#title is from pledging my time

[cellarfulofnose]

poison headache

The story of Maggie’s Farm comes to life in a series of diary entries from the mid-’60s. Twenty-nothing poet Bob Dylan works on the McCawell farm under the iron fist of Joseph “Pa” McCawell, his pious wife “Ma” Edith, and their harebrained son Willie. Maggie McCawell, the boss’ coarse daughter, seems to have her sights on Bob, but he only has eyes for Joan, a lovely servant girl. 

March 4, 1965

They moved me from the cabin into Danny’s old room. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t know till today it’s been sitting empty all this time. It was around Christmastime that he went and got married or ran away or something. I’d marry the first girl who passed by if I thought it’d get me out of here. It’s supposed to be sowing season, but the rain’s so bad the fields are mud. I lost both boots in the north field and walked back in my socks. My only hope is that a boot bush’ll spring up in the summer. With my luck they’ll all be two sizes too big. I guess I better start saving newspaper now.

Danny’s room is nothing fancy. There’s a desk by the window and a big wardrobe. It’s small, but it’s better than six guys in five cots and one hammock, rolling over three people every time you toss and turn. They said Danny packed up and left. The room smells like he might’ve died in it. Or something did, anyway. I haven’t had the guts to open the wardrobe.

We can’t plow without compacting the soil, so I’ve been doing inventory. Started two days ago and I haven’t even finished with the cans. There’s walls of them. Pa McCawell is always going on about the Reds and making the servant girls duck and cover. I guess if there really was an atomic blast we’d be all right, food-wise. I wear a can opener clipped to my belt now. Willie said it makes me look like I’m fixing to kill a man, and if I ever try anything funny he’ll be on me like ugly on an ape. Didn’t make me take it off though. I think it scared him pretty good. I lost my knife in a tree when I first got here, so this is the next best thing.

I hope I'm sick. My throat itches and my nose is running, and now this cough won't go away. It comes in spells, I can't breathe for a couple minutes at a time. I hope it's a good old rollicking case of influenza. Or bronchitis or pneumonia or any of your old standards. You start spitting green around here and you get the day off—if you're lucky. I couldn't have been luckier the last time I had a fever. McCawell didn't want to pay the doctor so they gave me to Joan. I talked about her last week and probably a month before that. The half-Mexican kitchen girl. She’s always singing. You hear everybody say that if she’s got breath to sing, she must not be working hard enough, but she gets her work done just as well as anybody else. When I was laid up, she got my fever down and kept me on mullein tea that knocked all the crap right out of my lungs. It was like having Clara Barton nurse you, she was so good, and her black hair parted in the middle.

Joan’s something else. She’s pretty but I don’t know how to describe it. She looks old fashioned, from another time. I got here maybe a year after she did, and I feel we used to know each other before that. Before time. Like we were twin stars, or two little twin girls in the Levant. I think she knows it. She let me pick her guitar once.

Joan got sick too the last time she was taking care of me. I must’ve given it to her. She stopped singing for days, and when she started again, her voice sounded different. I don’t suppose she ever forgave me. If Pa hands me over to her again, I don’t think she’ll be too happy to nurse me, and I don’t blame her. Well, I hope it’s just a little cold or something that’ll go away in a day or two. No sense in bothering her about it.

March 5, 1965

The rain’s stopped. Willie got into a heated debate with Charlie and a couple field hands over the sowing. We’re so behind on planting, he said they better start to plow, but Charlie said they’d never get the tractor out of the mud if they started before it dried out a little. Willie blew his top and climbed up in the tractor himself. It took him fifteen minutes to figure out how to get it moving and all four mules to haul it out of the mud. You never saw his Ma so mad. I heard her tan his hide when they got back to the house, but she didn’t mention the tractor once. She was yelling at him for swearing like a sea dog in front of Maggie and the servant girls. I’ve heard Maggie say worse on a Sunday in Lent.

Willie’s lucky McCawell weren’t home. He left before dawn to make the stock auction in town, otherwise he would have made a jacket out of that boy. Ma is gonna raise hell to Pa when he gets back. Last time Willie got in hot water, he had to advance Danny two weeks' pay to keep him from running and telling McCawell. I guess Charlie gets the payout now, and he'll distribute it as he sees fit. 

I don't care about money if I can't sleep. I was up half the night last night sneezing. I didn't even get a break from the cough. If this is a cold, it's unlike any I ever had. No aches, chills, nothing. Just this feeling like the air’s heavy with dandelion wisps and they're all trying to take root and bloom in my nose. 

There were a couple hours in the middle of the day where it wasn’t too bad. Don’t ask me how I managed to get out of bed, but once I made it through the cans and started inventorying the boxes, I wasn’t sneezing anymore. Better for Joan, I thought, we’d both get off easy. But then right after supper it started again, just as bad as it ever was. I have to pause in my writing just to catch my breath. The cough is ugly but it’s not deep, just stubborn. No point in trying to get a day off out of it. McCawell would say I sounded fine in the house and that he ought to put me to work after supper too, since it seems to cure what’s ailing me.

There’s more to say but I can’t go on writing. This sneezing is taking it out of me. Not much to be done but to sleep it off, though I don’t know how I’ll get to sleep tonight. I was sleeping standing up today, lock-legged, like a horse, from not catching any the night before. I know where Efren keeps the horse pills, if it comes to that. Last time I took those, they woke me up with cold water. Right now that sounds like a vacation. Joan hasn’t noticed how I'm doing, and Ma won’t bless me.

March 6, 1965

It was Ma who called the doctor. Whatever it is, it got bad enough that I came down with a bloody nose. When I started in to sneeze, it wasn't pretty. I was in the barn at the time, so I came in the house looking for something to clean myself up. She saw me with blood all over my face and shirt and about started crying. I must have been coughing then, you couldn't tell her it wasn't consumption. A couple of girls hung around to calm her down. I thought I'd better leave. 

The blood stopped by the time the doctor got here. He took my temperature and listened to my chest and told me I wasn't sick with anything contagious. That meant back to work, but it also meant that Joan was in the clear.  I know it was ridiculous to imagine she might still end up taking care of me. Anyway, it’s better this way.

Then again, who’s to say the doctor knows what he’s talking about? He said “hayfever” and a couple eavesdroppers and I told him it’s not even haying season, and I don’t have any problem when it is. But his advice was that it must be environmental, so I should try and fix my environment. He said to change my bedding to get rid of the built-up dust, then I should stick my head in a steam bath and see if that helps. He’d been anticipating TB, so he didn’t have anything for me to take. Pa said in that case he wasn’t paying. I left when they started arguing, to go strip the bed in Danny’s room.

It was dusty all right. Set me off again pretty good. I gave up halfway through—I didn’t want my nose to start bleeding again. I got the window partway open, and I was just sitting on the half-empty bed when Maggie came in. She heard I wasn’t feeling good and wanted to come see how I was doing. I took out my harmonica because I didn’t want to talk to her. But between the coughs and sneezes, I had to give it up. It’s not that Maggie isn’t a great girl. She’s got a head full of bouncy red curls and freckles all over her body, and she wears tied-off shirts and denim shorts to prove it. I think it’s her eyes that put me off. They’re so big and round and she lines them black. She looks like an owl. Cute, I guess, but I wouldn’t be alone with her in the same room if I could help it.

Maggie said the room smelled like a swamp. That’s one good thing about all this; I can’t smell anymore, so it doesn’t bother me. She got real friendly when I told her that, saying she knew how to clear my head. Maggie likes to fixate on how all the functions of the body are linked to orgasm. She once told me an orgasm is equivalent to eight sneezes. I don’t know how she figured that, but I’d be a lot happier and a lot looser by now if she’d been telling the truth.

She didn’t try to take my pants off. She seemed to want to do it with them on. I told her if she really wanted to help me she’d boil me a pot of water and get me a towel to trap the steam. Most of the guys wish they could lay Maggie, but they’re terrified of incurring McCawell’s wrath. Some of them she flirts with just to piss her daddy off. He threatened Efren with a 12-gauge and now no one wants to look at her. It’s not McCawell I’m scared of. Something about Maggie tells me she’s not satisfied until she sees the white of bone.

I touched her up till she came, the fastest I’ve ever seen her do it. It seemed easier than trying to talk her out of it. Maggie’s not a bad girl. She’s just stuck here like the rest of us, and sex starved. It can’t be good for a girl her age. Once she calmed down, she said Pa had agreed to pay the doctor but he was taking it out of my check. She promised she’d get him to change his mind. I kept telling her she didn’t have to, but she gave me one of her nice handkerchiefs as collateral, with the little MM stitched on the border. I sneezed fresh blood into it within minutes of her leaving. Pa and Maggie and the doctor were all arguing in the kitchen, so I couldn’t boil water for a steam bath, and the bed was still unmade. I ended up just going to the shed for the horse stuff. Taking half a tablet doesn’t knock me out, and they last longer that way besides.

March 8, 1965

A lot has happened so I’ll try to tell the short version.

Danny’s room is growing mold. It’s more mold than room. I don’t know how it didn’t collapse on me. On Sunday I was picking at the wallpaper and a section of it crumbled away. The wall was black. I thought it was ants. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. I ran outside and coughed until I lost my breakfast. It was Sunday, so we couldn’t get the doctor, but he couldn’t have told me anything I didn’t know by then. It was the mold that was making me sick. The dust couldn’t have helped either.

Pa won’t get the room repaired. I wasn’t even the one to tell him about the mold. It must have been Maggie or one of the girls. Still, he wouldn’t swallow it. I found out Maggie volunteered to let me stay in her room until they fix Danny’s. Now whenever Pa looks at me he gets all red with fury and can’t speak. I don’t hold it against her. He’d only take it out of my check, anyways.

Willie jumped out of his skin when he saw me. Somehow the news had warped as it traveled, and he’d heard I was dead. I didn’t have any evidence to the contrary, so I let him be.

The real mess happened after I got a few doses of horse pills down. I went to go sleep in the loft when I ran into Joan. She was stealing some wine and said half was mine if I wouldn’t tell. I’d never say no, but horse stuff and booze are like fire and gasoline. We drank the whole jug. I got sloppy. I remember I wanted to kiss her—I don’t know if I did it. I told her I was in love with her and she started crying, saying Maggie was gonna fire her when she found out. She’s jealous that way. I told her again and again I wouldn’t let that happen. Joan kissed my head, and when I woke up it was dark. I waited until dawn, then I marched into the house and told McCawell I quit. He laughed and kept on eating. Even Maggie didn’t say anything. 

I slept in the loft last night, and I haven’t been back in Danny’s room but for a minute to grab a few things. Already, it feels like it’s getting better. I only sneezed once after I woke up this morning. Mostly no cough either. There’s a weird sort of pounding feeling behind my eyes any time that I do cough. Could be nothing, I never know. I was out in the rain a lot yesterday before I ripped up the wallpaper; maybe that’s got something to do with it.

This is my second night sleeping in the loft. It’s supposed to rain again tomorrow. No one knows when it’ll end. Danny’s room is empty again and it looks like it’ll stay that way, but I found another jug of wine squirreled away up here in the hay. Whatever’s coming, I might not end up weathering it alone.

[renthony]

In Defense of Shitty Queer Art

Queer art has a long history of being censored and sidelined. In 1895, Oscar Wilde’s novel The Picture of Dorian Gray was used as evidence in the author’s sodomy trials. From the 1930s to the 1960s, the American Hays Code prohibited depictions of queerness in film, defining it as “sex perversion.” In 2020, the book Steven Universe: End of an Era by Chris McDonnell confirmed that Rebecca Sugar’s insistence on including a sapphic wedding in the show is what triggered its cancellation by Cartoon Network. According to the American Library Association, of the top ten most challenged books in 2023, seven were targeted for their queer content. Across time, place, and medium, queer art has been ruthlessly targeted by censors and protesters, and at times it seems there might be no end in sight.

So why, then, are queer spaces so viciously critical of queer art?

Name any piece of moderately-well-known queer media, and you can find immense, vitriolic discourse surrounding it. Audiences debate whether queer media is good representation, bad representation, or whether it’s otherwise too problematic to engage with. Artists are picked apart under a microscope to make sure their morals are pure enough and their identities queer enough. Every minor fault—real or perceived—is compiled in discourse dossiers and spread around online. Lines are drawn, and callout posts are made against those who get too close to “problematic art.”

Modern examples abound, such as the TV show Steven Universe, the video game Dream Daddy, or the webcomic Boyfriends, but it’s far from a new phenomenon. In his book Hi Honey, I’m Homo!, queer pop culture analyst Matt Baume writes about an example from the 1970s, where the ABC sitcom titled Soap was protested by homophobes and queer audiences alike—before a single episode of the show ever aired. Audiences didn’t wait to actually watch the show before passing judgment and writing protest letters.

After so many years starved for positive representation, it’s understandable for queer audiences to crave depictions where we’re treated well. It’s exhausting to only ever see the same tired gay tropes and subtext, and queer audiences deserve more. Yet the way to more, better, varied representation is not to insist on perfection. The pursuit of perfection is poison in art, and it’s no different when that art happens to be queer.

When the pool of queer art is so limited, it feels horrible when a piece of queer art doesn’t live up to expectations. Even if the representation is technically good, it’s disappointing to get excited for a queer story only for that story to underwhelm and frustrate you.

But the world needs that disappointing art. It needs mediocre art. It even needs the bad art. The world needs to reach a point where queer artists can fearlessly make a mess, because if queer artists can only strive for perfection, the less art they can make. They may eventually produce a masterpiece, but a single masterpiece is still a drop in the bucket compared to the oceans of censorship. The only way to drown out bigotry and offensive stereotypes created by bigots is to allow queer artists the ability to experiment, learn through making mistakes, and represent their queer truth even if it clashes with someone else’s.

If queer artists aren’t allowed to make garbage, we can never make those masterpieces everyone craves. If queer artists are terrified at all times that their art will be targeted both by bigots and their own queer communities, queer art cannot thrive.

Let queer artists make shitty art. Let allies to queer people try their hand at representation, even if they miss the mark. Let queer art be messy, and let the artists screw up without fear of overblown retribution.

It’s the only way we’ll ever get more queer art.

_

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[divinesolas]

the she-bear

summary: requested; during his time in winterfell the lady of house mormont arrives to pledge her loyalty to queen rhaenyra and jacaerys grows a little too close to the so called she-bear

jacaerys targaryen x mormont!fem!reader

w.c: 1.4k

c.w: widowed reader, reader has a child, older reader, virginity loss (jace), oral (fem), a little plot but a lot more smut, p in v, breeding kink?, not proofread

a.n: freaky anons had me thinking and i saw this request sitting with dust in my box so here you go!!

perm jace taglist ! (open) @tyronesien @itsbookworm987 @cruelworldlana @smurfelle @ireneispunk @hxtd @venmondiese @urmomsgirlfriend1 @jacesvelaryons @earth4angels @itsemohours

During his time in Winterfell he did not expect to run into the lady of house mormont who pledged her loyalty to the queen rhaenyra and swore her forces would join cregans greybeards on the journey to kings landing. he was more than happy to accept her allegiance of course when asked why you had come and pledged you had said yourself that you were interested in seeing a women on the throne but nothing more.

The she-bear they called you. He grew to understand that title more and more he knew you you were stubborn, fierce and he had even heard rumors that you were a skinchanger and could become a bear but he disregarded these rumors even though it had been your younger sister spreading them. The more and more time he spent with you the more he grew to enjoy your presence. maybe a bit too much. He had heard about your previous marriage and then death of your late husband leaving you alone with a babe only a year old but you seemed to not mind and stated you had moved on past his death.

He began to crave your presence more and more when he was around you, he even had begun actively seeking you out instead of cregan as he was intended to do. He knew he was walking a fine line with you, the stolen glances, the lingering touches, he had been debating with himself to ask you for your hand knowing it was wrong, he would need his mother approval but it grew to the point he could not hold himself back.

He had been out flying, he had not known it would begin to ran a couple hours into his flight and he ended up landing at bear island where you had just returned and was offered a place to stay for the night until he was to fly back to Winterfell in the morning. He had been in the room you had provided him with, attempted to rid himself of his soaked riding clothes leaving him in just his tunic and his under pants a knock on the door startled him. He almost wanted to ignore it in his half dressed state until he heard your voice.

“I have an extra pair of clothes for you to rest in my prince.” he does not know what posses him to open the door fully but he enjoys the way your eyes leave his face and trail down his body with a light hum. He takes the clothes from your hands and sets them down on the table right next to the door, the two of you simply staring at each other for a few moments. You take the first willing step forward and he takes a step back, you take another one forward and lightly shut the door behind you.

The back and forth you two have been playing finally reaching its breaking point when you place your hands on the exposed skin of his neck and chest and he lets out a shaken breath. “We should not, i could never defile you like this.” as much as the words feel like venom on his tongue he finds himself speaking them anyway. He watches a small teasing pout form on your lips while you don't bother to remove your hands. “So you’re not interested in me?”

“You know very well i am my lady but we are not married,” despite his talking you look as though your not interested simply untying the strings on his tunic slowly as he breath quickened. he made no move to stop you. “Do you want to marry me my prince?” You pause right before the tunic falls all the way open. You finally look up at him and he finds his resolve crumble as he looks into your eyes. “Yes i do my lady.”

He expects you to kiss him or run your hands down along his now exposed chest but you simply walk past him and towards the fireplace where you throw another log in to keep it alit. “My lady?” You keep your back to him while you tug at a couple ties on your gown and he watches as it falls lightly to the ground and you kick it softly off the bear rug on the ground turning to face him he is unable to take his eyes off your bare body. “i am no longer a maiden but i hope i please you my prince.”

He moves like he is in a trance ridding himself of his tunic as he stands in front of you grabbing your sides gently with a shaky breath. “You more than please me my lady there is no one more beautiful than you.” You smile gently at him and lead him to sit down on the rug with you, the heat if the fire hits on his wet skin nicely as the two of you are pulled into a heated kiss. you fall on your back as the kiss grows more and more heated and his hands fondle your breasts as he leaves a wet trails down your neck.

“my prince.” “call me Jace please.”

He kisses down your stomach paying special attention to leaving loving kisses over your stretch marks on your stomach and thighs before he wraps your legs around his head as he begins to lick at your core. Your hands tug at his curls while your throw your head back and toes curl. The feeling of him prodding around inside of you has your hips grinding into his face while your press his head closer to you as if that was possible. He made no complaint while he listened to you moan. you soon enough release while a couple tugs of your clit and you calling out his name without a care in the world and he kisses back up your body while removing his bottoms leaving him bare above you.

You lightly tug at his plump lips with your own while you smile at him. “when did you learn how do to that?” “I read a couple books about it.” You laugh while he pauses and a flash of nerves crosses his face. When you grab his face gently he gulps, “I've never done this i um i don't,” he gasps when you sudden flip him over and you smile down at him. “Then let me lead, are you okay with it?” He face is flushed and the light of the fire hits him perfectly and he nods eagerly.

He lets out a shuddering moan when you begin to lower yourself onto him and he watches himself disappear into you. He sits up and the two of you hiss at the added friction, you give him a couple minutes to relax knowing this is his first time doing this sort of thing and he shouldn't be rushed. His head falls into your neck and sucks at the skin there while his hands grip your hips to try and get you to move. You understand him and while a light laugh you begin to softly move onto of him.

His whines grow louder and louder the faster you begin to move and your bodies rock together in sync while the room fills with your moans and skins hitting against each other. He knows why men murder to get to do this, why they throw themselves into dirty old brothels just to get a taste of this. Hes sure no other women can compare the way you do however, he wants to do this everyday he does not know how he had survived so long without doing this.

“want you to release in me Jace, want your babes Jace.” he whimpers and moves his hips up to meet yours and you gasp. He wants that, he wants to see you swell with his babe, his babe, a babe he knows is his, he will make sure its his when he watches as his seed drips out of you, keeping you locked in here until he's sure its taken root reputation be dammed. You tug at his bruised lips while you release and he follows quickly after keeping himself tightly presses inside you to make sure not even a drop spills out.

You brush his wet hair away from his face and press a light kiss against his lips. “You really want me to have your kids huh?” You expect him to argue or roll his eyes and but he contently nods and you can feel him swelling again inside you at your words which causes you to laugh.

[lorelune]

regency au jing yuan how you are haunting me.

(continued here!)

a retired general who at the ripe age of thirty five has never taken a wife. never showed any interest in procuring a spouse nor does he entertain any attempts by the mamas of the ton to throw their eligible children at him. he is a polite scoundrel, kind-hearted in a way that makes those with half a mind question how someone with his demeanor could ever be the famed general who's strategies downed Shuhu during the Abundance Upheaval. he doesn't seem to care for his legacy, as much as he has cultivated one. he doesn't mind gossip, but doesn't entertain it much either.

you only meet him due to fortunate circumstances.

lord Luocha, a successful travelling merchant, pledged patronage to you sometime ago. he keeps you in a little cottage on the grounds of his manor where you're allowed to mostly do as you please as long as there's a new painting hung on the lord's wall every few months or so. the lord likes when you play too. he brings back new instruments for you to try, though he never expects mastery. he has an air of mystery to him that, despite all of the time you spend near him, keeps you from understanding him fully. you aren't one to pry about it either.

lord luocha invites jing yuan over to partake in fancy spirits from a country and city you can't ever hope to visit, let alone find on a map. you bring lord luocha your newest work-- (a meticulously completed oil painting. something more abstract, suited to the odd lonely and isolation you feel in your little, cozy cottage, despite all of the comforts you are afforded)-- and happen upon the pair.

lord luocha examines your newest work with pride, and shortly after introduces you. 'his patron' he calls you, but offers jing yuan no title. you--

(do not have one. it was stripped from you a long time ago. you think being an artist suits you better, anyways.)

jing yuan offers you his name, though you already know it. you recognize him based on the prattling of the girls and boys at the market. they swoon over his stature, fawn over his good deeds, and make note of his identifiable red hair ribbon. he has the same soft, sun-colored eyes that you had heard the eligible young of the ton giggle about.

you bow to him politely.

you have no reason to linger, but luocha calls you to anyways. perhaps he is lonely. perhaps you want him to be lonely, so it gives you a reason to stick closer to his side in the rare moments he is home for more than a day or two. the proximity is shared with jing yuan, who regards you with keen eyes and a lazy smile. the attention upon you feels weighted, important, like you're something special.

you savor it, however fleeting.

perhaps, however, you misunderstood jing yuan. or lord luocha's intentions.

because as jing yuan rises to take his leave and you bow once more, he catches your hand, brings it to his lips, and presses a kiss into the soft skin. you're sure you smell of linseed and yarrow oil. he lingers there for a moment before meeting your gaze. there's a light of mischief in them that sends your heart fluttering. your breath catches.

when jing yuan is out of the manor, lord luocha pats your shoulder gently, "quite the man, isn't he?"

