With slow breaths as your vision clears, your fingers reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it overhead, dropping it at your feet to show him your black cotton bralette and matching cheeky underwear. 

You watch his eye roll over you, pupil dilated, from your head to your polished toes and back again. You hold your breath and only relax when you hear his hum of satisfaction. 

Aemond moved to grab you, perhaps he meant to drag you, but you are quick and willing to follow his direction towards the bed, gleeful when you feel his large hands rest on your hips and bring you around to push you back against the mattress. 

Your eyes widen at the sight of him bending at his slender waist, his arms caging you and the curtain of silver hair spilling on both sides. His head tilts slightly to peer at you and you stare back with blatant admiration of the sharp angles of his jawline, the gleam of his sapphire eye that you did not notice the dagger he held until the glint of the blade caught your attention. 

Your breath holds as he presses the dagger flat beneath the front of your bralette and it hitches in your throat with his fluid motion to twist the blade and bring it upwards, tearing the fabric. 

“Hey!” You gasp, pressing up to your elbows to face him as he falls back a step, holding the torn fabric in one hand and sheathing his blade, all while admiring the natural slope of your breasts. You feel a slight burn and look down to see a red line and beads of blood forming from the sliver. 

“I only wished to see if you were real,” his words were not an apology, but more an explanation. 

You push to sit upright, your hand grabbing his own to bring his palm to your breast. “I assure, I am very real,” your eyes are glassy with your bold words and actions, but it works and he moves to press on top of you. You fall back and mold against the mattress, his tongue burns as it trails the cut and there is the smear of blood as his mouth moves to find your nipple. 

Your back arches in response from the touch of his tongue that flits over the peak of your nipple and rolling circles around your areola. His hot mouth closes, suckling and his teeth nipping the soft flesh of your breast before he moves to give equal attention towards the other. 

A soft moan spills from your lips and he moves to capture your mouth with his own. His tongue presses to explore your mouth and you welcome the softness of his lips and the copper taste of your own blood. Your hands move to comb your fingers through his silk locks, your nails scratching his scalp and you feel the vibration of his hum of approval. 

Aemond presses closer and you can feel his hardness, his hips rolling to rub against your cloth cunt. He grabs onto your hip with one hand, large and warm to the touch, and his other moves flat against your chest; his tongue slows with languid movements, relishing your taste before he breaks away. 

“You taste like a sweet wine, but with chocolate and mint?” His brow quirks with his question. 

Ben and Jerry’s, you think to yourself but he does not need an answer, instead bringing his lips to bruise against your own and his fingers trailing lower to cup your cunt. He seems pleased with how you are drenched with your anticipation, pressing his lips against your throat with the growl of, “Sīr lōz syt aōha dārilaros.” 

So wet for your prince.

You burn with how his tongue rolls the words. Gods be praised, you think when you recognize the words that made your core ache, your annoyance for the Duolingo notifications vanish and you respond with a breathless, “Kirimvose, ñuha dārilaros.”

His brow raises in response and his look makes your heat roll over your body. “You also know High Valyrian,” he says and, again,  it was more a statement than a question. 

“Mērī mirrī,” Only a little, you admit to him, the heat flushing your face from his brazen stare. You chew your bottom lip as you bring your feet to the edge of the bed and lift your hips, peeling off your underwear. 

You note the curl of his lips and he moves to mold against you again, his teeth grazing the pulse of your pounding heart. His touch is gentle, his fingers just grazing your hip bone and moving towards your center, his slender finger trailing your soaked slit before it curled inside of you. 

You cannot help but mewl his name as he adds another, moving to massage your walls, his palm cupping you and allowing his thumb to stimulate your clit. The warmth in your lower core begins to boil with his ministrations and your breathing grows erratic, which quickens his motion.

“Jurnegon nyke,” he commands, Look at me, and you bring your eyes forward to see him leaning over and bracing himself above you with his free arm. “I want to hear you,” he breathes.

His breath, his words partnered with the sinful curl of his fingers within you allows your orgasm to crash into you, drawing the air from your lungs with your pitiful cries of release. Your skin is aflame and you had not noticed he pulled away until you heard him cleaning his fingers with his mouth, standing over you, the bulge of his breeches unmistakable.  

The sight of him cleaning his slender fingers emboldens you to grab his waistband and bring him against you, desperate to taste yourself on his soft lips. The grace of your tongue is not matched with your hands that fumble with the latches of his tunic, but you feel his smile as his hands guide your own. You peel his layers off to reveal his hard chest with faded scars of silver that decorated the rivets of his toned abdomen, the moonlight mixed with the low flames giving the prince an ethereal glow to his lithe body. 

