#ALL SHALL KNEEL

[stella-kessho-2nd-account]

*shoots confetti at you with a confetti gun*

*CHIRP!*

*runs away giggling*

*Holds out by albino soft-shell tot*

"REVENNNGGGEEE!!" >:3

Pancake: *Giggling while holding 2 confetti guns* "POW POW POWWWW~!" *shoots the confetti guns* "MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA-"

"I'm so proud-" :,D

[aballadforbarbatos]

fanfic

fairly long i guess. i’m going through a bit of a mephisto brainrot right now tbh; took a long break from obey me and came back to see 1500 AP. immediately spent all that to get a mephisto icon when the card was at level 10

was it worth it? hmm.

you have no goddamn idea what prompted you to do this

YES you applied human logic and it turned out to be right but maybe you should just stop doing that. stop thinking

mephistopheles had been a bit too mean for your liking. that’s what kicked this whole thing off to start with

maybe he didn’t mean it. maybe he did. anyway it ruined your whole day

satan had noticed your mood change and suggested something nice, which was:

“why not read something nice and fluffy?”

and then the idea had stuck itself in your head and just not let go

you do a quick search on doogle, and to your delight, the demons have not let you down!

searching up “mephistopheles x reader” returned thousands of results, and while you knew there’d be a lot of ooc writing, the idea of mephisto being not mean to you was enough to make you excited :D

you want to open up a fic right there and then, but something makes you stop. the brothers would get awfully suspicious if they saw you all blushy and giggly and pink…

you leave it for lights out where you can get all blushy and giggly and pink in secret.

you see mepisto the next day and excitedly wave hello at him. he looks at you strangely. good enough!

and then it kind of becomes an addiction. you can’t read anything else and your textbooks are a struggle when you’re thinking about all the fake mephisto romances you could be reading instead

satan asks you to review a book he found and you have to turn him down saying that you’re reading a book that’s vaguely related to horses but he wouldn’t like it because the narrator sounds like lucifer

you’re lying of course, but he doesn’t know that

and then one day, when the fanfics aren’t hitting the spot, a new idea comes to you. what if you wrote your OWN mephisto x reader fic?!

you totally brush over the fact that you actually know mephisto irl and sometimes even have conversations with him. if you just stick to the ooc template that everyone else uses it’s like a totally different person

so you jump on the devildom version of ao3 and start posting. you do this for many, many months and nobody in your circle finds out, but BOY does that fic get popular

you end up skipping a chapter because of an event and then promise to release it on wednesday, but then wednesday rolls around and you still haven’t done it AND THERE’S A STUDENT COUNCIL MEETING

the clock is ticking away and you have stuff to do, like it’s also your turn to cook dinner and you’re failing your classes, so you kind of have to go home like right now? you stick your hand up

“what’s up, MC?”

“can i go home? i really have to write this chapter.”

everyone perks up except for lucifer who’s ready to tell you off for not messing around. too bad he’s drowned out by literally everyone else

“wow! you’re writing a story?! what is it about?!”

no wonder you chose “nothinky” as your username for this fic cause you don’t think about the answer and how these demons that are crushing on you fairly obviously will react

“oh yeah it’s about me dating mephistopheles”

silence.

lucifer looks like he’s bitten into a lemon, which is kind of funny but you’ve just thought of a great line to put in your fic so you scribble that down instead

“mephistopheles. like the mephistopheles WE know or,”

“i didn’t know mephistopheles was a common name in the devildom. yeah it’s the mephisto we know?? oh, but i did write him based on the template that others used, so it’s really just a totally different person”

“wdym others.”

“well i did devour like hundreds of mephisto romance stories before this you know…”

“MC what the fuck.”

you keep going because basically you don’t know when to stop and if you keep going they might let you out earlier

“yeah i’m coming up to the part where he proposes but i was gonna ask one of you guys about that since i don’t know if it’s different down here. AND i need someone to read the story with me because even though he was supposed to be based on this template i feel like it’s a lot closer to the actual mephisto, and that would be a problem because i’m really starting to fall for this mephistopheles-not-mephistopheles”

that’s not a joke. sometimes you think about how crazy it is that you got here. as you’re explaining things about the story you don’t notice that everyone’s eyes have shifted from you to above you.

“i can teach you about how nobles propose, MC.”

you freeze up and feel your face burst into flames. you can’t even turn around and say “great!”

but if you had turned around, just by coincidence, just a few moments earlier, you would’ve seen him there, slack-jawed and eyes wide. a sight completely unbefitting of a noble.

how nice that you’ve made the first move for him.

and you said that you needed someone to read your story, didn’t you? perhaps he can show you how much better the real thing is.

[andsotheuniverseended]

Orimar Vale sir if you happen to be free any night this week i would love to discuss sensory overload and the pursuit of escaping the limits of humanity to become a story that will never die with you

[nerdy-talks]

This option in Lucifer's new Valentine's Day Devilgram!!!

Um... No one is pretending here, sir! ¬‿¬

I dunno, you tell me~ In fact.... PLEASE tell me!