"i suppose... he is."

"you may speak freely."

"i am," you mince, and shake your head. you must be careful, entertaining such fanciful thoughts. "he is... kind."

"and handsome."

"lord luocha," you barely keep yourself from whining. "please, do not tease me. or the poor man. from what i hear, he has enough to deal with."

"the mamas do chase after him like foxes to a hen," lord luocha chuckles and studies your painting once more with a curious tilt of his head. "he'll ask to see you again, i'm certain."

"and why do you say that?"

"general jing yuan has never taken the hand of a potential suitor."

your heart feels heavy and warm in your chest, burning. "my lord, you cannot possibly think that this single action indicates that the general will... call upon me? that is highly unorthodox and i don't believe that's... quite allowed."

"jing yuan has never cared for the dances of decorum." lord luocha guides you into your gardens. the peonies are in bloom, full and lush in the humidity of late spring. "and, for the record, i don't believe he'll simply call upon you. court, properly, certainly."

"you're bluffing."

"what reason do i have to lie?"

"to tease me, as you so enjoy doing," you huff.

lord luocha simply hums and pauses near a bush of lilacs. they're fragrant, at the peak of their season. the scent rolls over you.

"if i truly intended to tease you, i simply would abstain from telling you of jing yuan's interest and allow you to be terribly surprised when he arrives and formally asks for you and your time. consider this a warning. i'll walk you to the modiste tomorrow, hm?"

you want to squawk at him. your linen dresses and tunics are fine (albeit smeared and stained with paints and oils over the years. you rarely bother replacing them.)

you want to protest and pry more, but lord luocha strikes you silent when he breaks off a cluster of lilac and tucks it behind your ear. he leaves you with your thoughts, however tortuous. and, perhaps horribly, you find yourself believing him. perhaps the warm-eyed general really was charmed. perhaps, your dresses needed replacing and you should contact your perfumer friend for a fresh vial or two.

perhaps perhaps perhaps, you can still feel where his lips lingered on your skin, like a brand. you never thought you could ache for burning, but in the gardens, you find yourself clutching your hand to your chest, craving the lick of the his sun's heat once more.

[jyoongim]

I was just thinking like..alastor in his nun outfit…Charlie takes us to confession for like an admitting our sins exercise (but it’s actually just in the hotel) to confess our sins, we admit to fantasising about Alastor and we reveal our dirty fantasies and he hears it..maybe decides to act on it to cleanse us of our sins….IDKKK

FORGIVE ME DADDY FOR I HAVE SINNED

(Love your writing btw) 

I LOVE YOU!!!! Thank you for reading my horny writings babe!!!

Title: Sweet Confession

”uuuuhhhh Charlie why do we have to confess our sins? Ain’t that a little personal?” Angel asked as she finished explaining her new ‘bonding’ exercise.

The princess beamed “That’s the whole point! To acknowledge your wrong doings and knowing that you can be vulnerable with the sins you’ve committed”

The group groaned but went on with it.

She had a curtain set up to give privacy and a chair to sit and you just spilled out your darkest secrets to a box?

it wasn’t her worst idea. Being vulnerable was good…so what was the harm?

You fiddled with your fingers as you took a seat.

This reminded you of when your mother would force to to church and seek advice from a priest about your woes. You never really understood the point.

You hadn’t committed the most elaborate sin, but you weren’t a pure sinner either.

“Remember take all the time you need! Crying is good!” You heard Charlie say as she closed the curtain, leaving you to yourself.

”what are you here to confess?” A automatic voice said from the box.

What could you confess? Your sin was boring…

”I-I have been pledged with rather lewd thoughts” you said shyly.

”I know it sounds crazy but I…I think about Alastor in these thoughts”

’Why?’ The voice responded.

You bit your lip “I don’t know. He’s witty, confident, rough around the edges. He’s always around and so helpful. I kind of feel bad now” your shoulders wilted.

”He’s just my kind of guy I guess. Tall, Dark, oh so handsome my gooooodddd” you gushed.

”and how do you think of him in these thoughts of yours?”

You gulped “He’s just so polite and a gentleman that it just does something to me. Under all that, he’s a demon. Its hot and mysterious and I just want him to fuck my brains out…not literally…well the fuck part literally but not til I’m dead”

”I want him. Like carnally. I knooooow I can be a good girl for him. I would let that man do anything to me. I want to give my utter and complete devotion to him as he ruins me. I want him to like its a need to breathe. He lives in my head rent free!” You whined.

”I don’t go a single night without touching myself to his voice. Its like velvet. I imagine how he would growl in my ear as he watch me tease myself. Pouring out praise and degrading words as I whine for his dick…oooohhh his dick I know its big I just know it. I need him inside me. To fill me with his cum. To carve my pussy to his shape and make me lose my mind. I think about being his willingly. I don’t need a deal to give him my soul” you trailed off. You hadn’t realized you were ranting. The very confession had your face flushed, thighs clenching at the thought of your fantasy coming true.

You laughed, shaking our head “I guess that’s a sin? Having lustful thoughts about some one? I didn’t really think anything of it but it felt good to admit that to something. people would think I’m crazy…fantasizing about the Radio Demon knocking the coins out of me hahaha”

You took a deep breathe and emerged from the curtain, feeling a bit better for confessing your darkest desires.

Alastor had a wide Cheshire smile on his face. Listening to the hotel’s residents secrets and woes gave him a sense of entertainment.

 Your confession about the red demon was very interesting.

Alastor’s mind had formed a very detailed picture of your confession.

You, doe-eyed and wanton as you whined for his cock. He would make you beg him to fuck you. To ruin you.

You shaking from overstimulation and covered in his cum flashed in his mind.

He chuckled darkly at the thought, Oh what a pretty pet you will make.

And who would he be if he didn’t make you sweet little fantasy a reality?

[villainscharm]

a witch’s touch | benjicot blackwood x witch! fem reader

: What would your lords think now when they hear rumours of what their fearsome lord Blackwood did to the captured witch?

: They won’t be hearing rumours of me when I will be making the entire fucking Raventree hearing it by their own ears.

a/n : in this story he will be lord of Raventree Hall, therefore I will be calling him Benjicot here. (characters are of age)

rating : explicit. mdni !!

words count : 3k.

warnings : smut. oral sex (f receiving). p in v sex. religious beliefs/witches seen as evil. slight use of seduction magic. fancast benjicot. also not really proofread.

“My lord, we’ve been informed of a crossing from Bracken land to ours,” a knight rode hurriedly to the training yard, where his lordship usually was. Benjicot spent most of his time here with his fellow lord Tully, but today seemed to be only just himself. “A strange woman dressed in a black cloak disguising herself. We’ve caught her now,” the knight continued as his lord’s attention shifted from the sword to himself.

“Is she a Bracken? I did not know their lords are fool enough to let their lady wander into the wrong place.” Benjicot raised an eyebrow at him. It was known that the Blackwood and Bracken were never at peace. Such things as going between the border as one pleased could cause fatal damage to either houses. While sons were warned not to cross them, daughters were locked within the walls of their home. Benjicot wondered if this woman they caught was some craven lord’s daughter. If so, he must be shitting himself as of now.

“We’re not sure, my lord. She would not speak,” the knight answered uncertainty. “Where is she now?” if the woman was actually a Bracken lady, she must be hosted well as her title – even in Blackwood land. When the knight told him that she was still held at the border. Benjicot ordered her brought to the Raventree Hall at once, and let the servants know to ready her chamber, also guarded.

When the realm was at war, nothing was worth the risk. Especially when both houses stood on opposite sides of war. House Blackwood had pledged their loyalty to queen Rhaenyra. While house Bracken pledged theirs to king Aegon. The usurper. Benjicot had called him.

While Benjicot went to change himself into more proper clothing, the lady was brought inside. But before he could go to the hall where she was held, an old lord approached him. “Forgive me my lord, I assumed you were going to meet that woman in the hall?” the old lord said carefully in a low tone, “Yes, I am. Has she spoken yet?” Benjicot asked him as they both walked together. “Not yet my lord, but I may know something of her,” this time Benjicot casted him a questioning look, waiting for the old man to continue his sentence. “This lady, they say she’s a witch my lord,”

Benjicot’s eyebrow frowned further at that, “A witch? and who are they exactly my lord?” he pressed, his old lord no longer held eye contact with him. Afraid of admitting his beliefs of rumours among the people of riverlands. “When she was caught, they found numerous kinds of plants and herbs inside her bags. She refused to let it be taken from her.”

“Herbs,” Benjicot almost scoffed, “You’re telling me that carrying herbals simply means one a witch, my lord?” The old lord said nothing as he lowered his head. Benjicot shook his head as he walked past the old man, marching through the hall where the lady was held. As the large wooden door opened, there she was. Stood in the middle of the large hall by herself, with one knight guarding behind her of course. Her cloak still hung over her shoulder, covering most of her face. Benjicot approached closer and tried to take a look at her face. Eventually the woman noticed his stare and lowered her cover.

When he finally saw her face, his jaw slightly agape. There stood the woman before him, though her face was covered in some dirt as of now. Benjicot could not deny her beauty beneath the dust. Is this the woman who was called a witch? But how could he know? Witches tended to be seductive and stayed pretty by their magic.

“Do you know who I am?” Benjicot began, carefully studying her face. The woman cleared her throat before answering. “That I know, your name is Benjicot Blackwood,” her voice came out so dry that Benjicot almost forgot the state of her now. He made a note for food and water to be fetched to her after the conversation was done – if she remained breathing. Her gaze low, not because of fear, but of uninterest. “A witch, my lord, we covered her eyes when she’s brought here!” the guard behind her spoke abruptly, so eager for his lord’s command to rid her off. Earning a questioning look from Benjicot. This was the second person who told him about the woman in front. Although he was raised as a religious man and well aware of darkness outside. He found the situation hard to believe as there was war going on. An encounter with a witch was the last thing that could happen in his opinion.

“I can see the bloody sigil on your cloak right now if you're wondering,” her head shot up, her gaze filled with annoyance. Then her eyes locked with the young lord, “My lord,” she spat. Benjicot almost stopped feeling bad for her dry sore throat. But to be honest, he was impressed. Though he did not try to hide that by the curve on the corner of his lips. His gaze flashed to the guard behind her, who was now lowering his head in embarrassment.

“Who are you?” Benjicot asked again, stepping back to sit on the large table. Her face was blank as she gave him no answer. “I’ve been told that you are a witch. Are you?” Benjicot pressed further for an explanation. “I am a woman, my lord. And I am no good to you,” her gaze found him. Benjicot suddenly rose from his spot. Straightening his posture, he approached the so-called witch and circled her carefully. “You expect me to believe that and let you go easily?” he was getting tired of her indirect answers. If she wasn’t a woman, he would have the guard threaten her with a blade for any answer he wished by now.

“I can tell you that I am not a Bracken nor any threats towards you and your men. And I am not a scheme or bait from your enemies in this war,” she spoke more clearly now. Her demeanour changed as she tried to reason with him, and hopefully to be set free sooner or late. “My men found you near the border between Blackwood and Bracken land, how do you explain yourself then?” Benjicot stopped before her, his stare pierced through hers as if it would burn if they kept it too long.

“I went into the woods to find some herbals as you know. The woods are infinite, I could not tell which land is whose and which is not,” she explained. Benjicot found her reasons make sense while he nodded. “I see. And where are you heading to with your herbs?” Benjicot stepped closer, studying her face once more. Ready for her truth or her lies as she would. “To my home, my lord. I am a healer. Times like this are tough, people fall ill and many are injured. The cause of this war,” her last sentence was quiet but not unheard by the lord of Raventree.

Benjicot paused and considered her response briefly. He quickly gazed down to her lips, it was still – not quivering. He believed her. “Very well then. I will let you go – but in the morrow. It’s getting late for you to travel alone,” Benjicot nodded at his guard as he turned to lead the lady to her chamber. But before he could leave to attend to other lordship matters, she quickly grabbed him by the shoulder. Her fingers made a light contact to the skin on his neck, and he faintly heard her voice whisper.

“Then I am grateful for your kindness, my lord.”

While Benjicot was tempted to meet the lady again after supper, he could not yet – due to important matters of war that caught up around him. But he made sure to remember to give her a visit when all was done. In the meantime he had the servants fetch her food and water as he noted, along with clean clothing for her to change into. By the time everything was done planning and discussing, it was already midnight. Benjicot dismissed his lords as the hours grew dark. The rest of the matters shall be continued by morrow. But before he went to do anything, he had one more encounter to get done.

As Benjicot strolled through the hall of Raventree towards the guest chambers where she was, his mind wondered. For some reason, he found the presence of her clouded his mind. Her face, her eyes, her voice. He had shared merely ten minutes with her but somehow she stuck in his mind. As if bewitched. The way she held herself as she spoke. Her spirit was hot and strong as wildfire, spreading all over his mind. Benjicot barely made it through the meeting without barging out to her right the second. She was very intriguing. Whenever he looked into her eyes he found himself being drawn closer, as if it was an invitation.

What have you done to me?

He would hold her face in his palms, searching as he got lost in her eyes.

Would she smirk at him and laugh devilishly? or would she play naive and look at him doe-eyed?

Either way he was doomed.

When approached her chamber, he simply nodded to the knight who guarded her door, signalling him to depart his position for the night. As the man bowed slightly and left, Benjicot knocked lightly on her door. “What do you need?” what do you need? she called, not who are you? Benjicot smiled to himself at her strong-willed nature he had just discovered. “It is me. May I come in, my lady?” Benjicot waited patiently for her permission before entering, which she eventually gave.

“How are you settling in?” Benjicot began as he closed the door behind himself. His eyes observed the surroundings of the room. He saw a dress she once wore on a desk nearby, along with other clean dresses he had fetched for her. “Fine, my lord. I am grateful for your hospitality. Even though your lords disagree with my presence,” she gave him a soft smile, which Benjicot returned one for her. He fazed out for a brief moment at her smile. For once since their encounter, she did not seem to be as relaxed as she was now. The woman who stood in the middle of the hall, who publicly called his man out for being stupid was now trolling jest with him.

“They also told me it was not good for letting you stay here overnight,” Benjicot said, earning a light hum from her. “But I couldn’t let you go after dark. Too much danger out there,” he added. And the smile of the woman before him only grew wider. “Trust me, my lord. There is no danger as fatal as a witch,” she sat down at the chair in front of the fireplace, offering the young lord a seat next to her as their conversation continued.

As he sat down, Benjicot could not help but let his eyes wander to her face. Since the dirt was washed off during her bath he assumed she just had, he only found her beauty even more. Her hair cleaned and no longer was covered beneath the cloak. She let it fall free, still damp for a little from the wash earlier. Then his gaze lowered to the dress she was wearing. A thin white nightwear they had in the cabinet. So thin that it barely gave her any warmth – or covered any part of her breasts. Especially the slight wetness of her hair that had soaked up upon her top. Benjicot silently cursed himself for intruding on such a thing. She noticed his eyes were no longer to her face, and could not help but tease the young lord furthermore by adjusting her position in her seat.

“Has nobody told you that it’s rude to stare, my lord?” she asked with a small curve on the corner of her lips. Benjicot only returned her smirk as he replied. “Forgive me, my lady. But I couldn’t help but wonder how they are calling you a witch, when you clearly possess the beauty of an angel?”

Unexpected. She had not hoped the young lord would give her such compliments. Of course, her touch and her spoken words had seduced him since. But she could feel how true and genuine his words were when his eyes were practically lost in hers. His feelings were true that it broke her spell. The spell she casted only to have him favour her. At a loss of words, she leaned closer to Benjicot. The position gave him a closer and clearer look at both of her face and her hardened nipples underneath the thin fabric. Benjicot felt his mouth dry at the sight.

“If a witch is what I am. Are you afraid of me, lord Benjicot?” hearing his name from her lips was like a challenge. He brought his hand to cup her jaw, bringing her closer to his face. “Why would I be? I faced battles fearlessly. They called me Bloody Ben for a reason. If a witch is what you are, then I am ready for sacrifices,” his lips brushed against hers, not giving in yet. “My name. My house. My worth. I will be yours wholly. My heart, my soul. You may use me as you wish and I’ll worship you with every breath I take.”

Then he kissed her finally, finishing his sentence. Her hands immediately went to pull him closer. The kiss was hot, burning and dangerously good. Their tongues danced as the burning kiss continued. Benjicot felt doomed when their lips touched.

This is it then. I’ve tasted poison and I am doomed for it. Unable to escape, unable to be forgiven.

“Have you bewitched me, hm?” Benjicot pulled her upon his lap as their kiss barely broke apart. She instantly grounded herself on it, earning a low groan from the lord beneath her. “If I did, would you curse me?” she panted out, his lips trailed down to her neck, leaving marks and wet from his lips.

“I would tell you it is no use to bewitch me with your spell when I am already madly with you,” his hands wandered on her back as her soft moans fell out of her soft lips, as sweet as honey for him to taste. “What would your lords think now when they hear rumours of what their fearsome lord Blackwood did to the captured witch?” her voice low as if a whisper. Benjicot let his hands slide up beneath her dress, which he eventually ripped apart, making her yelp in surprise. “I was hoping I could keep that one!” she laughed breathlessly, kissing Benjicot on the corner of his scarred lips. “I’ll give you all of it if you wish. And to answer your question–” Benjicot lifted her up suddenly, carrying her to the tidy-untouched bed before dropping her softly.

“They won’t be hearing rumours of me when I will be making the entire fucking Raventree hearing it by their own ears,” with that his lips crashed hers once again, with passion, with fire, with burning desires, with every bit of a man he was. If a witch she was, then he was ready to be damned. His kisses travelled down to her breasts, where he kissed and sucked on it with all affection, teasing her pretty buds until they perked up. To her stomach, where it fluttered with butterflies insides – and down, down, down until he reached her core. Benjicot planted soft kisses on her skin as he gently spread her legs apart. He looked up at her once before dipping his head into her core as eager as ever.

“Fuck— Benjicot! Please,” and when Benjicot Blackwood thought hearing his name being called out by her was pleasing. Hearing her cry out for his name was like he had gone to heaven and back – back here right between her folds as his tongue worked its way to please her – and gods, how eager was Benjicot to hear more of it.

He devoured her with all his might, licking and sucking it until his breathing became hot. And she thought she was going to run out of breath because of him.

Him. Him. Him.

All she could think of as the pleasure started to build up inside of her. While Benjicot noticed the breathing in her changed, he inserted his index finger inside of her, his tongue teased at her bud. And by how she reacted, he could tell it was a good idea. Her walls clenched around his finger, pulsing and throbbing only for him. Benjicot could not help but groan at the feeling as he could tell she was near her peak.

“Enjoy yourself are you, dear? I could feel it,” he shot his head up briefly to look at her face. Brows frowned, her eyes closed as her pretty voice called out for his name. Begging him to bring her to release, and he obliged just so.

When she came down from her high, she could not think nor say anything. Benjicot then pulled himself up to her face. She could see the glisten of her own wetness coating his lips and chin. The sight was lewd, but neither of them seemed to care as their lips touched. Benjicot pressed himself close to her while her hands started to unbutton his tunic off, leaving his muscled chest bare at her sight. She noticed the scars on his skin. All of it from battles and reminders of his victory as he still breathed above her.

She would save him, if any of it went wrong.

Benjicot took one of her hand and pressed it on the bulge of his breeches. His voice low, dangerous when he whispered in her ears. “Look what you’ve done to me. Could you feel it? My pain, my cock aching for you.” She moaned at the feeling. Benjicot was frustratingly hard above her, and that knowledge fed her with pride. “No, my lord, I could not feel it. You might have to show me then,” her voice matched his and herself matched his nature. Benjicot was sure that the lady beneath him would be the death of him.

Even if he did, only she could save him.

Not wasting any more time, Benjicot unlaced his breeches with help from her. He reached down and grabbed at his cock as he teased her entrance with his angry-red tip. She whined at the sensation, so eager for him as her legs spread wilder on its own, ready to be taken by him and only him. And both of their pleasured-moans matched when he finally entered her.

“Fuck—,” Benjicot groaned, feeling her tight wet cunt throbbing hard around his cock. He gave her a brief moment to adjust to his size. When she gave him a light nod, urging him to move, his pace started soft and slow then eventually hard and fast as he was growing impatient. His dark-lustful eyes watched her face, the way she frowned lightly and eyes almost closed but kept looking at him still. How her cry went high-pitch when he stroked her insides with his every move. With one hand holding her hip, he used the other to hold her face. He wanted to look at her, her witch beauty which possessed his mind.

Grabbing onto his broad shoulder, her nails dug into the skin of his back with overwhelming intensity, leaving trails of red marks down his back. Benjicot moaned at the feeling, pure euphoric rode along the burning pain. He found himself enjoying it more than he should have had. “You’ll be the death of me,” his praise came out as a dark growl in her ears. Rewarding him with the feeling of her sweet cunt clenched around him. “I would rather not be that, lord Benjicot,” she hummed, “They would curse me if so. The entire Riverland will put me at the stake and burn me to the ground— until I’m all but ashes,” her voice low and sweet, music to Benjicot’s ears, he savoured every moment of it.

“If they dare so, I would rise up from death to defend you. I will put all of them to the sword. Sentencing them to meet with the Strangers themselves,” Bloody Ben indeed he was, even death. He worshipped her heartily. He was known as a strong-headed man who bowed to no one. But for her, he was more than ready to give all of his for. Benjicot Blackwood was truly at her mercy.

“Please, Ben..”

His pace quickened as he felt his high approaching. Benjicot could feel hers too, by the way her perfect cunt tightened around him so gracefully and her sweet voice called out for his name. “I want you, Ben, please.” He let his finger reach down to her core and rubbed on the bundle of nerves to help her reach climax. Her eyes glossed in pleasure, her breathing hot and fast. Benjicot kissed her cheek, whispering sweet praises in her eyes as her moans grew louder and her orgasm near.

“That is, my darling girl, come for me— fuck! you feel so good. So perfect for me.”

With a sweet-pleasured cry of his name from her, she finally came. Her cunt wet and tight around his cock, milking him with all its might while he felt his own orgasm hit. Benjicot grunted out her name like prayers on his lips as he spilled himself inside of her. His seed coated her walls until it became too much and leaked down between them.

