ANNOUNCEMENT: inbox is open, but im still a college student
Wimble's World of Warcrimes
hi there, my name is wimble. i am a 21 year old hobby writer! this is a safe space for all walks of life, if you find comfort in my work, please feel free to drop a like, reblog or even comment on my things! my inbox is always open, so feel free to pop in and say hi, tell me about your day, or even share some funny memes!
this pinned post will be updated with links to my work, my boundaries and any anons who interact frequently!
please note that any kind of negativity will not be tolerated as this is a safe space. if you spread any kind of hate or unnecessary negativity, you will be blocked.
Tags to find my stuff:
wimble wrants - things i complain about
wimble writes - my work
wimble wanswers - inbox shit
this is a multifandom blog, and here are all of the fandoms i'm willing to write for (read the rules first):
- BNHA/MHA
- ONE PIECE (AS LONG AS I KNOW THE CHARACTERS)
- COD (pls note that i haven't and do not intend to play the games, im just one of 'those' girls)
smut, angst, suggestive, fluff, crackfics and shitposts are all allowed now.
anyone interested in betaing my works can either pm me or comment under this post with alternative methods of contact, but please note that if I don't reply i either didn't see it or an not comfortable with talking to you!
all right are reserved
any and all characters not claimed by myself belong to their respective creators
content warnings: p in v sex, reader referred to as "girl" as in "pretty girl", caregiver kink, breeding kink, creampie, thigh riding, virginity kink, corruption kink, praise kink, d/s elements, impact play, titty sucking, guided masturbation
ushijima gets painfully hard taking care of you. he loves how dependent you become for every little thing - how your eyes get so sweet and gentle when you thank him for all he does for you. when he's cooking soup for you, his brain is a million miles away, off fantasizing about you fluttering around his fingers, your voice a hoarse whimper against the thick column of his neck. he doesn't care if you can feed yourself - he wants to see you willingly open your mouth when he tells you to, wants to make sure you have a belly full of nutrients before he parts your legs and noses between your folds. "it's good to have an orgasm when you're not feeling well. everyone knows that, my love."
sakusa has a breeding kink because of the ownership, the mess, the sheer fucking risk. you had a pregnancy scare once and it bricked him up instantly. now every time he's fucking you, he's promising to knock you up, smiling to himself when you clench and groan around him. he stuffs you full of cum and then fingers it back into you, fingertips expertly rubbing along the walls he's just coated white with his seed. you're a mess of his making, painted in his cum and soon to be swollen with his child.
daichi isn't stupid—he sees the way you look at him, virgin eyes all sweet and trusting when you tell him that you want him to be your first, that you trust him. he wishes he could ignore the possessive desire to take your virginity, to corrupt you so completely that no other man can ever lay claim to you in the way that he has. but he can't, not when you're whimpering in his lap, legs draped on other side of his thigh, swollen pussy beating in time with his heartbeat as he bounces you up and down. "i know, i know," he soothes. "feels real good, doesn't it, angel?"
oikawa is the sloppiest pussydrunk simp to ever exist. the second he's inside of you, he's moaning and whimpering, barely able to stop himself from praising you. "oh fuck baby -- my pretty baby, you feel so good. you're mine, right honey? all fucking mine?" he can barely control himself; the velvety suck of your walls along his cock feels unreal. "wish you knew how good you feel -- it's impossible not to fuck you full, sweet girl." he buries his face in your neck, hips erratic in rhythm, thighs flexing with every thrust. "please let me cum inside you, baby, please." his fingers dig into your skin when he feels you tighten around him. "oh fuck, right there? is that where you need me?"
kageyama lets you use him like a dildo - legs tied apart and your panties stuffed in his mouth. he's uncharacteristically noisy in his pleasure, grunting and groaning every time you shift your hips. "you like being used like this, don't you?" you smirk down at him. "mr. big strong volleyball player just wants his pretty dick wet." but all he's thinking about is the sheer athleticism of your thighs, how beautiful you look with sweat dripping down your face and in between your tits, and how desperately, violently, he needs you to let him cum.
tsukishima loves to fight and fuck. nothing gets this man harder than someone who goes toe to toe with him. what he didn't expect was how much he wants you to smack him across the mouth when he finally slides inside of you, how much he wants you to tell him he's not fucking you well enough. "slap me," he says. you flash the nastiest smirk before your palm rings across the side of his face. his cock twitches. "yeah. do that shit again, baby."
kuroo loves how smart you are; one of his favorite things to do is lay between your thighs and listen to you read to him, his face squished into your tummy and his arms wrapped around your hips. he loves it so much that your reading sessions often turn into him lazily licking between your folds for hours. a command for you to keep reading rumbles from his throat whenever your focus wavers, when the swirl of his tongue through your wet heat bucks your hips off the bed. "who said you could stop?" he pulls away from your clit. "i'm really interested in learning more about mycology, baby."
best friend!suna takes your "getting your tits sucked on can't feel that good" personally. he tells you it's a shame that no one's ever made you feel good like that, that you should make sure you don't like it before you entirely discard the practice. "plenty of people have sucked on my tits," you tell him. "none of them were me," he replies, all serious calm mixed with arrogant intent. you know you're fucked when he squeezes the heft of a breast in his palm, teeth scraping over your nipple. you arch into his touch. "see? the little princess just needed special treatment."
kenma is amazing at guided masturbation. he doesn't have the best game in person, but behind a keyboard, he's a master. his instructions for you are always slow and methodical, a careful exploration of the erogenous zones he knows drive you wild. you're so obedient, too, sending him voice clips when he tells you to, your pretty voice on display as you finger yourself slowly. his final message reads: please show me how pretty you look rn, along with a picture of his flushed face, leaking cock in his hand.
*this is not to shame anybody. if you used to use chatgpt in the past but have stopped, kudos to you, this post still includes you. if you are still using chatgpt, then I guess I can’t stop you — but if you ever decide to stop using it in the future, you may then claim your star too
suna rintarou x gn!reader
1.4k words / best friends to lovers
idek man. but @saezzi (thank yew for reading it over) said it was ok so @.@ anyways first hq piece yay
you like suna rintarou a little too much at 1:19am in bed, with his hand on your back, drawing odd patterns over your (his) t-shirt. his other hand is holding his phone, youtube on, playing a video of deep sea diving and swimming with sharks.
you're sleepy and the atmosphere is perfect, and he looks like a dream when he's painted by the soft glow of your bedside mood lamp. pink and purple hues blur the line between friendship and something more.
you roll over into his arms, slotting your face into the crook of his neck.
"going to sleep?" he asks. you hum an affirmative sound, eyes already closed. he echoes it back.
he doesn't get off his phone, and the soft blue light emanating from the device keeps you in the limbo between consciousness and sleep for just a while longer.
long enough to feel him shuffle—minimal movement but it's easy to tell when you're all pressed up like this—angling his face toward you, then the softness of his lips when they kiss your forehead.
but suna is soft and he is warm, his hand is back to stroking your skin, and you're too far gone to know if it was real or a figment of the fondness you nurture for him.
you like suna rintarou a little too much at 3:29pm on the crowded train home, but you've found two empty seats to yourselves at the very end. you're by the window, dizzy with your eyes closed and your head on his shoulder because the lady across the aisle has enough perfume to suffocate the entire carriage.
the train ride is mostly quiet but the sun is loud and has no regard for your peace. it blares down on you even through the thin curtain that separates you and the glass window, like miya atsumu when he's been deprived of attention for a while.
your eyelids twitch, then a shadow befall your face. when you peek an eye open, suna's got his big hand over your head like it's all just so casual. you tilt your head to look at him, but he only coaxes you back on his shoulder. you're not sure if he notices the heat of color on your cheeks, but he doesn't comment either way.
"go to sleep," he says, completely unfazed by the solar assault on his own eyes. "i’ll wake you when we get there."
you like suna rintarou a little too much at 8:18pm in the third set of a match that has dragged on for way longer than anyone expected. he moves like a blur on the court, and you're the always the first person to jump from your seat whenever he blocks a spike or lands a clean hit.
"sunarin!" you would yell, holding up a sign with his name in bold glittery letters, loud enough to drown out some of the miya fangirls.
suna would find you no matter where you are in the stands. he looks to you first every time, because catching that bright grin of yours is always better than raucous cheers from his teammates.
it's easy to categorize the neutral expression on his face as indifference, but you know him better than most. know that the slight quirk of his lips communicates something only you two can understand.
it's warm, so fuzzy that you don't notice the way the rest of the team follows suna's line of sight, nor the teasing and knowing smiles when their gazes land on you.