You blame it on whatever you'd like, just indulge away (≖w≖)

~~~~~

Then the more wholesome option :

I just can't with this man. Lucifer, stop making me simp for you so much! xD

[thewritetofreespeech]

Flourish

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

summary: Aemond had not been joking when he said they would work on another child after their first was born. Aemond never joked. [ part ii of this work ]

tags: heterosexual sex (m/f), fingering, breeding kink, mentions of past pregnancy, use of High Valyrian, Aemond so in love with his wife that he might fall over.

words: 2K Ao3

-------------------------------⚔️-------------------------------

The fire was warm as it crackled in the hearth. Staying off the coming chill of the cooler months settling in upon them.

Aemond stared into the hypnotic flames. His wine from dinner at his left while his wife sat in her twin seat at his right, wrestling with the babe in her arms. “Stop fighting little one.” She whispered under her breath at their child. To which Aemond had to scoff quietly as his cheeks raised in a smirk. You might as well tell a bird not to fly, if it was one of his children.

His beloved wife had given him the child he had asked for. A beautiful, strong, silver-haired paragon. With her mother’s eyes instead of his own, but no less the perfect Targaryen jewel. They named her Amena, after much debate of naming her Alyssa or Alysanne after his grandmothers. Truly they had considered it but, in the end, Aemond wanted his children to be their own person for as much as they could. So much of their lives would not be their own; their duties, their battles, their matches. Let them at least have their names.

The princess eventually settled and suckled at her mother’s breast for a time before a nurse came in to take her to the nursery. Though the Keep kept some of the finest wet nurses in all Seven Kingdoms, his wife insisted on giving their child her first & last feedings every day. No exceptions. He knew she would make an excellent mother, even before their child had been born.

The nurse gathered the babe from his wife’s arms, kneeling down to let her kiss Amena’s soft crown, before she came over to Aemond and did the same. “Sleep well, riñītsos.” He whispered to her, before she was carried away and the two of them were left alone.

His wife sighed heavily once the door closed. Slouching and sliding down into her chair in a very relaxed, but undignified, manner. “So, what shall we do for the rest of our night husband?”

“I want another child.”

Understandably, his wife was surprised. It was not the response one would often expect to hear when asking how they should spend the evening before bed. Cards. Reading. Surely not perpetuating a dynasty. “Did I not just give you that one?”

Aemond chuckled as she pointed towards the door where the nurse had disappeared through. “Yes. You did. But I would like us to have another.”

“Really? And what brought on this sudden change in perspective?”

He doesn’t know if he should tell her that it was not a ‘sudden’ change in perspective. Since that night they conceived Amena, Aemond’s goal had been to fill his wife and their wing of the castle with children. He just didn’t realize how persistent the urge would be once they had one.

“I thought you wanted Amena to have siblings.”

“I do,” she agreed, which was a good start, “but I did not think you meant now. Perhaps when they are older. I just got my body back.”

His eye roamed over his wife’s figure. Back nearly to where it had been before and still beautiful, but he would be lying if he said he had not been thoroughly attracted to her those nine months she had been pregnant. Seeing her swell heavy with his child. Watching her body change. Her breasts grow heavy. It almost set Aemond to drool.

“I thought you said you liked being pregnant.” He reminded her, as he stood up and knelt in front of her chair. The heat from the fire on his back almost as hot as his gaze fixed on her.

He knew that pregnancy wasn’t easy. Seeing his mother, his sister, and now his own wife go through it, he was aware it was not the tranquil beauty & reverence people made it out to be. But he did not think his wife despised it. She commented often on how she loved carrying their child, even amidst the complaints.

“Well, it…was an experience…I did not hate it.” He could see her waver as he took her hand in his. Good. Aemond did not think of himself as the clever charmer, full of charisma, like his brother was, but he was not without his own Targaryen silver tongue.

“Do you not want to give Amena a brother?”

“Is that what this is about?” Aemond stopped kissing her fingers at the sharp shift in her tone and looked up at her. “You don’t want another child. You want a son?” His silver tongue might not be as polished as he thought.

When she had been pregnant, she had asked him what he was hoping for and Aemond said he did not care. Which had been true. Sons carry a man’s name, but when you have the name ‘Targaryen’ the point was moot. And, as an avid learner of history, he knew that there were some Targaryen women that carried the name higher & finer than some of the men. If Amena had been male, he would have rejoiced all the same. But clearly now his wife was thinking that maybe he had hoped for a son and been disappointed. That they could try again and ‘get it right’. That was not what he meant.

“No. I have no more of a wish for a son than daughter. We could have 15 princesses, it would not bother me.”

“15??” His wife repeated with a laugh. Her concern and ire waning quickly. “I am not giving you 15 children, of any variety.”

“But you’ll give me another one, eh?”

Aemond lifted up on his knees. Back to seducing his wife as he leaned in close to her. His lips brushed against hers softly, before they traveled down her jaw to her neck. His wife sighed in his ear. Sinking further into her chair as she tilted her head back. Relaxed and pliable under his touch.

He continued to kiss her while his hands moved to undo the lacings in the front of her evening gown. A sharp gasp came to his ear, followed by a moan, as his cool hands slithered in to touch her breast. They were sensitive and tender. She had told him as much. The newfound weight of them in his hands from what they had been before made him moan as well and a shiver raced down her spine when he pulled the gown down to expose them fully.

“Aemond….” She sighed out as he kissed along the edge of her breast. Imagining another babe of silver at her left since Amena seemed to favor her right.

“Let us to bed, issa jorrāelagon.”

His wife nodded eagerly and Aemond rolled up to his feet with all the grace his training allowed him, before he offered her his hand. She of course took it, and he pulled her to her feet and against him. Holding her there for a moment to look down at her before he gave her another kiss on the lips and led them to bed.

As they were already in their evening clothes, the matter of getting undressed was easy. Aemond laid his wife on the bed and was quick to catch her arm before it moved to cover herself. She had become shy about her body and being naked in front of him since giving birth. A trend he hoped would pass. He certainly had not given her any indication that he did not still find her desirable. His hard cock stroked against the interior of her thigh, just in case she needed further encouragement.

She moaned quietly as his member brushed against her soft skin, then leaned up to kiss him. Aemond is happy to meet her. Her lips are soft as well. He always thought that. Everything about her was soft in comparison to his hard lines and, well, everything. It was why they were perfect together. Why the world needed more of their two halves in one whole, to make it better & perfect as well.

“Open for me.” He told his wife as his fingers brushed against her thigh as well to spread them that little bit further to give him entry.

She does, and his fingers slid in to toy with her already damp sex. “See. You may lie, issa jorrāelagon, but this part of you cannot. You want me to put another babe in you, don’t you?”

“Aemond…” Her voice sighed out his name as her head tipped back whilst his fingers pressed in.

“You want another Targaryen fire in your belly, yes?”

“I just want you inside me, Aemond.” She insisted and he smirked.

“I will be. And I will be every night until we make a new scion, if you’ll have me.” His thumb brushed over her clit. Swollen and beaded out as his fingers continue to thrust inside her. His pretty wife bowed her back. Called his name and begged him to enter her. “Tell me true, wife.” He whispered in her ear as she was nearly close to crying with want. “Do you want me to fill you up with my seed and plant a new babe in your womb?”

“Yes!” She finally admitted. “Yes Aemond, I do! I want another babe. To give that to you. I want you to fuck another child into me like you did before! Please, please, give it to me Aemond!”

The prince gripped his wife’s hair and pulled her in for a hard kiss. A reward for her honesty. As he was doing that, he pulled his fingers from her cunt and lined his cock up to refill it. Sheathing all of him in her warmth in just a single thrust. “Hells Aemond!”

He gave her but a moment to adjust before he started thrusting into her. Those beautiful, full breasts of hers bouncing obscenely in front of him. His eye roaming down to her again flat stomach and imagining it full again, before traveling lower to where there sexes meet and watched his cock thrust hard to put a child into her.

“A-A-Aemond!” His wife cried out. Voice stammered by his thrusts. Hands clinging to the bedding as her legs wrapped around him.

“Not going to let me go, are you issa jorrāelagon.”

“Never.” She told him. With this look in her eyes that shot Aemond right to his soul.

He grabbed hold of her arm and flipped them up while they kissed. Her legs still wrapped around him as she was now seated neatly in his lap as he thrust up. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” The sweet words somehow tainted a little with all the wanton, animal panting between them, but no less meaningful. “Now give me our son.”

Aemond groaned. His back teeth grinding while his wife’s hips were grinding into his lap. He held her still and flush against him as his cock burst forth deep inside. She moaned sweetly against his ear as he filled her. Not letting go until he was sure every drop was inside his wife, then laid her down on the mattress. “Just the once, husband?”

“Do not tempt me, wife.” Aemond warned her. Both remembering the mad frenzy that had been their first bout to conceive. “Did you really mean it?” He asked when they were settled in bed for just sleep now. “Would you really want a son?”

The conversation earlier had led him to believe that she was not interested in one, but then her remark a moment ago made him question. Although Aemond was not fool enough to believe what a person said in the throws of passion anymore than what a person said when they had imbibed.

“Hmm…I have no opinion really.” She confessed. Settling into her spot on the bed between her pillow and his chest. “I know that is what everyone hopes for us. More Targaryen sons.” Aemond hummed once. He wouldn’t patronize his wife by telling her that that wasn’t true. “But, having one of each wouldn’t be so bad.” Aemond looked down at his wife just as she looked up at him. A shared moment between them. “I am not giving you 15 children though.”

Aemond smirked at her quip. “We shall see, now won’t we.”

*****

riñītsos: little one, little child

issa jorrāelagon: my love

Amena (origin, Arabic): meaning trustworthy, loyal, protected. [Not a Targaryen name but sounded pretty close, in my opinion]

[entitled-fangirl]

Doll.

Cregan Stark x Velaryon!wife!reader

Summary: Cregan is a girl dad. That’s it. That’s the summary.

Masterlist

………………………….

"Where are you, my perfect girl?" Cregan wondered aloud as he walked to the door.

His daughter, Lyanna, sat in her chambers, brushing the string hair of her favorite doll.

Only three now, she was a striking resemblance to her mother- violet eyes and that silver Targaryen hair.

He smiled as he leaned onto the doorframe and watched her.

She looked up to him with her bright eyes and held her doll out to him.

He chuckled lightly and walked into the room, kneeling next to her and taking her doll, "What am I to do with it?"

"Brush."

He raised his eyebrows but made no move to argue, running his fingers through the tangled string of the doll.

The doll was well aged it seemed, having been dragged everywhere they went. It held the same features as she did, clearly custom made to hold the same look.

Cregan never considered he'd get even more protective when the child began to slowly look like her mother.

Speaking of, Y/n entered the chambers with a smile, "And just what exactly are you two doing in here?"

Cregan only turned his head with a smirk, but Lyanna jumped up and ran to her mother, giggling when she was picked up with ease.

He watched the two approach him as Y/n took in the sight, "Brushing hair, are we, my love?"

He let out a breathy laugh, "I was commanded to, I'm afraid. Princess's orders."

Y/n mocked surprise, "A princess's orders? Well, you can't deny those, can you, Lord Stark?"

Lyanna giggled again, finding comfort in her mother's arms.

But her mother frowned, "Lyanna, why don't we brush your hair now? It seems we've been focused on the wrong hair."

Cregan looked up at that, only now noting the tangled mess that was his daughter's hair.

She huffed and shook her head.

Y/n gave her a patient smile, "You shall feel better when you do."

Lyanna shook her head again with a mean grunt.

Y/n's eyes lit up and she leaned to rest her forehead on the side of the girl's head, "If you let me brush your hair, surely your father will let you brush his."

Lyanna's eyes lit up excitedly, and Cregan's widened.

The woman looked to Cregan, "If that's alright."

He hesitantly nodded, "If it gets her hair brushed, I suppose."

Lyanna then began to wiggle, and Y/n set her down, watching as the girl ran around the room, grabbing all of her combs and hair ties.

Y/n took a moment to lean down and give Cregan a soft kiss, "You look dashing today, my prince."

Lyanna paused and looked at the two, "Papa's not a prince."

The two couldn't stop soft chuckles from leaving their lips. Cregan spoke up, "I only am because of your mother."

The girl looked more confused than before.

Y/n reached out and pulled the girl towards the bed. Y/n sat at the foot of it, having her girl stand so she was the right height for brushing. She became to patiently and softly comb through the hair of her daughter, "You truly are a princess, you know, Lyanna."

Her head tilted, "But why?"

Cregan stood himself up and walked towards them, "Because your mother is a princess, too."

