#valley echoes asides

[theambivalentagender]

Hi y’a’l’l’

So for various reasons, some likely obvious, the next comic in Valley Echoes is going to be delayed by…a bit.

While I’m reorienting my entire mental outlook on everything, I’ve still been drawing. I took the advice of someone on Bluesky to redraw old sketches, so enjoy these quick redraws I did of Shane in various modded SDV outfits.

Original sketches under the cut since right now I have no spoons in the tank to go find the original post.

[celuere]

lockjaw

pairing: sub!arlecchino x fem!reader

context: when your husband comes home drained of her energy and completely exhausted, you decide to return the favor and give her a nice… treat…

cw: needy arlecchino, faceriding, teasing, overstimulation, there is only one hing that can make the knave scream and it‘s her wife‘s mouth, will be using wife and husband on arle in this one because i see her not minding what of the two you‘ll use on her, she lowkey loosed it idk man

word count: 2.5k

art creds: lilly of the valley

on a rather rainy saturday you were sat comfortably underneath the warmth of your covers, dragging a red pencil over the children’s recent homework. with the clock chiming in for 11pm, the other side of your bed was still suspiciously empty. 

weird. usually she should be home by now… perhaps she is staying in her office at zapolyarny palace tonight due to the heavy downpour, which would be inconvenient. the two of you still had to plan the upcoming vacation for the hearth, a break with the children has been long overdue. you were thinking of visiting inazumas‘s watatsumi island, the cultural aspect and stunning scenery of the inazuman region always appealed you, but given your husband‘s status and the latest events between the last fatui harbinger and the shogun… maybe chenyu vale would also be a lovely destination.

your head jerked up as you were pulled out of your train of thoughts by the sound of a heavy door being shut, followed by some faint fontainian cursing echoing through the halls.

seems like your husband did make it home through the awful weather. you did not bother leaving the comfort of your bed as you already heard the soft thuds of her feet dragging her up the stairs while your gaze was still fixed on the mathematical equation before you.

eventually you‘ll have to give the kids another lesson about addition and multiplication. the old metal hinges of the door creaked softly in response to your husband pushing her way inside. 

„i‘ll get them oiled tomorrow.“, she‘d say almost every time, only to end up forgetting it in the midst of her harbinger work.

but not today.

today you were simply just greeted with a soft, almost inaudible „good evening, love.“. the lack of her usual deeper, serious tone caused you to lift your eyes up from the papers you were currently holding and… dear archons.

„what on earth happened with you?“

„don‘t mention it.“, with her hair dripping wet from getting caught in the weather, down to her… dirty and crinkled clothes… your husband looked like she‘s seen hell. you could swear she looked around five years younger when she left the house this morning. even her hair looked like a mess.

you watched your spouse slowly starting to shed out of her clothed, starting by unbuttoning her silken blazer, you could audibly hear her taking a very deep inhale through her nose, „i wanted to be home two hours ago, if it were not for the glorious ideas of our children.“, by now you could see they’ll steam slowly emitting from her wet strands, gotta put that curse to use somehow.

„what kind of idea required you to come home looking like… a dirty cat...?“, you put the homework aside to focus your attention fully on her as her hands fumbled with the buckle of her belt. what a sight.

„they thought it to be a clever… almost glorious idea to play hide and seek in the forest nearby the town. only to come back with not one but two of their siblings missing.“, your eyes widened as she explained the recent of you, but just as you wanted to speak up, arlecchino raised her hand and continued talking, „i naturally… reprimanded them and walked with them back to their… playground where i spent the last two hours looking for the rest of these buffoons. with my footwear. in muddy terrain. [name], they will spend the rest of the month helping around in the house. no missions. strict bedtime. the garden is long overdue for a change anyway. and we‘re not getting them the two dogs they have been begging for.“, she clicked her tongue in frustration as she failed to open up the belt before simply giving up and letting her head sag along with her shoulders.

it has been a while since you saw her so fed up. 

„honey… calm down now…“, sighing, you pushed back the blanket that was covering your lower half and rose up from the mattress. crimson eyes fixating your face as you came to a stop before her and slowly started to open up her belt.

„the children learned their lesson… sure, that idea was indeed not of high intelligence but they‘re kids at the end of the day. nobody got hurt and they‘re all safely tucked in the security of our house now… and that is all what matters.“, your hands slowly pulled the leather away from her pants and placing it neatly over the chair in front of your make up desk.

„i am very well aware of that, it‘s just… archons above, they scared the living daylights out of me…“, a sigh so deep and heavy left her throat that it had you staring up her for a good few moments, finally taking a closer look at her beautiful face which was laced with exhaustion.

„i can understand that more than well enough… but getting yourself worked up all over again will do you no good, darling. was the rest of your day at least better?“, you hooked your fingers underneath the hem of her pants to tug them down for her.

„don‘t. get me started. not now. not when i‘m with my wife…“, her black hand reached up to tug some of your lost strands back behind your ear.

and something clicked inside your head.

it has been a while since she was on the receiving end. actually… it has been months since then. and seeing how… exhausted she was right now as she got changed into her sleepwear…

before you could stop yourself, your hand grabbed after her wrist just as she wanted to put on her pants. your husband raised a questioning eyebrow at your move.

„something the matter?“

„get on the bed. please… i have just the right idea to relieve you.“, tugging her now gently towards the bed by her wrist… arlecchino did not protest. at all. maybe she was clueless. or maybe she was just too exhausted to care.

she wordlessly watched you crawl onto bed and lay down flat on your back before she sighed, „ma cherie… i would love to take care of my wife, but i really am not in the mood to buckle up one of our various toys today.“

she gave you one of her rare apologetic smiles as she wanted to proceed with putting her pyjama pants on.

„peruere.“

the usage of her real name caused her to look back at you in slight bewilderment. that name was reserved for serious, intimate situations after all. whenever you wanted her to either listen to you or when she had you gripping and moaning into the sheets until your voice grew hoarse and your knuckles white.

„sit. and i don‘t mean in front of or besides me.“, your face showed not a single sign of amusement nor sarcasm as you gestured with one of your manicured nails to your face. you could see her visibly gulp at the realization of what you were implying.

„i… ma chérie, tu ne peux pas t'attendre à ce que je…“

„my darling, you can‘t possibly expect me to…“

„i am. now sit. please… you‘d do the same for me, i‘m certain…“, that seemed to do the trick for her because just mere moments later her pants found themselves discarded on her side of the bed and she making her way up to your face, even if she was hesitant at first.

„don‘t be shy now… come here, gorgeous…“, you allowed yourself to grab onto her hips to speed up this torturously slow process, the mattress sinking down further beneath her weight. she lets a soft gasp out at your grip before you were met with a wonderfully sweet view on the small wet spot that formed on your wife‘s plain red panties.

„excited, are we, hm…?“, you could not keep that teasing grin off of lips even if your life depended on it. seeing the usually composed and dominant woman struggling to maintain eye contact with you was too adorable to not bathe in her embarrassment.

„quit that attitude or i‘ll-“, a sharp inhale followed as you interrupted her by pressing a soft kiss right onto the wet stain on her clothed pussy before you invited yourself to pull the fabric aside.

„i barely touched you and you‘re almost dripping over my mouth… who would think the knave is so easy to rile up…“, your mouth almost started to water at the sight of her slick folds, waiting to be licked clean by none other than you.

„a-are-“, she had to clear her throat, „are you done with torturing me- Oh-!“, a strong hand found its way almost immediately into your hair the moment you pressed her down on your mouth, your tongue gliding up her cunt, gathering her arousal before you almost eagerly swallowed. this woman tasted so unbelievably good and she had no idea. not a single clue of how every small gulp of her fluids snapped the restraints of your self control one by one. sharp nails scratched along your scalp as you finally paid her almost aching clit some attention by sucking her into your mouth, nibbling on the sensitive bundle of nerves and believe it or not. it did not take long until her hips started moving against your face. 

arlecchino peruere tried her utmost to keep her voice down, to not let you know how badly she enjoyed her wife eating the living the daylights out of her pussy, but she gave it all away by how she almost desperately humped your face. one hand keeping your head in place as the other had an almost deadly grip onto the wooden headboard. she did not know how badly she needed this, to just hand over the leash every once in a while. 

and as expected. it did not long for your husbands first high of the evening to hit her like an aquabus. thighs quivering around your head. her juices running down both sides of your face as she rode out her orgasm on your face, but even then she barely made any sounds besides the occasional gasp and „shit“ being muttered underneath her hot breath. 

much to your dismay.

that is why you kept her pressed down. kept her wet pussy right on your mouth as you pressed your tongue flat against her before you let movements of her own hips do the rest as her arousal ran down your throat. 

„fuck…yes…“, the humping slowly turned into a more rocking motion, dragging her whole cunt over your messed up face. you ignored how soaked your own panties were by now. or how you were clenching around nothing. all of that did not matter when the first soft moan slipped past her lips as her second orgasm came crashing down on her way sooner than expected. she was trembling by now. you could even feel the hand gripping your hair shivering slightly and she has the ridiculous idea to try and get off your face. we couldn‘t have that. right?

„you are not going anywhere…“, bringing her dripping pussy back down on your face by her thighs, you knew exactly what do with your tongue this time. 

„ah-!!! hold on-! th-that is not- hah-!!“, a moan from the depths of her throat so guttural bounced off the walls, it sent a fucking shiver down your spine. slipping your tongue inside her obviously seemed like the perfect choice. 

she was so incredibly sensitive, every little move of yours seemed to sent her jolting against you. and she was whining. whining and whimpering, begging for a short break, to just let her breathe for a second when you continued to tonguefuck her, your nose nuzzled against her swollen clit, your whole face was covered in sweat and other bodily fluids by now from her earlier faceriding. 

so celestia help this tortured soul when the wooden headboard seemed to slowly start cracking underneath her literal deathgrip. she could not handle her wife. she couldn‘t handle the overwhelming pleasure sending bolts of ecstasy through her body and she certainly couldn‘t handle the third orgasm you shoved down her throat. you coul barely see anything down there other than few black and neatly trimmed pubes, but you were drowning in her.

and did she really think it would stop here?

„b-break- l-love please… i-“, was the knave sobbing right now? sobbing over getting her literal soul sucked out of her pussy? you will never let her live this down. ever.

but in the back of your mind you already knew she will pay you back. tenfold. but that was a problem to worry about for another day. the only thing that mattered now was getting her through a fourth orgasm now. 

clearly, you weren‘t nearly as skilled as her when it came to mouthwork, but you memorized quite a lot from your past experiences with her. for example how to nicely curl up your tongue in an enjoyable manner for her and you didn‘t know if hated or loved it by the way her moan rung in your ears.

pathetic, was she not?

amidst the fog of her taste covering your mind, you could not help but moan into her warmth, pressing your legs together to somehow soothe the almost hurting emptiness between them. it has been a while since you were this down. you are sure that there must have formed a stain on the sheets underneath you already.

and you did not even notice when the juices from her fourth climax dripped into your mouth. you were so fixed, so obsessed with savoring every single drop of her arousal as the poor woman above you tried calming down from the raw energy clouding her mind, lungs burning along with every single one of her poor muscles. her thighs were practically numb by now.

but neither of you noticed the smell of burnt wood filling the room until you finally opened your eyes to look up at your poor husband.

only to see the headboard she was holding onto for dear life simmering and smoking underneath her hand, with a small flame slowly starting to form right underneath, her arm completely drowned in a bloody red.

„m-mh-!!!!“, now slapping her thighs and trying to catch her attention, you were the one getting nervous now.

„hm…? what is it now…?“, she groaned as she slowly lifted her head up- and groaned even more at sight of the destroyed headboard.

„archons above, not again.“, she ran a hand over her sweaty face before snapping her fingers and getting off of your face. the fire simply seized from existence.

with a soft tint of pink decorating her face she looked down at you, crimson eyes screaming anything but soft, „just to be… clear… this never happened.“

„you were a bit too loud for that to be true-“, another snap echoed from somewhere far away, rendering you silent. you just stuck out your tongue to her.

but it was worth it when you watched her try to get out of bed the next morning without looking an old grandma.

[theambivalentagender]

Messing around with my pen settings again, I went and drew a bunch of Stardew Valley characters/Valley Echoes cast in quick little caricature drawings. Guess who is who if you want, these were fun.

[lovesick-desires]

EVERY ROSE HAS ITS THORNS

YANDERE!MALLEUS DRACONIA X READER SHORT ONE-SHOT

ABSTRACT: After escaping the grasp of the Fae Prince, you had no idea what you were getting yourself into. CONTENT WARNINGS: dark themes, mild book 7 spoilers, dark yandere behavior, toxic behavior, manipulation, gaslighting, intimidation, use of reality-warping magic, magic-induced hallucinations, coercive control, derealization, mentions of kidnapping, psychological torture(?) TAGS: gender neutral reader, reader is a stand-in for MC/Yuu, no use of y/n, reader is called "Child of Man" like in the game, probably ooc Malleus, no descriptors for y/n (N)SFW?: SFW WORD COUNT: 1.0k+ MALLEUS' YANDERE ARCHETYPE: manipulative, possessive

Burning.

That's all you could feel in your every aching nerve.

"Child of man, where have you gone off to?" A deep, silky smooth voice echoed through the corridors of the Diasomnia dormitory hall. A voice that haunted every waking moment of your recent life. You could hear the footsteps of the enigmatic housewarden as they clicked closer to your hiding spot.

