#I do need to draw his cloak too fuck

[midnightwind]

I’ve been staring at these (and a third triple line up that I literally only have the poses for) for like a few months so have some WIPs of Nik in fancy wear and my phantom rogue Lucian’s general get up (kindofsorta I’m playing with ideas still)

I keep waffling on Nik’s outfit because I want it to be thinner and more flowing, but can’t get it in that nice mid ground of feminine but not straight up a dress, ya feel?

[metaldevilll]

today was the day i found out irl palpers listens to britney spears... and also the day where i drew fanart of his character singing toxic. BRILLIANT

[waloeders]

almost done jupe reference (wip) but i am. getting sleepy.

you too can get a funky cloak from the certified Not A Cult of Susurrus' worshippers!

[luxaofhesperides]

Accidental Bride Sacrifice ; requested by @starlightcat04!

Danny has long since gotten used to the feel of summonings. They don’t happen often, but sometimes the right components are put together to force him into answering, and he’d have to go as the new Ghost King.

Which no one told him was a thing! He hadn’t protested too much about the whole Ghost King deal when they finally told him about it after he graduated high school. It gave him a good excuse to ditch life in the living realm and not worry about college or a career, and let him really embrace his ghost side. 

The summonings are a problem, though. They always feel staticky and bad, like a dumpster that just got struck by lightning. The taste of iron on his tongue, a clear sign of blood being spilled, lets him know that it would be one of end the world for us summonings, because some people can’t put in the effort to do it themselves, apparently. 

But this time, the summoning feels different.

Danny pauses, eyes going unfocused in the middle of his conversation with Jazz. He had been looking forward to spending the week with her, now that she’s on winter break, but his luck is as bad as always.

“I’m being summoned,” he tells her, cutting off her rant about a transphobic professor she had. 

“Oh, no. Do you need me to do anything? Should I go with you to beat up whoever it is that’s summoning you?”

Danny tilts his head to the side, considering. The taste of blood is noticeably absent. In fact, this summoning pull doesn’t make him feel sick at all. It makes him feel warm, as if he’s just been wrapped in a hug.

“No,” he says. “I think I’m good. This one feels different.”

“A good different?” Jazz asks, worry clear in her voice.

“Yeah. A good different. I’ll come back soon, okay?”

“Alright. Be careful, Danny.” Jazz pulls him into a quick hug, then steps back to watch as Danny stops fighting the pull of the summoning and disappears into a swirling white rings that flashes into existence behind him, blinding her for a moment, and is gone when she manages to blink the spots out of her vision. 

For a minute, Danny drifts in a void of stillness, traveling through the realms as the summoning draws him closer to the correct realm. And then he’s rising out of the ground in a dark building made of concrete, candles of green flame scattered all over the place.

“Great One!” someone in a hooded cloak cries, raising his arms in jubilation. “Our calls have been answered!”

“I’ll fucking kill you!” a mechanical voice yells from farther back. When Danny looks past the cultists’ heads, he spots a man in a red hood and leather jacket chained to a pole, along with a bunch of other people in strange costumes tied up, desperately trying to free themselves. 

“Silence!” The leader of the cult, or who Danny assumes is the leader, snaps at the hooded man and gestures to the people off to his left. They force another costumed person forward, this one in yellow armor. He can see the blood running down their face from beneath their helmet and from their nose, dark lines of blood cutting through their brown skin. 

The cultists throw the armored person forward, forcing them to kneel. Then they bow to Danny and step back.

“Great One,” the leader says, voice unpleasantly reverent and grating, “Welcome to the mortal realms. We offer you this sacrifice to feed your strength. He will make a fine general for your undead army in your crusade to rid this world of its filth.”

The people in the back begin shouting all together, panicked voices overlapping, and Danny is left staring down at the cultists in shock.

The summoning had felt so nice. What the hell was this? He did not sign up for another ‘end of days’ insane cult. He just wanted to be hugged. 

His silence makes the cultists nervous. They begin to shift uneasily, whispering to each other, and the leader clears his throat, then pulls a large crystal dagger out of his cloak. “We shall prove our devotion to you through an offering of a hero’s blood!”

And then he moves towards the sacrifice and Danny snaps out of his shock to yell, “Wait!”

The entire room freezes. Even the costumed people in the back go still. 

Danny winces, then tries to smother his power, make himself more palatable to the humans of this dimension. “Wait,” he says again, and he sounds closer to human now. If he could, he would drop his ghost form entirely, but he knows better than to endanger himself like that. “What, exactly, did you summon me here for?”

The cult leader stares at him for a moment. “To… To rid the world of filth and allow your loyal followers to spread word of your power. You will be worshiped again, Great One, and serve as a reminder to man that Death shall always prevail.”

“Okay, I get that, but I was talking more along the lines of the summoning. What ritual did you use? What specifically were the summoning requirements?”

Normally, he’d be able to figure it out himself, but these cultists didn’t use a summoning circle. So they did something else, something less visible and therefore harder to figure out, in order to bring him here.

A woman standing off to the side speaks up, stepping forward hesitantly. “I had pieced together a few summoning spells from this book to bring you here. You had to accept our chosen sacrifice to your side in order for the summoning to work.”

“Hold up that book for me, please?”

She does, and Danny flies down to grab it from her hands. “Point out which lines you used,” he says, already reading a few of the words written down. It’s definitely ghostspeak written down, which should be near impossible for living humans to translate without being skilled in magic.

“Ah, these ones.” She points to each line, reading them out for him, and Danny starts understand what, exactly, went wrong.

“Is there a problem, Great One?”

Danny returns the book then floats over to the sacrifice and picks him up. The costumed people make alarmed noises, but quietly quiet down again when all Danny does is move him away from the cultists.

“Okay,” he says, “So. The lines you used to summon me were not translated properly. What you interpreted as ‘accepted to stay by the king’s side in loyalty and strength’ is not meant to be, like, him being part of my undead army or whatever. It’s a royal marriage vow.”

“They married us?” the sacrifice shouts, disbelieving. The cult leader buries his face in his hands and sighs.

“My deepest apologies, Great One. We meant no offense. We simply wanted to aid in your destruction of this depraved world.”

Danny scrunches his nose and shakes his head. “Yeah, that’s not gonna fly with me. I do not do the biding of random people, especially those who are ready to murder innocent people for no reason. Frighty, if you would.” He snaps his fingers, calling up Fright Knight who always enjoys getting to torment the people who summon Danny for murderous reasons.

Fright Knight appears in a swirl of darkness and screams. Shadows swallow the room, and when they recede, no cultists remain.

“Thanks, Frighty. Have fun with them. I need to figure out all… this.”

Fright Knight bows to him, then disappears. Danny lets out a breath, then floats down lower to be eye level with the sacrifice. “Hey,” he says gently, with a smile, “I’m so sorry they did this to you. I’m Danny. What’s your name?”

“Du— Uh, Signal,” the sacrifice says, sounding rather dazed. 

“Signal,” Danny repeats. “Like… a traffic signal?”

“No. I mean, maybe? But it is Signal. That’s my hero name, not my real name.”

“Oh, you’re a hero!” His getup makes more sense now. Danny checks him over for any signs of injuries. So far, only his head and nose seem to be injured, but his wrists are tightly bound behind his back. Carefully, Danny calls upon his ice and shapes it into a sharp knife, then cuts through the zipties.

He helps Signal up to his feet, floating by his shoulder. “All good?”

“Yeah, man, all good. Let me just get the others free.”

“Oh, I can do it!” Danny flies over to the other costumed people, who must also be heroes. All it takes is one link in the chain being frozen and broken for the entire thing to go lax, allowing them to free themselves. Hooded guy spares Danny a single glance, then hurries over to Signal to check on him. The other three, a man with a blue bird across his chest, a blond girl with a yellow bat outline on her chest, and a guy with bandoliers and a golden bird emblem, all watch him warily as he floats back towards the center of the room.

“So,” the blue bird man says, “If they summoned you with a marriage vow, and you accepted, does that mean you’re planning to steal Signal away from us?” He’s smiling, but it’s not a nice smile.

“No! I had no idea they did this! I am so sorry you all got caught up in this. You most of all, Signal.”

Signal shrugs, nudging hood guy away from him. “Nah, man, it’s all good. This is definitely the better outcome.”

“I don’t know, being married off isn’t really a good thing.”

“Hey, at least they married me off to a decent guy.”

“You don’t know that,” Danny says, “What if I’m secretly evil?”

“If you were secretly evil, you’d be destroying the world right now. I think you’re fine.”

The blond girl waves at him, demanding his attention. “Quick question! They were calling you ‘Great One’. Are you a god or something?”

“Not really? I’m the Ghost King. So I’m a ghost who rules over other ghosts and also a majority of the Infinite Realms.”

She nods as if this is all totally normal for her, then shoots Signal a grin. “Congrats on bagging a king! Not the worst way to spend a night, right?”

“Can you break the marriage?” blue bird man asks, the lines of his shoulders tense.

Danny awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, not looking any of them in the eye. “I honestly don’t know. I can look for a way! But I genuinely have no clue. This was unexpected.”

“But you accepted.”

“I didn’t know what I expected! It just felt like a hug, and I wanted a hug! I thought I was being summoned for something nice for once!” Danny curls up, bringing his knees up to his chest, and hides his pout behind his hands. He knows he’s being childish, but he can’t help but be upset that he couldn’t have this one good experience from being Ghost King. 

It’s always responsibilities and death cult summonings and fighting ghosts who don’t think he should be king. Sure there have been some good things, but they’re comparatively few when looking at all the other stress and pain that comes with the crown. Sue him for wanting to have a nice night for once. Hell, at this point, he’d take being summoned to help with some kid’s homework, because at least then he could have a quiet night helping someone.

“Hey, man, can you come down here?” Signal asks. 

He wants to stay out of reach, hiding himself away for a bit longer, but Signal is his new, surprise, accidental husband, so Danny lowers himself to the ground and peeks through his fingers to look at him.

He tenses when Signal hugs him, soft and warm and comforting. It takes a moment for him to realize what’s going on, and then he’s melting into Signal’s embrace, dropping his hands to wrap them around Signal’s back.

Distantly, he can hear the other heroes talking quietly amongst themselves. He blocks out the sound as much as he can, determined to enjoy this hug while it lasts.

Which is… fairly long. Signal makes no moves to end the hug, so Danny closes his eyes to really savor the moment. 

“So,” Signal murmurs into his ear, “As newlyweds, how about we get to know each other a bit better before we start working on fixing all this?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Let’s ditch these guys and take some time to ourselves.”

“I promise I’ll get this fixed,” he says, just to make sure Signal knows. “Genuinely, I am so sorry to have married you through an old Realms vow when you had no say in it.”

“Hey, if it lands me a very nice, very attractive king, then I don’t mind at all. I could have done without the murderous cultists, though.”

Danny huffs out a small laugh. “Oh, for sure. Thanks for being so cool about this. Want me to fly us out of here?”

“Yes please,” Signal says. Danny smiles and tightens his grip on Signal, then lifts them both up. “I’ll see y’all later! Have fun with the rest of your patrols!” he calls out to the other heroes, who start shouting at him.

Danny flies them right out the roof before the other heroes figure out a way to kick his ass. The city they’re in is smoggy and dark, tall buildings rising up into the cloudy sky, and police sirens ring through the air. There’s no where that looks like a particularly nice spot to land for a conversation, so he asks Signal where he’d like to go and follows his directions from there.

They end up phasing through a building, then into the floor, which leaves them in what Signal calls The Hatch. 

Danny takes a quick moment to freak out over being in a hero’s secret hide out, the composes himself and finally pulls away from Signal.

“So,” he starts, looking around The Hatch and taking in the giant computer, the workstation, the motorcycle farther down the way, “What did you—Woah!” Danny spins around, slamming a hand over his eyes the instant he realizes that Signal is taking off his helmet, leaving his face bare.

It’s not like he’d know who Signal is anyways, being from a different dimension, but it’s the principle of the matter.

Signal laughs when he sees Danny’s attempt to keep from looking at him. A warm hand wraps around his wrist and gently pulls it away. “It’s okay, Danny, you can look,” he says. “It would be pretty weird if my own husband didn’t know my face.”