"i'm your first supporter, rin," you had said once upon a time, back when you were just children, your hands bandaging his scraped up knees after volleyball with the other neighborhood kids. "i'm your biggest supporter!"
years later and you're still watching him from the bleachers, still wearing that smile so bright it could rival the sun.
the match resumes, he goes back into position but his eyes remain on you for a second longer.
you like suna rintarou a little too much at 12:22am on a midnight snack run with the miyas, even though half your attention is divided on atsumu who keeps throwing pointed chuckles at suna because the convenience store cashier is not subtle at all.
maybe she doesn't need to care about subtlety when she's that pretty. every brush of her fingers against suna's as he hands her your shared items seems deliberate. you're standing right here—probably looking like chopped liver to a woman on a mission—and you don't know if suna notices her flirty smiles or if he just doesn't care, but that spark of irritation flares up inside you anyhow.
when he pulls out his wallet, you're still huffing internally, already picturing how this next minute could play out. she'd bat her eyelashes, put on a devastatingly beautiful smile and suna would cave because he's still just a man after all.
someone gasps—atsumu, likely—and you snap out of it just fast enough to catch the cashier slump slightly. she glances at you, and you're looking over suna's shoulders to find him fishing out some bills, but he's holding the wallet open for longer than you think is necessary. in the transparent photo slot is something you thought you lost a while back, a polaroid of you making a silly face at the camera. he's there too, barely visible peeking out from behind, but he was looking at you.
suna thanks the cashier politely and grabs the plastic bag from the counter. when he leads you out the door by your hand, you don't even need to look back to know it's atsumu who's squealing into his palm.
you even like suna rintarou at 7:12am on a cloudy sunday morning, maybe a little less than usual when he's pounding on your door like he's about to kick it down any second now.
"what the fuck?" you snarl when you catch him on the other side of the threshold. "i was sleeping!"
he's out of breath, his hair's all wind blown, that lanky figure of his leaning against your doorframe as if he’s about to pass out. even half-asleep, you know that he's not supposed to be here. no, he's supposed to be on a stuffy bus with the rest of his teammates on the way to a tournament in another city.
three hours away for three weeks. you already said your goodbyes last night, already sent him off with a handmade bracelet for good luck.
"i just…" he starts, but it comes out ragged because there's still not enough air in his lungs. he steps forward regardless, uncaring of your disheveled appearance—messy bedhead and your sleep shirt hanging off one shoulder—and pulls you all up into his personal space.
there's a sheen of perspiration on his forehead that you spot from this close. you hear the incessant buzzing of his phone in his pocket, but suna doesn't seem bothered so you don't ask. one of his hands finds the nape of your neck, not unfamiliar, but still quite foreign in this context that you haven't yet deciphered.
"i need to do something," he says, his voice much more even now. and you would ask question what on earth could he possibly need to do at the ass crack of a sunday morning, but his other hand finds the small of your back and you feel the butterflies again, rampant and insane.
"rin…"
then he's leaning in until there's no space between you at all. his lips on yours, tasting faintly of mint and the mango gummies you gave him in case he got carsick. the sky is still cloudy, but you're kissing him back and suddenly you don't mind at all that he almost broke down your door and disrupted your much needed day off.
you're dumbstruck when he pulls back with cheeks rosy and lips shiny, and his gaze is fixed on your mouth. sharp eyes now softened, pupils all dilated. you don't reckon you look any better.
what the fuck.
maybe the thought actually comes out in a dazed mumble because your best friend is laughing lightly, his hands still holding you close. "you're not coming with us this time," he says. "i'm gonna miss you."
and it's on a gloomy sunday morning in the threshold of your home that you realize, belatedly, despite all the signs and blurry lines and knowing grins from the miyas, that suna rintarou likes you too.
Can we please stop making virgin/innocent readers act like literal toddlers. Thanks.
Virgins still have a general if not very clear concept of how sex works, we're not fucking idiots.❤️ And stop making "bookworm!" Readers only read smut, that's not book worm, thats smut addict. You guys are so annoying. "Oh it hurts! It won't fit!" *Sob sob sob* "you're so pure, I don't want to ruin you" Actually shut the fuck up. Virgin doesn't mean stupid baby who has no basic or full concept of human anatomy.
-Saying as a virgin who knows more about sex than most people in my state and have never attended sex ed.
Innocent reader in general makes me mad because literally anyone over the age of 13 has a general understanding of sex unless you're literally sheltered with no access to the internet and that's neglect. Stop promoting age play even if it's unintentional, it's disgusting and misogynistic. Stop making virgins sound brain dead just because they haven't had sex. And it is that serious because people are gonna think that's how we act in person.
AND STOP ASSOCIATING VIRGINS WITH CHRISTIANITY. You guys are so fucking weird and not in a good way. Do I know this is mean? Yes. Do I care? No, because most of you are in your late 20's-30's typing up this shit and should know the difference between realistic first time and the misogynistic expectations first time. Also virgins masterbate, so I don't wanna hear "what would you know!"
You know ghost is mean, that's nothing new, but recently he's been...mocking you.
It's embarrassing and humiliating in a way you can hardly describe, every comment making you feel like you're back in school with those mean teenage boys.
"You look good today, sweetheart." He tells you when you walk past him in the hallway. Ghost's eyes crinkle in amusement at his own joke, flicking down to your stained sweatshirt because your washing machine decided to break.
God, it shouldn't affect you but it does. Like a slap in the face, ghost seems intent on reminding you that you'll never receive any real compliments. Just the joking "I like yer perfume, love. Makes you smell nice." That has you applying your mildest cologne the next week.
"Sight for sore eyes, dove." Ghost tells you, hands brushing over the sleeves of your uniform. He loves embarrassing you, it seems.
Your final straw happens in the mess. You've been keeping an eye on ghost as he talks with his team, the whole table occasionally looking at you.
Finally, he approaches, throwing one last grin at his mates before asking you "wanna go out with me, birdie? Date to a nice restaurant?"
Humiliation, red and hot flushes over you at his comment, glancing around ghost to see the way his team smiles at his back. You purse your lips, and try to stop tears from falling as you ask "why, do you have to he so mean, ghost?"
"...wot." he asks, stiffening.
"It's cruel to play with my emotions! I know you're mocking me, ghost, you're not subtle. The– the least you could do is not humiliate me in front of half the base!" You cry, waving your hand hysterically.
Before ghost can even reply, you continue "I know I'm ugly! And undesirable! And a fucking easy target! Just– stop! Stop. Leave me alone."
You storm out of the mess, everyone's eyes on you. You ignore ghost calling your name, blood rushing in your ears.
Back in the mess, ghost feels like he might throw up. The person he's been so fucking infatuated with thinks he's been mocking them.
All ghost wanted was you. He's not sure how to fix this.
Disgusting little blurb inspired by my monthly suffering...
In the modern day, you've tried everything that is available to deal with menstruation. Pads chaffe, tampons cause cramps, taking birth control pills constantly to completely avoid having a period all together caused intense anxiety, to the point you couldn't leave the house some days. Free-bleeding was messy and got everywhere. Then you discovered cups. And they worked. Soft, body-safe silicone that could be easily inserted to collect the blood, and removed with minimal mess when it was full (with some practice).
Then you meet your vampire lover. He's older, like a few centuries older. But mentally, he's still the same age when he was turned, 38. Which works, you're in your thirties, he is too, he's just been 38 since 1708.
Now, menstruation and the shame of women's bodies has come (sort of) a long way, and is no longer (not really) demonized. Women and uterus-havers are more open and free with their bodily functions. And so are you. In your thirties, you've come to realise that a body is a body, and they can be gross sometimes. You've healed from your shame and guilt of existing as woman.
Or so you thought.
It starts like usual.
Fun fact about vampires, they do sleep. Not in coffins, either. Felix is curled around you in bed, hugging you to his warm chest under the blankets. He's got his arm wrapped around your waist and stomach, hand placed right where your uterus would be, cupping the skin. It's telling, in a way, that even in his sleep, he can sense the impending doom radiating from your lower stomach.
You wake, a feeling seeping into your mind. Something is not right. You feel almost too sweaty, the skin between your thighs is slippery. And the you feel it ooze out of you. No way to stop the flow, no amount of clenching your pelvic floor will stop the blood from seeping out. You are very aware of your predicament. To avoid getting blood everywhere, and potentially sending Felix into a frenzy, you plot your next moves very carefully.
First, you pry his arm off your body. There is some resistance, and you know you have maybe a half a second before it clamps back around you once you let it go.
Second, you plot your exact route to the adjoining bathroom suite. It's a couple meters away, so it's going to be tight. You have the advantage of fat thighs, so you won't have to worry about clenching them. It's more so the sprint-jumo you make out of bed that sees the blood getting on to the carpet. Thank God you listened to your instincts and went with the darker one.
With as much speed as you can muster so early in the morning, you're quick to pry yourself free from Felix and make a mad dash to the bathroom. No time for propriety, closing the door only serves to slow you down. Once seated on the toilet, you assess the damage. Thighs are smeared with blood. Your night shorts are soaked in blood. The cramps only waited until you were conscious to start up.
You haven't had time to sanitize your cups. A small stash of emergency pads, panty liners and tampons sit under the sink, but you are unwilling to use them.
Felix comes into the bathroom after you. He's still werry with sleep, hair moused and eyes squinted. You see the moment his sensitive nose catches the overpowering scent of blood. His eyes widen ans pupils dilate so rapidly, you wonder if it hurts him. His boxers tent.
"That time already?" The question is asked through clenched teeth. You nod.
"Can you go boil my cups?" The thing about Felix that weirds you out the most is not his age, his disposition, or the consumption of blood required to sustain his body. No, it's the way he acquires said blood.
Felix has a liking for your blood. Not unusual, seeing as many lovers of vampires tend to also be their sustenance, but he prefers to take a more "vegan" approach. You regret the day you explained what "vegan" means. Felix, your lovely, 350-year-old partner likes to drink your period blood. And only your period blood.