You could feel your heart racing, your breathing quickening, and sweat beading down your forehead. Your bare feet ached from the previous chase, surely covered in sores and blisters from your suede shoes you had haphazardly thrown on. You thought you had lost him, but you were wrong.

“I’m not one for these sorts of games, child of man,” the fae prince derided, the green heels of his leather boots clacked against the tile floor, each sound feeling like it was breaking your bones. “I’d much rather you just come to me. You trust me, don’t you?” Malleus’ voice incanted, his words dripping off his silver tongue.

You could hear the fae prince drawing near, making you feel smothered in an overwhelming sense of impending doom. As he came closer, you felt hazy. The world felt like it stopped moving even for a moment as it all felt unreal. You looked at your shaky, sweaty hands as it felt like they weren’t even yours. Like you were… in a dream.

You could hear the crackling of flames outside the cabinet you hid in, garnering your attention. Amidst the sound, the temperature in the cabinet began to get warmer and warmer.

“After everything we had done together, the times we shared, the friendship we built, that adorable nickname you gave me. Was all of that for naught?” The fae prince queried, his heels clicking ever closer to the cabinet. Time was running out as plumes of smoke seeped in, percolating through the edges of the wooden door. Your lungs filled with smoke as you tried to stay calm.

He wouldn’t burn this place down with you inside, right?

A soft glow snuck its way in through the growing cracks in the cabinet, containing viridescent flames and embers. You didn’t have much time. You had to move.

With much reluctance, you burst through the cabinet door to no sign of Malleus aside the green flames slowly consuming the Diasomnia hall. Walls were cracking, tapestries were burning, and debris was crumbling down from the ceiling. It all felt so surreal, yet, it was right in front of your very eyes.

However, it was time to move. Glancing around, you covered your mouth with your sleeve to keep yourself from inhaling smoke. No sight of the Briar Valley prince could be found. Your eyes stung from the acrid smoke as you made a run for it, bolting for the mirror hall

A way out, a way home.

What would Ace and Deuce think about your return? What about Grim? What about everyone? All the friends you made and all the memories sped through your mind. Your friends, the Spelldrive Tournament, the Song & Dance Championship, saving your friends from STYX, all the overblots and trauma, the chaos of it all… Oh, how much you missed it. Tears blurred your vision as you kept running, thinking of about how much you missed it all. The normal chaos of your life was much better than this, as much as a pain it could be.

Soon enough, you busted into the mirror hall, your body aching as you frantically looked around. Still no Malleus, but you weren’t going to complain about that. Your gaze shifted to the Ramshackle mirror, one you had been yearning to see. Your breath caught in your throat as you heard the prince’s heels approaching from behind. The sickening clicks and clacks echoed in your ears like a swarm of insects burrowing into your skull.

Without a second thought, you ran to the Ramshackle mirror, not giving up now. Your heart raced in your eardrums as you felt yourself get closer and closer to freedom…

CRASSHHHHH!

The mirror before mere seconds before was now shattered into pieces, it’s reflective glass lay dappled on the floor’s tiles like little stars of a broken dream. You felt your blood run cold as you stared open your destroyed escape, seeing yourself in the shattered reflections. Your gaze shifted to the mirrors of the other dorms: Heartstabyul, Savanaclaw, Octanivelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde. All were shattered as well, leaving only remnants of glass as a mere ghost of what they once were.

“My, my, did you really think I’d just let you go?” The prince jeered, a soft smile audible in his tone. Before you could react, you could feel a familiar pair of hands clamp onto your shoulders. “A thought so misinformed, child of man.” He continued, his presence looming from behind.

You couldn’t bring yourself to scream, cry, or even whimper in the face of your defeat. All that came from your quivering lips was ragged breaths and each one feeling like daggers in your lungs, stabbing in and out.

“Have you had your fun? Did you get it out of your system?” Malleus derided, one of his hands sliding from your shoulder into his pocket.

“I-“

“Good, good…” Malleus interjected, retrieving his magical pen from his pocket. With a flick of the prince’s wrist, the world shifted and warped as the mirror room faded into Malleus’ bedroom. The bright atmosphere of the mirror room was warped into the adumbrations that decorated the prince’s chambers. With his hand still planted on your shoulder, the prince firmly pushed you to sit on the bed, looking down at you with those dark, brooding eyes that glowed a slight green in the darkness of his room. His shadow cascaded upon your still stunned form, trying to process everything that just happened. With that, Malleus leaned closer to you, his hand traveling from your shoulder to your chin. A soft smile adorned his lovelorn lips as he stared hungrily down at you.

“Welcome home, child of man.”

SONG OF THE FIC: LET THE WORLD BURN - CHRIS GREY

TWST MASTERLIST

[theambivalentagender]

So this is the post I did this sketch for.

Farmer at 3am nudging Shane awake: Hey, would you still love me if I was a worm?

Shane disoriented from sleep: Wtf no

[rafecamerons-national-anthem]

𝐿𝒪𝒰𝒟𝐸𝑅-𝒟𝑅𝐸𝒲 𝒮𝒯𝒜𝑅𝒦𝐸𝒴

𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕤𝕞𝕦𝕥

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪 While laying in bed, the two of them can't help but overhear their upstairs neighbors going at it rather loudly. Drew Starkey turns to Y/N after a while, and asks, "You wanna fuck louder than them to establish dominance?".

✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮

The room was bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, casting a warm light over their intertwined bodies. The air was thick with the sweet scent of their shared laughter and the promise of a lazy Sunday afternoon. However, the peacefulness of the moment was suddenly pierced by the unmistakable sounds of passion emanating from the apartment above.

The couple had become accustomed to the occasional cacophony of their neighbors' love making, but this time it was more persistent and more…enthusiastic than usual. Y/N, blushing at the intrusion of sound, rolled over to face Drew, her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink. "Wow," she murmured, trying to suppress a giggle, "they're really going at it up there."

Drew's gaze darkened with a hint of mischief as he studied her expression. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, the way she squirmed slightly under the covers in response to the auditory assault. He knew she was as turned on by the sounds as she was embarrassed by them. With a smirk, he leaned closer, whispering in her ear, "You know what that means, don't you?"

Her eyes grew wide, and she playfully swatted his chest. "What? That we should get some earplugs?"

Drew chuckled, his voice a low rumble against her skin. "No, baby," he said, his tone dropping an octave, "it means it's time for us to show them how it's really done." He took her hand and placed it on the bulge growing in his pants, his eyes never leaving hers.

Y/N's pulse quickened at his words, and she felt a thrill of excitement mingle with the embarrassment. She knew Drew well enough to recognize the challenge in his eyes. He wasn't one to back down from a dare, especially one that involved outdoing someone else's performance. And she had to admit, the idea of being louder, more passionate, and more in sync than their neighbors was incredibly arousing.

With a smirk, she leaned in closer to him, her breath warm against his neck. "Alright," she whispered, "you're on."

Drew's eyes lit up, and he sat up with a sudden burst of energy, pulling her closer. He kissed her, deep and slow, tasting the sweetness of her lips, his hands roaming over her body, setting it alight with anticipation. The sounds above grew more intense, almost a rhythm to which their bodies began to sway.

Pushing the covers aside, Drew revealed her bare skin to the fading light of the day. He took his time exploring every inch of her, his fingertips tracing the curves and valleys of her body with a reverence that made her feel like a work of art. His mouth followed the path of his hands, leaving a trail of kisses and nips that made her squirm and gasp.

Y/N's hands weren't idle either. She tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head, and ran her nails over his muscular back. Her fingertips danced along the waistband of his pants, hinting at the need to remove the barrier separating their bodies.

Their neighbors' passionate cries grew louder, and the bedframe above them started to knock against the ceiling in a steady, rhythmic beat. Drew paused, his eyes dark with desire, and turned to Y/N with a smirk. "Ready to show them what we've got?"

Her eyes sparkled with the same challenge, and she nodded, her breath hitching in anticipation. Drew leaned in to kiss her once more before standing up, his pants pooling at his ankles. He reached for her, his hand sliding around her waist, and pulled her to the edge of the bed.

Their eyes locked, and with a silent nod, they both knew the game had begun. They were going to be the soundtrack to the evening, their cries of pleasure echoing through the walls, leaving their neighbors to wonder who the real stars of the show were.

Drew's hands roamed up her thighs, his thumbs brushing against the damp fabric of her panties. "You're so wet, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with need. "Are you thinking about how much louder we're going to be?" His words were hot against her skin, sending shivers down her spine.

"Fuck, yes," she breathed, her voice almost as loud. She could feel the ache deep inside her, begging for release. "I want you so badly."

He hooked his fingers under the elastic and pulled her panties aside, exposing her to the cool air. He dipped his head, his tongue tracing a path up her slit, making her arch her back and let out a moan that was music to his ears. "Tell me how much you want it," he demanded, his breath tickling her sensitive skin. "I want to hear you scream for me."

"More," she panted, her nails digging into his shoulders. "I want all of you."

He didn't need any further encouragement. Drew slid into her, filling her completely, and she cried out his name as he began to move. Each thrust was deliberate and deep, setting a tempo that matched the sounds of passion from above. He whispered dirty words in her ear, telling her how sexy she was, how tight she felt around him, how much he loved watching her come apart.

Their bodies moved in perfect harmony, their skin slick with sweat as they chased the crescendo of their shared desire. Y/N wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him deeper, her voice rising to meet the crescendo of their neighbors' cries.

The sounds grew more frantic, their bodies moving faster, the headboard of their own bed now colliding with the wall in a symphony of passion. Drew's hands found her breasts, his thumbs flicking over her sensitive nipples as he drove into her. "You're so close," he groaned, his eyes never leaving hers. "Let go, baby. I want to feel you come around me."

Her eyes rolled back, and she bit her lip to stifle a scream. The orgasm crashed over her, her body convulsing as he pounded into her. The neighbors' noises grew fainter as she lost herself in the sensation, the only sounds that mattered now were their own.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Drew leaned in to kiss her neck, his breathing ragged. "We're louder," he murmured, his voice filled with triumph.

Y/N's laugh was breathless. "You think?" she quipped, a grin playing on her lips. "I'm pretty sure they heard me in the next zip code."

He chuckled, his chest heaving with exertion. "Good," he said, his voice a low growl. "They know who the real winners are."

They lay there for a moment, their hearts pounding in unison, basking in the afterglow of their victory. The room was filled with the heavy silence of satisfaction, the only sound being their intermingled breaths.

Drew pulled out slowly, and Y/N felt a twinge of loss. He leaned over to kiss her softly, his eyes filled with love and amusement. "Ready for round two?" he asked, a playful smirk on his lips.

"Always," she replied, her voice still a bit shaky from her climax.

And with that, they were off again, their bodies tangling, their whispers growing louder, their passion igniting the night. The neighbors had unknowingly set the stage for an intimate battle of love and noise, but Drew and Y/N had turned it into a celebration of their own fiery connection, proving once again that nothing could ever come between them.

Drew's hands moved to her hips, holding her in place as he began to thrust again. "You feel so good," he groaned, his voice raw with need. "So tight, so wet." His words were a sweet symphony of dirty talk that played into her ears, turning her on even more. She responded with her own set of screams, telling him how much she loved feeling him inside her, how he filled her up in a way no one else ever could.

Their kisses grew more fervent, their tongues dancing together as their bodies moved in a rhythm that was all their own. He could feel her tightening around him, her legs trembling with the effort of staying still. "Come for me, baby," he urged, his voice a raspy growl. "I want to feel you come apart again."

Her eyes fluttered closed as she focused on the sensations building within her. "Drew," she whimpered, his name a prayer on her lips. "Yes, yes, yes." The words turned into a scream as she shattered around him, her body writhing with pleasure.

He followed her over the edge, his hips bucking against hers as he emptied himself into her. The room was alive with their cries, the sound of their bodies slapping together, the headboard banging against the wall in time with their frenzied lovemaking.

As they lay there, panting and sweaty, the sounds from above had faded into the background. The neighbors had finished their performance, but Drew and Y/N were just getting started. They were in it for the long haul, ready to outlast and outdo the competition in the most intimate of ways.

Drew rolled onto his back, pulling her with him so she was straddling him. He slid back inside her with a sigh of pure satisfaction, her wetness making it easy for him to move. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his hands cupping her breasts as she began to ride him. "I can't get enough of you."

Her eyes met his, dark with desire. "I'm all yours," she whispered, her hips rolling in a sensual dance that had him gripping the bed sheets. The headboard thumped rhythmically against the wall, each impact echoing through the room.

"Ride me, baby," he encouraged, his voice strained. "Harder. Fuck me like you own me, yeah?"

Her cheeks flushed, but she obeyed, her movements growing more erratic. She leaned down, her hair a curtain around them, her breasts bouncing with each bounce. She whispered dirty words into his ear, telling him just how much she wanted him, how good he felt, how she never wanted it to end.

Their bodies moved together like they were one, their hearts racing as they pushed each other closer and closer to the brink. Drew could feel his orgasm building again, and he knew she was right there with him. "Come for me," he urged, his hands moving to her ass to help guide her. "I want to feel you come all over me."

And come she did, her body tightening around him as she screamed out his name, her eyes wide with ecstasy. He let go, his own orgasm tearing through him like a wildfire, leaving him spent and utterly content.