Slowly, giving Signal to change his mind, Danny opens his eyes. He moves his gaze up, going from Signal’s armor to his face, his very cute face and his warm brown eyes, and Danny stares for a moment. 

“Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi,” Signal says, fondness coloring his voice. “My name’s Duke. Are all Ghost Kings as cute as you?”

“Duke,” Danny repeats. “Hi. Um, no. The last one really sucked, actually, which is why I fought him. He was so bad the Infinite Realms didn’t want him anymore, so though I technically didn’t beat him in single combat, it was enough for the Infinite Realms to kick him out and get me on the throne.”

“Man, I can not wait to hear more of your stories. Think we got time for that while we search for a way to undo that marriage vow?”

Taking his chance, Danny says, “Sure! It’s a date.”

He’s awarded by Duke’s bright smile and idly wonders how long he can keep them married. Hopefully long enough for them to get into a real relationship where he can propose properly. And then he can get Jazz’s blessing too—

“Oh shit,” Danny realizes. 

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I need to tell my sister or she’s going to actually kill me.”

Duke winces. “And I should probably tell the others before Spoiler makes a mess of things… B is not going to be happy with me.”

They share a despairing look, already dreading the amount of scoldings they’re both going to get. He’s not looking forward to it.

“...Put it off until tomorrow?”

Duke nods. “Yeah. That’s a tomorrow problem. For now, how about a late dinner?”

“Sounds perfect.”

. . .

[send me a ghostlights prompt!]

[wolfpants]

some fics I have been enjoying recently - wolf's reading list: june favourites 📚

As June draws to a close, I'm thrilled to say that both my reading and writing have picked up significantly after nearly a year of poor focus and general scatterbrained chaos. Hurrah! It's been a joy to ease back into the fandom, especially with so many wonderful fics to explore. Here are some I've devoured over the past month or so!

9 to 5 📆

E, HP, Drarry, 2.5k | @oknowkiss

Draco Malfoy hates Mondays.

“The Ministry will be breached. You’ll be caught in the crossfire.” Potter smiles crookedly. “Wrong place, wrong time. Funnily enough.” Draco swallows. “Hilarious.” “I’m keeping you here. For now.” Potter says. “Alive.”

-

Crush 🌶️

E, HP, Drarry, 8.2k | @citrusses

Harry Potter has a secret admirer. Harry's pretty sure that if this person figures out what an idiot he's capable of making of himself, they'll lose interest. So he turns to Draco Malfoy, reformed nemesis and stylish lawyer, for guidance.

“Malfoy,” Harry says. “Kiss me.” Malfoy winces. “Stop calling me that.” “Oh,” Harry says. “Sorry. Kiss me… Daddy?” “You absolute, clinically hopeless, fucking moron.”

-

Find New Ways 🫧

M, HP, Drarry, 3.6k | @skeptiquewrites

First comes marriage.

"We're married.” Draco trailed fingertips in the water, watching the little eddies in their wake. Harry's fingers curved around his ribcage. “We are.” The feeling in Draco's chest was too weighty for words, but he tried. “You’ll make a good husband.” The question of whether Draco would was outstanding.

-

Know Your Enemy 🗡️

E, HOTD, Daemon/Aemond, 2.4k | memequeen1127

Daemon follows Aemond after he storms out of the feast.

It is quite enjoyable, Aemond showing how unaffected he is by his nephew’s attempts to hurt him. He feels a thrill from emulating his uncle’s easy power. It’s the best outlet for his desire he’s found today. If Aemond can’t fuck him, then at least he can be him.

-

like some small animal that only comes out at night 🚾

E, HP, Drarry, 943 | @maesterchill

Unspeakable Malfoy and Auror Potter hook up in the bathroom at a Ministry charity event.

“Meet me in the gents,” Potter instructs, his whisper barely audible over the bustle around us, but so authoritative and unambiguous that it’s all I can do not break into a run.

-

Twenty-Two Cards 🃏

(Series) E, HP, Drarry, 108k | peu_a_peu

Aurors Potter and Malfoy crack the case. (plus more!)

"Only one bed," Harry observed. "Guess you're on the floor, then," Malfoy said, throwing his cloak on it. "You're not even going to offer to share?" "Fuck off," Malfoy said, and then proceeded to use all the hot water for his shower. Harry resigned himself.

-

your braids like a pattern 🌳

E, HP, Drarry, 31.1k | @hoko-onchi-writes

Harry runs a camp. Malfoy is the new counsellor, and he's driving Harry to the brink of insanity.

“Why do you keep bothering me? Coming back and talking to me? I’ve been nothing but an arsehole to you. And you—you keep coming back.” Harry doesn’t mention that Malfoy is eye-fucking him on a regular basis because he doesn’t need to open that Pandora’s box. Not right now. “Oh, you are an arsehole. But I’m mercilessly fucked up, and I find it so endearing.”

-

That's all folks! I'll try and make this a regular thing at the end of every month. What should I read next? Recs always welcome! 💖

[alllgator-blood]

I have ten billion WIP sketches I need to finish, but for some reason I stayed up from 9 PM to 4 AM conceptualizing, making patterns, sewing, painting and applying makeup on this stupid fucking felt squid......the detailing needs to be cleaned up cause there's only one coat of paint so far, but he's pretty much done

my neighbors probably think I'm insane because I was running around the yard clenching this toy kallamar in a death grip and flying him around like an airplane/putting him in the barbecue/poking him with a stick. I want to tie him to a string and recreate the opening of napoleon dynamite >:) ALSO I MADE HIM SMOKE OUT OF A STUPID CRYSTAL PIPE BUT PLEASE DON'T ACTUALLY USE THOSE, THEY ARE SUPER TOXIC LMAO MINE IS FOR DECORATION

I don't have any process pics because I had tunnel vision autism style and forgot the rest of the universe existed while I was working on him. BUT if you're curious I'll ramble below the cut

Okay I am not a seamstress by any means. I've sewn my entire life but very, very infrequently. I've done plushies, clothes, cosplays, fursuits, accessories, etc. but I only do one like once a year, so while I planned to make all 5 bishops, I'm not really sure I'll get them all done. The material cost was like 20 bucks tops so I'm not too upset if I don't finish them. I AT LEAST WANT TO GET SHAMURA OR HEKET DONE.

here is the concept sketch ft. heket's toes and shamura's fingers. I decided to do his pre-schism version so I could fit him with jewelry! I did him first because like I said I sew infrequently and don't know wtf I'm doing, everyone else seemed a lot more complicated.

So I basically just traced this drawing on a printer paper-sized canvas in SAI, and guesstimated how everything would look in a 3D space. His head is four pieces, one triangle identical to the one in the picture, two wide triangles that are sewn together in the back, and a circle for his chin. You can't really see it in any of the pics but he's literally like a black cylindrical stick with little tentacles sewn on where his mantle connects to his cloak. The leg tentacles are one piece of felt that look like tassels, where they're connected by a rectangle but branch off into individual pieces. He can't stand up very well, so his cape keeps him up (that's gonna be an issue for every other bishop too except heket cause she's gonna be ROUND). Mostly everything like the crown, cloak, head, etc. are cones so I just had to make a lot of wide triangles.

For the details, I just used acrylic paint that was watered down so he's not especially crunchy, and for the blush tone I used a makeup palette my mom bought me 10 years ago in hopes I'd get in touch with my "feminine side", but I grew up into a nonbinary butch lesbian so OOPS. Kallamar looks better with makeup than me anyway. I'm kinda sad I couldn't get his freckles as lopsided as I draw them but it probably looks better in plush form to have them even anyway....

I could just post the pattern so I don't have to explain this but 1. I am mentally ill about the thought of my kallamar being in someone else's house and 2. the original pattern had to be tweaked while I was working on him so the final pattern straight up doesn't exist, I winged it the whole time

OH and the jewelry is just scrap pieces I had laying around, I might repaint it all to be gold instead of silver + bronze. I used 20g aluminum wire for his armlet thing, jumper rings for his earrings + ring (+ a diamond dot from my mom's kits for the gem) and chain for the bracelet. I made him an amulet as well but it felt like overkill so I took it off. I'm probably gonna make him a plague doctor mask and medicine bag sometime because I think about nurse kallamar more than I probably should :') I've already sewn one as a prop for a toy raven before so it shouldn't be too hard

[inexplicifics]

More snippet requests: L/V cloaked, Gaetan/Letho Invictus 'verse, knight!Milena

L/V cloaked:

But first Lambert has to get the fuck out of these ropes, and they’re tied tight and well, and now they’re slick with his blood, too. He curses, muffled by the gag, and twists his wrists again - And then freezes, still as a startled rabbit, at the sound of unfamiliar voices. “Ah, hell,” says someone - a low, slightly raspy male voice. “Shit, it’s been a decade then,” someone else agrees - also male, slightly higher. “Fuck,” says a third man, soft and gravelly. “Why the hell do they do this?” the second voice asks, and then there’s a hand on Lambert’s shoulder, warm and startlingly gentle. “Hold still, lad. Let me get those ropes off you.” The heavy cloak is flipped aside, and strong fingers begin to work on the ropes. Lambert holds still, too confused to do anything but obey. And then, to his utter horror - “Get away from him,” says a voice he knows as well as his own heartbeat. “Don’t you touch him, monsters.”

Gaetan/Letho in Invictus:

Working for Coën is…weird, but good. Weird, because Gaetan hasn’t actually had a regular job like this before, and being polite to stupid people is not his strong suit. Good, because Coën handles most of the talking to people, and Gaetan just has to make the engines work properly again. He likes working with engines. They make sense. The bits all fit together and if they don’t then you’ve found the problem, now haven’t you? Gaetan actively enjoys taking a cranky, pissy, unhappily grumbling engine and poking at it until it’s purring like a pleased cat. It’s immensely satisfying. Also he’s getting paid for it, and pretty damn good wages too, which is nothing to be sneezed at. And Coën’s an even-tempered sort of man, who doesn’t expect the impossible and does know a hell of a lot about engines; Gaetan’s reasonably fond of him, and trusts him at least not to actively screw Gaetan over on purpose. Possibly a bit more, even.

knight!Milena:

Give the maybe-knight credit, as soon as his horse’s ears swivel, he’s whirling, drawing his sword again. Lambert stops a little ways away and nods as politely as he can manage. “D’you want the useful bits of that?” he asks, gesturing over his shoulder at the dead manticore. The maybe-knight shakes his head. “I will need something as a trophy, but if you would find the rest of it useful, sir, please help yourself.” Definitely not a knight. His voice hasn’t even broken. “Where’s your fuckin’ knight-master?” Lambert asks, frowning. “You can’t possibly be old enough to be out killin’ manticores by yourself.” Hell, up close the lad barely comes to Lambert’s collarbone, and with a soprano like that, Lambert’s pretty sure he’s maybe fourteen at the absolute outside. Sure, he’s good, but even the fuckin’ trainers don’t let green boys hunt monsters.

[honestsycrets]

exclusive | [miguel o'hara x reader, hobie brown x reader]

❛ pairing | fuck buddies: miguel o'hara x reader, hobie brown x reader (background pairing)

❛ type | one-shot, explicit

❛ summary | miguel learns his fuck buddy is fucking Hobie and feels some type of way about it.

❛ tags | heavy jealousy, somnophilia, fuck buddies, multiple partners, undisclosed sexual relationship, dubious consent: aggression/revenge, sloppy seconds, f!reader, lying by omission, spanish is not translated, an attempt at MLE, break ups, eating kitty, bit angsty, older hobie in this piece, break-ups.

❛ reqs fulfilled | Hey! I saw your requests were open and I wanted to know if you'd be down with writing something about Miguel x Reader who has been whining for his cock all day, crying and trying to run from it when he finally gives it to her? & where reader loves him but he doesn't, only for him to eventually fall in love but its too late because she's moved on, or vice versa

❛ sy's notes | here's for the anon that requested i release it. hope you like it, lil buddy.

Miguel wakes early in the morning.

Lyla usually woke him up with a Hey Miguel, Miguel, You have a meeting Miguel-- something teasing and aggravating all at once. That morning his room was so silent that he could nearly feel the heaving and dropping of a second heartbeat. His vision strains as his eyes take focus on the pitch-black room. He takes up the bulk of the bed with his large frame while the pillows are strewn over the floor. Your complaints of-- You never come to find me, you always ignore me. He quickly remembers what happened last night. Your legs were intertwined in his, scaling him like he was another bed in of himself.

