#fanfic: guiding lights

[timelessanimo]

Old Taiki chibi

[fountainpenguin]

🌃 City Lights AU 🌃

Fairly OddParents: A New Wish

An FOP series with a focus on exploring characters, relationships, and Dimmadelphia as a setting. Draws largely from "A New Wish" canon, but not beholden to it.

#ridwork guides

What Is City Lights AU?

An FOP: A New Wish-inspired series centered around character relationships... Namely, friendships, adventures, and traumas regarding the humans in A New Wish (alongside studies of Cosmo, Wanda, and Peri as they adapt to life in Dimmadelphia). Magical lore and Fairy culture exist in the background, but are not the focus.

🌃 City Lights AU follows an internal canon. While not necessarily compliant with A New Wish, all pieces within it are compliant with each other. They may build on each other to create larger storylines. You may also like Off the Rails: my AO3 series for misc. FOP AUs (Ex: Random one-shots based on A New Wish that don't comply with City Lights).

AO3 Series: City Lights AU

Blog tag - #City Lights AU

Tone

Mostly Angst, Drama, Romance, and Fluff.

Think "We talk about Dale's trauma, Dev's sadness, and Peri's stress, but we also see Cosmo and Wanda or Hazel's parents flirting while Hazel has a great time with her friends."

Pretty up and down, back and forth, like the show itself.

Characters

Heavy focus on the A New Wish cast. Limited appearances by OG series characters. The ones most likely to return in this AU are folks like Goldie Goldenglow and Sammy Sweetsparkle (Classmates of Poof and Foop in the OG series).

- Peri goes by Poof in backstory 'fics since Cosmo and Wanda seem to hear his new name for the first time in "Battle of the Dimmsonian." (Same deal for Foop-Irep). - Foop's alt personality may be mentioned by the name of Hiccup, as that's his name in Cloudlands AU.

Potential appearances from my existing OCs like Anti-Marigold (Goldie's counterpart), Finley (Pixie kid attending Spellementary alongside Poof and Foop), or Anti-Coriander (Foop's betrothed in Cloudlands AU), but maybe not! We'll find out together.

Most notable OC for this AU is definitely going to be Ed Leadly's daughter, Hadley, whom I set up with Dale back in 2018 (Cloudlands AU) and I think it's really funny to keep that canon in City Lights.

If Anti-Cosmo and Anti-Wanda appear in this AU, they'll be referred to with those names since that's how their voice actors are credited at the end of "The Battle of Big Wand."

Timmy, Chloe, Kevin, Molly, Tammy, and Tommy will likely appear, but I don't expect them to be a focus. Time will tell.

Ships

This AU is not specifically Devzel-oriented, but not in an anti-Devzel way... More like "We don't have time to unpack whether or not they'd work together" / "What do you mean- SWEET GOODNESS!!"

I'm not opposed to Devzel, but there's a very specific story beat I feel is a dealbreaker for both of them. We'll find out together! Leave comments as I post works in this series and share whether you think they can work it out :)

Cosmo/Wanda - Retired, mostly chilling, very much love their son and definitely very good at being human.

Dale/OC - Hadley Harrington comes out swingin'! (Cherry lemon ship tag, my beloved...)

Peri/Goldie Goldenglow dating drama that's remarkably less traumatizing than it is in Cloudlands AU, but not necessarily... great. Mostly Peri groveling for her to take him back because I think it's funny if the kid who had everyone fawn over him during school because he was popular ends up struggling with relationships he has to put effort in <3

Mark/Vicky because I love them and I am not taking criticism at this time. You can pry them from my cold, dead hands.

"Are you going to bring their child OCs over to this AU?" - I... don't know. I think it would be hilarious. So, probably! In Cloudlands AU, she joins Mark on Yugopotamia as queen, but I'm equally fascinated by the possibility that Mark left his royal life to stay on Earth, which I think is 100% in line with his character. I'm into it. Let's do it.

Jorgen/Tooth Fairy - I have kid OCs for them that are very far-future in Cloudlands AU, but due to the way Fae age in City Lights, I think I'll bring them in and let them be baby... Italy and Fang, my beloveds...

Angela/Marcus because I think they're cute :) Probably nothing super focused on them, but they sure do exist.

I'm sticking with my Cloudlands AU ships of Timmy/Molly & Chloe/Kevin; they presumably live in Dimmsdale. Kevin and Molly are step-siblings in this AU too.

Leaning towards Irep/Sammy Sweetsparkle dating life fluff/drama because I want to :) Not sure if that's present-day or in their past. That said, we also might not go that route. We'll see!

Honorable mention to Dev and his many squishes. I don't think he knows what's going on either, but I support him.

Setting

Largely takes place in Dimmadelphia with references to Dale, Cosmo, Wanda, Vicky, Crocker, A.J., and others having Dimmsdale history. Some 'fics take place in Dimmsdale.

Fairy World, Anti-Fairy World, and Pixie World may make appearances, and so could alien planets. However, this AU centers around humans and is mostly grounded in Dimmadelphia... hence the title City Lights!

This series will follow a specific AU timeline, meaning birthdates will be picked for some characters. They might be contradicted in future seasons, but this is an AU, so that's fine.

Is It For Me?

- Pieces can range from G to E (Childhood silliness vs. trauma vs. Dale having a very hard time working up the courage to father a kid).

More info in the AU Notes and Warnings section under the cut.

- Heavy focus on Dale recovery, Cosmo and Wanda settling into Dimmadelphia, Hazel adjusting to moving (and occasionally reflecting on her past), Dev's upbringing, and Hazel's interactions with her godparents and friends.

- If you like 'fics that feel like grounded-in-reality character studies and lean into trauma, you might like this series!

- Limited exploration of magic and Fairy World. For now, this AU uses the same magic system and Fae culture vibes I've already made for Cloudlands AU - Click the Keep Reading for details - but I don't plan to delve into it. It just exists as a backdrop.

Major Themes

- Trauma!! How it haunts you... Letting go... Oooouggggh.

- Relationships! Growth, strain, ups and downs, self-care, break-ups, meltdowns, humility, forgiveness, toxic co-dependent friendships that haunt you long-term... The usual.

- Emphasis on friendship, family, adventures, and kindness... and the unbearable lightness of being a child in Fairly OddParents media.

Nobody has ever been okay in this show or any time after I've gotten my hands on them, but it's fine; that's just how it is, sdklfj...

Plot Highlights

- Dale and Vicky were friends when they were kids... Little by little, their dynamic starts to shift.

- Dale and his betrothed work through courtship and married life... also, Dale works through trauma. Newborn Dev is here too.

- Cosmo begins training to take over as Keeper of Da Rules after Jorgen. Long road ahead, but whatcha gonna do?

- With Cosmo's new position hanging over their heads, Cosmo and Wanda retire from godparenting. They enjoy a 10k-year vacation and settle in Dimmadelphia... disguised as humans and struggling to pass. I hope they pay rent.

- Peri vs. his strained relationship with Goldie Goldenglow.

- Hazel's early explorations of Dimmadelphia and friend-making.

- An exploration of the Peri-Dev dynamic during the 4.5 months between "Lost and Founder's Day" & "Operation: Birthday Takeback."

- Whatever Mark and Vicky are up to. Probably being their flirty, violent selves... Mark adapting mostly well to human life except for when he isn't. Actually, the same could be said of Vicky.

- Background Timmy/Molly and Chloe/Kevin married lives. Shout-out to Timmy/Molly still together because I love them and refuse to divorce them in more than one AU sldkfj.

- Probably not a lot of Hazel content at first, but I'll plan more for her when we find out if we're getting a Season 2. Leaving myself wiggle room for now.

Ongoing?

This AU guide was posted in September 2024 and this AU is very new. Works will be posted over time.

No update schedule- Just wherever the vibes take us~ But my plan is to post the story beats in the Dimmadome arc first (in the "50 Words" style) and then we'll circle back to "present day." In other words, we're gonna hit the ground running, fly through the timeline until Dev's an adult, then loop back for more detailed 'fics and fluffier childhood days :) You'll find out where we're going and then we'll work through how we got there! I post FOP 'fics on Fridays (if I have something to post; any AU)

Related

Relevant info for anyone interested in subscribing to some or all of my FOP 'fics on AO3:

🌃 - City Lights AU - All works for the AU described in this post. 🖤 - Off the Rails - Collection for misc. FOP AUs. This includes works that draw from A New Wish lore, setting, or characters, but which are not compliant with City Lights AU. 🚂 - 130 Reasons Why I'm Fairy Trash - Large one-shot collection focused largely on the OG series. Mostly adheres to Cloudlands AU canon, but other AUs appear as well. 🌈 - Rainbow Train - All-encompassing series for any FOP works that are not in 130 Reasons Why I'm Fairy Trash. ⭐ - Subscribing to both 130 Reasons and Rainbow Train will cover all my FOP 'fics (All AUs).

You can also subscribe to my AO3 directly if you want to. My AO3 is multi-fandom, so the above are the series I suggest looking into if you're only interested in my FOP 'fics. You can do whatever you want forever.

Warnings, notes, and explanations below so readers can learn more about this AU. Don't like? Don't read.

Dead dove warnings, so prepare yourself mentally. I am once again exploring child trauma in 'fics for the show about child trauma and bad decisions.

👀 Take a Peek

New here? You might like to start with these:

- "You Deserve It" - Dale - freshly escaped from Vicky - attends a fancy dinner party with his dad... and reunites with fellow rich kids from his childhood.

- "50 Words of Dale and Hadley" - 50 prompt snippets about Dev's parents (before his birth).

- "50 Words of The Dimmadomes" - 50 prompt snippets about Dev's early upbringing.

- "An Old Wish" - Dev, Peri, and a series of comedic magical attempts to win Dev's parents' love (including time travel, memory manipulation, and raising the dead).

These 'fics are early in the timeline and fairly tame :) At the time of scheduling this, they're unrevealed on AO3, but will be up soon.

Start Reading

Recommended ways to get into the full AU

🌄 First Written - "50 Words of Dev and Hazel"

51. Horror - Okay, so maybe that movie had been a little spookier than he'd prepared for... But even if flesh-eating mermaids haunted his dreams for a year, setting up that chocolate board, pillow fort, and brownie bar for his and Hazel's ultimate horror binge-watch was totally worth it.

50 scene snippets about a snotty rich boy (self-improvement in progress) and an anxious newcomer to the big city (Livin' big and lovin' life) - Set during "The Treble With Rivals" and the week following.

OR, Dev and Hazel go to Tokyo, say hi to Dev's mom, and Dev picks on orchestra kids because #Band For Life.

(G - 5,000 words)

📅 Chronological Start - Lemonade and Papercuts

Dale backstory 'fic that alternates between his extreme childhood trauma and adulthood stress (Especially regarding business deals, his wife's pregnancy, and Dev's birth).

Click HERE for chapter summaries

Not yet written, but very likely E or Not Rated for excessive trauma, uncomfortable arranged-marriage honeymoon, the intimacy leading up to Dev's birth, pregnancy, and probably a childbirth scene. Will update info when confirmed! Btw, I'll be posting Dale's character profile on the sideblog soon- Both that and the summaries page are a great place to get "Who is City Lights Dale as a person?" vibes if you want to read my take on his personality, but don't want to read this intense 'fic. I expect this to be the most intense of my dead dove longfics in terms of upsetting or sensual content as this one won't have started on FFN (with its restrictions), and also... Look at him. He was just handed to me with my favorite trope in the world: "Overwhelming intimacy issues that make bedroom life a cesspool of nerves and doubt" <3 Cupioromantic asexual instinct to strip him to his bones and take his mind apart...

I don't recommend starting the AU with this 'fic unless you're ready, but it IS the beginning of the chronology.

There are several tamer pieces in City Lights AU that touch on Dale's past with Vicky and Hadley if you'd prefer to start there.

🗺️ Worldbuilding - So, You're Studying the Cloudlands...

A collection of worldbuilding and meta essays covering subjects like biology, culture, history, holidays, magic, maps, and a handbook on new godkid assignments.

I'm not planning to change my worldbuilding because it's very detailed and I don't feel like starting from scratch. However, City Lights AU is not likely to deep-dive into magic and culture. Because... the cloudlands are heavily featured in Cloudlands AU. We live on the ground now.

You may also like my @riddledeep blog, where I first posted this meta. New Wish short bios and full character profiles can also be found on the blog.

I'm currently moving lore posts from the sideblog to the guide linked above. This way, the content is backed up and accessible to those who don't use Tumblr.

📋 AU Notes & Warnings

Notable lore tweaks (i.e. not canon-compliant with A New Wish)-

- I've heard rumor that Dimmadelphia is "canonically" not in California. However, in this AU it is because there are many Dimmsdale characters and references (such as the sign pointing towards Dimmsdale, implying it's near). -> In the OG series, Timmy's parents seemingly went to Dimmadelphia to look for Timmy in "Channel Chasers" after he ran away from home (They went inside the Dimmadelphia Cable building), further justifying it being nearby. -> In City Lights AU, it's in California (but you still have to go to Dimmsdale to climb the Rainbow Bridge from the bottom, as we know from OG canon that it touches down there). - This AU will most likely be replacing Hazel's 1 million wishes in "The Battle of Big Wand" with a fairyversary plot, because it just makes more sense to me. - No pasta puberty. My lore is very biology-based, so insect people producing spaghetti from armpits doesn't work for me (Plus, that episode was rough on my hemophobia and it simply does not spark joy). -> In City Lights AU, Hazel had something else going on that fell halfway between human puberty and having a ton of magic in her, kind of like the Terrible Twos from the OG series. - Dale is trying to keep Dev alive. I'll probably keep the part where he knocked Dev over in "The Battle of Big Wand" because it's interesting, but I'm playing him with a "My son needs to be my heir" angle. He will still talk about loving boots more than his wife and son, but he sure doesn't want his heir dead. - "A child must always get what they want" is not in Da Rules. That's not a smart thing to put in the laws that hold the universe together… Why even have a rulebook at that point? - Minor detail tweaks for world consistency - Ex: The people who show up at the school concert or stand near kids in lines likely have connections to them; this influences family headcanons. -> Classroom has consistency - Ex: In the show, Kev tends to disappear so Dev and Hazel can be portrayed onscreen at the same time, but there's no need for me to do that in 'fic. -> I've seen a lot of cool Dev heterochromia headcanons, but in this AU, his eyes are consistently blue. My thought here is that Dev's and Dale's eyes look green under harsh yellow lighting, but blue is what I'm drawing/writing them with.

Morally gray characters abound - No one is "purely cruel" or "purely good." Since I expect to post a lot of Dale trauma content, I want to be clear that he will neither be portrayed as extremely abusive towards his son nor excused from his wrongs.

I'm playing Dale from a neglectful angle where he tends to assume Dev is doing "just fine." He doesn't go out of his way to cause harm, but we don't excuse the harm he does. There's a lot of "Hadley comforting and supporting Dale" themes because... she's his wife and she was there when he was fresh out of his abuse. Just keep in mind that even if Hadley and Dale think they're good parents, we know they're not.