"No, mama would be a queen. And papa is the king," she said nonchalantly as if common sense.

Cregan laughed and set himself in front of his daughter with his back to her, fulfilling his promise of brushing his hair, "I am no king, darling."

Y/n spoke up again, "Your grandmother, Rhaenyra, is the Queen. Grandsire Daemon is the King consort. Everyone else are the princes and princesses."

"Uncle Jace?"

Her mother nodded as she worked a knot through, "Yes. Even uncle Jace."

Lyanna took that for an answer and began to hastily run a comb through her father's long locks, practically tangling it more than before, but he allowed her to.

"Your mother once lived in a large castle," Cregan smiled. "With servants and guards and large dragons!"

Their daughter's eyes widened, "Dragons?"

He nodded, amused that he had caught her attention, "Oh, yes. Very large dragons. Ones that breathe fire when commanded."

"But only when their Targaryen rider commanded," Y/n chirped up to keep their daughter from panicking.

Lyanna hummed as she worked on her father's hair, seemingly unaware of her mother still working through hers. "Are they mean?"

Y/n smiled, "Oh. No. Dragons are quite kind when they wish to be. Their size is the scariest part."

Cregan reached out, picking up the doll again and messing with it absentmindedly.

"Hey!" Lyanna yelled. "That's mine!"

Y/n frowned, but her voice never rose, "Do not yell at your father."

"He has my favorite doll! Give it back!"

Cregan turned his body around completely to look at his girl. He held that commanding look in his eye that he rarely wore around his family, "Excuse me?"

Lyanna's brows furrowed and she held her hand out, "Give it back."

Y/n leaned back, abandoning the hair brush to watch Stark blood fight itself.

Cregan's shoulders pushed back, "Do not speak to anyone that way, much less your father."

Lyanna stomped her foot, "It is mine!"

He forced himself to take a deep sigh and his voice lowered in pitch and volume, "Speak again in this manner, and I will take the doll away."

Their daughter grew angry quickly. "DON'T!"

Y/n frowned, "Cregan-"

But it was too late. He stood up with the doll in hand and placed it on top of the dresser, out of the girl's reach.

She immediately turned to her mother and wailed. Y/n pulled her into her lap, comforting her.

Cregan looked at his wife with a disapproving gaze, "Do not-"

"Cregan." She spoke gently, "Be delicate with our girl."

"She's playing you for a fool."

Lyanna pulled away from her mother with puffy red eyes and tear streaks on her cheeks. Y/n gently wiped the tears away and cooed at the girl. Lyanna sniffled as she spoke, "Then I'll… I'll lose you."

Y/n frowned, "My girl, what do you mean?"

"I won't have you."

"I'm right here, Lyanna."

"But then you'll leave."

Y/n looked up to Cregan, who looked just as confused as her. He knelt down beside the two, "Your mother is not leaving, Lyanna."

"She'll… she'll leave the room… and… and I won't have her anymore."

Her mother quickly connected the dots. "My sweet girl. Is that doll me?"

Lyanna nodded and hiccuped lightly.

Cregan felt his heart drop to his stomach. What horrid father takes away a reminder of the girl's mother?

Y/n cooed, "Lyanna, I am safe. You are safe. Your father makes sure of it."

"But when you leave, I won't have you."

Y/n felt her eyes water and her lip tremble. She pulled the girl off of her lap and into Cregan's arms. "I can't…" She stood suddenly and left in a rush.

Cregan held the girl firmly, trying to distract her from her mother's absence. "Dear daughter. Please listen. Your mother loves you very much. With or without a doll, your mother will not leave. Not ever."

Lyanna sniffled but nodded.

He smiled lightly, "C'mere, girl."

The child practically melted against her father's chest.

…

Cregan later creaked open the chamber door that he shared with his wife.

She sat in the bed, her eyes puffy from a past session of crying.

"My love, what happened?"

She sniffled and shrugged, "'M fine. Overwhelmed, I suppose."

He nodded, walking up to the bed. He brushed hair from her forehead and placed a kiss there. "Lyanna is fine now. She fell asleep."

Y/n sighed, "I should have been more help."

"No. No. That's fine. You did what you could."

"It was the doll," she sniffled.

He took a breath as he sat on the bed. "Alright?"

She looked up and smiled through her tears, "Your hair is horrendous from Lyanna's brushing. Let me fix it."

He gave a playful huff and sat in front of her, his back to her once again. "Talk to me."

"I had a favorite doll when I was younger. Much like her," she said as she ran her fingers through the reddish locks. "But… It looked much different. Brown hair, and dark eyes."

Cregan imagined it in his head, unsure of where she was going with it.

"I always thought that… that my doll was so beautiful. And… and I looked nothing like it."

A breath escaped him as he began to understand. "So you believed-"

"-I believed that I was ugly."

"You know that's not true."

"I do now. I didn't then."

He felt her begin to part his hair and pull lightly at various parts. "I don't quite understand still."

"Our daughter sees me in her favorite doll. I… I could receive no greater honor."

"Ah." He was sure she was braiding his hair at this point.

Silence filled the room for a while and he relaxed into her hold. Finally he spoke, "I have petitions after this."

"I know."

He frowned, "What are you-"

"-Let me finish!" She giggled.

He playfully huffed and kept still.

A while later, she tied off the braids and kissed the crown of his head from behind. "Finished."

"Thank you, my love." He stood and approached the vanity to see her handiwork. Two braids ran down the top of his head, keeping the top layer of his hair up. "This is… rather impressive."

She smiled, "I am a Velaryon. If I know anything, it is how to braid."

He smiled back, moving to her and pulling her in to his arms, "I'm sorry for before. I should have spoken calmly to her. I lost my temper."

She leaned against him, "We all make mistakes, Cregan."

He nodded, "You have no idea how frustrated I get when she looks like you, but attains my stubbornness."

She began to laugh, "Well, perhaps the next one will be the opposite."

He frowned, "The next one? When will that be?"

She took his hand, leading it down to her currently flat stomach, "Maester says almost seven months to wait."

Cregan's eyes widened, "W… T… Truly?"

Y/n smiled, "Truly."

He let out a surprised and excited breath, grabbing her face and pulling her into a searing kiss. He pulled away and stared into her eyes, "Another one."

"Another one."

"The gods have blessed me tenfold."

"Aye. But you have to be the one to tell Lyanna that she will not be an only child."

He grinned, "A small price to pay, I assure you."

………………………………

Cregan Stark taglist: @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @callsignwidow, @8812-342, @nyxbranwenn, @thorins-queen-of-erebor

[wyvernest]

cold nights by the fire

cregan stark x betrothed f! reader

cw: smut, piv, creampie, fluff, slightly typical-medieval sexist views, loss of virginity

summary: your soon-to-be husband keeps you warm on your first cold night in Winterfell

Ever since the war ended, nights have grown colder in the regretted absence of most dragonfire in Westeros. High and sharp winds have started growing in the North, sweeping far south of The Wall and clawing at the gates of Winterfell.

Tonight was no different. You had asked your handmaiden to build a fire in the hearth for both your comfort, but with little gain. As soon as you stepped away from the red, licking flames, the cold took over like shadow vanquishing light.

“It’s all in vain.” you mutter, defeated.

“I shall bring more furs, m’lady.” your handmaiden insists, getting up from her spot by the fire.

“Don’t.”, you chuckle, “Any more and I’ll suffocate. They’ll have to send all the guards to come looking for me amongst them come morn’.”

Your companion lets a shy laugh escape her trembling lips, although short-lived as a tall, broad shadow appears by the door. 

“My lady.” Your heart flutters wildly at the unmistakable sound of your betrothed’s voice, so gentle and concerned. “Are you well?”

Nodding for your handmaiden to retreat to her own chamber, you now become aware of your condition; kneeled on the rough tapestry, crumbled into a ball of pelts, hands above the flames. Sour shame washes over you, for having dared to believe you were one of the toughest of your family during harsh times, yet now conquered by the cold on your first night in Winterfell. 

“Cregan.” you shuffle to raise to your feet but your freezing legs aren’t eager to heed your intent. “I must admit, my northern blood has betrayed me tonight, for the first time.” 

You are startled amidst your struggles to flee from the furs as he braces you with a firm hand on your back, before his other comes around your waist, easily lifting you off the rugs. He walks back, placing you on the soft bed and sitting beside you, the covers rigid with night’s chill underneath.

“I will not have my lady wife quiver in my own keep.” He rids himself of his cloak swiftly, draping it over your smaller frame. The hastiness of the gesture makes a newfound warmth pool in your veins, reminding you of the same way he is to soon cloak you as his lady, in sight of the Old Gods. 

“Thank you,” You whisper, surprised and stunned, as you cuddle closer into his embrace. His body heat soon seeps into you, your trembling diminishing as his strong arms faintly squeeze more and more. 

‘Exhilarated’ didn’t begin to properly describe how you felt when Lord Cregan started courting you not long after he had returned from the southern war of the Targaryens. Your house is pledged to the Starks, but with the safety of the North now secured, he did not deem it necessary to strengthen alliances with marriage anymore, not when he could follow his heart so freely.

A giddy shiver rouses you from oncoming slumber, as the last slither of cold leaves your body in a sneeze you wished you could suppress. 

“Come closer.” You can feel his hot breath on your face as he moves you over his lap, his right arm running up and down your back in hopes of keeping you warm.

“Is this proper? So soon, before the wedding?” You do not wish to so easily disrespect customs and laws, but it wasn't rare that you found yourself fantasising about finally being his.

“I am merely looking after my beloved. I already vowed to shield you from harm.” You cannot tell if there was a trace of amusement in his tone or if it was just your mind jesting.

“Not before the gods.”

“The gods knew of the pledge before I could speak it. The ceremony will be held, but my loyalties will have been with you for long before.” The hold around your waist tightens, affectionate.

You look up at him, pondering your next words carefully; but before you could muster up a word, your eyes drift to his lips, only for a moment. He doesn't need a clearer impulse to proceed.

His mouth meets yours with a warm exhale that seems to bewitch you, all senses and shock diffusing into the need of being with him. Your face is hot, the skin of your waist is buzzing under his touch even through thick clothing. Your kiss is shy, despite his growing hunger. He nips at your soft lips, his right hand cradling your face, warm and calloused, yet so tender.

His left palm grazes your thigh, a reassuring safety seasoned with soft need. 

You cannot dream of stopping him. Your only concern is him ceasing at an awful time, only to return to his usual, honourable self and leave you desperate until the wedding. But he does not back away, more and more enraptured with you, the scent of you, your skin and your soft sighs. 

He kisses down your jaw, down your throat, wet, hot and open-mouthed. Your body has forgotten all about the sting of cold, leaning back onto the furs. He follows without breaking away, climbing on top of you slowly yet steadily. You moan in surprise as he begins to toy with the back strings of your dress.

“If you wish me gone, I will be gone at once, wife.” He vows.

Returning into view, he looks at you from atop, his brows soothing at the realisation that you are about to welcome him.

“Warm my bed tonight, husband.” You utter, a feather’s puff aways from his lips.

With that, he descends upon you, tasting your words on your lips, his hands cradling your liquified body like softened candle wax. You're burning up and twisting with excitement under the blazing flame of his heat. 

His hands slowly rid you of your garments, leaving you in your white shift, before slipping underneath and grabbing your waist. His touch leaves your skin aching and burning behind, his kisses mark you in a scorch palpable only to you. His touch climbs past your waist, coming to fondle the soft flesh of your breasts. Your heart beat is so strong you swear he might feel it as he softly squeezes your tit.

You shuffle in his hold, seeking to press yourself closer and closer into him, as if to become one. He indulges, himself wanting to wrap you up entirely in his embrace. Your soft breasts come flush against his hard chest, legs curling up around his waist as you receive him between your parted thighs. 

His breathing gradually becomes laboured as he moves against you, pulling the covers over you both. As he continues to caress the curves and dips of your shape, his groin brushes up against your flower and your hips betray you, dragging back up against him. With a low grunt, he frees himself from his breeches with one hand, and you pull at his chemise to fully undress him.

“Are you certain?” You inquire, out of breath.

“Always have been.” He soothes your worries with another heart-stopping kiss, sealing the premature bedding with an undoubting vow.

You feel him guide himself into you, the tip of his manhood prodding at the pink petals of your unplucked rose, claiming you. He pushes in and you gladly accept him, wet and wanting. 

“Gods, you feel amazing.” He groans above you, finally settled completely into you, before pulling back out and starting to roll his hips, steady yet hard enough to have you tensing at the sudden feeling of kindles in your womb. 

He sinks deep into you with every thrust, breathing heavy on your neck, groaning in your ear, whipping at the cold and dark of the bedchamber. You can smell the pinewood and musk on him, closer than you’ve ever been before, and it drowns out your senses, reducing you to the rapid waters of a river, bending and breaking against harsh stones of mountains, willing and united. 

You gasp out his name as the air is filled with your moans and pleas, the wood-carved bed frame ramming into the bleak stone walls of Winterfell with an echoless rhythm. 