Aemond gives a hum to claim your attention, his lips curling as he is adamantly aware of the hunger in your eyes, and his hands reach to grasp the peaks of your thighs and pull you closer to the bed edge. You push yourself to your elbows and watch rapt as he unlaces to remove his trousers, curious to see if the Tumblr assertion of his genitalia was accurate, but his hand pushes you back against the bed and trails to your neck. 

“Open,” he commands and your mouth relaxes, your tongue pink and drowning in saliva from seeing him almost bare. 

He presses two fingers into your mouth and you close to suckle, tasting the remnants of your release and his own saliva from his clean up. You coat them and there is a string of spittle that follows when he pulls away, eventually breaking and wetting your chin. 

His hands move to lube his cock and you feel the press against your cunt, the undeniable stretch as he pushes into you. Your hands grasp at the bedding on each side and your back arches as he pushes to split you in half. “You take me so well,” he soothes, but does not allow you time to adjust and presses further still. 

Tears prick the corners of your eyes. “Oh, fuck me,” you gasp at the mixture of pleasure and pain. 

Aemond pauses for a moment, reaching to clasp your jaw and bring your eyes to look at him, “I intend to.” 

You shudder when he bottoms out in you and his hands move to clasp onto your hips, pulling you to meet his each thrust, his hip bones digging into the underside softness of your thighs and his cock reaching into you further still. Your hands move to grab above you, twisting into the sheets, and you arch your back into each powerful thrust.

His pace pauses for a moment, his hands wrapping around your ankles and bringing your feet to rest onto his shoulders, canting your hips to angle you as he slips back into your warmth. Your heart flutters when his hands return to your hip bones, admiring his side profile and the scrunch of his brow. “Your toes… is that glitter?”

“Kostilus, ñuha dārilaros,” Please, my prince, you cannot help but whine. You are on the cusp of your second release and the fear of waking up looms over you. “I must have you.” 

The High Valyrian renews his attention, as you hope it would, and he pushes to fold you in half, the new angle allowing him to slip into your cunt deeper than before. His arms hold himself on each side, caging you in, and his soft, silver tresses spill onto your bare chest with a tickle. You moan in abandon from the stretch of him reentering you as his hips rut against you. 

It rolls in waves, gooseflesh rippling over every inch of your body and your nipples taut from the pleasure, clenching at his cock. The tears spill from the corners of your eyes as you repeat his name, “Aemond, Aemond-”

His thrusts become sloppy and you can feel his cock twitching inside of you; you open your legs to allow him to fall forward against you, a damp brow to your own. You steady your breath, savoring the mixture of his scent combined with the scent of sex, wanting to savor your unconscious a moment longer. Your sex dreams never ended so satisfactory before and you knew it would not be much longer. You bring your hand to his defined jawline to tilt his head up, bringing your lips to his with a slow, lingering kiss. 

But you do not wake up, instead Aemond drags you beneath the covers and pulls you flush against his chest, which is hard and warm and molds perfectly with the softness of your backside in the most delicious way. 

“You may leave me in the morning,” he murmurs in your ear as he nuzzles into the back of your neck and hair. 

When you wake up, you are back on your couch and nestled beneath your blanket, the menu music of House of the Dragon playing on repeat from your television. Warmth envelopes you as you remember the vivid dream you had and you push to sit upright. 

I will always fall asleep with you on, but your thoughts are cut short from the cold that touches your bare chest. Your hands wash over your body, naked, and you wince when your finger touches the gash in between your breasts. 

Your eyes widen in disbelief.

Where the fuck was your Bowie shirt. 

[goblinpuppy35]

Paw Prints in Fresh Soil

(Previous Chapter) - Part 8 - (Next Chapter)

Professor Remus x Male Reader

Summary: While teaching at Hogwarts Professor Lupin tries his best to conceal his strong crush for the green fingered grounds keeper Y/N but soon a strong friendship blooms into something more.

CW: 18 YEAR OLDS + ONLY: Long chapter with A LOT of smut

------------------------------------------

Remus was unable to hide his flushed cheeks and gleeful smile throughout the rest of the teaching day. His students simply assumed he was in a particularly good mood that day. The Professor religiously checked the time after every class, assessing how long he had to wait before seeing Y/N again. He could still taste the wet fabric of Y/N's pre cum stained boxers on his lips. It made the wolf inside him feral. 