Idealization of abuse & neglect - City Lights Dale cared a lot for Vicky, denied and excused a lot of what she did, kept hoping she’d change if he was "a better friend," and had a hard time adjusting to life after she stopped telling him what to do. He has to work through a LOT of trauma.

Also, general vibes of Dev looking up to his parents and making excuses for them. Lots of rose-colored glasses in this family... Dale definitely did the same for Doug and Pearl.

Themes of guilt and shame - Dale blaming himself for Vicky abusing him… Doug insisting his son keep quiet about his trauma lest people start to talk.

Shout-out to the au pairs beating themselves up over their failures in canon: a trait I will totally be expanding on in this AU. Dale, do you wanna talk about that?

Fairy & Anti-Fairy counterparts consider each other family. They colloquially refer to each other as "cousins," but biologically, they're the same person (one soul split in separate bodies, with many believing they'll reunite as a single person after death).

It's fair game for them to attend family reunions, remark that they're relatives, or reference their shared soul. If that's a squick for you, you'll also want to avoid my Cloudlands AU. Example one-shot - "Scarred" - Stream of consciousness narration where Poof discusses his social and mental relationship with Foop. This is Cloudlands AU, but these vibes apply here.

Peri is a gyne: a biological "queen bee" whose freckles and pheromones lure in drone Fairies (who require preening to stay satisfied). Will he find any of his own in this AU? I don't know... Maybe in this AU, Cavatina doesn't try to kill him. That would be fun!

For reference, H.P. and Big Daddy are gynes in my lore; Peri will have the same bulky shape when he's older. Why is he one? He's an insect person who ate too much jelly as a baby- That's biology!

"You're not gonna explore a different-?" -> No, Irep's still got his pilot stripes (i.e. mustache and goatee), so I have no choice <3 "But he doesn't show freckles-" -> They're still in the pale white stage (and Irep's will still be purple like Foop's are in canon). Peri is still young and his freckles won't darken until he's older.

Poor Peri has a stronger scent than other Fae due to those pheromones. Even humans can whiff him without much effort.

As a "queen bee," Peri is wired to fight other gynes to the death if he gets agitated and loses self-control. I don't plan to delve into this in City Lights since that's what Cloudlands AU is for, but it might be referenced now and then, especially since Goldie thinks it's hot.

In City Lights, he still grew up as Finley's roommate (with Finley the dominant one). Peri is under the usual gyne lore: drones are drawn to Finley over him, but Peri's pheromones start picking up when he's in a place where he's the dominant gyne... like the Dimmadome household. Unless Dale and Dev spook him so much that he stays submissive, which is very funny, actually.

Violence, threats, and spooks - Canon-typical threats and commentary of the villain variety, keeping in mind that I write semi-realistic physics which can make these things more upsetting than the cartoon.

- Vicky's many weapons. OG series confirms she's left scars all over Mark and he interprets them as courtship signs. OG series Vicky often threatened Timmy and others with blades. - OG series H.P. put shock collars on Cosmo and Wanda and thought shocking them even when they did nothing wrong was hilarious ("Wish Fixers"). - OG series Vicky ate meatballs while believing they were eyeballs and claimed a severed arm served for dinner was "been there, done that" ("Timmy's 2D House of Horror"). - Bad luck can get messy. In canon, stepping on a crack breaks your mother's back. People get roughed up. People may experience burns, scrapes, and general injury. - Harassment charges and potential jailtime (e.g. "What if Tootie never toned back as she grew up?" & "Hey, maybe there should be consequences to Dale stalking a little girl.") - Foop's always had a thing for poisonous spiders and flames

Grossness & Gore - Messy, but always for a purpose.

- Vomiting (Magical backup, pregnancy, allergic reactions, general sickness) -> It is very likely Dale will have an eating disorder (or more than one). Will edit with specifics when I've finalized plans. I've always played Foop's alt personality with body dysphoria and bulimia, but it's never been shown onscreen. we'll see what happens. - Yoo-doo doll damage (Limb loss, smacks, cuts, burns, bite marks, and similar damage that can be inflicted on a doll) - Unpleasant descriptions of decaying bodies and bones. - Heavily implied (and possibly portrayed in L&P) cannibalism (Would that be messed up if I took Vicky's "2D House of Horror" comments literally or what? why did she say she's eaten multiple severed human arms? hey. what. Am I supposed to be normal about that? When will I ever get that 'fic opportunity again.) - Some characters go hunting (For birds, big game, etc.) Other characters (like Chloe, the Pixies, Gary, and Betty) are opposed to hunting. -> Dale (raised by Doug), Hadley (raised by Ed Leadly), Timmy (Pappy & Timmy's Dad grew up in the woods and Sparky is a good hunting dog), and Chester are all hunters (In canon, Chester and his dad eat things they've hunted or foraged iirc).

Detailed discussions of trauma, neglect, child abuse, and misery - Especially regarding Vicky, Crocker, and their influence on other characters.

'Fics are tagged. Trauma is discussed much more in the 'fics with high ratings. Trauma is glossed-over, sillier, or not mentioned in Gen and T works for this series.

- Dale, Peri, Timmy, and Irep in particular have issues with Vicky (Weapons, yelling, bullying, etc.) but that's par for the course. - Peri's Hocus Poconos trauma, such as in a possible post-"Lost in Fairy World" 'fic where a nervous Peri hovers over Dev. - Canon-typical miserable children in the miserable children show.

Character death - I'm committing to my "Doug is dead and Dale misses him" theory. If that gets disproved in later seasons, that's fine; this is an AU.

- Expect a 'fic of Dale witnessing Doug's death. Even if he doesn't, Doug's absence will be mentioned multiple times. - There will probably be minor character (OC) deaths in high-rated 'fics. I've not finalized plans, but it's likely. - Other character may also be mentioned as dead (Ex: Assorted ancestors, Cosmo's dad... Big Daddy could show up and imply he's doing shady things). - Beyond that, I don't have plans to kill canon characters at this time. If I do, I expect it to be in a far future piece where characters are in their old age, or when Fairies have moved on and are reminiscing on the past.

Break-ups & strained relationships - Peri/Goldie are strained for sure. They have a very on-and-off dating life that plays into the popular kid vibes the OG series set up for their school days.

Things are tense, but less traumatic for those two here than in Cloudlands AU (We're not mirroring their dubcon arc over here- They have new young adult problems now like learning to live alone and cook real food)

- Difficult family relationships (Ex: Dale & Doug, Dale & Dev) - Potentially some Irep/Sammy (or Irep/OC, especially if I go the route of betrothal drama). Undecided! I write a lot of Foop/OC in other projects and I think I'd enjoy the Irep/Sammy character exploration. - I don't have infidelity themes planned, but it could be discussed (Ex: My lore is that Big Daddy had an affair with a non-fairy - hence Anti-Wanda's round ears instead of pointed ones - so there's that, but I don't think that will come up in this AU). -> Dale's wife is super paranoid that he'll cheat on her because he hangs out with a lot of rich and powerful folks who are nice to him... but I cannot express enough how spooked of people City Lights AU Dale is and how much he would Not Do That. -> Now that I think about it, I feel like Dev is the kind of person who would try to set his mom up with someone else. Maybe I'll write that. She's a happily married woman, but I respect the hustle.

Sexuality and Consent Themes (Ex: Aspec- or trauma-themed dubcon)

Dating life, married life, aphobia (especially of the internalized kind), and sexual themes... written by an aroace person who enjoys playing with the ideas of attraction, anxiety, and consent [in fiction]

-> Think "Dale trusts no one, but has a kid- Let's talk about it!" and characters with thoughts like "Oh, maybe I'm not as comfy with this as I thought. Good to know!"

-> Imagine internalized aphobia along the lines of "Some of these characters grew up in the amatonormative 90s or early 2000s and don't consider that not getting in a relationship (or not having sex / children) is a genuine option they could pursue, or that there's even a word for their feelings or lack thereof."

- I write a wide range of aspec characters who each have their own preferences (some interested in relationships while others aren't). If you want a peek at these portrayals, I discussed many of my asexual headcanons HERE. - As with all themes, do not come to this AU expecting everything to be hunky-dory. Author deeply loves being aroace, but we raise a glass to drama... especially of the "just realized I'm aspec and not necessarily at a good time" variety. lol.

- I don't have rape themes planned, but it's on the table as something that could come up. Ironically, I can confirm it won't be for any of the characters who have rape/non-con trauma in Cloudlands AU. I do not expect it, but I would hate to not warn and then have it come up. As always, AO3 tags exist for a reason and there's nothing wrong with not reading 'fics that aren't for you- No pressure!

Themes of childfree life - And steps taken to prevent accidental kids. Not described in detail, but very relevant to some characters.

Ex: Dinklebergs are big on childfree life, all male witches are infertile, my OC Finley will die if he loses that much magic, some characters just don't want kids.

Themes of memory, including memory loss or manipulation - Godkids losing memories, Dev and Dale after "Battle of Big Wand," and so on. Peri [Poof] never got to say good-bye to Timmy.

Timmy and Chloe do not remember Cosmo, Wanda, or Peri. They've grown up to live normal, happy grown-up lives. They're chillin' with their partners (Molly & Kevin, respectively). I'm playing this as a positive thing, but it's worth warning for those who don't like AUs where Timmy loses his memories. Alas... the average kid stays average to the end, and no one plays the game forever...

That's everything I can think of right now. This AU is still in the early stages, so things might be added later. Works will be tagged appropriately on AO3. Please let me know if you think of anything I missed!

You can create works based on this AU. Please cite me and/or the AU as appropriate (i.e. for things very specific to this AU). You are free to expand on ideas you've thought of thanks to my AU as a jumping off point. I'd love to reblog or link things to my AO3 works if I see them!

I write content with morally gray characters. Please don't portray my story events or worldbuilding out of context with intentional malice. As in, I request you do not post things created for the specific intention of bashing me or the AU

[stars-and-clouds]

How to Curse Like an Ishgardian

I was coming up with ways to make my ishgardian characters swear and exclaim for my upcoming story and decided to share it =)

Some of these are my own, some are from the game itself and others are from others relevant media.

I read somewhere that when thinking of how to make curses and prayers think of what each culture values most and values the least. Whatever they value the most will be their prayer and the thing they least value will be their curses.

In Ishgard family name, religion and valor is valued the most. So, instantly, nameless people, bastard, orphans, heretics, rebels and cowardly people are looked down upon. This logic should help you make your own curses. You can also add some racist slurs against non-elezen and sometimes non-hyurian people. They also hate dragons, so pre-dragonsong war, a lot of dragon cursing would be common.

Small warning, some really foul language follows ahead. I will keep updating this list whenever I find new curses or come up with them.

1. Prayers, Exclamations and Blessings:

Halone, have mercy

Fury, save me

Halone, grant me strength

Halone's blessings be upon you

Halone/Fury, preserve me

Fury, guide me

Halone, shield me

Spear me, Halone!

Halone be praised!

By the Fury's fire!

By Her Lance!

By the Fury!

2. Insults:

Use these as an insult or add injury to another insult. For example, 'frostbitten whore,' or combine two insults like, 'nameless brume runt.'

frostbitten [insult]

'Greystone' in general can be used as an insult as bastards are really looked down upon. Haurchefant was very lucky to have a father like Edmont.

spoon ears; used against hyurs

Insults used against AuRi as superstitious Ishgardians believe them to be related to dragons:

wyrm fucker

scaled [insult]

dragonspawn

Mixed race couples are looked down upon in Ishgard so, their children face racism and bullying:

weakblood

mongrel

half-breed; all can be used to describe mixed blood.

knife ears; (stolen from Dragon Age) used against elezen

brume runt

street rat

highling; can be used to insult a highborn by a lowborn.

-your grandiosity; can be used to insult a highborn by a lowborn. You can be creative with these!

heretic

nameless [insult]; this is to imply that they do not belong to any house, not even a small one.

[ruling house name] leech; for example, a person sworn to house Durendaire to misuse their power, they can be called a 'Durendaire leech.')

[any house name] bootlicker; anyone who flatters and sucks up to nobles and those in power for their own benefit.

3. Exclamations and curses:

Shiva be damned!

voidspawn

Halone's tits!

Thordan's balls!

Fury strike you!

Holy Crozier!

wolves take you!

dragons take you!

Twelve curses upon you!

Fury's curses upon you!

Nophica be damned! ; Nophica and Halone didn't get along according to myth.

Godsdamnit!

Halone's cunt!

Please feel free to use them in your works! Happy writing! =D

[silentheiss]

“Great!” The man smiles. “I am getting married in three months, and I have no idea what I’m doing. Can you help me?”

“Gladly.” Hua Cheng smiles, even though his heart threatens to break any minute now.

Xie Lain is getting married in three months.

Hua Cheng is his wedding planner(sort of).

[tavyliasin]

BG3 FicFeb NSFW - Day 7

Hells help me darlings this was meant to be short but I decided to go with He Who Was and that was my first mistake. My second mistake was continuing. My third mistake was making the first one. I really hope you enjoy this indulgent part of the challenge, I adore He Who Was~

Smut below the cut and the CWs/Tags today are mild knife play, brat 4 brat, very minor wound detail, powerplay.

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Day 7 - Tav/Durge hooks up with any other character

“The air stirs again. Is it not a little late to be approaching a stranger in the dark?” The Shadar-Kai spoke calmly from where he sat cross legged, white raven as ever hovering above his shoulder, a book open in his lap that he did not look up from.

“We’ve crossed paths more than once now, haven’t we? Although I would agree you are one of the stranger people I’ve encountered, even in the middle of the cursed lands.” Tav continued to approach, extinguishing her torch in the mud now that she was within the light of his camp. 

“You are nothing if not bold. Why is it that your feet have carried you from the safety of your companions at the Inn?” The hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, amusement creeping into his tone behind the veil of threat in his words. “I thought our business was concluded, with satisfaction, I might add.”

“You might. That’s the thing.” She stepped closer, ignoring the raven’s complaints as she was almost close enough to touch him. “That wasn’t just business, it was pleasure too.” 

“And pleasure is your business now?” He said as he finally looked up, noting with a smirk how her armour had been left behind in favour of the close fitting corseted shirt, leather trousers riding low on her hips and hugging the curves of her thighs. He turned to the raven and waved his hand dismissively. “Leave us. I shall hear none of your protests, lest you wish to play the audience to a different stage.” The bird cawed what Tav could only assume was an insult and took off in the direction of the Last Light Inn. 

“Is that safe?” She watched the white feathers vanishing into the fog in a flurry of disgruntled flight. 

“The raven is wise and will not falter, even without the protection of the barrier there are none who could stain those feathers red, I can assure you.” He closed his book and laid it aside. “Or perhaps you worry for your own safety, in the company of a madman as one of your friends so graciously described me.” 

“You heard that?” Tav remembered the various complaints when they had left, how she should not have indulged the whims of someone so clearly invested in suffering, but her own opinion was coloured deeper with curiosity than judgement. “I assure you I do not share their judgement of you.” 