He worships your body like you were a godly grace bestowed upon him, listening to your every sound and heeding every sign that he could do more for your pleasure. Eventually his thrusts grow urgent and scattered in between breaths, and before he can muffle your ecstatic whines with another kiss, you come, your delicate flower quivering around him, pushing him into the peak of his own satisfaction. 

You feel him throb inside, filling you with a strange, new sensation. He collapses by your side, tenderly dragging you with him. He strokes up and down your back, his breaths calming with a deep sigh.

“Is my lady still in discomfort?” He jests lightly, proud with himself and immensely content.

You snuggle at his side, head on his chest. “No. But I'm afraid I will be in need of your aid every night, my lord.”

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ You invite them to live in your Serenitea Pot

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe 

After prolonged years of adventuring, traveling, and battling, you decided it was the appropriate moment to invite your partner to your Serenitea Pot. It’s like inviting a significant other to move in with you, right? You are delighted, and even though your beloved is acting honored and calm on the outside, little do you know - he is secretly screaming with victory on the inside. 

✧ A tender smile graced Pierro’s cold expression. The first time you spoke about him taking residence along with you in your Serenitea Pot mansion, The Jester's inner machination was already planning a wedding. He loved you, with every fiber of his being. And whether you decide to live in the grand Snezhnayan Palace or somewhere private, it won’t hinder his plans to spoil you as his beloved.

It was all according to plan. You wake up, breakfast is already prepared. You start your day, the house is already cleaned. You wish to rest, his arms are already open.

He took his duties as a resident of your humble abode as if he were the househusband of this home. All matters were taken care of by him. And the fact that you two are already leading a private life together like a proper couple ignited his cold demeanor with softheartedness. It suited him; the commotion of the Fatui and Snezhnayan delegations were far away from you two. And with no peering eyes, the Fatui Director was busy with so many thoughts about your future: making your home better, showing himself as a man who would coddle you all day long, choosing a ring for you…

“Dear? You are deep in thoughts again,” - You called out suddenly, your gentle voice breaking his train of vehement thoughts. “I told you, you’re here to rest, not overwork yourself with chores!”

“Ah, my apologies. It seems I was lost in my mind once more. You know my habit of preparedness is often prevalent.”

✧ The honorable Il Capitano went silent the first time you invited him, and his pitch-black helmet did not provide any clues to his already stoic body language. At first, you hesitated. Perhaps he did not feel comfortable taking such an importan-

Next thing you know, the mighty captain is kneeling in front of you, his head hung low in utter reverence. “It would be my greatest honor to receive your blessings. I shall conduct myself with utmost obedience in your domain.”

“Goodness gracious, It’s just my house, Capitano! Not the Tsaritsa’s throne!” 

After much convincing and assurance, you finally had The First of the Harbingers in your dwelling. In the beginning, you pondered, what a man of his caliber would do in his private time. Perhaps more training, or planning for battles? You decided to create a separate area for weaponry storage and training duels. After all, you wanted to be considerate.

To your surprise, Capitano never brought his “work” in the privacy of your home. Instead, he treated you to some of the best home cooking in the seven nations. With a broad outdoor area like your Serenitea Pot, Il Capitano finally managed to flex his grilling skills. You never knew BBQ grilled vegetables could taste so heavenly. And on colder nights, he preferred some home baking.

“Who would’ve thought the strongest man in Teyvat relished such a peaceful routine when he’s at home,” - You teased him once. Feasting like a monarch with his cooking, you have your cherished prepare the best food and provide the strongest cuddles - what else would you need?

“I would never bring you the turbulence of war to the footsteps of your home. After all, mundanity is a luxury that the common folk cannot comprehend.”

✧ When Il Dottore moved in with you - he became an absolute menace to your mental well-being. The upper floor of your manor was entirely occupied for his scholarly needs. From your library to your study; the upper rooms were regaled, making a mini makeshift lab filled with vials of obscure chemicals or too-long-to-read medical names.

But that was not the main issue at all. The greatest conundrum was that Dottore considered your privacy as our privacy. According to him, the Serenitea Pot was a private residence, secluded from the turmoil of the world’s idiocracy. Any temporary visitors would receive a nasty glare from him whenever they stayed. This was his confidential sanctuary with you, not theirs. And in his private time, when it’s only you and him in the house, the Doctor would forget that people often get dressed after a shower - because he would exit the bathroom wearing only a towel around his hips, and keep waltzing around your room like it’s nothing.

“...Uh? Please dress first, Dottore.”

“Very well.”

“Not here!!!”

Nevertheless, you managed all that. What you didn’t manage, however, is how Dottore took the most amount of space in bed. Your bed, mind you. Before he joined your travels, you created a comfy bedroom in your Serenitea Pot, a separate, quiet setting for your favorite mad scholar. Alas, every night you peacefully went to bed, only to wake up with a figure wrapping his arms tightly around your midsection, taking half of your bed.

Today was one of those days. The blankets were a mess, some had fallen to the floor. You feel uncomfortable and claustrophobic in your own bed, something nudging you to almost fall off. You already knew the culprit of your situation - Dottore. He was dozing off comfortably behind you, his arms sleepily thrown around your form, glued to your torso.

You whined groggily, trying to get away - “... You have your own bed. Stop pushing me.”

“Shush. Come here.” - Dottore's arms encircled around your waist, pulling your back flush to his chest. “It’s our bed now.” 

It seems The Doctor didn’t take long to feel at home. Oh well. The only way to deal with this was to use him as a mattress from now on.

✧ At first, you hesitated to invite Scaramouche to your Serenitea Pot. It was still a work in progress, and not all areas were refurbished or prepared. Yet surprisingly, it was he who opened the discussion of a joint dwelling. Perhaps it was his instinct to keep you closer, to be certain of your safety in his arms.

After asking and discussing, you were pleasantly surprised when the Balladeer stated: “I do not expect you to build a palace. I will help you with the renovation. You can ask for my help.”

And so he did. You felt timid with your emptied Serenitea Pot, yet The Harbinger took it upon himself to aid you. He worked with you on where the house should be, and what type of garden or entrance should accompany it. There was something about his serious gaze whenever he discussed with you the matters of home. As if some old memories were reemerging.

“It doesn't matter. We won’t clutter the place, as a busy environment becomes a nuisance. The less one has - the better.”

With a profound touch of contemplation and minimalism, You and Scaramouche managed to plan an elegant abode. It was simple, yet perfectly maintained - with the best aspects of Inazuma and other foreign nations in the craftsmanship of the furniture. You were surprised but content. You even went as far as to ask your beloved whether he wanted a more traditional Inazuman style for this private dwelling but he strictly rejected it.

He didn’t want any more memories of his “birthplace” to resurface. Not in a place that will be private for you two.

So here you were, giddy with excitement as the interior of your manor was settled and ready. The bedroom was cozy and comfortable, a perfect place to lounge and rest. The Harbinger would groan whenever you tugged and pulled him to sleep next to you. 

“If you move once in your sleep, I’m pushing you off the bed.” 

You promised him you wouldn’t. But it was he who relented and held you close to his chest during the night. He did not need a home or a safe haven from the cruel world; You were already his home. 

✧ Bring in the fine china, and roll out the red carpet - because Pantalone was coming over to your Serenitea Pot. You know that your sweetheart has a manor pricier than Mondstadt’s entire GDP, with fancy knick-knacks and luxuries. But as a couple, it was always Pantalone who insisted on you living with him, since he could spoil and pamper you after long travel expeditions. In his manor, you can simply have everything you ever desire. 

But today was a grand occasion. You decided to invite him to your humble home, even if you had little to impress him with. The Harbinger was ecstatic, this was a step he desired and longed for. Should he dress formal-casual or more extravagant? No, no. His hair must be well-kept. Perhaps he should bring an expensive bottle of Fontainian wine… The evening must end flawlessly. It’s his first night in your home, for crying out loud. An evening designated to culminate with lovely cuddles in your bed, lavishing you with kisses or more. 

Upon entering your cozy home, all his worries dissipated after you embraced him in your usual jovial way. You proudly displayed your manor, tugging at his hand and pulling him closer. Mirroring your pride, he stood analyzing each item or furniture as if it were a priceless relic in a museum.

“Ah, yes. I see this must be a traditional Inazuman doll, one used in ancient arts and rituals.”

“Oh, these round things? This is just a tanuki daruma… They bounce funny.”

“And I see this figurine must be imported as well, my dear? A marvelous craftsmanship of wood and carvings. Interesting.”

“This is just a wooden figurine of an Aranara” - you smiled proudly.

“I like your funny words, darling.” 

✧ If Tartaglia never invited you over to his family home back in Snezhnaya, you would’ve thought this man was homeless. The 11th often stayed in your Serenitea Pot, always giddy yet conscientious. Whenever you wished for any help around the house, his sleeves would roll up and the apron was on; all you had to do was ask, and you shall receive.

Thus, the two of you would help each other. If you were cooking, then he would do the laundry; all chores were equally divided. Childe was naturally hardworking, and you loved him for his dedication to the house. It always felt warmer and cozier whenever he stayed, and you made sure to display your appreciation throughout the day by providing kisses to the cheek or gentle caresses to his hair.

Who wouldn’t be thrilled when their beloved greets them home and kisses them on the cheek? Now that he is residing in your private adeptal realm, it makes him look forward to returning home even more. To be back from a mission, only to kiss you, pick you up, and squeeze you lovingly in his arms.

Alas, despite his domestic joy, he was also becoming restless. Such a huge realm, you could have a whole area for dueling or training an army here. Therefore, he would start nagging at you throughout the day, asking you to join him.

“Come now, sweetheart! Just a quick morning stretch!” - He said from the living room’s doorway.

“Oh, I know! How about we make a shooting range outdoors and see who’ll get the most bullseye.” - his voice rang from downstairs.

“Or a one-on-one sparring match. That will get the blood flowing.” - he even stood behind the bathroom door, still imploring you through closed doors.

All this and more persisted. Even in the early morning, when your eyesight barely adjusted to the sunlight, the first thing you’d see is him leaning over your shoulders “Perhaps we can-” 

“Nope,” - you intercepted, albeit sleepily. Pulling him closer to bed, you made sure he went still in your arms. “No fighting. Only cuddles...”

“Oh? Is that your form of a challenge, darling? Be prepared, because I won't back down.”

[fastandcarlos]

Everyone's Favourite LeClerc : ̗̀➛ Charles LeClerc

summary: he was used to being the leclerc on everybody's lips, but when you take your daughter to visit the paddock it turns out charles might not be the favourite that he thought he was

You could hear the familiar chuckles coming from the Ferrari garage from halfway down the paddock, keeping your daughter in your hold as you swerved around the chaos. There were people everywhere that you tried to avoid, eventually reaching the garage and opening up the door, greeted, as always, by a sea of dark red staring back at you.

From across the room, Carlos was the first to spot you, waving over the crowds. He moved around a few people before reaching you and your daughter, kneeling down as you placed your daughter on her feet.

“Aurelie!” He yelled, capturing her attention as she stumbled towards him, barely able to keep her balance.

“She’s been asking for you all morning,” you chuckled, moving across to Carlos to greet him too.

“Oh I see, second best am I?” A voice called out as he closed in on the three of you. Charles didn’t miss a trick, as soon as he knew that you were in the room his protective eyes were trying to find you. He pressed a kiss against your cheek as Aurelie continued to cuddle Carlos, completing ignoring her father. “Am I invisible or something, you can see me, right?” Charles pouted, looking to you for a little bit of support. Your hand pressed against his cheek, offering a sympathetic smile.

“She only saw you, it’s been weeks since she got to see Carlos,” you reminded him, knowing that Charles was only messing with the strop that he threw beside you.

“I can’t believe my own daughter doesn’t even want to know me,” he huffed.

“Sucks to be you,” Carlos teased as Aurelie ran her hands through Carlos’ fluffy locks.

Charles watched the two of them for a few more moments before he reached out his hands. “That’s it, you’re mine,” he teased, taking Aurelie from Carlos’ hold and showering her with kisses all over her face. Aurelie squealed and squirmed in his hold, trying her best to push against his chest and get away. Charles was nowhere near letting her go though, reminding her exactly who her father was and who loved her the most.

“Poor girl,” Carlos chuckled as he watched the two of them.

“You’re my baby,” Charles whispered as he finally let Aurelie relax in his hold.

“So jealous,” you hummed under your breath, just loud enough for Charles to hear as he shot a glare across in your direction.

“Fancy having a look around? Seeing the car for this weekend?” Carlos offered as he slung his arm across your shoulders. “We’re on for a good race this week.”