For a moment, they just lay there, panting and smiling at each other. Then Drew leaned up to kiss her, a gentle press of lips that spoke volumes about his love for her. "You're amazing," he murmured against her mouth.

Y/N grinned, her eyes sparkling. "We should challenge them to a rematch next weekend," she teased, already eager for another round.

Drew chuckled, his arms tightening around her. "Oh, you're on, baby," he said, his voice still husky with passion. "But for now, let's just enjoy the quiet."

They lay there, their bodies tangled together, listening to the sound of their hearts slowing down. The sun had set, leaving the room bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. The sounds of the city outside had grown quieter, the world seeming to hold its breath as if it knew not to disturb the lovers in their post-coital bliss.

As their breathing evened out, Drew rolled them over so he was on top, his weight pressing her into the mattress. He kissed her again, a soft, lingering kiss that promised more to come. "I love you," he whispered, his voice filled with a tenderness that made her heart flutter.

"I love you too," she murmured back, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. They lay there for a while longer, their bodies entwined, the only sound in the room the quiet murmur of their love.

But the silence didn't last. Soon, the neighbors started up again, their passionate cries drifting down through the floorboards. Drew pulled back, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Ready to go again?"

Y/N laughed, her eyes sparkling. "Always."

And with that, the battle of the bedrooms resumed, their bodies moving in a dance of love and lust, each trying to outdo the other, their cries of pleasure a challenge to the couple above. The walls of their apartment trembled with the force of their passion, their love a declaration that could not be silenced.

Drew's hands moved to her ass, his fingers digging in as he drove into her, her nails leaving trails of fire down his back. They were lost in their own world, the sounds of the city and their neighbors fading into a distant hum as they focused on each other, on the feeling of skin against skin, of hearts beating as one.

The neighbors grew louder, their rhythm increasing, but Drew and Y/N were unfazed. They had each other, and that was all that mattered. They moved in a silent challenge, each thrust, each kiss, each gasp a declaration of war in the battle of the bedrooms.

Their love was a force to be reckoned with, a crescendo that built and built until it shattered through the walls, until their neighbors could no longer ignore the fiery passion that burned between them. And as they reached their peak, their voices melding into one loud, triumphant shout, they knew they had won.

The night was long and filled with love, their bodies speaking a language that needed no words, their hearts beating in a rhythm that only they understood. And when the sun began to rise, painting the sky with shades of pink and orange, they collapsed into an exhausted, sated heap, their breathing finally evening out.

They had claimed their dominance, not just over the sounds of their apartment, but over each other's hearts. And as the city began to stir, they fell into a deep, contented sleep, their bodies still entwined, the echoes of their love reverberating through the quiet apartment.

𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 @nicholaschavezslut69

[rroseselavyyy]

vespertine - myg

pairing: yoongi x female reader

warnings: smut

As soon as you locked eyes with his, he slammed you against the door before you could even greet him. He didn't need to talk about how stressful his day had been because he knew you could see right through him from the moment he walked into your apartment.

You whimpered like a wounded deer as he pressed his body against yours and kissed you with his mouth open as if he wanted to steal the air from your lungs. He lifted you off the floor by wrapping your legs around his waist.

You didn't say a word to each other as he carried you up to your room. You unbuttoned his shirt as he climbed the stairs. His breath caught in his throat as you drew your face closer to the nape of his neck, giving love bites to his sensitive flesh.

He tasted like the pomegranate seeds you willingly ate to exchange your freedom for his kingdom of darkness.

You fell onto the bed with him on top of you. You were both panting heavily when you finally locked your eyes with his. He was more than emboldened to make you shy under his heated gaze as your crimson-red cheeks made you look even more beautiful.

He could never be more in love with you. Your mere presence was enough to enthrall Yoongi.

"You're so beautiful, angel." After removing his clothes, he took his place between your legs, trapping his frame between them on either side of him. He took a moment to brush your hair away from your face with his slender fingers. His free hand landed on your knee to spread your legs further apart. You closed your legs around his hand, inviting him to follow it to your most private parts. "You're beautiful too, daddy."

You whimpered as he pulled your panties aside and stretched your pussy with his middle and index fingers, your slickness making it easy for him to slide inside your walls. "Fuck- baby, you're dripping. Is it all for me?"

"Yes, daddy." You breathed through your nose as his thumb stroked your clit in a way that made your vision blur when the pleasure was too consuming for you to think straight. “It’s all for you.”

Though he had only asked the question to tease you, your sweet declaration sent shivers down his spine. You were like a delicate flower in his garden, he wanted to corrupt you until he had you all to himself.

“Do you think you're ready for my cock, angel?”

Your manicured fingers scratched his neck as you nodded feverishly. He slipped his fingers out of you and a whimper escaped your lips as if you missed the feel of his fingers filling you. 

He teased you with the tip of his cock as you let out a sob as if you couldn't wait any longer. You felt like you were about to lose your mind as he sank into you inch by inch.

His lips felt soft against your skin as his kisses traced a path down your throat to your breasts. He sucked on your nipples through your sheer floral bra as if tasting the sweetest honey. He whispered sweet nothings in your ear about how good you were to him as he made you see stars under his weight.

He picked up a pace that made loud thumps as he fucked you into the mattress, causing the bed to hit the wall. His raven hair fell into his eyes and sweat dripped from his forehead. He left kisses on your cheek as loud moans came from your mouth.

His thrusts became more brutal and his animalistic grunts echoed in your ears. You felt tears streaming down your face as you murmured to his lips how much you loved him. He finished inside your heavenly walls as your pussy gripped his cock tightly. His warm cum filled you to the brim, triggering your orgasm right after him.

He didn't pull out, but instead he lay down on top of you and rested his head on the valley of your breasts. His hands were on either side of you, caressing your skin in a soothing way.

"Yoongi, you can tell me what happened." He sighed as you played with his damp hair. "Your dad's giving me a hard time at work."

"Do you want me to talk to him?" You pulled his hair slightly so he could look at your face. He looked intently into your eyes before kissing your worries away. There was a look of amusement on his face as he pulled away from the kiss that you had shared with him.

"Don't worry about me, angel. I think it would be enough to give him a heart attack if I told him that I take my frustrations out on her daughter's pussy every time he makes me mad."

--

[theambivalentagender]

I split the difference with Gridball in Valley Echoes and turned it into some kind of Ultimate Sports Nightmare where a game of "soccer" and a game of "American football" meet in the middle of the field and whatever happens happens.

I love how gridball is played like an American football vs everywhere else football thing in Stardew but also it's so confusing???

Like Shanes jersey is based on the Seattle Sounders jersey and he has a collectors soccer ball in his room, so I think when he's referring to liking gridball he's talking ab something closer to soccer. Alex likes a more American style version, given he has a football and helmet in his room, and he throws a football around outside. Photos for reference:

But when it comes to gridball related events they're seen together a lot?? Like Alex shows up to the Tunnelers game and Shane uses the game room Alex gets set up in the Saloon which is VERY obviously American football themed. Is gridball some kind of weird ass combo of the two different types of football???? Are there two teams named the Tunnelers that do different sports?? Do we have a canon explanation for this?

[kezdispenser]

FIERCE ALLEGIANCE

Chapter 9: The Weakness In Me

Summary: With the tournament approaching, Y/N is caught between shifting alliances and unanswered questions. A tense encounter forces her to confront the truth—about others and herself.

Johnny and Carmen’s wedding was a small yet beautiful ceremony held at the hospital before the baby arrived. Surrounded by close friends and family, they exchanged vows, sealing their commitment just in time for their new arrival. Miguel stood proudly by his mother’s side, while Johnny looked both nervous and overjoyed. The room was filled with laughter, heartfelt speeches, and the warmth of a family coming together.

Not long after the wedding, Carmen went into labor, and baby Laura was born, bringing even more joy to the newlyweds. The hospital room was a whirlwind of emotions—Miguel beaming as he met his baby sister, Johnny holding her with awe, and everyone celebrating this new chapter in their lives.

Meanwhile, the Sekai Taikai preparations were in full swing. Y/N, Miguel, Robby, and the others trained harder than ever, determined to be in peak form. During a break, they posted pictures from the hospital wedding, capturing the happiness of the day.

Zara, always keeping tabs on everything, later showed Sensei Wolf the post. His eyes scanned through the images until they landed on the background—where Y/N and Robby stood together, laughing and looking closer than Wolf would have liked. Something in his expression darkened, though he said nothing.

The stakes were higher than ever, both inside and outside the dojo.

The Sekai Taikai had returned to the Valley, held in the same historic arena where the All Valley Championship once took place. The energy was electric, competitors from across the world gathering for a shot at glory. Y/N hadn’t seen Wolf all day, and as far as she knew, he hadn’t seen her either.

But that changed right before Robby’s match.

As she stood with him in a secluded corridor, preparing him for his fight against Axel, she noticed something—or rather, someone. Across the floor, standing with the Iron Dragons, Wolf’s sharp eyes were fixed on her. His gaze was unreadable, intense, and unwavering. She knew exactly what she had to do.

“It’s game time,” she murmured to Robby, a smirk playing at her lips before she leaned in and kissed him.

Nobody else saw it.

But Wolf did.

His entire demeanor shifted. His jaw clenched, fingers curled into fists at his sides. A storm brewed in his eyes, but before anyone could take notice, he masked it with his usual cold expression. Still, Y/N had seen that flicker of something dangerous before it vanished.

The fight began, and shockingly, Robby managed to score against Axel—something no one had done before. The audience buzzed with excitement. Miguel, Sam, and Hawk watched from the sidelines, impressed by Robby’s performance. But Wolf wasn’t.

Between rounds, he pulled Axel aside, voice low but firm. Whatever he said made Axel hesitate, his fists tightening. But orders were orders.

When the match resumed, Axel’s stance was different—more aggressive, more calculated. And then it happened. In a swift, brutal motion, Axel grabbed Robby’s leg mid-kick. The momentum sent them both crashing down, but when Robby landed, a sickening crack echoed through the arena.

Silence. Then a scream.

Y/N, Miguel, Sam, and Hawk shot to their feet. Robby clutched his leg, face twisted in agony. The referee signaled for medics, but Miguel was already charging toward Axel, rage written all over him. Hawk barely managed to hold him back. Even Sam, who had tried to stay neutral, looked at Axel with a mix of shock and fury.

Axel turned to her, regret flashing in his eyes, but he couldn’t say anything—not with Wolf watching.

Y/N had seen enough.

She stormed up to Wolf, fury radiating off her. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” she hissed, stepping right into his space. Her heart was racing, but she refused to back down.

Wolf tilted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Shouldn’t you be with your boyfriend?” His voice was mockingly sweet, but the fire in his eyes betrayed him.

She exhaled sharply. He wanted her to deny it, to fight back, to explain. But she didn’t. Instead, she let her lips curl into a smirk of her own.

“You’re right,” she said simply.

Then she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Wolf standing there, fists clenched and eyes dark as ever.

Y/N wasn’t supposed to be here. Not again. Not after everything.

But here she was, pressed into the shadowed corner of the Iron Dragons dojo, fingers gripping the strap of her bag so tight her knuckles were bloodless. She had come to talk to Wolf—to get answers, to figure out what the hell was happening between them—only to witness something that made her stomach twist.

A sickening crack echoed in the room, followed by a sharp, agonized scream.

She inhaled sharply, eyes darting to the center of the mats, where a student lay writhing on the floor, clutching their broken arm. Wolf stood over them, unfazed. No remorse. No hesitation. Just cold, brutal efficiency.

“There is only winning or not.” His voice was calm, almost bored, as he turned his attention to Axel. “This isn’t a sport. It’s a fight.”

Axel didn’t even flinch. He just stood there, shoulders squared, jaw tight.

“Your opponents refuse to accept defeat,” Wolf continued. “So you will not give them a choice. You will not hold back. Not out of empathy.”

Then another voice, smooth and serpentine. Silver.

“Or out of concern for Samantha LaRusso’s opinion of you,” he mused. “You think I don’t see the way you look at her?”

Wolf took a step back, his gaze steady on Axel, before finally speaking again.

“The Miyagi-Do captain who disgraced her dojo by refusing to fight?” His tone was edged with mockery, and Y/N felt something burn hot behind her ribs.

But she kept still. Kept quiet. Then Wolf lifted Axel’s face by his chin, tilting it up so their eyes met. His voice dropped to something almost…dark. Deceptive.

“Does this girl mean more to you than victory?” A slow shake of the head. “Because if the answer is yes, you’ve already lost.” Y/N barely swallowed a sharp breath, those words cutting deeper than she expected.

Wolf’s gaze swept across the room as he addressed everyone. “We do not seek approval from the weak.” Then he turned back to Axel, a ghost of a smirk curving his lips. “They should fear you. And if they don’t?” He tilted his head. “Make them.” Y/N was gone before he could say anything else.

The next day, just before Tory’s match against Zara, Y/N found him.

The air inside the All Valley Championship arena was thick with the smell of sweat, old mats, and anticipation. Even in the quieter parts of the venue, you could hear the distant echoes of shouting coaches and the sharp thwack of strikes landing on pads.

But here, in one of the empty training rooms—dimly lit, door half-closed—it was just them.