He uses the menstrual cups like fucking shot glasses. It irks you sometimes, but vampires only need to feed every few weeks. Felix just indulges heavily the week he feeds. Which is when you bleed.
His logic is sound; it's the only method of acquiring blood that doesn't actively harm you. And your body's getting rid of it anyway, why not just kill two birds with one stone?
From his spot at the bathroom door, he nods hesitantly. When you glare at him, he scurries away to do as you asked. With him occupied, you have an opportunity to shower off the blood while the cups sanitize. You know he'll try to swindle his way into joining you, but you know (from many previous instances) that you'll end up pressed against the shower wall with him kneeling between your legs, water bill climbing higher by the second. He spends hours, actual hours, between your legs. Off and on your period, Felix has had 300 ish years to refine his skilled talents. He was a munch before he got turned, now he's immortal and can eat box for eternity is he so chooses.
And he has. "What is life, but the pursuit of ecstasy and pleasure? Why should I waste my time trying to hunt for food, when I can woo pretty women and dine on their succulent juices instead?" - a direct quote from his diary, 200 years ago. A poet, folks. We have a poet on our hands.
Felix is a man with many talents, but subtlety is not one of them. You can practically sense him, vibrating from excitement at the door to the bathroom. He won't pass the threshold, but he will stand there and wait until you (hopefully) call him in. You don't.
The pot finishes boiling, the cups are sanitized. He brings them to you dutifully.
It's only when you're exiting the shower, water turned off, that you allow him into the space. It smells like steam and hot blood, even you can smell it. His eyes are fully black, fangs descended from their hiding place, cock fully flagged and ready to go.
"Can I have a taste now?" It's less of a question for permission, and more of warning that if you say no, he might jump on you.
You drop the towel to the floor. Felix sets the bowl of hot water on the floor by the door, then he's on his knees with your legs fully over his shoulders.
Super strength is something all vampire movies and books get right. It's honestly surprising, even after a year, that Felix is capable of holding all your weight up without ever breaking a sweat. And trust, you are a woman most men can't handle.
Good thing Felix isn't really a "man" anymore. Right now, he'd be considered a beast the way he's eating you out.
He moans when use his face to get off. Grabbing a fistful of his hair and grinding your face against the strong nose adorning his face. He's just got a face that screams "sit on me". Pouty lips, big nose, hair that's the perfect length for grabbing and pulling.
You're there for so long, you've completely air dried by the time he surfaces. Another thing some of the vampire media has gotten right (Twilight) is that vampires don't need oxygen to survive. Which is both terrible and great.
Felix's face is covered in your blood. Somehow, he's got it in his hair. He let's you go, and you snag the cup and get it up in you.
"Lick me clean. I don't want another shower, and you've made a mess of me."
Felix visibly cums in his pants (again. There is a very large wet spot with a distinct milky colour to it) and complies.
"Yes ma'am." You get another climax out of it, and Felix cleans you off.
"Good boy." You pat his head and tell him to wash his face.
...
Later in the day, it's been a few hours since the morning fiasco.
You get up from your comfy spot on the couch. You can feel the blood that's gathered sloshing around. From his spot, resting on your stomach, Felix can too.
He follows you to the bathroom. You get into the shower, panties off, and dislodge the cup from your yoni. (A/N recently learned that "vagina" means "swords sheath", so effective immediately, I am switching to "yoni" which means "source" in Sanskrit.)
You hand the cup, filled with your period blood, to your lover. And watch in mild disgust as he downs it like a shot. And then licks it clean.
"What makes period blood taste so much better than regular blood?" You ask, sat on the toilet now. Felix is sitting in front of you on the floor. (He refuses to leave you alone when you're on your cycle.)
"Tastes less like blood and more like life? I don't know. I do know that it's natural, and maybe because I'm considered "an act against god", I want to be closer to the natural world? As much as physically possible at least."
Later, when you're both back on the couch, wrapped up in blankets watching the Twilight movies for nth time, he pipes up again.
"I feel better when I drink it." You pause the movie and turn to look at him.
"Like when you eat healthier foods and say you feel more energized. When I drank human blood, or animal blood, there was always a pain attached to it. Sometimes it was consensual, but there was still like thos lingering bitterness to it. It didn't fully satisfy. Not until I started drinking menstrual blood, have my energy levels improved. I feel better, I think more clearly. I'm not overcome by insatiable bloodlust and the desire to feed. I'm not starving in between feeds."
"Well, with how much you eat, I wouldn't be surprised."
"But it's not the frequency or amount. When I was a fledgling, the first time I ate a woman's quim and she just so happened to get her monthlies during the act, I left that interaction with more energy and purpose than I'd felt. Even as a man, before the turn, I'd never felt so good."
Synopsis: Jason thinks that he can handle the full weight of his girlfriend on top of him during sex- but the poor fool doesn't know what he's just signed himself up for...
Pairings: Jason Todd x Plus Size! Fem!Reader
Content Warnings: heavy smut, reader is freaky cause I'm tired of the shy and insecure chubby girl agenda on this app y'all, breath play, some submissive Jason, size difference, biting, fem recieving oral, Jason Todd is a munch, some bondage, slight praise kink, hair pulling, hand-job, dominant reader, ruined Jason, some edging, Jason learns a lot about himself in this encounter
It had all started late one evening after dinner, the dishes had been washed and promptly dried, leaving Jason with nothing better to do as he kicks his feet up on their ratty- thrift store recycled- ottoman. The dark haired man was mindlessly scrolling, those focused teal eyes of his locked on his screen as stupid couple tiktoks flew by one after the other. "This bullshit is just everywhere now, huh?" his grumbled comment echoed around the otherwise empty apartment, to which he sighed, shaking his head at the people who flaunted their private lives to millions of people on the daily.
But he supposes that he was no better- after all- he's the one watching this crap.
Apart of him really couldn't help it. No matter how much he fights to deny it- he's nosy at heart- and so he really couldn't be 100% blamed for tuning into people's lives when the information was given to him so freely. Besides, he loves you- his gorgeous and utterly perfect girlfriend who can do no wrong- to pieces, but even he knows better than to disrupt you while you're reading your books.
Okay, maybe he was exaggerating, he knows you'd never get upset with him for wanting to be close to you. The notion in itself was ridiculous as he let's himself swipe down to watch another tiktok.
And oh boy, does this one catch his attention.
The tiktok started playing and Jason recognized the woman who was speaking, he swears that it was one of those plus size influencers you liked, and she was talking about the problems that girls like her face in the dating game- girls like you...
Not that you had those problems anymore, dating was far behind you now if Jason had any say in it.
He personally felt as if he should have some say- considering that he was looking online for a ring with your name on it nowadays- he'd at least appreciate having a small part in the conversation.
Going back to the important matter at hand, Jason skims past the comment section of the post, his frown deepening with every issue mentioned.
His biggest gripe though, was with the most common problem posted in the comments.
So many of these girls were scared to ride their boyfriend's- hell even their husband's- face. Jason's expression was souring now that he was thinking about it, because he was coming to the horrific realization that him- Jason Peter Munch Todd- had never been graced the high honour of being your throne, and that would not fucking slide.
Jason stands up, tossing his phone onto the couch with a derisive huff as he makes his way for the bedroom. "Ma," he calls for you with one of those mean scowls on his face, the one that makes people think he's pissed with them. Luckily, you knew him far too well by now- and so- you knew that look just meant he wanted something explained to him, and he wanted it done fast.
"What's up, Jay?" your question was casual, with your focus more tied to the pages of the book you were reading than your beloved boyfriend.
Jason bites back an impatient huff. "Why the hell have you not rode my face yet?"
Oh boy, sweet summer child, sweet Jason...
Your gaze flicker upwards, peering through lashes and just over the edges of your book pages. "I beg your pardon?" it was absurd to the point of you needing a reaffirmation from your boyfriend, who- in all of his blunt, gruff glory- appeared to be genuinely upset by the lack of face sitting going on in this apartment. "I saw a tiktok," he comments as if that was going to explain everything to you.
"Are you... Ma, you shouldn't be afraid to take what you want from me." Jason looked to his girlfriend with all the seriousness in the world, his teal gaze soft and imploring as he moves to close the distance between them. "I don't want you feeling like that, not for one second-" he continued, sitting down beside you in your shared bed.
You withhold a small chuckle that yearned to escape you, not wanting to be mean and tease the poor man when he was trying his damndest to be so sweet and so attentive towards you.
"Baby, I'm not afraid," you supply the answer simply. "I just don't think you're ready for that."
Jason whips his head around to glare at you, his concern fading into unhindered offense. "Ex-fucking-scuse me?" oh, he was not happy at the moment, that scowl of his forming into a full on glower. "I don't think you recall who you're talking to Ma, I licked a whole can of whipped cream out of your cunt last week," he dropped his latest feat as if presenting a resume to you- as if you hadn't been there- writhing every time his hot tongue laved past your folds, sweeping you clean of the cold, sweet cream and your own blended juices.
God, you two would have to do that again.
Jason grins when he notes that you were recalling the moment, his big, calloused hands, swiping your book away with a gentleness that would seem so out of place had you not known him better. After all, the man was a hulking mass of toned muscle- especially around this time of year- when all of the family baked goods and dinners had him unintentionally bulking up. It's around that same time when his abs get that healthy pudge around them, softening those firm edges unless he flexed.