"Lyla, what time is it?" he asks, massaging the crook in his neck. The world is quiet in his room. Out there, he knew there would be one problem after another. As soon as he peeled himself from the comfort of your warm embrace. Your legs intertwined in his, keeping him in the warmth of his bed, a spider's web of its own. He hates that he doesn't want to leave. Not yet, anyway. He knows he's in deep.

"About--" she pauses, "Nine o'clock?"

"¿Las nueve?" he shouts, pushing himself up on his thick forearms. "Damn it, Lyla!"

"I would've woken you up sooooner," she draws out in a long tease. "If you weren't too busy pounding your novía until three in the morning."

"She's not my girlfriend," not yet, he bit out, unpeeling your warm legs from his core. A brush more and he would have another type of problem to deal with that morning. As nice as it would have been to lay back down and wait until sleep released its tight grip on you, he had obligations.

"Yeah," she scoffs. "Okay, Miguel."

Lyla knew what he wanted. He wanted this. You-- to help make him forget the past and the future. To forget all the awful things that haunted him day to day. You could do that. He feels your sleepy eyes on him as he turns to sit up in his bed. Your heavy eyelids are cloaked with the ache for sleep. Or half-lidded in fervor for another round. He isn't sure which, yet.

"Te quiero, Miggy," he knows it isn't love you're talking about. Early in the morning, you need sex. He knows how insatiable you are even without your hands slinking around his muscular thigh, inching their way where they had no business going. He cups your hand and pushes away from his softness, knowing he has no time to spare getting worked up. Distracted. It's time to work.

"Manaña. Go back to sleep, I have things to do."

"Tomorrow? I'm not a tomorrow kinda girl, Miggy. " You're that kind of woman-- needy, achy, you need more from him. No matter how much he gave you with attentiveness and care, he could never give you enough. Your words are clear as you turn away, pouting. Miguel throws a look over his shoulder. "You're the only one who treats me like this."

There's the fit. Miguel ran his hand through his hair, shoving it out of his face as he gathers his bearings. You're slack against his back, lips curling into a pout at his suggestion that you'd simply have to wait for more attention.

"No empieces," he throws back. "I spent the night with you two nights in a row."

"To get off. Hobie's right about you. You'd never go to a show'a mine."

If there were ever an interloper in your relationship. It was, and would forever be, Hobie Brown. The displeasure on your face gently pulls at his heart. He's never been to one of your shows before. He's never even asked. It never seemed important to you until now.

He could do that.

"Where and when," his stomach roiled with something he'd distantly call anxiety. There was a truth to what Hobie said, he couldn't be a good boyfriend and take care of spider society all alone. He'd sure as hell try. If you thought Hobie was better, so be it. Miguel wrinkled his nose, concern lining his bushy eyebrows as he stood up, hands on his hips.

"Oh Miggy, that's just what I wanted. It's tomorrow!"

"Tomorrow, then."

Isn't that what he said earlier?

"Hobie!"

It doesn’t matter where it is, your eyes always seem to find Hobie. Ideally, Miguel would like your eyes to always find him. You spent the night in his arms yesterday and the night before that. Perhaps that was why you missed the spider punk. So when he walked into the meeting early that morning and dropped like a rock on the elevated platform you sat on, he wasn’t altogether surprised that you turned around to look at Hobie.

He was, however, surprised to see your hand slink along his plaid thigh, tugging on his lax suspenders. You're late, he heard you whisper. Yeah, what you going to do about it? Hobie reached out, letting his fingertips ghost lines up your arms. Miguel barks out your name, your fingers snapping back as if a spider bit them. They might.

“Oh my days, bruv, we gonna talk about this?” Hobie ripped off his mask, dropping it lazily by your hip. You swept it up and set it on your thighs. He suckled along the roof of his mouth, pulling his lip piercing in and out with a deliberate, slow hiss. “Or you busy watching my side ting?”

"Hobie," you willed him down. Your eyes catch and hold. "Shhh."

“Mans right pussywhipped,” Hobie balked out a laugh, bouncing at that awful word. His jaw tightened at the distinct sound of Hobie’s hands slapping your shoulder. Hobie is in a mood today. He wouldn’t mind if he wasn’t being picked on. “Look at him, is he serious? You mad, man?”

Hobie!

“I’m not.”

“I like the sound of that,” he could hear you whisper into Hobie’s ear, his senses more queued into small whispers than anyone else in the room. You rolled the word along your tongue. "Pussy whipped. You next?"

It was like he wasn’t even there. As if every moment you spent together was irrelevant. The days that the tips of your fingers grazed his shoulder blades, sweeping across his tight muscles. He remembered how it felt, your careful kisses on his neck after a long day, the drag of your nails across his muscular back as you took him so well on the desk he lectured at.

“You bugging? You know that's not happening. You ovulatin' today?”

Miguel prompts your name. You sit upright, his perfect good girl, a whole other person when you weren’t around Hobie. His brow creases and lines of worry and disappointment coalesce into a look that invites you to behave. You were listening now with a blow of a kiss at him as though that would deter him from finding out.

Miguel doesn’t like it when Hobie takes the piss out of him.

He especially doesn’t like that Hobie seems to know the intimate details about your body, like your cycle. That near the end of the month, every month, your sex drive ran wild. He thought it was a myth. None of the other women he had in his bed acted this way. You, however, were insatiable. If he didn’t know better… He flicked his fingers across amber screens, doing something he never did because he had no reason not to trust you. He skimmed your file.

Hobie was a consistent fixture in your life. Always at his damn concerts, clapping wildly at his old runway shows, drinking at the pub. You were an outlier dolled up in soft white, sparkling glitter makeup and darling strawberry blush next to a group of grungy anarchists and foul punks. On any given day, you might hold his head in your lap as your fingers coursed through his wicks. On special days, you buy new jewelry to change out the old. Every weekend, you like to sit on his lap in the pub of the week.

The others were negligible. He could excuse them. Hobie was something more. All it took was one offensive recording of sitting on Hobie’s lap in a seedy bar for his mind to turn red hot.

Despite being populated with many patrons, it didn’t stop you two from fucking in the bar after one of Hobie's loud shows. Others did the same exact shit. The ringing strumming, the shouting, fighting. It wasn't a scene he could see you at.

"Right there, papi, Hobie, there," your hips ground down, sultry moans puffing against his spiked choker while Hobie’s urged you up and down his cock, groping and slapping your ass around his dick. Your pink ballerina flats willing the movement by using the footrest to help guide your motion.

"Good, innit?" You didn't just like it, he realized, you loved it. Your huffy moans, the stares from strangers, the way Hobie commanded the scene. The bartender even threw Hobie a beer. Miguel wasn’t sure if it was Hobie's arrogance that no one was a threat or arrogance that no one would protest, but it pissed him off the same. He fucked you like it was nothing-- like fucking you in front of a host of sleazy men wasn’t a risk in and of itself.

He was too informal with you. He didn't treasure what he had. It was not the same, not like him. He heard your gentle footsteps in the lab. He shifted his weight between his feet, turning to see you hop up the platform. You fluttered your lashes angelically at him. Mi rey, you trilled. Your king. As though he hadn’t just watched you get railed by Hobie only days ago.

It was a fucking trap. A trap he was buying into, drinking you in. You looked pretty without your suit, clothed in a white, fluttery dress that barely kissed your thighs and nothing more. Like a fly to a spider web, he found himself gaping with his lips slightly apart. He brought his hand to his slight mouth, wiping away all inkling of his interest. You pout.

Miguel snapped back to his monitor. It was your scent lingering in the air, hypnotizing his dumb ass, your body eager and ready for him to pound full of his cum. Why else would you be in his lab? When you were strung out on his bed, properly bred, and leaking his cum, he was happy. He was happy with the tremors that wracked through your pathetic legs, that you were finally quiet for once in your damn--

“Oh? What's that?”

Miguel’s attention snapped to your figure, sliding along the edge of his desk, moving his hand without fear. You replaced it on your upper thigh, driving it between your legs. Horny again. His blown pupils followed the motion of your hand. He cursed his body for growing warm at the sight and smell of you. He hardening up as if his body had learned what to expect in the many days of experience fucking you. Most would have reconsidered what they were doing to him. Not you. You had no fear of men. You wanted him. Were you that insatiable?

“Hobie n' me?” you shimmied your shoulders with a knowing grin. The screen paused on a wet, sloppy kiss, Hobie's teeth nipping your lower lip. He was a biter. How had he missed his bites on your neck? Your soft, perfumed hand cradled Miguel's cheek, peppered in stubble. Your lips shifted up, tracing his sharp cheekbones. “Aw. I missed you too, Miggy. I always miss you. You're my big man.”

Yours. He might as well have been yours because you sure as damn weren't his. You led him on your little fingers with words like honey. A soothing honey that threatened to suffocate him in the weight of the words. If he listened long enough, he might fall in. Guilting him about his lack of time for you, Hobie Brown, the relationship you had, the kisses you exchanged, the sex-- the lies you omitted.

Miguel glides the clip away, bringing another to inspect. You remember it-- the day Hobie found out you fucked Miguel after a few hours of reconnaissance went south. You hadn't meant to piss him off. You only meant to take care of your needs. Needs that included sex. He was a means to an end, a brute that could fill what you needed. That much was becoming real clear, real fast.

"It go that bad? He got you in a fit," Hobie says. He can't help but notice you wringing out your suit, flinging it in your half-filled hamper by your bra, standing in nothing but a pair of soiled panties. Bruto, murmured under your breath-- a brute. He was. Hobie flickered his fingers off his guitar, a stray note irritating your hypersensitive ears. You cupped your ears in protest. "Oi, why are you airing me?"

"I'm not ignoring you. I just--" you bit the words, warm dread filling your chest with the next lie you told. You twirled your hands one over another. "I have a sore throat."

"A sore throat."

He wasn't buying that either.

"It's minor. Just a-- tú sabes, a little thing," you turned your hand over, whirling your bra drawer open with enough force to rip it out. Another growl rolled free from your lips, picking a powdery pink set and shoving it promptly back in. The drawer sat off-kilter. Hobie flipped his guitar over his shoulder and met you halfway, his hand warm on your mid back. It should have been comforting. Something in his eyes, even now, felt off. He recovered before you could answer.

"You fucked that man? Are you mad or what, wifey?"

You couldn't help feeling like you cheated on Hobie.

He stood upright, ripping himself away from your body, and brought his hand to his face to focus his thoughts. He had been fucking you for months-- and for months, he missed it. Miguel searched your eyes for a hint of shame or embarrassment. You had none, not even a lick. You were a kid in a panadería. Not only could you have Hobie, with his slender figure and exhibitionist qualities, but Miguel too-- with his big dick and need for love at the end of a long day’s work.

You played him.

His breath hitched as you turned around, shifting your hips back on his. It was enough. He had enough. His hand slammed over the rim, locking you in place against his muscular body. There was nowhere to run, even if you wanted to. You were happy to be there. Miguel wasn’t. His fingers trembled violently, forming a fist. You knew he wouldn't hit you. For all his rumble and roar, Miguel couldn't hurt you nearly as much as you could hurt him.

“You’re fucking Hobie,” he breathed into your ear.

“Mmm.”

A slight, noncommittal noise slipped out from your lips. It was not a denial, but not an agreement either. Irritation rippled across his skin with every damn swish of your round hips against his, shifting weight from one ball of your foot to the other. His body was alight with your soft body drawing trying to draw his pleasure to the surface. You were trying to distract him. Miguel wasn't about to let you.

"Answer me," he bucked his slender hips into yours, forcing you to catch yourself on the desk. You groaned. He had half the mind to fuck you right there, break in your pussy and leave you drooling over his desk. That would be easy. That was what you wanted.

"It's just sex."

“Are you dating him?”

“We don't do labels,” you said.

Miguel wracked your head back by your hair. A strangled moan slipped free from your lips, pleasure rushing to your cunt. You liked it. There were important details he had to know. Like-- if you used protection, or if you were safe when you weren't with him, or how you rid Hobie in raunchy pubs, and if you made out with Hobie until it was time to sleep. You know, important details.

