#Daisy Delight Bundle

[diamonddaze01]

The Somerset Affair

Chapter 4: The Duke Who Loved Me

pairing: lsk x fem!reader genre: Bridgerton AU, friends to (?????) to eventual lovers, brother’s best friend, SLOWWWW BURNNN chapter wc: 8.0k warnings: alcohol consumption, societal expectations, eventual smut, more to be added a/n: ok i know this is long overdue but ENJOYYYYY // as always, ENORMOUS thanks to indi @wongyuseokie for this GORGEOUSSSS banner // and to my lovely betas shu @welcometomyoasis lou @tusswrites haneul @chanranghaeys this could not have happened without you // part 5 is in the works rn!

summary: your engagement to Lord Yoon Jeonghan will be nothing short of perfect. You will make sure of it.

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The morning sun filters through the grand windows of the drawing room, casting warm patches of light onto the plush carpets and fine upholstery. The air is filled with the subtle scent of bergamot from your mother’s tea and the quiet rustle of her lace fan as she sits beside you, pleasantly engaged in conversation. Minghao, reclining with a book in one hand, seems content to observe, his eyes flicking up occasionally, assessing with that quiet, perceptive gaze of his.

A servant enters, announcing with a slight bow, “Lord Yoon, for Miss Xu.”

Jeonghan steps in, exuding a refined elegance, his appearance crisp and perfectly polished. In his hands, he carries two bouquets—an artfully arranged bouquet of roses for your mother and a softer bundle of daisies for you.

“Oh, Lord Yoon!” Your mother’s face lights up with delighted surprise as he presents her with the roses. “Such beautiful flowers! You spoil us, my lord,” she coos, taking them with clear admiration.

Jeonghan turns to you next, extending the daisies with a warm, almost conspiratorial smile. “These, Miss Xu, are for you.” His gaze lingers just a moment longer than it should, his eyes holding a silent promise.

You accept them, feeling your pulse quicken despite your best efforts at composure. “Thank you, my lord. They’re lovely,” you reply, your voice steady yet soft.

The light streams through the drawing room, catching on delicate patterns in the wallpaper, illuminating the intricate tapestry of flowers on your mother’s dress. She sits forward, her face lit with excitement, as if this visit from Jeonghan is a personal victory.

Jeonghan’s bouquet fills the room with a faint scent of wildflowers, light and pleasant, yet somehow starkly out of place in this space where every gesture feels rehearsed. The daisies he offered you lie lightly in your lap, their cheerful brightness a contrast to the steady, almost unfeeling exchange that has just unfolded. His eyes meet yours for a brief, knowing second, and there’s a flicker of mutual understanding beneath the surface, an unspoken acknowledgment of what this marriage truly is—a carefully crafted arrangement, one that neither of you expects to fill with romance.

As Jeonghan addresses Minghao, his voice is calm, almost clinical. “Lord Xu Minghao, I come to you today with the hope of asking for your sister’s hand in marriage.” There is no impassioned plea, no pretense of romantic affection—only a polite tone as he lays out his intentions, as though presenting a proposition in a business deal.

Minghao’s gaze sharpens as he turns to you, his eyebrows raised slightly in silent question. He knows you better than anyone; he knows why Jeonghan’s proposal isn’t shocking, why you don’t hesitate. The room is quiet, and your mother leans forward in her seat, her excitement radiating out in delicate bursts like the sweet scent of her tea, oblivious to the subtleties of the exchange.

Clearing his throat, Minghao shifts in his seat and addresses Jeonghan with his usual calm. “Lord Yoon, I know better than to answer for my sister.”

All eyes turn to you, and the room feels suspended, like the world itself has paused to witness your response. “Yes, my lord,” you say, the words escaping your lips in a careful, measured tone. “I shall.” And there it is—final, as much a confirmation of acceptance as a concession.

Jeonghan’s faint smile returns, polite but distant, as if his mind is already on other matters. He is not the lover you dreamed of, and you are not the woman he once allowed himself to yearn for; you both know this, and perhaps that is why it works so well. The arrangement is neat, efficient, each of you choosing the practical over the sentimental, the future over desire.

Your mother, however, cannot contain her delight. “Oh, this is wonderful! A fine match indeed!” she exclaims, her fan fluttering excitedly in her hand. She glows with pride as if this alliance were a personal triumph, her dreams for you fulfilled without understanding the true weight of the moment.