"C'mon Ma, you're heating up for me..." Jason's breath fans over your neck, his free hand was slipping under the hem of his shirt- one which you had conveniently claimed. The fabric was permanently stretched around soft curves, embracing the fat of your stomach similarly to that of Jason's hand. And fuck- his teeth ached, they grit against eachother even- with how bad they wanted to sink into your pliable flesh and make a home there. He wanted to be anywhere you'd allow him to be, he was choking down drool now and all because of the thought of being buried beneath you.
"Let me make you feel good, yeah?" his coaxing was followed by the squeezing of those hands on your skin, they massage at whatever they could whilst travelling up to your chest. "Show ya how ready I really am..." he rumbled his next words out, smirking when his calloused thumbs found the hardened peaks of your nipples- pinching at the apex of your mounds- and humming in delight with the sounds that it pulled from your sweet lips.
He'd always been dangerous like this, knowing exactly where to touch in order to rile you up.
Jason leaves open mouthed kisses along the expanse of your stomach, his teeth which were biting into sensitive flesh, was soothed only by the long, languid strokes of his tongue, laving over your red and angry skin like a claim. "Baby, let me show you... please-" he rasps against you, his hands stimulating your breasts pause to squeeze and roll the mounds in a slow, sensual massage.
His want was a tangible thing at this point, you could see it in those drooped, pleading eyes of his- the brilliant teal- so beautiful and wanting nearly swallowed whole by the blackened lust of his dilated pupils. "Ma, I'm ready for this, I swear..."
You bite back a moan in response, the sweet asking- damn near begging- for your go ahead had your panties sticking to you, soaked from the sound of his Gothamite accent- which only seemed to get thicker the hornier he got- pleading with you to give in and ride his face, to use him.
The man truly would do anything to eat you out, even drop his reserves to butter you up.
But that's not how this was going to go.
No, Jason didn't know what he'd gotten himself into this time- he wasn't going to plead so prettily for you and switch back to the tough guy act- oh no, if he wanted this cunt so bad, then he could take what you gave him- no more, no less than that.
"Get up," your voice cuts through the room with a force Jason wasn't familiar with, and for a moment he backs off in fear that he'd done something wrong. "What's wrong, did I do something?" he looked to her with so much concern, standing up straight as you asked whilst none the wiser.
Your frame stands up alongside his, and Jason reaches up in hopes to cup the curve of your round face- wanting to comfort you.
But you didn't need comfort right now...
"Ma, talk to me-" he tried, grunting in confusion when you bent over to rummage through your drawer. Damn it all, how the fuck was he supposed to focus when you're giving him a perfect view of those wet- panty covered- folds?
Not that the poor excuse for fabric did much now, it was practically see through at this rate.
"Ba-" Jason let's out a sound of shock when he's shoved back down onto the bed, he's groaning when you straddle his cock- which has been pressing painfully against the resistance of his boxers- all hot and heavy. Oh fuck, he was aching, twitching at attention for you and waiting for that sinfully addictive friction only you could give.
"Remember you asked for this," you hiss the words out, gripping your boyfriend by the chin as he guffawed, bewildered by the sudden change in dynamics- but still far from complaining.
He watches with rapt- perhaps even awed- eyes, helpless to do much more than pant needily for you whilst you tie his hands up with red velvet fabric. "Ma, what the fuck..." he breathes out, struggling to figure out where this was all coming from. "When did you-" he can't finish his words for he's roughly pulled into a kiss where teeth clash and tongues fight, swapping saliva in a hot, fervored exchange.
"I didn't tell you to speak, did I?"
Jason swears his soul just left his body. His heart is already acting like a bird hammering at it's cage, fighting to pound through his sternum as he finally manages to get a good look at you.
And holy shit if you weren't a goddamn sight, tying him to your shared bedframe.
"Ma-" he croaks, the tone downright desperate, because a switch up in roles didn't satiate the throbbing of his cock, it didn't give him that sweet relief he was aching- no- dying for.
You shoot him a look, one of warning that sends delicious shudders down his spine.
"Jason, I won't tell you again. If I said no talking that means no talking," you scold him, you actually fucking scold him and somehow make it hot, dragging your clothed cunt over the tent in his pants. Jason chokes out a moan, the bindings jostling as he instinctively tries to reach for you, only to growl when he's denied that luxury.
Instead he's forced to do nothing but watch as you strip naked, throwing his head back in a groan because god fucking damn it, he can't touch the delicious curves you've exposed to him- he can only look at you and fruitlessly buck his hips.
"What are you doing to me woman-" he nearly wheezes, his teal gaze taking in your plush frame like a man who hadn't eaten in days.
He was trembling with want without even realising it- his body breaking out- sweating with how heated he felt at the moment. "I'll be doing absolutely fuck all if you keep disobeying, Jason."
Fuck, you're evil, absolutely evil.
"Oh, that shut you up," you climb atop your boyfriend, who was clearly learning a whole lot about himself the more you took the reigns. He had to bite down on his lip, tasting rust as he made himself bleed just to keep quiet. You were feeling rather cruel today- he surmised that this is what it was- because you had your bare, glistening folds, inches from mouth, just begging to be tasted.
To make matters ten times worse, you were freeing his erection from it's painful prison at the same time. If he could just...
Jason attempts to lean forward, a wrecked sound quivering from his throat when the tip of his nose just barely grazes the fat lips of your drooling pussy. "Fuck!" the man then cries out, his body jolting from your thumb prodding into the slit of his reddened and angry cockhead. "Baby, fuck- what the fuck, please-" he lets out a strangled keen, his hips wriggling in an attempt for contact- anything really.
You snicker at how needy he's gotten, patience having never been his virtue.
"Let me show you how ready I am..." you croon, mocking your boyfriend all whilst using the palm of your hand to clench and unclench around his throbbing cock. "You still sure about that?"
Jason's eyes roll to the back of his head as he groans, his entire body trembling. "Yes, fuck please!" his voice was garbled. "Just touch me Ma, fuck me- fuck me..." he continued, the desperation clearly overpowering his pride at the moment.
He was flushed, absolutely writhing against the pillow and struggling against his bindings.
Glistening muscles tighten with every tug, working to free themselves and failing- despite the sexy display of strength they gave you- it didn't do much to assist Jason or free him.
"Just look at you honey, you've always been a fast learner, now haven't you?"
He whines at the sultry tone, he was going to reply to you, but he melted into a moan when that hand of yours squeezed his cock once more- it was just just enough to keep him stiff- not enough to grant him the relief he was damn near crying for.
"Please baby, please-" he wheezed at this point, his strong chest heaving up at down.
"Please what?" You ask him expectantly, stroking his rigid length as a means of encouragement. "Fuck!" Jason gasps, trying to buck his hips- hell- anything to stop this torment.
"Ride my face Ma, please ride it- use it."
You hum to yourself in approval, and that alone makes Jason shudder in delight. He was putty in your hands, heaving like a dog in heat and whimpering like one too. Those pretty lashes of his fluttered- watching impatiently and shining with yearning for your cunt- which was mercifully seating itself on Jason's face, hovering only for his sake as he needed to be ready for it.
He was already straining his neck, his tongue barely flicking your folds, which descended closer to him, only to soon smother him. Jason groans, his noises muffled between the pillows of your thighs- which for him- was absolutely fucking heavenly.
Croaked moans escape him whilst he greedily slurps on the wetness between your folds, his tongue jolting like it was in a frenzy, darting into the tight, heated entrance of your vaginal walls.
He couldn't get too deep, but you gasp nevertheless at the pleasurable intrusion.
"That's it Jason," you practically purr with a hand gripped tight in his hair. The man whimpered beneath you, his cock jumping at the praise and you hum, grinding over the ridges of his nose.
It'd been broken one time too many, the bumpy ridges rolling over your clit in long, satisfying strokes, pressing into the bundle of nerves as you began to ride the ruined man's face.
Jason chokes on the air he couldn't seem to suck in, smothered by the pillowed mounds of your cunt and bathing in the savoury musk of your arousal. He couldn't breathe and he didn't care- he only had one goal in mind- it was to make you cum.
"Oh god, Jason!" You moan, the knot in your gut forming as your pussy throbs for him.
He was messily slurping, his face a deep red as he sucked on your clit, eating you at as if this was the first and only time he'd ever get to do this.
"Yes, that's it, right there-" you continued to encourage the man, your hand around his cock speeding up as your orgasm steadily approached. "Please- god baby- just a little more!" You're sure that the depraved sounds of your fucking could be heard by the neighbours next door, but at this point you didn't give a damn whilst chasing your high. "Hnngh, Jay!" You cried out his name, your hips bucking against him as the hand reached out behind you jerks your boyfriend off.
The dam snaps when Jason bites your clit, his way of demanding for air and you squeal.
Your eyes roll back, your spine arching as you gush all over Jason's tongue- and Jason was no better- his cock was spurting out ropes of cum, making a mess of his sweaty, flushed abdomen.
"Fuck!" Jason growls, riding his own high as you fall back to sit on his chest, pussy still spasming.