You nodded in reply, “Aurelie has been desperate to see daddy’s car,” you noted, watching as Charles’ eyes lit up as you spoke.

“Shall we go and see daddy’s car?” He asked, proudly grinning as the girl in his arms bounced up and down excitedly, keen to have a good look around.

“And Uncle Carlos’ car too?” Carlos added, feeling Charles stare across at him, unable to stop himself from getting a little jab in and winding Charles up once again.

You hung back slightly as Charles and Carlos began to walk Aurelie around the garage, one of her small hands in each of their own. She was still too young to fully understand what was going on, but seeing how busy things were always made her eyes light up. Seeing people cheer for her dad and want to talk to her too was the perfect weekend for her.

Aurelie listened closely as Charles talked her through his car, making sure to keep it as simple as he could. Once the garage tour was completed you decided to head out around the rest of the paddock and see what you could find. Soon enough you had several of the drivers around you, all keen to greet Aurelie and see who could entertain her the best.

You had never seen Charles so proud, he loved introducing his little girl to his world and letting her see all the cool things he got up to. Above all else, he loved that some of his closest friends were there with him at the garage and that he got to see them bond with Aurelie which was all that he had ever wanted. His daydream was broken by you appearing next to him, nudging gently against his side. Charles’ smile turned up as soon as he realised that it was you there, taking a hold of your hand and pulling you closely in against his side.

As much as Charles wanted to have all his attention on you, he couldn’t ignore the giggles that constantly came from next to him as Lando and George tried their best to keep Aurelie happy.

It was nice for the two of you to have a couple of moments all to yourselves.

“I love having you both here and being able to have you in my little world,” Charles whispered, pressing a gentle kiss against the side of your head. “It always gives me extra motivation to do well whenever I know that the two of you are cheering me on as well,” he added.

“I wouldn’t miss this race for the world,” you whispered, “I know how important Monaco is for you and how much you want to do well today.”

“Thank you for being here,” Charles then told you, taking you by surprise with how sincere his voice was. “I don’t say it enough, but I appreciate the efforts you go to to support, and make sure that Aurelie can come and support me too.”

Your eyes narrowed on Charles, convinced there was a hint of a tear in his eye.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he joked, knowing exactly what you were thinking without even having to look at you. “I’m not going to start crying with all of these losers around to see it and tease the hell out of me for it.”

“It’s okay to admit that it means a lot,” you assured him, brushing underneath his eye with the pad of your thumb. “Truthfully, it means a lot for me to be able to be here and see you achieve your dreams too.”

As much as F1 was a dream for Charles, the biggest dream he’d achieved was the giggling figure currently pulling at Lando’s feeble attempt of a beard on his face.

You both could only laugh as Lando squealed in pain, pushing against George as he encouraged Aurelie to keep going and cause Lando as much pain as possible.

“I worry about the influence of all your friends sometimes,” you jokingly admitted to Charles, shaking your head at the scene that was unfolding.

“How are you two just stood there letting this happen?” Lando gasped at you both.

You both shrugged, much to Lando’s dissatisfaction. She was as cheeky as her dad, and loved to try and push the boundaries as much as she possibly could.

“I blame you for this,” you laughed, tapping against Charles’ stomach. “She copies your habits way more than she copies mine,” you added, raising your eyebrows across at him.

“I’m an angel,” Charles protested.

“You?” You gasped in disbelief, “you must be having a laugh right now.”

“You adore me enough to have a child with me,” he noted.

“True,” you scoffed, finding yourself caught out and unable to figure out what to say next. Charles looked at you expectantly, knowing that he’d got you and once again left you pretty speechless because of him.

When you remained silent, he leant forwards and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, “I love our little family, even if it is chaos sometimes.”

“Me too, I would never have it any other way.”

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[sublimitymp3]

Pray for me

Pairing ✵ Gwayne Hightower/Niece!reader

Warnings ✵ Hotd season 2 spoilers, incest, littleee bit of crybaby!reader, smut (frottage, oral F receiving, fingering, and slight dacryphilia), and religious themes

Word count ✵ 2.5k

Summary ✵ Your uncle Gwayne arrives from Oldtown at your brother's call, and pays a visit to you while you pray.

"Your mother told me I might find you in here,"

You whipped your head around to see the source of the voice that disturbed you from your prayers and saw none other than your uncle, Ser Gwayne Hightower. He had finally come from Oldtown, answering your brother's call for assistance in his war.

"It is the seventh day, I thought I ought to pray. Especially now..." You explain with a small smile. You stood from your kneeling position on the cold, unyielding sept floor so you may look upon him. Your face twists into a cringe as you feel the bruises from kneeling for so long begin to form on your knees, and you are sure they'll be an ugly purple color later. Relaxing your features, you finally turn on your heel to face your uncle. It has been so long since you've seen him.

Too long.

He's as handsome as you remember, with his auburn hair, pale blue eyes, and the faint freckles that dust his face. How you wished you could map kisses along those freckles, connecting them with a trail of where your lips had been. But your faith and virtue prevent you from giving in to the desire. Besides, you are sure that if he ever found out you ever thought such things, he'd look at you with such revulsion that you'd crumble to the floor in shame.

He steps closer to you, tucking a stray hair behind your ear tenderly. "You have your mother's beauty, but your father's features," he hums, tweaking your nose playfully before wrapping you in a firm hug. It is not lost on you the slight curt tone his voice took on at the mention of your late father, but you dismiss it.

"And tell me, how have you been fairing during these trying times, hm? Don't tell me you hole yourself up in this sept all day." He teases, bringing a feeling of embarrassment over you for he had guessed correctly. Recently, you do spend the brunt of your days at the sept, praying to almost every facet of the Seven for mercy, strength, wisdom, and safety. Today, you were praying at the statue of the Mother, and after you lit a candle for her altar, you prayed for mercy and protection for your family members. It is one of the few things that brings you comfort nowadays, your faith in the Seven who are One.

"Well, there isn't much I can do," you shrug, letting a small frown tug at your lips. "It's not like I can sit in on a council meeting, and mother refuses to let me on my dragon. She seems perfectly content in keeping me idle and useless," you remark with a tone of annoyance, one that draws a low laugh from your uncle.

"Your mother means well, sweet niece. You're better suited here, getting favor from the gods as opposed to being in the midst of battle. Believe me, it is a bloody, nasty affair, and you are far too delicate to join in," he grips your chin in between his forefinger and his thumb, keeping your lilac gaze trained on his ocean-blue eyes.

You cannot even think of a response to his dismissing words, as you are too busy trying to push away the familiar ache you get between your thighs. It always comes at the most inconvenient of times, like when you watch the men in the training yard move, sweaty and shirtless, or when you spy on your brother coupling with a serving girl. All you know is that it persists for ages, and no amount of praying stops it.

But you can only try.

"S-Shall we pray, uncle? So that the Mother may grant us safety, of course," you propose, shifting nervously on your feet. Perhaps it is the light flush that has appeared on your face, or how you try to discreetly press your thighs together for some form of relief, but Gwayne knows. He always knows.

To save yourself some embarrassment, you resume your kneeling position before the statue and altar of the Mother, clasping your hands together in the standard praying position. You expect your uncle to kneel beside you, or just leave the sept all together, so you are quite surprised when you feel him loom behind you.

His firm chest swiftly presses against your back, and his larger and calloused hands come to rest over your softer ones, and you find yourself trapped in this embrace. Whether it is to your delight or misfortune, you cannot decide. You squeeze your eyes shut and silently beg for forgiveness for the unseemly thoughts that run through your brain at his actions. 'Who thinks such perverse things in a holy place?' you think, mentally chastising yourself.

"Well, go on then, sweet one. Pray for me," he whispers, and you can feel his breath fanning against the shell of your ear. Gwayne is enjoying this, enjoying this little game of denial you two play. Of course, it is wrong for him to want to take you in the lewdest positions, to have you scream his name so everyone knows who is fucking you so good, but he has restrained himself all this time. Patience is a great virtue, yes, but he wishes to reap his reward for remaining ever so patient now.

"M-Mother Above, have mercy on us all. I beg you for your protection, and for you to-" you cut yourself off with a gasp as your uncle buries his face into the crook of your neck, and gently nips at the soft skin there. He begins pressing himself against your ass, making your cheeks flush even more.

Noticing your sudden pause, he pulls back to look at your blushing face with a devilish smirk. "Well? Go on, don't mind me," he says before going right back to nipping and sucking at your neck. It is impossible for you to stay concentrated on your prayers as he continues, and you resign to praying in your head as your words fail you.

Your prayers only falter as you feel something hard poking against your backside, prodding and bumping against you relentlessly. Gwayne begins peppering kisses from your neck and to your jawline before tugging your head back gently, and letting his lips brush against yours. He only pauses as you tilt your head a little bit away in reluctance.

"U-Uncle, this is wrong. N-Not here, we cannot do this-"

"Shh, enough with that. It isn't wrong, not in the slightest. It's not wrong, not when you're meant for me. Surely even the gods will understand," he mumbles against the softness of your lips. You feel in that little moment of pause that his are a bit chapped, most likely from days of riding on horseback and camping in the wilderness. But it matters little then.

Once his lips are on yours, you cannot help the cascade of little moans that leaves you. His mouth is overwhelming and easily overpowers your rather inexperienced one, and you feel his hands move from their position over yours. One hand moves to your neck, and the other to your breast, fondling it through your dress as he continues humping you from behind.

You are thankful the sept is empty today. If word of what you do now reached your mother, of the depravity you partake in with her own brother, you're sure she'd have you sent far away to become a septa.

With a final peck to your lips, your uncle stands. He drinks in the sight of you like this; cheeks flushed, hair a bit messy, clothes rumpled, and swollen lips, all from him, of course. He swears then and there he's never seen a more beautiful sight.

"Up you go, princess," he mumbles, before picking you up with ease and setting you to sit on the edge of the altar. He messily pushes away the candles and various offerings left there to make room for you, and you cringe at the disrespect, disrespect born from lust and hastiness.

The new position allows for you to be relatively level with his face, and he soon hikes your dress up and stands between your parted thighs. As he begins to rub his erection against your clothed cunt, you grab onto his forearms to ground yourself.

His erection rubs against your dampened smallclothes, brushing against your bud and your folds. With each grind of his hips, you feel something like a fire burning through your bones. But with your clothes acting like a barrier, and the slightly awkward angle, it's not enough for you. Even with your unfamiliarity to such actions, you still know it is not enough.

"M-More, more. Uncle, I need more." you whine, pulling him closer by the laces of his breeches, eliciting a sly smirk from him.

"Well well, I never thought I'd see the day where my own niece was begging for me like a whore." he teases, making you frown at the crude and cruel word.

A cruel word indeed, and you feel the familiar sensation of your eyes watering, and your nose instinctively sniffling. Gwayne's smirk falters for a moment as he watches little tears spill from your eyes, but only for a moment.

"Aw, come now sweet girl, don't take offense. It was all in good fun, yes?" he coos to you, and you feel him begin to lick your tears away, catching the salty evidence of your crying on his tongue. "But oh, darling one, how pretty you look when you cry. Are you gonna cry more with what I do to you, little princess?" he asks with a mocking little pout, before kissing back down your neck.

You've always been a bit of a sensitive girl, everyone knows this. The smallest hint of frustration or anger to you, or even words spoken to you all in jest send you easily into tears. What you were not expecting was for them to be met with something other than the typical annoyed shushing you are used to receiving when you begin to cry.

Soon, Gwayne is kneeling before you, and pulling your wet smallclothes down. His lips pepper light kisses along your soft inner thighs, teasing you once more. "So wet...all for me, little princess?" he asks before nudging his nose against your bud, making you jolt with pleasure. He inhales your sweet scent. 'The scent of a wet virgin', he thinks crudely to himself.

You keep yourself propped up with your arms, and you look down at him between your thighs. Both of your legs have been thrown over his shoulders, and the instinct to wiggle your core closer to him grows. With a knowing gaze, Gwayne looks up at you with a smirk, before his tongue darts out and he dives in.