The silence that follows feels heavy, like an agreement quietly sealed, and as you look down at the daisies in your lap, the cheerful white petals suddenly seem out of place in the drawing room, a reminder of a life that might have been. Jeonghan, still standing beside you, inclines his head just slightly. His glance is fleeting, but there’s something in it—a flicker of empathy, perhaps. Just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by the calm, composed mask that both of you have agreed to wear.

Jeonghan turns to you as he prepares to leave, his gaze softening ever so slightly. For a moment, the polite distance in his eyes fades, replaced by a warmth you hadn’t anticipated. He takes your hand, his fingers cool but steady as he lifts it gently to his lips.

“Until next we meet,” he says, his voice low but warm, carrying a sincerity that feels entirely unfeigned. He brushes his lips softly against your knuckles, the gesture tender enough to feel both comforting and bittersweet. As he looks up, a gentle smile graces his face, one that holds neither expectation nor demand—only a quiet understanding, a rare kindness beneath the formalities.

The touch lingers even after he releases your hand, and in the hush that follows, you’re struck by the thought that perhaps, despite the arrangement you’ve agreed upon, Jeonghan will bring a certain gentleness to the role he has taken on.

As he steps back and bids your family farewell, your mother practically glows, her happiness radiating through the room like sunlight through lace. Jeonghan’s parting glance catches yours, a hint of reassurance in his gaze, as if to say he’ll uphold his part of the pact with grace, that this arrangement—though devoid of romance—will be one rooted in quiet respect.

Minghao finds you beneath the old swing, nestled among the twisting garden vines and the soft crunch of autumn leaves. You hardly hear him approach, lost in thought as you watch smoke curl from the cigarette you’d pilfered from his room yet again. Each puff you take burns slightly in your lungs, though the familiar sting feels oddly soothing tonight.

“Nicked another one, have you?” he teases as he sits down at your feet, stretching his legs out lazily on the grass. Without waiting, he holds his hand out, gesturing for you to pass the cigarette. “If this becomes a habit, I’ll have to report you to Mother. Thievery wasn’t exactly on your lesson plan.”

“Oh, hush,” you mutter, flicking a stray leaf toward him in mock annoyance. But the tension in your body gives you away, your shoulders stiff beneath his watchful gaze.

He watches you closely, his gaze quiet and discerning as he brings the cigarette to his lips. The glow of the ember casts a brief, warm light across his face, highlighting the concern in his expression. Minghao inhales, then exhales a plume of smoke that drifts around the both of you in wisps, curling lazily into the air. The scent mingles with the earthy richness of the garden, settling between you like an unspoken question.

For a moment, there’s only the soft creak of the swing and the distant hum of cicadas, the two of you wrapped in a fragile peace.

“You know,” he says at last, breaking the silence. “It isn’t too late to change your mind. Mother may be overjoyed, but I know you. You would only say yes if…” He trails off, letting the implication hang in the still air.

You scoff, but it’s softer than usual. “What are you implying?”

Minghao studies you, his gaze level and piercing, then asks plainly, “Do you love him?”

You pause, watching the glow of the cigarette dim between your fingers. “I… respect him. And he respects me.”

Minghao’s eyes narrow slightly, as if he’s turning your answer over, searching for the truth beneath it. “But you don’t love him,” he says softly. “Not like you love Seokmin.”

Your breath catches, and you quickly look away, the sting of his words more potent than the cigarette’s burn. The thought of Seokmin’s name hanging in the air between you is almost unbearable. “How long have you known?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“I am your brother, Y/N. I’m not blind, no matter how oblivious some of the company I keep may be.”

The corner of his mouth quirks in a wry smile, but his gaze is tender. You find a slight comfort in it, and for a moment, you feel the urge to tell him everything—to let yourself be held by the simple warmth of his understanding. But you hold back, your jaw set in a familiar, resolute line.

“Does he know?” you ask finally.

“No,” Minghao replies after a moment. “At least, I don’t think so.”

The words settle heavily between you, and the silence stretches, thick and suffocating, broken only by the faint crackle of the cigarette as Minghao takes another slow drag. He hands it back to you, his fingers brushing yours in the exchange, grounding you. The faint tremor in your hands feels all too telling, but you steady yourself, forcing composure.