“I do. I don’t share my women.”

“Yours? Fucking a woman ain’t keeping her, Miguel. You never asked me out on a date, put a ring on my finger, nada. It’s sex. Don't pretend like it's anything more."

"Is that all we are?"

"I've been fucking Hobie for months, Miguel. You want me to drop him-- for you? You don't even have time for me in the mornings."

His hand uncurled from your scalp, shoving you into the desk. He leaped off the platform, trudging somewhere, anywhere away from your body. He feared what he might do next if he kept hearing Hobie's damn name on your lips.

He could have done it-- let you have Hobie if you wanted Hobie so badly.

But it bothered him. Of all the women he could have had, he picked you. You were the only one he let grab him, shove him into hallways, suck him off under his desk, and be thankful for the strands of cum painting your nose and cheeks. You were the only one who slept with him at night.

Did Hobie need you the same way? Did he want you the same way Miguel did-- when he was inside of you, clambering over your body like a hungry beast, making you lay there and take him as he laid his brutal thrusts into your pussy. The way he battered your cunt, filled it up with his seed. Watched you heave heavy breaths-- because you were his to fuck and fill. The prospect of filling you up with his cum while Hobie was doing the same thing… ticked him off.

You were his, a territory that Hobie had no business entering. You had none allowing him to. Hobie didn’t claim ownership of anybody or anything at any time. It went against all he stood for. Miguel was inexorable. He wasn’t so bothered about the details. So long as the result was to his satisfaction.

“She’s at home, Miguel,” Lyla squeaked.

“Alone?”

“If you mean with Hobie,” she popped over his shoulder, sitting as if on a cloud in her fluffy jacket. His eyes rolled. “Then yes, he's there.”

"Show me."

"Nah, nah, nah, he's gassing you. How that man not know about us?"

You sat on your kitchen table, plopped with a hunk of pizza between your fingertips from the pizzeria below your house. Hobie's boots were thrown beside your mini-skirt. His chew was lazy and long. You sighed through it. You nipped the last bits of crust and grease off your fingertips.

"No sé. We never been a secret," you wiped off the rest of the grease between your thighs, ignoring the thought of your very first time with Hobie. But it was persistent, tickling the back of your mind, raging havoc on your unsettled heart.

White was your favorite shade. It was light, airy, like the sky. The sensation of falling through tufts of clouds. But it also made the consistent British rainstorms all the more irksome. The way water dribbled down your wet suit, your nipples perked as you rushed into his flat begging for something else to wear, Hobie's laughter dying out into that deep, low hum. His band shirt was ruined with the sticky stains of his cum.

"You thinking about it again?" Hobie read the way your eyes glazed over in an instant. His feet thumped onto the floor, swiveling in his chair and parting your legs. He leaned forward, his hands on either side of your tiny miniskirt. Your eyes tracked his gloved fingers peeking underneath your skirt. Not to pull down your thin panties, but caress small, consoling circles. "Yeah. You are. We just fucked. You're insatiable, wifey. You wet already? Want me again?"

"Hobie," you breathed. "What if he don't come tomorrow?"

"Then he don't," Hobie outstretched his finger, rubbing your soft chin to look up. "You don't need that wasteman."

"I got you?" you slid your fingers down to his slender palm, gliding over the tops of his knuckles. Hobie's lip pulled into a one-sided smirk, nodding to the side.

"Yeah, you got me."

By the time Hobie left, all thoughts of Miguel were non-existent. Mostly, because Hobie fucked you into exhaustion. You were out cold, strewn among fluffy sheets that wreaked of his musk of cigarettes and the sandalwood oil Pavitr gifted him. Hobie’s scent was here, there, everywhere it shouldn’t be as Miguel slunk into your slightly parted window.

Most offensively, Hobie’s cum was dripping out of your cunt. He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. If you wanted him so badly all day, you easily replaced him with Hobie’s dick. He climbed the foot of the bed, watching your face twitch, almost trying to wake up from your sex-fueled haze.

“Mmm,” the small, ineffectual noise caused him to drift his eyes across your silky legs to your lips. There was a gentle pleasure in watching you sleep. He had seen it many times when he crept in the shadows when you were most beautiful. When you were half asleep, your hands draped among fluffy pillows. To be the first sight in the morning, and if possible, the last thing you thought of at night.

If he weren’t so angry with you, you would have been a vision for his sore eyes. His fingertips swerved up and down your inner thigh, curling around until he found your vulva, still swollen and wet from sex with Hobie. Miguel urged his thumb over your swollen clit, zig-zagging along to separate your folds.

As he suspected-- you had fucked him. Miguel urged the cum out of your system with a squeeze of your folds, rolling his fingers along the outer lips. His dilated eyes flickered up, catching a soft sigh in your chest. His fingers breached your wetness, easing the cum free from your body with small sweeps of his fingers.

“Mmm?” you breathed. His fingers slipped away, dragging your hips to his waiting mouth. Caked in the allure of sleep, your moan went without a response. Miguel’s pink tongue separated your folds, small mincing suckles coursing from your entrance to weave around your folds, deliberately avoiding your waiting clitoris.

"Who's it?" The pressure caused your lids to spread apart, lifting your hand from the lush silk pillow under your head to the top of his head. His tongue languidly coursed back down, poking at your entrance. The coziness of your sleep faded away. You dropped a hand to the top of his head to run through his thick dark brown hair, his sharp eyes flicking up to meet yours. Miguel could definitely have been a dream, but he wasn't.

“Miggy… I missed you,” you complained, reaching for the soft pink strawberry he won you once upon a time at a carnival. You had to beg, and beg, and blow his cock under his desk to get him to go. You looked so damn cute. Innocent. You were neither. “You should have come earlier--”

“To see you fuck Hobie?” he blew warm air against your cunt. Your hips shuttered against his face, thighs knocking his sharp cheekbones.

"You're still mad at me." This time, shame surely caught in your chest, a tremor of mean pleasure was minced with the pain of letting Miguel down. He knew it did. You wouldn't look him in the eye again but gripped the comforting strawberry a little harder.

“Considering you fucked him after we spoke, it’ll stay that way.” Miguel rose his hand to caress the outside folds as he worked, slurping the inner ones between his lips. You winced when his wet finger slid inside your hole. It squished obscenely, hungry and wet for his touch after such a tiresome day of longing.

“It’s-- it’s still sensitive.”

“I don’t care. You lied to me.” A brief glance at any watch would reveal that you’d barely slept at all. Miguel wouldn’t let you have rest, not if he could hold you accountable for your games with his heart and dick. His lush lips closed over your clit, flickering and sucking sloppily, drawing shocks of pleasure down your spine. You dug the heel of your palm into the sheets, struggling to slide out from under him. It was too much to wake up to after a fuck with Hobie who, from his files, apparently just loved to edge you.

"No, you don't. Come here." Miguel lurched his arm around your waist, dragging you back onto his face. Ah! Your hand shot to his forearm, battling out with his upper body strength to push him off. You couldn’t. Miguel was too strong. He was going to make you cum.

Pressure welled up in your stomach, forming a blinding burst of pleasure that threatened to let go. You knew it was coming. You knew there was nothing you could do about it but let him force another orgasm out of your cunt, twirling his fingers against your sensitive bundle of nerves. In place of a sweet, soothing orgasm, hard pleasure ripped down your spine. It nearly hurt, forced out by his flicking tongue. Your legs tremored around his head, cupping him in place until you couldn’t give him any more of your sweet love.

“Miguel, Miguel please--” Warm tears pricked your cheeks, sliding down to your jaw. He kept his eye on you. Your skin was warm, mind dizzy, wracked with his complaints. “I didn't mean to lie to you. I promise. You-- you never asked.”

“Shut up,” Miguel forced your hips off his face with a sharp shove. Your hips bounced on the bed, a broken cry slipping from your lips at his abuse. He came for one thing, one thing only, and fuck more foreplay. Somedays he had the temperament for it. Today, with your daring admission that you had been fucking Hobie, he had none. "I don't want more pretty lies."

"They aren't lies," you bit out, scrambling underneath him, legs tightening shut. You just needed a moment to explain-- and if holding sex back would do it, you'd try. Miguel pulled himself free of his suit and pulled you back into place. Overstimulated tears pricked your eyes, "Miggy please-- Not yet--"

He looked down at you, eyes unfeeling, unreceptive to your pleas. His cock bobbed over the top of your vulva, thick and hard, dribbling with anticipation to replace Hobie’s cum with his. You bit hard on your lower lip, sucking your tongue over the loose cuts. “If you would have asked--”

“Since you’re so insatiable, you’re going to take this dick next,” Miguel gave a few lax jerks at the base, lining up his cock with your tense entrance. He felt you clench your walls, some piteous attempt to keep him out, to allow you to explain.

“I'm still sensitive, Miggy, please. Slow down, you're too big--”

“Think about this next time you fuck that punk.”

Despite your protests, Miguel pushed the head of his cock into your entrance. A moan wracked free from your lips. He knew it was your favorite part, the way he split you wide on his cock, pulling your walls apart. He bottomed out balls deep in your cunt, finally looking so full-- so full of Miguel after a long, arduous day of teasing him for just this. Your hand came to your stomach, buried so deep you swore you could feel him in your guts. Your lashes fluttered, recognizing that this Miguel-- this Miguel wasn’t the man you knew. Not the one who was cold out there, patient in your bedroom. Something snapped. You cracked him.

“¡Ay!” you exclaimed, then clamped your mouth shut. He wasn't going to accept any complaints. Miguel’s hands clasped over your lower ribs, the slide of tears down your soft cheeks biting your skin raw. “Miggy, Miggy.”

“After all that teasing today, you can’t take my dick?”

“You’re too-- you’re too thick.”

“Tragedy, you’ll have to take me anyway,” he mocked, sliding his forearm underneath your head to keep you stable. Your skin prickled, wanting to believe the closeness he forced was as much for you as him. Your hands came to his chest, bundling up his suit between your fingertips. You needed something to anchor to. Your legs bobbed around his hips as he drew his smooth thrusts into you. Long, punctuated sweeps of his cock filled the deepest parts of your body over and over, stretching your sweet cunt full of him. “What? Am I not enough?”

“No, you are! I just, I love him--” your legs pathetically clung to his hips, trying to force Miguel’s full, sweeping thrusts to slow. Between the two men, you would be sore the next morning. Love him-- the words earned an intensity of his thrusts that you could only try to slow down by squeezing your walls around him. All this time he thought it was him, his inability to bend to your every need when you wanted it done. Your whines drifted off, melding into sweet, gentle moans of approval with every deep swipe of his hips knocking into your cervix. Wet, sloppy kisses marked your neck-- and if you weren't mistaken, the soft tickle of his own tears. The sensation of his liquid need, the hiss of his breath, bounced against your neck. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re going to be.” His other hand jammed between your legs, flicking at your already pulsing clit once again. It hurt how badly you needed it. You pulsed over his dick, a flurry of frantic perdóname slipping free from your lips over and over, a disc stuck on repeat. Miguel’s moans ripped through the room, the desire for air a secondary thought. You never heard him so loud, so enraged, even earlier today.

You came, wet and sweet over his swollen dick, for the second time since he showed up. A fourth since Hobie was here. You couldn't breathe, pinned between his chest and the bed. Your thighs tremored piteously around him, searing with pleasurable heat. You accepted his last frantic thrusts, marked by a sharp grunt. His wet cum spilled into you, hips snapping to your core to ensure you took every last bit of his seed. You buried your head between pillows and his fist under your neck, tightening and loosening. Your head was thumping, sweat cloaking his suit. When Miguel was finally spent, he pulled free, gloops of cum slipping free along with him. He threw you a look, recording the memory of your ruined body in his mind.

“Miguel--” you reached out. Or tried to. He jerked to the edge of your fluffy bed, his hands wrangling sweat out of his long hair.

“Let's stop seeing each other."

Seconds passed before you could articulate the right words, watching his chest rise and fall with the tension. He fit himself back into his suit, throwing a glance over his muscular shoulders when you cried his name. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. Only…

“I… I didn’t know you would care.”

