#p: guided by the crow

[neodrake]

G U I D E D  B Y  T H E  C R O W

     One never knew when they were coming, not unless a random glance at the horizon showed one the wall of brown air stretching high into the sky. And that was it, that was all the warning one got before winds began bending the thin, withered branches, whistling over the stone of the canyons. Acacia trees whipped to one side, than the other, and everything became hazed in a false, orange-tinged dusk, the sun stamped out behind layers of dirt and grime. He should’ve been at the base, but he’d been sent hunting, and wasted too much time perched on a rock, drawing the peaks along the skyline, and now here he was, trapped in the middle of a dust storm. 

     Even with his mask pulled over his face, the stinging pelt of sand blasted his bare forearms and knuckles, lips pressed tight as he tried to cough up the dirty air. Grit grinded between his teeth as he pressed forward, unable to see the landmarks past the storm. Neo nearly tripped over a broken branch, buried by the gusting sands, and he could feel the dirt building up behind his mask, clinging to his sweat so that it began to chafe. And then… it became worse. And then… he heard it. Cries of panic and the powerful crack of gunfire. Neo picked up his pace, fighting against the winds, hands reaching forward until they came into contact with the hot steel of a military vehicle. Had they known the storm was coming? Were they using it as cover? How long had they known they were there?

     “Sariah!” He tried to choke out, but the shout was interrupted by a fit of coughing, and the figure that appeared in front of him was not one of theirs. It was obvious by his gear — all black, a sleek helmet covering their features — and whoever it was raised their gun, Neo throwing himself to the ground and scrambling across the sand to get away.       “We have another one!” He heard the woman call from behind, but he didn���t stop running, and the dust felt as though it infiltrated his lungs, making every breath feel like sandpaper being rubbed against his lungs. He couldn’t stop. He had no weapons and he couldn’t see shit. He couldn’t stop. He kept repeating it to himself, over and over, as if somehow he’d eventually convince himself he wasn’t a complete fucking coward. 

    He’d get to another base. They’d radio the survivors. Sariah and Tomas would be okay. He could do this. He only had to make it a little further…      Eventually, he couldn’t hear the gunfire or the screams, and his legs were on fire, his steps becoming clumsy as his muscles began to give out, trembling every few steps. He didn’t know where he was. Maybe he was closer to the city than he thought. Not that it mattered — not when they’d likely prosecute him the same they had the others. So Neo fell to the ground, leaning his weight against a large rock before he tore his mask from his face, taking a moment to breath in — somewhat — fresher air. His entire body was coated in a fine layer of dust, and the murk still hung in the air — but it was better, and he was alive. Without even realizing it, his eyes fluttered closed, and within minutes, sleep, albeit uncomfortable, found him. 

[berryblu-arts]

I hereby claim all your ocs as my new blorbos (even though I know nothing about them except that they're a chaotic bunch). Especially Zach. He's my boy <333

Actually, take this as an invitation to info dump about any of your wips. They all seem so interesting and I wanna learn more :)))

Anyway, sorry for spamming your notes lmao 😅

Afshsfa I'm so incredibly happy you liked them you don't even know 😭😭💕💕💕💕💕!!! Also, real proud of the main vibe they give off being chaotic lmao

Yooo!!! Youre in luck bc Zac is my specialest boy ever :')!!! Also, you literally gave me motivation to finish a doodle, so now you get to see him with his glowy energy barrier powers >:D

(dedicating this to you actually, bc it could've just sat there in the drafts accumulating dust if you hadn't sent this ask hahah 😅)

Also just so you know, you managed to pick one of the most tired guys ever for a blorbo lmaoo, he's literally the healer forced to fight, overpowered but just wants his family and stability, hasn't caught a break since age nine, hurt/comfort it gets worse before it gets better in the ao3 tags, would die for his friends in the blink of an eye but is also rlly reserved (at first) sort of character, so good luck with that adsgafzfds

Okok I need to sleep but just know I *will* be talking abt him again just on my blog, unprompted, I have so many blorbo t h o u g h t s

[swordgrace]

𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐄.

༺ cregan stark x fem!northern!reader.

SYNOPSIS: a longtime friend of cregan stark, you seek him out to train you with a longsword. though, a duel in the wolfswood leaves you with more of a desire for other things instead of swordplay.

anonymous request.

༺ FORMAT: one-shot — requested.

༺ WORD COUNT: 9.3K.

༺ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), friends to lovers, sexual tension, mutual possessiveness, size difference / size kink, cregan is much bigger than the reader, dominant cregan, cregan is a big, brooding hunk, sexually-charged dueling, p in v sex (unprotected), multiple positions, all stark men have a breeding kink, neck biting / marking (biting in general), rough sex, cunnilingus / oral sex (fem!receiving), hair pulling, fingering, groping, light bruising, mild manhandling, soft ending & soft aftercare.

༺ AUTHOR’S NOTE: You can tell that I’m inspired because I’m putting out fanfics at the pace of a madman. I absolutely loved this request, huge thanks to the anon who gave me this wonderful idea and allowed me to bring it to life! ❤️ I loved writing for Cregan and I definitely wouldn’t mind doing so again! Thank you to all the love & support, you all mean the world to me! Enjoy!

“𝐈𝐟 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐰𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 — 𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫.”

Lord Cregan Stark’s usual stoicism held a vast amount of protectiveness, the desire to better you in the right way, the Northern way. You had been taught all about swordplay by your father, but through the years, as you grew into your place as Lady of Barrowton, your skills had declined.

Ladies of your station were admonished for possessing any inclination of violence — a woman could not hold a sword, she could only hold an embroidery needle. A woman could not rule, only guide the men that do, and a woman could not become tempestuous, for it meant that she was simply a bad product or undesirable.

Thankfully, Cregan defied all expectations and pledged to teach you, hone your skills again from the ground up, if necessary. You could not be anymore grateful to him for assuming that mantle when he didn’t have to.

Your longstanding relationship with the Warden of the North, Cregan Stark, was the byproduct of many childhood years spent together — it was often you, Cregan, and his late younger brother. A deadly trio, to be sure, running through the Wolfswood and terrorizing Winterfell with typical childish antics.

The joy of youth had begun to run dry — you were nine-and-ten now, Cregan one-and-twenty, ruling over the entirety of the North. Your father was Lord Roderick Dustin, Lord of Barrowton and an infamous fighter, bannerman to House Stark. Of course, his duties were often torn between Barrowton and Winterfell, and so you were left in the care of your uncle.

Learning to fight again as a man would involve many hours and countless sessions held within the Godswood behind the Great Keep. It was only a handful of times each week, provided that Cregan was able to attend despite the rest of his duties.

His closest advisors had beseeched him to abandon teaching you, to let it die and rest with those with more time on their hands. Cregan refused to leave you in the hands of a less capable swordsman — what good was that, letting you learn the wrong way?

A crow’s cry reverberated throughout the Wolfswood, the beat of a flock soaring through the heavily wooded hills. Your sessions inevitably relocated from the Godswood to here, to allow for the cover of privacy and a lack of wandering eyes.

Hardened earth had turned damp and muddy in the presence of a deluge days before, certainly not sturdy ground for true fighting, but it would prove to be a challenge for the both of you. Rain wasn’t common in the North, but it proved to be quite a nuisance whenever it fell — and it fell hard.

He was under great scrutiny for doing this anyway, and Cregan preferred to keep the lectures of old men at-bay for a time, if he could. The young Lord sat beneath the sprawling branches of a massive oak tree, his horse tethered several feet away.

Using a sharpening stone, he turned dull steel into razor-sharp weapons, abandoning the practice swords he often brought with him whenever he met with you. That happened to be another point of contention — meeting with a young maiden, alone in the woods, without any chaperone.

Cregan would never tarnish your honor or sully your dignity — betrothal was inevitable for a man of his station, but he wanted to forget about it. Things were easier when it was just the two of you, sparring in the woods — he did not feel so weighed-down by duty, by leadership.

He felt less like the Warden of the North and simply Cregan Stark.

The mantle of leadership had become heavier with the visit of Jacaerys Velaryon, Prince of Dragonstone, asking that he supply his mother’s armies with Northmen. House Stark was an honorable one — he wasn’t about to break vows of fealty sworn before the late King Viserys to make his daughter heir.

It meant that war was on the horizon, a war that would involve himself and his people, a war that held the potential to rip the realm asunder. Cregan had prepared himself for a time like this, when oaths and honor transcended old traditions. Whatever storm was approaching, he was prepared to face it head-on.

His head lifted from admiring polished steel, gray eyes searching for the dappled coat of your horse as it thundered through the Wolfswood. His heart felt lighter when his gaze found you, guiding your steed toward his own to tether it to a sturdy branch.

Love was a dangerous thing, just as perilous as any war fought by men — both on different fronts. Cregan had lost plenty in his life, and he feared losing you. This friendship you had, it almost seemed to take on a life of its own, abandoning the line of propriety and molding into something else, something affectionate.

Cregan didn’t know what he felt for you, but he knew that it wasn’t anything a friend should feel.

Despite the bitter chill of the North, the day was temperate enough, one where he didn’t feel the desire to wear a heavy cloak or layer himself in furs. The adrenaline of swordplay often got his blood rushing anyway, and he would be hot by the time this was all said and done.

The cheer and excitement you often felt was displayed so openly upon your face, lips curled into a bright smile. Cregan had teased you for being too amiable for a Northerner, but admittedly, he looked forward to seeing your sweet countenance and sparkling eyes. There was a warmth you possessed, a warmth hot enough to keep him comfortable when in your presence.

“Dour, as always,” You hummed, dismounting from your gelding with a look of mild amusement. You abandoned the lengthy silks and pretty dresses of a maiden whenever you came to train, outfitted with leather armor that seemed somewhat ill-fitting on you. “I wish to see you smile, Cregan.”

With a sardonic huff, a twinkle reached Cregan’s stormy-gray eyes as he looked to you, brows furrowing together. “I suppose you caught me on an odd day,” He replied, placing the sharpening stone upon the pillar of flat rock he sat atop. “Duties of the Warden of the North.” He sighed, turning his eyes toward the dismal skies.

You could detect his stress from where you stood, moving closer to him until you reached the smooth rock, taking a seat at his side. “Something is wrong,” You stated. Despite the constant banter you shared, you were still friends — Cregan wore his exhaustion on his sleeve in moments of vulnerability. “What is it?”

His shoulders rolled in a shrug, letting the blade of his longsword turn downward into the dirt, its weight resting against his thigh. “Winter is here,” Cregan murmured, countenance etched with a somber look. “War is brewing in the South. I am torn on two fronts.”

The conflict between Rhaenyra and King Aegon II — you knew of it. The realm was prepared to rip itself apart instead of seeing a woman’s ascension, something that you felt a great deal of sympathy for. “What will you do?” You inquired, able to see the furling of tension within his body, even beneath his sparring leathers.

“Uphold the oath made before King Viserys I, and before the realm,” Cregan replied, his eyes filled with something stern and solemn. He would never break an oath — it wasn’t something Northerners took lightly. “We swore to see the ascension of Rhaenyra Targaryen, and we shall fulfill it. I’ve pledged two-thousand greybeards to send South, when the time comes.”

The admiration you felt for Cregan only grew tenfold — it was the Cregan Stark that you had felt affection for, grown fond of. He was honorable, a gentle yet powerful man who wielded leadership with thoughtfulness and integrity. Your lips curled into a warm smile, as smoldering as a summer’s eve as you reached his arm.

“You’re a good man, Cregan.” It was all that needed to be said. There were plenty more sentiments conveyed in your softening stare alone — many things left unspoken, but some of it boiling beneath the surface.

A soft huff escaped him before he shook his head, dismissing your praise with a shrug of his shoulder. “I do what any honorable man would do,” He murmured, but the both of you knew it wasn’t true. Cregan showed great humility even when he didn’t need to. He moved to his feet, holding a longsword in each hand. “But we didn’t come here to speak of a grim future.”

The noticeable difference in stature was a point of teasing between the both of you, and one that Cregan took full advantage of. You stood across from him, head canting to one side. “The only grim future that I see is your face, my Lord.” You chimed, and he let out a mirthful scoff at your prodding and playful use of his title.

He stepped closer, offering you the glimmering blade of a longsword. Your surprise was noteworthy, and he very nearly made a comment, electing to hold his tongue. Cregan knew how to handle a blade — he was a talented swordsman, seasoned and experienced despite his age.

“These are real,” You stated, feeling the weight of the blade within your hand. You half expected the practice swords, but this was a welcome surprise. “Do you think that this is wise?” Admittedly, there was a pang of fear at the thought of swinging a real sword. What if you accidentally maimed him?

Cregan huffed, visage one of stoicism despite the amusement that crept into his stern, Northern timbre. “You’ll have to learn to leave the play-fighting behind, my Lady,” He murmured, watching as you white-knuckled the hilt. He was surprised that your hand didn’t rip apart. “Don’t hold it too tight.”

With a sharp exhale, you glanced at Cregan, whose gray eyes were akin to the onslaught of a winter storm, dark-chestnut tresses framing his face. He was beginning to grow a bit of scruff on his face, likely a byproduct of the stress of his duties.

He was handsome — Northern perfection made flesh and bone, a gentle mountain of a man. In your youth, you had always fancied Cregan to some degree, but his birthright often prevented you from acting on impulse. Then again, it was best left as a fantasy.

You froze when his hand wrapped around yours, calloused digits forcing your grip to loosen. “Don’t keep your hands together,” Cregan rumbled, repositioning your grip — one toward the top of the hilt, and the other closer to the pommel. “You’re acting as if this is day one.” He challenged, and that got your attention.

“It’s heavier,” You murmured, recoiling away with a disdainful expression. Cregan knew that he was beginning to get a rise out of you, lips twitching into the ghost of a smirk. “It’s not as easy to handle as the swords we used before.”

“Did you expect a longsword to weigh as much as a feather?” Cregan inquired, attempting to smother his amusement when you rolled your eyes at him. He prepared himself, squaring up into an attack formation, handling his ancestral blade with ease.

A scoff escaped you, and you mirrored his stance, holding the blade to the best of your ability. There was a burn in your arms from the newfound weight, but you pretended that it didn’t bother you. “I might throw this feather at you.” You grumbled, and at last, that earned you a brief chuckle from Cregan.

“Ready yourself,” He warned, circling you with steady steps. Cregan knew that he wouldn’t hold back for your sake — you were strong enough to take it. You insisted upon it many times before, even if he was initially reluctant to do so. “Don’t hold back.”

With a soft grunt, you brazenly charged at Cregan, hoping that it would catch him by surprise. He seemed to be expecting this, nimbly dodging your sloppy charge as he stepped to the side. You swiveled around, blades clanging together as they reverberated throughout the Wolfswood.

The silver of steel glinted within the pale rays of sunlight glistening through the canopy above. Cregan maintained a stalwart expression, though it began to crack at the seams as you swung again. He parried the blow, shuffling within the fallen leaves and damp earth.

“You’re swinging like a drunkard,” Cregan quipped, knowing that you were smarter than this. In one smooth stroke, he shoved you aside, grabbing the bicep of your sword arm. “Don’t fight like one.” He grunted, brows furrowing together as you struggled within his ironclad grasp.

In a brief stroke of genius, you smacked Cregan’s side with the pommel of your longsword, causing him to loosen his hold as you shimmied away. He let out a grunt, watching as you quickly made distance. It was a dirty fighting tactic — he most certainly didn’t teach you that.

The flash of a triumphant smile crept onto your features, but not before the King in the North charged forth, the both of you bringing your swords up. Something blossomed between the both of you, a strange tension fueled by unspoken feelings. Cregan bared his weight down upon you, causing you to maneuver to the side in order to evade him.

There was a fire within his eyes whenever he fought, a spark that turned into a bright flame. Adrenaline made his blood run hot, and the more the two of you brought your swords together, moving about as if it were a dance, the more enticed and invigorated he became.

Cregan found you beautiful, strands of hair sticking to your shimmering temples, framing your creased brow. The concentration written upon your visage was enough to make him pause, admire the intricacies and commit them to memory. Even when you wore men’s garb to spar, you were still enchanting.

You were perfect when fighting, pouring all of your efforts into beating him, if that were a possibility. Cregan didn’t want to doubt you, knowing that you possessed a raging inner fire, a quiet strength that grew with the tenacity of a wolf whenever you were provoked.

Steel ripped against steel, the duel commencing deep within the heart of the Wolfswood. His heart hammered with excitement, breath hot and labored as he parried another one of your quick, flourishing strikes.

He pressed his advance, barreling forward as he began to back you toward the rock underneath a sprawling tree of reddish leaves. Cregan noticed the panicked look in your eyes, the way in which you tried every move he’d taught you to gain distance.

“The wolf descends, my Lady. Think hard,” Cregan rumbled, wanting you to try and get out of this situation. “The enemy will not wait — they will strike, and you will end up here.” You were intelligent, a quick thinker — he wanted you to be smarter than this.

In what you considered to be another dirty tactic, you kicked a mound of damp dirt in his direction, providing enough of a distraction for you to hop the gap. Again, it only seemed to corral you into a corner. You attempted to swing down with an overhead strike, but Cregan very nearly knocked you into the ground.

“Never strike like that again, unless you want a blade through your belly,” He grunted, watching with mild awe as you brought it down to the side instead, forcing him to parry. Both of your blades locked at the side, struggling to maintain your balance. “Good.”

The dance continued, becoming a game of wit — outthinking and outmaneuvering the other, blades clashing again and again. He pressed you back into a corner as he had before, the distance slim. Cregan didn’t want you to yield — he knew that you wouldn’t.

Anticipation grew, and you found yourself weighing the odds. Perhaps you were simply too prideful to surrender to Cregan, even if all of this was a learning moment. Either way, you continued to fend him off with quick slashes of your blade, to no avail.

The rock became dangerously close, nearly brushing against your back as Cregan pressed his advantage. In a stroke of what you deemed as desperate thinking, you lashed out with a mule kick to his sword hand, loosening his grip enough to knock it away.

You shoved him with all of your strength, and much to your own surprise, he fell right into the dirt. Your heart hammered within your chest, and seeing the King of the North strewn across the ground made you feel some sense of victory.

Cregan huffed, brows knitting together as he stared at you from below, quickly recuperating. “I didn’t teach you to fight like a sellsword.” He grunted, but he had to admit, it was good thinking on your end — even if it was dirty and unsportsmanlike.

A smile fluttered across your features as you wiped the sweat from your brow, preparing to assail Cregan with whatever witty blows you could think of. “It wouldn’t hurt you to learn a thing or two.” You mused, canting your head to one side.

With a stoic grunt, Cregan decided to employ a dirty tactic of his own. It was a playful move, acted out without any malice and instead, wanting to hear the end of your teasing. He lashed out with his boot, sweeping your legs right out from underneath you.

Cregan smirked, watching as you buckled and toppled over, though he never intended for you to unceremoniously land right on top of him. You dropped your longsword somewhere along the way, forehead narrowly avoiding smacking into the hard earth. Cregan caught you before that could happen.

With labored breaths, you immediately hit his chest with a light punch, not enough to ever cause any real harm. “What was that for?” You grumbled, realizing how close the both of you were. He was a large man, warm and muscular beneath you.

“I’ve learned a thing or two, my Lady.” Cregan corrected, a twinkle within his stormy-gray eyes. When he fully noticed the compromising position the both of you were in, his breath hitched slightly. There was nothing stopping him from grabbing your hips and kissing you then and there.

Before fantasy could become reality, you hastily rolled off of him, feeling a light sting of arousal growing between your thighs. You wanted to avoid such a disaster — Cregan was your friend, he was the King in the North. To ascend all bonds of propriety and try for something more would be improper.

He stayed on the ground for a moment longer, moving into a sitting position as he shook his head. “Throwing dirt, pommel-striking, and kicking,” Cregan remarked, planting a palm atop his knee. “Have you been training without me?”

“Never,” You wouldn’t dare seek out another swordsman — there were none like Cregan Stark. “I wouldn’t dream of having another teacher,” You hesitated, lips twitching into a bemused smile. “Though, if I am not mistaken, you do sound jealous.”

Cregan happened to stand before you did, outstretching a gloved hand for you to take. You did, murmuring your gratitude as he hauled you up and right into the expanse of his chest, emblazoned with the direwolf of House Stark. There was something indiscernible within his eyes, steely yet softening in sight of you.

The unusual tension had crackled from mere sparks to an open flame, your throat becoming tight as Cregan’s gaze bored into you. His shadow swallowed you whole, wisps of dark, chestnut hair sticking to his face, perspiration glittering across his temples. You still held his hand, watching as his jaw tensed.

“I sound jealous, my Lady?” Cregan rumbled, timbre gentle and thick with his Northern accent. The closer he pressed, the more the reality of the situation dawned upon you, keeping you grounded. You were afraid of resorting to action, afraid that something would happen to tear you both apart.

It was easy to tear down your teasing, playful side to nothing more than a smitten maiden when Cregan huskily addressed you that way. His eyes momentarily flickered across your beautiful features, particularly the soft curve of your mouth, and what little of your neck had been exposed to him.

You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, lips parting as a soft exhale escaped you. “You do,” You whispered, searching his countenance for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. When you found none, you began to lean up, rocking closer than ever before. “Quite jealous.”