“You truly want to marry Yoon Jeonghan?” he asks quietly, almost like a plea. “Even though you’ll never love him?”

“Love isn’t in the cards for me,” you reply, each word measured and calm. “Besides, brother, what else would you have me do?”

His brow knits together, and he leans forward, clasping his hands between his knees. “Stay,” he says, voice thick with urgency. “Stay here, with me and Mother.”

You let out a breath, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. “Please, brother. You know that would send our dear mama to an early grave. A loveless marriage is better than none at all.” You draw in a deep breath, the smoky tendrils filling your lungs. “What happens when you can no longer provide for me?”

He bristles, his voice fierce. “I’ll always provide for you.”

“I know. That’s not what I meant,” you say, your voice softening as you look at him. His expression shifts, and he nods, understanding passing between you in the quiet.

A heavy silence falls, interrupted only by the soft crackling of the cigarette as you pass it back and forth, each drag punctuating the night air with a faint, bitter tang. The smoke lingers around you, a hazy veil that cloaks the unsaid words, the hidden fears, the ache of dreams surrendered.

Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice a mere whisper, carrying the weight of resignation. “So you are to be married.”

You nod, your fingers grazing the cigarette one last time before you extinguish it in the grass, grinding the last ember beneath your thumb. “So I am,” you say, a finality settling over the words as you both gaze into the dark, each lost in the flickering embers of what could have been.

The church’s thick stone walls seem to press in, trapping every sound, every movement, as though the weight of centuries hangs in the air. The fragrance of lilies and incense mingles into something heady, almost suffocating, filling your lungs with every breath. From the stained-glass windows, slanted bands of sunlight cut through the space, spilling ruby, sapphire, and amber hues across the dark wood of the pews. You keep your gaze fixed ahead, forcing yourself to breathe slowly, to project nothing but composure.

Then the cardinal’s voice cuts through the silence.

“I publish the banns of marriage between Lord Yoon Jeonghan, and Miss Xu Y/N. They are to be married in three weeks. If any of you know cause or just impediment why these persons should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, ye are to declare it. ”

The words land heavy, echoing through the cathedral and settling over you like a thick veil. For a moment, it feels as though the world has been carved in two, time splintering around that proclamation.

Across the aisle, there’s a sharp intake of breath. Seokmin’s entire frame goes rigid, his back snapping straight as if he’s been struck. He turns to look at you, his movement quick and desperate, and his eyes find yours, wide with shock and something far deeper, something close to despair. His mouth opens, but no words come. You feel his gaze drilling into you, intense and searching, as though he’s willing you to look away—to give him anything but the confirmation of what’s just been read aloud.

Your pulse pounds in your ears, and your throat tightens with the urge to cry out, to take it all back. But you force the tremor down, and at that moment, you feel Minghao’s hand slide over yours, his steady, grounding warmth the only thing keeping you from breaking. His grip is strong, his fingers curling over yours in silent reassurance, and you clutch onto him as though he’s a lifeline.

Across the aisle, Jeonghan meets your gaze, a calm confidence emanating from his gaze, like the unwavering stone of the church itself. He offers a small, almost imperceptible nod, a silent affirmation of the pact between you—a pact that is anything but romantic, but unbreakable all the same.

When the service ends, and the congregation rises, their whispers a growing swell of murmurs, Jeonghan strides toward you with that same unruffled grace, his every step measured and unhurried. But before he can reach you, Seokmin is there, his hand outstretched, his face a mask of disbelief.

Jeonghan glances at him, his eyes flicking to you, reading your expression before he steps back, giving the two of you a semblance of privacy.

“Are you marrying Yoon Jeonghan?” Seokmin’s voice is low, tight, his face a mix of anger and pleading. The words come out hoarse, as if he’s forcing them past a stone lodged in his throat.

“Yes, Seokmin,” you reply quietly, your voice controlled but aching. “The cardinal just read the banns.”

He stares, and you see him search your face, looking for any trace of the girl he once knew, perhaps hoping for a flash of hesitation that would betray you. Instead, you lift your chin, steeling yourself against the helplessness etched into his features.

“But he’s a scoundrel!” he insists, his voice thick with desperation.

A bitter laugh escapes your lips, though it feels hollow. “You have much audacity to speak of scoundrels before me, my lord.” You pause, letting the words settle. “Lord Yoon is kind to me, and he has always respected me. His attention has never been out of pity, nor at the behest of another.”