“Judgement,” he began to stand, rising to his full height to meet her gaze head on, “is a very interesting choice of words.”

“And how would you judge me?” She moved just a little closer, only half a step away, challenging him with her eyes. “Let me see.” His own eyes flickered across her form before he stepped around her, circling like a falcon around its prey, waiting for the moment to swoop in and strike. But He Who Was did not need to swoop, he merely completed his path to stand in front of her again, his cold and pale hand taking a firm grasp of her chin like talons around the unfortunate hare. “You are jury and penitent in one, are you not? Passing judgement whilst waiting to be judged.” 

Her heart was racing, adrenaline screaming danger to her muscles, telling her to grab her dagger or at the very least to run…but Tav did neither. “You’re a fine one to talk.” Her hand crept not to the hilt of her blade, but to the belt across his bare chest, tugging him closer even as he kept his grip upon her face. 

“You truly have no fear, do you? Are you foolhardy, or courageous?” He Who Was caressed her lower lip with his thumb, still holding her in place. His other hand found her hip, touch sliding along the top edge of her waistband.

Tav’s other hand, however, had found purchase on her dagger, moving in a slow and subtle motion so he did not notice until the flat of the tip of the blade was against his side, just below his ribs. “Neither. I know what we both want, and I will leave when we are satisfied with our arrangement.” 

The cool of the blade drew the whisper of a low moan from deep in his throat, closing the final distance between them at last with a ravenous kiss. Like his body, his lips were cold, but there was an undeniably heated lust as he pulled her against him, allowing the arm that had grabbed his belt to slip out and curl around his back as she returned the embrace.

In some ways He Who Was felt like the chill of death itself whispering on the wind, but Tav had listened to the echo behind the whispers, the one that spoke of her favourite topic: passion. She kept the knife against his skin, dragging it across his ribs tantalisingly slowly, letting him feel the threat of it without ever breaking the skin. In response, he moved the hand that had been holding her face before to caress her neck, the lightest pressure an answer to her blade that rose the danger-coated lust pooling in her stomach. 

— Every move between them became a subtle battle of two who were evenly matched and knew it - the falcon had found his prey had her own sharp teeth and claws, and would not let him simply snatch her up easily. And oh how he enjoyed the fight just as much as she. 

The warmth of Tav’s body was a welcome respite in the darkness of night. He had little need of comfort, and did not feel the chill - it was the vivid and passionate life within her that drew He Who Was closer. Each time she bit his lip between their kiss, each time he returned it with a bite of his own… He had spent too long amongst the dead with only the physical sense of pain to remind him that he was not one of them yet. Pleasure had been only an echo that followed that sting when he delivered justice, through his own hand or that of another…

He recalled how Madeline’s soul had writhed within him, screaming her agony as the woman who was now sliding his jacket from his shoulders had shown her the depth of her guilt with words sharper than any blade. He also remembered how Tav had smiled at the edge of lust that had leaked through in his voice afterwards when they spoke, how he had allowed a little more to reach her ears as an invitation. One he was so very pleased she had accepted.

Her soft little moans against his lips, the edge of a growl vibrating her tongue against his own…he needed more.

—

Tav could feel He Who Was responding to her every move, his fingers deftly unlacing her clothes as she used her dagger to cut away the waistband of his leathers.

“Vile little sadist,” he growled between biting her lip and kissing her more deeply, “I hope you are willing to repair those before morning.” 

She laughed, using the flat of the blade to help slide them from his hips and down his thighs. “Your body is rendering a different judgement to your voice. Which one is it?”

He Who Was raked his fingernails down her back, scoring hot lines of pain that blossomed into a deeper arousal that scorched through her veins. “Can it not be both?” His other hand slipped between her thighs, as he laid a line of taunting kisses and bites from her jaw to her neck where her pulse throbbed with her racing heart. “I am no vampire, but judging from your other lover,” he kissed her throat, “and how your knees are beginning to quiver,” he moved higher, his teeth catching at the edge of her ear with a deeper whisper, “you would not be averse to feeling a little bite or two.” 

Tav could only moan as his fingers refused to travel further than the top of her thigh, his other hand once again clawing down her back as she arched, clinging to her senses as tightly as her blade. She pressed the tip between his shoulderblades, just to the left of his spine. “Are you going to tease me until the sun makes its pitiful attempt to break through the clouds, or are you going to prove stronger than the dawn and take what you want?” Her other hand took a firm grip at the base of his braid, pulling his head close in to his neck, unwilling to beg when the battle of wills had not been decided.

He Who Was growled as he began to mark her neck, alternating between allowing his teeth and lips to suck and bite down and drifting his tongue across the swiftly forming bruise to soothe the ache with insincere affection. The tenderness was a balm that made the next sting sharper, drawing the breath completely from Tav’s lungs as he finally touched the source of her yearning. “It would seem you are just as sinful as you appeared.” Two fingers swiftly thrust inside, drawing a salacious moan into the night air. “Perhaps even more so, a wanton harlot, abandoning her companions to the mercy of fate to indulge in carnal pleasure.” 

“Says the one,” her breath came hot and ragged as he began to work her desire up to a feverish frenzy, her own hand seeking to return the taunt as she caressed from tip to base, feeling the evidence of his own desperation, “who is already leaking without being touched.”  

“You toy with the knife without knowing the sharpness of the blade.” His thumb traced circles around sensitive nerves as his fingers kept up a relentless rhythm. 

In response she took a firmer grip, sliding her hand in a far slower motion than his, savouring the impatient groan against her shoulder as he marked her soft skin once more. Her dagger’s point found his hip, drawing just a single drop of blood along with a deeper growl from his chest. “I know perfectly well how to use my weapon.” Her grip around him tightened, as she felt the building climax from his touch. “The question is, do you know how to use yours.” 

“Brat.” He growled again, listening to her quickened breaths and holding her back to support her body as it began to quiver with the impending orgasm that quickly shook through her body with sharp convulsions of pleasure. “You speak too boldly for a woman who can be brought to ruin by a single hand.”

Tav felt the afterglow pulse through her, the white hot edge of pleasure cutting through every thought she had as He Who Was drove her deeper into overstimulation, her knees beginning to buckle as he had predicted. But she was not about to surrender. “You alone are not enough to break me.” She pressed every ounce of strength and focus she had to hook one of her legs behind his knees to knock him off balance, shoving hard against him in the next second so he stumbled a few paces. That was all the time she needed.

She threw her dagger to the ground, the point of the blade sticking deep into the mud with the hilt quivering above it, not unlike the sight of his body right before she leapt forward and pushed him to the ground, pinning him by the shoulders. Her knees were either side of his hips, her lips upon his before a second had passed, the taste of the salt from her own skin still fresh on his tongue.

He Who Was moaned around her kiss, taking hold of her hips and holding her still above him so she could only feel the very tip pressing where she writhed to push down. He waited until her desperation was almost pitiful, swallowing down the soft sound of her need that echoed through their kiss, then thrust up at the same moment he let her push down, feeling his hips almost bruise from the impact.

Tav felt an immediate rush of heat through her already sensitive body, filled completely in one brutal motion, her resolve only strengthening as her nails dug into his shoulders where she held him pinned and began to move in a punishing rhythm. “I was right about you,” she whispered between quickened breaths, “I knew you wanted someone to take over, use you for pleasure just as you use those pitiful wretches you pass judgement on.” 

Dark eyes sparkled dangerously at her words, his hands rising from her hips to her waist, thumbs pressing harshly into the softer parts of her body. “And I was right about you. A sinner with an excess of hubris, waiting to be judged and punished.”

His heel dug into the ground for leverage as he rolled them over, quickly hooking one arm under Tav’s leg and thrusting harder with the deepened angle, a sharp cry echoing into the night proof of her pleasure and pain blending into one.

—

Her skin was flush beneath He Who Was, her lips hot, breath leaving little clouds of steam in the cold of the night air. Her muscles tightened around him, drawing him in, pulling his own pleasures closer to the surface as the bliss of her warmth surrounded his senses. 

Tav’s hair was a mess beneath her, chest rising and falling with effort, body writhing to take in more of him. Yet despite how her body surrendered to his control, her eyes betrayed the sharpness of her wit, sparkling emerald keeping his dark gaze locked on her expressions. 

The encounter may have been relatively brief, both seeking to use the other for their own pleasures, battling for dominance yet yearning for submission in every motion between them, but it would not soon be forgotten by the man without a name.

—

Tav felt the crashing waves of pleasure overtake her, muscles contracting viciously as He Who Was pulsed with his own climax, his voice joining her own in the darkness that surrounded them as the pinnacle of ecstasy crashed down around them.

When her senses recovered enough, she realised he was still above her, his body lowered and his forehead coming to rest against her own. 

“I do not believe,” his deep whisper sent a shiver down her spine, “that you have truly felt the depth of your sins.”

“Then how will you judge the soul before you?” She curled her arm around his back, her hand gripping lightly at the base of his neck. 

“By being more thorough in my assessment of your immoral transgressions.” He pressed a rough kiss against her lips. “Now, when is it you must return to your companions?” 

“As long as I am back before morning, there won’t be a search party.” Tav grinned, answering his real question. 

The Court of lust would be in session until dawn, the jury and the judged in each of them pleading their case and handing down retribution in equal measure til neither remembered the score.

[otalia]

Otalia Virtual Season

[doorsenthusiast]

My Light will Guide You - Chapter 1

Contrary to popular belief, most sinners didn’t go to Hell. That was reserved for those who had committed the most heinous crimes. In actuality, many of them went to a place where they would wander through the rooms, opening door after door. There were 100 of them in total, and while seemingly like a simple task at first glance, proved to be much more difficult - much less deadly. This place was called the Hotel.

You looked upon these sinners… literally. You would watch them from above, making sure they were able to get through the complicated and almost mind-breaking rooms of the Hotel. And every time a twinge of sorrow and fear that one of the monsters hidden in this labyrinth would cause the demise of them. The sinners went into the Hotel one at a time. Every time one died, another would be transported to the lobby via elevator.

And every time, you’d be cheering them on in your head. It was said that once a sinner got to door 100, they would be rewarded for their bravery. What was that reward? An elevator taking them back to whatever was above the Hotel.

You were forbidden from directly inferring or helping a sinner escape from the countless entities. One time, a sinner died to “Screech”: a monster that only spawns behind you in rooms without light. If you fail to look at it in time, it would viciously bite the face of the sinner - sometimes proving to be fatal.

Another time, a sinner got their foot trapped on “Snare’, only to die a quick death by “Rush”. You couldn’t stop yourself from wincing in pain as if you were experiencing their death yourself.

“What are you doing?” a soft yet firm voice called out. You replied back without a thought.

“I’m watching the next person that was transported here.” You frowned, resting your cheek onto your palm. “...Oh, they look so confused. And quite scared, as well. I wish I could do something.”

He took a second to reply, as if taking in what you had said. Visible surprise laced his voice. “Sinners do not deserve pity. They are quite lucky to be here, and not the Underground instead.”

“Yes, I believe most of them are very lucky to die at the hands of Rush the moment they reach the doors with double-digit.”

“...Rush?” confusion was all you heard.

“The entity that appears when the lights flicker on and off. The one that leaves a trail of darkness behind it.” Once again, a brief moment of silence before He answered.

“...Have you named the inhabitants of this Hotel?”

“It helps me keep track of them,” you replied, “I found naming them to be enjoyable after some time. It’s really about the only entertainment I have in here. Besides you, of course.”

“Do not forget what we are here for,” he started. The sparkly, shimmering sound next to you had gotten louder. He must’ve been inches away from you. “We are here to keep watch of the sinners. Please remember that.”

And with that, the shimmering sound faded.

The two of you were similar in nature, both higher entities of power, and both not having permission to directly interfere with the Hotel. You were both assigned a task, and that task was to watch over the sinners to make sure they sought out their punishment. He treated these directions as if it was law, sparing no remorse towards those who ventured throughout the Hotel. Meanwhile, you couldn’t help but have a silver of sympathy for them. Which soon manifested into something else.

A feeling of wanting to help them. To Save them, even.

And so, when he wasn’t looking, you would interfere with the Hotel. At first, it was only flickering lights to leave a subtle trail to a key in a locked room. Then, you used your powers to emit a small white light, almost orb-like, that would lead sinners to the next door in dark rooms. Finally, an entity made out of black tar you called “Seek” chased a sinner as they had to navigate obstacles and confusing hallways. You tried your best to highlight the easier path to crawl through with a white light, as well as the correct door the person needed to go to.

And when they finally reached the end of their chase with Seek, you would slam the door in Seek’s face in order to stop it from continuing the chase. It was an entity that spared no remorse, and no will to stop its search for the sinner. After hundreds of thousands of deaths, you finally decided to step in.

Everything had gone to plan. Except one day, it didn’t.

Someone, the first of their kind, had made it to door 100. They had collected all the breaker switches needed to turn on the power, and they made a dash for the elevator - only to trip several feet away from it.

When the figure caught up to them, you did something. An act so… felonious that none among the rank of your caliber would dare to do. You directly interfered, hoping to save at least one person from the figure.

That was your final mistake.

Brought up to the highest Ruler in the skies, you were forced to kneel down as divine chains stopped you from even thinking about escaping.. Once there, you looked the Ruler in their eyes - not that they had any. And with a towering gaze, they announced your verdict:

“You shall be sentenced to the Hotel through your incarnation, a human called [Name]. Only when you have experienced a thousand deaths, will your punishment come to an end.”

It wasn’t supposed to go this way.

You spotted someone to your right. It was him. You must’ve had an utterly pitiful expression on your face as he gave you a look of guilt and shock. The first one you had ever seen in your history of working with him. You thought he hadn’t ever cared about you. But looking at him now, perhaps he did.. very much so.

Although his face was nothing but stunning, blue, sparkles, his light seemed dimmer than ever. The floor beneath you suddenly disappeared, and you saw him reach out in one last desperate attempt.

You were falling, but your feet were on solid ground.

A silly tune danced off the walls that were enclosed around you. A groan escaped from your mouth, and your hand reached out to massage your temple to soothe the aching headache you had.

Then, there was a ding!

You stopped falling.

And you heard a faint shimmering behind you.

[swordgrace]

𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐄.

༺ cregan stark x fem!northern!reader.

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

anonymous request.

༺ FORMAT: one-shot — requested.

༺ WORD COUNT: 9.3K.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything had changed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You tasted sweet upon his tongue, honey-thick and a feast to sate his appetite. If he would choose his fate, it would be in between your legs, listening to the myriad of moans and throaty whimpers leave you. It was satisfying to know how much you enjoyed this; derived pleasure from it.

A tremor gripped your legs, little spasms of delight making their way throughout your body. Cregan’s mouth forged a blazing path from the hood of your cunt to your entrance, tongue greedy and hot, before he went back up again.