He eats you like a starved man.

His tongue licks stripes along your core, lapping up your arousal hungrily. His mouth works expertly, and all you can do is sit there helplessly and moan. Your little squeals and high-pitched whines sound adorable to him, and he laughs against your cunt. The vibrations, of course, make you jump again.

"My my, little niece, aren't you quite the sensitive one? Is your cunny as sensitive as your heart, hm?" he teases, as he continues to lick and suckle you. You cannot respond, too incapacitated by the pleasure his mouth brings you. It is nothing like you've ever felt before. Even your pillow or your hands don't feel as good as this.

"U-Uncle, uncle Gwayne, it feels s'good," you practically babble out as the lewd sounds of him slurping against you echoes around the sept. Your hand comes down to grip at his auburn hair, tugging him closer to your cunt. You care not anymore if this depravity is sullying a holy place, or if the gods watch with disapproval. There's always time to repent, after all.

The little pain you yanking his hair brings him makes him groan against your puffy folds, adding only to the stimulation you feel. "Yeah? Feels good? Oh, baby, you have no idea..." he murmurs, leaving you a little confused at his choice of words.

But you soon find out what exactly he means.

His mouth moves to focus only on your sensitive bud, sucking on it gently while he introduces two fingers to your wet folds. His fingers dance along your slit, dragging up and down in a slow, almost torturous manner.

You cry and squirm against him, greedily pushing his face right against your cunt. He heeds your signal, and finally pushes his fingers inside your velvety walls.

The stretch and feeling of something penetrating you are new and utterly foreign, but with the added stimulation his mouth still gives, the uncomfortableness of it all soon washes away to make room for pleasure. He begins pumping his fingers in and out of you slowly, careful to not hurt you as he works you open.

Once he is sure you are ready, only then does he move his fingers faster. Your thighs squeeze around his head with the intensity of it all, and he has to wrench them back apart. "I can't move if you're trying to block me, sweetling," he chuckles, earning a sheepish "sorry" from you.

As he continues his ministrations, his fingers finally brush against and find that spongy sweet spot hidden up you. He begins to nudge against it with his fingertips, making you gush your arousal all over his face. You've never felt such an intense and yet wonderful feeling in your life, and soon you find it all beginning to build up and crescendo.

His free hand massages and strokes your hips gently, and rubs circles over your belly a little, just to soothe you. He can feel your walls tightening up, and how your thighs tremble and shake around his head. "You can do it, baby, you can do it. Go on, sweet niece," he coos, finally sending you over the edge.

With a loud cry, you tremble and feel such intense pleasure crashing over you like the waves during a tumultuous seastorm. You chant his name, worshipping him as if he were a god.

Once your peak washes over you, you slump against the base of the statue of the Mother. Gwayne promptly stands, his mouth and chin dripping with your juices. "You're the sweetest thing I've ever tasted. Perhaps I should have you every night instead of wine." he smiles, before thumbing stray tears that rest on your flushed cheeks away.

He wipes his mouth with his forearm, before kissing you once more. You can taste yourself on your tongue. "I have to go now, sweet one. Pray to the gods for me, will you? And when I come back, we can pray together again. Wouldn't you like that?" he grins, cupping your face in his hands.

A knowing smile forms on your kiss-swollen lips as you understand the insinuations of his words. As he rides off to fight your brother's war, you will remain praying in the sept, longing for the day he will return and come to pray with you again.

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[g0dlyunsub]

it takes two.

spencer deals with a lot on the field, but nothing can prepare him for when he’s stuck inside a locker with you.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: 18+ due to sexual themes but no smut, slight claustrophobia triggers

word count :: 2.2k

author’s note :: inspired by a scene from s9e23, i'm imagining spencer in a fitted collared shirt and tie, reader wears a skirt

accompanying song :: stuck between by dutch criminal record

“nothing’s showing up on vicap. i’ve cross-checked records against everything you’ve mentioned, sir, but there’s literally nothing. zilch,” you hear garcia let out an exasperated groan as she ferociously taps at her keyboard. 

you watch as hotch kneads the skin between his brows with growing impatience while morgan starts to pace around the room. you’re not doing any better yourself, your stressed-out fingers threatening to tug at the strands of hair neatly holding your ponytail together. 

it’s too frustrating. the leads are clearly there, but your team is lacking the final puzzle piece to complete the profile, to confirm that it’s someone in the department that’s deliberately injecting themselves into the investigation.

“your answer is probably written down on paper. ugh, i hate when bad guys try to act all smart,” garcia fumes, and sulks as she gives an apologetic wave from her side of the screen. hotch nods, relays a thank you, and cuts the call before rounding the whole team together.

“think about it, those two are the perfect scapegoats. all of these agents have everything to lose, so why not just blame them? they’ve been in and out of cells already, and it makes perfect sense to craft a narrative that’ll point fingers at them,” morgan starts, making small gestures as he speaks with his signature cadence, topped with a honeyed rasp.

“and they’ve got all the authority to influence the public’s opinion,” jj nods in agreement.

“we need to try to get those two to talk again, but we also have to take extra precautions. jj and prentiss, go interview them one more time to see if they’ll spill any names. morgan, i need you to work with garcia to look for other possible leads. reid and l/n, go to the records room to review the files of the agents working with us. dave and i will try to hold down the fort,” hotch instructs, nodding at each of you as he rolls out the orders. 

“and try not to draw suspicion. if all else fails, say that you need to run to the bathroom,” rossi adds with a wink. it always amazes you how calm the italian agent is during such high-pressure situations, a trait you’ve grown to immensely appreciate.

“shall we?” you say as you nudge spencer, and he hums back in response. you bid a wish of good luck to emily and jj and traverse the hallway to the records room with the doctor, your heels clacking beside the cushioned steps of his slightly worn converses. 

after looking left and right to make sure no one’s around, spencer opens the door. you silence the sounds of your heels as you follow inside, and let the bolt of the lock plunge into the frame by slowly closing the door. 

“alright, you take the left, i’ll take the right,” you whisper, and spencer gives you a thumbs up. 

the two of you work silently and as fast as possible, sifting through the piles of records that lie on the tables and beside the cabinets. you feel your heart jump into a cartwheel every time a sheet of paper slips out of the manila folders, the sounds of rustling and creasing setting you on edge. 

“i found mcgregor and drew, but i don’t think it’s either of them,” spencer declares with a voice that isn’t supposed to sound loud at all, but it feels hundreds of decibels higher than the bare whisper you spoke with earlier. 

“okay, i found weaver and lee, but they don’t fit the profile either. let’s continue looking for the other two,” you call back. 

spencer walks over to you and kneels beside your left to help you with your search. once you spread the folders on the floor, you spot one of the two remaining files, and spencer soon finds the other. you’re about to turn through the sheets in the folder when the doorknob starts to shake, startling the both of you.

“shit. spence,” you blurt as spencer takes his file in one hand and grabs yours with the other, and shoves them into an open drawer. after he slides the compartment back with his careful and nimble fingers, you grab his arm and squeeze into a spare locker. you barely manage to seal the opening shut in time.

you could say that it was quick thinking that saved your and spencer’s cover, since the door jiggles and thrusts open a mere second later.

you never would’ve imagined that the day would come when you would draw air directly from spencer’s breaths, let alone enclose yourself in the same room as him. 

and yet here you are, perched on top of spencer’s knee, the scratchy fabric of his trousers resting under the hollow space of your pencil skirt and between your legs. his other leg presses against your side of the wall with an uncomfortable bend, while his chin sits an atom’s width from your forehead.

it’s a nonnegotiable consequence that comes with his tall figure, the way his clothed knee has to rub against your inner thighs under the draped fabric.

one of your hands lies awkwardly on his chest while the other is on his thigh, right above the knee that’s using you for leverage. your attention immediately shifts to your left when you see the rays of the intruder’s flashlight scope through the room. 

you stop mid-exhale when the light pours through the gaps of the locker, casting shadows on spencer’s face and your body. he looks stressed, anxiously wetting his lips with closed eyes, face turned away from you.

and he looks overwhelmed. rapid bursts of inhales and exhales fire from his body, likely due to the collar of his shirt being bound tightly around his neck with the tie. with shaking fingers, you slowly reach for his tie, waiting for approval to loosen it. 

you feel his forehead bury into the cave of your shoulder, and he whispers his desperate ask into your ear: “please.”

despite the lack of light around you, you’re able to locate the small end of his satin tie, and you tug lightly. the knot unfurls as you pull, and spencer lets out a small sigh of relief before breathing a low thank you in your ear.

as this happens, you hear the intruder surf through the piles of papers, unlocking drawers and lifting boxes left and right. hurry, hurry, hurry, you pray desperately in your head. beads of sweat start to form at your temple and threaten to fall down to your exposed neck, which happens to be situated directly in spencer’s line of sight.

“come on,” you hear the guest in the room complain, angrily flipping through papers and slamming the cabinets. you think it’s finally time for him to leave when you hear the high-pitched ring of his phone. 

but your eyes widen when instead of heading to the door, he makes strides towards the locker right across from yours, and leans his back against it before holding the phone up to his ear. holy shit.

“jensen speaking,” he says with a gruff voice, and plays with the button of his flashlight so it turns on and off spontaneously. as the light flickers, it dimly shines the space inside your locker. 

spencer turns his head to meet your eyes, a panicked expression covering his face. you’re about to mouth a small sorry for the helpless situation you’ve dragged him into, but just as you’re about to do so, spencer’s trousers slide against your legs, creating friction so unbearable that you let out a squeak. 

you freeze, looking up to see spencer’s eyes flash warningly. he instantly clasps your mouth with his hands to cover any further sound from escaping your lips, but with no form of support to maintain his position, he starts to slip, and his shirt lightly skids against the locker’s slippery walls. this is somehow even worse for you, because spencer’s knee starts to dig further up your legs and into your cotton underwear, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut.

luckily for the both of you, jensen seems to be distracted by whatever words are being spewed from the other end of his phone call to pay any mind to your suppressed yelps. 

“i think their agents might be on to us,” he scowls, and you watch from the corner of your eye as he tosses the last of his files into a box and opens the adjacent locker to ram it inside.  

“yeah, i’ll try to stall them for as long as i can. they don’t know what they’re getting themselves into.” 

jensen curses and promptly ends the call, returning his phone into the pocket of his shirt. he finally walks to the door, sighing as he twists the knob and steps out. the two of you lie in wait for an additional three minutes before trying anything. 

“i think we’re good,” spencer huffs, finally opening the locker door with a thud as the sounds of steel clashing against steel echo throughout the air. 

“yeah,” you nod, taking a breath to collect yourself as you step out. you watch as spencer runs a hand through his hair and moves his fingers down to adjust his tie. 

he returns the stare, his adam’s apple bobbing when he eyes your wrinkled shirt and scrunched up pencil skirt – which looks more like a mini-skirt with how it sits right below your hips.

“i um, i need some air. how about you?” spencer asks at last, clearing his throat. you bite your lip when he starts to brush the dust off his thighs and knees, the moments of earlier flooding into the back of your mind like the warmth pooling between your thighs.

“yeah, i could use some fresh air too,” you respond breathily, averting your eyes and focusing instead on smoothing out your shirt and retying your loosened ponytail. when you’re done, you turn around and stagger to the door, not looking twice to see if spencer’s following you. an intense flush spreads across your cheeks, and your only viable path of escape is to the bathroom.

“you, um, missed a spot,” you hear from behind, and you follow spencer’s gaze to see that he’s referring to the back of your skirt.

“oh,” you say as embarrassment swamps you, and you hurriedly pat at the fabric. “does that look better?”

“it’s still folded there. if you want, i can- may i?” 

the question tumbles from his pretty lips and messes with your head. his hand hovers right around your waist, the same way yours lingered on his tie as you waited for his consent. and his softening eyes. his slightly smoldering gaze looks so innocent and alluring at the same time, your heart starts to feel heavy with the weight of desire. 

note to self: never wear a pencil skirt again.

“please,” you utter like a silent prayer, and mentally prepare yourself to endure the test of his fingers against your skin.

as soon as he receives your word, his hand lightly brushes against your thigh and trails down your skin. he takes the hem of your skirt and pulls down, giving several tugs before releasing the stretched garment. 