A flicker of pain crosses Seokmin’s face, and he drops his gaze, your words striking a chord that silences him. His fingers flex, grasping at air as though there’s something he wishes he could say, something he wishes he could fix, but the moment has already passed. You turn, letting the silence grow between you, feeling the weight of his unspoken words fall away.

As you make your way to the back of the church, Jeonghan stands waiting, his posture relaxed, as though he has been waiting patiently his entire life. He offers you his arm, the small smile on his lips almost kind, and you accept, feeling his warmth against you as you step together into the sunlight outside.

The murmurs rise from the crowd that’s gathered, their gazes a mixture of awe and curiosity as they watch the newest couple of the season descend the church steps. The sun casts a golden glow over the stone path, illuminating the two of you as you walk together, each step echoing in the stillness. Just as you reach the final stair, Jeonghan glances over at you, his eyes softening as he reaches into his pocket.

Without a word, he holds out a handkerchief, his fingers brushing lightly against yours as he passes it to you.

“You’re crying,” he says softly, his voice gentle, his eyes searching yours with something that might almost be tenderness.

The dampness at the corners of your eyes betrays you. You take the handkerchief, feeling the cool linen against your fingertips as you bring it to your face, dabbing away the tears that have slipped past your defenses. A small, appreciative nod is all you manage, and Jeonghan’s hand remains extended, waiting patiently for you to accept the support he offers in silence.

You take his arm once more, and together you walk toward the waiting carriages, leaving behind the whispers, the stares, and the man you love, your steps a steady beat against the uncertainties that lie ahead.

The air is electric with anticipation, and you can feel the weight of every gaze in the room before you even step into the lavish ballroom. The future Viscountess of Hastings, they will say, the supposedly hopeless spinster who somehow captured the heart of one of Mayfair’s most eligible bachelors. Perhaps that's why your mother is a whirlwind of excitement, her chatter endless as she flits around the room, adjusting the last few details of your appearance while your lady's maid fusses with your hair and gown.

Your dress tonight is a ravishing turquoise, its fabric flowing like water around you, hugging your figure before cascading into a graceful skirt that swirls with every step. The neckline is artfully crafted, a delicate off-the-shoulder design that highlights your collarbones and frames your face, drawing attention to the soft curve of your neck. The fabric shimmers in the candlelight, the color reflecting hues of the deep sea, rich and vibrant, evoking the image of sunlit waves. A hint of silver thread weaves through the gown, catching the light as you move, creating an illusion of movement, as though the ocean itself were swirling around you. Your mother’s excited chatter fills the air, but you find yourself lost in your own thoughts, momentarily detached from the flurry of activity.

You catch a glimpse of the ring Jeonghan slid onto your finger during the carriage ride home, its beauty undeniable as it glistens under the soft glow of the lamps in your room. The polished rose gold band curves gently, embracing a single, lustrous pearl at its center. The pearl shines with a soft luminescence, hints of ivory and blush swirling within, exuding a quiet elegance as if it held whispers of its own secrets. It’s exquisite and understated, a piece that commands attention without being ostentatious. Jeonghan had presented it to you with little flourish, his fingers pushing the ring onto your finger as you stared out the window, deep in thought.

“Jeonghan,” you gasped, the words slipping from your lips as the reality of its beauty settled in. “It’s beautiful.”

His lips quirked at that, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth before something deeper flickered in his eyes. “Thank you,” he murmured, fingers pulling at his too-tight cravat, a hint of discomfort crossing his features. “I had it made some years ago.”

“For—”

“Yes,” he cut you off gently, his tone firm yet soft. “For Lady Choi.”

The weight of those words hung between you, thick and heavy, silencing the room as he gazed out the window, his expression closing off. You chose not to pry, twisting the ring around your finger, feeling the coolness of the pearl against your skin as your thoughts drifted to the man you had left behind in the chapel.

“Oh, darling,” your mother’s voice pierces through the haze of your reverie, snapping you back to the present. “You look beautiful. A true viscountess.”

You hummed in agreement, your eyes drawn to your reflection in the mirror. Your ladies' maids had truly outdone themselves. The intricate braids of your hair were artfully woven together, sparkling gems and pearls interspersed throughout, echoing the beauty of your ring. The delicate tendrils framing your face were styled to perfection, soft curls cascading down your shoulders like a waterfall of silk. In the soft glow of the lamp light, your complexion looked radiant, enhanced by the glow of the pearls nestled in your hair. You twist the pearl again, adjusting it until it feels right, then straighten your back, donning the façade of a viscountess—a true leader of society. 