Cregan silenced you with a kiss, one that could melt even the hardiest of ice. It was blazing and passionate, yet slow enough to savor the moment. You reciprocated, palms flat atop his chest as he wrapped a thick, bulky arm around your hips, hauling you in until no sliver of space remained.

You kissed him fervently, allowing your many months of smothered affection to boil over. Despite Cregan’s indomitable, intimidating appearance, he was as gentle as they came. He handled you with respect, his other hand coming to seize your waist, kneading into your curves through your sparring leathers.

Tension boiled over, fueling the fire that had been stoked between the both of you for some time. Ravenous was a mere understatement — you wanted Cregan then and there, if he would indulge you. The ground was muddy and certainly no place to bed.

He bit at your lower lip with a grunt, brows furrowed together in concentration. He hunched in on you, bringing you flush against his body, heat replacing the bitter sting of the Northern chill. Cregan was rough, but inherently passionate with how he treated you — no malice, simply a wolf’s hunger.

“Cregan,” You huffed, mouth agape as you attempted to regain your composure. Whatever restraint you had was hanging on by a mere thread, prepared to snap. “I …” Admittedly, you were at a loss for words, still reeling from the shock of having your affections reciprocated.

His mouth pressed against your jaw as he buried his scruffy visage into the crook between your neck and shoulder. “Seems you’re cold, my Lady.” Cregan grunted, feeling the onslaught of gooseflesh that had permeated your skin, continuing to prickle along your spine.

With a brief chuckle, you reached for his chestnut tresses, tugging on his hair in order to bring him closer. “Fortunately, I have the King in the North to keep me warm,” You hummed, gasping when he brazenly groped at your haunch, strong hands kneading into you. “I want you, if you’ll have me.”

“Here?” Cregan uttered, timbre deliciously thick and husky with desire. Even if he wanted to claim you for himself, he would’ve taken you somewhere warmer, somewhere comfortable. “You’re no animal, my Lady. I wouldn’t fuck you into the dirt like one.” He rumbled, able to taste your yearning.

Honorable and gallant — you only wanted him more after that. As much as you desired to rip your armor off and let him have his way with you upon the rock, the mud and grime afterward wouldn’t have been pleasant. “Your chambers, then?” You mumbled, feeling his warm lips clamor from your jaw to your mouth.

“If that’s what you want,” Cregan murmured, a playful smirk toying at either corner of his mouth. It shattered his stoic countenance, melting away all of those dour inclinations he held before. “You might change your mind, and I wouldn’t fault you for it.”

A huff escaped you, brows furrowing together as you shook your head. Cregan thoroughly enjoyed that you spoke bluntly and plainly — he wanted you more than you realized, keeping his composure for the sake of propriety. There was no telling what could happen once you reached Winterfell.

“I will meet you at Winterfell.” Your answer was clear, solidified in stone. You appreciated that Cregan had given you an out, but that was the last thing you wanted. He gave you another kiss, teeth nicking your lower lip before you retrieved your longsword and mounted your horse.

Cregan watched you ride off from the Wolfswood — the new Lady of Winterfell.

A cold dusk cast its looming shadow over Winterfell, and with it, bringing the sting of ice and a light snowfall. Clouds made their presence known, gray and ominous, covering up the stars until none remained. Snowfalls in the North often ranged between fleeting and treacherous, and tonight seemed to be somewhere in the middle.

Following your dance in the Wolfswood with Cregan, the ride back to Winterfell gave you plenty to consider. You found his hesitation to be noble, but you had made your mind up some time ago. The moment where friendship now transcended into something else had come, and you knew what you wanted.

Perhaps you had kept him in suspense on purpose, waiting until the rest of the Great Keep was silenced before you made the tenuous trek to Cregan’s chambers. You had cleaned up perfectly well, clad in thick, furred robes, ones that left little to the imagination. You assumed that you wouldn’t be sleeping much tonight at all, if Cregan were still intending to follow through.

The doors to his chambers were heavy, embossed wood carved from the thick trunks of Wolfswood oak, the handles resembling the heads of wolves. There was no guard posted outside — there never was.

If anyone knew Cregan at all, it was his staunch independence and his desire for privacy. He was one of the greatest fighters in the Seven Kingdoms, and no guard would change such a thing. You stood outside, steeling yourself for what was to come.

Your hand hovered above the wood, palm pressing against it before you knocked thrice, breath hitching slightly at the sound of footsteps from the inside. Nervousness suddenly gripped you — none of this felt real at all, and you were prepared to wake up in some distant dream.

For the longest time, part of you had silently yearned from afar for Cregan, knowing that he would someday take a wife, and it wouldn’t be you. You were just friends, and you were cursed to admire him for all eternity with nothing coming to fruition. You had come to terms with it, but now?

Everything had changed.

He kissed you with a fervor in the Wolfswood, a kiss reserved for lovers — had he felt the same way, as you did? Was it simply the desire to have someone he trusted warm his bed? You were uncertain, and you wanted clarification.

The groan of oak reverberated throughout the stone corridors as Cregan opened the door, standing there, tall and indomitable, a tunic clinging to his chest. You could see so much more of him without the chain-and-leather armor, without the obstruction of a thick hide cloak. His broad shoulders seemed to relax in your presence.

Gods, you looked beautiful — Cregan had seen you dressed up on a handful of occasions, but they all paled in comparison to how you looked now, clad in the pelts of wolves, visage free of dirt. His grip tightened along the edge of the door, an effort to restrain himself from devouring you then and there.

“May I?” You asked, wringing your hands together in order to alleviate some of the tension. Cregan stepped aside, stormy-gray hues transfixed upon you as you crossed the threshold into his chambers. Your heart hammered within your chest as he shut the door, crossing the room to tend to the fire.

“I must know what this is, before we go any further.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, strained and desperate for an answer. “What have years of friendship come to, in your mind?” The question was direct, demanding that he state his intentions.

Cregan appeared perplexed, stepping toward you with a hooded expression. “Was that kiss in the Wolfswood not clear enough, my Lady?” He rumbled, hooking an arm around your hips. “I am a man of honor, and I wouldn’t dare tarnish your own. I am still your friend,” Cregan uttered, reaching up to cup your face, “And I am your lover.”

“If I wanted you to tarnish my honor?” You murmured, watching his countenance contort into a look of desire, as if you were invoking a challenge. Heat radiated from him in waves, sinking into your bones, making residence there. He was comfortable, a mountain of a man who held you so gently.

A brief huff escaped him, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, yet it did not come to fruition. “I would do as my lady commands.” He grunted, pressing a kiss against your jaw. You tasted perfect, if that were even an accurate description.

His honeyed, husky words excited you — his commitment to you was laid bare before you, and you felt a familiar surge of arousal deep within your bones. “No one else?” Possessiveness swelled within you — you wanted Cregan for yourself. If this were to become something serious, you would make it clear.

“I am yours,” Cregan murmured, chestnut brows furrowing together as he made his pledge to you. “And you are mine. I would not have it any other way.” He assured you, calloused hand kneading into the swell of your hip through the thick layer of fur that concealed your body. He wished to see it all for himself.

Your foreheads touched for a moment, and despite the charged, tenuous element of sexuality floating about, you quite enjoyed the tenderness of it. “I am yours, and you are mine.” The pledge was soft-spoken through you lips, prompting Cregan to press a kiss against the top of your head.

Without hesitation, your fingers curled into the coarse fabric of his tunic, gripping tightly as you pulled yourself up for a kiss, but Cregan met you halfway in a frenzy. His kiss was ravenous, filled with a rapturous hunger that did not appear subtle at all.

Gone was the chill of winter, replaced by the burning fire that smoldered between the both of you. He kissed you hard, teeth raking across your lower lip as he hauled you close, until there was no sliver of space left between. There was no shortage of desire or passion either, as Cregan’s hand pushed against the leather ties of your robe, wanting to feel your soft skin underneath.

“Cregan.” You exhaled, shivering when you heard that growl reverberate within his throat. Your hands joined him in their lascivious crusade, untethering the rough leather strings of your gown, loosening it up until it sagged upon your body. You nodded to him, a subtle signal that he could have whatever he wanted.

He pushed the thick material aside, watching as it fell around your feet, softly thudding against the stone. You wore nothing at all underneath, supple and beautiful, skin as soft as silk, all belonging to him. “Expecting something from me, were you?” Cregan murmured, pushing your tresses aside, exposing the expanse of your pretty neck to him.

A soft groan tore past your parted lips, belly filling with a fire that demanded to be extinguished. He pressed a hot trail of kisses along your face, starting there as he began to move downward. “Perhaps.” You huffed, listening to his chest vibrate with a brief bout of laughter. The sound was like music to your ears.

“You’re so beautiful.” He mumbled his praises into your flesh like a prayer. His roughened palm moved to clasp against the nape of your neck, digits reaching for your hair as he brought his mouth to your jaw, teeth and lips working in-tandem.

Cregan shivered when your colder fingertips hitched beneath his tunic, feeling the thick, corded muscle of his torso, the few scars here and there. Your digits toyed with the leather waist of his trousers, skimming upward to flatten your palm against his abdomen.

You moaned when he bit into your neck, hard enough to leave a mark, but delicate enough not to break through your skin. He felt along the soft dips and bends of your curves, traveling wherever he pleased until he sank his hands sank your haunches, unable to keep from touching you.

Everything about you invited him in, intentionally or unintentionally. The scent of various herbs and perfumes clung to you, intertwined with that of leather. Each embrace of his mouth was purposeful, burying into the hollow between your shoulder and throat, seeking to make his mark, imprint himself upon you.

He moved enough for you to remove his tunic, assisting in maneuvering the garment off and away from his body. You let it drop to the floor, kicking aside your robes to form a growing pile of garments.

Cregan was perfect — a true Northman, with a hardened body to prove it. He was all thick muscle and strength, sturdy and broad-shouldered. It was refreshing to see a man that didn’t lack in fortitude, and you reached forward, caressing your fingers over the plane of his musculature. He shuddered at your embrace, lips parting slightly.

He kissed you again, devouring your mouth with an unrestrained desire. Even if lust had taken hold, Cregan preferred displays of rough passion instead, wanting to show you just how much you meant to him, the things you did.

A growl stirred within his chest, hands grabbing your hips as he steered you toward the furs in front of the hearth. You reached for his head, tugging on his chestnut tresses as you reciprocated each kiss with one of your own, one that echoed his own fervor.

“Lay down.” He rumbled, gaze simmering with ardor as he watched you descend onto the furs, pelts of direwolves that enveloped you perfectly. Cregan towered over you, lowering himself onto his knees as he pushed your legs aside, bullying himself between them.

You shivered when he kissed your collarbone, roughened palm kneading into the pliant flesh of your thigh. He wanted to savor all of you first, taste you upon his tongue, let your scent linger. Cregan’s mouth was domineering and rough, biting wherever he could, listening to your satisfied whimpers.

“I want to taste you.” Cregan murmured, his voice a husky timbre that sent shockwaves throughout your body, striking at the pit of your stomach. It filled you with a sense of desire, goosebumps cascading along your spine. His inquiry was masked as a statement, but he awaited your approval.

Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, you nodded, feeling a lick of excitement trail down until it settled between your thighs. “Please.” It was all you really needed to say, your incendiary gaze alone inciting a rapturous hunger inside of him.

His descent was slow, ensuring that you felt every nip of his teeth, every kiss emblazoning itself upon your flesh. You sighed with passion, meeting his tempestuous, gray-eyed stare, one that smoldered with desire. You reached for his face, fingers sweeping around his jaw, and you watched as he kissed your palm.

The gesture was brief yet sweet, a break in the swelling tide of carnality and wanton need. Cregan pressed a kiss against your collarbone before he continued his downward venture, lips drifting over both of your breasts, hungrily making his mark against your sensitive skin.

A low grunt escaped him when your digits threaded themselves into his tresses instead, finding their purchase at the base of his skull. The warmth of his mouth drifted over your stomach, feeling Cregan bite at your hips, inhaling a gust of your saccharine scent. It drove him wild, the desire to claim you seeping into his bones.

Cregan wasn’t much of a talker during acts of sensuality — he preferred to show you through action, instead. When he made it to the apex of your thighs, he settled against the furs, orange firelight dancing across the taut, thick muscle of his shoulders. He pushed your legs apart, letting them rest across his back, rough hands kneading along your legs.

Your breath hitched within your throat, stomach churning with excitable butterflies and arousal. The slick warmth that had coagulated between your thighs was a welcome sight to Cregan, who felt a twinge of smugness knowing that you’d gotten wet already.

He listened to the tremor within your exhale, the squirming of your body atop the furs, the subtle twitch of your thigh when he bit into the sensitive flesh. You were endlessly soft — velveteen beneath his fingertips. The contrast between his rough palms and your smoothness was a perfect duality.

The gray intensity of his stare left you breathless, and he did not break eye contact as he kissed your slit, prompting you to shiver. His tongue raked hot embers across your aching cunt, deliberate and intentional, driving you to an agonizing madness.

Cregan pulled you closer, a growl ringing within the depths of his throat as he sought your cunt, greedily lapping over your slit. He split past your folds, ravenous for whatever you would give him. It made you moan, hand gripping his hair, hips absentmindedly jolting into the vigor of his mouth.

He seemed so herculean, even now as he rested between your legs, broad shoulders etched with a slight tension. His brow was creased in concentration, a low hum escaping him as he devoured your cunt. Cregan did not have any qualms about staying there, head buried between your thighs.

That taut heat within your stomach had been wound so tight, like a coil threatening to snap in two. His mouth was voracious, lapping and kissing wherever he pleased, with the enthusiasm of a man starved. He was passionate and somewhat rough, occasionally turning to bite into the pliant flesh of your thighs.

“Cregan,” You moaned, writhing beneath him, feeling his strong hands clamp down upon your legs, locking you into place. It was pure bliss and agony all rolled into one, your other hand fisting the thick furs beneath you. “Don’t stop,” A whine tore past your mouth, with the wolf more than willing to oblige. “Don’t stop.”

A huff escaped him, one that filled his belly with a raging fire. His cock throbbed within his leather breeches, aching with want for you. He wasn’t about to let you buck and move at your leisure — he wanted you all to himself. His tongue continued to lap at your cunt with heavy strokes, stoking the flame of your arousal.

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.

The sound of your soft, pleading voice calling his name made him grunt, digits digging into your thighs, hard enough to leave faint bruises. You enjoyed the display of strength, his desire to mark you, claim you for his own. The wolf festered within him, and you were prepared to submit to him.

Cregan was stoic and dominant, yet those storm-colored hues softened whenever they flickered toward your visage, the image of grace and beauty. You had always been pretty, yet your perfection reared its head fully when you opened yourself up to him. He was enthralled, reduced to a mere pup in your presence.

His mouth pursed around the pearl of your cunt, stimulating that sensitive clutch of nerves. You gasped, the sensation sudden yet blissful, causing your thighs to squeeze his head slightly. Cregan grunted, forcing you apart again, nose grazing your folds.

The growing shadow of his coarse beard scratched against your thighs, providing you with a brief sting — a delicious sting, at that. You had often teased Cregan for being baby-faced, but he had elected to grow out a bit of scruff, and for that, you were grateful.

He wanted to stay there, rooted between your legs, mouth consuming your cunt as if it were his last meal. 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, grip him tight.

The warmth from the hearth danced across your body, illuminating your soft curves and silky skin. Inklings of perspiration began to shimmer against your chest, the fire’s intensity combined with Cregan’s constant body heat. He ran hot, hot-blooded like any Northerner.

His mouth didn’t relent, continuing to suck and kiss at your clit, tongue flicking against your slick entrance. He let one hand drop from your thigh, yet the other still kept you pinned into place. The first stroke of his thick digits against your core made your head spin in a delirium of desire.

Your hips lurched forward, attempting to gain any shred of friction, despite Cregan keeping you locked into place. You felt as if you were going to explode, seeing stars within your vision as his teeth grazed your clit. The sudden sensation made you shiver, hand fisting into his hair.

Cregan teased your entrance, searching your face for any signs of discomfort as his digits worked their way inside of you. You were tight, slick and warm around him as he sluggishly pumped them in and out of you. “That’s it,” He rumbled, grunting when you pulled on his tresses again. “Easy, my lady.” His tone held a playful remnant to it.

A brief huff escaped you, one of mild amusement. The sweetness that ebbed between the both of you soon dissipated into an air of seriousness once again, with Cregan tormenting you, mouth on your clit. He drew each sound out of you with a vengeance, feeling your legs tremble on either side of him.

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.

“Cregan,” You moaned, grabbing his hair so tightly that you feared you might rip it from his scalp. The roughness of it only spurred him on, enjoying your ironclad grasp as he assailed your cunt with careful laps and thrusts of his fingers. “Gods, I’m close!” You huffed, back arching off of the furs.

He wanted to do it to you again — again and again, make your body submit to him. Lust and passion swelled within him, blossoming through his chest, coupled with the possessiveness he felt over you. You belonged to him, now — his Lady of Winterfell, his.

Cregan didn’t intensify his pace or slow down, and instead, continued his ministrations with a sense of fervor and duty. His fingers and mouth worked in a blissful tandem, nose occasionally bumping into the hood of your clit, tongue dancing across your slit. He felt you shudder beneath him.

A flood of sheer ecstasy consumed you, flesh prickling with an overwhelming warmth as you shivered, reaching your climax in a white-hot crescendo. Your back arched completely, head tossed back against the furs, hands wrangling with Cregan’s tresses.

The buzz you felt afterwards was a pleasant feeling, and as you rode out your peak, you sank back into the mounds of wolf’s fur beneath you. Your grip began to slack on Cregan, enough for him to lift his head, gaze hooded and affectionate.

He pressed a series of sweet kisses along the inside of your thigh, reaching up to the bend of your knee. Perspiration glittered along his temples, but he was far from over — his hunger still prevailed. “You’ve got a grip like steel.” He grunted, moving forward to rest his head against your stomach.

A brazen, lascivious thought passed through him — your belly swollen with his child, an heir to Winterfell, a child of House Stark. It was reckless and wild to think of something so bold, but he couldn’t get it out of his head.

“Sorry,” You mumbled, somewhat flustered at your capability to nearly rip Cregan’s tresses right from their roots. He shook his head, his steely-eyed gaze flickering toward you. “I was quite consumed by the moment.” You confessed.

Cregan crawled forward, pressing a kiss against your mouth. You could taste yourself upon his tongue, evoking a whimper from between your lips. “Never apologize.” He rumbled, briefly nudging his forehead against yours. You observed him in silence, gaze swimming with affection as he rolled off of you.

He immediately stooped down to scoop you right off of the furs, hooking his bulky arms underneath you. You laughed, palms flat against the warm expanse of his chest, foreheads pressed together yet again. You didn’t need to say anything — you knew what came next.

Cregan gently deposited you onto his bed, his shadow eclipsing the glow of the firelight. He seemed massive at this angle, but his gentleness was notable with how he handled you. He unlaced the leather ties of his breeches, stepping out of them.

You happened to swallow at the sight of him — a mountain of a man, truly. A pang of nervousness struck at your gut, afraid that he wouldn’t fully fit inside of you, but it was fleeting. You knew that he would make sure that you were comfortable above all else.

His countenance, often laced with an unapproachable stoicism, softened at the sight of you — it wasn’t something commonplace. You had certainly eased the tension, his shoulders no longer weighted with stress or the burden of leadership.

A brief ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth — if you blinked, you might’ve missed it. “Are you smiling?” You whispered, doe-eyed and enamored with your Northman. Your hands trailed across the honed muscle of his shoulders, nails tracing across his back, and then to his chest.

Admittedly, it was difficult to keep a stony face around you, especially now, with your vibrant, exuberant smile and smitten gaze. Though, in the spirit of playfulness, he let out a rumbling hum, joining you atop his bed. The frame beneath groaned slightly in protest. “Perhaps.” He murmured.

He covered you with his burly physique, chestnut tresses framing his face, gray eyes drinking you in with a hint of tenderness. For as rough and rugged as he could be, Cregan became gentler for you — it wasn’t something he was used to.

Chest to chest, you craned forward, lips seeking his own as you kissed him. It was sickly-sweet, as gentle as a maiden, and Cregan found himself wanting you all over again. A low grunt of approval emerged from his throat, brows furrowing together as he reciprocated.

You reached for his bicep, palm unable to grip around the bulk of his muscle. It made you realize how much smaller you really were than him, in all senses of the word — stature and muscle mass. He had all the advantages on you, but you quite enjoyed the amusing contrast of sizes.

To Cregan, it thoroughly aroused him, seeing your silky digits attempt to wrap around his arm, only to fail miserably. He treated you like a prized jewel, afraid to harm you, afraid to drop you — it made his cock twitch against your thigh, and he heard the hitch within your throat.

“I’ll be gentle.” Cregan assured you, calloused palm gliding along the length of your thigh in an attempt to ease your worrying. You feared that he would split you in half with his cock — not that it was a terrible way to go, but you did want to walk on the morrow.

He lowered his head to your chest, peppering kisses all along your breasts and collarbone, the ridge of his nose brushing over your sternum. The tip of his hardened length slid across your slick entrance, prompting you to shiver with anticipation.

With a shove of his hips, the head of his cock pushed into your cunt, his girth and size something you needed to adjust to. A strangled whine left you, lips agape and slack, hands clawing at his biceps as he gingerly made his way inside of you, inch by agonizing inch.