Benjicot slowly pulled his softened cock out of her and she whined at the loss of contact. Both wished they could stay like that forever. Carefully, Benjicot reached for her ripped nightgown to clean up the mess he left between her legs before throwing it on the floor when finished, and dropped himself beside her.

“Are you alright?” he asked with his arms wrapped around her as she moved closer, their skin covered with a thin layer of sweat as he mindlessly stroked his fingertips on her scalps. “More than ever,” she replied with a pleasing smile on her face before he kissed the crown of her head assuredly. “Happy that you are.” Benjicot felt her soft lips on his shoulder then, her kisses planted all over the scars on his chest and her fingertips gently stroked ones on his back that she could not reach.

“An overnight is no good idea indeed,” Benjicot started, earning a questioning look from the woman in his arms. “So I will let you stay longer than just one. How everlong as you wish,” he flashed her a smile, welcoming under the care of himself. “As I wish, lord Benjicot?” she teased him with a small tucked on the corner of her lips. “How about I then?” Benjicot kissed her, pulling her closer to the warmth of his hold. As they both laid there, comfortable silence surrounded, Benjicot eventually found himself drifting away with her breathing sang him to sleep. But before he was completely out, he could hear her faint voice whisper to him — of what he could not tell.

When morning came, Benjicot found himself alone in the bed. The spot next to him, where his lady once lay, now empty. As he reached for his breeches on the floor he noticed the skin of his own hand. Flawless with no scars as well as those ones on his chest and his back. Though, only fresh red marks which trailed down still remained — a reminder of their once shared intimacy.

[idkyetxoxo]

Davos Blackwood - The Realm's Beloved

Summary - Known for her kindness she often finds herself at the mercy of others' harshness. Yet, there's a unique comfort in knowing that with a man like Davos by her side, whose fierce protectiveness balances her gentleness, she's shielded from the world's cruelty.

Pairing - Davos Blackwood x Velaryon reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2260

Masterlist for Davos • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

My mother was celebrated across the kingdom with the esteemed title of "The Realm's Delight," a testament to her exceptional charm. 

In a similar vein, I earned the endearing nickname "The Realm's Beloved," recognized for my unwavering kindness and the warmth I brought that seemed to brighten even the coldest hearts.

In a world that often feels harsh and unyielding, I was known far and wide as a beacon of positivity and genuine affection, a true sweetheart who could bring a glimmer of light into even the darkest corners.

This very reputation was why my mother found herself in a difficult dilemma. She was torn between her desire to keep me safe and the decision to send me to the Riverlands to assess the progress being made there.

"I can make a difference," I said, hoping to reassure her. Gently, she sighed and tenderly stroked my cheek.

"I can explore whether the houses are willing to pledge their support," I continued, my voice steady despite the gravity of the situation.

"I know, my sweet girl," she murmured, her voice laden with both affection and concern. "I don't doubt your ability."

"We need every ounce of support we can muster in the Riverlands," I persisted. "Cole is already marching, seeking the backing of the various houses."

She sighed deeply and closed her eyes, clearly overwhelmed by the weight of our circumstances.

"I am willing to offer myself," I said firmly, causing her eyes to snap open in alarm. "I am still unbetrothed and without a marriage contract, my hand could serve as a bargaining chip."

My mother's eyes filled with tears as she looked at me, her emotions a mixture of pride and sorrow. She struggled with the notion of sacrificing her beloved daughter in the hopes of securing crucial support. 

The sacrifice I was prepared to make only deepened her anguish, highlighting the difficult choices we faced in our time of need.

Her gaze softened, but the weight of the decision remained palpable. With a gentle shake of her head, she responded, "We do not need to speak of such things yet. I would not ask that of you, my dear."

Her voice was tender, but there was an unmistakable firmness beneath it. She took a deep breath, struggling to keep her emotions in check, and then pulled me into a heartfelt embrace. 

Her arms enveloped me in a warm, protective cocoon as if she were trying to shield me from the harsh realities that lay ahead.

As she held me, her breath was steady but her heart was heavy. 

"You are so precious to me," she murmured into my hair, her voice trembling slightly. "Your safety and well-being are paramount. We will find another way, a way that doesn't require you to make such a sacrifice."

That conversation was precisely what led me to where I now stood amidst the windswept field on the border between the Brackens' and Blackwoods' lands.

The air was thick with tension, crackling with the unspoken animosities of two houses whose rivalry spanned generations. Whispers had reached us that both were eager for a fight, itching to reignite their ancient feud. 

If they did, we stood to lose hundreds of good men, lives that could not be easily replaced in these turbulent times.

As I surveyed the scene, my thoughts were interrupted by the sharp voice of a Bracken knight, his eyes narrowing as he approached me and the Blackwood men who had been accompanying me.

"Your beast has scorched one of our fields, a field full of livestock and supplies, all belonging to House Bracken," he accused, his tone laced with disdain.

I turned to him, my brows knitting together in confusion. 

"Pardon me?" I asked, seeking clarity even as a cold unease settled in my chest. 

My mother would have been furious if she knew how close I was to members of a house that had so openly declared for the usurper.

"Your dragon has ruined our land," he repeated, his voice harsher this time. I sighed softly.

"I apologize," I said calmly, trying to defuse the situation. "Please provide me with a list of what has been damaged, and I will ensure you are compensated, twice the amount owed for the sake of peace."

Instead of gratitude, the knight scoffed, his expression contorting with contempt. "We don't want your filthy coin," he spat, the venom in his voice unmistakable.

I tilted my head slightly, contemplating his words, my mind searching for a way to navigate the situation. 

"Then I am at a loss," I began, keeping my tone measured and diplomatic. "Perhaps you could tell me what it is you desire," I continued, allowing a small, disarming smile to touch my lips. 

I hoped that a bit of kindness might help ease the tension, but instead, it only seemed to embolden the men behind him.

"Aye, she's asking what we want," one of the Bracken men jeered, his voice dripping with a crude insinuation that I didn't immediately understand. His eyes flashed with something that made me uneasy, but I pressed on, still trying to maintain the peace.

I blinked in confusion, glancing back at the Blackwood men who were accompanying me. I searched their faces for understanding, but their expressions were tight, their eyes clouded with anger. 

The Bracken men, emboldened by my apparent naivety, began to laugh amongst themselves, their snickers growing louder and more lewd with each passing moment.

"Maybe she'll offer us a different kind of payment," one of the knights muttered, his gaze sliding over me in a way that made my stomach churn. 

His tone was suggestive, the implication hanging heavily in the air, though I struggled to grasp its full meaning.

"Aye, why settle for coin when we could have something sweeter?" one of them added, his voice low. His eyes gleamed with a dark amusement, and I could feel their gazes burning into me, stripping away the layers of diplomacy I had tried to maintain.

The air around us grew thick with their crude insinuations, and I felt a cold knot of dread forming in my stomach. 

They weren't just dismissing my offer, they were taunting me, mocking me with vile suggestions that I was only beginning to comprehend. 

My smile faltered, and a flush of embarrassment began to creep up my neck as the realization of their meaning hit me.

"You've got a pretty mouth for a princess," one of the men murmured, his eyes dark with something that made my skin crawl. "Maybe you should use it to beg, hm? Might be more persuasive."

They were only interested in humiliating me, in making sport of my kindness.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay calm despite the bile rising in my throat. 

"If there is something specific you seek," I began again, my voice strained but still steady, "I am willing to listen."

The Bracken men only laughed louder, their crude amusement ringing out across the field. 

"Oh, she's willing, lads," one of them said, his tone heavy with insinuation as he stepped closer.

"Aye," another one chimed in, his grin widening as he took a step closer as well. "I'd say we're more than willing to negotiate... in private."

Before he could get any closer, one of the Blackwood men, Davos, who had been silently observing stepped forward, his expression dark with fury. 

"That's enough!" he thundered, his voice cutting through their laughter like a crack of thunder. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, and his eyes blazed with anger as he glared at them.

"You will not speak to her like that," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. There was a steel in his tone that left no room for argument, and the Bracken men's laughter died in their throats.

The knight who had spoken last faltered, his bravado wavering under Davos's fierce gaze. "We were only having a bit of fun," he muttered, trying to laugh it off, but Davos was unmoved.

"You call that fun?" Davos snapped, his voice cold. 

"Mocking a lady, a princess at that? Disrespecting the queen's blood?" His hand tightened on his sword hilt, and for a moment, it seemed as if he might draw it. 

"You will apologize, and then you will leave," he commanded, his tone brooking no dissent.

The first knight, emboldened by the tension and perhaps the madness of his own arrogance, straightened his back, standing tall with a defiant sneer.

"No, we will not," he spat, his voice filled with disdain. "The false queen's blood means nothing to us," he added, his words sharp and cruel.

The mention of my mother in such a disrespectful way sent a pang of sorrow through my heart, a deep sadness that these men could speak so callously of her.

Before I could respond, before I could even process the insult fully, Davos, stepped forward, his expression dark with wrath. 

"Then I will cut through you," he growled, his voice low and dangerous, every word dripping with lethal intent.

Before any of us could act, the sound of powerful wings flapping echoed through the air, followed by a deep, rumbling growl that made the ground beneath us tremble. 

The sky darkened for a moment as the massive form of Silverwing, my dragon, descended from the heavens, her silver scales shimmering as she landed beside us with a thunderous impact.

The Bracken knights, who had just been brimming with arrogance and disrespect, suddenly froze, their faces drained of colour as they stared up at the towering dragon. 

Silverwing, sensing the hostility in the air, let out a roar so fierce and primal that it shook the very ground beneath our feet. The sound reverberated through the air, a terrifying, bone-chilling noise that sent the Bracken men stumbling back in fear, their bravado shattered in an instant.

Silverwing's eyes, sharp and intelligent, locked onto the Bracken knights, her maw opening slightly to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth. Her growl deepened, the sound vibrating in the air, promising swift retribution if they dared take another step toward me.

The men, who had moments ago been mocking and leering, were now trembling, their eyes wide with terror as they realized the full magnitude of what they had provoked. 

Some of them clutched at their swords, but their hands shook so badly they were unable to draw them.

I stepped forward, placing a hand gently on Silverwing's massive flank. The dragon, sensing my presence, turned her great head toward me, her eyes softening ever so slightly as she recognized me.

"Lykirī," I whispered, my voice firm but soothing, as I stroked her scales. Calm

Silverwing snorted, as she obeyed, her growl subsiding into a low rumble. Her body, which had been tensed and ready to strike, relaxed slightly under my touch, though her eyes never left the Bracken knights, who were now too terrified to move.

The tension in the air shifted as the Bracken men realized they were entirely at our mercy. Their arrogance had dissolved into pure, unadulterated fear, and they stood there, trembling, not daring to make a sound.

"You will apologize," Davos reiterated, his voice now cutting through the silence with a cold edge. "And then you will leave."

The lead Bracken knight, his earlier defiance utterly gone, swallowed hard, his face pale. 

"We... we meant no harm, princess," he stammered, his voice shaking as he finally understood the gravity of his situation. "We apologize. Truly, we do."

"Indeed," Davos said, not lowering his gaze or the tension in his stance. "Leave now, while you still can."

Without another word, the Bracken knights turned and fled. They stumbled over themselves in their haste to escape, casting terrified glances back at Silverwing, who watched them with a predatory gleam in her eyes.

As they disappeared from sight, I turned back to Silverwing, continuing to stroke her flank, my heart pounding in my chest.

Davos approached, his stern expression softening into concern as he met my gaze. 

"Are you all right, Princess?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine care that eased the tension in my heart.

I nodded, though the weight of the encounter still hung heavily on my shoulders. 

"Yes, thank you," I replied quietly, my gratitude extending beyond his mere intervention. There was something comforting in his presence, something that made me feel safe.

Davos tilted his head, his gaze unwavering as he studied my face. 

"You're too kind," he murmured, a hint of admiration in his tone. "Letting them go after what they said... after how they treated you. They deserved more than just a fright."

I sighed softly, my hand still stroking Silverwing's side. "And you, Ser Davos, are the exact opposite," I said, a small, tired smile tugging at my lips. "You would have cut them down without a second thought."

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, and he shook his head slightly, his expression lightening. 

"Perhaps," he admitted, his eyes twinkling with a touch of mischief. "But opposites attract, don't they?"

His words caught me off guard, and I felt a sudden warmth spread across my cheeks. The simple, teasing remark sent a flutter through my heart, and I looked away quickly, hoping he wouldn't notice the blush that had crept up my neck.

"Perhaps," I echoed, my voice barely above a whisper, still not meeting his gaze. I could feel his eyes on me, and it only made the blush deepen.

The sincerity in his voice, the way he looked at me as if I were the only person in the world, made my heart swell with emotions I hadn't expected, emotions that whispered of a future where we were more than just princess and knight, but something far deeper, something destined.

A/n - Black cat and golden retriever but the golden retriever also has a dragon who's known to be docile and friendly to strangers how befitting!

[tieronecrush]

BNBG (brand new baby girl)

frankie morales x curvy OF/cam girl f!reader

summary: frankie has been needing distractions from a hurdle in his sobriety, so he ventures to his frequented subscription service platform to take his mind off things. he sees the title of your page, intrigued immediately, and dives deep into your content. catching your attention on a livestream with his confident commands, frankie becomes infatuated with you and an avid viewer before he decides to DM you one day...and then ends up with a brand new baby girl.

wc: 11k

rating: E (very)

warnings: daddy kink!! **cover does not depict anything about the reader, simply vibes of softness**, vague descriptions of reader's body (plush, thick, curves, soft, etc. no definite descriptors used otherwise. picture her as you want but she is mid to plus size in my head 🫶), no age specified (only that reader started out of college, no specifications of when she went to school), discussions of addiction & drug use, childless frankie au, sex work, sex livestream, consumption of porn, unestablished relationship, online relationship, pet names (conejita, baby, babygirl, pequeña, bunny, etc.), gratuitous descriptions of frankie's dick, SMUT, male masturbation, female masterbation, sex toys, both frankie & reader have thoughts about the other (unprotected piv, fingering, oral, etc.), major dirty talk, d/s dynamics, some fluff sprinkled in <3, this might be lowkey problematic that frankie uses porn to cope (esp reader's porn) buuuuut hopefully it's hot

a/n: cover design & dividers by me 💋 this is an unhinged daydream of mine, hope y'all enjoy! huge thank you to my besties @kiwisbell and @northernbluess for beta-reading 💓

The time on Frankie’s phone screen turns over to well past midnight. Bedroom pitched black save for the blue light illuminating his face as he scrolls on Instagram, unable to fall asleep from thoughts stirring. He wants to scratch the itch — to pick at the scab that’s been growing in his brain for over a year. Temptation runs hot in his veins. A craving, deep in his gut. A strong inhale or the rub of his fingertip against his gums. It would be fast.  And it would only last less than half an hour — he could manage it one more time, he was sober enough for that, wasn’t he? He indulges himself in other aspects now: drinking, food, lax with his once regimented workout routine.

Frankie can hear the voice of his sponsor, the one he listens to speak at his weekly meetings in the musty church hall. Sure, his sponsor’s got valuable advice for him, having been sober for decades now, but he can’t relate to Frankie. Not really. He doesn’t know the level of temptation he’s consistently faced with, doesn’t know the fucked up shit he’s seen that got him into the substance in the first place.

His sponsor tells him to get into meditation. That it helps him turn his brain off when he has a craving, redirecting the energy into himself and crushing the aching want for it. Or some spiritual bullshit that Frankie doesn’t understand.

And besides, he’s found his own means of meditation.

Exiting the social media app, he opens his browser and types in the website. The light of the phone illuminates his face enough for his saved login to work, bringing him into his plane of piety. Where he escapes at least three times a week, late nights like now and the occasional mid-afternoon or morning on his desperate days off. When the urge is too strong. When he’s formulating a plan of how to get his hands on a tiny baggie, he loses himself — distracts his brain here.

Scrolling through his usual subscriptions, nothing seems to be hitting the spot. One hand grips his phone, thumb gliding along the screen, while the other cups his hard-on through his boxers, palming himself as he searches for something to get off to.

That’s when he sees it — the perfect combination of words that draws him in by the title. Clicking the page, he’s quick to pledge his monthly amount, eager to get access to all that lies beyond the paywall. And what he’s greeted with, pulls a sigh from his lips in the quiet room, his large hand squeezing his cock through the thin fabric elasticated around his waist. 

“Fuck…” he mumbles to himself when he sees that there’s a live stream happening. A cosmic intervention for him, he thinks, a sign that he’s meant to satiate his vices with this.

With you.

The screen changes to a vertical view of you in front of the camera, iPhone seemingly propped up against something while you sit on your mattress. It’s so…delicate and soft. Those are the words he can think of to describe the backdrop that he takes in quickly. Billowing white comforter on your bed, pillows surrounding you. The first thought he has is that it looks like a bed he could easily sleep in — much more inviting than his. There are touches of blush pink, sky blue, and more. A complete rainbow of desaturated colors.

It all compliments you. Centered in the frame, the next sound you make drags his eyes back to your form as you move around. Another squeeze to his cock draws a longer sigh from his lips as he combs across the view of your body, scantily clad in a thong and a bra covered in cherries. The cups of the bra push up the weight of your breasts, spilling over the edge. His tongue runs across his lips to wet them, a new craving ravaging his mouth as he wonders what you would taste like with the skin of your tits dampened by his saliva.

The rest of your body is as softly lined and curving as your chest, waist swooping into your hips as you sit on your knees in front of the camera. Thick thighs spread with the press of your calves into the back of them, the inside of them meeting at the apex and providing cover for what he so badly wants to be shown. There’s a line of your stomach above the waist of your panties, supple skin glistening. Delicious, is all he can think to himself. You look so fucking delicious that it floods his mouth with saliva, enough that he feels the overwhelming need to push his boxers down, freeing his hard cock to rest against his stomach until he’s spitting into his palm and starting a slow, languid pace.

The grain of his palm drags against the length of his cock as he keeps a steady flick of his wrist. Not too fast, but not achingly slow. Enough to start stoking the burning coals in the pit of his stomach as he watches you on the small rectangular screen. Puffs of hot air leave his mouth, his jaw hanging open while he watches you shift to reach for something out of frame, the first look at your ass gifted to him. Rounded swell of curves with the fabric of your thong dipping between them. The slight jiggle of your cheeks makes Frankie moan quietly, taking the briefest moment to picture that same ripple in your skin from him fucking you from behind.

“Shit…” he grumbles under his breath, minorly increasing the pressure of his grip to squeeze his cock as his hand moves, desperate to mimic the feeling of someone — apparently you, despite not knowing anything close to your name.

Skin on skin catches on the base of his dick and he exhales sharply with his teeth bared, opening his palm to spit once again. It’s not enough, but he continues the slide of his wrist as he sets his phone down on the mattress briefly, reaching over to his nightstand, pausing once again to dispense a pump of lotion into the palm of his right hand. Wrapping the moistened hand around his cock again, he starts a faster pace before slowing down to drag out his pleasure longer.

Returning into the frame fully, he sees your face for the first time and coughs as his open-mouthed inhale seizes in his throat. His fingers circle the base of his cock, squeezing hard as he takes in your face. Perfectly primped with a layer of makeup, but he can tell you’ve got the kind of beauty that wouldn’t ever need changing or enhancing — effortless. Velvety skin, as silky as the rest of your body but with an added glow. Bright eyes that are shining with mischief and want, and a smirk that’s as playful; he finds himself shutting his eyes again, for a few lazy strokes as he pictures that face, and your plush, pliable body, on your knees in front of him. Eagerly awaiting his cock to fill your mouth.

Fuck, you’re really doing a number on him tonight. He needed this. His desperation for a high of any kind coats his open mouth with each labored breath.

Focused back on his phone, you show off the treasure that you dug for off-camera. A lilac vibrator, one that fits the length of your hand, with a swell of size rounded off at the tip and tapered in at the end. Leaning closer to your camera, Frankie groans when your tits bounce, spilling out of your bra with a tiny nip slip that he catches immediately. And it only makes him want to see more.

“Mm, c’mon, pretty girl, show me something here. M’fuckin’ dying…Necesito la distracción (I need the distraction),” Frankie speaks toward the screen, feeling pathetic as he barters with you in the one-way system.

As if you heard his pleas, you adjust your position, laying back on the mountain of pillows to prop yourself up and letting one leg fall open. Even in the lowered lighting of the room you’re in, presumably your bedroom, he can make out the wet patch covering your folds. He finds himself wondering if the act of getting off in front of a camera, in front of people watching live, is what gets you wet. Or if you have a fluffer like he’s heard they do in porn.

He’d wanna be your fluffer.

Or maybe he’d want to be the one to fuck you in the porno. At least both of you’d get to finish then.

“Think I need someone who knows better than me to tell me what they wanna see.” Your voice is saccharine, the slight fry in your voice jolts his hips into his hand, mumbles of curses slipping from his lips. “Anybody have any suggestions for me, chat?”

A low hum starts when you press the button of the vibrator in your hand, spreading your knees further to open your core to the view of the camera completely. Your opposite hand to the toy hooks into the crotch of your thong, pulling the small bit of fabric, practically a string with the amount it’s covering.

Frankie’s mouth waters as the speed of his hand picks up, the grip of his fingers not nearly as satisfying as the clench of a pussy, but he’ll make do. He has been for a year; you know what they say, no relationships for the first year sober. That, and he couldn’t find anyone that could take his mind off of coke long enough for him to get it up. So eventually he just let it be.

Now, though, he’s painfully hard. The quick movements of his hand send a shock of pleasure up to his brain, veins contracting with the extra effort to keep the blood supply to his cock. Thumb brushes over his tip, mixing in his precum with the other lubrication, a hiss from behind his teeth shot out from the stimulation. His gaze is glued onto his rectangular screen, huffing out deep breaths while you press the vibrator against your clit. There’s a quiver in your thighs that he notices, as if this is your first touch after teasing yourself, or someone else teasing you. Sensitive already.

Biting your lip, your eyes scan the screen as you read aloud, “FiveFingersAtFreddys said ‘Take your bra off please.’ Well, actually he said ‘Take your tits out�� but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, dude, and say that you actually do have good manners.”

He laughs, and it’s a first for him. Laughing at someone’s jokes as he jerks off, alone.