Y/N had barely stepped inside before Wolf turned, already knowing she was there. He stood near the far wall, hands in his pockets, posture deceptively relaxed. But his eyes—dark and unreadable—told a different story.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Neither should you,” she shot back, shutting the door behind her.

His gaze stayed locked on hers, silent for a beat too long.

“I came to talk to you yesterday.” Her voice was steadier than she felt. “I overheard you.”

Something flickered in his expression. Barely there, but she caught it.

“You spied on me?” His tone was flat. Almost amused. Almost.

“Didn’t mean to,” she admitted. “But yeah. I did. And I heard every word.”

The room felt smaller suddenly, the walls pressing in. She knew he wasn’t happy. But she wasn’t expecting the tension that rolled off him, thick and suffocating.

Wolf took a slow step forward.

“Careful, mi ruina.”

Her breath caught.

For a second—just a second—she thought he might actually do something. His hands twitched at his sides, like he was restraining himself. The air crackled with something dangerous. But then, just as fast, it passed.

His shoulders eased. The tension in his jaw slackened.

And then, to her utter shock, he cupped her face.

“Why were you with Robby?”

The words were quiet, but sharp. Accusatory.

She hesitated.

Then finally, “I called you.” Her voice came out softer now. “A girl picked up your phone. I—” She exhaled shakily. “I thought it was—”

Wolf dragged a hand down his face, exhaling slow.

“I was training. One of my students must have picked up.”

Y/N searched his expression. She wanted to believe him. But something about the way he said it felt too…controlled. Too easy.

Still, she didn’t move when he let out a breath and pressed his forehead to hers, just for a moment.

“I should hate you,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“Then why don’t I?”

A slow smirk. That damn smirk.

“Because you love a villain, mi ruina.”

A beat. Then, softer—

“And I love the way you ruin me.”

Her breath hitched.

Love.

It wasn’t a confession. Not really. But it was close. Close enough to send her heart into a tailspin. Close enough to make her chest feel tight.

She must’ve reacted, because Wolf’s grip on her face tightened just slightly, his thumb brushing over her cheek. His expression didn’t shift much—still unreadable, still controlled—but there was something in his eyes. Something that made her stomach twist.

“You’re staring.” His voice was quieter now.

“So are you.”

He let out a breath, almost a scoff, like he couldn’t believe she was trying to turn this on him.

Then, without warning, he let go. The warmth of his touch disappeared as he took a slow step back, dragging a hand down his face like she was exhausting him.

“You shouldn’t have come here.” His voice was sharp again, back to its usual cold edge. “You shouldn’t have followed me yesterday either.”

She clenched her jaw. “You think I wanted to hear all that? To hear you talk about me like I meant nothing?” Wolf exhaled through his nose. “You shouldn’t mean anything,” he muttered, almost more to himself than to her.

That stung. But not as much as the way he said it—like he was trying to convince himself. Y/N took a step forward this time. He didn’t move away. “Too late,” she murmured.

He looked at her then, fully, his gaze flickering between her eyes and her lips. Something in his jaw ticked, but he didn’t close the distance. Y/N huffed out a breath. “You’re impossible.” Wolf let out a low chuckle, humorless. “And yet, you’re still here.”

She was. And she hated it. But she also hated how, when she turned to leave, he caught her wrist, stopping her just before she reached the door.

A slow pause. Then, quietly—so quietly she almost didn’t catch it— “With you? Losing doesn’t feel so bad.” She inhaled sharply. Didn’t turn around. Didn’t pull away either. And Wolf… Wolf just let go.

His jaw flexed. Then, without warning, he let go. The warmth of his touch disappeared as he took a slow step back, dragging a hand down his face like he was trying to shake something off.

He didn’t know why he said it.

Everything he had told Axel—every ruthless lesson, every belief about victory being the only thing that mattered—he had just gone against. For her.

And he didn’t know why.

She was changing him. He didn’t like it.

But he did like her.

Wolf ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply, then let out a humorless chuckle.

“You’re a problem, mi ruina.”

Y/N didn’t move. Didn’t look away.

And for some reason, neither did he.

She should’ve left. He should’ve let her.

But instead, he reached for her again, his fingers grazing her jaw before sliding into her hair, tilting her head up just slightly. Testing. Daring her to stop him.

She didn’t.

Wolf didn’t hesitate this time. His mouth crashed onto hers, rough and demanding, like he was trying to erase everything—every contradiction, every hesitation, every thought about how she was ruining him.

But she wasn’t backing down.

She kissed him back just as hard, her fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer like she wanted to start a fight he had no interest in winning.

His grip tightened, one hand pressing against the small of her back, the other still tangled in her hair. He wasn’t gentle, wasn’t sweet. He kissed her like he had something to prove—like he was losing, and he hated losing.

But the second she sighed against his lips, just barely, just enough to break through that wall he kept up—

He knew he was done for.

Wolf pulled back first, breathing heavy, forehead still pressed against hers. His hand didn’t leave her waist.

Then, slower this time, like he wasn’t fighting it anymore—

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t possessive.

It was soft. Almost careful.

And when he pulled away, just barely, his lips still hovering close, his voice was quieter than before.

“Leave,” he muttered, but there was no real weight behind it.

Because she wasn’t going anywhere.

And they both knew it.

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

A/N: Probably my fav chapter so far.

Tags- @emmagrace1328 @julielightwood @valianttyrantexpert @0ffurself

[spurbleu]

mouth, reprieves ♛︎

[ken sato x afab reader]

S. Ken Sato is a bitter loser. And you are patient- if not a little giving.

warnings: mdni, blowjob

word count: 2k

࿓༚︎︎‧⁎︎✳︎⁎︎‧︎༚︎࿓︎

A pity bloated between your lungs.

The loss wasn’t significant, only by a point. But you supposed that’s what made it sting - the stain of ‘so close’ and ‘almost’ near wicked in the grooves of the bat hold, or the home plate- plastic patched in rifts of dust and dirt (hard to swallow, all of it). Its grief was visible- slumped shoulders and buckling knees stuck to the grime on their uniforms, the announcer’s voice coming in- static and lame.

“And that is a wrap for the Giants 3rd game of the season. First loss this year- what does it mean for the future?”

It rattled the stadium- the echoing disappointment. It folded in the gaps of the chairs, salting the air in a bitter, frustrated sigh. You were unsure if you wanted to join the chorus or curse it.

The memories seeped through- distinct. The pull of his lips when they met yours. The twitch of his knuckles when he held his liquor. His light heels after his last physical therapy session (when magnified- wings. Stamped on the bone of his ankle- fluttering- impatient). The thrum of his snore, thick with anticipation- and expectations (never met).

Kenji’s first game of the season- a loss.

You didn’t take the frigidity personally. You knew the clouds in his iris, the roll of thunder from the back of his throat and off his tongue, was just an indication he cared. The breakage of his indifference, esteem cracking through its steel walls. He had learned to remove blame from his teammates- but as a result the weight on the breadth of his own shoulders grew immense.

It simmered- his insecurities. Boiling beneath the thin patches of skin where he slid on his knees- tender and spiteful. Drives home were borderline silent, aside from the heavy breath against his philtrum and the shifting of his shirt as you rubbed the tense muscles connecting his shoulders. Sometimes, it felt like talking to a wall- resistant to reassurance- as if the letters in ‘you did just fine’ and ‘I’m proud of you’  were venomous (fearful of the gentleness in cyanide).

But it was how he was. Equally as accepting of praise as he was averse to it. A paradox at home base.

You stood on the balls of your feet, swallowing dry air in timid gulps, watching the entrance to the locker room doors. Other wives and girlfriends- some children- and family members stood there in tense guilt- hands itching to embrace the men in a hug that promise ‘next time’.

Eventually, the belly of the stadium spit the players out, slick in its drooly chagrin.

There was a drop to the regular sharpness of his cheeks, ending at the base of his lips- dry and cracked. His hair stuck to his forehead- wet with outlines from the notches of his helmet- which was tucked under his arm (it looked more like a burden than a prize- its frequent glimmer dimmed by dust). The valley under his eyes a depressing shade of plum- his eyes dimmer yet festering.

But it was his brows that exposed the loss of immunity. Pleats in the center of his face, furrowing so low, that if you weren’t close enough, they would have looked joint with the shadow they caused.

When he found you amongst the hushed comfort, the rigidity in his shoulders collapsed into a softer word, striding towards you like a kid who broke a window (baseball myth, but maybe you’ll let him live in it for now).

“H-“

He curled into in gap of your shoulder and your neck, arms lazily embracing the small of your back and pulling you into his chest. You felt the hairs of his brows sink deeper into your shoulder, his breath fanning on your collar bone.

Your hand came to fill its gaps with the tangle of his hair, palming his temples. This embrace was familiar- not because he lost often, but because you found it somewhere in every day. The mornings during breakfast, pillow talk under plains of insomnia, the after-sex glow. Touch tugged a heart string in you both, and although there was no proof, you swear you could feel his heart slow when it kissed yours.

(He made you a romantic, and even after years the shoe still feels too big)

You pull away, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. He didn’t kiss you back, but you didn’t mind. It was more of a reminder anyway- a way for you to say I’m here.

“Let’s go home.”

▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎

Looking from a doorway in the movies always appears more tranquil than it actually is.

There is nothing peaceful about watching your partner blister under their own defeat. The bounce of his knee, a desperate attempt to relax the tension that mends his muscles to the bone. You, left in your own uncertainty, bit the bumpy flesh behind your bottom lip, legs flinching with the impulse to do.  

Comfort, rally, motivate. Your mind searched for a better plan of action in the rise and fall of his shoulders, as he scrutinized the recordings of the game in dim light under a magnifying glass (ants in summer heat).

The body talks. Yours was saying thousands of things at once- none resonating. Dry hands, calloused by hourglass sand and the gruff reality of your own exhaustion, would do nothing but stir him from his own brood then bring him deeper into it. Your mouth would say filtered words with little connotation, leaving you both in a spell that felt purposefully blundering.

Then a spark, somewhere lower than your hips. A blushing growth- spoke in deep tones of arousal and charity.

Alone, your hands and mouth proved useless.

But together…

You pushed yourself off the wide wall, shuffling over in your pajama set loud enough that he could hear you coming. He didn’t move, eyes still trained in silent remorse as he watched his tapes. Your heart dragged on the surface of your ribs- pity.

You came to stand in front of the television, reaching behind you and grabbing the remote before forcing his chin up with your other hand. His jaw rested on your curled fingers, vulnerable. His eyes looked burned at both ends, the wick of his iris without fire, or rebuttal.

You took a seat on his lap, wrapping your arms on his slumped shoulders. A beat, before he caved into you, pulling you into the crook of his hips. You molded into him, taking a moment to turn the television off, dowsing you both in a dark, somnolent ease.

You familiarized yourself with every version of this pose. In his lap, drowse eating at both of your guts, limbs pulling each other closer still. It wasn’t a planned routine- just comfortable. You’d heard the line ‘we were made for each other’ about a dozen times in different movies and books- and although you found it cliché- there was a truth to it.

Good love can be cliché. Done over and over because it feels right. Kenji- his arms and his heart- feel right to you and they always have.

(Again, he makes you a romantic).

“You were amazing today, baby.” You said into his ear. He huffed- but you took his grip on your thighs as encouragement.

You kissed his cheek, then his jaw, and with each purse of your lips you tried to make a point. “You are the best baseball player in the league,” you continued down to his neck, hands coming to rest on his collar bone, “one game doesn’t change that…”

You felt his throat rumble, and it took you a few kisses to realize he had spoken.

“Keep…going.”

Fuck.

It was embarrassing to be aroused when you’re supposed to be comforting someone, but God. The timbres of his voice, their effortless depth and coon, pleading you of all people to do more was enough to make you start riding his thigh.

You reminded yourself that tonight was about his pleasure, and your own would have to be on the back burner.

You slipped your hands under his shirt, cool flesh meeting his hot abdominal, twitching under your nails. You traced the shadows of his muscle, enjoying the mumble that shook his adams apple as you kissed under his jaw.

“You’re talented and everyone knows it,” down the dip between his collarbones, “you’ve carried the team and brought them together…” your hands made your way to his chest, where you could feel his heart beating under the grooves of your palm. Good. You tapped his shoulder from underneath his shirt, and he understood, immediately shedding the shirt and throwing it carelessly into the dark.

You continued down his stomach, sending occasionally glances up. His face was veiled in something rounder now- the earlier layers of woe and its harsh lines drawn by the furrow of his brow replaced by something a little more sanguine. It peaked from behind the whites of his eyes and glowed under the plush of his cheeks in a blooming pink.

You dragged your lips further down, navigating the narrow of his waist, “You’ve got a handsome face to match your wit,” you kissed the band of his sweats, before you curled the digits of your fingers over, peeling it back to reveal the near painful tent spring from the cotton of his boxers, “and…fuck your big…”

You swallowed, massaging the cusp of his cock, feeling as he curved his hips into your palm, a soft moan breaching the clench of his teeth. You looked up at him- beautiful in the light of his own rousing. His throat bobbled; words caught in his tonsils.

You didn’t need him to speak- you knew what they were.

You brought back to his boxers, cock slapping the underside of his stomach. He sucked a breath through his teeth above you- desperation in the discoloration of his bottom lip- bruised. The shroom cap was weeping your name in a pearl of pre-cum, which you massaged with your thumb. You slowly pumped his length in your hands, hand moving in slow, tight swells at the base of it.