The discomforting pang of being stretched made your body crawl, attempting to get comfortable beneath him. Cregan noticed the twinge of pain that fluttered across your countenance, and he soothed you with a kiss against your brow, palm still caressing your thigh.

It felt incredible — certainly an adjustment, but pleasurable nonetheless. The girth of his cock filled you completely in ways you hadn’t felt before, and you knew that he would be the only one you would ever want. Discomfort inevitably dissipated into bliss as Cregan gave you time to grow used to him.

“Need you to move,” You whimpered, noticing the fire burning within his eyes, like smoldering embers come to life. Those stormy-gray hues drank you in with the hunger of a starving wolf, and he moved your back up enough to place a feather pillow beneath your hips. “Cregan.”

The newfound angle made you reel from ecstasy, feeling the way in which his cock hit that spot of pleasure for you. He shuddered when you moaned his name, and it activated something salacious inside of him. He thought of you, the Lady of Winterfell, Lady Stark, full and round with his child, his heir.

He moved, then.

His hips snapped forward as he attempted to restrain himself from fucking you into a stupor, executing a great amount of gentleness, fueled with an amorous intensity. Cregan was passionate, cock rutting into you, hitting new depths as he began to show you just how much he wanted you.

A grunt left him when your knees bumped into his hips, occasionally squeezing him like a vice, but the bulk of his musculature kept you properly spread apart. Your mouth clamored for his, lips meeting in a tangle of tongue and teeth. Your nails dug into the thick muscle of his bicep, other hand reaching for the nape of his neck.

You felt him reach for your hand, roughened digits intertwining with yours as he placed it beside your head, pounding into you with a gentle fervor. Cregan was tempered and measured about his movements, sheathing his cock inside of you fully with each thrust.

A myriad of needy moans and whimpers left you, and you did little to conceal the height of their volume. You groaned into Cregan’s mouth when he snapped forward again, and you felt as if he might break you in half — in the best way possible, of course.

His cock was akin to the force of a battering ram in slow motion, ensuring that every thrust drove you to madness, your walls tight around him. The friction between your bodies only contributed to the tension, your chest snug against his, lips tangled together, his roughened digits groping at your thigh.

Your nails raked faint trails of red across the thick muscle of his bicep, prompting him to growl into your mouth, kissing you as if it would be his very last time. There was a subtle desperation to Cregan, coupled with that innate instinct to breed, fill you with his seed and let you carry his child.

The Northern winds began to howl outside, bringing with it an onslaught of snow, and yet you had never been warmer, happily trapped beneath the herculean mass of Cregan Stark. Your foreheads touched on occasion, each kiss building with want until it had exploded into something hot and messy.

Perspiration lingered upon both of your bodies, as his chambers became increasingly hot, like that of a fever pitch. Cregan used some of his body as leverage, pushing himself inside of you again, cock sheathed within you completely until he pulled back, and thrust again. The action became increasingly intense, yet he kept himself in-check.

Your body was perfect, a sight for him alone, made by the Old Gods — he couldn’t thank them enough. Cregan gave you another blistering kiss, letting you linger upon his tongue before he withdrew, mouth lowering towards your chest once more. He was hellbent on pleasing you while chasing after his own release.

As he took one of your breasts into his maw, he felt the sly return of your digits tangling within his hair, and he couldn’t help but briefly smirk into your flesh. He reveled in the way you manhandled him so brazenly, gripping him tightly as your leg hitched around his hips.

Cregan didn’t relent, cock driving into you with a needy force, aching and throbbing inside of you. Your thighs twitched and trembled, and he continued to trace his hand across it before grabbing at your haunch, pliant flesh filling his palm.

Grunts and low rumbles escaped him, colliding with your own symphony of moans and whimpers, desperate for him to come undone. You rolled your hips forward whenever you could, friction creating another delicious wave of heat between the both of you.

He gently bit at your chest, face nestled there as his pace became a touch quicker, cock battering into you, kissing your slick cunt over and over again. Those tantalizing fantasties of filling you with his seed tormented him, driving him into a frenzy.

He hit that spot between your legs that seemed to make you writhe, grabbing at his chestnut tresses, back arching slightly as he turned your senses into mush. Cregan groaned, the sound heavy and husky in your ear as he came, spilling himself deep inside of you. He continued to thrust into you afterwards, the motions considerably softer and less invigorated.

A huff escaped him, a quick breath to regain his composure. His stamina was rather impressive, and if you asked it of him, he would’ve continued on well into the night, but your countenance seemed etched with mild exhaustion.

You whimpered when he stayed inside of you, head bowing towards yours as he pressed a kiss against your forehead, and then to your lips. The gesture was inherently tender despite his rough demeanor, enough for you to loosely drape your arms around his shoulders.

Cregan rolled over to lay next to you, his large form taking up a sizable portion of his bed. He coaxed you close, thick arm snaking around you as he tugged you into the warm expanse of his chest, propped up against the pillows.

The silence was a comforting one, a blissful aftermath of affectionate sentiments and declarations of adoration. He made sure that you were comfortable, shrouding you in the blanket of wolf pelts, showering you in gentle kisses. His grasp was inherently protective, as if he were shielding you from some invisible force.

“Are you alright, my Lady?” Cregan uttered, checking to see if you were unwell. He sometimes got carried away in the moment, and you weren’t exactly tall and stocky like himself. He needed to accommodate you, and that sometimes included being gentler.

With a smitten smile, you nodded, peering up at him through your lashes. Your thighs continued to scream with a dull ache, cunt throbbing and sticky with his seed and your arousal. “Very much so.” You replied, head resting atop his chest as you traced patterns against his abdomen. “If I weren’t so spent, I would ask you to do it again.”

A brief huff of amusement left Cregan, who held you close, reaching for your hand as he cradled it within his own, his other hand firmly situated atop the swell of your hip. “I cannot promise that I would not ravage you the second the opportunity arose.” He murmured, pressing a kiss against the top of your head.

“If that’s what I wanted?” You challenged, noticing the way his expression contorted into a look of desire, but above all, pure devotion. Cregan enjoyed your flirtatious remarks and subtle challenges, chest vibrating with a hum of approval.

“Then you are in for a long night, Lady Stark.”

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not copy/steal or translate my works onto other platforms or claim it as your own.

[starlightsuffered]

Dirty Little Secret

Info - best friends brother, coming easily, squirting, stripping, teasing, hard Dom Timothée, degrading, breeding kink, daddy kink, secret fucking, biting ass, creampie, spit kink

Pauline was a good friend. We enjoyed playing video games together or cooking something nice. Upcycling, thrifting, and sewing were also things we did.

I always got flustered when her brother came around though, Gorgeous, gorgeous Timothèe. He was so cool and kind and sweet. Sometimes he'd come back from a jog and be dripping with sweat. I had to always hide my arousal when that happened.

"What's up y/n?" The devil himself said politely at the door.

"P-Pauline," | stuttered. I wasn't able to say anything else.

"Oh she is out, she promised mom she'd do some shopping and didn't get around to it until the last minute," Timothée chuckled. He leaned easily against the door frame. How was he so effortlessly cool?

"I should go then," I said robotically.

"What? Don't talk like that," he scoffed and grabbed me. He was pulling me in the house before I could protest.

"I don't want to intrude," I said awkwardly.

"Intrude? You're practically family," he chuckled. Family, that was the last thing I wanted to be to Timothée Hal Chalamet.

"Come on, I was just playing a video game. I'll set up a two player," he offered. I nodded slightly. I couldn't believe this was happening.

Timothée set everything up and our hands brushed when he handed me a controller. It was a racing game.

Normally, I was decent, but with my nerves I was miserable.

"Oh yeah I'm on your ass," Timothée half growled, his shoulder nudging into me. My pussy leaked. No, not now!

He would think I was so weird.

"Take that," he chuckled darkly. Slick wetted my pussy lips. I was panting. He kept nudging me and bantering in a way that sounded no where near innocent.

"Suck my dick!" He crowed as he passed me, a whole lap ahead of me. My mouth fell open without me even thinking about it. I was so turned on.

"I fucking win," he shouted as he crossed the finished line. Before I knew what was happening he'd bowled me over.

"Loser," he teased. I was dizzy as I felt his crotch pressed against me.

"Take it, take it," he goaded I didn't even know what he was on about. Finally, I couldn't hold back anymore as he lightly pulled my hair. I lost it. I let out a pathetic moan as I came hard. My orgasms were always intense and they made me shake.

"Y/n?" Timothée said slowly. I was burning with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," I squeaked.

"No, it's um, it's fine," he said. He didn't look upset or disgusted, he looked purely surprised.

"Come on, we have to get you to my sister's room," he said. He stood up and held out his hand.

"Why?" | asked suspiciously. I felt like I was being sent to the principals office.

"Well y/n," he chuckled. "Unless you'd like to have dinner with us and everyone knowing about your accident."

I looked down and saw that a stain was spreading. I had squirted! For some reason that didn't make me feel humiliated, it turned me on again.

"Come on, I'll get you panties," he said.

I followed him. To my surprise he zipped into Pauline's room, grabbed some clothes, and came out. He was now guiding me with a strong hand to his room. The whole situation was so odd that I didn't question him.

I'd never been in his room. It was pretty simple. He had some talent show trophies, a poster of Zendaya in a bikini, and some comic books.

"You'll need some shorts too, I got some when I was in there," he offered. "You know, you've got a great ass."

"I g-guess," | said. I couldn't believe he'd complimented me. He handed me the new clothing but didn't turn around or leave. It really seemed like he wanted me to change in front of him. The idea was scandalous and tempting. I reached for my waistband and Timothée gave me the tiniest of nods.

I peeled off my shorts, and then my panties. My pussy was dripping and there was a huge mess that was clinging to the fabric.

"Damn! Pauline never said your pussy looked like that!" Timothée swore.

"I, um, Pauline doesn't know," I said.

"So, I'm the only one in my family that knows shy little y/n has not only a juicy ass, but a gorgeous, wet cunt?" He asked smugly as he approached me.

"Holy fuck," I swore.

"You made such a mess," Timothée tsked.

"Uh huh," l agreed.

into my ass cheek.

"Ohhhhh shit," | cried as I dripped.

To my surprise he picked me up and threw me over his shoulder. I felt him turn his head and his teeth sunk in

"Now you're getting me messy, can't have that," he chuckled. He threw me on his bed. He tore off his shirt. His body was so gorgeous.

"You too," he ordered. I quickly took off my own top.

"C-can I lick?" I asked weakly.

"Such a slut," he said. I made a pathetic little noise and moved forward. I was in heaven. I was lapping and sucking and kissing his body messily.

"That's enough, I want that cunt," he barked. I fell back and spread my legs. A devious smile unfurled on his face.

He looked very pleased. He moved forward and sunk two fingers into my heat.

"Who does this belong to?" He asked.

"You," I gasped.

"Yeah it does, so easy to get you off. I'm your god now. Every time you're here you find a way to come to me. Your pussy is mine and your body and your sweet ass. You're going to be my dirty little secret," he instructed.

"Yes sir," | nodded eagerly. The idea of sneaking away from my friends so I could be used like a cock sleeve was delicious.

Timothée removed his pants and boxers. His beautiful cock stood tall. He teased my entrance by tracing it with his tip.

"Holy fuck please," | arched and begged.

"You want it?" He asked.

"So badly, I needed it," I nodded eagerly. He inched his head in, and stilled.

"Mmmmm, more!" I pleaded shakily.

"Yeah? You're a dirty girl aren't you? Can't stand that the whole thing isn't inside you?"

'Yes, yes! l'm a dirty girl! I need you in my fucking guts," cried out desperately.

"Good thing no one is home, you're a loud bitch," he said as he slid his cock balls deep inside me.

"Ahhhh, fuck yesssss, you're so damn tight. I love a tight cunt," he grunted. He secured my ankles on his shoulder and began to roll his hips.

"Oh fuck, oh shit, oh I feel it in my stomach," I moaned.

"You're such a little slut, getting off from just some teasing. Stripping for me," his voice was uneven as he slammed into me.

"Oh my fuck!" I nearly screamed. His gorgeous hands gripped my ass and massaged.

"I'm so f-full," I groaned.

"You're tight little whore pussy," he said and slapped my ass. "Squeezes me so good."

"Yes, I want to please you. You're my god. Mark me, mark your territory inside me," I panted.

"Oh yeah you like that, should I get a bitch pregnant so everyone knows who she belongs to? You wanna carry around my semen?" He asked me.

"Breed me! Breed my pussy!" begged.

"You're such a slut. I'm going to make you my breeding whore. You better report to me and get yourself filled with cum whenever I need. I need a fuck toy, and you're so lucky I picked you," he whispered in my ear.

"Yes, yes I am," I nodded. My voice was high pitched and whiny. I was whimpering.

"You want my creamy load in your cunt?" He asked me. "Because daddy is getting close to busting you slut.

"Mmmmhmmm yes daddy please. I want your cum so bad," I gasped.

"Fuck, here it comes," he groaned. He was spurting ropes in my wet heat. It was such a large load that it was squelching out.

"Oh fuck yeah, that's it, just a cum dump for me," he moaned. He spat into my mouth and I was gone. As he filled me l was coming too. Pleasure burned inside me. I couldn't keep my mouth or legs closed. We were a mess. I felt like so light headed I didn't think I could speak.

"Such a fucking slut," Timothée panted. He gathered saliva on his tongue. He let the liquid out slowly into my willing and desperate mouth.

"What are you doing?" | asked in a tiny voice. He was thrusting again and the noise was wet and erotic.

"Making sure it sticks, gotta make sure the baby was properly fucked inside you," he winked.

"Oh shit!" I whined.

"Y/n, would you like some bread?" Timothée's mom asked. I could hardly keep it together. Timothée had made me sit next to him when I stayed for dinner. Under the table he'd been slowly, languidly, torturously stroking my clit. I could hardly breathe.

"S-sure," | gulped as Timothée petted.

"Keep being a good slut and maybe you'll get another one of daddy's loads before you take your pregnant ass home," he whispered in my ear.

[arcielee]

And you told me I should concentrate.

Summary: Aemond makes a mistake. Paring: Aegon Targaryen x Female!Reader Word Count: 2050 Warnings: Just some smut. Smidgen of Targcest in the beginning, definite voyeurism, marital cheating, oral (f receiving), p in v, breeding kink if you squint. Author's Note: Here is part 2 of Only if for a night. You wanted sad boi Aemond and here he is, wholly confused and just fucking things up 😂 Thank you to my beta reader @f4ll-for-you, you always help me to give the best version of our baby girl Aegon. 💜 lēkia is brother Banners & dividers by @cafekitsune Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @sylas-the-grim @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @lovelykhaleesiii @darylandbethfanforever9 @bucknastysbabe

His sister had once said that it was fate to crave what is given to another, but for Aemond, it was a dull ache that reverberated within his ribs as he dragged Aegon to the Iron Throne. 

Aemond was first and foremost dutiful, his steadfast devotion extended to his brother and his crown, and it led his steps towards the confrontation on the Sept steps. But it was now a distant memory, along with the initial hesitation he had felt, as he was pleased that Aegon not just carried their ancestral crown as a decoration, but showed pride, thriving with his kingship. 

He had no qualms to follow through with the expected betrothal that had been made, as your dowry had allowed them their victory. But Aemond could not help the relief that washed over when you had been formally introduced; you were poised, you were beautiful, and you had no compulsion to fill the air with incessant chatter, as he often found the other ladies of the court always were compelled to droll on. 

It truly seemed to be a favorable match; you were not blatantly besotted with your intended–as Aemond knew this to be expected, Targaryen or not, he was always aware of the scar that burned across his features–but you were courteous, and he admired the touch of pink to your cheeks whenever his attention was solely on you.

The ceremony had been modest and you seemed grateful with how he threw the crowd that crowed for proof of your maidenhead from the chambers. It left you alone with your new husband and the unease that filled the air between.

Aemond was aware of your slight tremor, and he was mindful of every noise that spilled from your rosy lips, his hands were gentle to touch, guided by your soft sounds. With the proof of your purity spilled on the linen, and before he had left, he called for your handmaidens to have a warm bath drawn to help the ache between your thighs. 

His dutiful nature followed into his role as lord husband, though perhaps not in a romantic sense, but he would escort you to break fast with his siblings and mother, or he would suggest a stroll in the gardens of the Red Keep if the weather allowed it. Aemond was also certain to allow your time apart, allowing you to keep the company of your handmaidens, but also he would come in the evenings to do what was expected of a man and wife. 

But despite the time spent together outside of the marital chambers, there still tarried a trepidation in his bones. You were still reserved, the very embodiment of the perfect lady wife, but he was almost uneasy with how you responded to his touch, to his kiss. Aemond had hoped against hope that you would eventually bloom in response, but you seemed content to remain encased within your petals. 

So Aemond sought advice from his sister Helaena, as he knew she allowed him a candid honesty and he could trust whatever insight she had to offer. She had always been a resounding comfort for him, something that began with his dismemberment when she faithfully visited him as he healed.

Their bond was something that knitted tightly in the marrow of their bones, something that naturally gave into an intimacy they shared when she first married Aegon. At first, resentment boiled beneath as Aemond watched how his brother disrespected his lady wife, how he was lost in his whores of Fleabottom and neglected fulfilling his marital duties. 

This was when Helaena noticed how his gaze lingered and she called in her singsong voice, “it is our fate, I think, to crave always what is given to another.” 

It was a thrill, her touch both familiar and unfamiliar, something that stirred a warmth in his lower abdomen, curling at the base of his spine. “The blood of the dragon must thrive,” she had whispered against his lips. 

There was a sense of pride with how his legacy showed in the features of Jaehaerys’ that sharpened as he grew, and in the silk, silver texture of Jaehaera’s tresses, as well as the shade of lavender in the wide eyes of Maelor. 

But this had not been his intention when he came to her that night, though he found it was too easy to fall back into her warm curves and embrace; her lyrical hymn that was coy to coax him–may the gods forgive him, but Aemond relished in being desired again. 

He knew it was a lustful moment of weakness, and as the post-coital haze lifted, a sense of shame settled over in its place; Aemond had no intention to whore around on his wife, that he wished for her to carry his legitimate child, his legacy, as what was expected, as what was their duty to the realm.

“You just found your confidence again, lēkia,” Helaena remained bare, curled beneath the duvet, and watched as Aemond dressed. “You already know what you must do.”

Aemond knew he had to see you. 

In the days that followed, the routine was broken by the bliss that now engulfed you, your tiptoes tumbling on air as you flit throughout the Red Keep. Aemond saw how you glowed, as did anyone who dared to compliment his wife, but he also noticed how the sugared words drew a knowing smirk across the king’s face.

Aegon knew the real reason behind your changed disposition, but played coy to relish in your reactions. It was a childish tease with a sharp pull to your shirts if you passed him by and the tug of fabric jolted through you, a warmth rekindled in your core, or how he would place his palm on your lower back, leaning until his lips almost touched your ear with the soft words, “How lovely you look today,” and that warmth would spill into your features, crimson with his praise. 

You were flushed, your eyes bright, and this sweet demeanor was not missed by your husband, but Aemond hoped this meant you would be more receptive to coupling. The thought fluttered through his mind, propelling his steps forward that night as he made his way through one of the many ingresses that weaved the walls of Maegor’s Holdfast. He was quiet to enter your room, greeted by the golden flow of the tapers lit, by the sounds that spilled from your bed.  

He could not press further, cemented to the cobblestone at the sight. 

You were lovely and you were bare, sinking into the mattress with the top of your head towards the end of the bed, towards where your husband was rooted but you were unaware of his presence. Rose hues intimately stained your skin and the peaks of your thighs, your back arching with a mewled cry. Aemond watched your delicate hands reach to comb through the traited silver head of hair that was dipped between your flushed thighs, trembling with your building pleasure, with a hold to anchor him between. 

“Aegon, my gods…”

And then Aegon broke for a moment of air, pulling from your grasp and your hands trailed the planes of his chest to his abdomen; his mouth and chin glistened with your pleasure, and his hooded eyes fell to Aemond for a moment. 

You did not follow his gaze. “Aegon?” 

Aemond felt the blood rush to his cheeks, to his cock, and he took a soft step backwards while Aegon held his steady stare, bringing his fingers to wipe his face and suck lewdly on his digits. “Sweet girl,” he cooed, his gaze dropping to admire your flushed features, “I wish you to come on my cock.”  

Before you could protest, his large palms wrapped around your wrists, pulling you towards him. “Do not take your eyes off of me,” his lips pressed to yours, bringing you towards his chest to straddle him, your plush thighs caging his lap. His hot mouth captured your nipple, his tongue tracing your areola with a familiarity that caused you to cry out. 

“Aegon, please,” you panted, trying to squirm and feeling his girth against the slick of your cunt. His large palms grasped the softness of your hips, pulling you closer until his arms could wrap around your waist, his lips following the curve of your chest and licking the column of your neck, placing a noisy kiss to the underside of your jaw. “Aegon, you cannot mark me, what if it is seen–?” 

“Let them see,” his voice was dark, his hand dipping between and lining the flushed head of his cock to press into your entrance, wet and wanting from your prior peaks of the night. “Let them hear you,” his command was husky.  