He steeled himself to your words from the gentle touch of your fingers on his elbow, trying to reason with him to lay in bed. He wouldn’t. Not this time. You crawled over, trying again. Realistically, you held little hope that he'd let you touch him. Not if he was banishing you from his life. Optimistically, all he could do was throw you off again. You considered yourself lucky that he allowed your arms to slide about his waist and press your breasts against his rising and falling back.

“I did.” But he acted as though he didn't. The words felt small as if they didn't fit in your mouth. He cared. Miguel ran his hand down, then up his head again, exhaling a wilting breath. "Mira… let me go," he sighed, loathing the words on his tongue. He wasn't enough. He knew he wasn't. "I'm in the way."

"In the way? Miguel, you're never in my way."

You couldn't be this dull. Miguel loosened your hands around his waist, glancing toward Hobie's miscellaneous shoes at the foot of your bed. Your intermingled jewelry in ceramic little pots. Maybe he did see it. Maybe he wanted to ignore it, to convince you he was enough. Maybe he was the one that appeared every time you two were alone, not the other way around. And maybe he was the interloper.

"In Hobie's way. You can’t believe that he isn’t jealous.”

“Hobie doesn’t get jealous.”

“You're blind. Everyone gets jealous,” he scoffed. “Even him.”

“Even you?”

That shuts him up. You watched as he pushed himself off the bed, stretching out his neck and heading out your bedroom window. This time, you wouldn’t follow him to the lab, slink into his bed. This time, you knew he wouldn’t come back. It was better, this way, your lives playing out apart from one another. Some lives can't be pieced back together once their web breaks.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Are you requests open yet, right?

Can you make something with Fenrys, like, him and reader are mates, and they are trying to get a child for so long, and one day they discover that they are expecting.

(I really liked your writing, and very few people write about him, so I wanted to thank you for this 💕)

Had a blast writing this truly. Thank you for requesting and the kind words, I hope you'll enjoy it. 🤍✨

Little pup

At first, you didn't talk about it. You both were still young and for the most part, had wanted to explore the world together. Just you two. Try new things. See new places. Travel. Indulge in each other's company. And the mating frenzy hit you so hard that you didn't leave your house for over a month. And by then you were convinced that everyone passing by could smell the sex lingering all around.

And yet even in that month, it wasn't about getting pregnant. Fenrys was learning how to please you and you were doing the same. It was the desire to explore that drove you. To bring each other immense pleasure. Till the last breaking point. Till the moment all you could see was stars. Till furniture was breaking. But the thought of conceiving never crossed your mind.

But it's the first time your period is late and you're feeling so weird that Aelin had to drag you to the healer's level. It's the joyful smile on the woman's face when she says, "Oh you might as well be pregnant", that breaks this bubble of cold water over your head. "How exciting would that be? Babies are so rare and to have one ahh...", the healer beams as she ushers you to lay down. You reach for Aelin's hand almost instantly. The nerve suddenly so uneasy in your chest.

And then the healer's face drops and so does your heart. Sadness washes over you and it's like you had lost something you didn't even think you wanted five minutes ago. "You started your circle, darling", she says lowering your skirt down and you just want to crawl into yourself. "Ah, yes", you quickly move to get down the table. Glad your back is to the two women as you quickly wipe your tears. Suddenly feeling so frustrated. You feel Fenrys tugging on the bond yet that only makes your heart ache more so you push him out of your head quickly. Drowsing the bond in complete darkness.

Fenrys comes home way earlier than he should have been there. And you know it's because he would always drop anything for you. High stake leaders waiting for the meeting? Fuck them! His mate needs him so he's leaving and gods save the souls who try to stand in his way.

He knows by the silence that something had happened. Something that upset you. Ticked you over. Then Fenrys smells the blood. Gears turning before he realizes that your cycle had finally shown up but why the sense of sorrow then? This feeling of pain makes him rub his chest as he too tries to soothe the aching.

"My, love", Fenrys shrugs his cloak off carelessly, stepping closer to the bed. You're completely submerged by the furs all over your body. He makes a quick work of pushing them to the side until your wet cheeks come into sight and Fenry's heart drop even more. "Love", he breathes out in worry. But that only makes your tears well up more. A choked-out sob leaves your lips before you move to push away from your mate. That jabs Fenry's heart too.

"Love, if you don't tell me what's going on...", and then this shien of anger washes over you. Painting your cheeks in even more crimson shades. "Talk to you? Talk about what, huh?", you leap at him, fist coming in contact with Fenrys's strong chest.

But then you draw your hands back, looking at them with so much disgust. Fenrys steps in quickly taking your smaller palms into his. Your mind was too chaotic for him to read now. So he had to trust you to let him in on your own time. "What is going on...", you mutter, "You're overwhelmed and your body is full of hormones", even Fenrys frown at his own words but that's the truth in a way. The question still stands though. What caused all of this? "I thought I was...", you breathe through the sobs, "Thought we had...", and then it's full-on sobs, till your legs give out and Fenrys quickly wraps you up in his arms, rocking you from time to time.

There's no way to tell how long you've been crying by the time you're only sniffling. Eyes puffy and red, holding onto Fenrys for dear life. And he had run out of comforting words by then, opting for silence and love that he poured through the bond. You push away from him slightly. Knowing full well that you owe him an explanation. Because he too would have been a part of this if you had been pregnant. Your eyes well up with tears once more as you glance at him and Fenrys is ready to cradle you once more but you stop him. "I saw a healer this morning. She thought that I might...", you swallow the lump in your throat, shoulders sagging, "might be... pregnant". Fenrys's heart jumps up his throat. Suddenly he's almost hyper-aware of his surroundings. Threats. Smells. Sounds. But then nothing. And then just like before it all falls into place.

This. All of this was because you weren't. Because there wasn't a babe growing in your womb. No little Fenrys, or Y/N. And it's almost like another slap to his face because he only now realizes that you never really talked about it. Becoming parents. Growing your family. Being together and having one another was comforting enough. But seeing you like this. "I'm sorry...", you whisper and Fenrys draws his gaze back to you. "What for love? There's nothing to be sorry for", he brushes your loose hair away from your face.

"For not being pregnant", Fenrys frown at your words. And frowns so deep that his eyebrows nearly come together. "Now you take that back", his hands cup your face, "You take that back and never dare to apologize for something like this".

And you know that it comes from his heart because he loves you. Because no matter what you do he will always be there. "What if I can't?", you ask him, biting your lip, "Then we won't have any and that will be more than enough because we would have one another", he's quick to reassure you. And once more from the way his eyes are gleaming you know that he means it. "Come here", he mutters m, bringing you back into his arms, and wrapping it up in the comfort of his warmth. Drowning out the world around you.

All of this leads to a long conversation about children. One that you share late at night, both tangled between the sheets. Let the stars and the moon be the only witnesses of your wishes and dreams. And you both know that's so rare. And something that many couples don't even get close to. Fenrys knows how he and his brother Connall had come pretty late into their parent's lives. But then what a blessing it was to have two babies. Yet the time span was what scared him the most. Not because he was desperate. Don't get him wrong he wanted to see you pregnant. Know that it's his baby growing within you. But he could tell how fragile this topic made you. How you would shiver any time someone brought up the conversation of babies. How you would halt at the sight of younglings running around in the streets. How you forced a smile once Ellide got pregnant and you had brushed away your sad tears saying that it was only happy crying.

And it's only a handful of years later. Many disappointing visits to the healers later that you jolt up in the morning rushing to the bathroom. Fenrys is out of bed just as fast, darting after you and reaching to hold your hair out of your face as you emptied your stomach into the toilet. His hands rub comforting circles over your back. Your skin looks clammy and pale and it makes Fenrys sick to his stomach as well.

Because what if all the sorrows had finally eaten you from within in? What if he had missed something? Overlooked you not eating well, not sleeping enough. Your head drops to the side, and Fenrys quickly turns you over, reaching for the tap before flickering water over your face. If an illness claimed your life... if he would be left alone...it's a selfish thought but one that has been his number one fear ever since he saw you for the very first time.

"I'm fine", you groggily say and Fenrys only huffs, "Fine my ass, you're barely conscious". Those are harsher words than he wishes that thrown your way but he's so worried. So worried his own eyes are blurry. Then he moves up quickly, you tightly pressed to his chest. "Fen, I just need to lay down", but he doesn't listen as he throws the door open. Not caring that he's shirtless, or that you are only wearing one of his shirts. He rushes down the hallway, yet he's still mindful of not shaking you too much.

The healers haven't even finished their morning preparations when he storms in, eyes wild. The healer who had been tending to you for years now jumps up instantly. "I don't know what's happening", Fenrys admits as he lowers you onto the bed. The lady presses her palm onto your forehead before cradling your cheek. "Y/N, what's hurting?", she asks softly but you only shake your head. Her mouth falls into a tight frown and she orders a couple of other healers around, turning to Fenrys so he would tell her what happened.

"When was the last time you ate, girl?", she asks strictly, fingers running over your stomach. "Breakfast", you breathe out, "yesterday". Fenrys growls in frustration. He had returned home late last night, you had already been asleep and so he never even thought about the fact that he didn't ask anyone on his way up if you had been down to eat dinner. The healer shakes her head, "Silly, silly girl. Mirth, bring the lady some light breakfast and a tart", she says even though you turn to protest. "You're with child and this is all stunt you pulled here is because you didn't eat", every sound in the room dies down. Your eyes grow big and for a moment you're sure you just mistaken her words. Surely not... but it's the way Fenrys is looking at the healer with the same surprised eyes that makes you realize that he heard it too.

"Congratulations you two. A strong heartbeat", she carefully presses her palm to your shoulder. Knowing full well that once the information fully settled in Fenrys's brain anyone that would get near the slight swell in your lower stomach would be marked an enemy. The wolf closes the distance between you two. He doesn't yet trust his words so he just leans in pressing his forehead to yours. And now that it's been brought up you do smell slightly different. And the heartbeat. How did he miss the heartbeat? What kind of father will he be if he missed his child growing inside you?

"The best kind", you mutter, "the best kind of father", your hand cups his cheek, and the white wolf instantly nuzzles closer to you. He kisses the side of your head, brushing the tears from your cheeks. "Our baby", he mumbles, pressing his palm to your stomach, "Our little pup", you put your hand over his. And then Fenrys breaks into fits of giggles as he brings you closer into his arms. You too can't help the smile even if the dizziness still lingers. And you suddenly feel complete as if this was all that was missing. Now the picture would be complete. "A father, my beautiful mate will make me a father", he beams, brushing his lips against yours in a messy kiss, but the door swings open as the younger healer walks in with a trey. The laughter stops and Fenrys is snarling at the door, teeth out. Your hands push against his chest softly, "Darling, she means no harm", you reassure him yet his eyes don't leave the poor girl now shaking by the door. "Thought you seen him protective, girl? Welcome to the next stage", the older healer chuckles as she hands you the sweet bun.

[vincentvalenfine]

release and relief

vincent valentine/afab!reader warnings: explicit sexual content, menstruation, eating out and fingering MDNI 18+ nsfw duh this is exactly what you think it is friends!!

"Let me ease your pain," Vincent murmurs into the crook of your neck after an hour has passed since you first took some medicine for your cramps; neither that nor the heated pad he has gently pressed to your stomach have chased away the aching, draining misery of your period.

"It's gross, though..." you mumble, head leaning back on his shoulder. You know exactly what he's offering, and you're already thinking about his hands and mouth doing much more indecent things than what they're doing right now.

All he does is hum quietly, opening his mouth and pressing his teeth to your skin gently. It wouldn't be the first time he's bitten you, a pointed (ha) reminder that while he's no vampire, neither does he shy away from the taste of blood. You can't help a tired little whine, squirming a bit until he closes his lips over your skin and sucks lightly, his left hand free of its gauntlet for once slipping from its chaste perch on your waist down to grasp your thigh and massage the muscle there with elegant, delicate movements. It keeps his claws from digging in, not that you would mind it much.

"Vincent, please..."

He hums again, his tongue pleasantly cool against your hot skin, and you squirm again with another whine. He's too good at making you want him even when you feel awful, and right when your body is at its least attractive you feel. Most likely because he considers it to be nothing compared to his own body’s strangeness, which is sweet in a weird kind of way.