You knew it well- you had felt it a dozen times over. The vein that crawled from its root on the right side- thick- spelling your name in morse. The deepened pink as it ran up to his tip, the glans warm in hot colors of desire. The velvet that patched its stiff underside was particularly memorized- molded in the walls of your cunt.

But there would always be that stutter in your breath- your body talking in haphazard beats- a need he fills to the brim. It wasn’t shock, it wasn’t admiration, but you settle for somewhere in between.

“You’re so strong- from your injury, to protecting the city,” if felt somewhat strange- authentic compliments paired with the pumping of his cock, the tip of his jaw and buck of his hips begged your fruition in low moans, “there is no other man like Kenji Sato…”

A gruff groan from the pit of his lungs made your own sex thrum with a familiar density, and you let a soft moan escape your own lips as you slipped them down his cock.

Hypoxia bloomed in the back of your throat- bright purple capturing oxygen. You let your maw clench and reel at the pressure- familiar but desperate for accommodation. Your breath came out in a single syllable against the base of him, nostrils flaring.

He moaned above you, the tremble of his ecstasy rolling down his shoulders and to the bridge of his cock, rattling your tonsils with an unflattering gag. His hands came to hold your hair, grip massaging the back of your scalp with a needy grip.

“Hah…shit…you’re too good to me…”

You bobbed your head in protest, tongue flattening to cup his front. Your fingers worked what your mouth couldn’t, fondling the sensitive bonds of his groin- slick in saliva. He let out a gruff growl, holding your head with a fatal grip- pushing you down to swallow more of him.

You held his thighs for balance you kneeled between them- tears pricking your eyes. You swear you feel him at the ends of your tongue as he rolled his hips into your mouth- hollowed cheeks to take the grit of him- avoiding grazing teeth.

You glanced up at him- met with the bend of his jaw- mouth open as he moaned your name like a mantra. It was so melodic- and for something so lewd it was sweet. Honied in the places that we were taught filthy- buried beneath the stickiness of arousal and sex was something warmer.

You sped up your pace- promising a song from him as you pushed your tongue to the roof of your mouth, tightening the plunge of your throat.

“Ohshit- fucking hell you feel so good baby…so good to me,” His ruts were becoming sloppy, breaking under the weight of his own overstimulation, “I’m gonna cum down that perfect mouth of yours…”

You loved him like this. Goo in your hands, the sharper edges of his jaw and his tongue softened when laid next to you. Saying your name like he’d forget it- hoping it brands into his flesh, maybe his bones. It brought your own weeping hole thrilling pleasure- the puff of your heart rapid.

Lost in rapture- the smaller moments and the forgotten words- somewhere in the craters of your bodies. You’d accepted it- becoming idyllic- eased into a life where love could mean so many things at once and all be right.

As in- the kiss goodnight is just as important as the blowjob after a loss.

You were made ugly- snot drippling down your lips in blunt weeps, tears wetting your lashes in asphyxiation. You were positive the round of your cheeks was rosed- glossed by the precum and spit that wetted your lips as you slipped up and down, tandem rhythm with his hips.

You could feel strands of your hair being ripped from the sensitivity of your scalp- his hands gripping hard enough it felt as though he’s trying to hold your skull. His moans were restless now, a wet and sickening chorus to the hymn of your nose hitting his stomach.

“Shit-shitshitshit oh fuck I’m cu-cummm uhmm…”

It painted the cave of your throat, the cap of your tongue, the roof of your mouth- ruthless. Filled your throat in hues of stress, lost to the compassion of your molars and the crest of your mouth. You could feel the excess ropes peel back the corners of your lips as it bubbled to meet his pelvis, which was still fucking your mouth in a noisy, orgasmic frenzy.

It slid from your fissure with a quiet pop, and you took his wrists, pulling them limply from your head as you stood, sitting back on his lap, softening cock resting behind your ass. You kissed his throat, feeling the shuddering breaths that fogged the air around you, catching his expression- knotted brows and tight nose- compressed in a vague expression of lust- and thanks.

You ran your fingers through his hair- kissing up to his ear, “I meant everything I said, earlier, y'know.”

You felt him nod shakily. “I know…sometimes I just like to hear you say it.”

You snorted- there he was. “Cocky bastard.”

He chucked, pulling you into his chest, smile soft against the indent of your shoulder. “Well, you had it down your throat.”

You pulled back, giving him his first real kiss of the night. Admittedly, it was to shut him up, but when he pulled you closer still, lips molding to yours in the way they always do, you both knew it was because you wanted to.

You pulled away, eyes opening to his face- lips pursed and eyes closed (adorably stupid, stupidly adorable- somewhere between the two) you laughed, pressing a kiss between his brows.

“Okay Mr. Romance let’s get you to bed.”

You began to slide off his waist before he pulled you back down, eyes open and revealing something much more earnest. The harsher edges of his face seemed to smooth over (rock eroded, calmed), and he leaned his head to your chin.

“Thank you.”

You sighed into his hair- deep down you wanted to say he didn’t need to thank you. But he had enough about him tonight.

“You’re welcome- my throat is going to be sore because of you.”

His head came up to meet yours, and you knew he was back when you saw his classic smirk pull at the corners of his lips. “Should I loosen it up again?”

You rolled your eyes, sliding off his waist before grabbing his hand and pulling him up. You wrapped your arms up to base of his shoulder blades and he returned the embrace, body molding to the shape of your front.

The sensitive part of you wanted to stay like this forever- pushing into him- held- safe. If you closed your eyes, you could, and somewhere in your forever you heard,

“I love you.”

[coolbattlegirl]

Even the Bravest of Knights Must Rest

“I’m begging you, Malleus-sama! Please, please return back to your usual self!”

.

.

.

“Please forgive me, Malleus-sama.”

.

.

.

Malleus’s eyes fluttering open, casting an eerie glow in the dimly lit room. The echo of Silver’s pleading voice from the dream clung to the corner of his mind like a vice, unwelcomed and persistent. His eyes swept over the grand hall of the dormitory, eventually catching sight of that familiar glint of silver hair among the sea of slumbering students. 

Slowly, he rose from his throne, his movements slow and silent, aside from the faint click of his heel against the stone floor. The sound, barely audible, seemed to echo loudly against the stillness he had woven over the school. 

As Malleus approached, his gaze remained fixed on Silver, scanning the boy’s body for a flicker of movement, any sign that he had awakened. But Silver remained still, the only movement being that of his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Malleus’s green eyes lingered momentarily on Silver’s face, half-expecting to see the defiant glare and resolute frown from their encounter in the dream. But of course, there was no trace of it now.

He had not expected such defiance–least of all from Silver, whose loyalty had always been as steadfast as the sunrise. For him to stand against him, his prince, in that fragile space bordering reality and dream… That had been quite the surprise. 

And yet, as he now stood over Silver’s slumbering form, he realized that he couldn’t truly be surprised by the events that unfolded. Because that was how Silver was. Stubbornly loyal and righteous, even if it meant going against someone he cared for. 

“Yes… that is exactly how he is…” Malleus couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle. To think he had been angry at Silver earlier in the dream.

Kneeling down beside Silver's still form, Malleus reached out a clawed hand, smoothing down a stray strand of silver hair, an old habit he used to do when Silver had been much younger. And for a fleeting moment, Malleus was taken back to Lilia’s small cottage that was tucked away in the forest of Briar Valley, the scent of the wildflowers, the small hand that clung to his hand, and aurora eyes that looked up at him with innocent trust. 

A faint smile crept up on his face at the memory. It had almost been like yesterday when Silver had been but a small toddler running around and climbing into his arms. As Malleus moved his hand away, his gaze shifted and he caught the faint glow coming from beneath the folds of Silver’s dorm blazer. Malleus’s eyes narrowed slightly, the corners of his mouth now dipping into a subtle frown as he regarded the glow. 

“Ah, yes… How could I forget,” he reached down and eased the fabric aside to reveal the source: a delicate gold necklace with a crowned-shaped pendant. Its light pulsed gently as he scrutinized it. It was faint, practically invisible, but he could sense its resistance against his magic. 

“Now where could he have come across such an intriguing artifact?” Malleus murmured as he lifted the pendant to take a closer look at it. He would have disregarded the necklace as nothing more than a regular piece of jewelry had it not been for the fact that it had played a hand in allowing the trio and the perfect’s familiar to slip away. 

After a small staring contest with the inanimate object, magic began to pool in Malleus’s palm as he directed his focus on the small charm. He supposed that it mattered very little where the necklace came from. Regardless of its origin, it was an annoying thorn in his side. And while he did feel a bit reluctant to destroy something belonging to Silver, it would be best to get rid of it. 

Only… it resisted. 

The dim glow that surrounded the crown pendant intensified almost instantly, pushing against his magic. Malleus blinked, faltering in his attempt before he furrowed his brow and tried again, pouring more of his magic into this attempt. But the pendant held firm, its glow unyielding to his magic.

“...How stubborn,” Malleus muttered under his breath, frustration underlining his voice. It seemed that this nuisance wouldn't be disappearing anytime soon. 

Finally relenting, Malleus dropped the necklace, letting it fall back onto Silver’s chest. His eyes narrowed as his gaze lingered on the object, silently debated his next course of action. If he couldn’t destroy the necklace, then perhaps he could weaken it–isolate it from the other students. With his decision made, Malleus slipped his arms beneath Silver and lifted him effortlessly. 

And as silent as a ghost, Malleus carried him towards the far end of the dormitory, passing numerous hallways until he found himself ascending the spiraling staircase that led to the dormitory’s secluded tower. The tower had been a homage to the Witch of Thorns, a replica of the fabled tower described in her legend, but it had fallen into disuse. The journey upwards was unhurried as he climbed the tower, the air around them beginning to thicken with magic–so much so that it almost felt suffocating. 

Reaching the top, Malleus pushed open the wooden door to the secluded chamber. He rarely frequented this area of the dormitory, but everything was the same as he remembered.

The room was sparsely furnished, with only a bed draped in dark velvety fabrics being its centerpiece. Stepping inside, Malleus passed by the thorn-like carvings adorned on the stone walls, their design curling elegantly towards the ceiling. The room was a bit dusty, but that wasn’t anything a cleaning spell couldn’t fix. 

Malleus crossed the room, careful to not disturb the sleeping boy as he gently lowered Silver onto the bed. The mattress dipped slightly at the sudden weight, causing Silver’s head to loll gently to the side and his hair to spill like moonlight on the dark fabric.

Not quite satisfied, Malleus adjusted the pillow underneath Silver’s head and made sure to straighten the fabric before he gently draped the blanket over Silver, tucking him in as he used to when the boy had been younger. How nostalgic it felt doing it once more. 

Now content with the arrangements, Malleus stood up and stared down at Silver before his attention was torn away by that familiar, and annoying, glow from the pendant. His hand twitched, almost tempted to make another attempt at destroying it, but he held himself back. There would be little to no point in trying again when the result would be the same. This solution was hardly a solution to the bigger dilemma he faced, but it would have to do. For now at least.

Malleus let out a fond sigh, his clawed hand finding its way back on Silver’s head to smooth the other’s hair.  

“I’ll let you play the knight in shining armor a little while longer, Silver,” Malleus murmured, a hint of affection threading through his voice, “And when you’re finally done playing…” Malleus’s voice was softer now, barely above a whisper as his eyes traced over Silver’s peaceful face.

“When you realize that even the bravest of knights must rest eventually… I’ll be here. Waiting.” 

Straightening himself, Malleus cast one last look at Silver before turning to leave. The door closed behind him with a low echoing thud, and almost immediately, thorned vines began to creep along its surface.

As he descended the staircase, he paused mid-step, tilting his head as he felt the slightest ripple in the air. It seemed that someone had entered uninvited. 

How rude. 

[theambivalentagender]

One of my planned eventual "pet names" for Shane to have with Zeke is "something else." As in "aren't you something else" or "I hate humanity, and no I'm not counting you, you're something else."

Not sure if that qualifies as a pet name but I like the idea.

Stardew Valley Bachelors and their preferred pet names for you

You know the drill by now. Enjoy ✨

Sam:

-he’s pretty standard, so don’t expect something crazy, he isn’t good with words.

-baby/babe; pretty standard, but it’s what comes to his mind when he sees you. You’re just his baby girl 😩💕

-cutie; he won’t call you that all the time, but more when he is in a playful mood and wants to show you how much he likes you :3 “hey cutie, what are you doing there?”