Jeonghan is a good man, you remind yourself, forcing a smile as you repeat the mantra. He shall be a good friend.

As the carriage rolls to a halt at the FitzWilliam estate, the sounds of the ball waft through the air, laughter and music melding into a sweet symphony that invites you into its depths. You step out, and Jeonghan is already waiting, his demeanor calm and collected as he extends an arm for you to grasp.

The main hall is alive with opulence, chandeliers casting golden light that dances off polished marble floors. The scent of rich perfumes and expensive colognes mingle in the air, thick with the promise of high society and whispered secrets. Impeccably dressed couples twirl across the dance floor, their laughter echoing like a soft refrain, while clusters of guests gather, engaged in hushed conversations punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter.

You take a deep breath, feeling a pang in your chest as you remember the last time you stood in this very room, the night Seokmin broke your heart. The echo of his laughter, the way he moved so effortlessly through the crowd—memories flood back, bittersweet and sharp, threatening to steal your composure.

Sensing your unease, Jeonghan nudges you gently, his presence a steadying force. “Look,” he murmurs, gesturing to his cravat, which matches the deep turquoise of your dress perfectly. “We match.”

That’s enough to elicit a light laugh from you, a sound that feels foreign and welcome at once. Jeonghan’s grin broadens, and the warmth of his gaze brings you a measure of comfort as you allow yourself to relax in his arms.

Your hopes for an uneventful night are dashed almost immediately when Seokmin catches your eye. The moment his gaze lands on you, something flickers across his face—an emotion you can’t quite place, his brows furrowing slightly before he glances down at your arm linked with Jeonghan's. His eyes trail from the vibrant turquoise of your dress, down to your arm in Jeonghan’s, and finally to the gleaming pearl ring on your finger. Then, without warning, he turns away, his shoulders tightening and a slight movement that lodges itself in your throat like a stone, heavy and uncomfortable.

Your mother, oblivious to the tension, all but shoves you and Jeonghan toward the dance floor as the next waltz begins, her voice bright with excitement as she declares, “The next bride and groom of the ton must have their moment to shine!” Jeonghan chuckles at her enthusiasm, a warm, carefree sound that dances in the air, as he gently tugs you into the throng of swirling gowns and polished shoes. The orchestra strikes up a lively quadrille, and you quickly lose yourself in the rhythm, the world narrowing down to the two of you, grinning up at Jeonghan every time you find yourselves partnered again.

In your breathless excitement, you barely notice the whispers of the ton, a familiar backdrop to your existence as they observe your every misstep with keen interest. But Seokmin’s gaze remains like a hot brand against your skin, intense and unyielding, making it hard to breathe. You feel the weight of his eyes like an anchor, and it draws your attention back to him against your will.

“Do not look at him,” Jeonghan murmurs, his voice low and steady as he twirls you beneath his arm, his grip firm yet gentle. His eyes search yours for a moment, grounding you, before he adds, “Look only at me, Y/N.”

You nod, your heart racing, and it's easy to follow his command, to lose yourself in the warmth of his smile and the way his eyes light up with every turn. Jeonghan moves gracefully, the two of you swirling together, his laughter mingling with the music. But just as quickly, his cool facade slips—he trips slightly on your flowing dress, and for a brief moment, his expression falters. His eyes dart toward the edge of the dance floor, tension radiating from his frame. When you follow his line of sight, your heart sinks.

The ever-enigmatic Lady Choi has graced the ball with her presence, and her gaze is locked on your fiancé, unwavering and knowing. When she catches Jeonghan staring, a slow, deliberate smile spreads across her lips, and she subtly nods her head toward the door. Jeonghan falters again, his brow creasing with worry as he shifts his weight, uncertain.

“You should go,” you urge gently, your voice barely above a whisper, and you lean in closer to him, the warmth of his body reassuring yet electric. He looks down at you, surprise etched across his features, his grip on your hand tightening involuntarily.

“No, I… I shouldn’t—I shan’t—” he stutters, attempting to regain his composure as he starts the next sequence of steps with an uncharacteristic bravado, but the confidence doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Jeonghan,” you murmur, your grip on his hand tightening as you lean in closer, your heart aching for him. “Go.”