Once teaching concluded for the day Remus eagerly returned to his chambers. Despite lust filling his head Remus was suddenly overwhelmed by the concern of hosting and began to quickly clean scattered books and papers off the floor and table. Then in an attempt to set the mood the Professor brought out a number of candles, placing them around the room and lighting them accordingly. Afterwards Remus lit the fire and then looked around the room satisfied, the low amber glow around him vividly reminded him of taking care of Y/N's cold body during his recovery. 

Remus attempted to preoccupied himself as he waited for Y/N by laying on the sofa half heartedly flicking through one of his books. This distraction only worked temporarily as the thought of what if Y/N would be hungry on arrival entered Remus' mind. Panickily he hurried to his small kitchen. Similar to his poison skills, his cooking abilities were extremely limited and lacking. As Remus frantically tried to figure out why the eggs he was trying to scramble were producing storm clouds of smoke from the pan, he failed to notice the latch of his door quietly opening and Y/N entering the room.

Remus was completely oblivious to Y/N's presents until the groundskeepers fingers slipped passed Remus' to take hold of the frying pan. Remus' surprise was promtly replaced with relief and then embarrassment as he let Y/N save what was left of his scrambled eggs which took on more of the apprentice of scrambled charcoal. Sitting on the candle lit floor by the fire Y/N insisted on eating the least burnt parts of Remus' disastrous meal, insisting it wasn't that bad. Remus laughed and watched Y/N, his long arm stretch across the sofa that their backs were resting against. His hand on Y/N's shoulder Remus rubbed his thumb up and down the fabric of the groundskeepers shirt tentatively. The contact between them felt so natural. 

Although both men knew exactly what they had came here for, as the night progressed the pair stayed in each other's arms talking. Y/N told Remus about his transition and how he struggled connecting to his family because of it, "They never planned to have a Muggle child, let alone a queer son" Y/N said pensively, looking into the fire. He then turned back and smiled warmly at Remus, "It's okay though, I manage" his words were genuine but Remus could still see sadness behind Y/Ns handsome eyes. Remus squeezed Y/N shoulder lovingly and pulled him in closer. 

Midnight came and went as the men talked relentlessly, as Y/N continued to tell Remus about his life the weary Professor found himself equally opening up. He told Y/N about his affliction and the toll it put on his body every month. He talked about how he often felt a great deal of guilt and shame for the way he was. With each personal secret of their lives they shared with one another their emotional bond grew as well as thier physical proximity, by the time the last fire embers extinguished themselves Y/N was curled up in-between Remus' open legs. Their hands weaved around one another like ivy up and old stone wall. Gently Remus kisses Y/Ns ear and whispered "Shall we go to bed?", looking up towards the Professor, Y/N nodded. They walked to the bedroom hand in hand. Their eyes slowly adjusted to the dark as they watched one another start to remove their clothes. Deep conversations about everything and nothing flowed between the pair again once they were laying on their sides facing one another, just in their underwear. Y/N explained which parts of his body were still sensitive after surgery and in general how he preferred being treated in bed to not feel dysphoric. Additionally Remus told Y/N which parts of his own body where most fragile, showing which scars had healed poorly.

Both men were not sure when they'd drifted off to sleep but the comfort of being engulfed in each other's arms was too tranquil to resist. Early morning owl cries woke Y/N up from the deepest sleep he felt he'd had in a life time. The room was still completely dark. Y/N had rolled to his opposite side, with his back against Remus' front, the taller man's arms were cradling Y/N and he could feel Remus' hot exhaling breathes in the crook of his neck. Considering he was a light sleeper Y/N appreciated the fact Remus didn't snore. As Y/N wiggled his body to get my comfort he felt his back press further into Remus, who's peaceful breathing suddenly got lower. Y/N moved a little more and felt the small of his back push against Remus' crotch, he was noticeable hard and the sensation made Y/N blush. Remus' lower breathing grew into a deep growl, his body shifted and then his grip tightened around Y/N.

"I'm sorry.. did I wake you? Sorry" breathed Y/N unsuccessfully hiding how flustered and arose he was becoming, Remus pushed his body closer to his. "Don't be" Remus' voice rumbled through Y/Ns ear and made his body shake. Y/N's limbs suddenly felt limp and stupid as Remus' hand slowly pulled down Y/N's boxers and then his own. Even in the darkness Y/N could feel Remus' impressive length resting against his leg, a small wet patch at the end. Tenderly kissing Y/N's shoulder Remus positioned himself then carefully began to enter Y/N from behind. Hums passed through Y/N's pressed lips which turned to whimpers as he became overwhelmed with the sheer sensational volume his body was feeling. "Hold onto me pup" Remus' low sleep filled voice said softly, "It's alright, I've got you". These sincere words followed by blankets of kisses up his neck helped relax Y/N, his forearms gripping onto the strong arms wrapped around him, as he loosened his tense body he could feel Remus' whole cock fully inside him, it was enough to make Y/N's brain fully switch off. 