Your shared bedroom falls into a subdued, heaving silence as you reach back to scoop up some of Jason's spent cum onto your finger. "Look here," you huff, one hand gripping his chin as he stares up at you, utterly fucked up and in a blissed daze.
He was still getting used to being able to breathe when you suck his cum clean off your fingers.
"Holy fuck-" he whispered to himself, staring up at his girlfriend who just rocked his shit. He takes a moment, letting the silent sit among them before sighing to himself in post-nut clarity.
"Let's go again."
This shit isn't edited, I just saw a video, blacked out, and woke up with all this written down 😭
OKAY SO I was wondering if maybe you’d be okay with writing for some mha/bnha characters reacting to seeing their s/o stim for the first time in front of them? Like hand flaps or bouncing?? idk i kinda have an obsession with that idea- maybe both the more main characters and the underrated ones?
ofc you don’t have to!! Especially if it makes you uncomfy!! Sorry if it does-
-👑
YES I am totally okay with that (because I do it to) and, if you haven't noticed (or maybe I just made it really hard to notice) but I try to write the mc's in my stories to have tics and stims because well I do and I mostly base them off of myself. Also, I'm trying to diversify the mc's in my stories from the typical (y/n)'s of fanfic history (y'know the ones I'm talking about) no hate to other creators tho, but I, and a whole lot of others, feel this way to
Also, since you added the crown as your sign off, I'm dubbing you as my first anon, and you get absolutely no say in the matter :)
Anywayz, I'm ranting, here's the hc ficlet but this is just the 1A boys, I'll do more (like 1A girls, or teachers or vilians) if it gets enough reqs
-------
Bakugou Ķatsuki-
If you started dating him in middle school, congrats, you're now getting bullied alongside Deku for being weird
But for the sake of this, let's go with you started dating him in high school, specifically, year 2 (10th grade) he's 16 now, chilled out quite a bit from his explosive (pun very much intended ;) 14 year old self
Now, he is super observant. Like ridiculously so, so I feel like he would notice your stims in passing, I'm thinking around things like big emotions, cause stimming helps relieve some of those, so he'll just pass it off as an emotional tic
But then he sees you doing it outside of that. Like, maybe you guys are studying in his room, or yours (I'm aware that this is a cliché at this point), and it's getting to be warmer out now, but you're still kind of cold
So he grabs a wool sweater, but it's one of those torture wool sweaters, where when you put it on, you like get hives or something, those ones the evil ones
It was like a gift from his mom or something. So he tosses it to you, and you catch it, getting that prickly shivering feeling all over your body
Not wanting to freak out in front of your boyfriend, you stele your nerves. You manage to get it on your arms to put it over your head, but the scratchy itchy icky feeling grows tenfold. The skin on your hands is a lot tougher than on your arms, especially on your inner arms
as calmly as you can, you remove the sweater, and put as much distance between you as possible. you start to flex your hands and fingers, curling them in and out and clenching your fists as hard as you can, focusing on the stretch and bite from your blunt nails in your palms to distract from the feeling lingering on your forearms
the stim isn't enough, so you start brushing your hands up and down you forearms, trying to 'brush away' the feeling. Katsuki is a bit taken aback at your actions. he's seen you wave your hands around in excitement, jumping up and down, he's seen you bite your nails down to the beds in anxiety, a habit he is trying to get you to quit, he's even seen you bite down your clothing sleeves in frustration, but he's never seen you do this
once you calm down and sit back down at your previous spot across from him, you almost immediately start to apologize.
"no no no, stop that." he was gruff, harsher than intended. You looked like a deer in headlights at this. he could see the wheels turning around in your head, the thoughts racing faster than he could fathom
"i didn't mean for that to come out so harshly, sorry." he needed you to know he wasn't angry. "I meant that you don't need to apologize. i don't want you thinking that you need to be sorry for being yourself."
your face changed from deer-in-headlights to shock. like you couldn't believe that your boyfriend would be so accepting. it kinda stung for him, the look
"i uh, i have hard time with uh- with uh textures...?" your words were staggered, like you were having a hard time finding the right ones. you weren't looking at him anymore, choosing to stare down at your tangled fingers instead. he could tell you were trying your hardest not to bite at them
"its always been that way. an-and not just textures for like food, but like clothing and other things. I don't now why i'm like this, but it's not something i can really fix?" his silence urged you to fill it with nervous rambling about how it works, how you tried to fix it with exposure therapy, and how it didn't work
he interrupted you when the ramblings veered more towards self deprecation. it was something that happened a lot more than he'd like, your anxiety getting the best of you and spilling out
"that explains a lot." you looked up to see him smirking down at you. it wasn't condescending, more like he was content with the way things turned out
you stopped talking at this. he motioned for you to come sit beside him, grabbing the cushion from underneath you to pull you over when you didn't comply
He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest, his head coming to rest on yours
"Kats, what are you doing?" You asked in a playfully annoyed manner, trying to lighten the mood
His response was muffled by your hair, as he leaned down to press his lips to the top of your head in a kiss "trying to warm up my cold girlfriend, what else does it look like?"
"Like you're trying to suffocate me in your huge boobs." To enunciate your point, you squished his chest from the sides and buried your face right in between his pecs
"Oi quit that." He smacked you playfully on your head to get you to stop. A genuine smile graced his face when he heard, more felt, your giggles on his chest.
He scooped you up abruptly when you playfully bit his pec lightly, throwing you into his bed and throwing himself on top of you.
Your squeals of shock and giggles echoed out when he did this, surely alerting whoever was passing by outside of the locked door to your goofy antics
"Kats get off, your squishing me." He was plastered on top of you, starfished out, practically gluing you to the bed. He nuzzled into your chest, playfully biting you back, to which you smacked him back
He moved to pull a blanket from under you, and maneuvered the both of you into a spooning position, wrapping the blanket tightly around him, and you squished into his chest. You looked up at him, mouth open ready to complain about what he just did, but his mouth over yours silenced any noises
He kissed you passionately, but not the way he did when he wanted to fuck you, more in an "I love you so much, you big dork" kinda way.
The two of you fell into comfortable silence after that, cuddling into him to warm up, and occasionally kissing each other.
After that, he'd be a lot more careful with like clothing and blankets he buys, checking in with you for certain no no textures and fabrics
Like he just wants you to be comfy, with him, with yourself, with him especially with him, because he won't say this to your face, but he's in love. Like big time in love and he'll definitely tell you through actions, but not outright say it.
Mind you, he is still a grumpy guy, but softer around you. He's careful with tone and context when emotions are high, but you'll still be on the receiving end of his grumpiness
I imagine that he'll call you weird when he sees you stimming sometimes, but you know he means it in a playful manner, and he'll make sure you know to
Fandom/Pairing: House of Dragon/Cregan Stark x Targaryen Reader (Rhaenyra Targaryen's daughter)
Summary: The pact of ice and fire is made not by Jacaerys Velaryon, but his younger sister who offers more to the lord of the North than he ever imagined.
Warnings: MDI 18+, smut, canon divergence
Day 30: Breeding
Word Count: 4.6k+
Another's Note: I fully fell in love with my reader insert here and maybe a little bit more with Cregan. I'm really proud of this one.
It was the frost that concerned Cregan Stark.
Dragons were warm blooded. The bedtime stories spoke to the truth of the Targaryens’ beast companions, the creatures that made them kings. Good Queen Alysanne had taken time in the North with her dragon, Silverwing.
It was not a good queen who would descend upon the North in this hour.
His guest was to be a princess.
It was not to be the sheened scales of silver to grace the North once again.
The dragon was said to be the color of pale morning mist amongst the clouds. A silent feature in the sky to descend swiftly upon his enemies should he ever see battle. Cregan did not want the dragon to see war. He did not want the princess to be in the barracks of it, yet he was certain it was to come.
His men sat on their horses beside him on his own steed as he waited to greet the only daughter of the Black Queen.
His queen, should he agree with what her envoy had for him.
Cregan Stark remained uncertain about his position. There were oaths that had been sworn to the former king, Rhaenyra’s father, King Viserys. Oaths were meant not to be broken. However the North was far enough away from conflict that it was possible to remain neutral, to exist in blissful ignorance. As the pale wings of death stretched across the sky with an echoing call, Cregan knew it was time to decide what sort of Lord of the North he was meant to be.
The beast was not as large as he imagined, but his might and power were noted in the stretch of his wings. He was mightier than any creature he had laid his eyes on. It was a breathtaking sight to see the dragon descend nearly invisible among the blanket of summer snow.
He remembered to let out a fogged breath when it padded its claws against the soft snow. The creature stretched his wings once more with a whisking flap before extending his neck. He could see the figure that rode the one known as Grey Ghost now. Her arm, coated in a thick brown leather, stretched to pat the side of her mount’s neck.
He heard a muffle of an unknown language in the wind, words carried away with the force of it before he could understand the syllables. The horses steaded back as the dragon let out a disarming cackle. He could see her in the distance dismount, landing with two feet in the thick snow.
The princess approached. He could see that she was tall. Not slender like he imagined ladies of court to be. She was determined in the way she walked with a confident nature he did not see of many women in the North and otherwise. Her hair was dark, unlike Targaryens who had been met at Winterfell before.
“My lord Stark.” She greeted him upon approach. She bowed her head. He returned the favor.