You comply with the request, taking the vibrator away from your clit to reach around and unclasp your bra. Tossing the material aside, you lean back into the pillows again and the next sight nearly makes Frankie come right then and there until he takes his hand away completely. Laid out, legs open and fingers pulling your panties aside, vibrator pushing into your clit and driving a high-pitched moan from your lips. All while you're bare from the waist up, cushioned torso melting into your heavy tits, pert nipples bringing them to a point. The form of a Greek classics statue, one with fleshy outlines carved impeccably from marble.

“La obra maestra (A masterpiece)…” Frankie whispers to himself, the squelch of his lotioned hand working his hard length bringing him back into his body, a moan slipping from his mouth.

“I think I need someone else to tell me how I should play with myself. M’so wet, jus’ wanna touch myself but I don’t know where to start. All seems like—like it’s going to feel so good,” you stutter out when your hips buck against the vibrator, a whimper echoing from your chest as you turn your attention to the chat again, awaiting intriguing instructions.

Maybe it’s sexual frustration, maybe it’s pathetic. Maybe it’s the intense fucking craving to replace his need for coke high with a need for an orgasm, but for whatever reason chosen, Frankie finds himself clicking on the comment box with his thumb, typing wildly with one finger. He takes a second to read it for spelling errors before he presses send. Too lost in it all now to care.

Your eyes perk up, smirk growing on your face when you read the influx of chat replies. One must have caught your eye because the vibrator is being left to the side again. Fingers hook into the waist of your panties, slowly pulling them off as you read aloud the comment that caught your attention.

“There’s a new name I see here…Maybe we should do what you want, Mr. FlyingFish. Consider it a welcome gift from me to you.” His heart is pounding in his chest, hand gripping tighter and twisting around his dick as he fucks his fist, mumbles of curses spilling out as he listens to you repeat what he desperately typed not a minute prior. It sounds dirtier coming from you, despite his best efforts at politeness, “You said ‘Please show off how many of your little fingers fit into your pretty pussy. Think a pretty girl like you deserves to fuck her fingers…’ Alright, FlyingFish, you’ve got me blushin’ from that request and that is difficult to do, sir. Thank you for calling me a pretty girl. I promise I’m smart, too. I’ll be sure to count ‘em for you.”

One finger slips into your dripping entrance easily, the other hand reaching for the vibrator and replacing it at your clit while your finger starts to fuck shallowly, “One finger…”

Whines of frustration crack over his small speakers before a bigger moan falls from your lips, a second finger slid into you alongside the first, “Oh, fuck…That’s two. Mm, how am I doin’? FlyingFish, d’you think I can get another?”

Frankie’s wrist flicks rapidly now, the direct address to him driving him mad as the sounds of his arm slapping against his stomach and thigh clap in his room and cut into the sounds your pussy is making as you get yourself off. He types as quickly as he can, strings of curses flowing from his mouth as the heat of his desire burns red hot inside of him. He’s so fucking close but he wants to watch you fall apart at the same time. Wants to be the reason you come.

“Oh, shit—you’ve got a mouth, FlyingFish. ‘I’d hope you can take another, otherwise, you couldn’t take my cock.’ Is that a promise, Fish? You saying you got a big dick for me to take?” 

You whimper and he’s edging himself, squeezing hard to stay together when you inadvertently use his call sign. The closest thing you have to his name, and all he can think about is you screaming it while he’s fucking you. He wants to tell you it’s a promise only if you follow through, indulging in the fantasy of actually getting to touch you only for a moment. But instead, his attention is completely drawn to a third finger stretching your cunt in full view of the camera, your wanton moans popping in his speakers and driving his forearm to burn with the strain of muscle as he attempts to fist his cock even harder.

“Fuckfuckfuck…Come for me, baby, please fucking come on those fingers,” he begs no one but himself, a blinding white heat licking the entire inside of his body as he balances on the edge. Waiting for you to fall first.

“Oh my god, fuck…” The last word is drawn out, pitching up at the end as your fingers fuck faster, squelching sounds of your wetness flooding his mouth as his brain pleads for a taste of your cunt. “I don’t think—I don’t think I can get a fourth. M’gonna fucking come—ah! Oh, fuck me, Fish…”

You barely whisper his name, or at least what is his name to you, but it’s singlehandedly what punches out his guttural moan, ropes of warm, sticking spend coating his hand as he keeps moving and spilling onto his stomach. It’s prolonged, the tension in his calves relaxing after he spills the most come he has in a while.

Airy, light, a rush of blood back to his head has his whole body tingling with a high. Satiating his cravings from earlier, dissolving the want, the need, for anything of the sort. Instead, it’s replaced with thoughts of you — the image of you laying fucked out on his phone, adding his own touch of imagination when he closes his eyes to see you as you are but covered with his come the same way he is. Normally, this is when the smallest bit of shame crawls up his spine and sits at the nape of his neck, but instead, he melts into warmth. Faced with your smile as you sit up and lean over toward the camera again, laughing to yourself as you end the live.

“Um, if you’re still here, thanks for that FlyingFish. Felt fucking good…And to everyone else, I’ll stream again on Monday night, same time as always. Night, everyone. Have a good weekend.” All he hears before the sound cuts out is your excited giggles, the brightness of your post-orgasm joy stretching a smile across your face. He’s faced with a black screen, staring back at himself in the reflection with the shit-eating, smug grin he has on his face.

Now he’s got plans for Monday night.

Frankie hasn’t been able to get you out of his head. He’s hooked. Images of your sloping curves flash behind his eyes on the days when you’re not available to watch, his hips fucking his fist in bed, the shower, even on his couch with the blinds all open because he was that needy. Thoughts of you replaced his thoughts of the white powder, chasing after the different high he’s gifted by your voice, your body — all through a screen.

He’s caught himself rasping affections as he pictures you, hissed compliments as he comes and imagining what he’d say if you were in front of him. Letting him use your mouth or your cunt. He’s even gotten into a habit of imagining his head between your legs; the hardest he came is the one time he pictured you sitting on his face and all of the pretty sounds you’d make for him. Fuck, cariño, that’s so good. Mm, bonita, you’re such a good girl. Love doin’ what you’re told, don’t you, baby?

The fact that he doesn’t even know your name but is this infatuated isn’t lost on him. He knows he has an addictive personality, but this feels different. Like he was meant to find you for some reason. His sponsor would tell him it’s a call from the universe that this is all part of his ‘journey to sobriety’, but really, he just thinks that you’re fucking hot. And the tiniest part of him thinks you might like him watching too, even though you have no idea who he is.

Each time he watches you live, his thumb taps across the keyboard, responding to your requests and even adding in some encouragement. Virtually having conversations with you, he quickly became a frequent flyer (your joke, not his). You listen to him. Like the sweet girl that you are. Taking his suggestions — his demands when you beg — and showing off for him, a whimpering mess when he’s done with you.

At times, it feels like he’s the only one watching, or at least the only one that matters to you. With the amount of times his username falls from your lips, it’s easy to fall into a bubble of you and him. You’ve picked up the habit of referring to him as ‘Fish’ and it’s driven him mad, the closest thing to his name that he’ll hear you say. You give him material to think back about for days after. I love a man that knows what he wants, Fish. You can boss me around, Fishie. I always know what you tell me to do is gonna feel so fucking good.

All of this over the last few weeks has built up his courage, which is why he finds himself sitting on his couch with your profile open, the sun barely set outside. A random baseball game plays on his TV, but his focus is completely on his phone, writing and deleting a DM to you about ten times.

It has to be right. Friendly, but not stalker-ish. Flirty, but not creepy. Commanding enough to get your attention among what he imagines are countless messages in your inbox.

After another good ten minutes drafting a message, his thumb hovers over the ‘Send’ button for a few seconds. Squeezing his eyes closed, he lowers his finger and hits the button, anxiety washing over him as he opens his eyes to stare at the blue bubble.

No going back now.

Standing at the stove, water boils over the side of the pot while you pour in the uncooked pasta noodles. A few drops hit your skin, mumbles of curses leaving your lips, “Fucking shit!”

You stir the pasta before reaching for the nearest kitchen towel to wipe the once-scalding water off of your hand. A deep sigh exhales, relaxing your shoulders as the ding of a notification draws your attention to your phone lying on the marble countertop next to you.

What you find on your lock screen sends a shock of excitement down your spine, the warmth of anticipation radiating around your body to tingle your fingers and toes.

[Direct Message:] FlyingFish

Quick to swipe up, the device unlocks with a scan of your face and opens a new notification when you click on it with your thumb. Subconsciously, your opposite thumb has ended up between your teeth, biting down on the skin as you hold back an eager grin while you wait for his message to load.

You’ve never had this reaction to a message before, actually, it was usually the opposite. Rolling your eyes, ignoring the men until the last moment. Only responding to keep them enticed and subscribed — all of which keeps more money in your pocket. That’s really why you started this whole thing anyway.

FlyingFish:

Hey

A puff of air exhales through your nose, a chuckle cutting the otherwise silent kitchen. Shaking your head to yourself, you can’t help but smile at your screen. Heartbeat fluttering, you internally kick yourself for having such a reaction to such a simple message. Not even knowing who this person is, you find yourself typing back a response.

Hey there Fish

Guess I never actually asked if I could call you that

You turn back to your task at hand, continuing to cook your dinner and attempting to put out of your mind all of your assumptions about this person messaging you. You’d guess it’s a guy, an educated inference based on the demographics of your audience, but everything else is a complete mystery. The one time he insinuated he had a big dick stuck in your mind, and based on his behavior, you’d like to assume he isn’t lying. An image of a man sticks out to you each time you whimper his nickname, on camera and that handful of times off camera and alone: tall, solid, and strong. Brunette, only because that’s your type. Rough hands and commanding touches. Someone to bend your stubborn will into submission. He’s confident, at least through the chat, and he seems to know what he’s talking about. Each time you see his username pop up, you can feel yourself start to get wetter. Since you started this whole gig, there hasn’t been anyone quite like him. It’s always people asking for more for them — Show us your tits. Say my name. Turn around so we can see your ass.

But with him, it’s the opposite. He asks for more for you, which you guess is what he gets off to, not that you mind. Bet one more finger would feel even better for you, baby. Curl your fingers, cariño. You reaching that special spot? Gotta get deeper for me, baby. Rub slower, drag it out. Promise it’ll be even sweeter at the end. 

Always polite but stern in his demands. Never too much, mostly not enough for your taste. He’s built up an appetite in you that you haven’t had before, a desire to please and to be good for him. All of it doesn’t feel like performing when he’s telling you what to do, it feels like he’s there, deep rasp in your ears as you picture thick fingers in place of yours and tight grips on your plush curves. Fingerprint-shaped bruises left behind and sore muscles in your thighs from holding yourself up as he asks you to come for him over and over and over.

A vibration against the hard surface of the countertop refocuses your gaze from a thousand yards away. Turning to grab your cell, you rub your thighs together in hopes of relenting the ache between them from your daydreams. Wet panties get caught in your folds, discomfort only momentary before you lean over the counter and open your legs, reading the mystery man’s response.

You can call me anything you want bonita

But I will tell you that Fish is pretty close to my name

Fish is close to your name?

What is it? Bass? Salmon? Trout?

Funny

Fish is short for Catfish which was my call sign with my Special Ops team

Ahhh a military man. You know I like a man in uniform

Oh really? :)

Don’t wear it anymore but does it still count if I was once a man in uniform?

Hmm

:( please?

I wanna be liked by you

Showing your cards there Fishie

Not trying to play it cool?

Once you get to know me baby you’ll come to find out that me and cool don’t really go together.

I doubt that’s true

So Catfish is your call sign? Who came up with that?

My buddies on my team

Said I couldn’t grow a beard for shit and that it looked like I had whiskers

So Catfish

Well I don’t wanna call you Fish if it’s mean like that :(

What’s your real name? If you wanna tell me

Are you gonna sell my identity and let someone tank my credit score?

Never

It wouldn’t benefit me much if your card gets declined every month

I appreciate the honesty baby haha

My name’s Frankie

I like your name Frankie :)

It’s nearly an hour of messaging back and forth, flirting intermingled with genuine curiosity about the other’s life, history and background. Frankie learns that you were struggling to find a job straight out of university and needed to make rent, so you figured it couldn’t hurt to try out selling content. You detailed briefly the time that you grew your following, telling him about your Instagram too, which he follows in that instant. The notification makes you laugh and you follow him back despite the profile being completely empty of any information besides his name. Not even a profile picture. He learns that you don’t speak much to your parents anymore, that your siblings live across the country so you don’t get to see them much.

He tells you about his family — no siblings, parents that live in another part of the state and refuse to visit him in the city — and his chosen family, the Special Ops guys. Laughter hiccups from your chest when he recalls a few of the better stories from them, telling you about each other them as if he was preparing you to actually meet them. He has that thought, briefly, about all of you out for drinks. How they would probably like you as much as he does; your charm and sincerity would hook them all just as it has for him. Frankie tells you all about his current hobby, fixing up an old, cherry red 1978 Jeep Cherokee. How the only other time he spends online is searching for car parts, watching Youtube as he works on the vehicle in his garage.

You make a cheeky comment that he must be good with his hands before sending another message immediately:

Would you wanna actually talk? Like on Facetime maybe

Frankie stares at the message, blinking slowly as if it will disappear. You’re asking to talk to him? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? I mean, if he knew that was an option he would have asked himself…

He wouldn’t and he knows he wouldn’t based on the way his stomach has dropped to his feet, his hands have gone clammy and his throat tightened. Swallowing hard, he whispers a small pep talk to himself to work up the nerve to say yes. He wants to see you, he always wants to see more of you, but the fact that you’d see him as well…he can’t cope.

Heat trickles across the back of his neck and up his cheeks, thumbs hovering over the keyboard as his brain completely wipes any thought to respond. Dropping his phone into his lap, both of his hands reach up, one grabbing the brim of his cap and lifting it from his head while the other runs through his hair to push it back away from his face. In the corner of his eye, he catches his left knee bouncing. Lips press together in a thin line, rolling the flesh between his teeth before he picks up his phone again and sends a message back to you with just his phone number.

Not even a minute later, his screen lights up with a list of digits strung together in an unfamiliar order. As if it were possible, he felt his stomach drop lower than his feet, deep into the ground below and burrowing away along with his confidence.

Shit, this was a stupid idea. He’s going to make a fool of himself and you’ll lose interest and he’ll have to think about you every day for the rest of his life and wonder what you’re doing, how you’re doing, even what your name is—

Fuck, he’s gonna miss the call.

Frankie decides that it is much more embarrassing to miss the call he just sent his phone number for than to potentially come off as uncool, so his finger swipes to the right to answer. Quickly, he turns off his camera before you notice, opting for the level of anonymity to remain.

“Hi, Frankie…” Your candied voice drips with sweetness around his name. He’s been imagining you saying it, trying to get it right in his mind over the past few weeks, but hearing it now he relishes in the fact that none of them were right. None of them sounded like spun sugar, like it did just now.

You fill the frame from your shoulders up, the same bright smile on your face that he’s seen at the end of each live, after he’s had his fun with you, but looking completely different out of that context. It’s a bit shy, demure in the way you're resting in your bed against your pillows, t-shirt on and fresh-faced. You look beautiful. And it makes him feel a bit silly that you can’t see his reaction.

“Hey, bonita. M’sorry I don’t have my camera on, jus’ nervous. Didn’t want you to hang up right away gettin’ a look at this mug,” he says with self-deprecating laughter at the end, watching as your brows knit together with a pout on your lips.

“You don’t have to apologize, Frankie. M’happy to do whatever you’re comfortable with. Besides, if your voice gives me any indication of your looks, you’d probably be making me way more nervous.” Teeth bite into your bottom lip as you hold in a grin, a hand coming into view to nudge at your nose. He’s seen you do it a few times on live, whenever you’re waiting in anticipation. For him, he’d like to think.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” he teases, the smirk playing at his face evident in his flirty tone.

“You jus’ sound…nice.”

“Nice? That’s all? Why would that make you nervous, baby?”

A sigh slips from your lips, rolling your head back as he hears the smallest whine from you. His cock jumps in his sweats, already half hard from the flirty back and forth in your messages.

“God, you’re going to be a problem with all those pet names,” you say exasperated. Frankie laughs at his screen, feeling like an idiot sitting here alone and smiling like a fool. You’re cute when you’re mad.

“You can tell me your name and I can use that instead?” he propositions, licking his lips as he awaits the piece of information he’s been chomping at the bit to have.

“No! I mean, I’ll tell you my name, but…I like the nicknames. Keep them. Please.” Your words scramble out and it makes him grin wider, witnessing you as nervous as he’s feeling. When you give him your name, he repeats it a few times, rolling it around in his mouth, tasting the syllables on his tongue. Delicate, floral, sweet but a slight tang. Smooth as it rolls across his vocal cords, soothing the rising heat he’s feeling with a refreshing chill. Like peaches and cream.

The two of you chat back and forth for a while, pride swelling in his chest when you laugh at his stupid jokes or give him a compliment, despite being none-the-wiser to his looks. He’s quick to make you blush with his comments, telling you how beautiful he thinks you are. And Frankie’s thanking himself for keeping his camera off, because at times during the call, his eyes drift to your chest, blatantly staring at your perked up nipples through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. It grows his hard on, the softness of your breasts bouncing around as you restlessly squirm during the call enticing him to picture getting his mouth on them. He’d guess you’d taste the same as your name.

The next time you move, he watches your chest again before a sight in the background catches his eye, drawing a chuckle from his mouth. A stuffed bunny lays next to you in your bed, messy with age and love. A soft pink color with a red ribbon tied around its neck, he finds the need to ask about it prodding in his mind.

“Is that who films everything for you?” he jokes, watching your face twist with confusion before looking to your side and bursting out in a laugh. Returning your eyes to the camera, you shake your head timidly.

“No, unfortunately he’s pretty limited to cuddling.”

“He? Didn’t know you had a man in your life, baby. Feels like we shouldn’t be talking like this in front of him.” The sound of your laughter quickens his pulse, the melody trilling in his ears with comfort.

“Well, I guess if you could offer me more than cuddling, he could be demoted.”

“I think I can offer more, Conejita.” Frankie watches as something akin to excitement, but burning brighter, flashes in your eyes. You sit up more, one eyebrow raising in challenge.

“What could you offer me, Frankie?” It’s a loaded question. He could be polite, steer the conversation away from where he so desperately wants it to go, to be a gentleman. It would be easy to make a joke, to get you both to move on.

But he always wants to see where this could go. You’re the one who wanted to talk on the phone in the first place. And he would never suggest anything to make you uncomfortable, and he thinks that you know that. It’s like what the two of you do in your lives — a conversation, a back and forth that may end up benefitting both of you.

“Depends on what you’re lookin’ for, Conejita. I’m a man of many talents.” The words are slick on his tongue, silvery with enticement.

“Hm…” you ponder out loud, tapping your index finger against your bottom lip before turning back to the camera, “Can you cook?”

“Decently. Can’t claim I’m a chef, but I feed myself. And m’pretty good at a grill and makin’ some of my mamá’s recipes. Insisted on teaching them to me so they didn’t end with her.”

Grinning warmly, he feels his heartbeat kick up against his chest, thumping hard at the sight of you giving him that look. “That’s so sweet that she taught you. You can teach me, then someone else in the world will know her recipes too.”

Christ, you’re so fucking adorable. He doesn’t know what he wants more in the moment: to keep talking and simply listen to your voice, or to flirt his way into something more.

“She might be a better teacher than me, baby. Would probably be over the moon if you asked to learn since she had to force me a bit,” he laughs along with your quiet giggle, taking a deep breath when you bite down on your bottom lip.

“Are you a good teacher of other things?”

“I’d like to think so. Haven’t I taught you new things already, Conejita?”

There goes his heartbeat when you look away from the camera, smirk lifting your cheekbones as your demeanor goes shy, shrugging your shoulders as you lay back again, shifting to get comfortable.

“You have…And now I’ve learned how sexy your voice is, too. I’ll be picturing everything you type now to be said in your voice.”

Frankie breathes out a chuckle, a heat burning the nap of his neck, trickling down his back. He feels the effects of his blood rushing below his belt, ever-so-slightly lightheaded as he quietly palms his bulge in his sweatpants.

“My voice is sexy?”

“Um, duh. Are you kidding me? You sound all…rugged and raspy and deep. Like you could manhandle me easily,” you admit your thoughts easily, and he sighs quietly at the thought of having you in front of him to throw around his bed and mold you into the positions he dreams of getting you into.

“No tienes ni idea de lo que haría contigo (You've got no idea what I would do with you)...” he mumbles under his breath, hearing a soft whimper from you. One of your arms is slung across your front, pressing your breast into the other and he can take a guess as to what your hand is up to. “You want some help, baby? I bet you’re jus’ feeling so needy, aren’t you? Listening to my voice got you that worked up?”

“Mhmm…I need it, Frankie…” Your voice has the edge of a whine and he exhales slowly as he hears you beg for him. Not his call sign or a username. His name. Him. There’s no one else who’s making you feel this way, no one else striving for attention.

He pushes his pants down, pulling his hard cock out to start slowly stroking. You’ve left him aching, dripping precum that his fingers smear around his length to lubricate as he moves up and down in a teasing pace.

“Use your manners, Conejita. What d’you say?”

“Please. Please, Frankie. I wanna hear your voice, I want you to tell me what to do.” He hisses from behind his teeth as he squeezes his cock at the base, leaning his head back against his headboard before his focus zeroes in on you on his screen, asking for his guidance, his control to get you off. No one else privy to the sights he’s seeing.

“Good girl. Such a good girl for me, baby. Why don’t you take off your shirt for me? Let me see you, bonita.” Wetting his lips with his tongue when you move to prop your phone up on your mattress, an expert at framing yourself perfectly. The thin, worn fabric of your sleep shirt slips over your head, leaving you on full display for him — already pantyless. Whether you started the call with any on is a mystery to him, but now, he settles back to tell you exactly what he wants from you…what he knows will feel good for his conejita.

“Okay, bunny, lean back for me…That’s it, get comfortable. Good girl.” Looking into your camera to your side, a nervous smile plays at your lips, shyness overcoming you as you wait with bated breath for Frankie, who’s still a mystery to you, to instruct you. It’s driving him mad, how trusting you are of him without ever seeing his face. Such a sweet girl. His sweet girl.

“Show me how you like to play when no one’s watching.”