"That's my boy" Remus huffed rocking his body and guiding Y/N's to do the same "your doing so well... god You feel amazing". The room was silent except for the steady creaking of the wooden bed frame and both men's heated moans. The air was filled with privacy and intimate passion. "Y/N.. are you okay, dose it feels good for you?" Remus asked between pants feeling himself getting harder inside of the smaller man. Having seemingly lost the ability to talk Y/N took hold of one of Remus' hands and delicately pulled it down his own body, reaching his thighs he pulled apart to folds to reveal his throbbing cock tip to Remus. The Professor's breathing paused momentarily as he felt how large and stimulated Y/N's cock was. A new pleasure swept across Remus' body now he could tell how turned on Y/N was. "I ... I" Y/N was barely able to whisper while he showed Remus' fingers how to rub against his tip "I want you to make me cum AH" before Y/N finished his request Remus took to for filling it. Coating with thumb and forefinger with Y/N's precum he slowly started to rub Y/N's erection, taking note how even the slightest touch down there made Y/N's back arch . "With pleasure my love" Remus cooed before thrusting his hips harder behind Y/N.

Y/N very rarely let himself fully go in any situation, even when he was alone. Yet Remus was sending every fibre of skin he had alight. His throbbing cock ached spectacularly from Remus' meticulous touch, he knew he was going to cum soon. Remus' body was having the same reaction to Y/N and as the groundskeeper widened his leg span, giving Remus more space, his pleasure tipped over the edge. "Fuck Y/N I'm" was all Remus could announce before overflowing feelings of ecstasy escaped his body. Y/N was getting drunk feeling all of Remus' inside him. Extending his high Remus continued to pump Y/N slower but with harder thrusts, his own body starting to buck. These sharp movements were too much for Y/N "Oh Christ Remus .. I'm ..I'm. Fuck. I'm going to scream. Please stop me". Swiftly Remus lifted up his free hand and clasped it fully over Y/N's trembling mouth, pulling his head back slightly. Remus' other hand stayed on Y/N's cock as he synchronized his hip thrusts to his wrist jerk. The hand gag seemed to have the opposite affect on Y/N for each muffled moan came quicker after the others and became more desperate. Even though his own high was fading Remus was loving this display and pure lust and with each moan from Y/N he tighter his grip over his mouth and tilted his head back further. Suddenly Y/N's body stopped squirming, become unbelievably still and tense as he let out a muffled moan which sounded as if he was crying. His body arched and then rubbed against Remus' fingers enthusiastically, at which point Remus felt warm cum over his fingers. He waited until Y/N had finished rocking and then withdraw his fingers to his open mouth, licking around his knuckles he devoured Y/N's taste. "You taste beautiful" Remus whispered causing Y/N to shake and twitch now Remus had pulled out. Y/N shock so hard he made the mattress quiver so Remus sitting up, scoped Y/N in between his legs and pulled the blankets up to wrapped around both their shoulders. Shushing and petting the younger man's Y/H/C hair Remus kissed his warm cheeks "You were perfect Y/N". 

"Some .. Sometimes I get .. I .. very non verbal after.. af" Y/N jittered through his wobbling lip. Caressing Y/Ns hand Remus kissed it gently, "That's okay" He reassured, "as long as you are okay?". Y/N smiled and nodded, snuggling into Remus cosy embrace. After a moment of peaceful recovery Remus asked "Shall we both get cleaned up and then go back to bed?". Y/N nodded again and was about to gingerly make his way off the bed but gasped in surprise as his weight lifted off the sheets. Supported by Remus' arms the Professor carried Y/N to the bathroom, switching the light on with his elbow. Both men couldn't stop bashfully smiling at each other. 