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

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

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

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

He wanted to stay there, rooted between your legs, mouth consuming your cunt as if it were his last meal. Cregan favored it, thoroughly reveling in the way your body reacted to him, visceral and ecstatic. He gingerly suckled on your clit, feeling your fingers tighten within his chestnut locks, grip him tight.

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

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

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

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

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

A comfortable silence filled the gap between you, intermingled with the sounds of your pleasured cries and Cregan’s sonorous grunts. That heated coil within your stomach began to unfurl, bringing an onslaught of arousal with it as you bucked into his mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He moved, then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[textmel8r]

[ DRABBLE ] 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ! ( eleventh installment ) in which you find toji fushiguro’s number off a sugar baby site .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; toji fushiguro

୨୧˚ cw; sugar mommy! reader , sugar baby! toji , profanity , prostitution , bisexual! toji , smut , spit , gunplay

୨୧˚ an; if there are plot holes, no there aren’t. i just wanted an excuse to write toji suckin on some gun🧌

୨୧˚ join my discord server ! we share headcanons, fanfic recs, color roles, and more drooling emoji

His hair is wet, sopping and adhering to the canvas of his forehead. Back at the hotel, Toji set the record for the world’s shortest shower, forsaking even a once-over with a towel in favor of slipping his clothes right back on. He doesn’t even recall the shitty excuse he tossed at his one night stand, not bothering to stay long enough to hear her response. Quickness was of the utmost importance, the man told himself to justify blowing through four separate red lights. 

Oh, the irony. Because now, Toji stands before the grand entrance of your extravagant abode with a palm flat against the column of wall beside the door as he staves off constant hitch wracking his lungs. Unhurried, stagnant, moving as though he was thawing out frozen limbs. The last half hour having been spent on nothing but hastiness, it is at this time when all of these troubles and concerns fight their way to the front end of Toji’s mind. 

The most prominent question: why?

Why did you ask him here? What use could you possibly get out of his shriveled husk?

Toji knows where your spare key is. Beneath the clay pot, the one flourishing with a bouquet of pastel Hydrangea flowers. Glaringly obvious to any happening stranger—Toji had barked at you endlessly to swap its hiding spot for one a little less in plain-fucking-sight, and everytime you told him you’d get to it. And you never did. Idiot woman. He steals a glance to the pot once more and notices the flowers’ stems have a lot more limpness in them than he remembers. Wilted. Poor little things.

Toji knows where your spare key is. He knocks anyway. The side of his fist pounding poplar wood once, twice, three times, and then he takes a step back. Blunted thumbnails pick at the callouses welded into the inside of his knuckles. 

He can’t even blink before the door peels ajar. Fast, like you’d been waiting nearby for him. 

The permanent slouch in his spine corrects itself when Toji stiffens. Shoulders squared, thick fingers curled into iron fists against his thighs. And like the colossal moron he is, Toji doesn’t speak. He just looks at you, standing there in the openness between door and frame. A downy robe obscures you in its rouge silk, cascading down just barely passing the center of your thigh. Your thigh… Toji observes more carefully, noting the bulky extremity protruding out from the side of your shapely leg. A boxy bulge sheathed under a reddish robe; the man scoffs. 

 “Thank you for coming,” you break the silence first, offering all-too polite benediction. Almost robotic, like you’d recited it from a script you memorized. 

“Yeah,” Toji replies, curt.

Mores standing, more silence. Melodic chirps from the crickets fill the chasms of dead air. 

Then finally, finally, you make a move. Toeing the door wider with a bare foot, stepping back to accommodate his bulky constitution. “Come inside.” It is a quiet command, the last words you speak before pivoting on a heel and heading deeper into your home. Toji acts on the instruction, plodding in your trail. He kicks the door shut with the outsole of his muddy boot. 

“Sorry,” there goes your second apology of the night, “I know it’s late.”

He doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn't care much for these pointless I’m sorry’s right now. You’ve guided Toji into the living room—back toward him, shifting weight between legs, plucking at the stitches along the seam of your garb. Toji stands merely ten paces behind, awkward in the way he is uncertain of what to do. What to say. Existing here, in your presence, in your house… it all felt so disgustingly unnatural now. He should've never come back to this place. God, he should’ve never done a lot of things.

“Why am I here?” Toji asks bluntly. Cutting to the chase, because the suspense of anticipating the worst has his stomach coiling in sharp knots. He’s waiting for a fleet of officers to come barrelling down your staircase, ready to gun him down where he stands. Or, alternatively and arguably more dread-inducing, you’ve corralled him here so you can collect proper reparations for all the anguish he’s put you through. Both would be thoroughly deserved.

A glance is thrown from over your shoulder. “I have something for you. Please, sit.” 

“Okay.”

Toji settles on the sofa while you pad upstairs. He never cared much for your couch, its expensive leather was stiff and unforgivingly uncomfortable. Like it was brand new. Like you never had time to sit in it with the schedule you worked. That was the setting for the rest of the room, as well—unlived in in appearance, cold and empty. 

Footsteps thud. He turns his head and watches you curiously as you reemerge from the second level of the house. A ball of worn fabric swaddles your fist.

Toji sits up a little, looking up to where you stand before him with the puzzling bundle of textile. “Is that my..?”

“Your shirt,” you finish for him, tossing the thing into Toji’s chest, to which it hits before tumbling limply into his lap. Not for a second does he bother sparing a glimpse to the useless shirt; still, he commits to your eyes, hoping that you can decipher the inquisitiveness in his. 

Gravelly and mystified, “what?”

“You left your shirt here the last time—”

“What?” A decrepit, holey tee shirt cannot be the reason why he’s sitting on your couch right now. In a bone-crushing clutch, the shirt sits braving force from Toji’s iron fist. He holds it with such conviction that his fingers activate a tremble.

You’re not stupid. You’re the most intelligent, most sagacious woman—person—he knows. So it really fucking irks him when you continue to play oblivious. 

“What do you mean, what?”

“I’m not here right now because of a dumb shirt.”

Your lips smack together pensively, looking fixedly at the drab, eggshell walls. To the porcelain tiles now scuffed from being grazed on by two bespattered tactical boots. To your own feet, to the perturbed curl of your toes. To anywhere besides him. Never had you avoided looking at Toji so unmitigatedly, as if locking eyes for even a split second would cause worldwide devastation.

He reflects upon the night you’d thrown him out, discarding him back to the streets where he belonged. “‘Get the fuck out of my home’, she says,” Toji mumbles a recitement of your own words, struggling to keep the muzzle on his distaste. Elbows on his knees, head in his hand, he taps his index to his lip in thought. “You hate me, and then suddenly you like me enough to return my damn shirt… What kind of game are you playing? Just fucking cut it out and be blunt about what you want from me because I’ve had a really shit day and I’m not in the mood to be cute for you, Y/n.”

You bear his outburst in stride, pulling a face of forlorn at his apparent exhaustion. You don’t shout back at him, nor do you comment on his attitude that you’d surely never let slide in the past. 

“Okay.” 

On tiptoes, you shuffle closer to fit between Toji’s spread thighs. There is a streak of hesitation that perpetually hugs around your body, he realizes, because every which way you turn oozes trepidation in its slow tempo. Jitters teeter down your person, oscillations so tangible that it sways your hair. “You’re shakin’,” Toji annotates, tilting his chin back to gaze up at you. Shaking like a leaf, in fact, and he wonders where all your composure has fled to. “Why’re—”

“I need to…” You take a pause to swallow down the thick ball of uneasiness clogging your esophagus. A sheen glints along your forehead, cheeks, neckline; fucking sweat. “I have to confirm something.”

You are off. This whole situation is off, and Toji can’t pin a point on any of it until…

Slowly, clumsily, your hand glides down the elegant curve of your oblique, toward the ponderous bulk against your thigh. With the brain of a seasoned assassin, Toji pieces the puzzle together with time to spare. Time he could’ve spent lunging at you, pinning you to the floor beneath his body weight, subduing your wrists in the cuffs of his own fingers. But he doesn’t. Be it a product of his own stupidity, his lackluster will to live, or maybe even his inextinguishable urge to devote his trust to you, Toji lets you draw open the curtain of your robe and pull your concealed gun on him. 

With heavy puffs of breathing, you direct the barrel of your handgun toward the centerpoint of his chest. It wobbles in a hybrid of uncertainty and inexperience, and there’s a cold, metallic rattle discernible the whole time. Toji admires the gun—it’s a small thing, some flavor of a colt pistol with a cask forged from iron. It looks weighty and misplaced in the palms of your delicate hands. 

“Nice piece,” he allots useless, apathetic praise. 

Evidently, you aren’t in the mood to reciprocate his quips. “Be serious.”

“I am.”

There is something picturesque about you in this context, it overpowers the innate fear he should be feeling right now. You tower before him like a deus ex machina, his own personal angel of death, granting him divine reprieve from this remarkably bleak concept of life. Toji wants to kneel, call you beautiful, and kiss your feet in appreciation.

“I wasn’t lying when I told you I liked you.” Those words contradict the finger you hold against the trigger. You shake your head, contracting the muscles in your jaw. “Was it just a version of you that I fell for?”

Toji concedes. “Yeah.”

“Do I even know you?”

His thick eyebrows furrow at the question. Do I even know you? “There’s so much I haven’t told you yet.”

You sneer, “you mean, so much you’ve lied abou—”

“No.” Toji holds up his hand, a pardon to interrupt. Because he has never spewed untruths in lieu of keeping his double life a secret. He never lied about his job, his addictions, his mental instability—there were no flimsy excuses, Toji had simply pretended his weaknesses did not exist. You made him forget they were even there in the first place. “No, I didn’t lie. Not once.”

“Then what purpose did you have for me at all?” Wetness glistened over rounded eyes, and wistful tears began to collect along your lash line. Toji watches a bead of sadness break loose, hanging from a cluster of eyelashes. Looking up to the ceiling, you attempt to blink it away. “I just… Fuck. I promised myself I wouldn’t sleep with you—wouldn’t get attached—but you… Why did you lay with me?”

The gun still aims to his heart. “I wanted to.”

“I feel like my head is spinning,” you weep, sniffling in the air. So utterly hopeless. “I feel like I don’t know you at all. Or your intentions.” You were a woman of prowess and authority, a real powerhouse in the sense that you always seemed to just know. Knowing what, knowing why, knowing how; he was so strangely drawn to that superlative superpower, finding your wisdom one of the most alluring things in the world. So perhaps that’s why Toji feels worse than cow shit right now, subjected to the awful sight of your realization that you truly don’t know who he is. The reigns were relinquished from your hands. “I’m scared, Toji.”

“Of me?” A stupid question he already knows good and well the answer to, but he asks anyway.

You whimper out your answer with a dejected nod. “Yes.”

The sorrow that oozes from your stare physically hurts, something akin to watching an eclipse with naked eyes, so Toji fixates on the handgun instead. The metallic shine indicates that it was recently purchased and most likely never used. You must’ve bought the thing specifically for this purpose.

“Are you going to kill me, Y/n?”

There’s no response. It aggravates him. 

“Are you?” Toji asks once more, projecting a rougher tone. Digging for an answer. 

Through tears, you whimper out a little reply, a question to his question. “Will you stop me?”

No. No, he fucking won’t. He sees through your plan; you’re waiting for him to lash out, to fight for his life. You want him to give you a reason to pull the trigger and prove your theories right—theories that he’s nothing more than a dangerous, vindictive animal hell bent on satiating his bloodlust. But Toji isn’t much of anything other than a torpid waste of oxygen. He won’t combat fate, he won’t put his hands on you even in the face of death. Toji takes your shaking wrist into his hand, keeping every last movement slow and sticky. You flinch away upon contact, but the look in his eyes was nothing if not assuaging, so you let yourself be handled. He draws you near, close enough to press the end of the barrel directly against his head. “Aim here,” he instructs with a lulling timbre, and fixes the thing to rest harshly on his temple. “It’ll be quicker. Less blood.”

Horrified, “what are you doing?”

“I ain’t gonna get violent with you.” Toji feels ready. This is okay, to die in a room as pretty as this one, facing a sorry sight as pretty as you. It’ll be a hassle to clean up for you, but you’re sharp as a knife. You’ll figure it out. His other hand, the one not attached to your forearm, rises to touch at your hip. Massaging over the thick robe, holding the dip of your waist with a vice grip. “If this is what I gotta do to prove myself, then fine. I’m ready, so take the safety off and put a bullet in my brain already.”

“N-no…”

“Yes.” He jimmies your arm, coaxing you to shoot. “Fucking do it, I know you can.”

“No!” You roar in his face, lips reeled back in a desperate snarl. “No, you made your point!” A knee sinks into the space of cushion between Toji’s legs, a hand clawing at his forearm. “Stop it, enough already!”

Toji is bemused by your fanfare of emotion. He barely winces as you work hard to pry your wrist from his handhold, scratching overgrown and timeworn acrylics into the tough flesh of his arm. “I can’t keep up with you, woman.” He tuts, observing the struggle. “Y’kick me out, then you call me back. Don’t talk to me for months, but you’re paying my rent. Pull a gun on me, then start crying when I give you a push.” Reaching up, Toji finds the warmth of your neck, cupping his palm to it. Sliding up and up, pushing your jaw with thick fingers because he needs you to stop focusing on the gun and start focusing on him. Your head is steered by his ginger hand, forcing your guys’ eyes to bridge. “You had me fooled. Here I thought you were more mature than whatever-the-fuck this is.”

“You want to talk about maturity?” Like a coin, the doleful effusion you bled was flipped into bewildered agitation. Fire ignites underneath your tongue and Toji braces for its heat.

“Yeah, sure,” ever the impudent asshole, “let’s talk.”

You give him a funny look. A you have a lot of fucking nerve look. “It’s because of your immaturity that we’re here right now!” Getting closer, your other leg fits across the opposite side of his, effectively perching yourself over his thick thigh. Toji grunts under the force in which you sit down. “You and your stupid flirtations. You made me believe that we could have…” Breaking off into a frustrated groan, you shook your head. “How selfish can you be, Toji? To pursue me when you know damn well what you’ve done is unforgivable.”

The tip of his tongue finds his molars, and he looks away for a moment to analyze your question. A moment that is cut entirely too short when you return the favor of maneuvering his head. “No, you need to look at me, too.”

There isn’t any elaborate reasoning he can present to you on a silver dish. When it comes down to the brass tacks of it all, that was just it: Toji is selfish. The only taste of love Toji had ever gotten was when he was young and dumb in his early twenties, spontaneously marrying the first woman who convinced him that he was worthy of tenderness. God, she was gentle with him, seizing his heart in her hands with so much caution and kindness that it made him physically ill. When she passed, he was positive that his heart had been buried alongside her deep in the Earth. That warmth never returned, not once in the years following when he’d find himself falling into strangers’ beds for a quick living. And he’d curse himself, reliving memories of her every night before sleep. So young and dumb, far too much so to appreciate what he had; what he’d never get again. 

But then you came along. 

Man, what a plot twist you were.