When his phone dings one evening a few weeks later, Frankie pulls himself out from under the hood of his project car. A familiar fizz bubbles over his body, a Pavlovian response that’s been built over the last few weeks he’s been talking to you. There have been text chains, full of flirty sincerity, and more phone calls, all with his camera off but not all ending like that first one. There have been times when the two of you have had long conversations, full of laughter and learning about the other. A few calls have ended with you falling asleep, stuffed bunny tucked under your chin and pillowy lips parted slightly with deep, even breaths.

Admittedly, he’s grown attached. Maybe a bit much for…whatever this relationship or friendship is, but he can’t help the teenage giddiness he’s felt with every text chime, ringtone, or dial that he’s found you on the other end of.

He’s got a crush.

So immediately at the peal of his cell, he’s reaching for the rag on his workbench, wiping his hands clean of grease before reading over your message.

Conejita:

Hiii 😚

Are you busy?​

Grinning like a fool at the gray bubble, Frankie begins to type out a response before abandoning the message and clicking the phone button at the top of your name instead. Pressing the speaker to his ear, he runs a thumb across his bottom lip while he listens to the trill of the dial tone. Steps pace him across the garage, counting them in his head as he waits for an answer.

“Hey, stranger.” The line clicks on and your voice immediately draws a smile across Frankie’s face, hearing one of yours in your upbeat tone.

“Hey, Conejita. What’s up with you?” Even your presence over the phone calms his nerves, sparking kindling low in his gut that spreads down to his toes and up to the back of his neck. Frankie tucks his phone between his ear and shoulder as he wanders back over to the carhood, shutting it carefully. He retreats inside, washing his hands as he listens to you recount your day.

“...So then I got pissed off and left ‘cause she was being so unreasonable. And then I wanted to talk to you ‘cause, I dunno.” The intensity in your cadence slows down toward the tailend of your story of an argument with a friend of yours; Frankie chuckles, biting his tongue while you sigh deeply and he dries his hands off on a kitchen towel.

“You don’t know why you wanted to talk to me? Don’t get all shy on me now, cariño,” he teases you, receiving a frustrated huff on the other end. “Well, for what it’s worth, I agree with you. She sounds like she has a stick up her ass. And m’glad you wanted to call me, Conejita.”

“D’you wanna switch to Facetime?”

“‘Course, I do. Always wanna see your face, jus’ one sec…” Frankie climbs his stairs two at a time, reaching the landing as his screen lights up with the Facetime request from you. He answers it, camera off, while he changes out of dirty clothes and listens to you chatting about plans for the weekend. He mentions going out with the guys tomorrow night, and you make a jest that gets him laughing, both of you bantering back and forth before he settles back on his bed.

“Y’know, I am content to chat with you like this, Frankie. But I keep wondering what you look like…” In the small rectangle of his screen, you lean forward to fill more of it, cleavage exposed in your bralette. He’s been waiting for this to be brought up again, and feeling so much more comfortable with you, he can’t admit he hasn’t thought about it. But with that stronger connection comes the anxieties. What if he isn’t what you pictured? What if he isn’t your type? What if you don’t like him anymore?

Frankie thinks he’s decent looking enough — he hasn’t had much trouble pulling girls since he was a teenager, but not being the most commanding or charismatic in the room, he has had his bouts of struggle in the relationship department.

“Please, Frankie. S’not fair I get to hear your sexy voice and not know what you look like. Pretty please, I’ll give you something special if you do,” you bargain with a pout on your face, bottom lip protruding and puffy. He wants to kiss it away, bite down on the glossy flesh, work away your frowning moue with his own mouth. Wonderings of what you taste like.

Coming back into himself, he wears a proud, intrigued smirk that you’re blind to except for the way his words curl around his slick, silvery tongue, “Oh, is that right, bunny? What if I wanna know what the something special is to decide?”

“Not how it works, silly. Either you want something special or you don’t.” A stern shake of the head, sitting up straight as you raise an eyebrow at him.

He sits with it for a moment, thoughts warring on the inside. In the end, his realistic side barters that either way could end badly: he doesn’t turn the camera on and you get frustrated, ending it, or he does turn the camera on and you don’t like the look of him, ending it. A phantom whisper of your voice, bubbly and bright, reminds him that it could make everything even better, and that ultimately is what convinces him.

“Alright, alright. You make a convincing argument, Conejita.”

A beaming smile stretches across your face as you draw a leg up to your chest, resting your head on your kneecap while you hold back your excitement and anticipation. Frankie takes in the sight of you, astir on tenterhooks.

“Here goes nothing,” he mumbles to himself before his thumb is pressing the camera button, illuminating himself on your screen. He sees himself in the smaller rectangle in the corner, grimacing before he laughs softly and grins, awaiting your reaction with waves of solicitude raging inside.

You see him, your Frankie. Filling your phone screen. Finally.

A nearly inaudible gasp leaves your lips, blocked from the mic by your knee. Studying his face, you witness the lines next to his eyes deepening as he laughs, his shy smile growing on his face. Big brown eyes strike your chest, their sincere softness making you want to fall into their warmth and stay there forever. Like the comforting heat of a mug of coffee on a chilly morning. You note that your visualizations were correct, mostly. Brown hair, curling out from under the cap branded with Standard Oil that sits on his head. Wide set shoulders that extend out of frame, a build to him that screams he most definitely can manhandle you around in bed. His call sign makes a bit more sense to you, seeing patches in his short beard, admiring the one on his left cheek that is shaped like a heart. Simply endearing. The image of him in front of you sends a shock to your core, wet spot in your panties growing as you begin to imagine what the rest of him looks like.

Hot is all you can think. Frankie is fucking hot.

His voice cuts through your trails of admiration, joking around to break the silent tension, “So are you gonna ask me to keep my camera off now?”

As you swallow to recover some of your composure, shaking your head back and forth quickly before a genuinely eager smile paints your expression. Leaning closer to see more of his details, freckles across his neck and where his shirt exposes a sliver of his chest, the peak of his cupid’s bow shaded by his mustache, long eyelashes that reach toward his eyebrows. You drop your knee from in front of you, leaning an elbow on the surface of your desk and resting your shin in your palm.

“Frankie, respectfully, what the fuck? You’re so hot.”

A boisterous laugh rolls from his chest, the same shy smile returning with a blush across his cheeks, “Conejita, you’re the hot one between us.”

“No, no, I’m being serious. You’re like — Damn. Your smile. And you have pretty eyes, Frankie. And you’re just like…really fucking hot. I can’t even think of another word. You should be the one doing what I’m doing.”

“Oh, c’mon, you’re only seeing my face, baby.”

“Yeah, and? It’s a pretty face…Wanna sit on it.” Your giggle cuts through his speakers, and Frankie groans at the comment. Saliva coats your mouth as you watch the muscles in his neck tense, licking your chops like a prowling lion. If only he was in front of you right now…

“Diablita…eres una problema. (Little devil…you’re a problem.) Do I get my special something now?”

Another giggle and a mischievous smirk make Frankie’s brows stitch together in frustration, your shoulders shrugging as you toy with the strap of your bra, hooked under your index finger, “Actually, I think I wanna move the goalpost. Will you show me what I’m missin’, Frankie? I wanna see more.”

Desire burns bright and wild inside of you, ache building between your legs as your arousal drips from your panties and onto your thighs. You’d been picturing him — all of him — for weeks. Ever since that first message. But now, seeing him on your phone screen, your imagination is running wild with newfound information and attempting to fill in the blanks. He has to be big, thickness would be just right. He’s the quiet type, unassuming in his own looks, which means he has to have a virtually perfect dick. It's the rules of the universe. Undecided if he’s cut or not, but regardless, picturing your manicured fingers wrapped around it and tongue licking at his tip. Watching him come undone from you. Stomach tensing, those long fingers that you sneak a peek of when he adjusts his hat wrapped up in your hair. Rasping moans. What would he taste like?

Frankie shakes his head, a quick tsking drawing your attention back to the moment as he looks on with a teasing expression, “Conejita, I don’t think it works like that.”

“Okay, then no special something for you. Your choice, Francisco.”

He watches as you move the strap back up your shoulder, the soft snap of the elastic against your skin. Huffing out a frustrated breath, he mumbles, “No serías tan valiente si estuvieras aquí conmigo, mocosa. (You wouldn’t be so brave if you were here with me, brat.)”

Uncaring in whatever annoyances he was airing with you, you watch him sit up further in the frame, knocking off his cap and reaching for the hem of his shirt. Despite his words, he lifts his shirt over his head, looking back at the camera, bare shoulders and chest on display, “This is what you get for now, bunny.”

Satisfaction glows from your smile, biting hard into your bottom lip while Frankie watches your eyes search everywhere on your screen besides his own. A stern clearing of his throat breaks your trance, a commanding expression on Frankie’s face.

“You promised me something, Conejita.”

A deep pout replaces your grin, huffing in defiance as you slip your bra straps from your shoulders, “Can’t you please take the rest off? Show me what I wanna see, Frankie. Please.”

“Nah uh. Quit demanding, baby. Y’know that’s my job. Now tell me, what are you gonna do for me to get what you want?” His unwavering voice surprises you, despite hearing it for weeks. With the added heat factor of his looks, you crumble a bit quicker, clenching your thighs as you sigh and nod obediently.

“I’ll do anything, Frankie. Jus’ tell me what to do, I wanna make you happy.”

He grins on the screen, sincere softness peeking out, “Oh, baby, y’know it’s easy to make me happy. Jus’ gotta be a good little bunny, yeah?” He hums, licking his lips as he ponders what he wants from you tonight, a night he wants to fill with another milestone for the two of you. He’s only seen you use a small vibrator or your fingers on the phone with you, but he knows what else you have. He’s watched the video of you using it on your profile only about ten times.

“Get your pretty pink toy for me, Conejita. Y’know the one. And then get on the floor and you’re going to show me exactly how you use it.”

There’s rustling as you follow his instructions, stripping bare and suctioning the toy to your hardwood floors, propping the phone up for him to see it all. The hot pink dildo bobbles from you moving around it, glistening with lube that you applied — even though with one glance at your cunt, both you and Frankie know you wouldn’t need it. Straddling over the silicone, you slowly tease your entrance with it, whining before you make one more attempt to Frankie watching you with a smugness in his smirk.

“Please, Frankie, can’t you please show me your cock? I wanna picture it while I fuck myself. Wanna know if it’s how I imagined…Dream about it a lot.” He can read right through your tactics, but his dick can’t. It strains against his zippered jeans, throbbing under the fabric for some sort of relief. He squeezes his palm over it once, exhaling as he shakes his head, strong in his convictions.

“Be a good girl, and I’ll show you what you wanna see.” No more room for negotiations.

“Yes’sir.”

Frankie’s mouth hangs ajar while his focus trains on the apex of your thighs. Watching you slowly sink down, the bright pink rubbery toy disappears inside of you. Whimpers slip from your lips as you brace your hands on your thighs, fingers digging into the plush skin. Need burns brightly in his chest and below his belt, clenching his jaw while he imagines biting the meaty part of you, leaving teeth marks in his wake before settling his mouth at your entrance.

Your hips set a quick pace, desperate for the high you’ve been dripping for since getting on the phone with Frankie. A low growl followed with a disapproving tut clicks over the speakers of your phone.

“Slow down, baby girl. Not a race…” Frankie corrects, and the only response you have is a frantic nod, turning your movements to a drag. The toy fills you up, stretches you the most that you have ever been. Pain heats your feelings of pleasure, intensifying it all in the lightness of your limbs and head. The ridges of the faux veins of the fake cock impress into your walls, the tip of it notching at the spot inside of you that Frankie taught you to reach. It only skates by it, whines accompanying your frustrations.

Frankie, on the other end, listens to the squelch of your pussy around the silicone. The sound drives him to fully cup his erection through his pants, palming himself with heady breaths as your own moans for him drive the iron hot brand of need deeper into his skin. He can see your need for a change, your need to be given permission to chase that feeling that’s within reach.

“Lean back, little bunny. Sit back on your hands and use your hips…Show me more of that pretty pussy,” he instructs, cool and confident while his hips buck up into his hand. Being his perfect girl, you do as he says and change positions, gasping when you sink down onto the toy. Your cunt clenches around it, a satisfied smirk painting Frankie’s face. He knows he’s gotten you to hit that special spot. With the grip your entrance has around the base of the dildo, he wonders if you’ll pop it off of the floor on your next thrust.

“Oh, fuck…Frankie, wish you were here. Tell me—tell me what you’d do to me if you were here,” you beg, your hips still dragging at the new angle.

A groan escapes Frankie at your request, biting down hard on his lip and taking his hand away from his lap to deny himself the temptation.

“You love hearing me say all the dirty things to you, huh Conejita?” Without waiting for an answer, he continues, “If I were there with you, I’d would be—shit—I’d be devouring you right now. Fucking you with my tongue and my fingers, making you squeeze me and getting your come all over my face. Gotta get you ready for me, bunny. After, I’d flip you over. Get your pretty ass up for me, and I’d fuck you senseless. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Turn it all off up there and just let me take care of you…”

Nodding, your hips start to move faster as Frankie speaks to you. He doesn’t have the heart to tease you anymore, letting you start to take what you want for a bit. Your moans pitch up, tits bouncing with your nipples pebbled and the rest of your soft curves twisting as you rock back and forth on the toy.

“Yes, please. I want that,” you mewl, heavy breaths erratic.

“That’s right. My baby deserves it all,” he says with a sigh, his large palm squeezing his hard cock again, slowly unzipping his jeans and slipping his hand into his boxers to grip himself at the base. “I’d fuck you until that pretty little brain of yours was filled up only with thoughts of how good I make you feel. How good you are for me, pretty girl…Look at you go, bouncing on that toy. Rub your clit, Conejita. Slow, at least for right now.”

You follow his orders, supporting yourself on one arm. Slow circles against your clit have you shuddering with pleasure, a twitch of your tummy as you moan. Your eyes flutter shut, face twisting with overwhelming need. Frankie drinks in the sight, indulging himself in a few long strokes of his cock before he hears it.

“Daddy…” you breathe, near a whisper, but it’s audible to him. Lost in yourself, you don’t even notice you’ve let it slip until it comes again, “Oh my god, Daddy.”

The surprise of it shocks your eyes open, stuttering your hips as you narrow in on your screen. Frankie’s eyes grow dark, licking his lips as he holds in a loud moan. His fingers grip the base of his aching cock, holding off at the edge. So close to coming when he heard that word drip from your mouth like melted sugar.

He can tell you’re attempting to gauge his reaction, nervous settling in as you attempt to move on from it and continue fucking yourself closer to finishing. Frankie’s eager to take it in stride, clearing his throat before he gives it right back to you, opening that door that he knows won’t be shut any time soon. At least not by him.

“Yeah, that’s right, baby. Let Daddy tell you what you need, yeah?” He chuckles darkly, satisfaction thumping in his veins while you nod and whimper yes yes yes back to him, “Y’know, if you like that lil’ toy, baby, Daddy’s cock will feel even better. S’bigger than that fucking thing.”

“Oh, fuck, I need to—I need you, Daddy, please!”

“I know, Conejita, I know. Poor little thing jus’ needs Daddy to be filling her up, huh? You wanna know what my cock feels like inside of you, don’t you, pequeña?” He hisses with a buck of his hips into his fist, squeezing his eyes shut for a brief second.

“Yes, yes, please, Daddy! Please,” you choke on a breath and Frankie can see you twitch at your inner thighs from the full-on view of your pussy, your tell-tale sign that you’re about to come.

“Y’know the rules, Conejita. Better ask before you come.”

“Please, please may I come?” you moan, rubbing faster circles against your clit and grinding down on your toy.

“Oh, bunny, you can ask nicer than that. May I come…?” he leads, smirking devilishly when you nearly squeal from the way he’s holding you out on the edge. Teetering on the verge of that high that he knows well, he can see your legs faltering with a cramp.

“Please may I come, Daddy?” Your eyes open, heavy-lidded and lips parted with shallow breathing. Frankie gets lost in the sight, wrecked from his direction, his words, a sheen of sweat over your skin and the arousal coating your thighs. A fucking dream.

“Mm, come for Daddy, baby girl—” he’s interrupt as you erupt in a high-pitched moan, mouth wide open as you string together mumblings Oh fuck, Daddy, feels so good. Need you so bad…

“Good girl.”

Frankie hums contently, chuckling as a dopey grin finds your face, blinking through the orgasmic haze. Laying back, you slip the toy out of your pussy, leaving it to wobble in place and spreading your legs around it. One arm comes to rest against your forehead, breasts rising and falling with deep, recovering breaths. He’s blocked of the view that would make this moment even sweeter, licking his lips before he speaks up.

“Lemme see that fucked cunt of yours, bunny. Let Daddy see what belongs to him.” You sit up again, popping the toy off of the floor and laying it to the side to be cleaned later. Frankie hums as you part your legs more, the glittering of your come dripping on your thighs and across your swollen pussy. “Eres un buen oyente, pequeña. (You’re a good listener, little one.)”

“What’s that mean?” you ask, a long exhale punctuating the question.

“You’re a good listener, little one.” Frankie grins when you grow shy, inching your legs together before he tsks again, one hand coming into frame to motion for your lower limbs to part again.

“Y’know, it would look even prettier with my come dripping out of ya, baby.”

“Please.”

“What, Conejita?”

“Don’t tease me anymore…Can’t take it, Daddy.” You lips push out in a pout, subtle but he can catch the change in expression.

“Nah uh, no pouting, bunny. Who said that I was teasing? I’m going to make it happen.”

Sweetness slips from your lips in a giggle, leaning over to pick up your phone and hold him closer to your face.

“So, if I was a good girl, doesn’t that mean I get to see what I asked for before?” Wiggling in eagerness, Frankie feigns ignorance, scratching at his beard as he shrugs, acting as if he didn’t nearly come in his pants multiple times in the last few minutes.

“I dunno, Conejita. What did you ask me for? Gonna have to remind me.”

“Your cock. I wanna see it.” Your pout sneaks back, biting your lip. “May I please see your cock, Daddy?”

“I think I could do that for you, baby. Asking so nicely. Such a good girl for Daddy, yeah?”

“Always.” A giggle bubbles up from your tummy, biting down on your lip as Frankie takes you in, shaking his head in subtle disbelief. How the hell did clicking for one subscription get him here, having Facetime sex with you?

He obliges your original requests, moving to prop his phone up in front of him, stripping down his jeans first. The sight of his bulge waters your mouth, pupils widening in want at the outline of his cock. No tricks of the light, no chance of manipulation like some men in your DMs do. All natural.

And Frankie wasn’t lying. He’s big.

The reveal comes when he tugs his boxers down to his ankles, settling in front of the camera again. His heavy length rests against his lower stomach, precum dripping into his dark happy trail. Your eyes drag over the veins ribbing him, leading down to show off that he’s tastefully groomed. Swallowing saliva, you lick your lips as his large hand wraps around, slow strokes that gently shift the foreskin away from his tip. The end of his cock glistens with pebbles of precum, red and aching. Frankie hisses at the contact, the veins in his neck straining against his skin while he starts to fuck his fist.

“You look so pretty, Daddy,” you compliment sweetly, grinning at him as he laughs quietly back at you.

“Such a sweet little bunny. You think you can take me in your tight little cunt?” A long exhales concaves his chest, quiet moans as his hand picks up pace. 

You return his regular favor of talking him through it, detailing how good of a girl you’d be for him, telling him all that he would be allowed to do to you. The sounds Frankie makes has you dripping again, getting his permission to fuck your fingers, both of you driving each other to a peak, your second one taking the breath from your lungs as Frankie comes at the same time. Whimpers escape your mouth as you envy his hand and stomach being covered in his release, biting your tongue and crowding the screen as he shows off how much you made him come.

“Wish I was there to clean you up, Daddy.”

“Right back at you, Conejita.”

A few days later, Frankie calls you after one of your livestreams, grinning like a schoolboy when you answer in only your underwear. You laugh as you set your phone down on the surface of your dressing, his childish smirk turning to a pout as he stares at your white painted ceiling. Calling out to him, you ask for one second while you tug a sweatshirt over your head, shuffling around before grabbing the device and relaxing back on your bed, bunny in your lap.

“Hi, baby,” Frankie coos, one side of his mouth lifting in a smile as he drinks in your cozy, drowsy demeanor. Cuddling with the toy against your chest, you grin back at him, curling up onto your side like a cat.

“Hi, Frankie,” you mumble back, exhaustion heavy in your eyes.

“You sleepy, little bunny?” A slow nod answers his question. “Alright, I won’t keep you up for long then. Just had a question for you.”

The vague proposition piques your interest, your eyes shooting open and the camera being brought closer to your face, “What’s your question?”

Frankie works his lips between his teeth, nerves crackling over his entire body. Realistically, he knows you’ll say yes, but there’s still that chance for rejection in the moment. His left leg bounces against his couch, hand running over his face as he takes a deep breath in, “I was wondering if you’d wanna come visit me here in Florida? If you don’t have time—”

“I would love to come visit, Frankie,” you agree immediately, a sincere smile growing on your face. Frankie mirrors your excitement with a goofy grin, the creases next to his eyes deepening and his dimple cratoring his cheek. “I’ll even book my flight right now, that’s how eager I am.”

Shaking his head furiously, he clicks his tongue in a tut, scolding you playfully, “Hey, hey. No, none of that. I’m not letting my baby pay, I’m the one who asked you to come.”

“But—”

“Nope, no buts. Except yours getting onto a plane and coming to see me,” Frankie laughs at his own joke, earning a playful eye roll as you hold back your own chuckle. “Oh, c’mon, that was funny, Conejita. I can tell you want to laugh.”

The two of you go back and forth while he books your flight on his laptop, showing off the confirmation number once it’s all gone through. Both of you wear shit-eating grins on your faces, sitting in disbelief.

Frankie can’t help the rush of anxiety, unable to tell if it’s solely from his excitement. All he can think about is having you in front of him, in the flesh, in person. No screens between the two of you, no broken signals or shitty wifi interruptions. Hearing your voice without the strain of speakers, getting to touch you, taste you, hear you, feel you all over him. There’s the flash of a vision of you laid out underneath him, making your little sounds that drive him crazy and digging your nails into his back…

“Gonna let Daddy spoil you while you’re down here, baby girl?” Frankie smirks as you stretch sleepily, biting down on your lip.

“You’re flying me out, isn’t that spoiling me enough? Shouldn’t it be my turn to spoil you then?”

“Think you know the answer to that, baby. Having you in front of me is spoiling me enough, I jus’ wanna take care of you.” 