“Princess.” He greeted.
Cregan found himself dismounting to greet her face to face. He landed firmly in the snow trudding forward. As a noble lord he could see in her garment she was meant to look presentable, the very picture of a high born lady in cold climate in her dress and hair style. As a man, he noted how beautiful her dark eyes were and how becoming her figure was. Especially her wide hips. He would melt for well defined hips.
“Your journey was well met?” He questioned. The dragon sniffed and tasted the snow in the distance.
“It was . . . cold.” She rubbed her thick gloved hands together. “My dragon is not accustomed to such conditions. A learning curve that can be tamed with time and patience.” There was a gentle way she spoke of her beast that reminded Cregan of how little ones cared for their pets. Or mothers with their beloved children. “There is much to discuss. Shall we return to your keep?”
Her smile was one of warmth and welcome.
He breathed out in agreement with a soft nod. The lord motioned for his men to bring her the horse he had for her. She was a delicate mare he thought suitable for what he believed was a gentle lady. Upon looking at the princess he knew this was far from the truth.
***
She ate like a Northern.
Every bite was quick. Every tear with her teeth into the meat was heard. Cregan could not help, but be fascinated by her. He had insisted upon a meal before discussing anything else. He knew her journey had been long. She had asked over her dragon who was as starved as her. The lord had already set aside sheep for the dragon to dine on after his long journey.
The princess had been very pleased by the kind and generous offer.
“Thank you for the meal, Lord Stark.” She gently patted the edges of her lips upon devouring every last bite on her plate.
“It is my pleasure, princess. I am happy you enjoyed the delicacies of my house.” He had asked his servants to prepare a meal traditional to their house to show the princess how they fed their guests. He had hearty venison braised in plum sauce with turnips and potatoes. She had smiled happily at the venison before being delighted by the sweet taste.
He called his servants to bring forth dessert.
The princess did not oppose the oatcakes served with blackberry jam.
“I shall not waste your time or food any longer, my lord.” She pushed her plate aside for the moment. He nodded sternly, agreeing to hear the message. “The queen has granted me permission to extend to you a marriage pact in exchange for your men in this war.” That peaked his interest. Marriage pacts were lifelines when it came to war. It formed alliances and grew legacies. A good marriage pact would mean great things for his ancestors in the years to come.
“An interesting prospect.” His voice was deep at the notion. “I would like to hear the proposal as it were. Now this comes from your own lips and idea it seems, but the queen agrees?” It was the way she spoke so proudly of the proposal that sparked Cregan’s interest. His suspicions were deemed correct with a firm nod of the princess’ head.
“It was mine own idea. It is myself that I offer, Lord Stark.” She tipped her fork into the oatcake spreading the beads of melted fruit about. “I am second in line should my brother fall. A second child to a queen, a Targaryen, a Velaryon, a princess. These are titles I would bring to your house, your ancestry. Ours would be a strong pact, a strong marriage. An alignment and promise between our houses that would stretch across time.” He stared at her hearing what she had to say, to promise.
Her eyes held a severity. Cregan knew in his heart every word she spoke was meant. The princess was one who held her honor in high regard. She would let herself separate from her family in difficult times for the cost of his men, strong as they were. They would cost her her freedom, a fair price in a sense.
The price of time away from the sun?
“And you do not mind it? The cold?” It was far different from Dragonstone. “Nor does your dragon?”
“Targaryens are adaptable creatures, much like our dragons. We will survive.” She dug her fork deeply into the cake. It was a large morsel to take, much like the duty she put onto herself.
Cregan Stark smiled.
“Very well.” He stood letting the metal crafted chair beneath him creak against the stone. He watched her eyes follow as he stepped toward her to truly make their alliance solidified.To pledge to a lady, one must kneel before her. In a sense he was bending a knee to his future, be she a queen, his wife, or both someday soon. “I pledge myself to you, princess. A pact of our houses, of ice and fire.You will have all two thousand of my men in this war.” His hand was unlike hers, free of gloves. His fingers met the warmth of her guarded hand.
She licked jam from her lips. It brought a flash of desire suddenly into the Lord of the North’s chest. The tease of her tongue, pink and wet, had him attempting to hide his eyes that grew fixated on her mouth. She took his hand in hers clasping her other atop his. She was warm, safe, guarded for only a moment until he saw her raised walls fade softly.
“It would be an honor, my lord.”
***
It was her eldest brother Jacaerys who escorted her to the heart tree.
With her dark hair in small intricate braids, Cregan thought that she belonged here among the snow. It was as if she had been destined for Winterfell. Her cloak bearing the sigil of House Velaryon dragged against the fresh snow. Flakes fell gently in the breeze catching in her hair. The young man seemed to hold onto his sister tightly aiding the weight of her cloak. She did not seem to mind the heaviness.
She bore the weight very well.
The lord was meant to stand poised for the woman who was to become his wife in a matter of a few simple phrases. Outward the witness could see a proper man, stone faced and steady. Inside there was a boiling excitement within him. The princess was very beautiful in his eyes. She was not fragile like many women he came upon nor was she the hardened sort of ogre type who would fit well among his men. There was a strange mixture within her that reminded him of a particular type of woman.
Maternal.
He found the word when she adjusted her brother’s cloak and kissed his forehead. The word brought a tingle to Cregan’s face radiating across his body. He barely remembered that he should speak the words to start. Her gentle smile reassured him as the ceremony commenced. It was a delight to practice the tradition of a wedding ceremony for the Old Gods. He was not certain a lady of her stature would agree to a ceremony under the heart tree amongst the frosted air.
Yet here she was, a princess with fire burning in her blood ready to take on the colors of his house and the respect of his Gods. He could not meet the eyes of her brother as they shared the words. The young man remained silent, slightly stern in the ceremony. Should the Gods have blessed him with a sister he would remain untrusting to the man who was to take her for a bride.
When it came time to cloth her in the thick grey of his house he felt a sudden unease in his heart. The way she knelt in front of him made his blood burn with an unsteady desire. Temptation had never been a pull the Stark lord had felt. He was rational in many of his decisions including this one. She was a connection to a legacy that his house could proudly cling to for many future generations. The strictness and certainty in her tone assured him she would be a fine mistress of his house, able to run it with a confident and sturdy hand.
Yet he could see she had heart. She had a love for her family.
That was what drew Cregan Stark to her.
That was what made the lord of Winterfell desire her to mother his children.
It was not customary to end the ceremony with a kiss, though looking into her dark eyes made him wish for it.
The kiss did not occur. Instead she stood in the cloak of his house, a direwolf draped at her back. Jacaerys held the cloak she once wore draped in teal with a silver seahorse. Cregan took his new wife’s hand to escort her back through the snow to their keep. Her brother followed head dropped silently until she began to make polite conversation with him.
It was about her mother, her brothers, their cousins. Were they well? How they fared? She talked of war, her fears, and other thoughts freely as if trying to assure her new husband that he was apart of these plans as well. Jace admitted that the war was only just beginning. It would be hard to face it without Lucerys. The grief was clear in the young man.
He had brought the awful news upon his arrival. The wail from the princess’ lips was heartwrenching, but she had not wished to postpone the wedding.
“Bonding our families is more important now.” She had said as she began to steady herself.
At the mention of her younger brother she recalled a memory, one of a time when he was scared to fly on his dragon. She had taught him not to be scared, not to show fear in the face of uncertainty. Perhaps her look toward him was a way to say she was not afraid to face the trials of their marriage.
When they were at the keep, she kissed her brother on each cheek before saying she would be alright.
“I am in my lord husband’s gentle hands.” She held her elder brother’s hands for a moment longer before letting them go.
Cregan replaced those hands with gentleness.
“It is time for consummation.” It was the first time he heard her voice falter, a small little squeak at the end of her words.
Her face remained as if pressed in a state of serenity. He wanted to ease her worries, whatever they may be. He took her hand kissing the knuckles. Cregan thought a princess’ hands would be soft, tender, underworked. Instead he found them calloused, hardened, strong. She was not a soft girl. She was a strong, capable woman.
His eyes met hers.
Love was a quality that could be fostered here. He could see that clearly in her eyes. He could see a future within the dragon princess.
***
There was a quiet in his chambers. The only sound was the harsh clack and drag of his bride’s boots as she crossed the floor. He observed her in the space. There was a sense of calmness as she toured the area, peering at each adornment with a reverence he found curious. Her fingers teased at the furs on the bed.
A soft howl hissed into the room through a draft. Cregan went to close the shutters.
“Is everything alright, my lady?” He saw how heavy the cloak appeared on her frame.
Her shoulders sagged as she bent to observe the fire. She fed it small logs. He heard it crackle louder, igniting the new wood with fury. She brushed her hands to her gown, thick and grey.
“It is.” She searched about as if trying to find something wrong within her line of sight. The princess was actively avoiding his gaze.
“You should hold no secrets from me, my dear.” He crossed the floor to her. Once again he took her hand. She faced him, looked at him for the first time in their chambers. “If the consummation worries you then we shall not act tonight. We have time. We can get to know one another. Learn how to love and care for each other before such a step. I understand the task may be daunting, especially for maidens.” He hesitated, unable to help himself in reveling in her beauty especially in the light of the flames.