-what can I say except I told you so🫣 he’s better with showing his affection through actions, not words 🤷🏼‍♀️

Sebastian:

-also pretty standard

-baby (this will come up a lot more I’m sorry y’all 😭)

-darling; but only when he’s in the mood for it

-(little) bat; because you kept joking about him being an emo/goth and he called you that for fun…it kinda stuck and it’s really cute ngl 🖤

-I have a feeling he will occasionally insult you as an inside joke too lol. Nothing too intense, he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, but he won’t hold back to tease you like he teases Sam or Abbey

Elliott:

-behold, he’s a connoisseur for good old-fashioned pet names

-darling; I don’t have to elaborate

-love (in the most tender, smooth voice you can imagine)🥰🤭🫣💗

-precious; because you’re the most valuable thing in his life 😍

-he will throw in some original pet names which will sound oh so fancy, like names of flowers he finds beautiful, or generally things he loves (maybe not Tom Kha soup or lobster 💀)

Harvey:

-he’s so sweet, he’s like Elliott in that regard, so he will use some outdated ones

-darling 🤭

-love; his favourite, he can’t but blush himself calling you ‘his love’ (😩💗)

-honey; he uses that one a lot too. When you have breakfast together and he reads something interesting in the newspaper, he’ll happily exclaim it to grab your attention

-dear; but that one not so much, mostly when he is “arguing” with you or tries to talk you out of a dangerous idea (the farmer is a bit unhinged and he’s so worried about you 🥺)

Shane:

-Shane is a guy-guy, but he has some variety to his pet names based on his mood

-angel; this one is my favourite for his pet names. Not only does it apply because you ‘saved’ him from committing a big mistake, but he also found a real friend in you which he didn’t have for most of his life

-babe; pretty standard, he uses it quite frequently instead of calling you by your name

-doll; sometimes that unintentional dad vibe comes through but I find it a bit funny lmfao

-he also uses plenty of stupid “insults” like Sebastian because he’s a little menace and mild bullying is his love language 💙 if you’re short you’re a dwarf or hobbit for sure despite him being a short king himself

Alex:

-Alex can be a brick-head, but he has some cute names he likes to use

-baby; wow, we haven’t had that one yet 😃

-doll; idk why; I look at that guy and it just fits 🤷🏼‍♀️

-farm girl/boy; it’s a nod to the time you just got to know each other. He likes to nag you a bit with that one which you lovingly play into

-gorgeous; he just has to emphasise how freaking beautiful you are to him 🥰 he will often go past you and pretend he’s hitting on you, as if you’re not married for 5 years and have 2 kids lol. “Hey gorgeous, I’ve never seen you around here. You have a boyfriend? If not I’d like to apply for that position.”

[novaursa]

Between Pride and Fire (the tour)

- Summary: It was a challenge of the hunt that drew the lion to you, but it was your fire that made him yours.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: west

- Next part: heirs of a lion

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @punk-in-docs @barnes70stark

The steady jostle of the carriage wheels against the dirt road was almost hypnotic, though it did little to soothe your temper. For days you had refused the comfort of the carriage Jason insisted on having prepared, preferring to ride alongside him as any Targaryen should. But the morning of your departure from the Tooth, when you’d woken with a pounding headache and nausea that made the very thought of sitting astride a horse unbearable, you had begrudgingly accepted the cushioned seat and drawn curtains of the carriage.

The inside was comfortable enough—lined with velvet, the cushions soft, with sunlight filtering faintly through the curtains. Yet the isolation grated on you. You hated being kept apart from the open air, from the procession of knights and banners that marched steadily through the Westerlands.

Jason, of course, had been insufferably smug when you’d finally climbed into the carriage. “A wise decision, wife,” he’d said with a grin, leaning down to kiss your cheek before riding off on his stallion. You could still hear the laughter in his voice ringing in your ears.

Now you sat with arms crossed, glaring faintly at nothing in particular as the clattering of hooves and faint chatter of guards filtered through the wooden walls. It was only when the carriage began to slow that you sat up, frowning. Outside, the steady rhythm of the procession broke, replaced by murmurs and the distant sound of men shouting.

And then, a roar.

Your heart leapt as the sound echoed across the valley, unmistakable and primal. The ground itself seemed to tremble beneath you as another, louder roar followed—a sound that could only belong to her.

“Morrath,” you breathed, your irritation forgotten. You shoved the curtains aside just in time to see the procession halt completely, horses rearing in their harnesses and guards craning their necks to look skyward.

Above you, Morrath swept into view, her massive wings outstretched, casting an enormous shadow over the road as she descended in lazy, spiraling circles. Her black scales gleamed like polished obsidian in the sunlight, the faint amber undertones catching like fire with every beat of her wings. Her eyes—tawny, molten and alive—scanned the ground below until they found you.

The carriage lurched to a stop as Morrath released another triumphant roar, the sound shaking dust from the road. Men ducked their heads instinctively, though they’d done nothing to earn the dragon’s wrath. Jason, seated at the head of the column, turned sharply in his saddle, his expression unreadable as he watched Morrath’s graceful descent.

You didn’t wait. Throwing the carriage door open, you stepped out onto the road, ignoring the protest of your legs as you stood. Morrath’s shadow passed over you, her wings beating steadily as she slowed and hovered just above the ground. The wind they kicked up sent your cloak whipping behind you, and the horses snorted nervously.

“She came,” Jason called, riding up beside you, his face flushed from the wind and sun. There was no smugness in his tone now—only something between relief and amusement. “The Dragonkeepers must have received my message after all.”

You didn’t look at him, your gaze fixed on the massive creature as Morrath finally landed with a thud that made the earth tremble. She folded her wings against her body, the leather membranes rustling faintly, and lowered her head toward you with a low rumble, her breath warm against your skin.

“I thought you were still sulking in Casterly Rock,” you murmured as you stepped forward, brushing your hand against the smooth scales of her snout. Morrath’s chest rumbled with a sound that might have been affection—or agreement.

Jason dismounted, handing his reins to a nearby squire before approaching you. “It seems she missed you. Or perhaps she missed all of this.” He gestured broadly to the gathered knights and guards who were still recovering from the shock of a dragon suddenly joining their procession.

“She does love a crowd,” you replied, smirking faintly.

“And you doubted I could have her summoned?” Jason teased as he came to stand beside you. “You wound me, wife. When have I ever failed you?”

You turned your head to look at him, arching a brow. “You’ve failed to stop speaking more times than I can count.”

Jason grinned, undeterred. “Fair enough. But look at her. She’s made quite the entrance—no one will forget this tour of the Westerlands now.”

You shook your head, though a faint smile tugged at your lips as Morrath released another low growl, turning her massive head toward Jason. Her eyes narrowed slightly, studying him as though weighing his worth.

“She doesn’t trust you yet,” you murmured with a hint of satisfaction. “Wise of her.”

Jason chuckled, though he eyed the dragon warily. “I’ll earn her favor eventually. Perhaps once she realizes how well I care for her rider.”

You shot him a look, your smile softening slightly despite yourself. “Perhaps.”

Behind you, the guards and lords began to regroup, their voices rising in a mix of awe and trepidation. Morrath, for her part, remained motionless but watchful, her massive tail curling lazily around her.

Jason stepped closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “She’ll follow us the rest of the way. I’ll have the men ensure the road is cleared for her—though I’m not sure how welcome we’ll be with a dragon at our backs.”

You tilted your head, looking up at him with a hint of mischief. “If they fear her, they’ll fear you by association. Isn’t that what you wanted, my lord?”

Jason grinned, his hand brushing lightly against your lower back. “True enough. You see, wife? I told you we’d make a spectacle.”

You shook your head, turning your attention back to Morrath. The dragon shifted slightly, lifting her wings before folding them again, content to remain close. Jason had been right: the message had reached the Dragonkeepers, and Morrath had come as if summoned by instinct alone.

As the procession slowly began to move again, this time with Morrath pacing along the hills above, you allowed yourself to feel a measure of calm. Morrath’s presence, though overwhelming to others, was a comfort to you—a reminder that no matter how far you traveled, you were never alone.

Jason walked beside you as you made your way back toward the carriage, his voice low with amusement. “Admit it—you’re glad you listened to me.”

You glanced sidelong at him, the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Jason laughed softly as he helped you back into the carriage, though his gaze lingered on Morrath’s shadow overhead. “Too late for that, wife. Much too late.”

The light of the late afternoon bathed the rolling hills near Ashemark as the procession finally came to a halt. Tents were being raised, banners planted into the earth, and campfires lit, the smoke curling lazily into the clear sky. The horses were being tended to, but all attention had turned toward Morrath, who had perched herself majestically on a rocky outcrop overlooking the camp. Her black scales looked brilliant in the sunlight, her wings tucked neatly against her body as she watched the lords and ladies below like a queen surveying her court.

It didn’t take long for the crowd to gather. Lords, ladies, and their children swarmed closer to the dragon—though not too close—whispering and gawking as they marveled at the creature. Morrath, for her part, seemed to preen under the attention, tilting her great head and letting out a rumbling growl that reverberated through the ground, startling the bolder onlookers.

Jason, ever observant, took note of the distraction and wasted no time. He appeared at your side, his expression both satisfied and conspiratorial. “Your dragon is a show-stealer. She’s giving me a run for my coin.”

You arched a brow at him, though you didn’t miss the glint of amusement in his eyes. “Jealous, are you?”

“Hardly,” Jason scoffed, offering you his arm. “She’s just done me a great favor. Everyone’s too busy worshiping your dragon to notice that I’m stealing you away.”

Before you could protest, Jason was already guiding you through the maze of tents and campfires, moving toward the edge of the camp where the hills dipped into a quiet glade. The air here was cooler, softer, as the sounds of camp began to fade behind you. When you reached a secluded spot under the shade of an old oak tree, Jason finally stopped, turning to face you.

“There,” he said smugly, as though he’d just won a great battle. “Finally, some peace.”

You folded your arms, smirking faintly. “And what exactly are you planning to do with this ‘stolen’ time, my lord? Should I be concerned?”

Jason stepped closer, his green eyes gleaming as he brushed a lock of hair from your face. “I thought I might remind you how nice it is to be far from all those lords and ladies who never stop talking.”

“And what about you?” you shot back, though his touch made you falter. “You never stop talking.”

“Only to keep you entertained,” Jason said smoothly, his hands now resting at your waist. “Admit it—you’d miss me if I didn’t.”

You sighed, feigning exasperation, though your lips curved into a small smile. “You’d have to give me the chance to miss you first.”

Jason grinned, his confidence unshakable. “Perhaps I’ll take that as a challenge.”

You rolled your eyes, though the warmth of his hands and the soft rustle of the leaves above you tugged at something quieter in your chest. Jason, for all his arrogance and endless prattle, had a way of finding these moments—moments where the weight of your title and his pride fell away, leaving just the two of you.

“I thought you were meant to be watching over the camp,” you said softly, tilting your head as you regarded him. “What would your bannermen think if they found you hiding out here?”

Jason leaned closer, his voice dropping to that infuriatingly soft tone he used when he knew he was winning. “They’d think I’m a man who knows where his priorities lie.”

“And where’s that?” you asked, though you already knew the answer.

Jason’s lips quirked into a smile as he bent his head to brush a kiss against your temple. “Right here,” he murmured. “With you.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, enough to still your usual retort. For a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into him, letting the quiet of the glade settle around you like a blanket. Morrath’s distant rumble reached your ears, a reminder that the world hadn’t quite forgotten you yet.

Jason pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb tracing gently along the back of your hand. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his earlier mischief tempered by genuine concern.

“Tired,” you admitted, though there was no bitterness in it. “The tour is more taxing than I expected.”

Jason nodded, brushing his fingers lightly over your knuckles. “Then we’ll slow down. I’m not parading you across the Westerlands just to have you collapse on me.”

“You say that as though you didn’t plan this entire journey as a parade,” you teased, a flicker of your usual wit returning.

Jason laughed softly. “True, but even lions know when to rest.” He tilted his head, his smile softening. “I want you to enjoy this—us. We can see as much or as little as you like.”

For once, you didn’t argue. The steady warmth of his presence, the rustling of the leaves, and the distant murmurs of the camp all conspired to ease the tension you’d been carrying for days.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you murmured, allowing Jason to pull you closer until your head rested against his chest.

“And I’ll hold you to that carriage for the rest of the trip,” Jason replied with a smirk, though his voice was softer now, teasing but tender.

You closed your eyes briefly, letting the quiet of the moment linger as Jason’s arms wrapped around you. For all the demands of the road, for all the expectations weighing on both your shoulders, you realized that Jason, in his own relentless way, was trying to make this life easier for you. And in that quiet, shaded glade, you allowed yourself—for just a little while—to let him.

The space beneath the oak tree felt impossibly still, as though the world itself paused to witness this fleeting intimacy. Jason tilted your chin up gently, his green eyes searching your violet ones with an intensity you were slowly learning to understand.

“You’ve gone quiet,” he said, his voice softer now, the usual teasing edge dulled into something warmer. “What’s on your mind, my fierce dragon?”

Your lips parted, but the words caught somewhere in your throat. He always called you that—my fierce dragon—and it was maddening, arrogant, yet somehow… endearing. You shook your head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Nothing,” you whispered. “Nothing at all.”

Jason’s fingers traced along the side of your face, tucking a lock of silver hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek. “That’s a first. You, quiet. Should I be one concerned now?”

You let out a small laugh, the sound breathless, as Jason stepped closer, his broad frame almost eclipsing the sunlight filtering through the branches. “Perhaps you should, my lord,” you replied, meeting his gaze with a challenge. “Or perhaps you’ve finally stunned me into silence.”

Jason grinned at that, though his voice held a softer weight when he spoke next. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” His thumb brushed against your lower lip, lingering for a moment as he tilted his head. “I’ve been waiting all day for this.”

“For what?” you murmured, though you knew exactly what he meant. The air between you was alive, charged with something urgent and unspoken.

“For a moment where it’s just us,” he said simply, before leaning in to press his lips against yours.