“You make me feel things.” What the fuck is he even saying? ‘You make me feel things’? That explanation was about as insightful as a child would be. Toji has never so directly spoken about his feelings before, this is challenging. 

Non-judgemental, you heed his message and urge him to continue. “Good things or bad things?”

“Uh,” Toji thinks for a second, “nostalgic things? I… Haven’t felt like this in a long time.”

“Felt like what?”

There comes a pregnant pause, and Toji takes this time to peer up at you. You sit tall on his leg, head at a tilt while you wait patiently for him to select a word. An attribute that you shock into his system every time you enter the vicinity. It’s a shitty, embarrassing answer, but he spits it out anyway. “Loved.” Using your quiet to his advantage, Toji prattles on. “Or somethin’ like that. I’m a fucking moron though, for thinking I could keep secrets. Selfish is a good way to put it.”

“You’ve killed people for money. You are the epitome of the word selfish.”

“That shit’s behind me.”

You reel, leaning back in his lap to gauge Toji’s expression. “Really?” It’s asked with skepticism, and Toji’s eye twitches.

“What, you think I’m bullshitting?” His hand involuntarily squeezes your wrist, a futile attempt to communicate his sincerity through touch. “No, I haven’t taken a job since last I left your place. I quit.”

This discovery retires some of that scorn. With a weaker voice than before, “officially?”

Toji gives you a subtle nod. “As much as you want to believe I liked dropping bodies, I really, really didn’t.”

There is a hint of a smile, just barely curling at the corner of your lip, before it droops back down into the biggest frown he’s seen you wear all night. “But then wait a second… Where have you been getting your income from? I stopped issuing checks when we—” You stop yourself from saying it. 

“Ah, I’ve just been,” shit, what a dilemma. “Getting some sugar.” It comes out with an awkward chuckle. It’s not a complete lie, sugar baby-ing and prostituting—it was all sex work nevertheless. He isn’t fond of the whorish implication, but you know him. You’ve seen him at his sluttiest, and you weren't disgusted.

“You’ve been having sex?” You veer in toward him. There is no shock or discomfort lacing your words—you know him—only bona fide earnestness. 

“Yeah.” Toji feels compelled to say sorry, but he doesn’t. “I needed the cash.” He doesn’t care to rally the question back at you, doesn’t care to know if you’ve fucked anyone else.

It’s subtle, but he can feel the pity radiating off you, seeping into his pores and burrowing under flesh. You look at him the same way you’d look at a scraped-up mutt abandoned on the side of the highway. He fucking despises that look from anyone else, but from you? It’s not so bad. If anything, it’s maybe even a bit soothing, the way you can console him with just your eyes. 

“Toji, let go of my arm.”

He does as told, dripping your wrist. The handgun falls to the couch, neglected, but Toji doesn’t get the chance to watch it because you’re shrouding the view. A buxom body nestles against the convex of Toji’s ample chest, two arms coil around his thick neck, fingers scritching over his scalp. You’re hugging him.

“Is this okay?” You must’ve felt him stiffen under the weight of your affections, perhaps you took it as a sign of discomfort. But that’s not it at all; the hesitation was a byproduct of Toji’s emotional stoicism. A defense mechanism he’s built for himself, successful in warding off contingence. Sex was okay. Sex was gritty and rugged and crude, enough to make him forget he was being touched at all. But this? Fucking hugging? 

How childish was he for submitting to something so teenage? This was the equivalent of popping a boner from hand holding.

And still… “I like it.” Once again, he lets you tear down his walls. Succumbing to you felt organic, almost as if Toji could just close his eyes and let muscle memory guide his limbs to their place. A heavy head knocks forward, plummeting in the valley between your breasts that have been exposed by the plunging neckline of your robe. Unbeknownst to you, the knot holding it closed had untied itself somewhere in the haste, and it has become more of a loose garnish to your body clad in nothing more than a matching set of dark, rebellious little underwear. Strong arms return the gesture, squeezing you to him so tightly that you must let out an audible oomph as your lungs constrict.

“I like it…” Toji repeats under his breath, nosing a path up to your clavicle. On you, notes of that saccharine, peachy body wash he’d once massaged into your skin. He takes self-indulgent whiffs, closing his eyes to hyperfixate on his sense of smell. “I like you.”

Totally abrupt, no sensibility in the manner, Toji blurts it out. Those three bedeviled words he swore to condemn to the pit of his guts, never to be released aloud. His conscience dictates his actions now, apparently, because the man has no longer any will to swallow his sentiments. After all the terrible, traumatizing shit he’s dragged you through, it’s the least he can offer. You’ve been deserving of those three words for a while now, Toji just never knew how to give them to you. As it turns out, it’s a lot simpler than his imaginations led him to believe. 

“You’ve never told me that before.”

He holds you impossibly tighter, hands flat and feeling the landscape of your back. “You knew, though.”

The hand in Toji’s dampened hair clenches when he ghosts his lips over that throbbing neck vein. “Still, you could have said it sooner.”

“I’m sorry.” He kisses you there, then kisses you again. Slow and tantalizing, just the way you liked. “Sorry for being awful.”

Teeth peek out and catch your skin. 

“I don’t���” you stop to gasp, cradling Toji’s head and holding him deep into the crib of your neck. “Think you’re awful.”

“Mm.” Blindly, he gropes the cushion beside his thigh, feeling for the discarded gun. Toji taps the cool metal against the chub of your cheek, attentive to the trigger—he never goes near it. Catching you in a lidded staring contest, “you use this on good guys, then?”

You pull a grimace. “I don’t use it at all.”

Toji is thoroughly amused. “You were gonna use it on me,” he chuckles quietly, so close to your pretty face that the point of his nose brushes yours. “Or were you just tryin’ to give me a scare?”

“I…” You trail off into brief thought. “I was afraid. I’m only a normal woman, Toji, it’s not everyday I find myself in the presence of a criminal.”

Again, he laughs, thumb sweeping back drapery that shades your thigh. You make no efforts to halt him, instead just following his line of sight all the way down to the black, leathery holster strapped high upon your thigh. Something about it is so enticing, the way fat pudges out along the sides of the tight strip. Like a garter belt, but a thousand times sexier. “‘Normal’ my ass.” Toji plucks the thing, gauging its limitation to stretch, before releasing it to snap back into place and choke your squishy thigh once more. You yelp, smacking his bicep.

“That hurt, asshole.”

“Sorry,” Toji apologizes loosely. He shakes the gun, hearing its rattle. “So this was a test, then.” There is no quizzical lilt, because there is no question about it. It was a test of trust. The weapon was a mere instigator, a tool to coax Toji into showing his ‘truest colors’; unmasking his supposed violent tendencies. All that trust you placed in Toji’s basket must’ve vanished on that rainy night, in the wake of his confession to murder. All that trust… It soured into bitter doubt. 

“A very idiotic, very flawed test,” you sigh, on the cusp of a humorless smirk. “You passed, by the way.”

“I don’t feel like I did. You thought that I would’ve hurt you.”

“I was just preparing for the worst case scenario.” 

The way in which he surveyed you was kindred to the nature of religion. Gritty fingertips explored your Holy face, and Toji worshiped every feature. Could you truly not see how sacred you are to him? Toji doesn’t caress the faces of his quick fucks, and he certainly wouldn’t surrender his life to them. 

“Put that thought out of your brain. Right now. I will never put my hands on you.”

You look flushed. Your cheek kindles warmth beneath his hand. “I want to kiss you.”

Toji’s instantaneous submission was laughable. Jaw unhinging, scarred lips parting wide, tongue twitching with anticipation. He opens his mouth for you and waits.

His face gets clamped in between two tenacious hands. Nails dig into Toji’s face as he’s yanked in to meet you in a teeth-clanking lip lock. It feels like a breath of fresh air, to kiss you like this again. Suddenly, he forgets what those strangers’ genitals tasted like. He forgets the taste of coke dripping down the back of his throat after snorting his fifth line in one night. Forgets the taste of soupy, liquor-flavored bile. All Toji knows is you and your nectarous little mouth. Your honeyed tongue is a tyrant in his mouth, dominating every wet corner, branding your essence into his taste buds. 

“I missed you,” Toji laments into your lips. He grapples with your hips, manhandling them into a constant gyration deep onto the crux of his lap. “I missed us.”

“I can tell,” you mumble and give a sharp grind against him. Against the prominent tent beaming up from the crotch of his pants, and he shudders. Then, you look at him stone cold sober from lust and ask him foolishly, “do you want to have sex right now?”

A nasally exhale huffs out, because you have to be joking with him. “My cock’s hard, ain’t it?” 

You’re a beacon of po-faced prudishness, all the while he pants for more. “Your erection is a given, considering the position we’re in,” close-grained and consolidated in intimacy. You tap Toji’s forehead, “how do you feel up here? I’d like to know.”

Such shitty pillow talk, but even still, Toji felt rosy. It made him feel acknowledged; recognized as more than just a dick to bounce on. Fuck, you’re really turning him on with that corny, mushy bullshit. “I’m good,” he tells you honestly. “I want you.”

I want to be inside of you.

“And you’ll let me know if that feeling changes?”

He groans against your cheek, “Jesus, yes, just fuckin’ touch me.”

“Ask me appropriately.”

Here he goes, sounding like a little bitch again. “Please, m-ma’am… Take it out.” Another memory to add to his internal cringe compilation.

Satisfied, you sit up on your haunches. “Lift your ass.” He does so, and accepts your help to shimmy the waistband of those constricting pants down to quarter thigh. Just low enough to make a spectacle of the hard rod straining against the thin material of his snug boxer briefs; gray and breathable and damp with his pre-ejaculant.

“Shit.” Toji huffs, giving a weak jerk when your hands begin the delicate procedure of feeding his slippery appendage through the piss hole at the front of his ruined underwear. He watches you pull him out with grace—he’s privy to the consideration you show to his most sensitive spots when you handle him like this. He thinks it’s endearing.

There his dick stands, tall and proud in the valley where both pairs of hips meet flush with one another. Toji looks down at the pinkish thing, watches the way it drifts back to hit his navel, falling under its own mass. “Rub me,” Toji whispers with his forehead pressed against the shelf of your shoulder, gazing down under heavy lids to watch his own dick drool spittle into his tee shirt. A hand precipitously hangs below his chin, fingers and palm working with each other to create a makeshift bowl. Assuming to catch something. 

“Spit, Toji.”

A second hand strokes the back of his skull, and the gesture emmenates patience. There’s only a split second of hesitation before he grants your vulgar request. Toji swishes his tongue around, collecting every ounce of saliva that coats the inner seams of his sticky mouth before opening up. The wet muscle unfurls, and a waterslide of spit cascades down into the palm of your awaiting hand. He’s rewarded for his efforts—good job, Toji—before you get down to business. 

His spit is cold when it smears along his tip. Toji bites his lip, sinks his digits deep into the meat of your ass, and fixates on keeping a composed breathing pattern because fuck, your hand was magical. You jerk him off leisurely, maintaining languid strokes that squeeze tighter near the peak of his length. “This alright?” You coo next to Toji’s ear, keeping your free hand busy playing with his raven locks. 

Toji makes a pitiful, throaty noise in response. “Do it faster.”

“No.”

He grits his teeth. “Unfair…” Toji’s hands tremble. To combat this, he begins grabbing at the robe still hugging over you, shielding that sexy body from his perverted glare. You make no indications that he should stop, so he doesn’t. Shucking off that expensive, red cape down your perfect shoulders, splitting the front open right down the middle. It’s a black, lacy little number, and the cups of your darling bralette plead transparency.

Toji pulls the thing up without dawdling, sighing blithely at the heavenly prospect of your perfect breasts bared and ready to be taken by his mouth. “God.” He captures your tit in one hand, squeezing it, playing with its weight. Your latter breast gets swiftly tucked between his lips, subjected to enthusiastic teasing from Toji’s tongue. He’s teething, rolling your budding nipple between rows of ivory fangs like he’s trying for milk. 

“You’re so hungry for it.”

“You've been depriving me of this,” Toji emphasizes his point with a long, keen lick to your cleavage. “An’ you expect me not to be starving.”

You pull him off your chest by the scruff of his neck, hoisting Toji’s heavy head up at your face level. Saliva moistens his lips, and you take your time swiping up his spit with your deft thumb pad. “Shall we get on with it, then?” Condescension and sympathy duel each other when you speak to him, like he is the unreasonable one for becoming a frenzied mess of sensuality. 

Toji is about to answer when it catches his eye. The glinting iron barrel, taunting him. It sits once more at the side of his thigh, untouched and forgotten. Begging to be used.

“I want you to fuck me.” There’s a brief intermission of silence while he collects the weapon, grabbing it by the cask and offering you its handle. You’re inquisitive, staring at the thing with uncertainty, so Toji lays his motives out across the table. “Hold this on me while you do it.”

You chortle, expecting his laugh to come next. But it never does, so you stop and raise a brow. “Come again?”

“You went through the trouble of buying this just for me, yeah?” It was obvious to anyone with two working eyes that you had no experience maintaining firearms. The gun was spotless, brand-spanking-new, and never had you mentioned to Toji that you keep something so dangerous in your home. So yeah, you can try to deny it all you want, but he knows that the only reason you now own a pistol is in case you needed to pop a cap in his brain. “Now I’m asking you to use it.”

“Toji,” you sweatdrop, “I don’t think…”

He takes your hand in his and presses the grip of the gun into your palm before securing your fingers around its silicon. Wide eyes look at him with pure solicitousness. “It’s okay.” Just like before, he steers you into position. “Jus’ keep your arm up like this. Hold it to my head. Yeah, perfect.”

“This is sick, even for you.” Despite your words, you don’t sound too dismayed. 

“Been rocking a half chub the second you pointed it at me.” 

“Filthy.”

Toji hums offhandedly, peeking down at your panty-clad pussy. Your undies were cute, he thinks, teasing the tiny ribbon bow perched on the waistband with a feather-light fingertip. Twin ebony fibers crafted the panties, just as chiffon as the bra. “Gets me off,” he shrugs, hooking his index beneath the gusset and dragging it to the side where it’ll stay in the crease of your thigh. Toji can feel the blaze of your core grate against his hand. You’re turned on. He looks back at you. “Putting my life in your hands.”

You’re shifting, stretching up a little higher to accommodate his cock. One of your knees props up at a right angle, the other remains firmly planted into the couch. “You’re so insane.” Ruddiness blooms along Toji’s neck when you hawk a wad of spit into your hand and bring it down to rub yourself. Lubricating yourself for him, moaning for him, fuck. He’s holding himself too. 

“Aintcha feelin’ powerful, though?” Toji challenges haughtily, slapping his swollen tip against your pubic bone. In response, he feels the barrel of the handgun sink a little rougher into the thin skin on his temple, and it makes him chuckle out loud. “Makes you wanna give it to me harder, don’t it?”

Tacky, spit-soaked fingers catch the angle of his running jaw with a grip so taut, it squishes his cheeks and forces his lips into a reluctant pout. “What am I going to do with that mouth?” You glower, and his mind races with a catalog of hundreds of different risque solutions to propose. However, he doesn’t get one out before your next order: “Put it in.”