Pitiful sounds poured from your lips as you lowered onto him, an indescribable fullness as he stretched your velvet walls. Your eyes fluttered into the back of your head, your hands coming to bite into his broad shoulders and hold yourself upright, still flushed against his chest. 

Aegon kept his hold on your waist, his palms pressed onto your skin, his lips ghosted the junction of your neck to your shoulder and you giggled from the sensation. “Your king commands you to stop clenching,” he hissed and you felt the hot exhale of his low voice

You giggled again, finding his lips for a kiss, your tongue curling in his mouth to taste him, to taste yourself. “Forgive me, my king,” you whispered, meeting with his eyes, the violet almost completely swallowed by his blown out pupils; your lips curled upwards with the slow roll of your hips against him. 

It was his turn for his eyes to disappear into his skull, with a low, guttural groan in response to the pace you set, and the lewds sounds that accompanied the sensual movement.  Your arms wrapped around his neck and he dipped his head forward to press his lips against your breast, leaving welts that flushed dark against your skin, his teeth dragging to the other with the same assault of his mouth.

You gasped at the sensation, with how it spilled into your bloodstream, coursing to the ends and fluttering back to the coil that tightened in your lower abdomen. You were slick between, your legs burned with the motion and, as if he could read your mind, did his grip tightened and Aegon met with a relentless pace, his hips rutting upwards into you.  

“I will only forgive you,” he was breathless with his unrelenting tempo, “if you come undone.” 

“Aegon,” you gasped, the flashes of color that sparked in front of your eyes and the tears that pearled in the corners, “I am so close.” 

“Touch yourself,” his voice was thick with the command and your hand pulled away, your fingers trailing his shoulder blade and coming around to follow his collarbone; Aegon dipped his head again, capturing your fingers in his mouth, his tongue wettening the pads before it fell between and pressed against the bloom of bundled nerves above. 

Your cries echoed the room, already so close to the precipice and your own touch is what pushed you over with a rush of blood towards your heart and your cunt, the coil bursting within and the pleasure unfurling, pressing against your seams. It was if you were drowning in this sense of bliss, something all-consuming as his thick member pulsed inside your cunt and you clenched in response, a vice, and still so very unaware. 

Aegon, however, held you close, his cheeks ruddy and eyes still dark as they looked past and towards Aemond, watching how his neck bobbed when he swallowed before falling another step backwards and disappearing where he came from, the entrance closing quietly behind. 

He moved towards his chambers, his palm adjusting the crotch of his slacks, his long gait to remove him. They had not married for love, and he always knew this; it was hopeful–it was foolish to think it could grow beyond the duty that was expected of them. 

And as he had done for Aegon, it was returned; in the end, all that mattered was that the blood of the dragon would thrive still. 

arcie's masterlist

[emilem-forevermore]

hey! intro post here :)

are you having a panic or anxiety attack? or just feeling upset? tap or click here

here is a link to the trevor project (a helpline for queer youth) if you are struggling. remember you deserve love and recovery :)

okay, a bit about me:

personal

my name: ollie, oli, oliver, em

my pronouns: he/fae/xe/they/kit/literally any neos NO SHE/HER

terms you can use for me: masc stuff is great, gender neutral good too! sir, mister (mr), boy, bro, dude, mage (mg), handsome, cute, manly, masc, and beautiful/pretty is fine but not preferable.

a few labels i use: bisexual, genderfluid, transmasc, demiromantic, and polyamorous!

my age: i am a minor. don’t be gross.

my birthday: april 8th! i’m an aries :3

other blogs: poetry blog! @emilems-poetry the other one where you can't mention my main bc my friends see it: @peanut-jelly

some other stuff you might want to know:

i’m 5’0!

i earned a black belt in taekwondo (i no longer do it tho).

single, but in multiple situationships?

collection of nicknames/silly labels: emilem, gay little frat boy, catboy tea, cheeto boy, leaf boy

i cannot play any instruments but would like to learn guitar one day

i’m a norwegian forest cat therian but i’m fine with being called human/person too - i have a therian blog. you'll find it.

adhd, autism (undiagnosed) and therapist says i might have ocd

if you want my spotify or pinterest (or scratch) dm me (it's something i'm willing to share but not like with the entire world lol)

music i like: harry styles, 1D, hozier, noah kahan, chappell roan, sabrina carpenter, taylor swift, the amazing devil, + a lot more

fandoms i am in: gravity falls, warrior cats, heartstopper, brooklyn nine nine, only murders in the building, a good girls guide to murder, the hunger games, wild life smp + more

please talk to me about heartstopper. i love it SO MUCH.

some of my interests: poetry, drawing, digital art, writing, reading, french, veterinary sciences, the human body, psychology, hebrew, spanish, chinese, italian, music, nature

this is my favorite post on this website, a slight tw for self harm mentions, but aside from that it might help if you're feeling down :)

PLEASE:

ask me stuff! i love answering questions

message me if you think i’m cool!!

send me art and poetry!!! it’s so awesome to look at :3

interact w me! i love talking to yall and i don't bite that often

if i say/do something that upsets you, let me know! i try to do my best to be inclusive and kind but sometimes i mess up so help me out :)

i love my moots more than the world!!! here's a list of some of them:

@hotteststar my first moot and fellow bisexual :)

@rins-batcave my reason /p

@raeprise mon cœur /p

@sparky4577 my brother (not irl but i wish)

@star-dust-shark favorite animal frfr

@crowwolf8 amazing crow

@crowofthestars just really fuckn cool. go follow them!

@thecrazyalchemist my bestie with the coolest name(s) ever

@mrblazeflappybird my cool uncle essentially

@wishiwereheather13 my really cool moot im too nervous to talk to (your banner is so cool btw. just sayin.)

@boldofyoutoassumeicanspell my wise gal i should talk to more

@holiday-spice my favorite seasoning (get it. cause his name is spice. lol.)

@halflingwithaknife i get excited whenever you're in my notifications you're so cool :0

@aflairforthemelodramaticc my father :)

if you'd like to be added to (or removed from) this list lemme know! i have so many mutuals and i love them all beyond words <3

DNI: if you’re sending asks for donations, pedophiles, just here to be mean, sex blogs

[veronicaphoenix]

Series: Into the Abyss of Bad Habits | masterpost Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader x Oliver Sykes

Hearts Like Ours. Additional multipart. Chapter 3: The Crow Witch | Words: 5k Summary: Noah returns home.

Tags and trigger warnings: established polyamorous relationship, no more angst, just a few happy tears, reader has her boys back, guided sexual meditation, mentions of chakras, firebreath orgasm, orgasmic bliss, a lot of 'good girl' praise, 'that's my girl', 'such a good girl', finger licking, one single spanking (oliver to noah), implied sub/dom relationship/behaviors if you squint (sub!reader, dom!noah, dom!oliver), implied p in v (not fully described), fluffy fluff.

Author’s note: get cozy 🕉️🧘🏽‍♀️ I loved writing this; it's definitely one of my favorite scenes with these three.

“What did you tell her?” Noah asked, fastening his seatbelt and glancing at Oliver as they pulled away from the airport arrivals area onto the highway. 

            “I didn’t lie to her. I took her to Starbucks, bought her a drink, and then told her to wait while I went to fetch something to cheer her up.”

            “And she was ok with that?”

            “Of course she wasn’t. But she ended up thinking I went to get a puppy for her to take care of while we’re on tour. Can’t say she’s entirely wrong,” Oliver replied, giving Noah a meaningful look.  

            Noah rolled his eyes, blushing slightly but smiling nonetheless. He was happy to be back, to be with him, to see her soon. Just then, the car’s screen lit up, indicating an incoming call from their girl. 

            “Speaking of the devil…” Oliver muttered. Before answering the call, he gestured to Noah to keep quiet. “Hi, love.”

            “Hi,” came her reply, laced with suspicion. 

            “How’s that caramel latte treating you?”

            “Good. Where are you?”

            “On my way back,” he answered.

            “Where did you go?”

            “I told you, I went to pick something up to cheer you up.”

            There was a brief pause as she listened intently for any background noise. 

            Oliver snorted.

            “Are you expecting to hear a bark or something?”

            “Yeah,” she chuckled softly, melting at the idea of Oli getting her a puppy. 

            “Well, sorry to disappoint, love, but I’m not giving anything away. Give me a bit more time, and I’ll come pick you up, alright?”

            “Don’t worry. Just head straight home,” she said. “I’ll walk. It’s a beautiful day outside, and I think I need it,” she took a deep breath and Noah frowned, looking at Oliver with concern. “But I need you more, so please be home by the time I get back?”

            If Oliver didn’t have to drop Noah off and return to fetch her, they’d have plenty of time to settle in at home before she made it back from the city center. 

            Sure, I’ll be there, baby,” he agreed. “Just give me a call if you want me to come get you.”

            “It’s only a thirty-minute walk. I think I’ll manage,” she teased, her voice filled with contentment. 

            After expressing his love and ending the call, Oliver glanced at Noah, who was now running a hand through his hair. 

            “See? Everything just falls right into place without us having to lift a finger,” Oliver remarked. 

            “She’s going to be disappointed you’re not bringing home a dog,” Noah retorted. 

            “You do love a bit of drama, don’t you?”

            “Just saying. She’s been talking about getting a dog for ages.”

            “You’re her favorite puppy”, Oliver addressed, teasing him.

            Noah shook his head and settled deeper into his seat. As he gazed out the window, relief washed over him knowing they were back in L.A. Soon, he’d be able to hold her close and comfort her. Glancing back at oliver, Noah reached out to tousle his hair, gently massaging the scalp at the back while Oliver kept his green eyes fixed on the road. 

            “Thank you for coming back for her,” Noah said sincerely, eyes full of appreciation. 

            “I’d do the same for you, anytime. I’d do anything for both of you.” 

Thirty minutes later, Oliver and Noah found themselves lounging on the couch, Oliver’s arm draped over the backrest, almost encircling Noah’s shoulders. Oliver was sitting so that he could face Noah, and with his free hand he kept on touching the ends of Noah’s hair, longer than last time they’d been together.  

            They had been like this for ten minutes, catching up on their weeks apart, stealing kisses intermittently, and tenderly touching and massaging each other’s knees. 

            The jingle of keys outside and the creak of the front door opening made Noah’s heart jump on his chest. Oliver winked at him before letting him divert all his attention to his girl. A broad grin lit up Noah’s face, a smile he would have worn all day were it not for the reason why he was home a day earlier. 

            Struggling with the keys in the lock, she muttered a curse and silently resolved to oil it the next day. Her thoguhts, however, were quickly overtaken when her feet stumbled over a pile of luggage by the door. 

            In mere seconds, she deduced whose luggage it was and what it meant. Her heart leapt in her chest, and then, the voice she had yearned to hear for nearly thirty days filled the air, close and distinct. 

            By the time her gaze met Noah’s, he was already on his feet, halfway to the doorway, his tender smile beckoning her forward. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over when she finally found herself enveloped in his arms. His hug felt warm and secure, reminiscent of a cozy winter night by the fire. His lips pressed against her hair as he wisphered a few sweet, comforting words to her.  

            Noah was home. Noah was home and so was Oliver. 

            They had both come back for her. 

An hour later, Oliver and Noah were back on the sofa, side by side. This time, shey lay across their laps, her head resting on Noah’s thigh while her torso sprawled across Oliver’s. Oliver had lifted her t-shirt slightly and was gently tracing circles on her back, while Noah lovingly stroked her hair. 

            The house was quiet. Three empty mugs sat on the coffee table, the faint scent of lavender tea lingering in the air. Despite this, her senses were overwhelmed by the masculine scents of her boys. She could have drifted off to sleep right there, her hand clutching Oliver’s t-shirt and her face nestled against Noah’s stomach. 

            “Are you tired?” Noah asked, his voice husky, a soft whisper in the vast expanse of the living room. 

            “No,” she replied, her eyes lifting to meet his, her eyelashes fluttering in a way that always captivated him. “Are you?”

            “I’m fine,” he lied. He was exhausted. He wanted to stretch his legs, maybe walk for an hour or run for thirty minutes, then sleep for the next ten hours. But that could wait. His priority now was to be with her. “Are you hungry, sleepy, need anything?

            She giggled at his barrage of questions, shaking her head no as she shifted on their laps to find a more comfortable position.

            “That’s good,” Noah concluded. After a moment of silence and a shared look with Oliver, he added, “I have some plans that will probably take up the rest of the evening.”

            “What plans?” She asked, a frown creasing her brow. 

            Noah’s finger traced the line of her lower lip. She nibbled at it, waiting for his response. 

            “Do you trust me?” He asked instead.

            “Always,” she answered without hesitation.

            “Good girl,” Noah praised softly, his voice warm with approval as he made her sit up, Oliver helping her with a hand on her back. When she twisted her head to look at Noah, her hair brushed against Oliver, and the scent of her shampoo filled his nostrils, making him yearn for her even when her body was practically pressed against his. 

            Noah stood up and extended his hand. She took it gleefully, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Before he could lead her to the center of the living room, Oliver, still on the sofa, wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her back just an inch to press a kiss to her lower back, where her skin peeked. Then, he released her to Noah, who guided her to the sprawling carpet that covered the floor in the spacious living room. 

            Noah gestured for her to sit, and she complied, settling gracefully onto the soft surface, crossing her legs in front of her. She noticed Oliver walking to one of the cupboards next to the TV, gathering pillows and blankets and letting them drop on the floor close to her. Then, he bent down to open the small drawers, searching for something. 

            Noah mirrored her position on the carpet and exchanged a knowing glance with Oliver, who had quickly located the box of tealight candles and matches. There was an unspoken understanding between them, a shared secret that escaped her, as per usual, but that just added a layer of anticipation to the moment. She could feel her heart fluttering nervously, but this time, she welcomed the excitement, taking a deep breath to steady herself as she focused intently on Noah.

            “You’re doing so well already,” Noah murmured, his smile tender as he reached out to gently touch her chin with two fingers and pulling her in for a kiss.

            After the soft touch of his lips against her, she opened her eyes, her orbs colliding with Noah’s beautiful almond-shaped eyes. He wore a pleasant smile, looking tired but happy. 

            “What are we going to do?” She asked, her voice adjusting to the calm ambience in the house. Behind her, Oliver lit an incense stick and placed it in its holder. Then, he proceeded to light the candles, placing them strategically around the living room.  

            “We’re going to make you feel really good, and you don’t have to do anything but let us be nice to you.”

            She took a deep breath, her mind racing with images, her smile growing, Noah mirroring hers as his fingers tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. 

            “That sounds… perfect.” 

            “It will be,” he assured, straigthening his back and inching closer to her so that their knees nearly touched. “From this moment on, just follow my instructions, okay? I know you can do that.” 

            She nodded, her posture adopting the familiar meditative stance she was used to. Normally, she meditated alone, but having Noah in front of her, seeking that break amidst real life and its brutality already felt rewarding.  

            “Good girl,” he whispered, this time his voice lowering to a tone that made her skin tingle with goosebumps. “Roll your head a couple of times, right and left. Now, can you focus on my breathing?” He asked, checking her stance and her attention. “I want you to follow my breathing. Once you’re on it, give it a few seconds then shift the focus to yours, yeah?”

            She did as he instructed.

            A moment later, a soothing, resonant sound filled the room—Oliver had played some music to set the ambience. She could sense his presence, though he remained at a respectful distance. 

            The soft chime of a Tibetan bowl echoed through the room, its sound lingering like a gentle caress. The candles around them cast a warm, flickering light, creating dancing shadows on the walls that swayed with their breaths. The faint, earthy scent of incense grounded her senses as she concentrated on Noah’s breathing. 

            Inhale. Pause. Exhale.

            “Don’t push the breath out,” Noah reminded her. “Just let it fall out gently.”

            Following his words, she matched his rhythm, feeling the air fill her lungs and then release it slowly. Each breath brought a deeper sense of calm, quieting her mind and easing her anxieties. The memory of the painful conversation with her mother loomed like a dark cloud in the back of her head, but focusing on Noah’s steady breaths, their synchronized breathing and the occasional soft crackle of the candles, helped soften the edges of her pain. With the boys home, the wound was momentarily soothed. Noah’s presence in front of her was a steady anchor, his breath a soothing guide that led her deeper into relaxation. She felt a sense of unity with him, with Oliver, a shared tranquility that transcended words, slowly chipping away at the hurt she had been carrying. The quiet rustling of blankets and pillows being set by Oliver around her just further grounded her in this safe, intimate space.

            As she continued to breathe in harmony, she felt a wave of contentment settling inside of her. The world outside faded into insignificance, leaving only this safe, warm space. Her body felt light, almost weightless, as if she could float away on the waves of her breath. The simplicity of the moment, the quiet connection between her and her boys, filled her with a deep sense of gratitude and love. For the first time in days, the tight knot of sorrow in her chest began to unwind, replaced by the comforting presence of the two men. 

            “Baby,” Noah’s voice was barely a whisper. 

            She opened her eyes ever so slowly. Noah’s gaze was intent on her, unyelding. 

            “Take off your clothes now, but leave your underwear on.”

            Without a word, she just nodded and stood up to comply with Noah’s instructions. 

            “Do it the right way,” he added. It was a command but his voice was gentle and full of love. 

            She understood. 

            Slowly, she undressed under the watchful eyes of Noah and Oliver. She folded her clothes neatly and placed them on the sofa cushions. She returned to sit in front of Noah, wearing only a a thin bra and panties.

            This time, Noah got up and moved to sit behind her, his legs spread on either side of her. “Take a deep breath,” he whispered close to her ear. “Close your eyes. Focus your mind on your breathing. And feel me. I’m right here, baby, right behind you. Not going anywhere. That’s it,” he cheered, “goood.”

            They stayed like that for a while, the silence interrupted only by their steady breathing and the occasional flicker of the candles. The incense’s scent grew stronger, blending with their body heat to create an almost tangible blanket of harmony. Oliver moved quietly around the room, his actions reflecting his care in setting the perfect ambiance. Each time he passed near, she felt a gentle, invisible caress, a reminder of the protective circle they formed around her.

            Noah took her hand and slowly guided it to her chest, positioning it right over her heart. Brushing his cheek against hers, he whispered, “Can you feel it, baby?”

            She focused on the rhythm beneath her fingertips, the steady thump-thump grounding her in the moment. The tension from the past few days, the anguish from her mother’s cruel words, began to ebb away with each breath. Noah’s warmth seeped into her skin, his voice a calming anchor.

            “Yes,” she breathed. The word seemed to hang in the air, merging with the soft music Oliver had started in the background. It was a gentle melody, almost like an hypnotic lullaby, weaving through the room and wrapping around them like a soft embrace.

            “Good,” Noah murmured. “Now, keep breathing, keep feeling. Remember, we’re here for you. We’re not going anywhere.”

            Oliver came to sit near them. He didn’t speak, but the look in his eyes conveyed everything she would need to know: she was safe, cherished, and never alone. She took another deep breath, feeling the collective energy in the room—a harmonious blend of love, comfort, and peace.

            With Noah’s breath at her back and Oliver’s steady presence beside her, she felt a deep sense of release coming, the heavy burden of her recent pain lifting, replaced by the simple yet profound act of being fully present in the moment, surrounded by her boys. 

            But when Noah’s cupped her breast and slid down to lay over her stomach, his fingers then slipping inside her panties, her breath caught. 

            “Breathe,” he ordered, reminding her to stay focused.  

            She tried, but it was suddenly difficult with his fingers massaging her between her legs. His touch was gentle yet purposeful, sending waves of sensation through her body. 

            “Hold your orgasm, baby. This is not about coming. It’s about the connection and the journey together to get there. Of all the millions of people that can give you sexual pleasure, only Oli and I can connect to your mind, ease your vulnerabilities, and empower everything that you are.” 

            He noticed her chest rising. 

            “So, be good and do as I say. Trust your mind. You know you can do it.”

            She was so lost in the intensity of his touch that she wasn’t aware of the second presence looming so over her until Oliver’s lips pressed softly against her own. Startled, she opened her eyes to find him sitting in front of them, his gaze warm and inviting.

            Oliver took Noah’s hand away from between her legs, and in a moment that seemed to stretch time, he guided Noah’s long fingers to his mouth. Her pupils dilated at the sight of Oliver tasting her from Noah’s fingers, his green eyes locked on her as his tongue dragged along Noah’s wet digits. The eroticism of the scene was almost too much to bear, but the calm, grounding presence of both men kept her anchored.

            “We’re going to need you to lay down for us now, doll,” Oliver said softly.

            She was mesmerized, her body responding to their every command without hesitation. She barely noticed Noah unclasping her bra, standing up to place it on top of her pile of clothes before joining her again on the carpet. Oliver repeated the instruction to lay down, his voice a soothing command. She did so, feeling the plush softness of the blankets that Oliver had strategically placed on the floor.

            “Hips up,” Oliver commanded next. She complied, and he gently removed her panties, leaving her completely exposed. The vulnerability of her position contrasted sharply with the overwhelming sense of safety and connection she felt. She closed her eyes again, focusing on the warmth of their presence, the scent of the candles, and the gentle music filling the room.

            Noah positioned himself at her side. Now she had noah on the left and Oliver on the right, protecting her from every evil in the world. “Keep breathing, baby,” Noah said, his breath hot against her ear. “Feel everything.”