[g-xix]

🔞t r a n s p a r e n t s o u l | Sharky

Summary: 900 word blurb, toxic sex, sharky x cynic!reader, inspired by song "transparent soul" by Willow CWs: riding, smoking, kinda toxic sex, choking, dom!fem!reader, hickeying, dumbification (kinda) notes: Lmk thoughts in my inbox, again a little bit unsure whether this is cringe or likeable - you guys gotta lmk

"You think I don't know what - mfh - typ'a fuckin' guy you are?" You enunciated through grit teeth, thumping your bodyweight back down onto his cock after your words, blinding Sharky with another intense flash of euphoria at the feeling of his cock sinking into your soft walls - throwing his head back with a raised chest at the sensation of your pussy enveloping his length, paired with the hatred and venom within your words which seemed to tear gashes into his flesh - ripping open his body unspooling his brain, replacing every intelligible thought with a visceral desire and craving for you. More and more of you.

You could feel him hitting a dangerously sensitive spot within you, his cock larger, providing a greater stretch and more satisfying ride than you could've ever imagined he would.

Hand wrapped around his throat, other scaling over his body, you huffed as you sank your weight down onto his dick, Sharky's eyes drinking in the placid beauty of your unwavered expression, skin seemingly iridescent, irradiating sheer goddess-like vision, with the blue LEDs glowing and highlighting every soft curve of your silhouette that rose up and down.

He felt spoiled. He felt greedy. He felt unworthy, having you in his lap, and even more covetous as he reached up, hands freely caressing the plump flesh of your tits that spilled from your lingerie, swaying with each bounce you took on Sharky's length.

"I dunno what y-you're on abou'-" Sharky's drawls were cut off as you took his jaw within your hand, applying the lightest of pressure on the hollow dip between his teeth, queueing him to open his mouth and look up to meet your eyes with the most innocent of expressions - his eyes lidding over and savouring as he felt you exhale smoke - shape your lips into a perfect circle and blow a stream of carcinogens into Sharky's system, leaving him to inhale your second hand smoke with lidded eyes, happy to oblige so long as it pleased you, regardless of the dangers he was already aware of.

"Shut the fuck up," You squeezed harder around his throat, that little excess pressure forcing a gasp from his mouth, letting you lean on down and silence him with your lips on top of his, engaging in an open mouth kiss and biting down on his lower lip, tugging slightly and only smirking as you heard a heavy breath fall from his lips. 

You loved seeing the power you had over him, seeing how all of his cocky words and proud smiles were diminished to pinched brows, hooded eyes and a sweetly parted mouth, letting out little whimpers and groans all due to the manipulation of you body - silencing any coherent thought of his, and providing a fraction of a distraction for yourself also.

"You're just a distraction - nothing more - remember that."  You let yourself stagnate your bounces, readjusting so that your core was completely flush with Sharky's length, he practically couldn't have been any deeper within you. And in that moment, you circled your hips, grinding in a circular motion and throwing your head back - succumbing to the pleasure of Sharky's cock massaging your inner walls. Your exposed chest was left open to Sharky, and the smooth skin of your unmarked cleavage was too tempting - dipping his head, he pressed his lips to your skin, his creating a suction and trying to increase the pressure and form a hickey-

He pulled away with a hiss however, as he felt a sharp burning on his back, pulling his head away to see you withdraw your hand from his back, holding a now-stubbed cigarette between your fingers, a couple amber embers still burning brightly.

"What's that for?" He questioned with wide, almost apologetic eyes, despite having done nothing wrong. His hands came up to press into your thighs which sat on either side of his body, muscle splayed out around his body and letting his hands sink against the voluptuous tissue. 

"I don't want your markings." You scoffed. "I have people to see tomorrow - you think I want them to know I was with someone - with you especially..."

"What's so wrong with me...?" Sharky whined, his hands jumping up to your hips as he felt his cock twitching inside of you as you began moving once more.

"Everything, baby boy," You cooed, somewhat loving seeing him so subservient. "I know you don' just see me as a friend, I know you've been wanting to fuck me, I know you want something more with me - and guess what - I know just what type of guy you are and how you'd treat me like shit if I ever even entertained the thought of giving you a chance..."

"I don't get it," Sharky groaned, his head clouding again as his cock twitching, abs cramping ever so slightly at the feeling of his pending climax, undeniably turned on despite your cutting words. "What do you think I'm gonna do...- Why do you think I'm so bad..?"

"'Cause I've seen guys like you before and I know what you're like," You derided, "You'll speak all that sweet talk one moment and then act the exact opposite the next, thinking this is some game you're in control of, where you can be gamemaster and lead me on for passtime..."

Sharky knew why you were saying that. His last ex having come crying to you with sobs and complaints about things that Sharky didn't even do... Well, some of the things. You were different to Sharky, though; he'd never lead you on or play around with you - let alone cheat in a relationship.