he clears his throat when you don’t move even after he’s retracted his hand.

“all good now.” 

spencer’s words drown out your thoughts and snap you back to reality. he’s already standing by the door, holding it open for you with a patient smile.

“thanks,” you say as you walk out and rub your hands together, nervous for what you’re about to say next. “spencer, um, i’m so sorry about that whole ordeal, it was really unprofessional of me to drag you in there, i wasn’t thinking when i-”

“you did the right thing,” spencer interrupts your ramble with the shake of his head, and his flawless smile pulls at your heartstrings.

“i would’ve pushed you in there if you hadn't. that door’s the only way in and out if you don’t count the windows,” he continues, slipping his hands into his pockets as he walks you to the elevator.

“oh,” you shyly murmur back, your cheeks flushing with a shade of bright pink as his words pour over you like warm water. he would’ve pushed you in there if you hadn’t?

“yeah, but how about we try a bigger locker next time?” spencer almost reads your mind as he half-mindedly jokes, causing you to drop your jaw in shock. he doesn’t acknowledge your reaction, however, because he starts to dial rossi’s number on his cell.

“by the way, the uh, new look suits you. the grey skirt and all,” spencer says with a lopsided smile before he raises a hand to excuse himself and call rossi. you’re saved the embarrassment of responding when rossi accepts the call, but your palms are already profusely sweating at his compliment.

note to self: maybe wear the pencil skirt again.

[dark-moonlust]

Getting Pounded by Nagas PART 1

Pairing: Two nagas x human reader

Summary: it’s mating season for the nagas and you’re more than eager to satisfy your mates.

Warnings: minors don't interact, 18+!!!!, monster smut, naga smut, nagas have double 🍆🍆, double pen, tails penetration, lots of come. Don’t like, don’t read please.

Find the next parts of the series here.

The jungle was alive with the energy until the sounds of your naga mates turned it eerily quiet. Their frantic calls for mating rang out, the insects and birds turning silent. You heard them from where you were resting safely in your nest and soon you followed the sound of hissing and rustling leaves. Your mates had arrived. They had left to hunt and bring you food but the rut must have hit them at full force forcing them to return to you.

They entered the hut, closing the wooden door and hiding the soft glow of the moon. Thorne and Ragnor. Your nagas were handsome, their serpentine forms gliding closer to you. Their upper bodies were muscular, their shoulders broad, their stomachs bulging with muscles. They had striking amber eyes that glowed with predatory hunger. Their lower halves were long, powerful tails that coiled around you and made you feel protected.

Drawn by an irresistible desire to satisfy your mates, you urged them to come to you. You sat back on the bed and they circled you, their strong hands removing your loincloth—the only clothing you wore. Their tails wrapped around you, opening your legs wide to expose your slick pussy.

Your first naga mate, Thorne his eyes a deep gold, his scales green, started licking your breasts. Your other mate, Ragnor his eyes as light as the sun, his body red, bent down to claim your lips. They awakened your body with intimate touches and kisses, growling and hissing softly.

“Our mate,” Thorne said, forked tongue lapping around a hard nipple. “So eager to please.”

Ragnor hummed and let the tip of his tail brush lightly over your clit. “We will mate you, sweet mate,” he murmured. “It is time to plant our seed inside your little cunny. But first, we shall prepare you. Make you shake and cry in ecstasy.”

“Yes… hmnn please, yes,” you moaned in between kisses while a long tongue nudged in your throat.

Another tail came to prod the tiny rosebud of your ass hole. You heard the soft slurp of oil, felt human hands cupping your mound and fingering your ass. You gasped when both tails slowly entered you, surging deep in your pussy and ass. The tails— twice bigger than a human cock— stretched you, prepared you for their inhuman dicks.

The naga feeding from your mouth reached down to play with your clit while your other mate suckled your tits and whispered how good you were, how pretty your tiny holes looked around their tails. You panted as their tails pistoned back and forth in fluid movements. You climaxed on the spot, crying out while they looked at you entranced and praised you proudly.

“Good mate,” Ragnor drawled. “Now you give us this sweet little mouth. Add then we’ll fuck you. All night.”

With their tails still buried inside you, your mates helped you kneel before them so you could pleasure them. You grasped Ragnor's hips, your tongue flicking out to tease the slit that protected his dicks. With persistent licks, both shafts sprung up. You licked one cock while pumping the other. They were naturally slick with sweet lubricant. You heard a loud growl, and felt your mate grab a fistful of your hair as he undulated his torso and forced both cocks into your mouth.

Your other mate, Thorne, kneeled behind you, his strong hands cupping your breasts and running circles around your sensitive nipples. They kept up with the praise, telling you how good you felt around their tails, how pretty you’d look carrying their seed and what a good mother you’d be.

They switched places, and you started suckling Thorne’s cocks that had already emerged from his protective slit. You licked the fat tips that leaked with pre-cum and ran your tongue over the textured base. Impatient, he nudged deep inside your throat, both cocks stretching your mouth full. You worked hard, slurping their dicks while their tails claimed your holes, your body jerking back and forth, tits bouncing.

Pleasure became too much to handle. You came, gurgling around the twin cocks in your mouth, tails slipping in and out of your holes, your juices trickling down your thighs. The cocks finally left your mouth, a trail saliva trickling down your chin. Your mates licked it off, taking turns kissing your mouth.

Rearranging their positions, Thorne settled down and pulled you on top of him, your breasts squeezed against his chiseled chest. Your other mate slithered behind you, spreading your asscheeks apart to watch their tails lodged deep inside of you.

Nodding to each other, the nagas pulled their tails out of you, their appendages slick with oil and your juices. Then it was time to take four cocks. Slowly, two dicks thrust upwards, filling your pussy to the hilt. From behind, Ragnor's double shafts slipped past your now gaping asshole, reaching deep in your guts. Slotted together, the nagas gave you a few moments to adjust to the impossible stretch and depth.

“Alright, little one?” the mate behind you asked, kissing your nape.

“Mmnnn—yes, move, pl—ease!"

You whined when they finally began to fuck you. Two huge cocks owned your pussy, while two more claimed your ass. Your holes were stretched around the thick shafts, more wetness dripping down your thighs and all over their scaly bodies. Your belly was swollen, rounded with the evidence of your mating.

Thorn's hands grasped your waist as he helped you move and ride their dicks. A forked tongue licked across your neck as Ragnor fingered your clit, stroking and teasing in time with their thrusts. The two nagas worked in perfect harmony, their bodies slithering and leaving you breathless. They never left you unfilled. The pleasure was intense, building and building with each thrust.

When you finally came, the explosion of their cum rocked your world. All four cocks pulsed and shot spurt after spurt of their seed, their feral hissings echoing through the jungle. Hot cum filled you up, your belly expanding further until you couldn’t hold back no longer. Your muscles seized and you clung to them, nails digging into their scaly bodies as you surrendered to ecstasy.

Crying out and sobbing in pleasure, you collapsed on your mate’s chest. He rubbed your cheeks and kissed your dry lips softly.

Once again, your mates changed positions.

Their cocks left you, your cunt and ass leaking buckets of naga cum. You winced but sighed softly when they guided you to lie down on your back, their long tails wrapping lovingly around your arms and legs. You turned your head and took two cocks into your mouth, while your other mate sat between your legs, thrusting into your pussy until he was balls-deep. Trapped between their strong bodies, you suckled and whimpered their names as they thrust inside you, spitroasting you in perfect symphony.

You tried to speak around a mouthful of dicks, tell them that your ass was left empty. But they quickly took care of it, both their tails squeezing inside and filling you deeply. You keened loudly while the nagas cupped your tits and rolled your swollen clit. You shattered and cried out, your orgasm intense and blinding. They followed right after, your stomach bulging with cum and the force of the cocks penetrating you.

“Such a good little mate for us,” Thorne said, his hands rubbing your belly protectively, feeling the gentle movements of the shafts and tails inside you.

“You have sated us, taken everything we had to give—our tails, our cocks and loads of our seed,” Ragnor praised. “You have honored us, mate.

"I love you," you whispered, your eyes closing.

“We love you more, little one,” they both said, whispering kisses on your skin.

Spent and satisfied, the nagas held you close and lulled you to sleep while keeping you full of their cum. It wouldn’t be wise to clean you yet. Their seed had to stay a while in order to take.

[heeliopheelia]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐒/𝐎 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌

genre: fluff, established relationship

word count: 1.9k

a/n: guys it's 2am but i finally finished editing this... whatever that is. it's been a while since i posted this type of a fic so i hope you like it just as much as the previous ones!! 🤍

masterlist

LEE HEESEUNG

"I'll be right back, baby. Just give me ten minutes, okay?"

These were the words your boyfriend said to you twenty minutes ago as you patiently sat on the wooden bench in the empty locker room. His basketball team just won their first game of the season and now you wait for him to finally finish showering, so that the two of you can go back to his place and catch up on the much needed sleep. Much needed as he's the one who has deprived the both of you of it last night when he made you watch him practice nearly until morning.

So it's no surprise that as another minute goes by, you find your eyes growing heavy. Leaning your head back on the cool locker, you start dozing off when familiar footsteps finally approach your tired figure.

"Aww, sorry I kept you waiting, baby. I'm ready to go now, though," he says softly as his hand goes to swipe some hair away from your face. He grins as you blink slowly at him before slinging his bag over his shoulder and kneeling down in front of you. You don't have enough strength to question his behavior when he turns around and wiggles his fingers at you and looks over his shoulder. "C'mon, hop on. I'll carry you."

You manage to somehow climb onto his back and when your hands wrap around his neck securely, he hooks his arms under your thighs and lifts the both of you off the ground.

"Up you go," he grunts quietly, adjusting you in his arms before making his way out of the locker room. "Let's finally get my sleepy baby home, shall we?"

PARK JAY

Throwing his bag on the ground, Jay tosses the keys to the cupboard and feels his shoulders relaxing at the thought of seeing you after such a long day. Even though it's late at night, he knows you'll be stubbornly waiting for him like you always do, so instead of heading to the bedroom, he directs his steps to the living room.

And he was right – there you are, slumped over the arm rest of the couch, mouth slightly ajar because of the palm you're holding up your face with.

Jay snorts quietly, mind running back to all the times you've denied the possibility of ever falling asleep while waiting for your beloved boyfriend to come back home. He takes a mental note to remember that and tease you in the morning.

With a sigh, he crouches down in front of the couch and reaches his hand out to brush your cheek gently. The feeling of his cool fingers against your skin almost instantly wakes you up and you jerk underneath his touch, eyes blinking rapidly to adjust to the dim lighting. When your eyes meet Jay's, you straighten your back and send him a guilty smile as if you've been caught committing a crime.

"Oh, you're back," you mutter tiredly, letting his fingers run over your eyes to wipe the sleep away from them. "I was so not sleeping, you're just tweaking."

Jay chuckles before standing up and pressing his lips to your forehead. You wrap your arms around his neck and close your eyes back again, feeling content now that he's finally back. Sighing, you softly kiss the crook of his neck before nuzzling your face into it.

Jay's hand is caressing your hair gently. "Let's get you to bed now, hm?"

SIM JAKE

"Well, aren't you just cute?" Jake huffs under his nose as the first thing he comes across of is you laying on the couch, face buried in one of the green cushions you bought on your last Ikea trip. He giggles quietly, heart feeling full as he looks at you with such lovesick eyes, you'd definitely be left blushing if you ever caught him like this.

He decides on not waking you up, realizing how tired you must've been if you actually fell asleep while waiting on him. So instead, he slips underneath the blanket right next to you. He turns to his side so that you're laying face to face and he smiles at the way your lips are slightly pouted. He leans forward and presses his forehead to yours, draping an arm around your waist as you subconsciously curl up to his body, seeking for his warmth even in your sleep.

Jake softly presses his lips right above your eyebrow when your eyelids slowly flutter open. You look at him with your foggy eyes before wrapping your arm around his neck and wordlessly pulling him even closer to yourself. You bury your face in his chest instead of the cushion now and slowly start dozing off again when his hand sneaks underneath your sweater and caresses your side gently.

"I'm glad you're home," you mumble into his skin, nudging his neck with your nose before leaving a butterfly kiss on the same exact spot. "Been waiting for you."

Jake feels his stomach tickle funny at your sleepy affection and he buries his smile in your hair. "Yeah, I know. You can go to sleep now. I'm not going anywhere."

PARK SUNGHOON