            Oliver leaned over her, his fingers tracing light patterns along her skin, sending shivers down her spine. His touch was deliberate, exploring every curve and contour with reverence.  “You’re doing so well,” he murmured, his voice a low, soothing hum. “Just let go and feel us here with you.”

            She could feel the energy between them, a tangible connection that pulsed with every beat of her heart. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the three of them entwined in this intimate dance of trust and desire. Each touch, each whispered word, drew her deeper into the moment, dissolving the pain of the past few days and replacing it with a profound sense of peace and belonging.

            Noah’s hands slowly roamed down her body, caressing her sides and tracing her curves with a feather-light touch that sent sparks of pleasure coursing through her. Oliver’s lips followed the path of his fingers, leaving a trail of kisses along her neck and collarbone. She felt Noah’s breath on her skin, hot and tantalizing, as his hands explored her thighs, gently parting them to allow Oliver better access.

            Oliver’s mouth moved lower, his tongue flicking out to tease her nipples, drawing soft moans from her lips. The sensation was exquisite, a perfect blend of tenderness and intensity that left her breathless. She arched her back, pressing into his touch, craving more of the delicious friction.

            “Feel us,” Noah whispered, his voice a seductive murmur that sent shivers down her spine. “Every touch, every breath. You’re the only thing that matters to us.”

            Oliver’s hand slid between her legs, his fingers slipping through her wetness with ease. He circled her clit slowly, deliberately, coaxing her pleasure higher and higher while Noah’s hands continued to roam, adding to the sensory overload.

            “Remember, baby,” Noah’s voice was a soothing command, “This is about the connection. Hold your orgasm and just feel the journey we’re on together. We’ll tell you when to come.”

            She was on the edge, her body trembling with the effort to hold back. The sensation was overwhelming, a delicious torment that left her gasping for breath. Oliver’s fingers moved with expert precision, bringing her closer and closer to the brink while Noah’s touch and words kept her grounded in the moment.

            Time lost its meaning as they continued, every movement and sensation blending into a seamless flow of pleasure and connection. She was no longer just herself but a part of something greater, something beautiful and transcendent. The world outside might be filled with heartbreak and angst, but here, in this sacred space, she found solace in their touch, their presence, and the  love they offered. 

            “Kitten,” Noah called out again. She didn’t open her eyes; just waited for the instruction. “Get your knees up and feet flat on the ground. Good. Spine straight. That’s it.” 

            Oliver’s “such a good girl” seeped into her skin and made it hard to swallow. 

            “Inhale,” Noah continued, his voice steady. “Let your belly fill up, and as you exhale, flatten your lower back to the ground, like I taught you.”

            The rocking motion helped to move the sexual energy in her, and Oliver and Noah knew it very well. They knew what they were doing, with every word, every touch, every kiss. 

            “Use your mind and breath to pull energy into your root chakra, baby. Remember its name?” 

            She furrowed her brows, hesitanting for a moment. 

            “Muladhara,” she answered. 

            Even though her eyes were close, she could tell Noah was smiling at her correct answer.

            “That’s my girl,” he praised her. “Keep sending your energy to your lower belly.”

            “Do you feel charged up, love?” Oliver asked from her other side. 

            “Yes,” she replied, her voice steadier. 

            “You’re doing so well,” Noah approved. “When you feel charged enough, reduce the energy again until its focus is between your legs. Oli and I will help you, don’t worry.” 

            The energy moved through her chakras on its own, circulating back and forth in a rhytmic cycle. When Oliver touched her forehead, he signaled her to concentrate her energy in that area for a couple of minutes. Then, Noah placed his hand on her mound, covering her lower belly and pussy with the expanse of his hand. The surge of energy from her mind to her core felt like a tidal wave, propelling her into a highger state, a higher ecstasy. The energy flowed effortlessly, and she felt herself rapidly ascending into an orgasmic state. 

            The orgasm released all the pent-up tension and expanded the energy flowing through her body and mind, connecting to her spirit. For about ten seconds, her back arched, a long moan stretching, joining the musical sounds filling the room. Oliver struggled to contain the wave of desire that surged through him, that proppeled him to fall over the edge. His cock throbbed in his pants. Noah wasn’t in a much different state, though he had more training when it came to holding his orgasms.  

            When it was over, she couldn’t speak. She was certain she hadn’t just orgasmed physically but also mentally. She barely registered the lustful gazes of the two men at her sides, their restrained desire and lust evident in throbbing bulges in their pants and popping veins in their necks. They looked like predators ready to pounce on her and devour her. 

            Her ears were still ringing from the abyssal orgasm she had experienced when Oliver’s voice reverberated inside her head as he whispered, breathless himself, “This is how Gods build their kingdoms.”

            He couldn’t be lying, for whatever had just happened felt like a cosmic experience. 

            “We’ve never done that before,” she managed to say, still feeling like she was floating. 

            Noah laughed, his laugh sweet and satisfied. He felt some tension ease as he senses her own serenity spreading to him.

            Oliver was the one to reply, adjusting his position to relieve some discomfort. “Pretty boy loves spending his free time reading all kinds of things, doesn’t he? And here we are, the three of us benefiting from all that knowledge.” 

            “But what about you?” she asked, concern in her voice. 

            Noah started to shake his head, disapproving of her newfound and unnecesary worry. 

            “Well,” Oliver began. His left hand cupped her right breast and massaged it teasingly, squeezing on the right places. “We can spend the whole evening making love to you,” he suggested, his voice cheeky, “taking turns inside of you until you’re so sated and full of ourselves that you drift off to sleep in our arms and forget that we’ve been away from you for so long. Do you want that, baby?”

            The beating of her heart sped up again. 

            Of course she did. 

Some three hours later, feeling satiated (from dinner and from them), she sat in the center of the bed, legs crossed in the lotus position, eagerly awaitng Noah and Oliver to emerge from the bathroom. 

            Earlier that evening, after experiencing two more climaxes and Noah and Oliver finding their own release, the three of them had lain on the carpet, catching their breath amidst a haze of warmth, sweat, and lingering incense. Noah, before rising, ensured his plan had worked, turning to his girl with tender kisses and affectionate touches. Grateful and overwhelmed with happiness, she thanked both her boys, fighting back tears. 

            The moments that followed were perfect, marked by the contentment of their bodies and souls, and the slow return to calm after their hearts raced in unison.

            As night fell, a nervous energy tinged her behaviour, and Noah and Oliver were quick to notice as they emerged shirtless from the bathroom, clad only in boxers.

            Noah playfully crawled onto the bed, nudging her until they tumbled onto the mattress, giggles filling the room and lifting Oliver’s spirits higher as he joined them on the other side of the bed.

            “What’s on your mind?” Noah inquired, concern furrowing his brow, his fingertips playing notes at her clavicle. “Still thinking about your mother?”

            Shaking her head, she gazed into his warm brown eyes, appreciating every detail; the very unique curve of them, the length of his lashes. 

            “Is it the wedding, then?” He persisted, his embrace tightening reassuringly around her as Oliver pressed a lingering kiss to the side of her head. “You know nothing can stop us from getting married; not the government and its laws, not religion, not anyone. Nothing. We—”

            “It’s not that,” she interrupted gently, cherishing the weight of Noah against her. “I know nothing going to ruin that. I can’t wait to go shopping with Sylvie and try on dresses…” Oliver pressed against her, sandwiching her between his and Noah’s body. When she made mention of the dress, Oliver had a huge grin planted on his face, and unable to contain himself, he dipped his head into her neck to nibble on her shoulder and rip a giggle out of her. A few moments later, her hand stroking Oliver’s long hair, she acknowledged, “I don't want you to leave.” 

            But there was no way around it. Oliver had an early plane to catch, and he had to be at the airport by 6am. 

 

By midnight, Noah was sound asleep on his side of the bed, while Oliver lay in the same condition at the other end, one hand resting on his bare chest. Despite her efforts to find a comfortable position and try to catch some sleep, she couldn’t shake the sadness knowing Oliver would soon be leaving again. Even though they would reunite again in less than a week, the emotional and unexpected reunion had deepened her bond with her two boys, making it harder to be okay with the inevitable distance. 

            She didn’t want to spend a single day without them.

            She wanted every day to repeat as that very afternoon had unfolded, with Noah and Oliver taking turns inside her, their naked bodies pressed against hers, their sweat mingling, their wet kisses trailing across her skin. Every sigh, every moan, every look and touch—she yearned for it all. She wanted to live in the intensity of their gazes when they moved inside her and when they orgasmed, she wanted their laughter, their playfulness, how it affected their expressions, the same ones she wanted to capture forever—like Noah’s focused stare as he moved slowly in and out of her at a deadly tempo, never breaking eye contact until Oliver spanked him, provoking Noah to cock his head and throw him a sharp look and say, “Can you not? I was having a moment with her.”

            That had made her laugh, only spurring Oliver on, his smile filled with fascination and pride as he reached between Noah and her to fiddle with her nipple. Annoyed, Noah had shifted from caressing her to ramming her, and she had ended up reaching her climax around Noah’s cock amid moans and giggles. It had been momentous. The sex they’d had that afternoon between the three of them had been more than that. It had been energy that existed on its own, the exchange of it between the three of them. There was nothing more wonderful.

            However, the feeling of floating in paradise only lasted for so long. It was not permanent. It came and went. And it was Oliver’s time to leave.

At ten to five in the morning, the three of them stood in the entrance: Noah in his underwear, she in a T-shirt and panties, and Oliver dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, his backpack slung over his shoulder. She hugged him tightly, determined not to cry like a little girl. Oliver kissed her long and hard, assuring her that with Noah back, they would make time fly until he returned. 

            “As soon as I’m back next week, we can start looking for wedding venues,” he promised, kissing her hand where her engagement ring sat. 

            She smile was filled with sadness.    

            “I love you so much,” he told her. 

            “And I love you,” she replied, throwing her arms around his neck once more and kissing him dramatically, as if it were their last time seeing each other. She would forever be grateful for him and the other man standing beside her.  

            Reluctantly, she stepped back, wanting to prolong their goodbye but aware that Noah, who had just returned, also needed his moment. Her fingers brushed Oliver’s before letting go, allowing Noah to bid farewell. 

            After their parting kiss, Noah instructed him to call before boarding the plane.

            “You’ll be fast asleep; doubt you’ll pick up," Oliver chuckled. Noah growled, grabbing Oliver’s sweatshirt collar and pulling him close again. “Just call me,” Noah demanded, before pressing his mouth to his again and biting on his lower lip. 

            Five minutes later, Oliver’s Range Rover disappeared into the darkness that still flooded the neighborhood, and Noah closed the front door behind him to find a pitiful little face staring helplessly at him. 

            “Back to bed for cuddles?” he suggested, arms wide open for her.  

            She nodded with a pout, looking all adorable. With a small leap, Noah scooped her up, her legs finding their place around his waist and arms around his neck. Nestling her head into his neck, she heard him mutter something as they ascended the stairs. 

            “What was that?” 

            “I said that instead of ‘kitten’ I’m going to start calling you ‘koala’.”

            Chuckling into his shoulder, she let Noah guide them back to bed. Despite the mattress still holding Oliver’s scent and shape, Noah hugged her close, offering her shelter against his chest. She snuggled, finding comfort in the Crow Witch tattoo on Noah’s arm, pressing her cheek to the drawing, letting herself believe that Noah’s arms were wings that would forever envelop her in a promise of adoration and protection.

            Trying not to think that Oliver was gone, she focused on Noah’s gentle caresses and the kiss he placed on her head. The last thing she heard before sleep claimed her was his whispered, “I love you.”

[deesseshesca]

MASTERLIST

Hey A.N.G.E.L.S.

Here's a gathering of all my readings, prices and reviews and if you have anything that u want to discuss feel free to DM. I pinky promise it will stay between us.

L O R E D U M P

Slow down, there’s a reason why everything is falling down. Let’s have a chat with your soul team, your inner knowing and discover your higher self.

Pitch Black Crows Why am I so emotional ? What truth must I accept to move on ? Message from your spirit guide ? What are they gagging about u, again ? Why are u the baddest ? (new) Why are u the best ? (10 reasons)(new)

C H A R A C T E R U P D A P T E

These readings is for you if you have no real idea of what’s going in your life. You have to much choices, options... just TOO MUCH of everything.

Mystery Reading Mystery Reading (2) Life update Why you should give it another shot ? (new) How can you use your seductive power on a daily ?(new)

S E X D O U L A

NO TABOO, wtf is actually going on ? Soul tie, body counts, kinks, v-card, sneaking link and everything in between. Even the most intimate part of ourselves deserve attention.

Letter from virgin self Your next self pleasure experience ? What's the wildest sexual experience bound to happen with your s/o? How can you spice up your sex life with your s/o? Your Halloween night (new) Why haven't you experience the big ''O'', yet ? (new) What's your sexual power ? (new)

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST (UPDAPTE)

RECENT REVIEW

[misscongeniality18]

Hi! I LOVE YOUR WRITINGS SO MUCH SO I'M HERE AGAIN! This time I would like to ask you to write something about Kaz Brekker and reader where she is like a longtime friend and a member of the Crows. The two have always had feelings for each other but never spoke about it so, when they argue because something dangerous happens, the truth comes out and a smut at the end?! I love this prompt so much. I don't know why but I'm so obsessed with best friends to lovers!

OMG girl yes, I love this trope too! This is my first fic with any smut, but I'll try my best! I also didn't mean to make this so long, but it just sort of happened?

Movement - Kaz Brekker (18+, Minors DNI)

Synopsis ! You and Kaz have been friends forever, but lately, you couldn't help but want something more. When the two of you are put in danger's path, both of your truths are out in the open. Pairing ! Kaz Brekker x fem!reader Genres ! Friends-to-lovers, angst, fluff, smut Warnings ! Violence, blood, danger, language, reader is the only one who can touch Kaz, maybe slightly ooc Kaz?, kissing, nudity, sexual content (fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex [wrap it up people]) Word Count - 3047

" When you move

I'm put to mind of all that I wanna be

When you move

I could never define all that you are to me "

- Movement, Hozier

Masterlist Request Guide

You and Inej ran across the rooftops, jumping from gable to gable. Tonight's heist had a plentiful bounty that sat nestled in Inej's pockets. The two of you had been charged with stealing some pieces of the Ravkan crown jewels that had been taken from the palace and illegally sold.

What did Kaz want with stolen jewels? He may be your best friend, but not even you could read his mind. He had tells, of course, as did almost everybody, but Kaz’s past made him especially skillful at hiding them. You knew this all too well.

After all, you had been the one to pull him out of the harbor.

You had been infected with firepox like Kaz and his brother, but Jordie was the only one who perished out of the three of you. You didn’t know them personally at the time, only in passing. When you and Kaz were both dumped into the harbor with the others who had died, thought to be dead yourselves, you had woken up to same horrors of rotting corpses around you and the feeling of cold, mushy flesh.

While you had been around death and illness before—witnessing your parents die of the disease—Kaz hadn’t seen anything like this until then. He’d had to use his brother’s body as a life raft to swim to shore. You’d grown up swimming in a nearby fishing village, so you swam to shore easily. When you saw Kaz struggling, you’d reached out to him, and he’d hung onto you for dear life.

That night had been traumatizing for him, and for years afterwards, he was unable to touch anyone. It took several more years to get him to touch you, and you’d been patient and worked with Kaz to get used to the feeling of skin on skin again. But it could only be you. Anyone else, and he’d be right back in the water.

You were always there to pull Kaz out of the murky depths, witnessing him at his lowest. You were also there to see him in his triumph of leading his Crows and defeating Pekka Rollins. Finally, he could rest, and Kaz wanted to do it with you.

While planning heists, of course.

Kaz didn’t want you going along, and he’d always try to persuade you to stay behind or at least stay by his side. He always had a soft side for you, so he’d usually meet you halfway. You were in the same boat; your connection to Kaz originated from your soul, and you’d do anything to appease him. But tonight, Kaz wasn’t there, so you took the opportunity to join Inej on the rooftops.

You just didn’t expect anyone to shoot you.

Kaz stormed into your room at the Slat, the door slamming into the wall behind him as he took in your white undershirt lifted just enough to reveal the bloodied gash on the side of your ribs. “What the hell happened?”

You rolled your eyes as Jesper held you down while Nina worked to heal the wound in your side. “It’s a scratch, Kaz. I’m totally fine. The bullet didn’t hit anything serious.”

“Bullet?!” Kaz exclaimed in shock. “I was told you fell off the roof.”

Wylan, from his spot in the corner of the room, hummed in opposition. “That was after she was shot.”

You suddenly let out a groan, squirming in Jesper’s arms. Kaz rushed over as fast as he could, ignoring the searing pain in his leg. “Move, Jes.”

Kaz took Jesper’s spot in keeping you still while Nina finished healing you. “It’s going to leave a scar, but you should be fine by the morning. Good thing the bullet never actually went through you.”

“That will be enough, Nina,” Kaz said lowly, and everyone knew to clear the room as fast as they could.

As soon as the others were gone, you sighed, pulling your undershirt down to cover your bandage. “Say what you’re going to say and get it over with.”

“How the fuck could you be so stupid? Joining Inej on the roof, of all places? Why not be with Nina or Jesper on the ground? We all know how clumsy you are, so it was just a matter of time before you fell off, and oh, look. You did!”

You snorted. “Like Wylan said, that was after I was shot.”

Kaz glared at you as he paced the room, leaning heavily on his cane. “That doesn’t make it any better.”

“Nothing ever does. You never let me do anything.” A child-like pout formed on your lips, and Kaz wanted to tuck your bottom lip back in place.

He refrained, however. “I have my reasons.”

“Saints, Kaz,” you huffed, sitting up and carefully standing, trying to keep your bandages in place. “If you’re not going to let me go on jobs, why am I even here?”

Kaz met your eyes, the most intense and unique shade of blue you’d ever seen. “When we were young, we promised to stick together. Don’t you remember?”

You swallowed, memories flashing behind your eyes; pinkies interlocking, teary eyes, and yes, the promise that the two of you had made.

“Of course I remember, you idiot,” you replied, holding out your pinkie finger.

Kaz glanced down at it out of the corner of his eye, dead set on refusing, but he could never say no to you. He sighed, linking your bare finger with his gloved one. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” he whispered, deep and low in his throat.

You shook your head, lips turning upwards. “You will never lose me, Kaz. I’m yours forever.”

Something crossed his eyes for a brief moment, something you’d never seen before.

“What is it?” You asked.

“Do you mean that? That you’re mine?”

You furrowed your brow, searching his face, but he turned away. “Kaz? What is it? Why are you asking me this?”

He sighed your name, closing his eyes. “I—I think I…The way that I feel about you…I think it’s…I think…”

Kaz trailed off, his chest rising with every breath, unable to finish his sentence, and he turned away. But his shield dropped, and you were able to see every emotion he was feeling.

Now you recognized what you were seeing. You’d just never seen it in Kaz before. It all made sense. The way he never wanted you in harm’s way, how he would always turn to you for advice, secrets that only you knew, the smiles that appeared only when you were around. Kaz cared for you. He…

He loved you.

Your heart soared because you loved him too. You have for a while now, but you’d never been able to act on it. Yes, Kaz was able to touch you, but in this capacity, you weren’t sure.

Taking the small step to close the distance between you was terrifying, but you were meant for terrifying things.

“Yes, Kaz,” you whispered. “I’m yours.”

You looked down at his lips, the palest of pinks. Your breaths intermingled, you were so close. “Are you… Can I…?”

You hated that you couldn’t get the questions out. It was Kaz, but you still felt like you should know him well enough not to ask. But since it was Kaz, you had to. You didn’t want to do anything he wasn’t ready for.

“I’ve never… I don’t know how,” he admitted, turning away from you, cheeks turning the color of his lips.

“It’s okay,” you said, slowly lifting a hand. At your inquiring gaze, Kaz nodded. Your hand was warm against his cool skin. “I’ll follow your move.”

Kaz inched closer, noses brushing. “Is this okay?”

You nodded, eyelids fluttering. “Yes. Are you okay?”

He let out a breath, sending gooseflesh over your skin. “Yes,” he answered, and then his lips touched yours.

It was like no kiss you’ve ever had before. The others you’d kissed had been rushed, a frenzy of lips and tongues and teeth. But Kaz’s kiss, it was slow and deliberate, like he wanted to stop time itself and stay in this moment with you.

All in all, you were seeing a different side of Kaz. He usually had a hard exterior, the ruthless Bastard of the Barrel persona he had created. When he was alone with you, he was more relaxed and open, but still haunted by the ghosts of his past. You’d never gotten to know the boy he was before, only the one you had helped out of the harbor.

Was this who you were seeing? Not Kaz Brekker, but Kaz Rietveld? A boy who was curious and sweet-natured, tender and benevolent?

Then his tongue stroked your bottom lip, and you jumped in surprise.

“Was that wrong?” Kaz asked, panic lighting up his eyes.

“No,” you said, shocked. “It was right.”

Kaz grinned at you, a true smile this time, not the little thing he did as the notorious gang leader, and his gloved hands gingerly touching your waist, careful of your injury. “Can we do it again?”

You returned the smile. “Yes.”

He kissed you again, much more confident and sure than before. When his hands moved across your waist, brushing your bandaged side, you gasped.

“Sorry,” he mumbled against your lips between kisses.

You hummed, chills running down your spine when his hands gripped your hips. “It’s okay.”