"I would-" 

You leaned in - hooking your arm around the back of Sharky's shoulders and pulling his body flush against yours, your lips pressed up to his ear - hushing his words and causing them to die along his throat as your own lips brushed over his ear, silencing him as he felt himself try to thrust his cock deeper inside of you - verging orgasm.

"Don't think you're fooling anyone, pretty boy, you've got a transparent soul and I can see right through your bullshit."

Again guys, im having one big whole identity crisis - is my writing cringe? Does this give you the ick? Pls give some words of affirmation or lmk if that's the case.

Hope you enjoyed reading!! Feel free to interact- whether that be a comment, vote or follow! Requests open, feel free to submit what u wanna see... Much love!!

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Sharky taglist:

@clarkeysbog, @mekselinaurr, @springholland, @xxkatxgracexx, @certainsaturn, @mekselinaurr,

@blackbat2020, @ajshabsxxwife, @kennysimp101, @martini4lyfe,

@zandrax, @lilyyxoii, @notalloutofusernames

@pinkpomelo, @wh4theduck, @scassty1202

[some-messed-up-writing-for-you]

Short Prompt #1280

The piece of amber shined brightly in the candlelight, decorating the human's neck. They gulped, trying to settle their nerves, but the snug fit of their collar continued to remind them of their place.

Out of all the worshippers, Human had been chosen as their god's newest... companion. Although they felt like the word "pet" might fit better.

Still, despite the slightly embarrassing position, their job would be simple. Wherever their Lord goes, so do they. They would have to follow any order and do whatever would be necessary to please their Master.

But, of course, in return, they would live in luxury. They would be rewarded and spoiled by their Master. So long as they asked nicely enough, they'd get anything they wished for.

The human knew it was a good deal in the end. And despite their nerves, they knew well that the god had never hurt their previous companions. The only reason Human remained anxious was that despite the god's caring nature towards their followers, they could be... a bit frightening.

They were a god of darkness and a guide to the souls lost in its vastness. With a body made of shadows and eyes that glowed like fiery embers, many mortals found themselves falling into a trance when gazing at their void-like body. Thankfully, however, Human would get used to it over time.

Shaking their head, the human cleared their thoughts. It was time to stop stalling and enter through the grand doors. It was time to meet their Master face-to-face.

Human knocked on the fine wood and nearly instantly received a "Come in." in response. With one last deep breath, they went inside.

[captain-styr]

Styr | ROEVEMBER DAY 4 | Ship

So in awe, there I stood as you licked off the grain Though I've handled the wood, I still worship the flame Long as amber of ember glows All the "would that I'd loved" is long ago ♫

Styr touching his two loves, under the stars in La Noscea.

I will never get tired of these two, I love them so much.

sigh

Featuring @the-white-snake's Lia Amelune! <3

[hisui-dreamer]

tipsy embers

Pairing: Jade Leech x gn!reader

Synopsis: when it feels like the two of you are the only ones left, a little liquid courage goes a long way

Tags: camping, fluff, mutual pining, drinking, drunken intimacy

Word count: 1.1k+

Notes: hehe just some fluffy pining for this camp enthusiast ♡⁠(⁠˃͈⁠ ⁠દ⁠ ⁠˂͈⁠ ⁠༶⁠ ⁠)

Masterlist

The campfire sent flickering shadows dancing across the canvas of the night, its amber glow casting an enchanting spell over the secluded camping spot. Though you had long gotten used to the silence of the desolate halls of Ramshackle, the air around you here felt different.

The crackling and snapping of burning wood, the distant rustling of leaves as nocturnal creatures move about, the trickling sounds from a nearby stream―it felt comforting, like tapping into a sacred childhood memory, safe and sound from all your worries and fears.

Still, you're not sure if that's the only reason you feel safe.

"Your mind seems preoccupied, prefect."

His words break you out of the trance, and you avert your gaze from the starry sky to face him. His face is illuminated by the warm glow of the campfire, the harsh shadows accentuating his sharp features. The warmth of the fire echoed in his mismatched eyes, a mesmerizing dance of flickering flames that enchanted you like a spell.

You had agreed to join him on this camping trip after he graciously helped Grim with his alchemy exam. Despite the dramatic farewells from everyone who made it seem like they would never see you again, here you were, unscathed and content, savouring a cup of mulled wine crafted by him, the crackling campfire casting a warm glow on the scene, finding yourself more at peace than you had been for months.