"How many times do I have to tell you not to wait for me this late, you idiot," Sunghoon scolds you as he adjusts your half-asleep body in his arms and carries on up the stairs.

You mumble an incoherent answer with mouth muffled by the warm skin of his neck. You hold him tighly, arms slung around his shoulders as you hang onto him like a baby monkey. Sunghoon has to bite his lip to prevent himself from snickering right then and there.

"What was that?" He asks, leaning his face a little closer to hear you better.

"You're so warm. Makes me even more sleepy."

Sunghoon can't help the chuckle that leaves his mouth anymore and he opens the door to your bedroom with his foot. He carries you straight to bed and places you on the soft mattress, only to quickly change into a pair of sweatpants and slip underneath the covers right next to you.

Your body moves almost automatically as you shift closely to your boyfriend and cling onto him once your arms make contact with his skin. You shuffle and twist in your place, somehow unable to find a comfortable position, because no matter how close you get to him – it's just simply not close enough tonight.

So you climb on top of his body and use him as a mattress instead, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder.

"I wanna get inside your skin. Lemme," you mumble tiredly and feel his chest vibrate with laughter.

His hand makes its way to your hair. "Some of the things you say when you're sleepy are quite concerning, sweetheart."

KIM SUNOO

Sunoo is greeted by the view of you and Riki chilling on the couch in their dorm. More precisely – Riki playing some videogame on playstation and you sprawled out by his side, the white controller laying on the carpet below you as you sleep soundly.

"What time did she get here?" Sunoo asks as he drops his training bag somwehere on the floor and approaches the two of you. He crouches down in front of you and picks up the long forgotten controller.

"Two hours ago maybe," Riki responds, eyes glued to the TV screen. "She wanted to wait for you but she fell asleep like half an hour ago. Made me lose my damn game."

The older one only sends him a glare paired with a scoff before turning his attention back to you.

"Y/N, wake up."

You peak one of your eyes open as another tap lands on your shoulder. When the first thing your met with is your boyfriend's pretty face, a smile spreads on your slightly chapped lips and you lift yourself up in your seat.

"You're back," you croak out, rubbing your eyes quickly before nuzzling your face in his chest. "Sorry for dropping by without giving you a warning. Jus' thought you'd be home."

Sunoo presses his lips to the crown of your head. "Don't apologize for things like that. You know I always like having you around."

You nod slowly, reaching your hands up until they're circling his neck. Turning your head to the side, you place a small kiss to the side of his jawline. "Can we go cuddle now?"

"How can I say no when you're this cute, huh?"

YANG JUNGWON

Jungwon tries, he really tries to be quiet. It's really not his fault that his clumsy nature made him bump his hip into the cupboard and cause the keys to topple down to the ground with a clank that probably could wake up a hundred year old half-deaf granny.

You open your eyes and lift yourself from the table you've been laying on top of, startled, head spinning from the sudden movement.

"Shit, I'm so sorry, angel. I didn't mean to wake you up," Jungwon apologizes as he rushes over to you from the other side of the kitchen.

You watch as he crosses the space quickly and plops down on the chair next to you, then wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you to his lap instead.

"No, it's okay," you say quietly as you clear your throat, lifting your head up to smile at him softly. "Was waiting for you anyways. I made you dinner. Just kinda fell asleep after cooking."

Jungwon giggles at the dissatisfied scrunch of your nose. He leans down to press a small kiss to the tip of it.

"Thanks for waiting for me, baby. And for cooking for me. That's really sweet of you, you didn't have to," he mutters, lowering his tone to match yours as he rubs your noses together. "Well, now that I'm finally here, how about I try some of it, huh?"

"Yeah, that's a good idea I suppose." You smile at him and bring your hand up to stroke the short hair at the back of his head. "Can we stay here a little longer, though? I missed you today. Wanna cuddle you."

He chuckles warmly at your words before leaning down and laying a kiss on your forehead. "Of course. We've got all the time in the world, angel."

NISHIMURA RIKI

"Baby?"

Silence.

"Baby."

Still nothing. The only thing Riki can hear is your slowed down breathing, slightly muffled by the fuzzy blanket you've pulled right above your nose.

"Y/N."

Now that finally wakes you up and you blink your eyes to adjust to the dim lighting of your living room. You lift your gaze to look at Riki standing in front of the couch you're laying on, a small smile playing on his lips.

"There you are," he huffs, slightly amused. "C'mon, let's get you to bed."

A grunt leaves your throat as you bury yourself even further into the back rest of the couch. You open your arms and lift the blanket a little as an invitation.

"C'mere. 'm too comfy to leave," you mumble groggily, barely managing to keep your eyes open.

With one more pleading look of your foggy eyes, Riki sighs and shakes his head at your stubborness.

"Tsch, fine." He clicks his tongue before standing up and laying down on the tight space right next to you. You don't waste a single second and wrap all of your limbs around his tall body, snuggling up to him with a content sigh.

"Perfect," you whisper as you press your face into his warmth and fall back asleep the moment that his arms wrap around your waist and pull you closer to his chest.

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[withered-tears]

(So obviously, this wouldn't work for the actual Odyssey, and even in Epic, Ody is already too far gone, but let's just picture a fun little AU, shall we?)

Near the end of Thunder bringer, it's not Penelope's voice he hears.

It's Polites.

Telling him to greet the world with open arms.

And it doesn't fit the song at all. In fact, it completely throws it off rhythm. It throws Odysseus off rhythm, enough to snap him out of it.

He turns to look back at his crew, and he sees that all of them, all of them except Eurylochus, are drawing their weapons to strike him down before he could sacrifice them to Zeus.

And Odysseus realizes that's exactly what he was about to do.

He already sacrificed 6, after all.

"Captain?"

He looks at Eurylochus in the eyes.

"You have to reach her."

And everyone just... stops.

"Promise me, Eurylochus. Promise me you'll reach my Penelope."

The crew lowers their swords, baffled and ashamed. Eurylochus eyes widen in horror.

And Zeus? Zeus is furious.

Because that's not what's supposed to happen. That's not how the song goes.

But he just told Odysseus that he had the final say.

And Zeus's word is rule. He can't go back on his word.

It's a matter of pride.

So, enraged, Zeus strikes Odysseus down.

And Odysseus greets it with open arms.

Of the entire fleet that left for war, only a single ship makes it back to Ithaca.

Penelope, once she heard about the ship as it was spotted on the horizon, is now waiting at the port.

The ship docks.

Her eyes light up with hope when she sees Eurylochus disembark.

The hope dies when the other 34 men walk off the ship and kneel before her, heads low to the ground.

"Eurylochus?"

"... Forgive me."

He can't take the suffering from her.

[fairysluna]

Canon era Cregan Stark + being a softie with his Targ wife in the Godswood, just him and her playing in the snow type vibes

-🦊

how i looove cregan x targ!reader, so im just gonna add this little drabble to my among wolves and dragons series, though it can obviously be read as a standalone!! thank you foxy for this cute request!! ily🤍

tags — just fluff and domestic cregan for my cregan girlies out there.

Your hysterical laugh would make his heart burst with joy — contagious enough to make him giggle like a boy as he chased you down the Godswood. You heard his fastened breathing and the cracking of the leaves behind you, knowing he was about to catch you; you tried to run faster, but your long dress and heavy fur coat made it impossible for you to move quickly through the sticks and snow. It was no surprise when your husband finally put his arms around your waist, holding you against his chest as he let out some breathy chuckles against the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Got you,” he whispered in your ear, causing shivers all over your body. You shrink in your position, his breathing tickling you and making you giggle. “Got to pay me now, right?” he mentioned before turning your body around in order to face you. Involuntarily, you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, standing on your tiptoes to get closer to him. He closed his eyes and pouted his lips, asking you for a simple kiss. You contemplated his beauty for a second, using your fingertips to trace his manly features before you cupped his face — his stubble brushing against your palm as you motioned him down, closer to you.

You brushed your nose against his, humming when his grip around your body tightened; his touch so possessive, yet so gentle. His furrowed eyebrows relaxed as his expression softened, quickly turning into a puddle between your arms. He leaned forward, blindly and instinctively searching for your lips. He was growing impatient, but complying to his wishes was not in your plans.

Before touching his lips with yours, you took him by surprise and pushed him into the soft, cold snow. You attempted to run away from there, thinking that your silly game would continue; however, before you stepped any further, you heard Cregan starting to groan almost as if he was in pain. Your eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and guilt as you quickly reached his side again, kneeling and trying to see where he was hurting. His name became almost a chant from your lips as you desperately tried to see what was wrong, until he suddenly trapped you with his big arms once again and pressed you down the snow.

You squealed, hearing him laughing victorious. “You're such a fool! You scared me!” You tried to push him in the chest but his large hands grabbed yours and placed them above your head. He then leans towards you with that smug grin that would make your knees weak, and he kissed you so fervently that a soft moan left your lips. His touch was possessive, a bit rough and brutish, but it did not fail to make you see stars behind your eyelids. You sighed enamored once he pulled back.

“I'm just claiming my price, my love,” he softly said, giving soft kisses all over your face as you tried your hardest to look mad.

“I shall feed you to my dragon if you do this to me again!” you threatened, receiving a low chuckle from him.

“I'll take the risk.”

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[tired-teacher-blog]

The only time Aizawa's face loses that conspicuous look of boredom or intimidating scowl it exclusively parades, is when he's fallen into a deep slumber, and it's a rare view that you make sure to soak up every night before drifting off yourself.

You never get tired of watching him at peace after a long day's work, perfectly relaxed as his chest rises and falls rhythmically while little snores escape him, and the urge to pinch his cheeks and smooch all over that handsome face of his, is a nightly struggle to avoid.

What you do however, is gently poke the smooth skin between his usually furrowed eyebrows, running your finger down along the bridge of his nose and softly pecking his slightly parted lips over and over again until he unknowingly lets out a faint groan against your mouth, and that's when you quickly pull back before he actually wakes up.

He is cute, unbelievably so, and you pride yourself on the many pictures that you've taken of him in secret, over the years while he slept, that and being the only one fortunate enough to see this vulnerable side of him.

_ "I love you.. Shouta.."

You never forget to utter the reminder before allowing yourself to melt into his embrace and fall asleep, even while knowing that he certainly cannot hear you at the moment..

That's how your nights usually go, however, tonight is different, tonight your mind is going a little too wild that you suddenly find yourself dying to see his peaceful expression turn into a twisted and desperate one.

A devilish idea pops up in your brain so you immediately aim for his lower half, working his boxers down his hips until you're staring at his limp penis, and the smirk curving up your lips at the sight of it is one of excitement and confidence in your skills to harden and thicken it up with a mere touch, because that's how well you know his body..

You crawl down a bit further and kneel between his legs before gently taking his cock in your hand and placing a soft peck right on its head.

Your eagerness grows as you feel that familiar little twitch right under your lips, and you can't help but peck him there again before licking a long stripe along the underside of his length until you reach the smooth head again and twirl your tongue over its pinkish surface.

It's working, even in his sleep, he's responding to your teasing in a wonderful manner, his cock is finally coming to life, fully erect and already throbbing.

You move your hand up an down along his length while keeping your eyes on his face, his expression is finally changing just like you've hoped.. his eyebrows are twitching and his jaw is clenched as little groans and whines are rippling through his chest while his body twisted slightly.

You want more, you want him to open his eyes and see what you're doing, you want to relish the surprised look that's bound to appear on his face.

_ "Let's try something else, shall we?" you mumble to yourself in a playful tone before dipping your head to take as much of him as you could, enveloping the thickness in your mouth and swirling your tongue around every protruding vein before sucking on it like a lollipop.

One of your hands move down to fumble with his fat balls, while the other slides past the delicate fabric of your panties to try and soothe your growing need.

_ "Princess.. fuck.. what are you doing?"

He's finally up, a confused look on his face as he observed you for a second, but it's soon replaced with a dark animalistic one that sends a shiver up your spine.

_ "I'm just having some fun by myself." you reply with a smile that soon disappears when you find yourself pinned down beneath him.

_ "You've had your fun.. it's my turn now." and he pushes your legs apart before settling between them, pressing his raging thickness against your thigh, as a show for what's awaiting..

Dividers by : @/cafekitsune