And he does right away. A concoction of spit, semen, and cunt juice made the insertion process quick and painless. Without delay, your hips crash down into his lap, and it draws a paltry cheep past his clenched teeth. Fronts stick together thanks to the bone-crushing bear hug he ensnares you in. You give in, throwing your arms over his broad shoulders to attune to the sudden adjacency. He can feel a hard, steely nozzle trace around the circumference of his skull, ending at the base behind his head. 

And that’s how you two sit for a while; inside one another, breathing humid puffs of carbon dioxide into each other’s necks. 

“I’m… Gonna move now.”

“Please,” Toji murmurs.

 Hands walk down your spine, finding purchase on the malleable globes of your ass. Toji kneads like it’s dough; grabbing, pulling, grinding you back and forth. This is how sex should feel, you’ve made him come to realize. Equal parts raw and nasty in perfect tandem with intimacy and comfort. Hell, you have a fucking gun trained at his cerebellum, and even with that unusual addition, this is the safest sex he’s had in months. 

You are an expert in the ways of motion, methodically pirouetting those godsent curves in the most salacious degrees. “Oh God, don’t fucking stop,” Toji pleads, lapping against the slope of your neck. It’s killing him, the way you’re fucking his body deep into the couch like you owned it. It’s physically strenuous to keep his teeth at bay. “Don’t you fucking stop.”

The gun clinks against his head, the thud echoing in his mushy brain. “Hey,” you manage to pant out between short grunts. “No marks, y-you know that.”

Oh. Right. Stupid fucking professional job bullshit…

In the throes of Toji’s desire to swallow you whole, your warning goes in one ear and flies right out the other. “It’ll be fine,” he hushes you, skimming his sharp canines up your throat. 

“Toji.”

“How about here, then?” Before you could say ‘knife’, the tip of a tongue prodded into your ear. Swiveling around, collecting your flavor. Even here, you tasted clean. Like soapy chemicals, but not unpleasant. 

“Toji!”

You’ve stopped fucking him. Toji blinks, and suddenly, he’s being pushed into the back of the sofa by a hand in the center of his pectorals. It takes a second to catch his breath, but when he does, “what?”

Gawking, you palm your ear and cast a horrified look. “You can’t lick there! That’s dirty!”

“But I felt your pussy squeeze when I slid my tongue in—” He hacks around the foreign object. Did you just…?

“Your fucking mouth.” The barrel now lodges in his mouth, pressing back against Toji’s tongue hard enough to trigger salivary glands. It’s obvious that his nonchalance had rendered you harebrained, but thrusting the gun between his jaws like that was the last thing Toji expected you to do. It appeared that the surprise of it all was mutual—you, too, ogle your hand that holds the firearm. “Oh my—Toji, I’m sorry I didn’t—”

With haste, you move to reel back. But Toji’s reflexes are military grade, so he’s able to snag your wrist and hold you there. The shock subsided, and in its wake was the most intense form of pleasure he’d ever felt. Has there ever been a more pure forgery of submission than this? Choking on the loaded gun of your lover, hinging on each breath, wondering if your next will be your last. The whole concept is giving him a headrush far greater than any drug could. So Toji holds you in place, muffling out his pleas through the metal. Staring at you down his nose, eyes teeming with his adoration. 

I want it. And he means it. 

Thank God you’re not one of those dumb bimbo bitches he normally fucks with. You understand the message conveyed in his eyes. You see it. You’re not dense, you know what he wants, and you’ll give it to him. “Tap my leg if you need a break.” He won’t. 

The humping of his sore cock resumes, and any crumb of fortitude left within him curled up and wilted like the Hydrangeas on your front doorstep. He wilts too, collapsing back into the couch while you use his erection. 

You mewl contentedly, bracing yourself with a gentle touch to his pec. A stark contrast to the way your latter hand thrusted the piece in and out of Toji’s willing mouth. He’s not averse to something long and stiff down his throat—desperate times called for desperate measures, and if he had to suck a few cocks to cover the bills, then that’s exactly what he was gonna do. Though this was more enjoyable by miles, he thinks offhandedly while he stifles his gags. There’s no musty stench burning up his nasal cavity, no foul taste of unwashed skin. And a potential bullet was much more appetizing than the inevitable gluey spunk guaranteed at the end of every hummer. Spit bubbles up into a foamy mess at the corners of his lips as he sucks the gun. Sucks it like it’s attached to you, like you’ll be able to feel the way he coils his experienced tongue around the metallic muzzle.

“You’re really i-into that..” Awe infuses each shaky syllable, and Toji hopes maybe in some twisted rhyme or reason, he’s impressed you. Once more, he tries to talk back, but the barrier between his teeth results in utter incoherence. 

Orgasm was near shortly after, and the only warning Toji can supply is a broken half-cry, half-cough. His body began to jerk and twitch in strange ways. Like his right thigh, now sporting an uncontrollable tremble. Or his eyes rolling skyward. “You want to cum?” You asked softly despite your own impending climax, and you stroke the clenching muscles in his abdomen. 

“Nngh.” Fucking pathetic, but it’s the best he can do.

The muzzle clips the back of his throat, and tears spring into Toji’s trundling eyes. Everything gets brighter, and atmospheric sounds jumbled together into deadened white noise. Very distantly, weight lifts from his legs, and that’s when he can’t stop from diving over the edge of his orgasm.

Toji shakes, then shakes some more. Oh, his mouth is empty. When did that happen? Everything is wet and thick and syrupy. The brightness starts to fade, but even still, he has to cover his sensitive eyes with a forearm while he gasps his way back to reality. “Fu… F-fu… Ck…” You have diluted him down to nothing but a babbling idiot. Jesus Christ.

“—ji… Toji!”

Hazily, he peeks down from underneath his arm. You’re massaging soothing circles into his restless thighs that have still yet to calm down. But you’re doing it all with a quiet grin. “There he is.” 

I’m happy.

I’m happy.

Because you remind me that I can have good things.

There is your beautiful face, shining at the end of his orgasmic rainbow. Ready to clean up his mess, ready to talk him into slumber, ready to hold and caress under a shared blanket. Maybe he can deserve this—you—if he works hard enough.

Summoning whatever remained of his stamina, Toji lurches off the couch’s back to meet you into a sweet kiss. A simple kiss, devoid of any spit swapping; just his lips to yours.

“Here I am.”

likes and reblogs are appreciated !

tags . • @4imhry @sugurubabe @mastermasterlist1p1 @mikisspeak @fluttershyfangs @iluv-ace @bratbby333 @mizzfizz @sserafin @wo-ming-bai @maexc @r0semultiverse @r0ckst4rjk @aesukuni @taelattecookie @purple-obsidian @hqtoge @khaothick @saintkaylaa @ya9amicide @crayzyaarna @saiki-enthusiast @haesify @nyamocka @sixxze @lifesucksweswallow @darkstarlight82 @megumisdivinedogs @celestialol @yunho-leeknow @ghostfacefricker6969 @aizawa19 @lupicalbestwolf @nymphsdomain @makuzume @killerkinnie @haesify @svnkenlily @bimbobunnii @ssc7514 @megumisfoot @swoozleee

[timelessanimo]

Taichi and Koromon

Also lineart lol

Design for the fanfic Guiding Lights

[two-white-butterflies]

★ — lights will guide you home | carlos sainz and multi

Description: Trying to find love after your ex-fiancee told you that his mistress makes him happier. How hard could it be?

part two of it was all yellow

Pairing: actress!singer!reader/multi (undecided), actress!singer!reader/carlos sainz (past).

Trope: Secret Baby Trope

Disclaimer: Everything written in this fanfic holds no truth about anyone's personality or actions. It is made purely for entertainment.

A/N: this part will mainly focus on the main character and her relationship with pablo, while setting things up with her future love interest + angst with carlos?🤔

carlossainz55: Everyday Magic! I love you baby.

liked by because.official and 712,923 others

>comments

ynnationlovebears: GIRL...

because.official: aww he looks so cute hubs 🥺 - carlossainz55: ❤️

iggyagaelabeef2: OH MY GOD SHE'S GOING TO KILL U

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The situation was awkward. Pablo was wise beyond his years, he understood the situation - but his difficulty understanding it was obvious. He wasn't comfortable around Carlos, who until yesterday didn't even exist in his little world.

"Give him time." you comforted the older man.

It felt strange, comforting a man who was the reason of your sorrow. He was the reason that you didn't feel confident in your own skin, in your own face, because he thought that someone was better.

You spent these past years trying to look for the faults that he found inside of you, because if he could cheat on you, the next one could.

"Until yesterday, he didn't even know that you existed." you scoffed, attempting to avoid his guilty stare. "I don't know what I'm looking for - or what he likes. Children are a tough crowd." he chuckled nervously, mentally cursing Kirkman for leaving the both of you.

There was a silence, only interrupted by the slight sound of rain on the background. It was obvious that you had nothing in common. You had no desire with being friends with him. "I posted him on instagram, is that fine?" he broke through the thick atmosphere.

You licked your chapped lips.

"Yeah."

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notdanielricciardopriv: this is so scary 😭

liked by 7 others

>comments

notmaxv33: Slendrina - notynln: a lotta nerve from someone singing gagadegadao with my son ??

landofanbasebutreallandonorris: IM SO SCARED RIGHT NOW PLEASE DON'T KIDNAP ME - notynln: 😭

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ynworldupdates: I literally don't understand why Carlos Sainz Jr. decided to cheat on the most beautiful woman in the whole universe 😭😭 like SHE LITERALLY PLAYS TARGARYENS FOR A LIVING MAN!!

liked by 829 others

>comments

birdsofafeather83: literally mother mary incarnate

holypoodlesticks: i want this woman to play a divine goddess

alex_lnc: that's why i love women, men will always CHEAT

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>comments

floppiana83: "that makes her a good friend" MAX YOU ARE NOT SLICK HAHAHAHAHAHA

arianabanana: And they get married and have kids

inchident01: go to 2:01 I'm sensing a crush

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"Charles told me that you were ignoring Carlos' messages." Daniel sits beside me, his face filled with concern.

"I didn't know how to react, okay." you groaned.

A few days ago Carlos posted a picture of Pablo. Your son's face was in full view, everyone began to critique his features - even the looksmaxxing community had a lot to say. It was a boy! A child!

"If you didn't want him posting P - then you should've told him in the first place." he responded, trying to play devil's advocate. It only added more to your fury. "The deed was done, someone probably already saved it - I couldn't just ask Carlos to delete the picture."

"- plus, you know how I get with confrontation." you breathed.

He was about to respond, but he sees your crestfallen face. The same curve of your lips that you miserably wore when you lost a game of UNO, or lost an acting role that you've been pining for.

"I hate him for what he did, but I miss him like a little kid. He makes me feel so stupid and useless."

" - when I'm around him, I can't help but think about my mistakes. I could've been better - maybe then, Pablo would have both of his parents." you sobbed, burying your face in his chest.

Daniel takes a deep breath.

"It shouldn't come from me ... but it's tough being a mother. Carlos can afford to make mistakes, no one will hate him for it - but it's unfair once you're the one who does." he comforted.

Between all your friends, Daniel was the only one who knew how to comfort another person. He was a blessing. A warm teddy bear.

"I-I just wanted to give Pablo the change of having privacy. His father and I never had that as kids. I know how tough it is being in the spotlight, I thought he'd understand." you sighed.

This was another lesson.

"I'll tell him next time." you nodded to yourself. A human being can make mistakes, but as a mother, it's best to not have any.

I've got to learn how to put my foot down.

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yn.ln: a lot of you don't know this but me and @maxverstappen go way back.. i've seen the interview, thank you for calling me a good friend 🤣💚 ps. we first met each other when we were 5 and i'm pretty sure he forgot about me until we met again at 17 🤣

liked by danielricciardo, maxverstappen and 83,293 others

>comments

helaenaslawyer: OH MY GOD ?? SHE LOOKED LIKE RHAENYRA WHEN SHE WAS A KID...THE HOTD CASTING DEPARTMENT NEVER MISSED

emmadarcy: OMG 🔥

maxieworldf1: never beating the sibling allegations

maxverstappen: Have you always been that short? - yn.ln: uhuh mr. tall king? lols

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Carlos was taking snaps of Pablo on his new Kodak camera. The little boy seemed to enjoy being the subject of his father's photos. Daniel nudges your elbows, encouraging you to speak up. "Carlos, will you be posting that on social media?" you inquired.

He looked up with a smile - the smile that used to have you weak on your knees, now instead leaving you with neutral feelings. "If it's okay with you?" his eyebrows merged into each other.

"Uh I actually would prefer it if Pablo stays off the media for a few years, just until he's old enough to make his own decisions." the words slipped out of your mouth like a dam.

His eyebrows raised upwards, surprised.

"Oh I'm sorry that makes sense." his voice sounded defeated, but he quickly returns to playing with his son. You lean back on the sun-bed, flashing Daniel a winning smile. "That was surprisingly easy." you leaned back, watching as he takes a sip of his piña colada.

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yn.ln: this is so 2014 core 🕷 📸 shot by p

liked by maxverstappen and 821,239 others

>comments

helaenaworld: this awakened something within me

holdmybeer: pedro alonso, stephanie beatriz, cm punk, carlos sainz I GET YOU...

bandanaqueef: O M G O M G O M G

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formulaonewagsupdate: because and y/n l/n in one boat?

liked by 82,239 others

>comments

becausefanbase: i get it why carlos cheated HAHAHA

hotpotcentauri: Why does Y/N always look so awk? - ynlncloset: y/n l/n does not belong to you because, mainstream media and parties do... - callmeadefender: She's literally the most charming of all of the ladies in that boat 💀

babyohh: to be a fly on the wall during that yacht ride.

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next part>>

thanks for the support guys. pt. 3 will focus on the yacht ride.

IDEAS FOR THE FUTURE ENDGAME ARE STILL OPEN, JUST BECAUSE THIS CHAPTER IS MAX AND DAN CENTRIC DOESN'T 100% MEAN THAT THOSE DRIVERS ARE ENDGAME.

[lizzyiii]

just read “his lady love” and i’m completely obsessed with your writing, i definitely need a part 2 for that please 😭😭😭

His Lady Love (2)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

word count | 3.8k words

summary | you return to westeros, to find that the young prince has become a man and his burning infatuation with you has not died out and you reconnect with helaena

tags | no warnings? usual mention of targaryen incest (but let's be real, everyone who reads hotd fanfic has now normalised targcest), and child marriage (my poor bby Helaena), filler

note | oh my god, y'all 😭. idk what I was thinking with that dramatic ass mikaelson reveal. as we all know the reader is never described, but as we all also know the mikaelsons are white af. so I'm making it clear that the reader is NOT mikael's daughter, leaving the reader's description and race unknown, esther was busy getting her freak on and her real father will never be disclosed. because in my mind the reader or y/n is and will always be a curly-haired, brown-skinned baddie....so each to their own. AND I'm pretty sure this is going to be a series cause for the life of me I am unable to make a oneshot without further exploring a story.