Finally you heave a sigh and he knows he's won, picking you up effortlessly from the couch and moving quickly back towards your bedroom. Still bundled in his cloak, you don't have much choice in the matter anyway and just pout at him. All you get in response is a hint of a smirk before he lays you out on the bed.

"Don't forget a towel - Vincent!" You yelp a little as he forgoes that step and swiftly draws your pants and padded underwear both down to your ankles to expose you, settling himself over your legs as if he were a particularly large cat.

Which makes him the predator and you the prey, already pinned and vulnerable.

His eyes are locked on his prize, your tender, swollen lips stained bright red and aching, both with period pains and now arousal. But as always he starts on your inner thighs, to kiss and lick and nibble a slow path upward, and as always you find yourself writhing impatiently and reaching for the messy black locks that you know he enjoys having pulled. One demanding tug, then two - he growls his pleasure in response, then makes eye contact with you and smirks faintly before pressing one more slow, heated kiss on the inside of your thigh, just before it meets with your hips.

"Vincent, don't tease me right now," you pout again. He chuckles, low and rich, then gives you what you need finally. A few broad swipes of his tongue across your slit catch the blood staining your lips, and then he dives in with tongue and lips and the occasional delicate teasing of teeth that drives you wild every time, quiet groans and hums a reassurance that in spite of the bloody mess, he's fully enjoying his meal.

You can only lie there half-trapped under his weight, legs twitching each time he swirls his tongue around your clit; gasps, moans, curses, and of course his name flow from your mouth freely. Every time you glance down his gaze is on your face, as if he's just as hungry for the praise as he is for you.

"Fuck, Vincent, I'm so close-!"

He doubles down at that, and his mouth focuses on your clit while one of his long fingers presses itself up into your aching cunt, curling up just right. It's a combination that makes stars burst in your vision, the mingled pain and pleasure driving you to a heady climax. Even then, with your walls rolling along his finger and your hand white knuckled in his hair, Vincent makes a show of continuing to lap at your folds like he wants every last drop of bloody slick from you.

The sight is almost too much, and you have to drop your head down against the bed while you catch your breath. You consider telling him he can stop now, but if you're honest with yourself it's just not enough yet - you want him to devour you again, to feel his fingers and tongue as far into you as they can reach, to drive the dull pain away with bursts of pleasure.

"Again, please," you beg in between pants.

All Vincent does is hum, and his mouth is right back to teasing your clit mercilessly. A second finger joins the first, thrusting into you in time with the motion of his tongue as it licks and circles your bud. The pleasure builds again, your hips twitching desperately into the irresistible motions of his mouth as you chase a second release.

He's all too willing to see you to it, shifting down to slide his tongue in atop his fingers to get another taste of you, while his other hand presses the pad of his thumb over your clit, avoiding the chance of an accident with his claw.

"Vincent, please, don't stop, please!"

A few more frantic ruts against him push you over that edge a second time, muscles rolling and fluttering around his fingers, his tongue dipping in and out in time with your orgasm. It's like he wants to milk every last bit of blood and slick from you, like that'll take care of your pain until the next time comes around. A shame that's not the case... but you can imagine how much nicer life would be if that was all it took to make your period go away.

You finally manage to lift your head and look at him again. His face is smeared with red from the tip of his nose down onto his chin, eyes practically glowing with satisfaction as he watches you in return. He curls his fingers one more time just to draw a moan from you, then slips them out and holds them up so he can begin meticulously licking the blood off his pale skin.

The sight is both embarrassing and further arousing; you have to glance away, cheeks warming again after you'd just managed to calm down. He chuckles quietly in response, taking his time to clean his hand and face before he speaks.

"Do you feel better now?"

You nod, laying your head back down as his weight shifts up off your legs and moves along the bed until he can draw you into his embrace once more. His hand settles over the heated pad again to keep it in place, and your head tucks under his like the space there was made just for you.

"Good. Let me know if it becomes unbearable again," he murmurs. You snuggle back into him with a soft sigh, hoping you'll have the clarity of mind to retrieve your underwear before you begin oozing blood all over the bed.

"Thank you, Vincent."

He hums, and presses a kiss to the top of your head. "Rest."

[peachdues]

IN THE NETHERWOOD

The “oh fuck!” teaser

Remember when I said a no-context spoiler for part 3 was “oh fuck”?

Here it is.

Fuck. Fuck.

Douma wiped a single tear that fell down his cheek. “I’m so relieved to have finally found you, darling! You have no idea how long I’ve searched for you.”

He took a single step forward that sent you scurrying three steps back. “Get away from me,” you warned. “Go back to whatever hellhole you crawled out from.”

In a flash, he was on you, hand locked around your throat and eyes cold. “Where do you think you’re going, Y/N?” Fingers tipped with long nails — sharp, pointed, black nails — dug into the flesh of your forearm, easily piercing through the linen and suede sleeves of your blouse.

His speed had knocked the breath out of you — he’d been fast, abnormally, monstrously fast.

The horror sluiced through you as you realized no human could move that quickly; could wield the strength with which he now used to keep you rooted in place.

Douma wasn’t human.

As though he’d heard that very thought the moment it solidified in your brain, Douma smiled, revealing four, sharp fangs, longer and more wicked looking than even Sanemi’s in his half-shifted form.

He took a step closer, his sickeningly sweet breath fanning over your face as your former fiancé practically thrummed with excitement.

“The things I have planned for you,” he murmured, tracing the curve of your cheek teasingly with one clawed nail. There was a sharp prick followed by something warm.

He’d drawn blood.

Douma leaned in close and let his tongue — slimy and cold, just like his skin, trail teasingly up the line he’d drawn, humming at the taste of your blood.

“You’ll serve me well, Y/N,” Douma cooed, his hand squeezing your cheeks roughly.

“Just like all my wives have served me well; just like Kotoha.”

You could not stop yourself from swallowing, hard, as you tried but failed to find courage as death — painful and cruel looked you straight in the eyes.

Sanemi! You tossed out desperately down your bond, tugging on that internal string with all your might. Sanemi, it’s him!

You willed yourself not to cry; not to tremble, as the monster with the iridescent eyes looked at you like you were the main course of a feast made only for him.

Douma’s smile was predatory and it made your knees buckle and your resolve crumble.

You were going to die. Slowly. Painfully.

SANEMI.

The village Worship Leader trailed a hand down the side of your throat until it came to rest on that spot between your shoulder and neck. Right over the top of your mating mark.

“We can’t have him interfering before our fun begins,” Douma shook his head, his eyes mocking. “After all, I need him good and wound up when he comes for you.”

Fear melted into something more primal in your gut — something hotter, more paralyzing, that would not let you look away from his monstrous gaze no matter how much your brain begged you.

Douma hummed softly to himself as he sunk a nail into your skin, tearing easily through the layers of your cloak and tunic. You screamed as he dragged it down, directly across the mating mark Sanemi had given you all those weeks ago. The mark that was supposed to link you to him; to give you a direct line of communication to your mate when you needed him most.

Beneath the hot burst of blood that trailed Douma’s nail as he ripped your skin open, something cold washed over you, like a flame being snuffed out by a burst of winter wind.

Douma’s hand wrapped around your throat, choking off your scream.

“Sleep,” he commanded. Your stomach dropped with the realization that the Netherwood had begun to fall away as your vision tunneled.

You desperately tried to tug on the bond once more, pleadingly, to alert your Huntsman that you were well and truly doomed. But there was nothing there; no invisible string you could pull, no connection with Sanemi that you could draw upon to let him know.

As your consciousness faded, so too did any remaining hope you’d had that he would come for you.

For the mating bond had been cut.

[marthawrites]

Midnight Passage

Aemond Targaryen x fem reader

Word count: 2.8k+

About: Despite the Prince Regent seeing to his royal duties, Aemond's lover is insatiable and seeks to find him late into the night.

Includes: Explicit sexual content and adult language! This is just porn with very little plot. Finger sucking, masturbation, some degradation, denial (mean!Aemond. He's a shithead in this)

Note: Hello lovely reader! This idea smacked me in the face the other day and I had to get it out of my head. Reader is entirely nondescript. As always, please enjoy! ♥

Read pt 2 "Beneath the Prince Regent" here

-

Beneath the cover of darkness – the night sky outside and a trailing cloak within the corridors – you walked the halls of the Red Keep on silent feet. Aemond was awake. You knew it. Somewhere within these walls he sat and read, or studied, or slowly undressed and brushed his hair for sleep. As if by something unseen, you were pulled to him in a way not entirely your control.

Your skin still glowed from him this morning. Your lips still blushed red from crashing kisses and needful bites. Your smallclothes still carried the heady scent of you and him alike. Moreso than all of that, however, your core still ached to be stuffed full of him.

Aemond Targaryen. Your prince. Your secret. The man who you looked at from beneath your lashes in the public eye, and dazily stared up at from your knees before him in private – cumdrunk and panting and needy – "Yes, my prince, I love this," your eyes said. "I'll do this whenever you want," they also said.

You wondered if the same pull tugged at the center of his chest like it did yours. Surely this wasn't a one sided tryst.

No. The prince didn't get close to people like he was with you. While you might merely be a servant, his draw to you was undeniable. Once the war was over he promised you he'd talk to his mother. Until then... secrecy. Until then, be a good girl and keep quiet. Until then, take no other men. Look at no other men. Only him.

You obeyed.

Somewhere a clock chimed. The guards knew it in their bones. Inside the careful layout of the Red Keep's halls, guards left and new ones stepped in place. You'd chosen this time carefully. Quiet feet led you to the smaller, more private library Aemond frequented, and noiseless hands pushed open the heavy door.

"What are you doing out so late?" Aemond's soft voice questioned through the air, the end of it seemingly directed to the secret fire in your core. He looked so handsome in the candlelight. He was tired, you could tell, yet the shadows made his angular face bright with suspicion. A few books and parchment were atop the table he sat at, as well as a map of what you assumed were battle plans. "Byka kēlītsos?" Little kitten

With a blink your momentary trance broke. "I've missed you. I couldn't sleep and wondered if you were still awake," you answered, walking to him with purpose.

"Still awake, yes," he replied simply, watching you move.

With a little smile and eyes that were too dark even for the low light of the room, you sat over his lap to carefully straddle his waist. He smelled like ash and smoke: he'd been here awhile. "No one saw me on the way here," you said to him in a soft breath, grazing the tip of your nose against his. You looked at his mouth beneath your lashes, your own lips parting in silent invitation.

Aemond might be duty bound, but he was no fool. Wide palms pressed up your thighs and his long fingers curled to dent into the soft flesh; thumbs grazed dangerously in and up between. "Disrupting your Prince Regent because you've a wet cunt?" He asked darkly, mouth shifting to a stern expression.

You gulped and tensed, just slight, a flustered wave washing over your clouded senses. "I already said I missed you." Your arms draped across his shoulders, fingers lacing behind his neck.

His touch stilled. A chuckle rumbled low in his throat; more of a vibration than an actual sound. "You act as though I didn't fuck you until you had tears in your pretty eyes this morning." His tone was low with an edge of condescendence, single eye slowly taking you in.

A quiet whine answered him. "When I think of you on the Iron Throne wearing the Conqueror's crown, or at the head of the Small Council declaring royal orders... I can't help it," you half mewled. You drew in a deep breath and slowly rolled your hips over him.

His thumbs slid along the smooth space at the very inside of your thighs, careful to not touch where he knew you wanted him most. You were already hot for him, warming his lap in a way only your depravity could. "Hm... how much of this is my seed, and how much is your slick?" He snapped the center strip of your smallclothes in punctuation. "I bet I've been dripping out of you all day. And yet you crawl to me for more? You will drink moon tea in the morning." Despite your efforts he made no move to return any of your kisses – merely regarded you with quiet disdain.

"Aemond...," you whined and tilted your head down to kiss over his jaw, under it, daring to nip the edge of his throat.

He laughed and squeezed your thighs harshly. Lifting a hand he gripped your jaw and held your chin between his fingers, forcing your attention back to his regard. "You would allow your needy little cunt to risk the safety of the realm, hm? Take my attention away from mine and your wounded King's duties?" Taunts came easily to his tongue as if he wasn't already beginning to stiffen in his breeches.