“I’d like to try something else, if that’s okay?”

You pulled back a hair’s breadth to look into his eyes, his pupils blown wide, and you knew how much your kisses were affecting him. “Are you sure? This isn’t moving too fast for you?”

“I’ve wasted enough time, and I don’t want to wait any longer. I just…” He lowered his head, stray bits of his hair brushing against your bare shoulder. “I’ve never done this before.”

You brushed away the hair that had fallen forward, lifting his head to you. Your fingers tangled themselves in his dark locks, silky and fine to the touch. “We’ll take it one step at a time.”

Kaz leaned forward and kissed your forehead, a simple, gratuitous kiss, and then he brushed his lips across your temple, your cheekbones, your jaw, and then the crook of your neck. He was experimenting, finding each touch a new and thrilling way to explore you. “Is this okay?” He mumbled against your shoulder.

You had your head tilted back, eyes closed. Every single one of Kaz’s kisses tingled against your skin, and your breath came out in pants. “Yes,” you gasped. “Don’t stop.”

Kaz continued to press kisses to your shoulders, across your collarbone, against your throat. “Tell me what to do,” he whispered.

“Do whatever you want,” you breathed.

“And if I want to take your shirt off?”

You opened your eyes, lids heavy with want. Kaz’s eyes were blazing with a fire you’d only ever seen when he’d defeated Pekka Rollins, but that had been a sinister and triumphant flame, and this was burning only for you out of desire.

“Then take it off.”

Kaz fingered the hem of your shirt, lifting it ever so slowly. He avoided the bandage on your side, and when the garment was over your head, he tossed it to the floor.

“Saints,” Kaz cursed, gazing at your bare skin and breasts. “You’re so beautiful,”

You pulled him towards you, kissing him feverishly. “Touch me, please.”

Kaz ran a hand over belly, up your ribcage, and lightly trailed his fingers over the swell of your breast, causing you to gasp in his mouth. “Is that good?” He asked, his voice low and coarse.

“Yes.”

“What about this?” He inquired as his thumb brushed against your nipple.

“Yes,” you whined, enjoying his experimentation. He wasn’t trying to be seductive, you knew, but Saints, he was doing a very good job. Your lower belly fluttered, and desire pooled between your legs.

“And if I were to…”

A gasp left your lips as his mouth closed around a nipple, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. One of his hands squeezed the breast not occupied by his mouth, and the other settled low on your hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass.

Your own hands gripped the collar of Kaz’s shirt, and you pulled him towards your bed. He moved to support you as the two of you lowered to the mattress.

Kaz gazed down at you, bare and flushed for him, glowing in the candlelight. You really were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. If it was between you or mountains of gold, he’d choose you in a heartbeat. Hell, he’d even give the gold to Pekka if it meant keeping you forever.

You trailed your fingers over the expanse of his clothed chest, feeling the hard muscles underneath. Then you undid one button, and then another, and another. You blinked up at him, searching him for hesitation. “Is this okay?”

Kaz nodded, starting to undo some buttons himself, and your fingers met in the middle to slide the fabric over his shoulders together. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close to you, feeling his bare chest against yours as your lips met again. Legs opening to accommodate his body, you held him to you, and you never wanted to let go.

Hands were everywhere, to your surprise. Never before has Kaz touched you like this, so unreserved and wanting. Before, he would give you a hand to help you up, or a simple pat on the shoulder for a job well done. But this, you didn’t want him to stop.

His hands brushed against the fastenings of your pants, and the hesitation set it. Kaz’s throat bobbed, and before he could say anything, you reached down and undid the buttons yourself, shimmying the material over your hips and kicking it to the floor.

Kaz raked his gaze over you, a faint blush creeping over his skin. He licked his lips, his fingers sliding down your hip, over your thigh. His eyes met yours, and you felt yourself melting under the intensity of his desire. “Can I?” He asked, and you opened your legs in answer.

One finger ran over your seam, and your breath hitched. Then Kaz spread you, the pad of his finger brushing against the tiny bundle of nerves that made you moan. Kaz looked up at you, mischief gleaming in his eyes, and he touched you there again.

Your head thrown back, you gripped your sheets tightly, the anticipation making you squirm. Kaz followed the trail of your wetness to your entrance, and he drew tiny circles around you, and your hips bucked in search for more. This made Kaz curious, so he slowly pushed his finger into you, and you sighed.

You were so warm and wet, Kaz found. And the more he moved his finger, withdrawing it from you before sliding back in, the wetter you became. The sounds you made stirred something within him, setting his heart to pounding.

Then you moaned his name when he hit a certain spot inside of you.

“Kaz.”

He lifted his head to you, and you were watching him, your pupils so dilated, they covered the beautiful color of your irises. Your chest was rising and falling as you stared at him, and then you sat up, causing his finger to leave your warmth.

You reached for him, pulling his face to yours in a kiss. “I need you,” you whispered against his lips, and your hands were creating a trail down his chest and to his belt. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Kaz said, and his hands joined yours in unbuckling his belt. Together, you removed his pants, and Kaz kicked off his shoes.

You slid a hand between you, touching the hard length of him with your fingertips. A groan left him, and his head dropped to rest against your shoulder. You pressed a kiss to his hair as you wrapped your hand around him, slowly moving up and down. He grew harder with every stroke, and he began to press kisses to your neck and shoulder.

An idea sparked in your mind, and you hooked one leg around his hips, flipping so you were on top. Kaz’s eyes went wide, and he met yours as excitement and expectation set in. You continued to stroke him, and as you moved to hover over him, you asked, “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” he replied, and he crashed his mouth to yours as you slowly lowered onto him.

Saints, this was better than your hand. You were extraordinary. Mouths moving against one another, bodies joined in a way that was so intimate, nothing would ever take its place. This was heaven, and Kaz would never be the same after this.

You moved, sliding your hips away from his before returning back to him. Every stroke of you around him made Kaz’s insides tighten until it felt like he was going to burst. He ran his hands over every inch of you he could reach, over your arms and shoulders, your waist, and following the movement of your hips.

The moans continued to leave your mouth even as you kissed him, and when you muttered that you were close, he felt you tighten around him, and that was his undoing.

Everything within Kaz shattered, as if something snapped within him. He held you against him, not wanting to let you go. When your breath returned, you slid off of him, the evidence of his release sticking to the insides of your thighs.

“Will you hand me my shirt?” You asked, collapsing beside him.

Kaz leaned over the side of the bed, grabbing the thin undershirt you had been wearing. You cleaned him off first, then yourself before throwing the shirt back to the floor. Wrapping an arm around your shoulders, Kaz held you close, and you tucked your head underneath his chin. Your legs were intertwined, and so were your fingers, the sweat making your bodies stick together.

This moment was perfection, Kaz thought, and he nuzzled your hair.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Your lips turned upwards in a smile as you pressed them lightly to his chest, eyes growing heavy with exhaustion.

“I love you, too.

[mermaidfanficlibrary]

Can I request a Yandere Shinobu x Male reader where she discovers that you stayed at someone else’s healing estate because it was “closer” at the end of your last mission?

I could have helped | Yandere Shinobu x Male Reader

Characters: Shinobu

Summary: Getting help at another estate was not the best idea.

Warnings: Yandere behavior, Gore, Obsessive behavior, manipulation, death, kidnapping

A/n: Im so sorry this is so late! Also sorry if it feels rushed, I'm writing this so late!

The forest was dark, eerie sounds within the trees and sky, there stood a boy struggling to keep his stance. Blood dripped down his s/c skin, shining in the little moonlight that dispersed though the thick leaves. A demon was slowly decaying away in front of his e/c eyes that were slowly losing their shining life. Y/n turned away from the demon that was cursing at him. 

Just as Y/n walked out of the forest, blood trailing behind him, his body gave up on him. He collapsed on the trail that led to the village nearby. Luckily, Y/n was saved by the Kakushi of the Demon Slayer Corp. They sent him to a nearby estate to heal because sending him to a further one could have killed him. However, there was one person who didn’t like this. 

Shinobu’s crow had seen it all happen, as a request of its owner, and flew rabidly to the Butterfly estate. When the update on Y/n had been completed, Shinobu set out to get back her dearest darling. She had sent her crow first, with a message for the injured boy. 

“Go to him and tell him I’ll be there soon.”

With that, Shinobu’s crow swiftly flew into the veil of the night. It took until sunrise for the crow to reach the window of the room Y/n was staying in. Y/n noticed and opened the window, trying his best not to open up the wound he had bandaged. He held out a finger for the crow to jump onto, and guided the bird to where he laid to heal. 

Y/n looked at the crow curiously, not knowing why it was here. He knew it wasn’t his. Y/n gave the crow a look, urging it to share the message it had. The crow propped itself onto his bandaged knee, preparing to speak. 

“I have come from the Butterfly Estate. Ms. Shinobu has asked me to share this message to Y/n L/n. The following is what she instructed me to say. My dearest Y/n, I am so glad you’re safe. I am on my way to see you and make sure you’re healing well! It worries me that you aren’t within my healing care, but worry not, you will be soon.”

For some reason, the message unsettled Y/n, but he nodded to the crow, showing he registered what it just shared. He sent a few meaningless words with the crow. It flew out the window to find its owner. Once it did, it shared the message Y/n had, but Shinobu was too busy travelling as fast as she could. 

The sun had already set, and Shinobu stood in front of the estate that held her dearest love inside. 

Y/n couldn’t sleep, the message Shinobu had left him with stuck in his head. He closed his eyes, trying to decode what it could have meant. In an instant, Y/n shot up, feeling something was off. He heard screaming, and walked slowly to the door. 

Anxiety settled deeply into Y/n, his senses increasing tenfold. His ears picked up even more screaming as he walked out into the hall, calling out to the darkness. No one seemed to come to his calls. Until a figure came out of the shadows. 

Y/n tried to get into a position with his nichirin sword, but it wasn’t with him. He cursed to himself, regretting the negligence at this moment. He felt helpless, and he hated it. Y/n was eased when he noticed that it was a friend of his.  

“Shinobu?”

Y/n fell back, horror gracing every feature. As Shinobu came closer, she was covered in blood. The smell was so overwhelming, he didn’t know what to do. Y/n was just frozen on the floor, staring at his friend, who seemed so unbothered by everything around her. She only walked closer to Y/n. 

“Ah my dear! Did that garbage nurse hurt you more? You look worse than I thought. Here, let me take you to your rightful place and get you all healed up!”

Y/n tried to back away from Shinobu, but she was too quick. She injected Y/n with a sedative that caused the boy to feel so dizzy. Shinobu picked up the boy with ease and brought him to her estate. The only thing in her mind was how much of a bad job the nurse did with her dearest darling.

Do not repost or translate without my explicit permission! Reblogs are welcome!

[petrolstationflowers]

Are feathered friends better than human coworkers? Why not try out an Ornithology career for your sims! Once more requested by @catrillion, we wanted to work on something that incorporated a specific form of laws protecting animals, and came up with this.

This job is available for YA - Elder, and you can join via the Arboretum. Please note you will need to either play this in Moonlight Falls or save the Arboretum lot and place it in another neighbourhood for this to show up in game!

You will need to level Fishing, Science, and the hidden skill WildlifeFriend. This latter one maxes out at level 6. You can change and track this using MasterController, and the metrics in the job panel will update as you progress it.

No opportunities, uniforms, or books, and the lower levels will not have a carpool so make sure to send your sims to work manually!

Please note if you want to use this, you must have Nraas Careers installed for it to show up!

There are three custom tones:

Read Journals (increase Science) Socialise the Birds (WildlifeFriend) Survey the Park (Fishing)

Meet/Hang With Coworker have also been changed to "Meet Birds," and "Chill With the Birds."

If anyone can translate for me, I'd be very grateful!

Level descriptions under the cut:

Enthusiast - 10 simoleans p/h, 10:00 - 16:00, M-F

Description: You’ve loved birds for as long as you can remember; the family budgie that sat on your finger, the class cockatoo that someone taught to swear. You spend most of your days working the checkout at EverFresh Supermarket staring out the window at the trees in the car park, where a flock of parakeets have their nest. Maybe it’s time to spread your wings and look for a more interesting job?

Amateur Ornithologist - 15 sp/h, 10:00 - 16:00, M-F

Description: You’ve bid farewell to the checkout and instead set up camp in the local park, photographing birds for your local twitcher group on Sims Social. The pay is chickenfeed (unless you photograph Mothman himself) but your online friends might know where you might find something that pays more of the bills…

Park Volunteer - 20 sp/h, 09:00 - 17:00, W,T,F,S,U

Description: Now this is certainly better than the supermarket! The pay is still terrible but you get to spend your time outdoors at your local wildlife park – and most importantly, with your avian associates. Clean out their pens, guide lost tourists, and do a coffee run or three; you might make enough friends to get a little higher on the perch.

Conservation Education Guide - 40 sp/h, 09:00 - 18:00, W,T,F,S,U

Description: Despite their awkward reputation, ornithologists are a chatty lot when it comes to their favourite subject. The general public don’t tend to know a lot about birds, muddling up their crows and their ravens, and think that leaving out generic birdseed is just as good as black sunflower seeds, raisins, and tasty mealworms. Give them a lecture to remember – oh, and try to shill the organic bird food in the gift shop.

Intern - 45 sp/h, 09:00 - 18:00, W,T,F,S,U

Description: An actual job title and pay that doesn’t leave you eating ramen all week! Granted, it’s a lot of book learning along with the hands-on experience, with long hours studying and memorising complicated Latin names, but keep at it. Onwards and upwards!

Park Ranger - 55 sp/h, 05:00 - 14:00, W,T,F,S,U

Description: You’ve finally got your hat but it looks like you’ll be wearing a lot of them; being a park ranger means dealing with the public too. As well as showcasing the beauty of the natural world, you’ll be delivering activities to guests and raising awareness of just how important it is to keep their natural habitats safe. Hope visitors like trail walks and nest building competitions!

Bird Keeper - 60 sp/h, 05:00 - 14:00, W,T,F,S,U

Description: Finally, a flock of your own! You’re in charge of the bird habitat at the park, taking part in the captive breeding program and making sure the conservation effort is going according to plan. You’ll be hands on developing research projects and coming up with new enrichment ideas for your charges – a pity the higher ups said no to a birdie disco ball in the main office.

Conservation Delivery Manager - 75 sp/h, 09:00 - 17:00, M-F

Description: Another flock, but this time the underlings are a team of people rather than baby birds. You’re responsible for a team of wardens across the local area, sending them nationwide to ensure they deliver conservation projects funded by City Hall. There’s a lot of business plans and project management, but someone needs to make sure resources are allocated properly (and birds can’t hold a pen).

Protected Sites Advisor - 90 sp/h, 09:00 - 17:00, M,T,F

Description: You’re deep in the science side of ornithology now; working with local farmers to make sure their food production methods are environmentally friendly, reducing the impact of climate change, and ensuring that important ecosystems thrive and flourish. You’ll also get the chance to pitch sites for new developments and green spaces – so if you want a Birdie Bistro & Bar serving Band Slams & Baked Angel Food Cake, now’s your chance!

Ecologist - 150 sp/h, 09:00 - 17:00, M,W F

Description: You’re out of the suburbs and into the woods – time to be a consultant! You’ll be travelling all over SimNation to various sites and places that have the potential to become the latest havens for your bird friends, writing up surveys and reports to convince the mayor of Barnacle Bay perhaps they can build their luxury flats somewhere else and not disturb the local condor population. Ecological assessment work might not sound the most interesting on paper, but it’s hugely important to make sure you’re protecting birds for generations to come – children and eggs alike.

With thanks: To MissyHissy's career building tutorial!

[inncubus-honey]

this is mw2 canon. im ignoring mw3 for now. no editing as well. just a little something as i work on something else, enjoy.

simon riley thought he lost everything all over again when your body crumpled to the ground in front him during a mission years ago, just the two of you doing a recon mission. a storm of bullets were raining around yall when one had nicked your neck as you ducked for cover with simon.

he dragged your body next to him behind the crate he was hiding behind, your hand clamped down on the gushing wound as you started up at him with wide, doe eyes as he hovered over your body. blood slipped from your lips, staining them in a crimson hue.

"simon..." your voice was horse as you called out to him. his copper eyes widen as well as he moved to hold you in his arms, comforting you to the best of his ability in the bullet storm continued.

"you're gonna be okay, love...please for me.." he whispered to the universe as he had grown to love your company in the 141. he loved drinking tea with you outside whenever yall could or cooking dinner together for the barracks that night.

as you continued coughing up blood with your eyes fluttering shut every now and then, simon called for an evac and medical help in his radio which was met by a call from price.

when he reached the heli with you in his arms, price gently guided him onto heli and nikolai took off for base. upon arriving back at base, price had to gently remove your body from simons arms who held you in a death grip to his chest.

"simon...you need to let them go." price spoke as he tried to remove from simons grip. his gaze only sitting ahead of him at the seat in front of him as he continued to bring you closer to his chest.

"simon, lad..." price whispered to him which caused simon to finally go limp in grip on you, crumpling in the seat as price handed your body off to someone else. unbeknownst to simon, price had to fake your death as you were chosen for an undercover mission and had be dead to the world.

years later, the 141 sends simon and soap to mexico to help with el sin numbre. upon entering the masion where they were located and finding valeria to be el sin numbra, simon met up with soap and alejandro on the roof. when talking with others, you were brought up to the roof by alejandro who found you in valeria office as her right hand. alejandro threw you by your arm before soap and simon, alejandro telling you to give them any information you have on valeria.

simons body frozen at the sight of you before him. he saw you die. he held you in his arms as it happened. he looked over you as you stood before him; his eyes catching the long white scar on your neck. your eyes were more tired, more lines and crows feet, more scars littered your face and skin the more he looked.

"simon...its been awhile." you joked with a crooked smile as simon walked closer to you. soap and alejandro watched on in confusion as to what was happening with you two. before you had a chance to move back from how close he was getting to you, simon took hold of your wrist to keep you right in front of him.

your eyes searched his eyes for any kind of reaction as he got closer to your face. your face burned as he got closer, its been years since you were close to him and you missed it.

"im sorry for not telling you, simon...but i couldnt tell cause of the nature of mission", you started speaking to him as he just watched you over,"t-this isnt how i wanted to reunite with you, simon..." you told him as he gently moved his hand from your wrist into fully holding your hand.

the heat upon your cheeks was deepen as simon gave you his full attention, waiting to hear the full story as to why he lost you.

"i know i left you in such a state...i remember wanting to drop out of the mission when we were on the heil and you held me. but shepard wouldnt let me drop at that point, i should have told you in some way about the mission...i see i was wrong for not doing so now." your wavered in some points as simon kept not on saying anything leaving you to remember how he wouldnt release you on the heli.

"oh stop being so stoic, simon. go on...shout, scream, say something!" you wanted the tense silence between you both to end with either simon speaking or walking away or something. his copper eyes softened as he slowly brought up a hand to cup your cheek, brushing his gloved thumb along the apple of your cheek.

"you're as beautiful as the day i lost you..." his voice was gruffer than you remember, but you still remembered it as your simon. tears welled up in his eyes as he brought into his embrace upon the rooftop. his love was back in his arms, his love was alive and thats all that mattered to him.

simon riley felt whole again after years and this time he was not letting you go.

[katyspersonal]

So I literally just saw an interpretation of a Bloodborne boss on youtube, Mergo’s Wet Nurse specifically, and said interpretation is that of an empty mother fixating on an available baby. I don’t wholeheartedly believe that was the intention behind the damn thing, but what is your take on this Nazgul Crow Hybrid?

( @izunias-meme-hole )

Oh well! To be honest, this is not an unreasonable assumption, since Wet Nurse is herself a Great One, as proven by the trophy after defeating her, and we know how that goes :p

(Just heads up because you are probably not familiar with my style of Bloodborne lore posts, I always use raw text from retranslation guide by Last Protagonist ( x ) to not lose any nuance! If only we could have the same for other Soulsborne games... т.т)

I, on the other hand, think that her capturing Mergo had a different connotation! A wet nurse is a person that (breast)feeds an infant instead of their mother for one reason or another, and in this case we can't tell the specifics of how she is nurturing Mergo, only that she does! As description above states, the creation of Nightmare of Mensis is doing of Mergo, so, in this case, Wet Nurse is nurturing this pocket of the Nightmare itself! As for her motivation to do so? There is an easily missed dialogue in Fishing Hamlet:

Victims in there are praying to "bloodless ones" to curse the hunters on behalf of Kos and her baby, so, "bloodless ones" whoever they might be have the power over Nightmare Realm somehow! Perhaps, the Hunter's Nightmare was not the curse of Kos at all? But rather, answer to the curses:

And here is the thing:

Wet Nurse herself is the bloodless Great One! All of them bleed either 'paleblood', normal red blood, or both! Off the top of my head, another instance of spilling ash instead of blood are Keepers of the Old Lords. And there is more to it:

She has internal name 'Lesser Demon of Death and Darkness'! (Internal names from this ( x ) page) I am not quite sure whether this means that there is THE crow-like Great One of bigger importance and she is only one of the lesser ones, or it refers to the fact that she doesn't 'own' the Nightmare Realm but is only one of the inhabitants, like Amygdalae. Maybe it is both! 'Darkness' seems to refer to Nightmare Realm, after all!