The simple statement brings a smile to your face, shyly tucking your face into your pillow. The rest of the call relaxes you back to near sleep, listening as Frankie tells you all about what he’ll take you to do. Your drowsiness catches up with you, drifting off on the phone. Frankie chuckles quietly to himself, sitting with you for a moment silently before he goes to hang up.

“Night, Conejita. Can’t wait to see you.”

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[pacentia]

Title: Forever

Summary: After BG3 events, Astarion and reader feel ready for a child.

Pairing: established relationship fem!reader x Astarion

Tags: NSFW, rough sex, sweetness, breeding, mentions of pregnancy, bloodsucking, kissing, L-bombs

Word count: 1,704

Note: listen up folks. no idea if vampires thralls can make people pregnant. but in my world they can. Pls enjoy. i haven't finished the game, so this is my own fantasy after bg3 events:)). Drabble/fic/headcanon requests about our darling husband are welcome :))

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months and eventually months into years, together with your darling Astarion. After the events of tadpoles, mindflayers and vampire masters, the time had come to settle down and live quietly, close to Baldur's gate city. Close enough for easy supply runs, yet far enough to enjoy the privacy of your very own house. Astarion was quick to realize he'd want no one else in his eternal life but you - and asked you - on one knee - to be his forever.

The wedding was held shortly after, with only a close circle of your friends present. Karlach shed a tear from happiness - knowing you two were destined to be together, while Halsin felt just… Bittersweet. Astarion wed a fine woman, although he was secretly convinced that an Druid like himself: alive, warm, and aging could take better care of your needs.

This was often also the subject of certain discussions that popped up in your marriage as you were reading in the garden, or drinking hot tea beside the hearthfire. Worries that washed over him about the coldness of his touch - or the eventual loss he would have to endure somewhere in the far future, when you would eventually lose the battle against time. You understood where his worries came from, but you were always there to comfort your darling husband. You possessed no interest in anyone's touch but his and you pledged to him that you'd always be present in his undead heart.

Of course, the latter made you interested in if his vampirism could be cured or, if you could transform into one. Yet, both choices were frustratingly impossible. Curing him would just mean ending him, heaven's forbid. Transforming yourself would mean serving another vampire lord, a fate that Astarion would never want you to experience.

Though tonight - nothing of that sort mattered and you found yourself intertwined in one another, the soft duvet covering your bare bodies. Your fingers played with his light-grey curls, while his arms were wrapped around your shoulders, ready for bed.

"Say, love," Astarion suddenly spoke up, "I heard you took care of a lost little girl in the city today."

Right. A young Tiefling girl had lost her mother inbetween the packed crowds of the city, and the girl came to you for help. How exactly did Astarion know that?

"Karlach told me of course." The vampire stated as a matter of fact. "She saw you and passed by this noon for tea." You nodded and explained the situation - how you held the little girl's hand right until you found her mother together. The woman thanked you over and over again.

A small silence fell between you two, until the man continued his stream of thoughts, "Karlach then asked me if we'd ever have children and I said that I didn't know what you would think of it and I -" Astarion's gaze avoided yours until he remembered he was probably rambling again, "Sorry love, I just wanted to know if you and I could have that sort of future together?"

Your heart fluttered at the thought of Astarion as a father. He'd definitely spoil his little ones and love them unconditionally.

"A little one to raise in our house." The pale man smiled, lost in his thoughts. "We already have a spare room that we could decorate for them."

Of course those thoughts had crossed your mind. It would be a new chapter in both of your lives, and you felt ready to take it on together with him. Behind his cheeky and often sarcastic banter, there was a sweet and caring man - only revealed to the closest ones he trusted.

"You know they'll be incredibly mischievous and stubborn, right?" You smirked up at him, to which the vampire quickly retaliated, "Darling, you wound me. Besides, that's why you're there to teach them kindness." Astarion sing-songed, nuzzling into your hair.

No hesitation was present in your words, '"Of course, Astarion. I want this with you." You smiled sweetly, gently guiding his cold digits over your belly, making your vampire husband rub it with such fondness.

Something within him stirred, yet another level of deeper protectiveness that he would soon feel over you. Any other man that would come too close to you, would feel his deadly fangs buried into their jugular. Rip them to shreds. Kill them in cold blood. In fact, it made him involuntarily bare his fangs to you, accompanied by a low growl reverberating in his chest.

You grinned at his primal reaction, and whispered as you caressed his chin, "Dear Sir, you know you can't drink anything from me when you've put your little one in me, right?"

He was taken by a frenzy, and rolled his heavy body over yours - his nose buried into your neck, inhaling the delicious smell of your perfect blood. His cock hardened at the thought of drinking from you, his icy tongue lapping over the countless bite marks that he'd decorated your neck with.

"I know, sweet love. Sadly, I'll have to return to …inferior blood." An adorable pout covered his beautiful features - which made your heart flutter.

"You should get to work then, my love." You whispered in his pointy ear, pressing small kisses along his cheekbone, and you wrapped your legs around his strong back. The vampire chuckled at your words, "Oh, darling." He groaned, elated to see you so eager to get bred by him. His hardness teased over your wet and warm folds, making himself slick before he'd slide home. His arms snaked under yours, to completely wrap himself around you protectively, burying his face into your neck. The intoxicating smell of your blood so close to his lips, made him lose control over his pace and bucked his strong core into yours, drenched cock sliding deep in your sex.

"Fuck, Astarion…" You gasped in pleasure, his large cock burying itself deep deep deep within your folds. The vampire watched your features contort into pure bliss, and bit his lips in return - until he was nestled as deep as possible.

"This is what you want, isn't it, my darling?" Astarion whispered, while you clawed at his back - sweet agony from his pressure on your cervix. His way with words was too much to bear. Icy lips found your ear again, dripping with sin, "Completely inside your warm, wet, delicious cunt."

You could only whimper Astarion and nod, your fingers buried in his soft curls, as his hips started to gently, slowly thrust inside you. His cock felt so perfect. Big, firm, as if he was carved just for you.

"Fuck, darling," Your husband growled, losing himself deep inside you, speeding up his pace, shifting his position so that he could hold onto your hips for leverage. His red eyes feasted on your body, the most beautiful creature he'd ever set his gaze on. He could hear your heart beating faster. Blood pumping through your veins. Cheeks flushed red. He was salivating for you.

"Please, Astarion…" You cried out in delicious agony, needy for him to grab and fuck you harder. Impregnate you. Show Faerûn that you completely belong to him.

"What is it, my love?" He growled with bared teeth, sounds of wet, sloppy thrusts filling the bedroom.

"Bite me once more." You begged, holding onto his strong shoulders, "Just one last time, please."

Yes. One more time he could have you. His sanguine hunger kicked in, and he couldn't restrain himself anymore, "Oh my, darling…" He moaned In relief, his thrusts never faltering, thanking you over and over again for your gift - until he set his fangs in your neck.

One last time that sharp, ice-cold feeling washed over your senses - unable to move or do anything. Delicious pain mixed with heavenly pleasure, both of your orgasms were nearing. No combination more delicious for your husband - your fresh blood spilling from his lips and your cunt wrapped tightly around him. Pleasure welled up inside of your belly, enduring your vampire's violent kiss - until you reached your peak while he drank from your neck.

His digits dug into the sheets, pupils dilated as he released from your neck in time, overcome with adrenaline and power.

"That's it, my darling…"

His thrusts became harder, faster - his bloody lips finding yours, tongue invading your mouth. You were absolutely spent already, having lost nearly two pints of your blood again - so you held onto him for dear life. The metallic taste of your blood made you nearly gag if he wasn't lapping it up off your lips like a hungered animal.

"Astarion, fuck… Make me fucking pregnant." You cried desperately against his lips, his big cock bumping against your cervix with each thrust. And like always, he delivered your plea - and with a deep and primal groan he reached his peak. "Fuck, oh - Fuck - darling!" He growled with bloody fangs, his crimson eyes rolling in the back of his head, jets of his release splattering right against your cervix. Filled up to the brim.

Sated with blood and pleasure, he collapsed on top of you, holding you dearly in the afterglow of your pleasure. Sweaty, bloody bodies pressed against each other. His face buried against the side of your neck, lapping remnants of your blood one last time.

"Can't get enough of it, can't you, sweet?" You grinned.

"Never, my love." He smiled against your flesh as his cold hand gently caressed your lower belly - hoping that his love would nestle itself deep inside of you tonight.

"I love you, Astarion."

"And I love you, my darling. Forever."

[dotster001]

For Tuna; Rook End

A/N: editing this is gonna suck, cause Tumblr is so glitchy today 😭 but as I'm sure no one is surprised...some of you have been waiting a long time for this specific ending, so I figured he deserved his own title . The next ending is a three way tie, so keep an eye out for a poll in the next couple days.

Chapters One Two Three Choose another End

“Rook Hunt, you have been chosen-”

“At last! The moment has come!”

Grim was immediately second guessing his decision. Y/N had told him all about how Rook's family had multiple villas, so he'd thought he'd be willing to put up with him the one day a year he'd have to. But the man was far too excited.

“Wonderful,” Grim said through gritted teeth. “So what we'll do is, tomorrow-”

“You're adorable, Monsieur Fuzzball. No need for that though!”

“Huh?”

“I don't need you. Au revoir!”

Rook practically skipped out of the room, singing a cheery tune to himself.

….

Grim was terrified. All day he'd been waiting for whatever Rook had planned. He'd stuck to your side all day, quivering in anxiety.

“Okay, Grim, what's wrong?” You asked, finally tired of ignoring it for the sake of his pride.

“N- nothing is wrong, human! You insult me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered. 

You closed the book you'd been reading during the break in the lesson, and turned to him.

“Okay, so what's not wrong, then?”

Grim mumbled under his breath. But you soon forgot all about it, as the lights in the classroom dimmed, followed by a shower of rose petals raining down on all of you.

“Who is responsible?” Trein bellowed, but he was soon forgotten as well, as Rook appeared at the front under a single spotlight, violin music playing to his entrance.

“Bon jour!”

“What the fuck?” You whispered, quickly realizing that Grim was no longer by your side. He must have taken the opportunity to flee classes. Little rat.

“I am here because I can no longer keep silent about my affections!” He pressed one hand to his heart, the other dramatically extending to the classroom. “I am deeply in love.”

You looked to see if Trein would stop him, but just watched him sigh. Even the teacher knew to just let Rook be Rook. 

“Mon Trickster! My heart beats so hard for you, it is apt to burst into a bloody mess of my adoration.”

There was now a second spotlight on you. You looked around to see where it was coming from, only to find there was no source of it.

A gust of wind picked up around Rook, making the rose petals that had fallen to the floor pick up, and swirl around him.

“Mon Tresor, say that you will allow me to forever kneel at your feet. Say that you will allow me to sing your adoration until my vocal cords tear. Say that I can write you poetry until my fingers fall off. Say-”

“God, Rook! I'd rather have you in one piece,” you cut him off with a laugh.

He stood upright with a light smile, swirling a finger in the air to turn the rose petals into a single rose. He gently kissed it, then tossed it to you across the classroom. You caught it, sniffing it and letting the aroma wash over you.

By the time you looked back up, he was standing right in front of you. You blinked, looking at the spot he was standing, then back at where he stood now. He smiled as though he was unperturbed by your confusion.

“If I stay in one piece, will you pledge your soul to me?” He asked sweetly.

“My soul? Not my heart?”

“For Seven’s sake, tell the boy whether you love him or not, so I can move on with the class,” Trein snapped.

“Okay! Rook, I like you too!” You said quickly.

“How exciting!” He snapped his fingers, and you heard the beginning of an orchestral intro. 

Rook inhaled heavily, and began to sing.

“Goodness, class dismissed!” Trein shouted over the aria, which was not going to stop anytime soon. You gave Trein a pleading look. While you liked Rook, and were totally happy to start seeing him, this song sounded like it would go on for a while. Trein gave you an apologetic look as he shut the door of the classroom, locking it behind him.

....

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[ivystoryweaver]

Based on a combined request from @babyprofessorsharkpalace and @dowbastan. The requests were so similar that I wrote this one shot and I hope you both like it!

Summary: You're the childhood love of Duke Leto Atreides. Years have passed and your paths took you different directions. You have one final night before he leaves Caladan for Arrakis.

Pairing: Duke Leto Atreides from Dune x f!reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Content: NSFW, mdni, language, fingering, oral - m. rec., p in v, unprotected sex, size kink, nipple play, spitting, not beta'd

✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧

An invitation to Caladan to celebrate House Atreides' appointment to Arrakis was a coveted opportunity, and an honor.

You belonged to a noble family on a neighboring planet, and your family had a history with House Atreides. In fact, you were once pledged to a young Leto Atreides.

✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧

Then...

Long before silver sprinkled his inky curls - before his father passed on the title of Duke - the handsome first son of Caladan was your intended.

This resulted in multiple visits to Caladan during your childhood, in which you actually befriended young Leto. The two of you remained unaware of your families' intentions for years. You played along the wet, craggy rocks and numerous caves of Caladan, and the sprawling gardens of your homeworld.

When you came of age, plans were made to announce your engagement officially. This was the first you'd ever heard of it. You visited Caladan once again with your parents, eager to see your dear friend Leto.

You were both still so young - you even more so than he. You and Leto stole away to your usual childhood spots, laughing and catching up, but this time, once you reached your favorite cave, he gathered you into his arms.

"We're to be married," he whispered, gazing adoringly into your eyes. "Does this please you?"

"Leto," you whispered, with a breathless laugh. "Who else could it ever be but you?"

His strong hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against his body as he lowered his lips to yours.

This was the last happiness you would know with your childhood love.

The Bene Gesserit installed Lady Jessica as a concubine for young Leto.

You understood that many nobles had concubines for companionship, while remaining open to strategic, political marriages. But you assumed you would be Leto's companion, as well as his wife.

Despite your protestations, you might have been forced into the arrangement anyway, except that your parents would have you nowhere near the influence of the Bene Gesserit, if they could help it.

So you didn't see Leto again for years - not until you were married to another powerful man, and Leto had a son and heir, thanks to Lady Jessica.

You had the opportunity to meet them once - young Paul Atreides and his mom. Truthfully, they were lovely and you found yourself wondering why fate had brought a man like Leto to your heart only to yank him away and give him to someone else.

Then your husband passed away. You received a note of condolence from Leto, in his own hand, no less.

'I will always cherish our fond childhood,' it read. 'Please know my sympathy and warm affection are with you always.'

✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧

Now...

So, here you are, these years later, in the home - the castle - of your once intended. A farewell party, to honor House Atreides before they set off to oversee spice production on Arrakis.

Your invitation is nothing special. Hundreds were invited from all over. The chance of you seeing, let alone speaking with the Duke is minuscule. He likely has more important things to do than worry about widowed childhood friends.

The opulence of the occasion enchants even you for a time, but you eventually grow weary of the fake smiles and never-ending condolences. Bored with the evening, and damn near everything in your life, you wander away from the bustle and celebration, through once familiar corridors of Castle Caladan.

Hardly a thing has changed. Few things ever do in these ancient royal dwellings. You find yourself meandering along, just as you did as a child, darting from one lavish room to the next, avoiding the elder duke's stern glare.

Speaking of which...

"If I look at you at just the right angle, it almost seems like we're teenagers again."

The unmistakable voice of Duke Leto Atreides sounds over the faded swirl of orchestra music, drifting from the great hall.

"In complete darkness, maybe," you lightly return, keeping your back turned. "Seeing how I have not walked these halls since the birth of your son."

"A young man nearly grown," Leto evenly responds. "It's been far too long."

The thump of his heavy boots alerts you to his approach. You stiffen as he draws near. You suppose it's time to acknowledge your host in his own home. Before you can, however, he moves in beside you.

Just the scent of him throws you into inner turmoil. The years have been kind to Leto. He wears middle age very well. Distinguished and brutally handsome, he commands respect, despite his shorter stature.

"Too long indeed," you finally respond, longing to turn and gaze into his eyes - to see if any trace of the boy you loved still lingers.

"Let me look at you," he softly commands, boldly cupping your shoulder with his palm.

"Nothing to see." You shrug him off, or attempt to anyway. "Just a lonely widow."

He crowds into your personal space demandingly, grasping both shoulders now. "Am I such a stranger to you that you won't greet me in my own home - or even look at me? Why did you even make the journey?"

Your eyes meet his unflinchingly - a perfect match for his stubbornness. "I came to congratulate you and your family on your appointment to Arrakis. Now that I've done so, I'll take my leave."

He holds you firmly, the heat of his fingers seeping through your sleeve. "Why so soon? I've only just laid eyes on you for the first time in years and you can't even spare me a glance? You might as well condemn me to walk the sands of Arrakis alone."

"Don't be so dramatic, Leto," you mock, attempting to wrench free of his grip. "Everything you need or want is going with you to that desert rock."

"Not everything," he firmly protests, dark eyes boring into yours. His fingers, so insistently gripping your arms, relax and began to trace soothing circles on the soft fabric of your dress.

You huff, rolling your eyes, but your body automatically eases closer to the duke, as if responding to him instinctually.

"Don't pretend I mean anything to you now," you scold him, melting into his embrace, with only your words left to cut him.

"No one in this world means more to me except for my own son," he breathes on your cheek, his hands gripping your hips as he pulls you flush against his pristinely uniformed chest.

Your heart stops for a moment as you struggle to breathe. "I think you forgot Lady Jessica," you finally manage. "The Bene Gesserit's strategic installation."

He groans. "She's the mother of my heir."

"All the more reason to leave me be! I've paid my respects. I'm done here. We're done." Your chest heaves dramatically as Leto runs his hands possessively up your back, pulling you desperately close.

"I'll never be done with you," he breathes against your mouth, covering your lips with his own. You want to fight him but the heat of his tongue lures you in, your body wilting into his powerful embrace. His soft beard tickles your face as you liquify in his arms.

Taking advantage of your compliance, he kisses you endlessly, working the elegant skirt of your dress up your legs until it bunches around your waist, giving him access to caress your thighs.

His tongue thrusts hungrily but his fingers touch you softly, tracing your inner thigh, on a determined path to the core of you.

He doesn't ask - he feels your hips shift toward his caress as he strokes you through the flimsy fabric covering your folds.

He wastes no time brushing the material aside to push his knuckles against your wet heat, already slick for him. He surprises you with the brazenness of his touch. His fingers stretch out, separating your slick folds. The pad of his thumb drags demandingly down over your needy bundle of nerves as his fingers work their way into you possessively.

He groans into your mouth as you squelch and clench around him - your hole tight and unused.

You shamelessly moan against his parted, panting mouth, fucking your hips down onto his thick digits, the stretch of even two fingers stuffing you fuller than you've felt in years. His rhythm in and out is the most incredible sensation you've ever experienced in your life.

"This is all for you," he rumbles on your ear, curling his fingertips against the spongy softness inside you, making you shudder with desperate want. "Invited half the galaxy here just so I could be inside you again."

"Leto," you keen, your back arching as a wave of euphoria rolls through you, drenching his fingers with your desire.

You're instantly yanking at the belt of his uniform trousers, panting, somewhat satisfied, but not truly sated. You remember the beautiful, soft, strong body of your first lover. Your husband had no hope of comparing.

As you work him free of his pants, which drop to his knees, you gasp out an eager whine as his cock springs free, stiff and thick and already dripping for you. Without another thought, you're sinking to your knees to swipe your tongue over the proud length of him.

He sucks in a breath and growls out a swear. You can tell you've managed to truly surprise him.

You can't fit him in your mouth - there's no way, so your hands grip his shaft twisting possessively as you open wide and try take him to the back of your throat.

"F-fuck," he hisses, stumbling forward slightly and you gag, drool trickling from the corners of your mouth. Once you get your bearings, you chuckle around him because this man never loses control of any situation.

He's so thick your eyes start to water, but it feels good to have him in your hands again - to have someone want you, crave you, even.

His body is tense and impatient and he grips your chin forcefully, although not painfully, easing his stiff cock out of your mouth. You wonder what's going on, but he doesn't keep you guessing.

"Turn around," he orders, bringing your skirts back up to where they started, around your waist. "Hold this," he commands.

His hands grip your hips underneath your dress and you feel his cock rubbing against your ass as he leans over you the nearest table, his breath falling hot on your ear. He doesn't speak yet, just breathes in and out. You manage to hold your skirt with one hand while bracing yourself with the other.

Unsatisfied with your position, he grumbles out a curse, pushing you so far over that your backside is higher than your head, your body halfway sprawled across the table’s end. Leaning down, he separates your pussy lips with his fingers and spits on your cunt. You let out a whine - your own voice sounding foreign to you. Then you feel the tip of his cock drag through your wet folds, back and forth, before he finally eases in, halting as he feels how impossibly tight you are.

You whimper at the intrusion, your body thrumming with lust. This elegant duke - controlled and noble in every interaction - is grunting, his hips stuttering as he tries to fit his impossibly huge cock into your unused cunt. Your whines and his groans are shamefully loud, echoing off the ancient walls of this corridor, where anyone could find you.

"You'll take all of me before you leave here," he hisses, his fingers finding your clit, circling languidly, while his other hand wraps around your abdomen, holding you in position. He palms your breast through the fabric of your dress and you wish you could feel his skin against yours again.

You almost say as much - beg him, even, but you know these are stolen moments. Hundreds are waiting for him, probably looking for him.

But he's here, inside you. Or half inside, anyway.

"That's it, dove, let me in," he huffs, pushing in more, and more.

Tears prick your eyes because it stings but you need it so badly. "You're so big," you gasp out, "I can't, Leto. Please."

He jerks out of you so fast, you almost topple over, but the strong arm wrapped around you holds you steady. Pulling you up to your feet, he drags you by the hand to the nearest sleeping quarters down the corridor - essentially, the closest room with a door.

Securing the door, he all but rips the bodice of your dress, pawing at you until your breasts spring free. Catching your nipple between his teeth, he tugs, making you hiss out a whine, the pain and pleasure making you weak.

His tongue soothes your sore skin, coaxing your nipple to hardness. Then he suckles you while yanking at your laces and bindings.

You chant his name like a prayer, pushing your fingers into his perfectly kempt curls, twirling them into a mess as he sucks your tits, one at a time. It feels so good you could come again just from this.

But you need to feel him, to have him. This will be your only chance - you're sure of it. Barely managing to give up the sensation of having this perfect man suck your nipples, you push him back and work on the buttons of his uniform jacket. He's way ahead of you, having rid himself of everything from the waist down.