He had only asked for your company, because it would be "too lonesome for him to travel alone", and he truly delivered. He made sure you felt comfortable at every step of the way, making sure to take breaks when your stamina was low, and even prepared your meals. There was something endearing about seeing him working in his element, the glee in his eyes unmistakable.

"It's nothing really…" you respond. "I was just thinking... it really does feel like we're the only ones left in the world…"

"I suppose it does…" he hums, a flush on his face from the drinks. "If that's the case, however, I'm not sure I would feel safe if I were you. I'm not known to be... trustworthy company, you know," he chuckles mischievously, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

You smile at his words, leaning forward to face him directly, your faces inches apart.

"Would you hurt me, Jade?"

His pupils widen momentarily, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he leans in closer as well.

"No…" he murmurs, his breath a gentle caress against your lips.

"I don't think I could."

You're not sure who leaned in first, but bit by bit, the distance between you disappears, and your lips brush against each other gently. You feel every ounce of your body thrumming in elation.

His lips are warm and inviting, a tender heat that defied the coolness of the night. There's a gentle pressure, a delicate dance of touch that mirrored the flickering flames of the campfire you built together. His breath, slightly tinged with the scent of the woods and the lingering taste of the alcohol, mingles with yours, creating an intoxicating blend that lingers in the air.

For a moment, you feel an inkling of uncertainty at the back of your mind, a shyness that makes you pull back. You lower your gaze, feeling heat rush to your cheeks, and evidently not from the alcohol. The atmosphere crackles with an unspoken energy, a mix of vulnerability and exhilaration.

But before you can find the courage to meet his eyes, he gently cups your chin, tilting it upwards as he leans in as if he were a starved man. Though you are initially surprised, you soon melt into the embrace, surrendering to the magnetic pull that bound you together.

Jade's fingers gently tangle in your hair, deepening the kiss with a slow and deliberate tenderness. Your bodies lean into each other, creating a seamless connection that speaks volumes without words. His hand finds its way to the small of your back, pulling you closer, while your fingers trace a delicate path along the nape of his neck.

His presence envelopes you, a tangible force that can be felt, tasted, and smelled. The world fades away, leaving only the two of you, lost within each other's warmth. Time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the intimacy of the kiss as he eclipses everything else in the world, becoming the sole focus of your existence. The sensation was dizzying, leaving you to question whether it was the influence of alcohol, the lack of air, or perhaps the surge of feeling that had long been buried within your heart.

Whichever the case, you pull back from the kiss, a shared breath lingered between you. Breathless and slightly dazed, the two of you stare at each other in the quiet night, but as a chilly night breeze tickles your cheek, a thread of lucidity forms and you're met with a fleeting moment of confusion.

"Huh?"

The sound escapes your lips almost involuntarily, and in the hush of the night, it hangs in the air, a momentary lapse that crystallizes into a fragment of confusion. By the time you realize it, it was already irretrievable and lingering like the echo of a secret revealed.

"Oh," Jade utters, the single syllable carrying a weighty ambiguity that hangs in the air between you. His eyes, still reflecting the remnants of the campfire's glow, flicker with a mixture of emotions—surprise, passion, and perhaps a touch of vulnerability.

A hesitant smile plays at the corners of Jade's lips, and he subtly readjusts himself, The unspoken decision to let the incident fade into the night is palpable, yet beneath the surface, there's a lingering tension, a magnetic pull that neither of you can fully ignore.

"Ahem… It must be the alcohol messing with our heads. Let's forget that happened…" he suggests.

You nod quickly, choosing to keep Pandora's box securely closed for the time being, willing yourself to believe that it was merely a fleeting moment of drunken confusion.

But as the night air grows colder, the two of you retreat to the tent, and instinctively, you find yourselves gravitating toward each other, seeking solace in the shared warmth of proximity. Maybe it's the cold in the air, or maybe it's the unspoken tension that lingered, but you found yourself yearning to be closer to him.

You steal a glance at Jade's tranquil sleeping form, his even breaths creating a rhythmic lull. Without overthinking, you shift to snuggle closer, inhaling the comforting scent of rain that clings to him.

You've never felt more alive, soothed, and warmed to the core than when you're nestled by his side.

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[lichilly]

"you dangle on the leash of your own longing, your need grows teeth." -- Margaret Atwood, The Animals in That Country; from ‘Speeches for Dr Frankenstein’

cw: wounds, implied violence, talk of blood, uhh me being mushy over werewolf Joseph, gender-neutral reader

The fire crackled softly, its glow spilling over the cabin walls, painting the room in hues of amber and shadow. Flecks of light flicked across the worn wooden beams, dancing along the edges where the dark gathered. He sat still, nestled in the warmth, the flames reflecting in the depths of his eyes. His pointed ears twitched at the occasional crack of the embers, but otherwise, he remained motionless—watchful, calm.