Her being crow-like Great One is also an important detail, as there is superstition/belief in Old Hunters (and Yharnamites in general?) that crows have connection with another realm and can deliver the souls of the deceased in Hell or Heaven! So, I think that Wet Nurse is either one of the crow-like Great Ones doing this sort of judgement, or THE crow being of all crows x)

......and I had this idea long before I touched Dark Souls with ten yards stick, but now I am convinced that her crow theme has to do with themes of justice. xD She might be an Eldrich Velka, or at least someone close in importance!!

Wet Nurse is also an interesting Great One because she is weirdly Pthumerian with humanoid build, her weapons and style, sharing a duplication spell with Queen Yharnam and accessories! My idea on why it is is that she "descended" to Pthumerians once in an attempt to help them, and they taught her their culture and how to function closer to their plane. And what she did was sacrificing her fire to grant Pthumerians their pyromancy abilities, so they could survive the scourge of beasthood and other curses they inflicted:

She had no blood, but she had fire! I will link my other post about how it seems that Nightmare Realm was once set ablaze ( x ), but this is where I think Pthumerians gained their pyromancy, the fire within THEIR blood! Wet Nurse didn't believe that ALL humanity (Pthumerity? xD) deserved curses and death over sins of just a group (and these headcanons are for another day but yes I have the full map of what exactly happened in Loran and others).

So, now her attitude seems to have taken the turn to the worse, because Mensis Ritual guarantees that scourge of hunt and beasts (for most people) or insanity (for the 'insightful' ones) will never end no matter what is done:

It is an easily missed bit but yeah, as long as Mergo is active, "just stopping drinking that yeeyee ass blood" will NOT save Yharnam! I always compare it with the sort of sound-wave that cannot be heard (here because of Rom's concealment... until later) but yet still effects everyone in its range physically!

My current explanation as to why Wet Nurse now nurtures a curse for everyone is because of her wrath at humanoids (humans, still-living Pthumerians and mixed species like Vilebloods) not having learned from the history! It was one thing when humanoids made a huge mistake when they were still young, but all these Old Hunters and Tomb Prospectors and clerics and scholars had ALL information in the world to learn what happened and what to not mess with, and what did they do? RIGHT, they decided to repeat the EXACT SAME MISTAKES, hoping that THIS time it will turn out different and they "got it" fdsjfdhsfsdh

So, as a Great One, she thinks on a different plane that maybe involves expecting too much from humanoids. Or maybe she is right to give up all hope on us..? Funny enough, this unites her with Micolash who basically went "fuck you noobs I am out" on humanity as a concept XD

In short yeah, I think that this is her motivation to hold onto Mergo: to nurture them, and thus nurture the curse. I am considering the idea that sacrificing her fire as Hellish Crow ensured she could not have children now, so since she did that for Pthumerians and Pthumeru Ihyll was the center of it, Mergo was sort of a promised "compensation". Like, maybe they agreed that one day Queen Yharnam will offer her baby to her and since Wet Nurse is a 'demon' it of course would not be by pleasant means. It is fair price for survival of their species, no? :p I am just not sure whether I want to press the 'demon' part more or the 'crow-like god of justice and judgement' more. Just as always, it can be both!

________________________

Bonus: I like the idea for her name being Idola!

"Idola will be the judge!" is a strange line, considering there is otherwise no mention of anyone like that! But if we follow theme about the crows being connected with judgement, and Wet Nurse herself is 1) a crow-like Great One and 2) a "bloodless one" who CAN answer prayers for revenge/curse/justice/etc, why not her?

Again, maybe 'Eldrich Velka' as I call this is another being of much bigger importance who IS Idola, and Wet Nurse is just a lesser servant (?) of that being, but why not place the context on the character who IS here rather than someone never seen!

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

What We Sow

Pairing: Theon Greyjoy x Greyjoy!Reader

Warnings: game of thrones canonical siblingxsibling, sister-wife, violence, dark!reader?, euron being an asshat, voyeurism?, mention of torture, book!theon, oral (male receiving), p in v

Words: 6425

The rugged coastline of Pyke was the greatest thing to Theon's eyes. It meant his return home after a long journey that was filled with trading with not only the rest of Westeros but also smaller islands off the coast of Essos. Water churned with a restless energy, reflecting the overcast sky above. The Iron Islands had always been a place of harsh beauty, where the relentless sea and the unforgiving elements shaped both the land and its people. To an outsider's eye, the Iron Islands might appear as an eyesore, a desolate and forbidding place where life was a constant battle against the elements. Craggy cliffs, salt-stained rocks, and windswept trees clinging stubbornly to life. The sky, today, was an uninviting gray, as if the heavens themselves were reluctant to welcome Theon back. All of it was so endearing to him though. Theon couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness welling up inside him. Very soon he'd be able to hold his beloved in his arms.

This was his home, a place where the salt of the sea and the cries of seagulls were a constant presence and where you were. Waiting so patiently as always. His queen, his sister, his wife. He'd been dreaming of the moment when he'd be reunited with you after so long.

As the ship glided into the sheltered harbor, Theon could see the familiar faces of his subjects lining the shore, their weathered features breaking into smiles as they recognized their king. Faces that would have sneered at him previously since he'd been a ward of the Warden of the North for a number of years. Who would have thought that the salt people were actually capable of expressing joy.

King. Funny how the title his father had longed for was now Theon's. Smugness swells his chest when he thinks back to the salty old bastard that was Balon Greyjoy. He wished that Balon had a physical grave where Theon and you could dance upon it. No love lost for the death of their father. In fact it was the start of something wonderful for the Iron Isles. Not since the time of Lord Harren Greyjoy had the islands experienced such a flush of opportunity and growth. And of course he had you to thank as well. You were his anchor. The only person who could talk reason into him and quell his anger.

He would not be the king he was without you. Loving you had never been easy. While the faith of the Drowned God did not have any discrimination against incest, many in Westeros looked down on it as a reminder of their once Targaryen rulers. Not just that but the Faith of the Seven viewed it as extremely abhorrent. Your love was kept a deep dark secret while the two of you lived under the guiding hand of Ned Stark. The salt people didn't think twice of it though. Theon proved himself a better ruler than his father and everyone knew much of that was thanks to his sister-wife. They wouldn't complain. Now that many of the islanders were becoming more busy thanks to the opening of trade through their ports and the reconstruction of not just Pyke, but the other six islands as well.

Dock workers and sailors alike help those on deck, unload their cargo as Theon descends the gangplank, boots clanging against the wooden planks as he made his way to solid ground. The feel of the dock beneath his feet was a welcome one.

"Oy! Is that my brother the king?!" Came the crowing voice of his other sister Asha. She was on a neighboring ship the Black Wind, dangling off of one of the ratlines carelessly.

He grins, surveying her as Asha swiftly jumps down. A dockhand hands Theon the reins of his readied horse. He nods in thanks and turns back to Asha who was now strutting up the dock to give her brother a big hug. Their relationship had been rocky in the beginning when Theon first arrived back on the isles.

"Asha! Can't believe I'm actually saying this, but aren't you a sight for sore eyes." His arms embrace his older sister, bringing her into probably a less than fragrant body.

Asha snorts and is the first to release the hug. "A mule would be a sight for sore eyes for you by how long you've been gone." Her eyes soften as she gestures with her head toward their home. "The queen has been missing you."

"As I have missed her." Theon's chest flutters as it always did when he thought of you. You were his heart and soul after all.

She chuffs him on the shoulder. "Well, best not to keep either of you waiting then, eh?"

They ride off together. While he knew you were a patient lady, Theon was not. He wanted you in his arms as soon as possible. He urged his horse to go as fast as it could run along the rocky terrain.

Constructed from the same dark, weathered stone as the surrounding cliffs, giving it an almost otherworldly appearance as it melded seamlessly with its natural surroundings was their ancestral home. It was a place where saltwater spray had etched its mark, leaving streaks of briny residue on the walls that bore witness to countless storms. A series of narrow bridges and walkways connected the various towers and buildings of the castle, each one precariously suspended above the churning waters below. The cause of Balon's demise.

The main keep, which housed the Greyjoy family, rose from the center of the fortress like a dark, brooding sentinel. Its towering, angular walls were crowned with crenellations that cast stark shadows against the overcast sky. Theon could see the Greyjoy banner, a kraken of black on a field of gold, billowing in the wind above the keep, a symbol of his family's dominion over the Iron Islands.

Making it into the fortress' stables, Theon and Asha dismount from his horse and handed the reins to a waiting stable hand. Those who had spotted his arrival on horseback had come out to greet their king and his most trusted advisor. An up and rising young lord from Blacktyde, Kyllan Stewar, takes Theon by the forearm as was the custom greeting.

"Welcome back, Your Grace." Kyllan's smile is wide despite cracked lips that were common in this weather.

"Good to be back, Lord Stewar." Theon replies though his attention is elsewhere. "My queen?"

"Where else would our exuberant queen be?" Lord Kyllan chuckles knowingly. There was only one answer: the training yard.

Much like your siblings, you grew restless sitting around in a pretty dress. You loathed needlework and playing instruments of any kind. Your fingers weren't meant for delicate tasks. They were meant to wield deadly weapons.

You prefer to spend your days out in the fresh, salt air with either a blade or bow grasped in your hand.

The moment you spot Theon and Asha walking into the yard though, you let your sword fall to the ground; quickly forgetting about the young knight that you had been sparring with. Your legs move faster than your mind could think, on instinct they run toward Theon.

He collides into you, strong arms sweeping you up and off your feet. His grip could be considered suffocating to any other woman. You want him to break your bones though. To absorb you into his body so that you could always be with him.

"It's about damn time." You dig your fingers into his black hair, twisting the locks around your digits as Theon is now completely holding you up. Nostrils flare as you inhale his musky scent that mingles with the salty air. A primal smell stuck to your brother from weeks without a proper bath. But it was all him. "What took you so long?"

Theon chuckles and peppers the crown of your head in numerous butterfly kisses. "My apologies, your grace. There was lots of trading to be done overseas. Our oysters and mussels are the talk of the kingdom." You didn't like when he pulls away from you and you feel a pout rising on your lips until he crashes his mouth against your's. Relenting, you meet his hungry fervor; biting his bottom lip and keeping it as your captive for a moment before diving back into the kiss.

In the background, you hear the clearing of Asha's throat as she reminds the both of you that you were among other lords who were watching the reunion unfold. While many didn't care about your incestuous relationship, they didn't necessarily like being reminded of it with displays of affection. Not caring for what they think, Theon would have continued on kissing you until the sun went down, but you were more tactical and didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable, especially toward men who supported Theon's claim to the salt throne.

Sighing, you pat Theon on his chest and ignore his frustrated groan and turn him around to face his men. They stand straighter at his attention. "Men, our feast tonight will be overflowing with the finest red meat Westeros had to offer us!"

They cheer, red meat had been a rarity in the islands besides goat and lamb they could spare. Actual beef was worth more than any gold dragon to them. The Crownlands boast the most cattle and they just so happened to enjoy the large oysters that were abundant in the Iron Islands. Even your mouth watered at the thought of the meat being unloaded into the kitchens of the castle.

Heading back to the Greyjoy fortress, Theon cocks his head toward you with that smug grin of his. Holding out his arm to you in a warm gesture. "My queen, shall we follow?"

Immediately you latch onto his extended arm. You wouldn't be leaving his side any time soon. You plan on monopolizing his attention for the rest of the evening. Damn the other lords who have important business to discuss with him. You were Theon's number one priority.

"What the fuck is he doing here." You didn't bother to keep the vulgarity from your vocabulary nor the venom that dripped off of every word you hissed out. It wasn't phrased as a question. A demand more like it from the lord who had delivered the news that your uncle Euron had shown up on the docks like he owned the place.

Heat rose to your cheeks and down your neck at what this threat could bring to the prosperity of the islands. Euron could potentially fuck up everything you and Theon worked so hard to build.

Theon watches his sister's rare temper come to surface. There was little that could truly tick you off enough that you would raise your voice. He almost found it amusing since it was an event that didn't happen often. That's why he merely leans back in his throne and observes you in all of your haughty splendor.

"Well. . . he says since Balon is dead that he should be able to return to Pyke." The lord hesitantly continues, nervous eyes dart to Theon a bit helplessly but Theon was not going to be the one to stop you from fuming.

Asha barks out a cruel laugh. "Oh that's rich. Like that's going to undo the baby he put in the belly of Victarion's saltwife. Or bring her back to life."

Victarion who was present in the throne room, glares at his niece for her callousness. Both Victarion and Aeron did share her sentiment about Euron though. He should not be let back into the inner circle of the family.

Another liege lord pipes in "He's making quite the ruckus out in the courtyard. He's insisting an audience with you, your grace."

Indeed, everyone in the audience chamber could hear Euron's booming voice from the other hall. Grating on your nerves, you look to Theon to gauge his reaction just to find him still staring at you. Lazily his lips curl into a smile now that he had your intention.

You would have found it cute any other time, but your patience was wearing incredibly thin. "Well? We're going to turn him away, aren't we? He has no place here in our Iron Islands. We do not raid anymore. He is a reminder of that century old practice that near ruined us."

The way you spoke with such authority really did get Theon's cock hard but this was no place or time for a hard-on. "I understand why you and many others may not want him back on Pyke." He kept his eyes solely on you as if you were the only one he was talking to. "But Euron does know how to rouse the people into work."

"That can be a bad thing, my love. He can rouse people the wrong way. We do not want to go back to paying the iron price. That's not how this world works anymore. It's evolving. We're evolving." Your words may have come off as harsh, but honestly you were scared. Scared that Theon could see the fear in your eyes too. So much had been done for the islands. Your people were now prospering and not being looked down by the rest of the world. There were even some from Faircastle and Banefort coming and joining the faith of the Drowned Man which made your Uncle Aeron jump for joy (that is if he was capable of such an intense emotion).

"Like usual, your queen is right." Aeron quips. Theon nearly rolls his eyes but manages to keep them trained on you. Where was the lie though? Even Theon knew it was you who really ran things around here. You'd always been smarter than him. You were the baby of the family but acted like the eldest.

His smile softens. "I know she is. But we should at least hear him out. If only for a few moments."

"Just a few minutes." Huffing in your own throne, you flick your gaze to the lord who had informed you of Euron's arrival. "The very moment he steps out of line, I want him off our island. He would be grateful enough that we let him leave with his life."

Oh, he wanted to fuck you right in front of everyone that instant. Have you bent over his throne and wear the seadrift crown as he rails into you. All of that would have to wait though. There was no way you were as horny as he was right now.

With his consent, Euron was brought in.

He leisurely waltzes in, a familiar cocky grin plastered on his face that resembled the one your brother usually wore. You didn't like it on his face. Once his eyes land on you though, his smile dims. "Well, you grew up into quite the beauty."

You resist the urge to vomit. "Uncle, what brings you here to Pyke? Our father banished you. That banishment still remains."

Euron all but chuckles at the lofty air you carried about you. A gleam of reverence shimmers in his visible blue eye. The other that was covered with an eyepatch, you knew, was deep black much like his soul. It takes effort for him to retract his attention from you and to finally regard your brother, the king, seated next to you. "I wanted to see my beloved family. Excuse me, the King and Queen of the Iron Islands. Imagine my shock to learn that my niece and nephew took up the Targaryen custom of marrying one another. Balon must be rolling in his watery grave. I was even more shocked to see Pyke. The two of you have really cleaned up the place. The soil actually has greenery to it now."

Theon remained quiet, observing his uncle and the way the Crow's Eye would size you up every now and then as he was speaking. A long time ago, he would have immediately felt the sizzle of jealousy. He was a grown man now. His love for you had evolved above jealousy as you had reassured him through the years that you were his and he was your's. Even Robb Stark wasn't able to woo you away from him, though the match would have been beneficial to both the Starks and Greyjoys. And there was absolutely no way you would reciprocate Euron's lustful stares. Theon could see you physically recoil at his leering.

Subtly, his hand lands atop of your's, pulling you away from Euron. He smiles softly before replying "Yes, Pyke has come a long way since you've been here. The old ways were not beneficial to our people and unfortunately you still represent that. You can imagine the threat you pose to our achievements, uncle."

Victarion could be heard grumbling from off to the side where Aeron hushes him into silence. It doesn't go unnoticed by Euron who shoots his brother an goading wink that only furthered Victarion's flush of anger.

"Threat? I bring no threat." Euron chuckles and takes a step toward your throne. Asha who was silently standing next to you puts herself between you and Euron, sending a message that he was not to come any closer. Her hand moves to her sword, eyes hard with her warning. "I wish to be part of the greatness you have created here! Even in Essos I've heard of the prospering Iron Islands. Did you know your products have reached even that of Qarth?"

Of course you knew. No traders left without the crown's consent.

"What makes you think you have anything to offer the islands?" Asha sneers. His words were as trustworthy as a snake's.

His smile twitches in vexation. "I am a changed man, niece." He spits out the last word with mirth. "I have my dearly departed brother Balon to thank for that. His banishment was actually the best thing for me. My years spent wandering Essos has tempered me into a wiser and more resourceful man. I have newfound knowledge that would greatly contribute to the Iron Islands. I wish only to serve."

Putting on quite the display of fealty, Euron bends the knee to you and Theon; bowing his head deeply in reverence.

Murmurs spring up in the throne room. Many were those of doubts. Some were of intrigue. Your hand that was under Theon's curl letting Theon know of your disquiet thoughts. Theon flicks his attention on the other lords lingering around. "Leave us."

While the lords obeyed their king, your other two uncles were more hesitant to leave. This was a family matter afterall and they deserved a say in whatever decision you and Theon made.

"You two as well." He informs Victarion and Aeron.

Pursing his lips, Victarion is dragged away by Aeron Damphair. His scornful glare never leaves Euron who waves at them tauntingly.

When their footsteps fade away, Theon surprises you by standing up. You and Asha exchange wary glances before you too stand next to your husband. As a trio, you and your siblings walk down the raised dais to stand directly in front of Euron. Up close you do notice that he wasn't that bad looking. You would even call him handsome, much like Theon. They must have gained all the good looks in the Greyjoy family.

"Walk with us, uncle." Theon beseeches.

"Please stop glaring at me like that." Theon hated when you were upset with him. Euron had proved that he indeed possessed knowledge that would be beneficial to the islands which irritated both you and Asha even more.

"This is a bad idea, Theon." Pacing back and forth in your chambers, all you could think of was the calamity that Euron's presence could bring. Anxiously you chew on your cuticles, a nasty habit you'd had since childhood. It soothed you though and dampened the swirling thoughts that plagued you.

He watches helplessly as you just refuse to be still. "My love-"

You shake your head. "Don't 'my love' me. I can't believe you're letting him stay. Others will have issue with this too."

Catching you by the hand, Theon implores you to still your body. Grudgingly you do stop your pacing only to frown at him. You didn't yank your hand out of his grip but allowed him to slowly pull you onto his lap. Once settled in, his thumb smoothes against your cheek. "Our supporters are many. People trust us. If Euron dares to raise a hand against either of us, he will face repercussions from our citizens. And don't forget Asha would never let him get close to our wing of the castle. I don't think she'll be sleeping tonight."

"I. . . I just remember the stories father would tell us about him." Your eyes flutter closed, grimacing with the thought of Balon's gravely voice recalling his treacherous brother.

"Your fears are valid. I know. I know he can't be completely trusted. But we're strong enough to handle him if he does get the idea in trying to harm us."

True. If Euron really knew the other side of you. . . he would not have returned at all. He would stay far away, the only wise thing to do. Still sullen about the turn of events, all you could do was nod and place a small kiss on Theon's forehead.

"Very well."

You leave, not feeling any better. The clicking of your boots against the stone floor seemed incredibly loud in your ears. You hate how uneasy you feel in your own home. Like Euron would pop out of nowhere-

"Sweet niece."

Fuck.

Feeling stupid for leaving your sword behind, you reluctantly swivel on your heel to address your uncle. "Euron. You're not allowed here. Where are the attendants that we gave you?"

"I told them they could have the day off." Was all he would give you. Something spoiled your gut watching him strut toward you, thinking himself hot shit. Practically purring, his voice was smooth as the sea on a calm day, "You are a vision of beauty, even amidst the stormy shores of Pyke. Time on the mainland was good to you evidently."

Nails bite into your palm, the one thing keeping your facade neutral and gaze unwavering. Euron's silver tongue and beguiling charm was well known and he used it to seduce both men and women for both sex and war. "Your words are kind, uncle. But I must tell you that you should refrain from saying anymore from here on out."

His laugh grates against your hearing. "But we're family!" A dark undertone lowers his voice. "And apparently you have no problem with having family say sweet nothings to you. Or is that only for your brother?"

"Watch what you say." Your own tone is icy sharp. "You're lucky he even allowed you to stay here. You do not hold any kind of power in our court."

In faux defense, he holds up is hands. "My apologies, your grace. I see I have touched a nerve. I'm just saying, if blood is of no issue to you, then I willingly offer myself as a paramore to the queen. Loyalty can be such a confining chain. Why tether yourself to just one man? Have you ever tasted another's lips besides your brother's?"

Your eyes flash with a steely resolve as you step forward. "My loyalty is not a chain and you have stepped out of line. I need no other lover except for my king and husband, you unworthy worm. Get out of our wing before I truly lose my temper. If I even smell you here again I will have you hanged. Kin or not."