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 — 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

Five long years had stretched into nearly two thousand sunrises since Aemond Targaryen last laid eyes upon you. Each passing day weighed heavily on his soul, a slow burn of a thousand bitter memories. Some days, the tempest of his emotions roiled within him, bidding him to hate you—for your departure, for the way you had vanished from court like a wisp of smoke, leaving only echoes and shadows in your wake.

But the flames of that hate flickered and faded, giving rise to a deeper yearning, a gaping void where love had once flourished. Even now, after all this time, your spirit held his heart captive, stolen under the very nose of fate when you chose to forsake the realm.

In the wake of your absence, thirteen year old Aemond had become a specter haunting the hallowed halls of the library, pouring over tomes and scrolls in a frantic quest for knowledge of House Mikaelson—a house that seemed to dissolve into the mists of myth with each turn of the page. The histories were silent, and when he turned to his elders, the lords and ladies of the court, their ignorance stung deeper than any sword. Your name was but a whisper lost amongst the louder clamor of dragons and destinies.

Desperation guided his steps toward the Queen’s solar, where his mother resided. He pressed forth, demanding answers of her, yet it was peculiar; though he sought her wisdom and guidance, she seemed to have forgotten the very reason of why she had made you one of her ladies-in-waiting. Her brows knitted with confusion as he spoke your name, her big brown eyes clouded with a nostalgia she could not place.

Yet Aemond could see it in the gentle curve of her lips, in the way her gaze drifted past him, as if searching for a phantom. She missed you, that was clear. Her heart held a chamber of memories crafted from your offered comfort amidst the whispers of court intrigue, from the grace of your presence that had brightened the darker days.

The weight of five relentless years bore heavily upon Aemond Targaryen. Through trials of fire and blood, he had forged himself anew, emerging both mentally and physically formidable. He was now the most skilled swordsman within the keep’s sturdy walls, a warrior of such caliber that even the esteemed Ser Criston Cole would struggle to match his prowess. Secluded in the dim light of solitary training grounds, he immersed himself in the ancient tomes of philosophy and the illustrious history of House Targaryen, dedicated to honing his mind as keenly as his sword.

Yet in this relentless pursuit of strength and mastery, the warmth of his heart had withered, leaving behind only the chill of calculated ambition. His facade, meticulously crafted, rendered him cold and unyielding — a visage so fierce that even the bravest souls flinched at the thought of meeting his gaze directly.

Thus, it was with a jarring dissonance that Aemond entered his sister, Helaena's solar that day. It was a ritual he had come to cherish against the backdrop of his darkening spirit, visiting her and the twins for a fleeting moment of respite. However, as he stepped across the threshold, the air thickened and his breath caught in his throat.

Helaena sat with delicate artistry upon a chaise, embroidering threads of vibrant colors while keeping a watchful eye on her children. But it was not the familiar sight of his sister that seized him. No, there, in the heart of the chamber, stood his mother, Queen Alicent, holding the hands of a woman whose features were obscured from his view. However, even with your back turned, he recognized you and your unmistakable figure.

Alicent’s large, expressive eyes caught his, shimmering with an emotion he had not anticipated. “Aemond,” she uttered softly, the sound piercing through the tension-laden silence.

With the calling of his name, you turned, and the breath in his lungs faltered. The years stretched out like an endless tapestry between the two of you, but as he beheld you standing there after all this time, it felt as if no time had passed at all.

Five long years had passed, and in that span, Aemond had transformed. His once-boyish frame had hardened, each line of muscle now finely chiseled, his stature soaring to a height that eclipsed yours. He had shed the skin of youth and emerged a man forged by the fires of ambition and vengeance, yet he could feel a familiar tug at his heart as he stared at you.

But you… you had remained untouched by time’s relentless march. Your face, flawless and luminous, bore no marks of age; not a wrinkle nor blemish dared mar your smooth skin. Your form he remembered was preserved in perfection, your hair framing your figure in the same glorious waves that had enchanted him years ago.

You were the embodiment of memories he cherished, the same as ever.

For a fleeting heartbeat, Aemond dared to believe you were but a haunting mirage conjured by his yearning heart. If not for the watchful eyes of his mother and sister resting upon you, he would have thought himself lost to despair, ensnared by the fantasies of his own making.

An eternity seemed to stretch in the daunting silence that enveloped the two of you, the world around forgotten as each of you engaged in a quiet, yet profound examination. Your eyes sparkled like the night sky in the light of the day, and when you smiled—the same saccharine smile that had once filled his heart with joy during the innocence of his childhood—it left him breathless. “My prince,” you spoke softly, your voice dancing in the air, “how you’ve grown.”

In that moment, something within him shifted—a profound balm against the bitterness he had nurtured like a dark plant within his chest. All the resentment, the stinging remembrance of your abandonment, and the shadows of sadness that once clouded his thoughts dissipated at the mere sight of your smile. His throat was dry as a winter's night, thoughts scattered like ash on the wind, and yet, the corners of his mouth began to lift involuntarily, mirroring the warmth radiating from you.

Mikaelson.

A name that struck terror into the hearts of countless souls. Yet, here, in this strange realm of Westeros, where dragons soared and the icy dread of White Walkers loomed behind the walls, such fear was but a whisper lost to the winds. No, this land, though foreign and fierce, offered you sanctuary—not the kind woven from solace and warmth, but the kind fortified by distance and the absence of your cursed siblings.

Here, there were no vampires lurking in the cloaks of night, nor were there werewolves howling beneath the pale moonlight. Instead, there were dragons, fierce and resplendent, and direwolves, proud and wild. Most crucially, there was no Mikael—a freedom that tasted of hope amidst you heart's turmoil.

True, you thought often on whether you should have brought your siblings along, for Mikael would never find this place. Yet, a heavy foreboding gripped you; you understood all too well that the Mikaelsons (Niklaus) very presence would shatter the fragile peace you sought. Westeros was far from a land of plenty, riddled with poverty and further burdened by the cruel fate of women, yet in its chaos lay distance.

So, you fled, slipping away into the shrouded embrace of night, abandoning the only family you had known—or, more accurately, what was left of it. It was the sixteenth century, a time when hope flickered dimly in the eyes of men and women alike. You had not laid eyes upon Finn since Niklaus, in his relentless wrath, had condemned him to a tormented existence, and staked a dagger in his heart. Kol fared no better; his defiance had earned him Niklaus' ire, leaving him to face the very same fate that had befallen their eldest brother.

Months had slipped by as you braved the tempestuous seas, each wave an echo of your desperation, each gust of wind whispering promises of a new beginning. You had set sail toward the edge of the earth, guided by an insatiable yearning for freedom—until at last, you had discovered Westeros.

You had arrived in Westeros with an unyielding ambition, your ethereal beauty concealing a fierce determination that allowed you to easily compel your way into the court of Queen Alicent Hightower as one of her ladies-in-waiting. The smell of dragonfire and the whispers of civil war clung to the air, a distinct reminder of the foreign heritage of the Targaryens.

The first time you had seen one of the great beasts aloft, its shadow sweeping across the land, leaving you breathless and in awe. Dragons were an embodiment of the Targaryen power, but alongside that power lurked a shocking underbelly of normalized incestuous unions and the festering decay of traditional familial bonds. For a girl raised among the Mikaelsons, who had danced among the vices of immortality, this was both familiar and grotesque.

Your new world was laced with intrigue—rumors skittered through the halls like restless spirits. The whispers spoke of Princess Rhaenyra and the seed of doubt surrounding her claim to the Iron Throne, the barbs of scandal raised even higher by her many alleged bastards. These complexities intrigued you, compelling you to observe from the outside, where the machinations of power were far more amusing than any political play you had encountered in your old life.

Queen Alicent, though esteemed and regal, bore the weight of her flaws almost indiscernibly, like a cloak of gold marred by rust. From what you could tell, the Queen wielded herself like a pawn—her father being Otto Hightower, an unseen puppeteer, tugging at the strings of her choices. Maternal instinct flickered in Alicent like the candle flames that lit the chamber at night; she faltered and stumbled but made an earnest effort to nurture her children as best she could, though in your opinion she had failed miserably with Aegon. And yet, her fund of effort, a raw and poignant endeavor, resonated with you. The Queen was imperfect, yet within that human frailty lay a semblance of motherhood that Esther Mikaelson had failed to give you.

Thus, in your role as one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting, you discovered a sanctuary of sorts. The court became a twisted labyrinth of alliances and betrayals, yet amidst the swirling intrigue, you found comfort in Alicent’s earnest attempts at kindness towards you.

In the two years you had spent in Westeros, you had found solace in the delicate friendship you created with Princess Helaena—a rare gem among the Targaryens, whose sweet and gentle spirit seemed devoid of the cunning that defined her kin. Helaena's quiet understanding struck a chord deep within you, reminiscent of a time before death had twisted your mind. Once, you too had lived in a world that felt like a dream, until Niklaus tore down the veil of your innocence with his ruthless reality check. He had carved fear into your heart, reminding you of the darkness that lurked within the world.

But as you observed Helaena, an overwhelming sorrow enveloped you. The Queen's decree to betroth the princess to Prince Aegon sank like a stone in her gut. Aegon—a broken soul, defined by indulgence and ambition—was a force of chaos that echoed the wickedness of their own familial bond. In many ways, he reminded you of Kol, with his infectious charm and volatile spirit, yet where Kol harbored a flicker of love beneath layers of darkness, Aegon radiated a depravity that sent shivers down your spine.

Your heart ached at the thought of Helaena being shackled to a boy so unworthy of her light. The specter of Aegon’s reckless nature loomed large, and you feared for the princess's fate. You could see it clearly: with every passing day of their union, Helaena’s spirit would wither under the weight of neglect and cruelty, her gentle soul extinguished in the fires of a loveless bond.

And then there was Prince Aemond, the second youngest son of Alicent's brood—a striking boy marked by a fierce determination to embrace his responsibilities as a prince. You often felt a pang of sympathy when you witnessed the relentless taunts from Aegon and the scornful jeers of his nephews, sorrow swelling in your chest at the knowledge that he was the only Targaryen without a dragon to call his own. And it was hard to ignore the tender glances he cast your way, his violet eyes lingering on you whenever you graced a room.

However, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of Aemond standing at your door during the elusive hour of the wolf, his ethereal silver hair, tousled and framing a face streaked with tears, the light of hope dimmed in his now singular violet eye. Fury ignited in your core when he confided the harrowing tale of how Aegon had dragged him to the Street of Silk, that dark sanctuary of vice—your heart shattered for the innocence that had been ripped from him, for the heavy shame that now clung to him, marked by his brother who should have looked out and protected him. By now, Aegon was six-and-ten, he should have gleaned wisdom from his years, yet he chose the path of cruelty instead.

In an effort to soothe the wounded prince, you opened your heart and your arms to him. You conceded to his requests, bathing him with tender care, allowing him the sanctuary of your presence as he lay beside you. Your intentions were pure, untainted by anything but the desire to comfort a boy you had come to deeply care for.

And yet, with a heavy heart, you turned your back on Westeros, your mind haunted by the echoes of family. In that fleeting moment of vulnerability, you found yourself yearning for the bonds that had once defined you. The Targaryens, ensnared in their web of resentment and betrayal, made it clear that true loyalty and love were rare treasures. Their familial discord stood in stark contrast to the fierce devotion of your own bloodline. For all the chaos wrought by the Mikaelsons, love remained their unyielding anchor.

Niklaus, with his volatile nature, was both feared and revered by you; yet, beneath that fierce exterior lay a soul tormented by the shadows of his past, perpetually haunted by the specter of abandonment. Finn and Kol, locked in eternal slumber by Niklaus’s cruel whim, lay undisputed in their coffins, yet your brother stood sentinel over them, unwavering and steadfast. The thought of returning to him was chilling; the mere sight of you would surely earn a dagger in your own heart.

You resolved to escape, to steal away before Queen Alicent could impose a husband upon you like a gilded cage. It was meant to be a brief respite, a momentary retreat from your burdens. You had once believed that seamlessly integrating into the intricate tapestry of Westerosi society would be a simple endeavor. Yet, the relentless weight of expectations proved stifling. Each encounter demanded a dance of delicate grace, a façade meticulously curated to meet the desires of those around you, and in turn, it drained your very spirit.

Thus, you sought solace in the sun-drenched lands of Essos, a realm that defied the rigid conventions you had grown weary of. Essos was a land of vibrant colors and broken norms, where the sun shone unabated and the very air seemed to sing of possibility. Gone were the burdens of being gracious and demure, replacing those restraints with the intoxicating freedom to explore the wild tapestry of cultures sprawled before you. In a realm filled with mercenaries and traders, where the scent of spice mingled with the salty sea air, you couldn’t help but feel invigorated.

Shame washed over you like a cold wave, a sharp pang of regret settling in your chest as you sat in Princess Helaena's solar, surrounded by the laughter of her twins, Jahaerys and Jahaera. The children, mere five summers old, served as a vivid reminder of your absence; Helaena had brought them into the world at the tender age of fourteen, while you had been lost in the allure of Essos. Your own selfish pursuits had drawn you away from Westeros, leaving your dear friend to navigate the tides of motherhood without your companionship.

But now, fate had drawn you back to Westeros, though the reason for your return eluded you—perhaps it was mere curiosity, or a desire to witness the Targaryens as they embarked on a path toward their own ruin. Perhaps it was simply the lingering comfort of a maternal embrace that Queen Alicent had once offered you. One thing remained certain: you were back, unchanged yet bound by the curse that clung to the Mikaelsons. You still appeared as you had, forever encased at the tender age of six and ten, the same age at which you had died nearly six centuries ago.

The twins were a study in contrast. Jaehaerys, the young prince, was somber and introspective, casting shy glances your way from beneath the curtain of his silver hair. In contrast, Jaehaera exuded a lively spirit, her laughter as bright as the morning sun. She was a sweet girl, eager for your attention, her small hands clutching her beloved dolls as she beckoned you to join her in playful realms of castles and grand adventures. Every so often, Jaehaerys would join in, indulging his sister’s imagination by taking on the role of a fierce dragon, albeit with a reluctance that made his quiet demeanor all the more endearing.

“I have missed you,” Helaena said softly from her place on the chaise, delicate fingers working through the intricate patterns of her embroidery, her gaze never leaving the fabric.

You met her gaze, a frown momentarily shadowing your features, your heart tightening at the sight of her. A small, bittersweet smile tugged at your lips as you replied, "As I have missed you, princess. I offer my sincerest apologies for my prolonged absence."

“But you have returned, and that is what matters,” she replied with a tranquil certainty, her expression unwavering.

With a nod, you maintained your tight-lipped smile, the corners of your mouth struggling to lift fully. “Indeed, I have, and I hope to stay here for as long as fate allows.”

As you resumed your playful moments with the twins — Helaena’s voice broke through the lighthearted chaos as she called your name. “Pray tell, how old were you when you came to court?”