“How shall I explain myself?” She wondered softly, adverting his gaze. He was surprised when she stalked past him for the bed. “I am no fool. I know war is to come. I also know the part women play. I am meant to bear your heirs and mine.” Her eyes struck him. The words festered inside his mind blooming with a desire.
Bear his heirs.
He had always wanted that.
Children. Many children to run about Winterfell. He had lost his own brother at a young age. He had always wanted to fill the halls again with the sounds of many Stark children. It was that which excited him most about the prospect of marriage.
“Before we engage further,” She spoke as a princess, strong words with a stubborn resolve. “I would like to make my intentions clear.” His heart caught in his chest. What if she did not yearn for children as he? Could he quell his appetite for the sake of his wife?
Upon looking at her he thought perhaps he could.
She let out a soft breath.
“I wish for you to let me bear as many of your babes as the Gods will allow. It is not a matter of duty, but of desire. I want for a large family. It is my intention to foster that dream with you, however I will not be a mother to stand by and rest. When war comes I will ride Grey Ghost on the battlefield. I will protect my babes even if they are only in my belly. These are the words of a mother. I know it was what I was born for.” Her stance was fierce. He could not fault that desire, nor her determination.
The relief that escaped him was an overwhelming sort of feeling.
“Our intentions should be laid bare before one another.” She said quickly with a harsh gaze.
“Yes. I agree.” He stepped closer. His hand, large and strong, caught the side of her face tipping her chin upward. “It is my intention to breed you.” Words that he had felt for so long in secret now left his lips. Words that seemed to cause her to sigh as a girl might. “It is my intention for you to bear my children, but I will never risk your life, my sweet princess.” He had heard rumors of Queen Aemma, of her death and the death of her babes. Even of her own mother’s grief with her small sister had struck his mind. More news, more grief she had faced. “I will be a cautious and careful husband with you, but know this,” He leaned into her ear as if offering to share a secret between only them, not even the wind nor the fire could hear of his unwavering desire. “I intend to fuck a babe into you every chance from now until our last breaths.”
Cregan moved back eager to catch his other hand to her cheek. There was an overpowering blackness in her eyes. Yet she waited, searched her new husband’s eyes. He could feel the slow ease of her breath on his lips. He parted them, feeling wanting of her, feeling wanting to fulfill a promise he had longed to make.
“A deal is set then.” She said it so very calmly even though her eyes sparked with unquenching lust. “I hope you are ready to fulfill your promise.” He thought she may kiss him then, give into her nature, yet instead he felt her leave his grasp.
Her heels clicked toward the bed. The cloak fell heavy to the ground revealing her thick gown, sent in with her brother for the ceremony. It was long and quilted with a high collar. There were embroidered diamond patterns at her chest laced with blood red thread. Her fingers tickled her throat to undo a sole button before fixating on him.
It was a dare.
A dare to act his part.
Cregan was sure each night would be the same.
Who was to give in first? Who was to be the tease of the evening?
“You intend to drive me mad then?” The slickness of her smile spoke more than any word.
“I know not what you mean, dear husband.” Another button loosened, then another. Her fingers trembled, nearly girlish.
“You truly mean it?” He stepped forward wanting to know if she felt as he did. “You truly mean to birth as many -”
“I want it.” She said softly now. It was as though it was a secret held too close to her chest, never to be spoken aloud. “I have harbored these thoughts for as long as I can remember that I wish, no was born, for motherhood. To know that is something my husband desires as well, not just the act of it, but to be a father, to nurture and aid our children, it gives me great hope. Passion.”
The buttons loosened with her loose words. He watched her peel the layers of her thick gown from her body, then continue on to her small clothes until she was bare before him. He felt young suddenly, untrained to know how to handle the body of the woman. He was not in fact untrained. He had bedded many a woman in his time as lord.
He had never bedded a woman as fierce and fiery as his Targaryen bride.
Cregan stepped forward. His hands anchored to her hips as if pulled there through instinct. She did not shiver at the cool touch of him. He did not shy away from the heat of her skin. Should either of their temperatures be cooler or warmer the impact would have smoked. Instead they gazed into each other's eyes before the promise formed with a gentle kiss.
He had expected burning desire from her, but instead found a loving kiss.
A kiss a wife may give a husband before he headed off on a hunt.
A promise to return soon.
This kiss was no farewell, but instead a greeting, a welcome.
She found his belt easily. With little effort she freed him of it as though it was what she had desired all day, perhaps from the moment they spoke their vows. Her kisses were quickened with eagerness upon the feeling of his flesh. Her hand had snaked under his clothes to his hard muscles. Fingernails scratched along the edges of his toned stomach.
“You are strong.” Her forehead and his were met in a promise, breathless and feverous.
“For you. For our life together I will be.” He did not mean physically. Cregan was no fool. He knew hardships would arise when war was bloodiest. He knew her grief was nearly at the surface. He hated that she had to bury that grief now.
She should be able to mourn her brother and unborn sister, the life she knew before she knew death.
“You are strong.” He kissed her, assuring her though felt a slight pull away. “I have seen how resilient you have been in your days here. These are qualities that I hope you pass down to our children.” She would be a good mother.
“Enough talk.” Her breath smelled of honey wine. “I am curious of the act.”
Curiosity.
Resilience.
Kindness.
He cupped her face remembering each of these qualities that he knew would be important to a mother of a pack of wolves. She removed all but his trousers from him. With each peel back of his layers he felt an easiness creep across him. It was as though she were revealing parts of himself he had long kept hidden.
“Lay back.” His eagerness fortified in a demanding tone.
He was glad for her smile. Her falter worried him for not more than a moment. It was a tease of disobedience before compliance. Cregan knew of her fire from her mere presence, but to see it in action against him was something stranger, delightful.
She laid onto the furs looking as a pale form lined with veins and heated. Her thighs parted softly on the bed presenting her mound to him as if an offering. She waited for him to continue staring as if intrigued by the idea of giving him control.
Cregan knew right then that this would be more than a marriage.
This would be a partnership.
The Lord of the North knew no greater joy than staring into the dark eyes of his dragon wife while unlacing his britches. Her gaze did not falter from his eyes even as he gripped then began to stroke his cock. He would not begin until she was ready for him. He wondered what made her quiver, wet, wanting.
Perhaps she had already told him.
“You will look wondrous filled with my babes.” He leaned atop her. His hand eased cup her hip before tracing the curves along her thigh and belly. Her breath warmed him, a little ease of a gasp. “Is that what you want? You want me to fill you up, my lady?”
There was no answer. Her words were lost in touching him, his face, his chest, every part of him except that one forbidden piece. He was selfish. Cregan wanted her to touch him there. He would have pleaded with her if he were a weaker man. Instead he leaned forward and kissed her pulse at her neck. She extended it, nearly cooing.
The sound was similar to her dragon’s call.
“I am to touch you there.” It was a soft warning. Her whimpers were softer as his hand journeyed to knead her slit. His low voice hummed, nearly purred.
“Your hands are . . . cold.” The way she spoke did not tell him that she did not enjoy his touch. Cregan chose to kiss her. It was a selfish act he supposed, but he desperately wanted to feel his weight atop her.
She seemed to as well. Her moans that escaped her lips and the wetness on his fingers spoke very clearly. His princess was being so good for him, but the greatest test was yet to come.
He gave no warning when he entered her. Her fingernails pressed into his back as he slowly moved, pumping inside her.
“Can you feel me, princess?” She was tight, clenching. He knew he would not last long. “Can you feel me inside you?”
She huffed what sounded like an affirmative followed by his name.
“Cregan.” He felt his stones tighten, a further sign he was close. “I want . . . you . . . I want your pups.” He found his mouth between her breasts ready to worship her there. “Need your seed . . . please.” He should last longer. A lord of the North should be able to satisfy his wife, last a good long while.
However this was his wedding night and she was a Targaryen princess.
No one would ever know he did not last longer than a few moments. Nobody would ever expect him to if they saw her, if they knew what she had asked of him. He had never spilled inside a woman before. He had saved his seed for her.
Cregan Stark filled his Targaryen princess with his warm seed with grunting whine.
He had never expected her cunt to flutter, to follow.
His weight collapsed atop her. He should no longer feel surprised by her warmth, but she was nearly aflame. Her arms wound around him playing lightly with his hair. She hummed something soft and lovely. Would she sing like this with their babes?
“How many?”
He didn’t need to know what she meant.
“Seven.” It was a thought, a vision he had. “I’d like seven children.”
“I’ve had dreams of little wolf cubs with silver fur and violet eyes.” It was a difference from her own appearance, dark and fiery. “Seven bright little cubs with dragon’s blood.” She traced her fingers down his spine. “But there will be war. There will be sorrow. Blood. Fighting. Horror. They will be the light. They will be in the safety of their fierce mother. This I promise you, husband.”
He felt cared for in her arms and knew every child they shared together would feel the same.
Human!reader who doesn't realize how important scent is to monster!141, right?
Which means, when you see ghosts jacket lying on the humvee seats, you don't think much before tossing it on. Later that week, when you need to make a late-night trip, you take kyles jacket because it's the only well insulated one.
You don't realize that you've been smothering yourself in their scent, not until ghost pulls you into an empty hallway by the sleeve of soaps sweater.