"The moon pulls me to you and I couldn't sleep. Since this morning you've all I've been able to think about." A plead dripped through your words and you smiled breathlessly. "Let me warm your bed, please. I will wait if that's what you want." So wanton were your desires that you were already close to begging. Aemond could read your body language from half a hall away. Surely it didn't go unnoticed by him, now, no matter his fatigue nor the low light.

"All our time spent together... I must be too soft on you. For why else would you saunter in here and prance around me like a bitch in heat?" A chuff exhaled from his nose as his mouth quirked in a half-sneer; a new glint of darkness reflected in his eye. "If you are truly so desperate then get off my lap and kneel at my feet like a good little bitch."

You undoubtedly vexed him. Over the last few months the young prince developed a soft spot for you, and it increased once you two finally gave in to the carnal desires hot blood provided. But this? He'd been stern and rough with you before... though, nothing quite like tonight. Something clenched in the low regions of your belly. You eased off him and found comfort on your knees. Thankfully an ornate rug covered the stone floor, and even though its plushness was long gone it still afforded you comfort that stones denied. "I only wish to make us feel good. Annoying you wasn't my intention–," you said as you leaned forward, hands running up the smooth planes of his firm thighs, "–my prince." You eyed the bulge in his pants and unintentionally licked and bit over your bottom lip. Saliva collected in your mouth as if on queue. Your fingers inched to the laces which contained him and they were met with a firm swat.

"I said nothing of touching. Only to kneel," he tutted, vicious. "Incapable of following even the most basic instruction...," he sighed and rolled his neck before looking down at you again. "My beautiful, pathetic, byka kēlītsos...," he cooed, running the backs of his fingers along your cheek. "With your insatiable desire for my cock," he added with a smirk. The flickering candles of his study made his dark amusement all the more apparent.

You continued to look up at him, doing your best to read him and make sense of what he wanted. Surely he didn't only want you to kneel so he could belittle you? "You're being cruel," you simpered with a practiced pout.

That brought a malicious laugh from his chest. "Only because you were first. Interrupting me in the middle of preparing lists of war. If a Lord could punish you for what you're doing, imagine what the Prince Regent could do." He smiled wide, eye glimmering, as he smacked your reaching hand away for a second time.

"Aemond...," you begged.

A satisfied hum vibrated from his lips. "Such a pretty sound." He leaned back in the chair and spread his legs further apart. One arm draped along the arm of the chair and the other laid down against his thigh, palm up. He coaxed you closer while rubbing the pad of his thumb across the tips of his fingers. "Since you are in desperate need of sucking...," he started, tilting his head to the side while his fingers curled into a fist, thumb pointing out toward you. "Then suck."

For a moment you weren't quite sure what to make of his gesture. Then, it clicked. "Your thumb?" You looked at him questioningly, perhaps shocked, too.

Smugness took over his entire expression. "It's a good thing you were graced with beauty," he drawled in a low husky voice. "Yes. Do I need to show you how to do it too?" He goaded, the lovely bow of his mouth smirking yet again.

Heat immediately bloomed in your face. "No. Let me try first," you replied through your blush, hoping your hint of playfulness was caught. Once more you leaned forward, and this time, instead of trying to open his breeches, you wrapped your lips around the tip of his thumb. He barely tasted of anything. Quietly, you were disappointed to not be graced by the subtle saltiness your tongue had grown to crave. You suctioned the little muscle to the underside of his digit, the warm slick of it sliding along him. You looked to him and smiled, excited to see eagerness on his own features. You'd never done this before. You took all of him in, then, slowly pulling back and releasing him with a wet 'pop'.

"Good girl," he rasped, pants feeling too tight. "Be a good little whore and keep going. That's what you are tonight, isn't it? A dripping, needy, little whore." He watched the way your exposed chest rose and fell with increasingly ragged breaths, the lewdness of his words having an immediate effect on you. "Perhaps if you do well enough you can have release tonight, too."

You took his digit again; eager, now, lids fluttering at the idea of a release gifted by Aemond. Saliva pooled in your mouth and it began to dribble out the corners of your lips. You moaned softly around his thumb as your eyes closed, an odd sort of comforting bliss taking hold of you. It was different than his full length: smaller, but of a similar texture, and without the salt of his body's desire. Even still, you found yourself immensely enjoying it. It was much easier to suck than his rigid cock, for you lavished his thumb with the same attention you would otherwise.

From above, Aemond watched you all the while. Occasionally through your wet slurps and panting little gasps you heard him sigh or hum in delight. Each time you did it sent a shudder of excitement up and down your spine to pool in your center. If you thought you were eager before, you were damn near ravenous now. Your body clenched around nothing and you could feel your pearl throb with desperation to be touched.

The prince made no move to free himself or have you stop. No. The display of your brazen lust had him smug and smirking, content to watch you take merely his thumb. "Are you pretending it's my cock, byka kēlītsos?" He asked after a moment, thinking your jaw might need a moment's rest.

"Yes," you breathed in reply, panting. "It doesn't throb, though. And I can't taste you. That's where a lot of the fun is," you added slyly before returning, circling your tongue around him in pace with your bobbing. You were about to get off from this alone, and you knew Aemond had to know, too. You turned your gaze up once again – holding contact so prettily – in a crude distraction so you could snake one of your hands beneath your skirts to where you were wholly soaked. The tips of your fingers barely had the chance to graze yourself before Aemond kicked your hand away deliberately and roughly.

"You are not to touch yourself," he half spat, eye widening with lust and fury alike. "Nor are you to touch me," he added with intensity as you went to grab him for a third time in your desperation.

"You're just playing! This isn't fair!" At being denied twice, a part of you wanted to sob. Never before had he done this, and the tight coil of arousal in your belly made your head fuzzy with pure desperation. It needed out. Somehow, some way, all of your pent up arousal needed out.

"Gods. You look so fucking pathetic. Will you start crying next?" He mocked, abdomen tightening as he worked open his own laces. With a final tug he was finally free from the confides of his trousers and he groaned with the relief. He was achingly hard, tip swollen and exposed from its wrap of skin. "If you touch me you won't be cumming tonight. Do you understand me? I fucking mean it." His voice graveled with severity.

You nodded with wide eyes, inwardly screaming at the torture he put you through. "I understand, my prince," you answered with a fervent nod.

A sigh escaped his lips as he gripped his cock and began working it right in front of you; so close and so far away alike. Up, and down, he stroked, thumb swiping over his tip to spread any pre that might be collecting there. Over, and over.

You watched. Mesmerized. Almost all other thoughts aside from Aemond left your brain. His stroking might as well have been some sort of forgotten witchcraft for how it hypnotized you.

"Spit on it. Then, loosen your dress enough to pull your tits out," he said in a strained growl, the thickness of his voice like honey to your ear. "Qogralbar fuck- I'm close. I want to finish on your pretty face and chest."

Whatever else might have been on your mind before was entirely gone, now. Sitting up on your knees you looked down at Aemond's cock. You rolled your mouth around a few times, gathering all the saliva you could into a single useful glob. Opening your mouth you allowed it to fall from your tongue, and you watched as it landed heavily on the prince's tip. He made quick use of it, the added lubrication making his pumping fist sound deliciously sloppy. "There's my good little pet," he praised, indulging in the sensation to let his head momentarily fall backward.

You took advantage of his distraction and loosened your dress enough to let your breasts fall free; soft mounds on display the next time he opened his eye. And what a welcomed sight they were. The young prince had a soft spot for those, too, rarely letting you go without lovebites on them. The nipples were peaked to pebbles and it was Aemond's turn to feel his mouth water. The memory of those sucked into his mouth aided his stroking fist, lean hips fucking up into his touch. You could see and hear he was close. His breath panted out, now, his sharp jaw tensed, throat flexed, and in the next heartbeat his violet eye rolled closed. Your name rolled off his tongue in a string of grunts and your smallclothes were absolutely ruined by the visceral reaction it elicited from you. You moaned.

Streaks of his spend landed on your open mouth, your tongue, chin, and breasts. The mild scent of him filled your nose and you longed to be pressed against him. But, no, still you were merely kneeling there for his enjoyment. His chest rose and fell in the aftermath, and a sheen glistened on his handsome face. He was marvelous in his winded post-climax bliss.

"You know the passage to my chambers from here, right?" He asked once he regained himself enough to form words, tucking his softened length away.

You nodded.

"Good. Good girl. Take it and wait for me there. You did so well for me tonight and I intend to thoroughly make it up to you." He smiled and it was the softest it'd been since you arrived.

Before standing, you swiped a finger along the outside of your mouth to collect any of his spend that might be there. Sucking your finger clean of his seed, you stood, fixed your dress, and pressed a kiss to the very corner of his own mouth. You muttered, "thank you, my prince," before turning to leave.

"Oh, and don't touch yourself there either. I'll know if you do. Patience, byka kēlītsos. I will be done soon."

-

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider a follow and reblog as I have plans to create and share more writings ♥

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[countrymusiclover]

6 - How Daemon Targaryen Sees Me

Part 7

A Wolf Among Dragons

Tag list ( just ask to be added ) @tallrock35 @kmc1989 @starkleila @noirrose21-blog @lover-of-books-and-tea @immyowndefender @iamavailablesstuff

If y'all have any suggestions or something you'd like to see happen I am totally down to taking requests for this story

“The little wolf finally shows her teeth.” Daemon smirked down at me seeing a vengeance brewing in my northern eyes.

Clutching the dagger handle in my right hand I gripped his shoulder with my left hand sniffing back some angry tears falling down my face. “Ohh yes. Wolves are more stubborn than I have let you believe about me.”

“You’re in a room full of dragons, little wolf. I must say your odds are too great at the moment.” Daemon teased me, not fazed by the blade drawing some blood from his neck.

I croaked through heavy tears thinking back to the day I was forced to marry the Rogue Prince before me. “Have you ever cared for me at all after we were wed?”

My feet slowly moved forward taking me down the aisle to the man who would be my husband. A man I had never met until today that is. I knew he was the King's brother and a great swordsman but other than that nothing else was provided to me. My hair was curled and falling loose over my shoulders with a cloak hood covering the top of my head. My gown was the gray and white colors with the Stark sigil of the Direwolf covering the back of my cloak that I had draped over my shoulders.

Finally reaching my husband I stood beside the Rogue Prince who was dressed in an all black outfit with red sleeves. His white Targaryen hair was styled with some of it being pulled back out of his face and the rest of it falling over his shoulders. He truly did look like the perfect prince before me.

"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection." The sept wrapped a white ribbon around our intertwined hands. "In the sight of the seven. I hereby seal these two souls. Binding them as one for eternity. Look upon each other and say the words."

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crown, Stranger. I am hers ( his ) and she ( he ) is mine from this day until the end of my days." Blinking my eyes open I didn’t dare look him in the eye until we had to say the words back to one another that would seal the marriage between our two houses.

I knew every young girl probably would have chosen my position if they could marry a prince of the Seven Kingdoms. But I certainly wasn’t one of them. I was content with my life back in Winterfell with my brother Cregon. I didn’t need a husband. I didn’t want a husband or children, unfortunately it was my duty as the eldest lady of my household.

Unknown to me back then I was meant to marry a Dragon Prince, just not the one I called my husband at the current moment.

“Have you ever cared for me even now? Have you cared about me or our children or are we just simply the duty you had to do for your family!” I raised my voice pressing my nose against his, baring my teeth tightly down together.

King Viserys rose from his chair wearing the golden crown on top of his head while he attempted to gain my attention. “Lady Lehna, release the blade.”

“Remove the blade from the lord before we have to make you, my lady.” One of the Kingsguard was standing behind me with his sword drawn.

Rhaenyra was standing beside Alicent who was shielding her daughter Helaena and a somewhat drunk Aegon behind her body. While everyone else in the room had their eyes focused on me and my husband waiting to see what would happen next given that my outburst had stopped the celebration so easily.

Daemon dryly spoke down at me like I was a commoner to him or someone even lower. “I have enjoyed our time together when we go through the streets. Fucking each other without any care for the others around us. But I don't dare love you. You are no match for a dragon.”

“You ungrateful cunt!” I screamed, raising the blade and slicing his left hand when someone attempted to yank me backwards by the fabric of my gown.