You approached from the doorway, your steps shifting against the creaking floorboards. Kneeling beside him, you set down the first aid kit, its zipper cutting through the stillness of the room.

His gaze shifted, tracking your hands as you laid out gauze and bandages with routined care. The faintest of huffs escaped his nose, his version of acknowledgment, as he extended his arm toward you. No words exchanged. There never were.

"Let’s get these changed," you murmured, your voice barely disturbing the air between you.

You took his arm in your hands, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingertips, the rough texture of old scars mingling with fresh ones. The bandage unraveled slowly, each layer revealing the healing beneath. A faint tremor passed through him, so subtle you might have missed it if you hadn’t been so close.

As you worked, the fire’s glow bathed the two of you in warmth. He watched, eyes flicking between the fire and the slow movements of your fingers as they worked the fresh bandages into place.

It was routine now. He’d sit by the fire, you’d kneel beside him, tending to wounds that spoke of violence he never explained. You didn’t ask. Instead, you learned to listen to the small cues—the soft exhale, the shift of his posture, the way his eyes lingered on you before returning to the flames.

The old bandage crumpled in your palm as you set it aside, your thumb ghosting over the newly healed skin. The worst of the inflammation had faded, the edges of the wound knitting together. You took a moment, letting the quiet settle around you again before speaking.

"It’s healing well," you said, the words softer than you intended.

A low rumble stirred in his chest, vibrating through the space between you. His eyes flicked up, locking with yours for a heartbeat, then returned to the fire. You couldn’t help but smile.

"You’ve been a good patient," you added, your fingers resuming their work.

He didn’t answer, but the subtle way his body relaxed beneath your touch was enough.

The bandages on his arms were easy, but the deep gash in his side—still raw, still stubborn in its refusal to heal—was the one that troubled you most. You didn’t know what had caused these wounds, nor did he offer any explanation. His body bore the marks of bloodshed long fought and endured. Scars layered on scars, and yet, here he was.

You worked carefully, your fingers brushing over his side as you unraveled the last of the bandage. His breath hitched, just barely, but you felt it—a flicker of discomfort. The gash along his torso, though healing, was still raw, angry. You winced for him but kept your focus, your hands steady as you cleaned the wound with gentle, practiced movements.

He didn’t pull away, but his gaze slid to the floor, a subtle shift that made your stomach knot. It was in these moments, the ones where the silence between you felt more like a weight than a comfort, that you wished he’d let you in just a little more. But he never did.

“Almost done,” you whispered, though he didn’t need the reassurance. You weren't sure if it was for him or for yourself.

His chest rose and fell with a slow, deliberate rhythm, as if controlling the pain through breath alone. The firelight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the curve of his lips pressed into a thin line. His pointed ears twitched again, though you couldn’t read it yet—frustration? Agony?

You wrapped the fresh bandage around his torso, your hands brushing against his skin with each pass. He didn’t flinch, didn’t react, though his body seemed to relax minutely with each passing moment.

You tied off the bandage, your fingers lingering for just a moment too long, the warmth of his body seeping into your palms. You cleared your throat, pulling your hands away, suddenly aware of the closeness between you.

“There,” you said softly, settling back onto your heels, giving him space again. "All done."

For a long moment, he didn’t move. His eyes, dark and unreadable, lingered on yours. Something hung in the air—like words he wasn’t ready to speak. You waited, your breath held tight in your chest, hoping for some sign, some crack in the silence.

Instead, he dipped his head in a slow, deliberate nod. It wasn’t much, but it was something. The quiet between you felt different now—less heavy.

You stood, the old bandages clutched in your hand, and moved to toss them into the fire. The flames licked at the fabric, devouring it in seconds, casting the scent of smoke into the air. You watched the embers rise, your back to him, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened, how the room felt smaller when you were both in it.

Behind you, you heard the softest shift of fabric, the weight of him rising to his feet. You turned just in time to see him step closer to the fire, his gaze fixed on the flames, expression unreadable. He stood just beside you, the space between you barely enough to call distance.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Without a word, he reached for a log by the hearth and placed it on the fire. The flames roared briefly before settling into their steady crackle, the warmth spreading further through the cabin.

You stood there, side by side, staring into the fire.