Like the rest of Westeros, kinslaying was beyond abhorrent. You did not make the promise lightly and Euron was aware that you would keep true to it.

Euron's demeanor shifted slightly, his charming facade cracking to reveal a hint of frustration and resentment. His lips curl with a retort but you raise your voice loud enough for any nearby guard to here. "GET OUT OF HERE."

The abrupt loudness of your voice actually causes him to take a step back. He weighs his options before ultimately skulking away.

"Are you alright, your grace?" A guard quickly rounds the corner to check on you.

"Have the guards doubled around our wing of the castle. By no means is Euron allowed here. If he is, then I insist on corporeal punishment."

Thank the gods Euron kept relatively quiet for the following days. Not a peep or sighting of him. You'd told Theon of your encounter with him. The treasonous things he said. He took it all in good humor, annoyingly so.

"He's just jealous." Theon nuzzles his nose against the warmth of your throat. Both of you were taking a break from honing your swordsmanship. Your sweat didn't bother him. In fact it appeared to entice him to lick a long line at your throat. "Jealous that you're all mine."

You blow out an exasperated puff of air. "Of course I am. That should be of no debate." The two of you are seated on a lone, grassy cliff that overlooks the tops of Pyke Castle. You enjoyed watching the busy port, the many sea vessels that were drifting upon the waves.

You didn't expect for your brother to take Euron's advances seriously.

He'd have to do something though once rumors from the taverns started to reach the castle.

Asha brought you the upsetting gossip which stemmed from your uncle. It was well recorded from many people how Euron would fall into his cups and talk of nothing but killing not just you, but Theon himself. He spoke openly of the kinslaying/regicide as if he were the better candidate to sit the salt throne.

There was a reason Asha came to you hesitantly. She knew what would happen once she told you that Euron had outright threatened Theon.

You couldn't let him live. Not after that. He could have just said he'd kill you. The moment he said he'd kill Theon you'd already made up your mind that you would take the situation into your own hands.

"Gather everyone in the castle to the bailey. Make sure Theon and Euron are in attendance." The coldness in your eyes could make any weather worn warrior tremble in front of you.

Asha actually smiles at the prospect of seeing this side of her sister released to the open. "Of course. I'll get right on it."

You listen to her walk away, your focus still on the sword behind the case you kept it in. Your sword.

--

When you challenge you uncle in front all of the household, all Euron does is bark out a laugh that has him rocking on his feet.

"You're joking, of course you must be joking." One arm is pressed against his stomach as another laugh wheezes out of him. When he finds everyone else with a sober face, he straightens up. Unwilling to let his condescending smile fall. Others were serious about this, awaiting his answer.

Behind you, Theon hisses out a desperate whisper "What are you doing?"

You're still staring at Euron. "He's been boasting about killing you. I can't allow him to keep saying such things."

That was all Theon needed to hear. He recognized the tightening of your posture, a spine like iron. This wasn't his queen anymore. This was a mercenary. Someone entirely different from his sweet sister who loved honeycakes and playing with the kennelmaster's puppies when there was free time. You weren't you and yet this part had always been woven into your being.

The only ending for Euron now was a slow and painful death. No one threatened the life of your brother and got away with it.

Euron finally replies, his tone dripping with mockery. "I accept your challenge. But be warned, I am not one to be taken lightly. Even if you are queen and blood. Whatever happens to you, I will not be held accountable for."

As the duel begins, Euron lunges forward with swift, calculated strikes. His years of experience at sea granted him an uncanny balance and agility, making him a formidable opponent. That was well known knowledge. He was capable of holding up his own in a fight. He was fast, but there was no one in the known world who could match your almost dancer's grace, movements precise and deliberate. You didn't have to be physically intimidating and neither did your sword. Slender, sharp, and double-edged you deftly parry each of Euron's attacks, focus unwavering.

It didn't take long for Euron to realize the grave mistake he'd made by agreeing to fighting you. With a fluid grace that belied strength, you disarm Euron in a swift, unexpected maneuver, sending his sword clattering to the ground.

With his lone, blue eye, he stares at it. He doesn't even catch your voice telling your men to bind him and toss him into the dungeon to await the king and queen.

Their hands are not gentle.

Fists split his face open. Another thing Euron had underestimated was how much they loved their sovereigns.

At some point, Euron fell unconscious. He's slow to rouse awake, head lolling from shoulder to shoulder as he stirs. Pain explodes on every known surface of his body. They must have continued to beat him even as he passed out.

Moving his mouth, he finds a gag placed over it. Vaguely he was able to make out muffled voices.

"Good, you're up."

A sharp slap to his face was what truly wakes him up. He finds his eyepatch was removed. One black eye and one blue eye wildly gape at you and Theon.

"Your death has been voted on by not just ourselves, but the lords of the Iron Islands as well." Theon announces, his expression passive. "We will grant you a private execution to lessen your humiliation. However, there has been a special request. You have the honor of being executed by the very woman that made you look like a fool."

Euron was half-listening though, distracted by what you were doing behind Theon. Your hands are busy unlacing your bodice, letting free your breasts. His throat clenches at the sight. You weren't paying either men any of your attention as you went on to remove the rest of your cumbersome clothing, leaving you naked.

"But not before my queen and I demonstrate our. . . united front." Theon's lips curl when he catches on that his words fall on deaf ears. Euron was entirely consumed with watching you perch yourself on a chair he hadn't noticed before. The dip of your hips was hypnotizing.

Only when you're fully seated do you look at your uncle. Legs crossed and tits pushed forward, you were downright sinful just sitting there. A cruel smile on her pretty lips. "I like you a lot better like this, Uncle Euron. My king, you've wasted enough time on him. Why don't you come over here?" Syrupy sweet when you turn to your brother.

Theon turns his back on Euron. Happy to obey his queen's demands. There was nothing left to say to him.

Undoing the clasp of his fur cape, he lays it out at your feet like a rug. Watching his nephew undress would not be as nice as watching you. Theon's bare back was that of a grown man's, broad and muscled and covered in scars. A testament to the turbulent symphony of his tumultuous life. Inked verses of his existence, painted by the relentless hand of adversity. The little boy was gone. Dead.

This was the King of the Iron Islands.

You shift in your seat, pussy already throbbing with the need for Theon's cock to fill it. What a pretty cock he had too. A blossom pink bulb of a head that was supported by a long, weighty shaft. Just thinking about it had your cheeks warming and your breathing become shallow.

Euron muffles, attempting to pull free of his confines.

His struggle music to your ears. You bite your bottom lip, chewing on it as your hand creeps between your legs. "Yes, louder if you will." You wanted to remember Euron like this. Helpless, being a captive audience for you and Theon. You would drive the point into his head, as one would a nail in wood, that Theon life and being were your's. And you were possessive over your things to a dangerous degree. When someone threatened the safety and happiness of Theon, you took it personally. Who thought they had the authority to kill him? Only you did, but you would never.

Your slick already covered the insides of your upper thighs, dripping down onto your seat. The only thing to pull your focus away from Euron was Theon pulling down his breeches to reveal his swollen, feverish cock. Practically springing out and begging for your lips around it. The softness of his cloak cushions your knees as you slide off and in front of Theon. His hand lovingly brushes against the top of your head.

"I understand you in some degree, uncle." Theon's voice is raspy, your mouth opening and leaning forward to wrap around the bulbous tip of his dick. He lets you suckle for a moment before continuing "If she were not mine, I too would be driven to jealousy and perhaps want to kill whatever lucky man had the honor of sleeping next to her." His eyes rove over your face, a twitch to his cock at the hollowing of your cheeks and the bobbing of your head. Fingers tighten around the tresses that adorned the crown of your head. He slams his length all the way to the back of your throat, making you gag. Tears accumulate on your bottom lashes but you will your throat to relax. Expertly breathing through your nose as you take him. You could feel your throat bulge, barely able to contain his girth let alone allow it down your throat. Saliva dribbles out of the corner of your mouth. He face fucks you, each snap of his hips pulling out a gagging noise from you.

Obscene squelching emits from the velvety drag of his dick down your throat and along your tongue. Usually he enjoyed cumming in your mouth. Theon would have to restrain himself this time.

Sharply Theon's sharp canine tooth pierces the plump flesh of his lower lip as he uses all of his strength to yank you off of him. "Hands and knees, my love."

Maneuvering around him so that Euron could watch you position yourself in front of your king. Your ass raises high, exposing your puffy, wet pussy for Theon's gaze to feast on. He takes a moment to appreciate the work of messy art in front of him with a smug grin.

"To never know how it feels to fuck such a perfect pussy. . . I feel sorry for you." Flashing up to his uncle, Theon grabs the shaft of his cock and lined it up perfectly against your lower lips. You feel the blunt prodding as he makes small, experimental thrusts against you. A territorial growl rips from him that has your nipples hardening even more. "But you're lucky enough to witness this. For this to be the last thing you see before my queen severs your head from your neck."

Pulling back a margin, he propels his hips forward to fill you to the hilt. All you could do was pathetically grip at the fur pelt beneath you for any kind of stability. You let yourself be as loud as you want. Shamelessly so. Euron could see the whites of your eyes as Theon drilled into you with his cock. Your tits bounce with each snap of his hips. Skin on skin smacks together in a loud symphony that was accompanied by your high pitch cries and Theon's own sinful praises that he lavished upon your pussy.

Your upper body threatens to give out. "TH-Theon-" You rasp out between the slapping of his balls against your clit.

Reading your mind, he reaches under you and with a feather light finger starts to languidly stroke the hood of your clit; his thumb already toying with your swollen bead that could make you squirt if stimulated enough. Somehow he manages to lift you up without jostling you much so that your back was pressed against his bare chest. His hand holds your neck, the other going to support a thigh as he continues to fuck you. At least now you could see his cock impale you, breaking past your pussy lips and disappearing deep inside of you.

He feels your walls constrict at the new angle he was taking you from. Squeezing contractions that massaged his cock in the way that made him feel like he was but a wild beast, reduced to his baser instincts of simply rutting into you. Theon's vision grows blurry, his head hot.

When he feels you spasm around him, seizing up and squeezing the life out of his cock in your own euphoria, that's when Theon allowed himself to break. He shudders and grips you tightly against him. Teeth bite into your shoulder to help him ride out his orgasm.

You yourself feel light headed, delirious and almost forgetting where the two of you were. Everything around you melts into nothingness. There's just you and Theon, stuck together. His panting matching your own.

Theon's tender voice is barely audible in your ringing ears. There was something he was reminding you to do. Your faculties were shut down as you were slowly coming down.

Patiently chuckling, Theon kisses your cheek. "My love, we can continue this in our room. But there's something you need to do first."

That's right.

Euron's cheeks were flushed and there was a tent formed in his pants. You smirk thinking that he would die with a hard-on.

On wobbly legs, Theon helps you stabilize before handing you your sword.

More muffling comes from your uncle with each step you took toward him. Still naked and glowing with a light sheen of sweat.

He's offered no last words.

Your blade strikes fast and true, slicing past bone and cartilage; tearing arteries and veins so that his warm blood sprays onto your skin.

Thus was the fate of any man or woman who dared to think they could take your Theon away from you.

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@enchantingcupcakecollectionfan

[bow-of-aros]

Day Twenty-Four: Joke

Summary:

Look, none of this would've happened if Richie had heard Peter walk in! It's not his fault that Richie is so easy to mess with :)

And I'm officially caught back up! This one is for my dear anon on tumblr whose asks I get after every fic has been getting me through tickletober, hope that you enjoy!! <33

-

“Hey, Richie!”

Peter threw open the door of his best friends’ house without bothering to knock, they’d been past that point for a long time. He toed off his shoes and received no response, which was pretty typical. Richie could get so absorbed in what he was doing that a nuclear bomb could go off and he wouldn’t even notice.

Just as Peter opened his mouth to shout again, Richie’s uncle stuck his head around the corner and said, “He’s in the basement playing video games. Honestly, I won’t be surprised if he’s completely deaf by the time he’s twenty-five.”

He disappeared back around the corner and Peter tossed him a “Thanks Mr. Matthews!” before hopping down the stairs, ignoring the faint “It’s Paul,” that echoed behind him.

The basement was in a constant state of half-organized chaos. Pillows lay scattered on the floor, an absurd amount of empty cups sat on the table, and a mess of cords and controllers stretched from the television to the couch where Peter could see a tuft of dyed-blue hair sticking out from a pile of blankets.

When he got closer, the reason that Richie hadn’t responded became clearer as Peter glimpsed a pair of headphones covering his ears.

He wasn’t surprised per se, but he’d appreciate if Richie would at least make an attempt to say hi when he showed up.

Sensing an opportunity for some mischief, Peter crept up behind Richie, careful not to make a noise. Although, to be fair, he didn’t need to try very hard. Peter could head the sound effects blaring out of the headphones from where he was standing.

As soon as Peter got close enough, he shot his hands into the mound of blankets and, after quickly finding purchase on Richie’s sides, quickly scribbled up and down them.

The scream that Richie let out was ear piercing. Forget Richie going deaf, Peter was going to loose all hearing as soon as his friend burst his eardrums.

“Everything alright down there?” Mr. Matthe—Paul called down, not sounding particularly concerned but still doing his duty as the adult in the house.

“Everything’s fine! I just scared Richie!” Peter yelled back, watching in amusement as Richie struggled to untangle himself from his cocoon.

“Okay!”

Finally, Richie rolled off the couch and shot to his feet, ripping his headphones off in order to glower at his friend. Not that it was at all effective considering how his ruffled hair and red face took away any threatening power Richie might have held.

“Dude!” He hissed, throwing the nearest pillow at Peter, “What the hell?! You scared the shit out of me!”

Peter, too busy laughing, just let the pillow hit him, “You’re the one who was wearing headphones when you knew that I was coming over! I couldn’t resist the joke.”

“Well your joke wasn’t very funny.”

Richie was doing his best to hide the grin trying to creep across his face, and Peter couldn’t have that so he started poking wherever he could access on Richie’s torso, crowing triumphantly at the giggles that immediately started pouring out of Richie’s mouth.

“No? It wasn’t funny? Then why are you laughing?”

“Oh come ohohohon,” Richie complained, “Dohohohon’t!”

Now, if Peter played his cards right, something very funny was about to happen.

“Don’t what?”

Wait for it…

“Tihihihickle me!”

Hook, line, and sinker.

“Alright, if you insist!” Peter said gleefully, exchanging his pokes for kneading at Richie’s sides in a way that has his knees buckling beneath him. Sine he’s a good friend, Peter guides him over to the couch instead of letting him collapse on the floor.

Richie, meanwhile, was not very impressed with Peter’s trick, “That’s not what I meheheheant! Shihihihit Pete that’s chehehehating!”

His hands pushed weakly at Peter’s without much result. Peter had never been able to tell whether it was because he didn’t want it to end or because laughing sapped all of Richie’s strength out of his bones.

It was probably both.

“It’s not cheating if you fall for it every single time.” Peter switches tactics again, squeezing at Richie’s thighs to hear the snorts he let out as he desperately kicked his legs to no avail. “Honestly, Richie, you really should know better by now.”

It’s true. While Richie hadn’t come from a very affectionate household, he’d been friends with Peter for years. And Peter had been living with Hatchetfield’s most notorious tickle monster, better known as Ted Spankoffski, for the vast majority of his life.

This worked out great for Peter, because it meant that he could take all the dirty tricks that Ted had played on him over the years and use them on Richie.

And they worked like a charm every damn time.

Richie still hasn’t not fallen for the don’t what trick. Peter had learned his lesson pretty quickly with Ted, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t hilarious.

“Okahahahay! Mercy! Mehehehercy Pete! Plehehehease!”

The other thing about Richie being less used to affection was that he had less stamina that Peter did when it came to these sorts of attacks, and Peter always made sure to let him off easy.

“Alright, alright,” He said, helping Richie up and rubbing a hand over his leg to dissipate the lingering shocks he knew from experience would be there. “Now, why don’t we find a two-player game that I can kick your ass at?”

As Richie leaned against him, grumbling good-naturedly with a smile on his face, Peter thought back to Ted’s ruthless attacks with a shudder. Sure, he didn’t mind them that much, but they were still evil as shit!

Peter grabbed a remote laying beside him and relaxed into the warmth of his best friend. Richie didn’t know how lucky he was to get the nicer Spankoffski.

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🌈 Good morning and happy Wednesday, my bookish bats! You didn't think that tiny "queer books coming out this fall" guide was ALL there was, did you? Here are a FEW of the stunning, diverse queer books you can add to your TBR this month. Happy reading!

❤️ A Vision of Air by Nicole Silver 🧡 Eli Over Easy by Phil Stamper 💛 How to Get Over the End of the World by Hal Schrieve 💚 Kween by Vichet Chum 💙 The Forest Demands its Due by Kosoko Jackson 💜 The B-Side of Daniel Garneau by David Kingston Yeh ❤️ Midnight Companion by Kit Barrie 🧡 Let the Waters Roars by Geonn Cannon 💛 Into the Glittering Dark by Kelley York 💙 When the Rain Begins to Burn by A.L. Davidson 💜 Been Outside by Amber Wendler & Shaz Zamore 🌈 The Forest Demands Its Due by Kosoko Jackson

❤️ A Necessary Chaos by Brent Lambert 🧡 The Spells We Cast by Jason June 💛 Pluralities by Avi Silver 💚 Salt the Water by Candice Iloh 💙 Beholder by Ryan La Sala 💜 This Pact is Not Ours by Zachary Sergi ❤️ Dragging Mason County by Curtis Campbell 🧡 Menewood by Nicola Griffith 💛 Mary and the Birth of Frankenstein by Anne Eekhout 💚 The Dead Take the A Train by Cassandra Khaw & Richard Kadrey 💙 Bloom by Delilah S. Dawson 💜 Let Me Out by Emmett Nahil and George Williams

🌈 In the Form of a Question: the Joys and Rewards of a Curious Life by Amy Schneider ❤️ Songs of Irie by Asha Ashanti Bromfield 🧡 A Haunting on the Hill by Elizabeth Hand 💛 Being Ace by Madeline Dyer 💚 Charming Young Man by Eliot Schrefer 💙 The Glass Scientists by S.H. Cotugno 💜 The Fall of Whit Rivera by Crystal Maldonado ❤️ By Any Other Name by Erin Cotter 🧡 Brooms by Jasmine Walls and Teo DuVall 💛 Stars in Your Eyes by Kacen Callender 💚 Shoot the Moon by Isa Arsen 💙 The Bell in the Fog by Lev A.C. Rosen

🌈 Brainwyrms by Alison Rumfitt ❤️ Family Meal by Bryan Washington 🧡 A Murder of Crows by Dharma Kelleher 💛 A Light Most Hateful by Hailey Piper 💚 Love at 350° by Lisa Peers 💙 Greasepaint by Hannah Levene 💜 The Christmas Swap by Talia Samuels ❤️ Mate of Her Own by Elena Abbott 🧡 Mistletoe and Mishigas by M.A. Wardell 💛 Elle Campbell Wins Their Weekend by Ben Kahn 💚 All That Consumes Us by Erica Waters 💙 If You’ll Have Me by Eunnie

❤️ Tomorrow and Tomorrow by Lillah Lawson and Lauren Emily Whalen 🧡 10 Things That Never Happened by Alexis Hall 💛 It’s a Fabulous Life by Kelly Farmer 💚 Let the Dead Bury the Dead by Allison Epstein 💙 These Burning Stars by Bethany Jacobs 💜 The Goth House Experiment by SJ Sindu ❤️ Everything I Learned, I Learned in a Chinese Restaurant by Curtis Chin 🧡 Mudflowers by Aley Waterman 💛 Here Lies Olive by Kate Anderson 💚 Fire From the Sky by Moa Backe Åstot, trans. by Eva Apelqvist 💙 Iris Kelly Doesn’t Date by Ashley Herring Blake 💜 On the Same Page by Haley Cass

❤️ A Dish Best Served Hot by Natalie Caña 🧡 Art of the Chase by Jennifer Giacalone 💛 The Haunting of Adrian Yates by Markus Harwood-Jones 💚 The Sword: Xcian by Elle Arroyo 💙 The Complete Carlisle Series by Roslyn Sinclair 💜 300,000 Kisses by Sean Hewitt and Luke Edward Hall ❤️ Just a Pinch of Magic by Alechia Dow 🧡 Blackouts by Justin Torres 💛 Wrath Becomes Her by Aden Polydoros 💚 Let the Woods Keep Our Bodies by E.M. Roy 💙 Everything Under the Moon: Fairy Tales in a Queerer Light edited by Michael Earp ❤️ Frost Bite by Angela Sylvaine

🧡 We Met in a Bar by Claire Forsythe 💛 Sweat Equity Aurora Rey 💚 Pumpkin Spice by Tagan Shepard 💙 The Misfit Mage & His Dashing Devil by M.N. Bennet 💜 Love and Other Risky Business by Sarah Brenton ❤️ Enough by Kimia Eslah 🧡 A Fire Born of Exile by Aliette de Bodard 💛 Twelve Bones by Rosie Talbot 💚 Wild Wishes and Windswept Kisses by Maya Prasad 💙 Dragged to the Wedding by Andrew Grey 💜 Fox Snare by Yoon Ha Lee ❤️ Murder and Manon by Mia P. Manansala