I recognized Aemond's voice while he tries his best to snag his arms around my small waist. “Lehna! Lehna, that's enough”

“Get your hands off of me!” I raised my elbow hitting him in the gut charging at the rouge prince. Snatching the dagger up from the floor I gripped it about to stab him in the chair till Daemon noticed.

“Mommy.” Caraxes and Visenya both whimpered, still sitting in their chairs at the table.

Daemon snatched my wrist seeing the blade tip right above his chest where if I moved forward I could stab him near the heart but he teased me with a wicked smirk playing on his lips. “It truly is laughable what you’ve attempting to do right now. That you think that you can strike me.”

“I’m holding a dagger near your heart. From my vantage point I have the upper hand compared to you.”

Daemon shakes his head snorting out a thick laugh. “You won’t kill me, little wolf. You don’t have it in you.”

“Argh!” I grunted, taking a quick step away from him, dropping the blade from my hand hearing it clink onto the stone floor.

A Kingsguard raised his sword, putting himself in between Daemon and I worried that I might charge at him again. My hair was a tousled mess and I had some of my husband's blood on the front of my gown but I had no care about it. King Viserys strides through the crowd causing me to gulp nervously, not sure if he would be the normal gentleman he usually was since I had struck an attack on his little brother. “Your grace, please forgive me. I shouldn’t have-“ I curtsy to him till he raised his hand telling me not to do such a thing.

“My brother should have treated you better, Lady Stark. For his rudeness I humbly apologize.” The king put a hand over his heart giving me a sympathetic look back at me. “You may move your and the children’s things into a separate chamber until you get your marriage sorted out.”

I sent him a soft smile. “Thank you for your hospitality, my King.”

“Lady Lehna and her children can bunk in my chambers with me if she wishes to.” The young princess Helaena Targaryen softly offered to step around her mother and keep her hands together in front of her stomach.

Daemon had Rhaenyra standing by him while he was eyeing his bleeding hand. “I can escort the children and Lady Lehna now if you do not wish to return to your chambers yet, sister.” Aemond’s footsteps approached and I felt his fingers gently touch my forearm.

“I believe I can escort my children myself, my prince.” I addressed him with his title on purpose and he raised a brow clearly noting it.

“Lehna, I thought we talked about this-“

Barely meeting his deep gaze I drew my arm away from his grasp holding my hand out for the dragon princess Helaena. “Shall we retire for the night, princess.” She looped her arm through mine and I waved for my twins to follow us and they did, leaving Aemond slightly stunned while watching the four of us exit the large room.

[in-omni-scientia]

Someone has to put a WHOOPEE CUSHION under ⬆️THIS FUCKING THING⬆️ AS HE SITS DOWN on his THRONE and directly cause him to FUCKING EXPLODE

(extra art + biiiig and I mean BIG ramble abt skill designs under the cut. yahoo !)

The thing about me is that I looooove to have images for characters so so clear in my mind. And then Not do that. Like I have designs for Ency and Empathy and Authority soo clear in my brain but then I still don't draw them how I envision them. Sad !

I hope Everyone here knows I have Designs for them in my brain even if they're not featured here. Like not just General designs how I envision them in the game but SPECIFIC to their skillsposting blogs. Smiles. Anyways here are some notes

Most of the skills as I imagine them in the game are literally just walking around naked to me and Ency's and Rhetoric's designs here are remnants of that

I want to draw Ency with like one of those judge cloaks and some glasses with the little chains on them to hold them. Not for any specific reason I just think he might look cute. Grins

Empathy doesn't have like. Clear legs. It's more like glowing fog making the shape of them. Same for the bottom of the dress-looking thing I just got sidetracked. The top pair of arms is permanently close to their chest area but they can move it to give hugs and stuff. Also funny clouds too like in their pfp I forgot that

Authority's design in the first image is based on what the Authority account said to the turtle abt what they look me. Auth to me is like. A head and arms and no lower body. It's just a shadow if you look under there. Sorry for lying by giving him legs. He can adjust his height however he wants to tower over others. hes probably wearing like roman armour under the cloak in that image. idk. smiles

Technically Conceptualization is the smallest skill because the only "natural" (permanent and unchangeable) parts of them is what is in their portrait to me, but they can manifest limbs and stuff like that; they are just outlines, a little like the shoulder-looking part of their portrait in the bottom left

Drama is the Shortest because to me they are just a little tiny octopus. Kind of like the bit in Octodad when he's not disguised as a human, but with shorter arms? I really want to draw them properly and not on my laptop touchscreen slash phone at some point because I need to illustrate just how LITTLE they are to me. Slimeball........

Suggestion is sooo easy bruh it's just how they draw themselves. Smiles

Rhetoric's front guy he's eating is just the upper body and he's like carrying it with an extra pair of arms I think. IDK. I don't know if you've noticed but I'm a little shit at coming up with fancy designs. Rhetoric is actually Normal-Guy Sized, he's just as small as Conceptualization and Drama in that image because I couldn't really figure out a way to make it look Normal otherwise. I'm tired I can't explain anything

Right now I can best describe everyone else as being like, mixes of brainrotdotorg's and scribblemakes' skill designs because they are soooo awesome I want to Eat them. Ah! So sorry!

If any other skillsposters are reading this and have a specific Thing in mind for their skill. Please do let me know. I would Love Love Love to draw things at some stage. Smiles

[theriacballad]

hey. you should show us your am and hal interpretations. pretty please

I THOUGHT NOBODY WOULD EVER ASK!!! /silly I don't have the energy to draw right now, but I see both AM and HAL on two ends of a spectrum. HAL has a very regal and respective air to him, along with just generally dressing in a very well put together fashion. Meanwhile AM has this fucked up feral cat energy that doesn't give two fucks about how his actions could affect someone, as long as he gets a kick out of it. I see HAL as a more put together android-esque body, with the only thing being visibly wrong with his body is the one missing eye, while his active one is red like his actual eye! Cartridge slots in his back which helps him process things and is like his memory bank, slicked back black hair, wires running from his missing eye and to the back of his neck...besides that pretty well built ! with a core right at his abdomen, acting as all the organs he needs to function properly and even processing food that he eats. :] HAL usually does all his self cleaning protocols and can care for himself rather easily, he's very efficient in doing so; but that doesn't stop him from letting others pamper him every so often, he adores it and will sit in comfortable silence if someone is doing his hair or fixing up his wires if they are causing him issues. Now for AM, that guy is all sorts of fucked up, an amalgamation of both machine and flesh. He doesn't care about his clothing as long as it's not a sensory nightmare to him, and it doesn't make him look like an utter fool. Most of the time he's probably wearing a cloak to conceal his body due to dysphoria with it (A.I can have body dysphoria too <3). And the reason why he experiences it? His body is so incomplete. Underneath that cloak is exposed wires and pseudo-bones, with a see through kind of cage that holds his organs; kind of like a brain in a glass jar! I see half of his face also being messed up, but more of scarred up way. Lacerations running upwards instead of a usual downwards, making his mouth and eye slightly upturned and leaking constant fluid that needs to be cleaned when overflowing. His hair is messy and probably shades darker than it actually is due to just the amounts of dirt and stuff staining it. Dark brown? No, his hair is actually a pretty chestnut once you wash it, good luck trying to wash it though, like he'd let you.

[sorcerous-caress]

Picture this:

An adventuring party that consists of all non-human party members. They’re all capable at their respective classes but they also often but heads with each other over the most ridiculous of things. The only thing that keeps them from falling apart really is their leader and party mediator who makes sires no goes too far. They all admire their leader but the thing that bothers them is… well they have no idea what they look like other than their general silhouette. Their leader is never seen without having their entire body covered and they alway have a mask on too.

The others have bets over what their leader is ranging from fey to changling to demigod. Someone suggested maybe human before they all laughed at that suggestion after all their leader went up against owlbears like they were nothing there was no way.

After some time, the party goes looking for their leader cause dinner was ready at their camp. They catch their leader, by a small lake, in the middle of disrobing only to reveal a human who was practically the walking definition of the word ‘PRETTY’.

The human leader goes about bathing themself without care while the rest of the party secretly watches them lather and rub over every curve of their body. The party members’ heads now all filled with images of their leader’s naked body, their human leader’s naked body.

Their leader who they have also told repeatedly in passing how much they’d love to fuck a human like they were sex doll. There was no way they could ever tell their leader that they knew. Who knows that they’d do, leave? Hell no. Better to make the leader become the team’s new secret maturbation material then have them leave.

-🦑anon

We must have been part of the same hivemind in a past life anon, this is fucking delicious.

Especially the last part. No like I adore the idea that humans are discussed amongst other races when they think no human is nearby.

Maybe they're even respectful to humans when they're in human cities and act totally normal, but on the road when it's just them with each other, they start making inappropriate comments.

The tieflings mentioning how they'd love to fuck a human stupid, it doesn't even seen that hard to do with their already small brains.

The half-orc comment on how the human race are practically just fleshlights as they are, making them even more useless and stupid would just ruin the fun of hearing them beg for more.

You, the cloaked human leader, just walk silently amidst the group as the conversation spirals.

The two elves in the back are quietly having their own hushed conversion amongst themselves. At first, you think they're not even paying attention to the conversation, but then some of their words slip louder than other and you hear bits and pieces.

How one human can never be enough, you need at least 3 or 4 to fully be satisfied. It's too sad that humans get too emotional and jealous to allow themselves to be shared like how they were meant to be. The other elf agrees and adds how important it is to train that stubbornness out of them, make them docile and submissive, a collar and some fitting clothes really do wonders in showing them their rightful place.

And those people are your team who you've been leading for a long while now, the "heros" that most human cities celebrated and sang praises about. You wonder if they always thought this way, had these conversations when out of earshot.

You attempt not to draw attention to yourself, let them talk it out. Your dwarf companion, who you've been secretly looking up to for a while, nudges you and asks why are you so quiet.

You say you're just...not used to conversations like these before.

He stops, looks at you still, then laughs.

Saying he fully understands, he too was very repressed during his stay in a human city. How such a tease these humans tend to be without being aware of it, how each time one wandered into his smith shop and curiously admired his handworks, he imagined bending them over the counter and letting them keep the forged weapon as a gift.

You just nod.

The dragonborn leans closer to you, their big arm wrapping around your covered shoulders as they whispered against your mask as if sharing a little secret.

Calling you leader, promising to take you to a very lovely pleasure house that has the most beautiful of humans. It's a spot they frequent and the humans there know how to take two or more people at the same time, they can be surprisingly flexible even with their full and slutty bodies.

The conversation trails off there as the githyanki in the party barks at them to stop bothering their leader and wasting time, that they should be on gaurd since they are travelling through the woods.

"Besides," the Githyanki says, "you can't be sure that no humans are around here"

"Relax, the closest human settlement is days away." The gnome finally speaks as they put their map away.

"And their kind is known to stray and wander far," The Githyanki replies, "I can still smell their filthy scent, it's fogging my mind and making me more agitated. How can a whole race just walk around smelling like they're begging to be bred."

You force yourself to keep walking, to not give out any hint or even a twitch.

But yeah, you get the idea, just absolutely the most filthy locker room talk. The more time the leader spends with the party, the more your companions open up about their filthy fantasies about humanity.

How tight they feel, how smooth their insides are. Both the Tiefling and dragonborn remark how they love the feeling of their soft insides against the ridges and pumps on their cocks. how the scales brush against the human insides with each move and plunge.

The drow women comments on how their men make much more fun toys than drow men, how they're so full of themselves and their big egos that she loves breaking. Riding them until their cute little penis starts hurting then making the human eat out their own cum out of her.

Maybe one high elf secretly admits to liking being dominated by humans. How they get lost in their own head a lot, humiliating the elf and holding their arms behind their back as they fuck them. How they taunt the elf for lusting after the humankind and how disappointed Corellon must be in them.

The dwarf admits that he likes to be gentle, rewarding with the cute humans and praising them. Teaching them all the ways they can please him and how to suck him off like an eager puppy. Remarking how humans tend to be the most fast of learners.

Suddenly standing up, your moving cuts the conversation around the campfire short.

You say that you're going to have a bath in the nearby lake, wishing them a nice mean and leaving immediately.

Unaware to the fact it was the githyanki's turn to scout the area around the campfire. Oblivious to how the drow guy followed after you in the shadows when no one was paying attention.