Finally, finally you feel all of him, all these years later.

He pulls you against him, kissing you deeply, gripping your thighs before hoisting them around his waist. Backing up to the bed, he eases down, sitting on the edge with you on top of him.

"Need you to take all of me," he repeats the directive, clutching your hip with one hand, while gripping his cock in the other.

Nodding, you push up onto your knees, letting him drag his tip through your folds, collecting your wetness.

"Fuck me," he commands, squeezing your hip and pushing you downward, fingertips digging into your flesh.

Bracing yourself on his broad, muscular shoulders, you sink onto his tip, breathlessly moaning at how swiftly and easily you feel full.

"More than that. Need more." His jaw is locked in unbearable tension and you feel his cock twitch as he slips deeper inside.

"Kept this cunt tight for me," he rasps, pushing again. "No one can stretch you out like I can."

"Yes," you unabashedly whine, your legs trembling as you try to hold your body up just a little longer, feeling as if he will spear you in half if you sink all the way down.

He leans back a little and uses his fingers to push your pussy lips apart. He wants to watch your squelching cunt split open over his thick cock.

"Look at how you take me," he marvels, licking his lips, using one fingertip to toy with your clit. Your back arches in ecstasy, but you still, you don't sink all the way down.

"Let me in," he snarls, rubbing you rapidly but so featherlight, you teeter on the edge of orgasm. Desperate to come, to please him, to feel all of him, you give in, letting your legs give out as you sink down - the heavy length of him searing you inside.

"Leto, fuck...fuck," you cry - wincing at the sting but reveling in the stretch.

He groans out appreciatively, but his arms quickly wind around you to support your weight and he stills the movement of his hips as you adjust to the full length of him.

"So good for me," he rasps, kissing you again. You melt into the taste of him, threading your fingers through his curls. Your breasts press against the warmth of his chest. He kisses you on and on, his legs twitching with the need to move, to push up, to thrust into your cunt, stuffed full of him.

He almost comes just from the first rock of your hips, finally feeling the friction he needs. He wants to grip your hips and force you down on his cock, over and over, but he's patient, just a little longer. Your hunger for this - for him, is almost as intoxicating as the way you begin to slowly grind your pelvis in a tantalizing, delicious rhythm.

Wanting you to feel as good as he does - needing to feel the clench of your cunt around his cock when you come - prompts him to reach between your bodies again and strum at your oversensitive clit. He meets your rocking with slow, sensual thrusts upward, sucking a mark into your throat as he coaxes you to another delicious climax.

You forget to mind the fact that this spontaneous reunion could technically result in a child. But Leto hasn't forgotten.

"Want to fill you up," he pants, desperation creeping into his thrusts. The initial sting has worn off after two orgasms, and the slick heat between your bodies creates a pleasurable friction for you both.

"Dance with me tonight," he carries on, pulling you against his chest as his thrusts grow more demanding. "You'll feel the ache of me inside you. I want you to feel me leaking out of you. You're mine."

"I belong to no man," you protest, even as your cunt flutters in agreement with him.

Just a few more thrusts and he comes with a groan, spilling deep inside you, his breath heavy on your throat.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you hold him close, keeping him inside you, reveling in these stolen moments before he disappears from your life. 

Most likely for forever.

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[thedansemacabres]

Introduction To Supporting Sustainable Agriculture For Witches and Pagans

[ID: An image of yellow grain stocks, soon to be harvested. The several stocks reach towards a blurred open sky, focusing the camera on he grains themselves. The leaves of the grains are green and the cereals are exposed].

PAGANISM AND WITCHCRAFT ARE MOVEMENTS WITHIN A SELF-DESTRUCTIVE CAPITALIST SOCIETY. As the world becomes more aware of the importance of sustainability, so does the duty of humanity to uphold the idea of the steward, stemming from various indigenous worldviews, in the modern era. I make this small introduction as a viticulturist working towards organic and environmentally friendly grape production. I also do work on a food farm, as a second job—a regenerative farm, so I suppose that is my qualifications. Sustainable—or rather regenerative agriculture—grows in recognition. And as paganism and witchcraft continue to blossom, learning and supporting sustainability is naturally a path for us to take. I will say that this is influenced by I living in the USA, however, there are thousands of groups across the world for sustainable agriculture, of which tend to be easy to research.

So let us unite in caring for the world together, and here is an introduction to supporting sustainable/regenerative agriculture. 

A QUICK BRIEF ON SUSTAINABLE AGRICULTURE 

Sustainable agriculture, in truth, is a movement to practise agriculture as it has been done for thousands of years—this time, with more innovation from science and microbiology especially. The legal definition in the USA of sustainable agriculture is: 

The term ”sustainable agriculture” (U.S. Code Title 7, Section 3103) means an integrated system of plant and animal production practices having a site-specific application that will over the long-term:

A more common man’s definition would be farming in a way that provides society’s food and textile needs without overuse of natural resources, artificial supplements and pest controls, without compromising the future generation’s needs and ability to produce resources. The agriculture industry has one of the largest and most detrimental impacts on the environment, and sustainable agriculture is the alternative movement to it. 

Sustainable agriculture also has the perk of being physically better for you—the nutrient quality of crops in the USA has dropped by 47%, and the majority of our food goes to waste. Imagine if it was composted and reused? Or even better—we buy only what we need. We as pagans and witches can help change this. 

BUYING ORGANIC (IT REALLY WORKS)

The first step is buying organic. While cliche, it does work: organic operations have certain rules to abide by, which excludes environmentally dangerous chemicals—many of which, such as DDT, which causes ecological genocide and death to people. Organic operations have to use natural ways of fertilising, such as compost, which to many of us—such as myself—revere the cycle of life, rot, and death. Organic standards do vary depending on the country, but the key idea is farming without artificial fertilisers, using organic seeds, supplementing with animal manure, fertility managed through management practices, etc. 

However, organic does have its flaws. Certified organic costs many, of which many small farmers cannot afford. The nutrient quality of organic food, while tending to be better, is still poor compared to regeneratively grown crops. Furthermore, the process to become certified organic is often gruelling—you can practise completely organically, but if you are not certified, it is not organic. Which, while a quality control insurance, is both a bonus and a hurdle. 

JOINING A CSA

Moving from organic is joining a CSA (“Community supported agriculture”). The USDA defines far better than I could: 

Community Supported Agriculture (CSA), one type of direct marketing, consists of a community of individuals who pledge support to a farm operation so that the farmland becomes, either legally or spiritually, the community’s farm, with the growers and consumers providing mutual support and sharing the risks and benefits of food production.

By purchasing a farm share, you receive food from the farm for the agreed upon production year. I personally enjoy CSAs for the relational aspect—choosing a CSA is about having a relationship, not only with the farmer(s), but also the land you receive food from. I volunteer for my CSA and sometimes I get extra cash from it—partaking in the act of caring for the land. Joining a CSA also means taking your precious capital away from the larger food industry and directly supporting growers—and CSAs typically practise sustainable and/or regenerative agriculture. 

CSAs are also found all over the world and many can deliver their products to food deserts and other areas with limited agricultural access. I volunteer from time to time for a food bank that does exactly that with the produce I helped grow on the vegetable farm I work for. 

FARM MARKETS AND STALLS 

Another way of personally connecting to sustainable agriculture is entering the realm of the farm stall. The farmer’s market is one of my personal favourite experiences—people buzzing about searching for ingredients, smiles as farmers sell crops and products such as honey or baked goods, etc. The personal connection stretches into the earth, and into the past it buries—as I purchase my apples from the stall, I cannot help but see a thousand lives unfold. People have been doing this for thousands of years and here I stand, doing it all over again. 

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Farmers’ markets are dependent on your local area, yet in most you can still develop personal community connections. Paganism often stresses community as an ideal and a state of life. And witchcraft often stresses a connection to the soil. What better place, then, is purchasing the products from the locals who commune with the land? 

VOLUNTEERING 

If you are able to, I absolutely recommend volunteering. I have worked with aquaponic systems, food banks, farms, cider-making companies, soil conservation groups, etc. There is so much opportunity—and perhaps employment—in these fields. The knowledge I have gained has been wonderful. As one example, I learned that fertilisers reduce carbon sequestration as plants absorb carbon to help with nutrient intake. If they have all their nutrients ready, they do not need to work to obtain carbon to help absorb it. This does not even get into the symbiotic relationship fungi have with roots, or the world of hyphae. Volunteering provides community and connection. Actions and words change the world, and the world grows ever better with help—including how much or how little you may provide. It also makes a wonderful devotional activity. 

RESOURCING FOOD AND COOKING 

Buying from farmers is not always easy, however. Produce often has to be processed, requiring labour and work with some crops such as carrots. Other times, it is a hard effort to cook and many of us—such as myself—often have very limited energy. There are solutions to this, thankfully:

Many farmers can and will process foods. Some even do canning, which can be good to stock up on food and lessen the energy inputs. 

Value-added products: farms also try to avoid waste, and these products often become dried snacks if fruit, frozen, etc. 

Asking farmers if they would be open to accommodating this. Chances are, they would! The farmer I purchase my CSA share from certainly does. 

Going to farmers markets instead of buying a CSA, aligning with your energy levels. 

And if any of your purchased goods are going unused, you can always freeze them. 

DEMETER, CERES, VEIA, ETC: THE FORGOTTEN AGRICULTURE GODS

Agricultural gods are often neglected. Even gods presiding over agriculture often do not have those aspects venerated—Dionysos is a god of viticulture and Apollon a god of cattle. While I myself love Dionysos as a party and wine god, the core of him remains firmly in the vineyards and fields, branching into the expanses of the wild. I find him far more in the curling vines as I prune them than in the simple delights of the wine I ferment. Even more obscure gods, such as Veia, the Etruscan goddess of agriculture, are seldom known.

Persephone receives the worst of this: I enjoy her too as a dread queen, and people do acknowledge her as Kore, but she is far more popular as the queen of the underworld instead of the dear daughter of Demeter. I do understand this, though—I did not feel the might of Demeter and Persephone until I began to move soil with my own hands. A complete difference to the ancient world, where the Eleusinian mysteries appealed to thousands. Times change, and while some things should be left to the past, our link to these gods have been severed. After all, how many of us reading know where our food comes from? I did not until I began to purchase from the land I grew to know personally. The grocery store has become a land of tearing us from the land, instead of the food hub it should be.

Yet, while paganism forgets agriculture gods, they have not forgotten us. The new world of farming is more conductive and welcoming than ever. I find that while older, bigoted people exist, the majority of new farmers tend to be LGBT+. My own boss is trans and aro, and I myself am transgender and gay. The other young farmers I know are some flavour of LGBT+, or mixed/poc. There’s a growing movement for Black farmers, elaborated in a lovely text called We Are Each Other’s Harvest. 

Indigenous farming is also growing and I absolutely recommend buying from indigenous farmers. At this point, I consider Demeter to be a patron of LGBT+ people in this regard—she gives an escape to farmers such as myself. Bigotry is far from my mind under her tender care, as divine Helios shines above and Okeanos’ daughters bring fresh water to the crops. Paganism is also more commonly accepted—I find that farmers find out that I am pagan and tell me to do rituals for their crops instead of reacting poorly. Or they’re pagan themselves; a farmer I know turned out to be Wiccan and uses the wheel of the year to keep track of production. 

Incorporating these divinities—or concepts surrounding them—into our crafts and altars is the spiritual step towards better agriculture. Holy Demeter continues to guide me, even before I knew it. 

WANT CHANGE? DO IT YOURSELF! 

If you want change in the world, you have to act. And if you wish for better agriculture, there is always the chance to do it yourself. Sustainable agriculture is often far more accessible than people think: like witchcraft and divination, it is a practice. Homesteading is often appealing to many of us, including myself, and there are plenty of resources to begin. There are even grants to help one improve their home to be more sustainable, i.e. solar panels. Gardening is another, smaller option. Many of us find that plants we grow and nourish are far more potentant in craft, and more receptive to magical workings. 

Caring for plants is fundamental to our natures and there are a thousand ways to delve into it. I personally have joined conservation groups, my local soil conservation group, work with the NRCs in the USA, and more. The path to fully reconnecting to nature and agriculture is personal—united in a common cause to fight for this beautiful world. To immerse yourself in sustainable agriculture, I honestly recommend researching and finding your own path. Mine lies in soil and rot, grapevines and fruit trees. Others do vegetables and cereal grains, or perhaps join unions and legislators. Everyone has a share in the beauty of life, our lives stemming from the land’s gentle sprouts. 

Questions and or help may be given through my ask box on tumblr—if there is a way I can help, let me know. My knowledge is invaluable I believe, as I continue to learn and grow in the grey-clothed arms of Demeter, Dionysos, and Kore. 

FURTHER READING:

Baszile, N. (2021). We are each other’s harvest. HarperCollins.

Hatley, J. (2016). Robin Wall Kimmerer. Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous wisdom, scientific knowledge and the teachings of plants. Environmental Philosophy, 13(1), 143–145. https://doi.org/10.5840/envirophil201613137

Regenerative Agriculture 101. (2021, November 29). https://www.nrdc.org/stories/regenerative-agriculture-101#what-is

And in truth, far more than I could count. 

References

Community Supported Agriculture | National Agricultural Library. (n.d.). https://www.nal.usda.gov/farms-and-agricultural-production-systems/community-supported-agriculture

Navazio, J. (2012). The Organic seed Grower: A Farmer’s Guide to Vegetable Seed Production. Chelsea Green Publishing.

Plaster, E. (2008). Soil Science and Management. Cengage Learning.

Sheaffer, C. C., & Moncada, K. M. (2012). Introduction to agronomy: food, crops, and environment. Cengage Learning.

Sheldrake, M. (2020). Entangled life: How Fungi Make Our Worlds, Change Our Minds & Shape Our Futures. Random House.

Sustainable Agriculture | National Agricultural Library. (n.d.). https://www.nal.usda.gov/farms-and-agricultural-production-systems/sustainable-agriculture

[fandomnerd9602]

She was your princess. You were her knight. Sworn to protect her, to let your last action ever be your sword hitting the ground because your opponent bested you. To make sure that she lived while you’d die for her.

How could you have not fallen for her? How could the very sight of her smile not ignite the fury of a thousand dragons’ fire in your heart?

How could Rhaenyra not fall for you? Your steadfast nature, your kindness, the way you smiled when you locked eyes with her from across the royal court. All of it just made her fall deeper in love with you.

You took whatever moment you could just to be in her presence. A second, a minute, whenever you could, you were by her side. A gentle walk in the garden. A token of her favor before you went to train with the other knights. Any time with her was welcome.

You pledged everything to her.

“Everything that I am,” you whisper against her knuckles, “ my sword, my shield my very soul I have pledged to you.”

“Then run away with me” she practically pleaded with her hazel eyes.

“ you and I both know that wouldn’t be a life.” you sadly counter You take her chin in your palm and lock eyes with her, "but know this that after these bones have turned to dust and dragons no longer fly in the skies above Westeros, my heart will always keep on beating for you.”

“And mine shall beat for you" her lips formed a silent promise.

You gave her hand a soft kiss and she walked away from you sadly.

What you failed to notice was that king Viserys had noticed the whole ordeal. An idea was quickly forming in his mind.

The king summoned you into his throne room within the hour. Your heart was beating out of your chest. As you walked into the massive throne room to find it was only you and him. You fall to your knees at the base of the intimidating Iron Throne, fearful for your very life.

"Your majesty" you put your own sword before Viserys' feet.

"Arise my son" he gently orders you, "have you heard of House Valor?"

You've heard of it, "the grand isle to the far west of Westeros?"

"The very one" King Viserys walks down from his throne and approaches you, "I'm sending you at once as my emissary"

"But, your Majesty, my duty as protector to Princess-"

"That is a direct order from your king" Viserys gently interrupts you. "the ship is leaving promptly at sunset"

You could feel the color drain from your face. You couldn't even tell Rhaenyra goodbye, you had to leave in that instance.

Your journey to Castle Valor was a day's journey aboard a ship across the sea to a land beyond the horizon of Westeros. House Valor was long held as a house that held true to its very title. If the world believed that morality was dead, Valor held the lifeline showing that it was not.

You arrived at your destination. A humble island nation, vast villages that dotted its landscape. The castle sat in the middle of the island, not massive by any stretch of the imagination but its stronghold told of its pride and honor.

The guards lead you directly to the throne room and there sat Lord Valor, an elderly man with a kind smile and eyes that told of a life time of heart aches. You kneel before the ruler.

"Lord Valor" you state, "I come on behalf of King Viserys as his emissary. I may not have a title but I will serve you to the best of my ability."

"Welcome my son" the older man greets you, rising from his throne and putting his hand on your shoulder, "we have much to talk about"

A day's journey became a few solid weeks. Rhaenyra's heart was only growing all the more fond of you in your absence. She found herself summoned to her father's throne room.

"Rhaenyra I have selected a husband for you" King Viserys states, not allowing any room for debate.

"What?" Rhaenyra's heart broke in that moment. She could only hope it was not with House Velaryon.

"You are of age and we must secure our borders with House Valor" Viserys explains. "Your betrothed will be arriving shortly."

"But Father I can't marry into House Valor" Rhaenyra tries to explain, "I am in love with-"

The doors of the throne room opened and you walked in, dressed in the royal dressing of House Valor. You carried yourself calmly with every bit of might and pride that a prince would.

"Your majesties" you offer a bow to the two royals. Rhaenyra could feel her heart fluttering at the sight of you.

"Ser Y/N of House Valor" Viserys smiles, catching the smile already forming on Rhaenyra's face. "Glad you could make it."

The truth was that while you were not of noble birth or of privileged title, the lord of House Valor was in search of a successor. A kind man, beloved by all under the banner of his house, he did not have any children or heirs to speak of. Viserys had been in talks with Lord Valor for a while. The king noticed your own sense of morality and kindness, especially to Rhaenyra. Viserys offered you and your sword up as a potential successor. So Lord Valor took you in and named you his 'son'. You had spent the last few weeks learning all that you could from your newly adoptive father. And with it, you finally realized that you could wed the princess. Your heart was brimming with joy over that mere thought.

You walk up to Rhaenyra and gently kiss her hand, "if my lady will have me, i would treasure each second of the day with you."

"I think this marriage is more than agreeable," the young princess giggled, tears beginning to stream down her porcelain face. You pull her into your arms and kiss her tenderly. She wraps her arms around your neck, holding you close.

You briefly look to King Viserys who gives you a wink as you guide Rhaenyra out of the throne room.

[buckets-and-trees]

Hi Aspen, Cedar trees has been seeping into my mind lately (not that I’m complaining, but I’m blaming ovulation). Can I ask what a day in the life looks like for our dear couple? Do they ever run into each other doing their own independent tasks in town? Does reader ever watch Steve with his guards and become enamored with seeing him train/in charge?

Nonnie, I adore this ask!

A day in the life is a pretty odd juxtaposition between routine and a "plot of the week" kind of life. Running into him, depends on the day - but of course you love him more and more. As king, for Steve there are far more out of the ordinary things that crop into his days, whereas for you there are routines, ceremonial bits, and things that only change more based on the season, especially the first year of your marriage.

However, once the two of you came to the initial understanding that your marriage was more than just a political alliance between kingdoms with Steve acquiring someone to be his queen, Steve made some changes pretty swiftly to daily protocols so the two of you could grow together as a couple.

Title: A Shift in the Morning Routine Characters/Pairings: King!Steve x Queen!Reader Word Count: 1100

Content/Warnings: established relationship, reference to morning sex

Additional Notes: I've got so many head cannons that I want to build into more moments with the Cedar Trees AU, (including 2-3 more asks from @stargazingfangirl18 and @gifsbysimplysonia) but here is at least one.

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Not everything changes overnight, you are still new to the kingdom, your role as queen, and growing in familiarity with the people, the land, and your responsibilities, but the new intimacy of a deeper connection and commitment that you and Steve pledged to each other unlocks a wholly different sense of security that trickles steadily into your bloodstream in a way that make the days warmer, brighter, and bearing the duties you have becomes more natural. They were not impossible before, nor difficult, you had been raised and prepared since birth to be ready to become someone’s queen, but the sense of belonging that breathed now between you and your husband – that you were husband and wife – shifted things fundamentally.   

But there are things that do change specifically in your patterns and behaviors. The first thing to change is having breakfast brought in for you both any night the king sleeps in your chambers, and because there is so much protocol and support from palace staff around you, the palace notices quickly that it seems that the king is spending every night with you. There are a few - a very few - who raise an eyebrow at this behavior. Those few seem to think that surely if the king has taken such a liking to his new queen, that's all well and good, but he is the king, why not invite you to his quarters? But no one dares question the king, and much of the palace see his growing devotion to you as only another sign of his very good and kind heart, his capacity to care only showing consistently now in another form.

The servants do know not to bring breakfast until the two of you ring for it though.

Except for unexpected emergencies, the two of you are not to be disturbed until the king has had time with his queen and the two of you are in a state of decency, donning your bedclothes or robes as appropriate.

After a few weeks of this, there's a morning where the king's private secretary is getting antsy while he waits to give the king his first briefing of the day, and Lord Barnes diplomatically intervenes.

"My King," Bucky bows his head in deference that appropriately reflects his respect for Steve's position as king and their tie as friends since schoolchildren before Steve inherited any title. "Coulson doesn't want to disturb you, but he is growing more concerned we will fall behind on your majesty's royal itinerary if he cannot brief you soon ahead of this morning's audiences with the delegations from Vanaheim and Malibu."

The soft sigh Steve lets out is short and you're certain only you can hear, though you know Bucky has seen the affect his arrival and announcement have had as his face reflects warmth, a bit of mirth, but also the duty and responsibility to keep his friend in line with his responsibilities as right hand.

The two of you had lingered much longer in bed that morning, for the pleasure of both of you (twice for you, the second time with Steve). You reach for his hand where it was resting on the corner of the table, slipping your fingers into his palm and brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “I would be a poor queen if I kept you here any longer then.”

Now Steve actually huffs. “You are not keeping me, I choose to breakfast with my wife, and I am not yet finished taking my nourishment for the day.”

You tilt your head and grin. “A kingdom cannot wait on their king all morning.”

“If I may,” Bucky interjects, and you both turn your attention to him, “Coulson could brief you as easily here as anywhere else.”

Steve nods and a wide smile spreads over his handsome face. “Bring him in, Buck.”

Your heart warms and flutters, the two of you holding each other’s gaze for another moment, and he reaches for more bread.  