The kiss began gently, deceptively so, as though Jason meant to savor every second of it. His lips were warm, coaxing, and firm, leaving you breathless as he tilted his head to deepen it. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic as the kiss turned more fervent. Jason’s hands, strong and deliberate, slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him.

When he finally broke away, his breathing was uneven, and a wicked grin tugged at his lips. “If you keep kissing me like that, wife, I may have no choice but to scandalize the entire camp.”

You swatted at his chest, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. “Jason,” you warned, glancing over your shoulder toward the distant tents. “Someone could see—”

“Let them,” Jason interjected, his grin softening as he cupped your face with both hands. “Do you know what they’ll see? A man completely mad for his wife.”

“And what would your lords think of that?” you countered, though your voice lacked any real protest.

Jason leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmured, “That I’m a very lucky man.”

You shivered at the low timbre of his voice, your body betraying you as warmth pooled deep within. Before you could respond, Jason’s hands were already tugging at the ties of your cloak and the lower laces of your gown. His movements were unhurried, but there was a purpose to them, a need he didn’t bother hiding.

“Jason,” you said again, your voice breathy, even as you allowed him to undo the fabric pooling around your hips. “This is—”

“Necessary,” he cut you off, his eyes meeting yours with a hunger that stole the air from your lungs. “It’s been days, Y/N. Days of nothing but courtesies and lords who think their words are more important than this.”

You gasped softly as Jason slid his hands beneath your gown, lifting you just enough so your back pressed against the rough bark of the tree. He was careful despite his urgency, his hands supporting you as though you were something precious. The contrast of the solid oak at your back and Jason’s heat pressing against you sent a shiver down your spine.

“Are you certain?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your throat as he held you steady. “I won’t risk hurting you—or the babe.”

“I’m fine,” you said hurriedly, your hands gripping his shoulders as you shifted slightly. “We’re fine. Now, Jason—please.”

Jason groaned at your words, and with your guidance, he pressed himself into you. The sensation made you cry out softly, the sound swallowed by his kiss as he captured your mouth once more. He stilled for a moment, his breathing ragged as his forehead rested against yours.

“Gods,” Jason whispered, his voice rough.

You couldn’t form a reply; all you could do was cling to him as he began to move, each thrust measured at first but quickly growing desperate, needy. The sound of your breaths mingled with the rustle of leaves and the distant crackle of campfires. There was no gentleness now—only fire and longing, days of restraint turned to ash as Jason’s grip on you tightened.

“Tell me,” he rasped against your ear, his voice edged with rough affection, “tell me you want this—me.”

“I do,” you managed between gasps, arching against him as pleasure began to coil deep in your belly. “I want you, Jason.”

His response came in the form of a growl, his pace quickening as he buried his face against your neck, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin there. “Mine,” he murmured fiercely, as though marking you with his words alone. “You’re mine, Y/N.”

Your fingers tangled in his golden hair, pulling him closer as you felt yourself begin to unravel. Jason seemed to sense it, his movements growing even more urgent, his arms bracing you against the tree as though he’d never let you fall.

When release finally came, it was blinding, a wave that stole your breath and left you trembling against him. Jason followed moments later, his body shuddering as he held you close, his breathing ragged in your ear. For a long while, the two of you remained there, tangled together beneath the oak tree, the rest of the world forgotten.

Jason was the first to move, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple before gently lowering you back to the ground. He helped you adjust your clothing, his hands lingering at your waist as though reluctant to let you go.

“I’ll never tire of this,” he murmured, brushing his thumb along your cheek. “Of you.”

You smiled faintly, though your legs still felt unsteady. “I’ll remind you of that the next time you complain about being married to a Targaryen.”

Jason laughed softly, pressing one last kiss to your lips. “Complain? Never. I’d trade every ounce of gold in Casterly Rock just to keep you here.”

You rolled your eyes, though your heart warmed at the sincerity in his words. As the sounds of camp filtered back into your ears, you sighed, knowing this stolen moment was over.

“Come,” Jason said, offering you his arm once more, his usual smug grin returning. “Let’s get back before they send a search party.”

As you walked together back toward the camp, Jason’s hand never left yours, a silent promise that—for as long as he could manage—he would always find a way to steal you away.

From The Gold Honeymoon in the Westerlands as recounted by Mushroom in The Testimony of Mushroom and later corroborated by Maester Gerardys in The Chronicle of the Lions and Dragons:

Princess Y/N Targaryen, younger sister of Princess Rhaenyra and a daughter of King Viserys I Targaryen and Queen Aemma Arryn, embarked on a tour of the Westerlands alongside her new husband, Lord Jason Lannister of Casterly Rock. It was a marriage met with no small amount of controversy in its time, for the lion and the dragon were oft too proud to share a single den. Yet if one were to believe the words of Mushroom—and there are many who do, despite his crude tongue and exaggerated claims—it was no political union of convenience, but a match of fierce passion, born of lust and admiration.

The Westerlands had long been a place of splendor and stone, golden cities guarded by silver-clad knights, but never had their castles and halls seen such scandal as was whispered during the tour of Lord Jason and his Targaryen bride. From the Golden Tooth to Ashemark and all the way to Faircastle, the air was thick not only with the banners of Lannister crimson and Targaryen black but with rumors, giggles, and gasps of propriety abandoned.

On the Matter of the Golden Tooth

It was said that within the high walls of the Golden Tooth, Princess Y/N reminded all in attendance of the nature of dragons. Lady Ameline Brax, a foolish young woman with too much wine and too little sense, dared to mockingly inquire whether Lord Jason was “keeping the princess too occupied in her chambers.” Such boldness might have been praised in the courts of Dorne but was met with fire in the West.

The Princess, tall and proud as her Targaryen kin, silenced Ameline with a smile as sharp as a Valyrian blade, saying, “And what gave that away, my lady? Was it the child in my belly that betrayed my fondness for my husband’s company?” The ladies fell into a hush at her words, their mirth turned to murmurs of unease. Mushroom claims that Lady Ameline did not recover her voice for days, while Lady Lefford, the host of the Golden Tooth, quietly scolded her household for their lack of discretion.

Lord Jason, when told of this later (for what wife keeps such a tale secret?), was said to have laughed until tears ran down his face. Mushroom reports that he kissed his bride soundly that evening and declared her “a she-dragon in her own right.”

On the Dragon Morrath at Ashemark

The most thrilling tale of their tour—and one that rippled across the Westerlands for months—came upon the road to Ashemark. At Jason’s summons, the princess’s dragon, Morrath, descended from the skies like the gods’ judgment, a beast of black scales and burning amber eyes. Mushroom, who claimed to have been hiding in a baggage cart to avoid the march, described her arrival thus:

“The air itself grew heavy, the light dimmed, and the sound of wings louder than war drums filled our ears. Men ducked their heads, horses kicked, and carts tipped over. It was as if death itself had come to join us—but the dragon did not roar in anger. She landed with such grace that it seemed unnatural for such a beast of that size. Then came the princess, silver-haired and violet-eyed, stepping from her carriage like a queen returning home. She placed her hand upon Morrath’s snout, calm and unafraid, and the dragon purred like a great cat.”

The sight of the dragon following their procession as they traveled further west—swooping over hills and perching on cliffs—cemented the awe and terror the Westerlands held for their newest lady. While some whispered that Morrath’s presence was unnecessary, others said that Jason Lannister orchestrated the entire affair to remind his bannermen of the power he had wed into his house. If it were so, none could deny it worked.

On Scandals Beneath the Oak Tree

It was at a camp near Ashemark, during the late afternoon when the sun cast its light across the hills, that Mushroom tells of the greatest scandal of all. Lords and knights had gathered to marvel at Morrath’s presence, leaving Jason and the princess conspicuously absent. According to Mushroom (who claimed to have climbed a tree to witness what others did not), the couple had stolen away to a secluded glade beneath a great oak.

“There, amidst the shade, they fell upon one another like starved wolves. Lord Jason pressed her against the tree, his golden hair gleaming as his hands wandered where propriety would scold him. I dare say the Princess was no innocent lamb, either—she clung to him as though they were drowning together. They kissed, they whispered, and then—well, I shan't say it outright, but they ‘renewed their vows’ as passionately as any husband and wife ever did.”

Whether Mushroom’s account is exaggerated or not, the murmurs of their absence spread quickly across camp. What cannot be denied is that the princess returned with leaves tangled in her silver locks, her cheeks flushed, and her gown hastily straightened. Lord Jason, for his part, was far less discreet, striding back with a smug grin that infuriated his knights and amused his squires.

“Let them talk,” Jason reportedly said when questioned about his absence. “It is only fair they know how lucky I am.”

Maester Gerardys, in his more reserved account, wrote diplomatically that “Lord Jason and Princess Y/N were rarely apart for the duration of their tour, much to the scandal of their bannermen and the exasperation of their attendants.”

Of all the tales Mushroom spun regarding the Targaryen honeymoon through the Westerlands, the events at Ashemark, Fair Isle, and Crakehall were the juiciest morsels he brought back to court.

Ashemark – The Wager of the Spear and the Dragon

Ashemark, a proud fortress nestled in the hills of the West, had always been a place of warriors. Lord Marbrand, a man of stern demeanor and strong shoulders, welcomed Lord Jason and his bride with all the pomp expected of his house. Banquets were held, horns were raised, and tourneys were staged in their honor.

It was at one such feast, Mushroom claims, that Lord Marbrand wagered his best spearman could unseat Lord Jason in the joust. Jason, ever the arrogant lion, accepted with the confidence of a man who had never known shame. “A Lannister needs no champion but himself,” he boasted, to which Princess Y/N reportedly quipped, “And what of your wife? Perhaps I’ll ride in your stead.”

This remark, innocently made, was said to have thrown the hall into raucous laughter. Jason, for once, was struck silent. Yet Mushroom swears that later that evening, the princess proved herself a rider of another kind.

“That night, in the stables—aye, the stables—I caught them tangled atop a bed of furs meant for the horses. He lifted her onto his lap like the victor of a joust, calling her his prize, while the princess laughed loud enough to startle the grooms outside. Never has a mare in Ashemark been ridden with such fervor.”

Needless to say, neither Jason nor the spearman would compete the next morning. Jason blamed an injured shoulder from training, though Mushroom says he overheard a stable boy mutter that “Lord Jason looked far too pleased with his bruises to have taken them in combat.”

Fair Isle – A Lion and Dragon in the Waves

Fair Isle, the westernmost jewel of the Westerlands, stood surrounded by the crashing waves of the Sunset Sea. House Farman welcomed Jason and the princess with feasts of fresh oysters, sweet wines, and the music of minstrels whose voices rivaled even those at court.

But what happened at Fair Isle became legend—if only because Jason Lannister himself could not stop boasting of it. According to Mushroom:

“At dawn, the Princess Targaryen demanded a swim, as wild as any dragon might. Jason, drunk on love and wine from the night before, joined her in the surf. Naked as the day they were born, the pair plunged into the sea like seabirds, their laughter carrying on the waves. Fishermen along the cliffs claimed to have seen the princess kiss him in the shallows, as they caught a glimpse of her skin beneath the waves—smooth and pale as milkglass.”

While no one can say how much of this tale is Mushroom’s invention (for he claims to have seen it “from a hole in a fisherman’s net”), the aftermath remains irrefutable. That morning, Jason walked back to Faircastle dripping seawater, a smug grin plastered across his face, his golden hair sticking to his cheeks.

The princess, by contrast, was dry and regal as ever when she emerged—Mushroom speculates Jason carried her to shore, though he grumbled for days about “wet boots and sand in my breeches.” The people of Fair Isle, however, would not soon forget the sight of a dragon and a lion cavorting in the waves like lovers in a ballad.

Crakehall – The Roar of the Bear and the Lion’s Triumph

At Crakehall, the seat of House Crakehall, things took a turn that had even Mushroom blushing (or so he claimed). The Crakehalls were a gruff, hearty family of warriors and hunters, known for their love of the hunt and the drink. It was said the feast held in Jason and the princess’s honor stretched into the wee hours, and more than one lord found himself slumped in a puddle of spilled ale.

Lord Jason, emboldened by the revelry, reportedly challenged his wife to a game of “catch,” whereupon the princess, laughing and flushed, disappeared into the darkened halls of Crakehall. What happened next is said to be a tale Mushroom swore he only overheard:

“Lord Jason chased the princess through those stone halls like a lion after its prey. I could hear the echoes of their laughter—and her shrieks—followed by the unmistakable sound of doors slamming and wine goblets tumbling to the floor. When Jason finally caught her, there was a growl—aye, a growl!—and then silence. I dared to peek through a crack in the door and saw her pinned against a great carved table, her skirts hitched and his breeches halfway to the floor. They were animals in that moment—wild, untamed, and mad for each other.”

Whether or not Mushroom actually saw the princess and Jason in such scandalous embrace, it is known that by morning, the Crakehalls were too embarrassed—or too pleased—to speak of the noise that echoed through their halls the night before. Jason, ever unrepentant, claimed it was “the best hunt Crakehall had seen in a generation.”

Viserys's Joyful Response

When Mushroom finally returned to court with the royal procession, the tales of the Westerlands honeymoon had already flown ahead of him on the lips of merchants, knights, and travelers. King Viserys I Targaryen, for all his struggles and losses, was said to have laughed heartily upon hearing of his daughter’s adventures.