Your lips pursed gently as you recounted, your tone tense but soft, “I was but six and ten years, my dear princess.”

An oblivious smile spread across Helaena's face, illuminating her features. “And yet you appear unchanged, as if untouched by time’s passage. Like a Lepidoptera,” she remarked, her imagination weaving images as vivid as the embroidered fabrics around her.

Your brows knitted in puzzlement. "A what, my princess?"

"A Lepidoptera," she patiently repeated, her eyes shimmering with youthful curiosity. "It is a classification that encompasses butterflies, which remain breathtakingly lovely until the end of their days."

A bittersweet pang echoed within you at her words, for you were destined for a far different fate, cursed to wander the shadows as a creature of the night. Yet, you offered a slight nod, managing a soft, "Thank you, my princess," as you absorbed the weight of her innocent compliment.

“And yet, I cannot claim to have missed you as intensely as Aemond has,” Helaena mused, her gaze distant as you idly threaded your fingers through Jaehaera's shimmering locks of silver.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite grasp what you mean,” you replied softly, masking your understanding with a facade of innocence.

“I believe you are quite aware,” Helaena said softly, a melodic note in her voice, her smile lingering with a teasing warmth, “Aemond has loved you since he was a mere boy.”

You cast her a sidelong glance before adopting an air of nonchalance. “Love is a weighty term for one so young, Princess. Surely, it was nothing more than a fleeting fancy.”

Helaena shook her head, her needlework a steady rhythm in her hands. “No, I do not believe so.”

Deep down, you didn't believe so either. Ever since your return to the depressive halls of King's Landing, a sensation had accompanied your every step—a watchful gaze lingering upon you. Aemond had worked to keep it hidden, but your heightened senses revealed the quiet intensity of his interest, as vivid as the summer sun.

There had been numerous revelations awaiting you upon your return to the Red Keep—the prideful births of young Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, the scandal of Rhaenyra and her uncle Daemon's elopement, and the grim decline of King Viserys's health, shadows stained upon the Iron Throne. Yet, the most haunting transformation was that of Prince Aemond.

Aegon had blossomed into the drunken sleaze you had always anticipated, a replica of the whims that dictated his every choice, but Aemond—oh, how he was the exact opposite of what you had envisioned. The youthful boy, once soft and unassuming, had unfurled into a striking figure, sharpened like the blade of a Targaryen sword, each line of his form etched with the harshness of time and expectation. His stature now towered over you, his presence immense, a tempest contained within the boundaries of a man’s body.

He seemed to carry within him a quiet fury, a storm beneath the surface, and it stirred something deep within you, a memory of that boy who had once been desperate for approval and had hope for a dragon. His boyish softness had been replaced by the resolute presence of a true dragon, a stark reminder of the power and peril that resided within his bloodline.

[mxnbi]

Sweet as honey

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ────────────────────

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Boyfriend!Kaldo Gehenna X Reader

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ SYNOPSIS He couldn’t resist that sweet taste of honey on your lips. He had to have you then and there, even if it means doing it on school grounds

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ CW: public sex, sex on school grounds, a little bit of food play, sex in uniform, fem! reader

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ tags: mashle mashle magic and muscle kaldo kaldo gehenna kaldo x reader fem reader mashle smut mashle fanfic mashle oneshot kaldo one shor kaldo smut kaldo fanfic divine visionary anime manga honey food play school sex

21+ nsfw smut, minors DNI

Yet another day at Easton Magic Academy. Juggling potion classes, flying classes and the upcoming Divine Visionary selection exam has you pulling at your hair every day and night.

Wanting to destress a bit, you decided to go on a stroll around the school campus. Roaming up and down the hallways while you munch on some honey dipped pretzels.

You did a double take when you noticed your boyfriend, Kaldo, exiting an office right up ahead.

“Kaldo! What brings you here? You rarely come back.”

Your joyful voice echoed slightly through out the empty hall as you ran toward the tall man. Your body could barely contain the excitement from the rare sight of your boyfriend on campus.

Kaldo’s slender arms wrapped around your waist in a warm and welcoming hug after watching you practically float in his direction. He pressed a tender kiss against your forehead as he rocked you side to side lovingly.

“Hey honey. The school summoned us Divine Visionaries to investigate a student with no magic here. He’s quite the case as far as I’ve-“

He paused mid sentence, pulling away from you and sniffing the air like theres a gas leak in the building.

You looked up at him in confusion, all while still snacking on your pretzels. The crunch that came with each bite caught Kaldo’s attention.

He glanced at the snacks in your hand and a saucer of honey floating right next to you. He leaned down to eye level with you and pressed his lips against yours, giving them a quick lick.

You stood rooted to the ground, stunned by his unexpected display of affection, dropping a half eaten pretzel.

“I’ve been spending the past weekend looking for foods and dishes that go well with honey, but I never knew how good it could taste on your lips.”

Kaldo pulled back, looking into your eyes with lust filled in his. He quickly grabbed your hand before pulling you into the office that he came out of, not forgetting to lock the door right behind him.

Before you could even utter a word, he has his lips on yours, a hand on your waist and the other on the back of your head to guide you into the kiss gently.

He licked your lips, tasting the sweet nectar left over from your snacks that were now residing somewhere on the floor.

You could do nothing except melt into his arms, your feet floating off the floor and wrapping around his waist while he lifts you off the ground with minimal effort.

You were always aware of his love for honey, but him being away so often made you forget how much you could turn him on, even just by having a light snack.

Kaldo carries you over to a desk, pushing off random documents to floor and settling himself between your legs before undoing his sword to set aside.

“W-wait wait, who’s office is this? This could get you in so much trouble!”

You whispered in a panic, afraid that you’ll be the reason why he loses his prestigious rank that he worked so hard for. He laughs softly at your alarmed state, secretly creeping a hand up your thighs from under your skirt.

Kaldo undid his jacket and pants with one hand while the other rests on your hips. He looked at you assuringly, flashing you that sweet but oh so cunning smile that you know him for.

“Who could possibly get me in trouble?”

That was the last thing said before he pushed your skirt up and slid into you.

You screamed at sudden insertion, unprepared for the stretch that he gave you. Your hand flew up to cover your mouth as you looked at Kaldo wide eyed, only to be returned with that same cunning smile.

He steadies himself again, a hand on your hip as he slowly thrusted into your wet pussy.

Your legs tightened around him from the pleasure, trying to keep the volume down as much as possible, but boy does Kaldo make that hard for you to do.

He locked lips with you once again, his tongue searching around your mouth and lips for any remnants of that sweet syrup, all while fucking into your cervix.

“Mmngh fuck…slow d-down I can’t…keep quiet..”

You begged, hoping that he would understand the severity of getting caught while committing such an indecent act on school grounds. But it’s clear that it was not his priority in the moment.

Kaldo leaned down to nibble at your ear, and down to your neck. Leaving a small trail of love bites that made his throbbing cock twitch inside of you.

“They can deal with me then, think only about us now.”

Using his teeth, he swiftly removed his left glove and dipped two fingers in whatever honey remained in that little saucer.

“Open up honey.”

That was all he needed to say. You complied without a second thought and opened your mouth while sticking out your tongue.

He brought his fingers up for you to suck, moaning as he watched your cheeks hollow around his two digits with a tiny amount of honey dripping onto your chin and making its way down to your chest.

“Well we can’t have your precious uniform get dirty can we? Honey is not easy to clean.”

Kaldo then made quick work of your button and tie, freeing your perky tits and watching them bounce up and down with each thrust.

He bit his lip, holding back a whimper as he watched the honey slowly make its way down to your chest and in between your cleavage. He could almost come inside of you then and there.

He fucked you harder and faster, pounding into your pussy and watching your face contort in pure pleasure.

Kaldo bent down to kiss and lick up the sticky honey off of your chest while his right hand plays with your tit.

You threw your head back in pleasure, legs dangling in the air, shaking as he plunged his cock deeper and deeper into you.

“Mmm.. two of my favourite things in one…how could I ask f-for more.”

He whimpered quietly, looking down at where you two are connected as he pumped his dick in and out of you.

You felt your tummy tighten, but before you could say anything about you cumming, Kaldo abruptly pulled out of you. Giving you a quick peck on the lips before forecfully flipping you over with your stomach and chest pressed up on the table.

His hand caress your butt while he further pushes your skirt up and aligns his blunt tip at the entrance of your hole.

“Let’s make this quick okay honey, someone’s going to be using this room soon.”

You looked back at him, watching him sigh out in pleasure as he pushed into you again like he could never get sick of this sensation.

Both palms on your waist now, finger nails leaving marks in your skin, he drives his cock into you faster than before, almost forcing another moan out of you.

You grabbed the edge of the table, hoping to steady yourself from his intense pounding, but to no avail as Kaldo got the whole table shaking back and forth with his thrusts now.

“Mmmngh I-I need to come back..more often now..”

Kaldo mustered out a sentence between moans and whimpers, thrusts now becoming messier and messier.

You clawed at the table. The way his cock tip grazes your G spot drives you absolutely insane. You missed having fuck sessions like this whenever Kaldo’s away. He’s just something your fingers can’t replace.

That familar knot in your belly was starting to form again, and that’s when your legs start to lose it’s strength.

“A-ahh fuck..Kaldo I’m-ngh.. c-cumming.”

And with that, Kaldo went faster, harder, and deeper. Leaning over your body while supporting himself with a hand on the table to get a better angle. One that would snip that knot and made you cum all over his cock.

You moaned into your elbow, facing down into the table in an attempt to muffle any lewd noises that could be possibly be heard.

“Ahh~ K-kaldo…oh my god.”

Hearing you moan his name was like sweet honey to him. One last thrust and he was filling you up to the brim with his warm cum.

Sweat dripped down his temples and neck as Kaldo tried to regain his composure, slowly pulling out of you to watch his thick cum slowly ooze out of your cunt and down to the floor, just like glistening honey.

He pulled you up gently by your shoulders, bringing you into a warm embrace as he buries his nose into the nook of your neck.

“Would you mind stopping by my room? There’s a lot more I’ve been wanting to show you.”

Oh boy were you going to be busy that night.

A/N: RAHHHH FINALLY SOME MASHLE CONTENT im honestly so in love w the show and the characters. Im so happy to finally write smth about my boy kaldo but i hope to expand my territory to include the other men too hehehehe

[silentheiss]

for some reason decided to write notes for the next chapter instead of typing them. great idea, yesterday me. thanks.

[crookedt44th]

ೃ⁀➷ fanfic recommendations

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!! just wanted to make a list so i can come back and read them again! please do let me know if the links doesn't work or linked to a wrong fic! i also did not realize how much im really into strangers to lovers au lord.

if you want your works taken down, let me know

skz masterlists/series

stray kids coffee shop series | all fluff and bit of angst! @hanjisick

to all the crushes (half of skz x reader) | fluff, angst, suggestive content(?). by okayau

hot bitch summer; the skz series | fratboy au, smut. @hyunsvngs

@seospicybin 's masterlist | includes all smut, fluff, and angst.

bold (minsung x reader) | smut. @/hyunsvngs

hopeless in love (ao3) (minsung and reader) | mlm themes, friends to lovers, college au, humor, hurt/comfort. by lucspear [this is VERY fun and cute to read! id read this a thousand times over again!]

bang chan

600 degrees (ao3) | neighbors au, fluff. by the7thcrow

lee minho

blue side of the sky | exes to lovers, best friends to lovers au, fluff, angst, smut. @hyunfilms

when the cat dragged in | smut, angst, strangers to lovers. @moni-logues

lost in translation | smut, strangers to lovers. @moonjxsung huge fan of u dude

dead butterflies | toxic relationships, drug and alcohol abuse, cheating, unrequited love. @lavenderhhaze

invisible thread, part one and two | university au, academic rivals to lovers, slow burn, fluff, VERY angst. @astraystayyh

the only exception | strangers to lovers, slow burn. @astraystayyh

she's like the wind | fluff, angst, smut. @nczennie

you saved that for the end | angst, smut. @pearbunny

message in a bottle | smut with a plot. @chxnsaphrodite

Mr. Gorgeous | fluff, slight angst, college au. @cryinginmyroomsposts

photograph | college au, smut. @minniesmutt

when he sees me (ao3) | smut, fluff, angst, strangers to lovers, neighbors au. by candle_wax_and_polaroids

do you feel my hand? it is there | strangers to lovers, hurt/comfort, smut. @blossomwritesthings

what you deserve | college au, smut, angst, fluff. @2chopsticks2eyes

bunny | strangers to lovers, neighbors au, smut, angst, fluff. @tasteleeknow

million dollar man | smut. @ybklix

unrequited & unmatched | focused on lee know and hwang hyunjin (not as pairing), angst, smut, romance (do read warnings on these series though). @jl-micasea-fics

poisonous tears | angst, suggestive content. @hoes4lino

a love letter i wish it didn't exist | romantic, angst, suggestive. @hoes4lino

perfect | light angst, fluff, suggestive. @linospuddin

invisible string | soulmate au, smut, light angst, strangers to friends to lovers, friends with benefits. @moonlinos

when things were simple | 90s romance, school romance, best friends to lovers, strangers to lovers, online au, high school au. @sunboki

there's always time | family au, fluff, smut, angst. @dreamescapeswriting

hwang hyunjin

dear farmer | very fluffy! @puppym3

a train, her lips, the music (ao3) | fluff, beautifully romantic. by the7thcrow

star lost with you (ao3) series still ongoing | idol au, strangers to lovers, friends to lovers, unrequited love, angst, fluff, smut, SLOW BURN. by hyunjinspark

han jisung

reckless convictions | college au, beautifully romantic, smut. @/moonjxsung

lee felix

seasons | smut, angst. @moonjxsung requested by me :)))

off the deep end | post-apocalypse au, enemies to lovers, angst, romance, suggestive content. @stayxlix

the bodyguard | enemies to lovers, parental abuse, very angst with evntual happy ending, smut. @skzdarlings

indulgence | vampire au, forbidden love, college au. by the17thcrow

solace (ao3) | 1990s era, friends to lovers, fluff. by fizzydrink698

fading inure (ao3) | vampire au, smut. by hanjizung

vexatious vixen | strangers to enemies to lovers, smut, romantic comedy. @skzdarlings [this fic is actually funny and VERY intense to read. i've been waiting for smth like this. LOVE IT!]

the siren on the stage | smut. @bunnliix

lee felix's guide to hating you | college au, tutor au, fluff, angst, slice of life, slow burn. @yyxgin

churchboy felix | fluff, smut, teen angst. @skzcollision

something in the air | smut. @propertyoftoru

gone boy, gone bad | suggestive, slight enemies to lovers, gangster au, fluff. @starlostseungmin

my girl | smut. @hyunjinniesgirl

bad romance | smut, angst, fluff, slow burn, bad boy au, punk au. @straykeedz

will update more later! i rlly hope to read other ffs of other members soon LOL

[otalia]

Hidden Treasure by Calliopes_Muse and Geekgrrllurking