When Lord Barnes returns with Coulson behind him, Coulson stands with only a little apprehension at the end of the table, but Bucky takes a seat across from you, to the right of the king, and begins to fill a plate of his own with breakfast.

“Your majesties,” Coulson addresses with a bow.

“Coulson,” Steve nods.

“Shall I start with the reports from the borders of the kingdom?”

“Are updates in regard to the delegations not more important than the border reports?” Steve questions, his brow furrowing.

It was fleeting, but you see the slightest of a glance to you and your presence, and your stomach hardens with guilt.

Coulson takes a breath to respond, but Steve holds up a hand. “I see. The queen’s insight may be valuable as we hear what you have to say as she is no stranger to royal politics.”

That hardening melts away at his words.

“Indeed, she may often prove to be invaluable in our efforts here in the coming days but as we move forward, as well, given that there are parts a queen may play that are wholly unavailable to a king.”

Bucky does not look up, but you see a relaxed grin on his face, and as you turn to gage Coulson’s reaction, you see his own previous apprehension had dissolved. “I would agree, your majesty.”

“Moving forward, if the queen should not mind, I would like you to deliver the morning briefing to us both while we breakfast. Come in straight away with the day’s food, Coulson.”

Steve squeezes your hand. “Do you object?”

A show of trust, of valuing your opinion, of seeing you as an asset as his queen – it is the furthest thing from your mind to object. “I serve this kingdom without reservation, my king.”

“One could not ask for a more dutiful or beautiful queen at my side.”

Those blue eyes bore into yours.

You know he means those words.

The full silence in the room only hits you when Lord Barnes clears his throat.

“Start with Vanaheim, Coulson, I meet with them first, correct?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

Over the weeks that turned into months and years, you grew to like Coulson very much, and after that first day when Steve stated his trust in you, Coulson never showed any hesitancy in you ever again, and, in fact, became one of your most staunch champions in the kingdom.

READ THE NEXT PART: WINTER SOLSTICE read more of the Cedar Trees AU

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[horrorisunknowntoyou]

The Moon will Sing

[SAGAU x Mexican! Creator-Reader]

A/n: I love SAGAU but realistically if I was stuck there I would be so sad I can't eat my culture foods ngl. Also y/n is implied first gen. Sorry lol. Also heavy leaning on y/n x Zhongli. Also title is from the song from The Crane Wives.

Also sorry if this sucks, it's kinda rushed and Idk what to do.

TW// obsessive-ish behavior

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You were transported to Teyvat after staying up all night playing Genshin before eventually passing out Infront of your computer.

When you open your eyes, you weren't in the comfort of your room but instead on gold altar.

People you recognized Infront of you as you sat up in shock. You hand hurting slightly as you looked down at it.

Blood.

In matter of fact, the blood was gold.

You watched as the wound healed itself on its own but your thoughts get interrupted as someone speaks up.

"My Grace, we are honored to have you here. The imposter has been dealt with, we pledge our devote loyalty to you."

You straight up passed out after this revelation.

After that whole fiasco, and you woke up to a bunch of crying acolytes.

Turns out, you were asleep for DAYS.

But you eventually grew accustomed to everything, honestly it wasn't as bad you thought it would be. Besides the weird obsessions and yandere like tendencies But there's one thing you missed dearly.

Home.

You were home sick and even the acolytes can see that. You didn't smile, you look off into the distance.

You miss the parties, music, going to swap meet and family members. Even the novellas your mother watched and eating her cooking.

Hell, you missed the internet.

It was just boring.

Then you got an idea, why not share them with your acolytes?! You get to explain your culture and maybe try to recreate dishes your mom made with ingredients here!

You immediately stood up from your throne excited. You immediately ran out of the temple, with the archons following you panicked.

"Your grace wait!" Zhongli yelled out chasing behind you. " You can't just leave abruptly like this! Please take me with you. "

You stood there, looking at a map you summoned looking at the places. "Sure! Let's go!" You grabbed around his waist and flew to places you needed to go.

He was practically beating his heart against his chest. The Creator was holding him! His ears were burning red in embarrassment.

You literally searched high and low, for ingredients alongside Zhongli. You either found substitutes or you quite literally had to create the ingredients. But once you had everything, you went straight to the kitchen.

The Archons were begging you, that they can someone else do it.

But you declined them, deciding to do it yourself.

You think the easiest recipe to do would be caldo de res. It's the one you seen your mother do countless times. And with your powers it should quicken the pace.... probably

Some of your acolytes were watching you, making sure your safe and do any task you asked.

Venti stood by the door way, along side zhongli and Xiao. Making sure your grace was fine.

At this point your at probably your third attempt at making this but you were really determined to get it right or at least

You took a spoonful and blew on it, taking a sip. And God it tasted like home, you place the utensil down and started to cry.

Venti was first to noticed, and thought you were upset. " Your grace don't cry! We can have some one else do it for you if your tired! "

You shook your head, wiping your tears smile. " I'm not sad, in fact I'm happy. Really happy. Would you like to try? It's a soup my mother always made."

Venti was so honored that the creator would even let him try, let alone a recipe the creators mother made!

Zhongli and Xiao whined, they wanted to try it too!

"Don't worry, you'll try it too!" You smiled, as you got a small spoonful.

Venti blushed, he's truly being rewarded, to be fed by the creator itself. He knows Xiao and Zhongli are practically seething in jealousy over this.

You were oblivious to it, feeding Venti small spoonfuls laughing. " Is it good?" You asked practically shaking in excitement.

He nodded happily, unknowingly teasing the other two in the room.

You made the jealousy even worse when you grabbed a handkerchief and clean up ventis face. Getting to be touched and so close to the creator smelling your perfume/cologne.

The other two pushed Venti aside, practically begging to be fed too.

You stood their dumbfounded but reluctantly agreed as well. Spoon feeding both of them, their faces light up.

They were so happy.

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After that, you started cooking other dishes, your acolytes and followers were always so excited to try it.

They saw how much you emotionally improved so they was no discussion over it.

You also started telling them old folktales and customs from your culture. Scholars started to appear and request to write it down and study it. You even taught them Spanish!

Thought they call it, [y/n's] language. And etc.

Sometimes when doing a task, followers can hear you quietly sing songs in your language.

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Your favorite thing, was reactions. The reactions your acolytes and followers had to your culture. They saw it as sacred, but you saw it as home.

You remembered talking to Zhongli because he remembers all of liyues stories and such.

"Zhongli, would you like to listen to a folktale?" You quietly asked, sitting on your throne. Him standing besides you.

" I'll be honored. " He says with a smile.

"There's different variations of this story depending of the region, but this is how I know it. Usually told to children to scare children into obedience. "

You cleared your voice, " long ago, a beautiful indigenous women fell in love with a man of higher social status. They lived happily together, having two children of their own. One day the man abandoned her, to either marry a more beautiful woman then her or a woman of his status. It depends either way, he leaves her. Her feeling threatened by this, consumed by rage and despair. She drown her children, meeting her own demised along side it. God curses her to wonder as a ghost searching for lost children so she can get into heaven."

Zhongli perks up at the story, " did you curse the woman yourself ?"

"ummm...yes?" You said unsurely.

" I see, a fitting punishment of her. " He says proudly.

" ahem, yes of course. Anyway she's called "la llorona" meaning The weeping woman..forever walking near bodies of water in search of her children so she may enter...umm.. heaven? "

Zhongli, tilts his head " what is heaven? " At this point your hands were sweating. " Ummm it's kinda like Celestia? But instead angels and stuff are there and it's like... Holy. You know? Anyway no more questions."

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Random Head Canons and such

If you have curly hair, best believe the acolytes would be fascinated by it. Especially if they give you baths and pamper you.

You would teach Venti songs you know for example: hijo de la Luna.

Sometimes you sing them if you feel like it. Mostly to little kids.

The Adults are definitely not jealous.

The Archons fight each other over being your dancing partner. This is because you needed someone to show how to dance bachata. And ever since they just fight over that spot.

Same for being food taster, they like eating your food and being the first one to try it is such a big honour. You don't know why? Either way they like being spoon fed your cooking.

They all listen to your stories and take your advice very very seriously. It's annoying lol

You taught them your cultures customs, for example birthday customs. You're absolutely not allowed to have your face smashed into cake. They absolutely refuse to do that to you.

Also if you like spicy food, they probably be amazed at your spice tolerance. You'll probably mess with them by eating a whole chile Infront of them.

There are times where you do get very home sick and won't leave your room. When you do, they try their absolute best to comfort you.

Also you have given some of your followers Spanish nicknames for funsies.

Sometimes you and your acolytes would speak Spanish with you. They think it's like the biggest honor to understand your language and speak it with you. But you just think it's nice. Plus you get to have secret convos with people you don't want to know what your saving.

That's all I can think of , off the top of my head lol.

[kckt88]

Drowning Inside You

Summary:

The Omega daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon is to marry her Alpha uncle Aemond Targaryen.

Valaera might have been glad to be getting married, if it wasn’t for the fact that her future husband was the boy she’d maimed with a blade when she was a child.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

Warning(s): Fear, Kissing, Smut, Oral (F) Receiving, P in V, Knotting.

Word Count: 2562

Author Note: An Alpha/Omega Story.

(Otto Hightower passed away shortly after he was dismissed as Hand of the King, Harwin Strong and his father died in a fire at Harrenhal and Laenor spent the rest of his life rowing to Essos with Qarl).

Inspired by the song Drowning by EMO + Melodia.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Valaera kept her eyes on the floor as she walked the length of the sept. Hoping and praying that perhaps a dragon would crash through the ceiling and end her suffering.

The marriage to her Uncle Aemond was set, another attempt at peace between their family. Valaera might have been glad to be getting married, if the groom wasn’t in fact the uncle she’d maimed with a blade when she was a child.

Valaera took a deep breath and raised her head, catching sight of Aemond standing with the septon, his Targaryen cloak wrapped loosely around his shoulders. His face unreadable as he patiently waited for Valaera.

As Valaera was an unmarried Omega and the heir to Driftmark, it was her duty to marry an Alpha capable of bearing the title consort Lord to Driftmark when the time came. Whilst Aemond was more than capable, Valaera couldn’t help but wonder what her cold uncle had instore for her once the vows had been spoken and the time came for the marriage to be consummated.

Would he be rough? Would he demand an eye? Or would he simply torment Valaera for the entirety of their marriage for what had happened on Driftmark all those years ago?

Even his reaction to the news that they were to be wed wasn’t what Valaera had expected. Aemond merely nodded his head at his father the King’s demand and never uttered a single complaint. Alicent on the other hand was very vocal at her displeasure of her favourite son being married off to the ‘vile beast that had left him without an eye and scarred for life’.

Valaera’s own mother wasn’t so keen either, begging her father countless times to see reason. But Viserys would not be moved. The marriage would happen. As demanded by the King.

Finally, after what seemed like an age Valaera came to a stop beside Aemond and prayed to any god’s that were listening that they would have mercy on her and give her the strength to get through the ceremony without throwing up.

“Let it be known that Prince Aemond of House Targaryen and Princess Valaera of House Velaryon are one heart, one flesh, one soul. In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal Alpha and Omega together, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words.”

Aemond slowly turned to Valaera, and offered his hand to the Omega, who hesitated for a moment before taking the Alpha’s hand.

“I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days," Aemond said, his gaze lingering on Valaera who blushed furiously as the septon bound their joined hand together by ribbon.

“I-I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days," Valaera said, his heart racing furiously in his chest.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love”.

Valaera froze as Aemond leaned down and placed a surprisingly gentle kiss upon her lips.

"Ao se nyke. Issi va ñellyrty perzys. Se nyke jāhor va moriot gūrogon ziry iksos ñuhon” whispered Aemond (You and I. Are fire made flesh. And I will always take what is mine).

All throughout the feast, Valaera couldn’t get Aemond’s words out of her mind.

He’s going to carve out my eye. That’s it. I’m done for!

“You seem tense. Wife”.

Valaera jumped slightly at the sound of Aemond’s raspy voice.

“I-I’m just nervous” Valaera replied quickly.

“About what?” asked Aemond as he lifted his goblet to his lips and took a slow sip of wine.

“T-The bedding. I-I’ve never…” said Valaera quietly.

“So, you’ve never taken your brother’s knot?” asked Aemond curiously.

“J-Jace? I would never. He’s my brother” exclaimed Valaera wrinkling her nose in disgust.

“Like that’s ever stopped anyone in this family”.

“I come to the marriage bed untouched uncle. Can you say the same?” asked Valaera.

“Would it matter if I didn’t? I’m an Alpha and Prince of the realm no one would care if I busied myself on the streets of silk every night”.

“So, your just like Aegon then?” asked Valaera, her shoulders slumping slightly.

“I’m nothing like my wastrel of a brother. If it would please my Omega to know that I have only had one such experience” snapped Aemond.

“You expect me to believe that. I mean look at you” said Valaera.

“What about me?” snarled Aemond, his fingers clutching at his goblet so tight they had turned white.

“Y-Your b-beautiful” whispered Valaera.

“Is that so? Even with the deformity that you so charitably bestowed upon me when I was naught but a child?”

“Y-Yes” muttered Valaera.

“Hm”

“Do you plan to hurt me uncle?” asked Valaera nervously.

“I would not hurt you. Unless you asked me too” Aemond whispered as he leaned closer, his wine scented breath tickling Valaera’s ear.

“B-But I took your eye.”

“Yes. You did. But I gained a dragon and there’s other blood that can be spilled in payment for what you took from me” said Aemond.

Oh!

This was it. The way she was going to die. Death by dicking.

Her uncle stood sharply and offered his hand to Valaera.

It was now time to consummate the marriage. Her mother of course had given her the talk just last night. She knew of sex and how children were created, but to hear her mother talking of slick and knots made Valaera want to be sick in the closest vase.

Nothing would ever prepare her for being locked together with her one-eyed uncle until his knot went away.

Valaera jumped as Aemond squeezed her hand. Ignoring the jeers from a clearly drunk Aegon who was soon reprimanded by his own Alpha husband. Aemond led Valaera out of the throne room and towards his-their chambers.

The door suddenly seemed so loud as it was closed.

I suppose I could always jump out of the window and break my legs in the process. It would hurt like hell, but it would be worth it…Right?

Valaera shook life a leaf as Aemond stood before her and slowly began removing her wedding clothes.

“Do you fear me?” Aemond whispered.

“Yes Valzȳrys” Valaera said as she quickly stepped out of the dress that Aemond had unlaced (Husband).

“Issa dōna omega (my sweet omega)”

“Alpha” gasped Valaera as Aemond leaned forward and pressed his face into her neck and nuzzled her mating gland.

It wasn’t…It shouldn’t…Why did that feel…good?

Valaera stood silent, as she suddenly felt herself growing hot. That little voice inside her head whispering. Encouraging her to get closer to the Alpha.

“īlon emagon va moriot issare bound naejot each toile” said Aemond he stepped back and began pulling at his own clothing (We have always been bound to each other).

My mother never said anything about…No…Stop…I shouldn’t even be…Not whilst Aemond is…Oh…It feels so good.

Valaera had lost most of her senses the moment Aemond had pressed her onto the bed and knelt down between her open legs.

“Issa dōna omega” whispered Aemond (My sweet omega).

Valaera’s eyes rolled into the back of her head as Aemond’s tongue swept across her slick wet folds.

It was difficult to believe. Aemond Targaryen rider of the mighty Vhagar was on his knees as naked as his name day, tongue deep in her…Oh my god.

Valaera bit the back of her hand to keep herself from screaming as Aemond began using his long fingers to tease her entrance.

“Ivestragī issa rȳbagon ao issa dōna” growled Aemond (Let me hear you my sweet).

“A-Aemond. Oh god. Please” moaned Valaera.

Her heart was racing, it felt so good. Yes. Yes Aemond. Please. Something is happening. I feel like I’m going to explode.

Aemond pressed two fingers inside Valaera, moving them against a spot that made her entire body shake.

His tongue…His fingers…Oh it was heaven. Don’t stop. I beg you don’t stop.

“I know your almost there. Let it happen my sweet. Come for me” whispered Aemond.

Valaera arched her back and let out a scream as her pleasure erupted.

Aemond crawled up Valaera’s body, placing gentle kisses on her skin as he moved higher and higher.

Valaera blushed furiously when she saw that Aemond’s chin was shining with her slick.

“Calm yourself my little strong girl” murmured Aemond.

“I-I’ve never-” mumbled Valaera.

“Relax and let Alpha take care of you”.

Easy for him to say…He’s not the one who…Oh my…He’s huge…Surely that won’t fit inside will it?

Almost as if he could read Valaera’s mind, Aemond smiled and began peppering gentle kisses all over Valaera’s face.

“You can take it. Ao istan vēttan syt issa” whispered Aemond as he began rubbing his hard cock along Valaera’s wet folds (You were made for me).

I want him. I want him so much. Take me alpha. Please.

Suddenly Aemond rolls his hips forward and the entire hard length of him is buried inside Valaera.

“A-Aemond” shrieks Valaera.

Aemond stills for a moment, almost as if he is savouring the feeling of Valaera’s tight wet heat being wrapped around him.

He’s so deep inside me. I can feel him everywhere. It hurts. It hurts so good.

“M-Move please Alpha. I need you” begged Valaera desperately.

Aemond rolls his hips gently at first, allowing Valaera the time to adjust to the feeling of his cock moving back and forth inside her, but when his sweet Omega begins issuing pleas of “Harder and faster” Aemond loses it and begins fucking Valaera into the mattress.

Their hips pound together as Aemond thrusts hard and fast, his movements brutal and precise.

“Valaera. My Omega” moans Aemond as his cock begins to thicken at the base.

Yes. Yes. Oh, it’s feels so good. Alpha don’t stop. Fuck me harder. I can take it.

“Going to fill you up with my seed. I want to see you swollen with my pups” hisses Aemond.

Yes. Alpha breed me. I want to grow round with your pup. I will give you as many pups as you desire.

“Y-Your neck. I need too…Claim you” growls Aemond.

“Yes, Alpha claim me. Make me yours. Forever” begs Valaera as she quickly turns her head to the side.

“I've always wanted your sweet cunny” moans Aemond as his knot begins to tug against Valaera with every thrust.

As Aemond gives one last thrust and forces his knot inside Valaera, he leans forward and sinks his teeth into Valaera’s mating gland.

Valaera screams in ecstasy as she feels Aemond throb inside of her, coating her insides with rope after rope of his seed.

Aemond suddenly moves his head to the side to display his own neck and Valaera lunges forward. Whilst her teeth are not as sharp as Aemonds, they still manage to puncture his mating gland. Sealing Alpha and Omega together forever. Their bond snapping into place. Their hearts as one.

I can feel him. My Alpha. My mate. My dragon.

“My Valaera. Always” mutters Aemond.

Valaera was married, she was mated, she had an Alpha, and she was completely exhausted.

Her Alpha had a ravenous appetite last night, kissing, sucking, licking, and fucking her well into the hours of the night. Never fully satisfied until he’d filled her with his seed another two times.

Aemond was absolutely insatiable, even just this morning he had reached for Valaera and had her once more.

Afterwards, Aemond had wrapped his arms around Valaera and held her close as the pleased purrs rumbled through her chest.

The feeling of Aemond inside her, the sound of her Alpha’s moans as he spilled his seed. Oh, gods the way Aemond had kissed her. No stop, I can’t be thinking of him-us like that not now, not when I ache so much.

B-But it was so good.

Valaera was aching and she was sore in places she never knew existed.

Even sitting at the table to eat breakfast was rather uncomfortable.

Aemond had given Valaera a quick kiss before leaving their shared chambers after breakfast, his training with Ser Crisp-Criston still of importance.

How her Alpha even had the energy for training this morning, Valaera would never know.

Must be an Alpha thing, enhanced virility, or stamina or whatever it was.

At least having some time alone, meant Valaera could bathe.

The maids of course had swiftly changed the blood and seed stained sheets and prepared a bath for the satisfied yet thoroughly debauched looking Omega.

Her skin was littered with numerous love bites, yet she was sure that her Alpha also wore the marks of their vigorous love making in the form of long scratches on his back, which of course Aemond seemed to enjoy receiving.

Valaera sighed as she lowered herself into the lavender scented hot water.

The warmth soothing the dull throbbing ache between her legs.

After Valaera had successfully scrubbed the dried blood and seed from her body, she rested her head on the edge of the tub and closed her eyes.

Again, her mind was drawn to her Alpha, just yesterday morning she’d been a nervous wreck, the very thought of bedding Aemond was terrifying, yet now the very though of her Alpha’s huge…

“Valaera”

Valaera jumped at the sound of her older brother’s voice.

“Jace, seriously. Do you even know how to knock” snapped Valaera as she covered her body.

“I did knock. You didn’t answer” replied Jace.

“So, you just thought you would barge into my rooms, it's a good job Aemond isn't here”.

“Mother was worried. So, I said I’d check on you” Jace retorted as averted his gaze and began looking around the room.

“As you can see, I’m still alive” grumbled Valaera as she quickly rose from the bath and wrapped a towel around her body.

“How was it? I mean for us Alpha’s it’s easy but an Omega-“

“I’m fine Jace. Aemond was nice, he took care of me” mumbled Valaera.

“He more than took care of you judging by those love marks on your neck” sniggered Jace.

“Don’t you have your own Omega to annoy” growled Valaera as she ducked behind the privacy screen and began pulling on her riding clothes.

“Boy somebodies grumpy today”

“I didn’t get much sleep last night that’s all” muttered Valaera.

“How many times did you guys-“ laughed Jace wiggling his eyebrows.

“Three times and then again this morning” confessed Valaera blushing.

“There was me worrying that he’d carve out your eye the moment he had you alone and instead he was too busy fucking you into the mattress” exclaimed Jace as he wrapped an arm around Valaera and hugged her.

“You weren’t the only one that though he would take my eye, but Jace he was-it was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before” whispered Valaera.

Her mind yet again wondering to her Alpha and his perfectly sculpted body, his long silver hair, and that handsome face. Her husband was truly a gift from the god’s of old Valyria.

“Right before you start slicking yourself at the thought of your Alpha, how about we go flying? Your already dressed for it anyway and I’m sure Vermax would enjoy the company” said Jace smirking at his younger sister’s blushing.

“Fine, but only if we can race” urged Valaera excitedly.

“Sure we-Hey you cheater” shouted Jace as Valaera darted past him and ran out of the room, her laughter echoing down the corridor.

Jace gave an annoyed huff before he gave in and chased after his sister.