“Jason has done well to love her so,” Viserys reportedly declared, his wine cup raised high. “The girl is happy, and that is worth more to me than a thousand alliances. Let her scandalize the West if she pleases—it will remind them that dragons still breathe fire!”

The court erupted with laughter, though not all approved. Queen Alicent was said to have frowned, muttering that “a princess ought to show restraint befitting her station.” To which Viserys allegedly replied, “If my daughter rides her dragon and her lion with equal vigor, then the realm will be stronger for it.”

Mushroom claims the king later summoned him privately to hear the juicier details firsthand. Viserys listened with rapt attention, roaring with laughter at tales of the stable at Ashemark and the waves at Fair Isle. “I shall have to ask Jason for his secrets,” he joked, “for it seems my daughter is as much in love as she is with child.”

Thus did the honeymoon of Princess Y/N Targaryen and Lord Jason Lannister enter the annals of history—a tale of scandal, passion, and the marriage of dragonfire and gold that set tongues wagging from the Westerlands to King’s Landing. And if Mushroom is to be believed, it was not the last time the couple would shake the halls of castles to their very foundations.

As he so cheekily put it:

“The lion may roar, but only the dragon can make him purr.”

The wind off the Sunset Sea carried a cool bite as it swept through the open windows of Casterly Rock’s solar, tugging gently at the crimson and gold drapes. The chamber was bright with midday sunlight, reflecting off the polished marble floors and the rich accents that adorned every corner. In the center of the room, you sat near the hearth, cradling the gentle swell of your belly, your eyes drifting idly over the fire’s flickering flames.

You were high in your pregnancy now, the once subtle swell having blossomed into a clear and undeniable weight. While Jason had insisted you rest more frequently, you had grown restless in the days since returning from the Westerlands tour. The days were long, filled with a slow calm that seemed at odds with your usual pace. At least from your chair near the fire, you could watch the sun glint off the waves far below, where the sea stretched endless and unbroken.

A knock at the door broke the quiet, sharp and deliberate. Maester Ronnel entered a moment later, a roll of parchment in his hands, tied with the familiar black and red of Targaryen wax. “My lord,” he said, bowing his head toward Jason, who was seated at his desk in the far corner of the chamber. “A raven arrived this morning from King’s Landing.”

Jason, who had been skimming over maps of trade routes, looked up at the Maester with a brow raised in mild curiosity. “Another message? If it’s another request for gold, tell them our coffers are closed until my child is born. I’ll hear no more whining from the capital.”

Maester Ronnel’s thin lips twitched, though he said nothing as he held the letter out. “It comes sealed in Princess Rhaenyra’s name, my lord, and bears the king’s crest.”

At that, Jason straightened slightly and stood, brushing parchment dust from his tunic. He took the letter and examined the seal, his green eyes glinting with interest. “Rhaenyra, is it? Well, she rarely writes.” He shot you a glance, his tone light but teasing. “Your sister must have a great announcement. Perhaps she’s chosen a suitor at last.”

You hummed from your chair, a hand resting against the weight of your abdomen. “I imagine it’s far more important than that to warrant a raven sent to the West.”

Jason smirked as he broke the seal and unfurled the parchment, scanning the contents quickly. His expression shifted—brows rising first with surprise, then twisting into something closer to amusement. He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he folded the letter and turned toward you.

“Well, it seems your sister has made her choice after all.”

“What does it say?” you asked, shifting slightly to sit straighter, though Jason crossed the room before you could rise. He moved to sit on the low stool beside you, offering the letter with an air of dramatic flair.

“Rhaenyra Targaryen,” Jason began, his tone light with mock reverence, “heir to the Iron Throne, will wed Ser Laenor Velaryon of Driftmark. A match forged in the salt and flame of their houses—blah, blah, blah.” He waved his hand dismissively, though his grin betrayed his amusement. “A dull choice, if you ask me.”

Your brows furrowed slightly as you took the letter and skimmed its formal wording. It bore all the signs of courtly approval—prideful yet polite, leaving little doubt that King Viserys had orchestrated this match to secure House Velaryon’s continued allegiance. You sighed, rolling your eyes as you handed the parchment back to Jason.

“Laenor Velaryon,” you murmured, thoughtful but unimpressed. “It was inevitable. My father has always wanted to bind our houses more tightly.”

Jason leaned back slightly, propping one arm on the armrest of your chair as he regarded you with a smirk. “Inevitable, predictable—call it what you will, it is dreadfully boring. Your sister could have chosen anyone, and she settles for the Sea Snake’s son?” He shook his head. “Where’s the fire? The passion? It’s all too convenient.”

“She doesn’t have much choice,” you replied, though a faint smile tugged at your lips as you met his gaze. “A princess must consider her duty, must she not? Or do you forget that already, my lord husband?”

Jason grinned, his green eyes narrowing playfully. “Oh, I’ve not forgotten. But I seem to recall a certain Targaryen princess choosing me, and I am neither predictable nor convenient.”

You laughed softly at that, unable to help yourself. “No, you are neither of those things, Jason Lannister. I imagine my father would still prefer you to be so.”

Jason scoffed, running a hand through his golden hair as he leaned forward, his tone conspiratorial. “Let’s see how your sister fares. A match to secure the fleet, no doubt—but what of love? What of laughter? What of scandal?” He grinned wolfishly, teasing you as his voice dropped. “I imagine the Velaryon boy will be far too proper for her. Nothing like you and me.”

“And what are we?” you asked, narrowing your eyes in mock challenge.

Jason’s grin softened into something more genuine as he reached for your hand, curling his fingers around yours. “We, my fierce dragon, are exactly what the world never saw coming—a lion who wed a dragon and doesn’t mind the burns.”

You rolled your eyes, though you squeezed his hand lightly. “You always speak like this when you are amused by others’ choices.”

“And why shouldn’t I be?” Jason replied, his voice light, though his gaze lingered on you with an unmistakable warmth. “Your sister may be the Realm’s Delight, but you…” He reached up to brush a strand of silver hair from your cheek, his touch lingering. “You are a tempest. And I will remind you of that every day.”

You sighed, though your heart swelled at his words. The warmth of his hand, the soft rustle of the sea wind—it grounded you in a way no letter from court ever could. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered, though there was no heat in it.

“And you love me for it,” Jason replied smugly to the familiar jab, pressing a quick kiss to your knuckles before standing again. He turned back toward the desk, tucking the letter into his maps. “Come now, wife. I’ll send word of congratulations to your sister and include some wit to keep her entertained.”

“Do try to behave,” you called after him, though the smile lingered on your face long after he had turned away.

As Jason scribbled on a fresh parchment, his golden head bent low, you rested your hand on the swell of your belly again. Perhaps your sister’s match was predictable, but as you sat within the fortress of Casterly Rock, you realized you didn’t envy her in the slightest. Your fire had already been met by Jason Lannister’s—and gods be good, it burned far brighter than you ever could have imagined.

[owlespresso]

ais/reader. warnings: spice beneath the cut, dubcon, predator/prey

You don't remember what you said. 

The conversation is all hazy, stuffed in the back if your mind behind the memory of his sharp smile, the cold glower he gave you before you ran. Something had shuddered in between the air between you, and whatever it was awoke some ancient instinct within you. Long forgotten fear spurred to life by the sight of those sharp fangs, bared to you by his displeased grimace.

Your body decided the rest for you. A cold sweat broke over your skin as you tore from the Seaspring's towering double doors. The grey skies above remained unbroken. Blood thundered in your ears with each frantic step you took, bumbling down the stairs and onto the flat, empty stretch of land which laid between the slope of the Seapspring and the borders of Eridia. 

At the edges of your vision, blackened shapes squirmed and writhed on the crests of nearby hills. Soulless—the decrepit army Ais had at his command. While you heard them—low snarls and inhuman, moaning noises which echoed through the valley, they didn’t seem to give chase. They remained still, merely watching, as if keeping some sort of solemn vigil.

Behind you, heavy footfalls kicked up dirt and slammed through cakes of brown-grey mud. You could hear Ais’s heavy pants, his thudding steps as he came closer and closer, the sound of your own pulse as it ricocheted through your body. If he caught you—if he caught you—

But there was no time to think, not with him breathing down your neck. No thoughts but momentary flashes of his big hands wrapped around your neck, his teeth buried in the column of your throat and your blood—your limbs splayed out in a gruesome trail from here to the hills, to the Seaspring’s gaping maw. Your body caught itself with frantic wheezes, cold breeze rolling hot, fat tears from the corners of your eyes. Your lungs rattled, the back of your throat burned, and your aching muscles howled for some sense of relief.

His hand fisted in the back of your hood, leaving you to squirm and flounder and kick up dirt as he reeled you in. The world whooshes by in one muddled vision of grey as he tossed you upwards and over his shoulder. The impact knocks the wind out of you, fingers feebly scrambling for purchase on the fabric of his kimono.

You’re shocked frozen, vision dipping in and out as he ferries you back to the Seaspring. You don’t even realize you’ve returned until he drops you onto the planks. He handles you with a swiftness and an indelicacy of a wolf bent over a fresh corpse, undoing your cloak and bringing his open maw straight to your mouth. He gives a quick nip to your bottom lip before he’s delving downwards. 

He lays wet, open-mouthed kisses across your throat. They’re more bite than kiss, and you shove at his shoulders as he sinks home particularly deep, sucking on the crook of your neck, lavishing his hot tongue over the stinging patch of skin. He noses your jugular, and your pulse rockets, the extra surge of adrenaline renewing your struggles. You’re shaking, you realize, trembling as he pulls you open.

“Ais,” you rasp. 

He digs his hands into the sides of your waistband and shoves down, shoving your panties aside. The chilled air of the Seaspring ripples a shudder down your spine. Humiliation warms your cheeks, and you buck underneath him, curling your hand around his wrist as he lowers a hand to the crux of your inner thighs. The muscles of his forearms flex taut, but for a moment, he freezes.

And then he runs his palm over your inner thigh, like he’s petting you, He warms you, cold and panting on the floor, held there by the heavy weight of his body. You’re ashamed of how it makes you clench up. Your fear, your the metallic sweet of adrenaline, the feeling of his hands and his tongue and his teeth—all of it rushes straight to your cunt.

“It’s pretty,” Is all he has to say. Indignance flares beneath your skin, hot as iron, and you open your mouth to tell him to go fuck himself—

But then calloused fingers pet at the core of you. Your cunt, already wet and wanting, flutters at the prospective touch, forcing you to smother a moan. He pauses. His hungry eyes twitch wider, just for a moment, before he leers at you, corner of his lip hooked into a smug sneer.

“You got wet, just from that?”

You feel like you could die. You want to disappear into the Seaspring, want to be swallowed whole by its smoky waters so you never have to see his stupid, smug face again. “It’s a natural response—!” you spit. It’s just the adrenaline. The rush of fear running straight to a part of yourself that’s never been in proper order. You want to tell him as much, but he’s already looking at you like you’re pitiful, like he adores you. 

“Sparrow,” he tuts, honey sweet with false sympathy. His red eyes bright with twisted mirth. “If I’d known a little run is all it takes to wind you up, we could have played sooner.”

[theambivalentagender]

I've been messing around with my line art style a LOT recently. Hopefully it'll look good when this is finished.

[theambivalentagender]

So I ended up choosing three because I can't make decisions to save my life.

First one I thought of was Shane's speech to Abigail about how she shouldn't hide her monster hunting activities from Emily just to keep the peace.

It really was something that came from my heart, particularly as someone who has struggled with auDHD, mental health, and other issues.

Then there was this speech Linus gives to Zeke early on in the comic.

This whole comic I think was when I really got into making cool emotional beats with scenery/backgrounds. It's why I love making comics. Please ignore my horrible bus.

Lastly, because I feel like I should have a funny bit here, there's this joke sequence at the first Luau.

Fellow fic writers: I wanna know what your favourite line—or paragraph, part of your work, whatever—is! I don't care what fandom, but I want us all to celebrate ourselves today! Tag friends and keep the chain going if you'd like! I've tagged all the moots I could find who I believe this applies to. If I missed you I am eternally sorry and you can set a curse upon my head.

My favourite passage that always sticks in my head, from Kick at the Darkness:

"I love you." He kissed her forehead. "I love your mouth." He kissed her lips. "I love your eyes." Elsie closed them, and Shane kissed her eyelids. "I love your hair." He placed a kiss on her glorious curls, and breathed in her scent. "I love the way you smell. Like cedar and wildflowers. I love your confidence. And the sound of your voice. I love the way you move. But most of all I love this." Shane pressed his lips to her breast, kissing Elsie over her heart. "Your good, open heart. Most people look at me and they don't really see me. They see a drunk, or a failure. But you know me. You see me." Elsie had a tear running down her cheek, and Shane kissed it away.

Tagging: @molliehaswords @carrieing0n @snailmail444 @birdielouwho @pbflutist @elizaviento @theambivalentagender @la--brujaja @hopefuloverfury @marmorafarms @phillypumpkin @wardenamatus @stardew-atlantis @thatalienmae @henarikat @priya-san @sdvbraindump @fandomdancie @lemonsharks @saradika @dawntones @kellycataclysm @gothkrispies @hellhoundmaggie @ohhgingersnaps @shoddy0-0 @lavendel081 @mymelodyisme @ladygreywritesstuff @missrandomdreamer @purpleandgreen13 @barkspawn @confirmedcannibal