"Fuckin' hell sergeant, you tryin' to kill us?" The vampire huffs. Ghost presses his face to your neck, and you jolt when he inhales deeply.
"...simon what the fuck...?" You ask, a bit put off. It's not like you dislike the...intimate position, but you're pretty sure he's taken with soap.
"You reek of my mates, is what." Ghost retorts. "Makes it so fuckin' tempting to just claim you...make you ours..."
"...please?"
Which is how you end up with your face pressed into prices matress, kyle running his slit tongue along the inside of your mouth. Price is behind you, fucking soap and ghosts cum back into you with a groan.
His knot bumps against you with each thrust, making you whimper. Off to the side, you can hear ghost riding soap. It's both overwhelming and perfect.
Passed between your team, now mates, stuffed full and covered in their scent. their real scent. Now there will be no doubt what team you belong to.
I don’t even think this has to go into a dad/mommy kink direction but I can really see Simon being with someone who has their shit together and takes care of him as well
Ghost fell in love with you the day you cut your hand making dinner, and he opened the first aid kit to find it fully stocked and organized.
Which is to say, he fell in love with you the day he realized you planned for security, safety. Simon was born in an overcrowded hospital that sent his mom home when he was two hours old. He was raised on an inconsistent schedule of milk and his mother's soft whispers when his hunger became too much for his child body.
Simon would never say that he wasn't safe in his house. But he kept a wad of cash under his mattress and figured out how to jam the chair under his doorknob by eight.
When you stand at the stove, simon hovering over your shoulder while you hand him ingredients to toss in, he wonders if this is safety. Food every night, clean dishes, thick blankets.
You mention to ghost that you paid the electric bill while out that morning, and he thinks of the pile of unopened mail on his childhood coffee table, stamped with bold red letters.
It's silly, it's stupid and overly sentimental, but ghost feels his chest flutter whenever you do something like that. Something that proves he'll never live like that again.
He never says it, but he's sure you know. It's...safe. it makes his muscles loosen, all the tension he's carried for years let go. Simon doesn't have to be constantly vigilant when he's with you.
Ooh can I request how you think kid and killer would show their interest in you? Basically their way of courting you/beginning of a relationship. Together or separate, whatever you feel like 🖤🖤
hi anon, thanks for the ask! i'd be happy to do both :)
im a big fan of the concept of courting in general (to many period drama influences) so some of these may seem weird or ooc
kidd-
different from killer, who would take a more traditional approach to courting/wooing a potential partner, kidd's approach is more... chaotic... we'll say
we all know that this tulip head has the emotional range of a teaspoon, and therefore struggles with expressing any emotion other than rage and pride, so be prepared for a whirlwind of whiplash
he doesn't know what he wants, you don't know what he wants
killer knows what he wants, but won't be at all helpful in this case
while he will staunchly deny this until the day he dies, kidd's love language is acts of service (beating the shit out of people for you), gift giving (making you things to beat the shit out of people) and quality time (discussing in depth on how to beat the shit out of people)
expect a lot of shiny things, handmade metal contraptions, and requests for you to just sit with him (he tells you he needs someone to hold something for him, or shine the light at a particular angle, but we all know he just wants to be around you)
he fails miserably at any attempts of flirtation
the first time you cackle at him for his terrible pick-up lines, he shuts himself away for a few days. the second time, (with killer's guidance) he realizes that making you laugh would be great way to warm up to each other.
it becomes a witty back-and-forth of banter and cheesy pick-up lines, and a solid friendship is formed. you talk about whatever, he gives his (sadistic) input, he rambles on about his latest invention (probably a weapon) and you give your feedback
you don't know that each of these conversations are pertaining to the same creation, he's (very secretly, and quite skillfully (to killer's surprise)) getting your input, because he's making it for you.
it's months in the making, he probably started right after your first lengthy discussion about preferred weapon types or something like that.
i'd like to think that for kidd, it's obsession at first insult with him, so you'd probably be relatively new to the crew. he wouldn't last long enough to have known (and liked you) for years, no patience with dis man
he gets talkative when he drinks, so i guarantee you the first time he gets like black out drunk around you, he spills his guts. its an unspoked rule amongst the crew, that any 'gushy' feelings that come from that captain while he is inebriated, are not to ever EVER be brought up afterwards.
so you kind of just. sit there. thinking abt the fact that this angry tulip man like you. and wont admit it to your face.
after the first emotional moment TM you guys share, things start to pick up. you are witness to a softer side of the one-dimensional captain, and quite like it.
start seeking those out more. he won't, but the best progress is one made in emotional vulnerability. (dr. wimble advice corner approved)
he cant take a hint, so dont bother dropping any. if you wanna go forward, say something. kidd cannot read (alegedly), let alone between the lines. your best bet is to whip out your tits (gn) in front of him.
i will die on this hill, kidd is firmly a boob guy, dont try to change my mind. he lov em
there is no "so, should we date now?" phase with this guy, he just skips right to the "fucking them with the lights on" phase. a hot and heavy encounter later, and he has firmly planted himself at your side, no takes-backsies~~
you wake up the morning after hovered in hickeys and bite marks, and EVERYONE know your his now. he wont say it, but you are.
killer-
killer on the other hand, is a traditionalist, an 'el hopaness romtic' if ya know what im sayin
he will woo the pants right off you, season two anthony bridgerton wet shirt scene style (iykyk)
you probably aren't new to the crew, kil strikes me as the kinda guy who doesn't know he likes someone until it's too late. like man's good at self reflection and all, but it takes TIME to get to him, so there is no 'love at first fisticuffs' with him.
it starts with friendship (demi killer till the day i die), you two are like each others bestfriends. no one tops kidd (ehehe) for this guy, but you can tie
it's the little things at first, and more one-sided at the beginning (on your end), like complimenting his cooking, offering to help with dishes
maybe you buy him some hair stuff, he did mention that he was running out, off handedly. or, you sharpen up his knives for him while he's away
Killer's love language is also acts of service, more so on the receiving end tho, but he likes to give gifts. he'll cook for you, personally
like one meal just for you type thing. he says he wants you to try out a new recipe of his, but really, he just made you a nice meal, and cant say it to your face.
you two act like a couple already, but both deny it, saying youre just 'really good friends'
he first really realises that he likes you, seriously likes (maybe love) you when you get injured. and not like, oh little scratch, but like, almost died injured.
a foe has never been downed faster, than when killer heard your scream of pain and terror from across the battle field, and fucking flew across to get to you.
it's obvious to anyone that mans got it badd. he doesnt leave your side until youre concious again and the promptly blows up you for being dumb and reckless and almost getting killed. its a nasty fight, one that shatters your friendship. no one expected anything like that from him. probably the most anyone has ever heard from him in one go
he is just worried, but cant tell you that he loves you, without fully knowing how you feel back. not a guy who readily takes risks like that.
it's a few weeks before he's talking to you again, afraid that he astronomically fudged it by his little outburst. the exchanges are clipped, (you, who had been pining hard for him for like ever) and you're positively sure he hates your guts (he doesnt he just scared)
he avoids you, trying to put as much distance between you two as physically possible, trying to get rid of his feelings for you. but the you go and get yourself hurt. again
it was an accident this time, he saw it happen. like slow motion, the knife you were holding was bumped out of your hand by someone backing into you, it fell, cutting your hand open, before notching itself into the flood
he blows up at the person responsible, before dragging you to the medbay to patch you up. all the while, muttering about how clumsy you are, how much of a danger magnet you seem to be.
its at that moment you know how he feels. it's not said outright, but the care he takes with you, treating you like you're glass
you lean down to kiss his mask. just a small pec, an utterance of a 'thank you' whispered after
but
his heart is beating like a wild mustang, and he freezes. he makes sure your affection wasn't just because you were grateful (after he starts working again)
your reassurance is like cupids arrow for his heart. you like him, have liked him for a while
nothing really changes between your dynamic after that, at least from the outside. really, you've started to be more physically affectionate behind closed doors.
it's a huge step when he takes his mask of around you. the lights are off, and you can't see his face, but he lets you touch it. huge step in your relationship
he's still a baddie, violent and unhinged, (to keep up appearances), but when no ones looking, he'll love on you
this feels kinda rushed ngl, but alas, when is it not? anywayz anon, hope you like it! iv'e already done poly! kidkiller here, i hope you enjoy :)
btw my requests are open, but im still in college, so be mindful if it takes me a hot minute to reply to them
The thing people don't understand is that mathematically speaking, being slightly bilingual actually makes you LESS bilingual than people who are monolingual. I've created a helpful chart to assist:
This is known as the I'd Rather Die Than Attempt to Converse With A Native Speaker paradox, and it has befuddled scholars for centuries
So true. I think in one language and speak in another and my sentences come out like that of a first grader. Not to mention the loading sign that pops up when my words escape me
so... its been six months since i last posted anything.
To start, my phone decided to kick the bucket, and all of the progress on CMA has been lost (cause i was a dumbass who didn't save them any cloud service, just my notes app)
secondly WE REACHED 100 FOLLOWERS!!! im thinking of doing a writing event to celebrate, any ideas are encouraged, because i have none
im almost done colege, so in the near future, ill have more time to focus on this blog :)
thats all for now. sorry to anyone waiting on a CMA update :( im going to put the whole series on a haitus for now, until i can get my phone working again.