“In the middle of a dance? What will the ton say about the viscount who leaves his new fiancée? What will become of you?” His concern is genuine, but it only adds to the pressure building within you, and you can see his throat bob as he swallows hard.

“It is nothing I have not handled before, my lord,” you tease lightly, a playful smile curving your lips as you step back and curtsy with a playful flourish. Jeonghan bows in return, though you can see the conflict in his eyes, and in that moment, you watch him leave you alone on the dance floor, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken words.

Your mother gasps from the edge of the dance floor, her shock palpable, and you can feel the heat rise to your cheeks at the attention. Minghao quickly attempts to soothe her, sharing a knowing glance with you that promises support as you excuse yourself for a refreshment.

Seokmin finds you at the drink table, his expression taut and focused, as though he’s been waiting for you. “He left you,” he states, his voice low but firm, eyebrows drawing together in disapproval.

“Good evening to you as well, Lord Lee. Quite hot, isn’t it?” You reply, your tone light as you feign nonchalance, but your heart races beneath his scrutinizing gaze.

“Y/N, he left you. His fiancée,” he presses, the weight of his words heavy in the air, and he leans closer, the intensity of his focus making it hard to hold his gaze.

“Yes, Seokmin, I do have fully functioning sight. I saw him leave.” You can’t help the bite in your tone as you straighten, the defiance rising within you.

“And what was so important that he had to abandon you in your first night out as a couple?” His voice sharpens, laced with an urgency that makes your heart clench.

“I do not need you to defend my honor, my lord. Nor do I need to explain my fiancé to you.” Your eyes flash, and you can feel the heat of your anger boiling beneath the surface.

With a huff, he turns away, frustration evident in the tight set of his jaw, leaving you alone at the table. You sip your lemonade, trying to ignore the murmurs that swirl around you, the familiar buzz of speculation and gossip that seems to cling to your skin like a second layer. Just then, Minghao finds you, his expression serious yet concerned.

“Walk with me,” he commands, his tone leaving no room for argument, and you can see the protective glint in his eye.

As you begin to move through the crowd, he squeezes your hand reassuringly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Are you alright?” he asks, concern lacing his voice as he studies your face.

“Quite, brother,” you assure him, though your heart feels heavy.

“Seokmin is quite upset. I would have been as well, had I not known what is happening between you and Lord Yoon.” His gaze softens slightly, but it’s clear he’s trying to gauge your emotions.

“Thank you for your understanding,” you reply, your heart swelling with gratitude.

“Was she here? The woman he loves?” Minghao’s question is gentle but probing, his concern evident as he meets your eyes.

“Yes,” you whisper softly, the admission tasting bitter on your tongue, and you can feel a weight settling in your chest.

“I see.” He nods slowly, processing the gravity of your words. “Are you truly alright with this?” His voice is steady, but there’s a hint of uncertainty beneath it.

“Yes,” you affirm, though your voice shakes slightly, a part of you longing for reassurance.

“Then I shan’t bother you about it any longer. I must tend to Mother—if you need me, we shall be at the edges of the dance floor.”

“Brother?” You call after him as he turns away, the crowd shifting around you. “Thank you.”

His only response is a gentle smile before the crowd swallows him whole. The ballroom thrums with the sound of laughter and music, a whirl of colors and movements that feel distant and dreamlike. Your heart is heavy, and each beat echoes louder than the chatter around you. As you stand alone, the weight of unspoken words presses down on your shoulders like a cloak, and your thoughts swirl like the skirts of the dancers gliding across the floor.

Suddenly, Seokmin strides toward you, his figure slicing through the crowd with a sense of urgency. The moment his eyes lock onto yours, a spark ignites—a mix of anger and something deeper. You can see the tension in his jaw, the way his brow furrows as he approaches, and you brace yourself for confrontation.

“Come with me,” he demands, his voice low but unmistakably firm, carrying an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. You can feel the heat radiating from him, a force you can’t ignore.

“Seokmin, please, I truly cannot fight with you any longer on this subject—” you start, your voice trembling slightly, but he interrupts, his frustration spilling over like a tide.

“I said come with me!” He grabs your wrist, his grip tight and insistent, forcing you to follow him through the thrumming crowd. The sound of your footsteps reverberates off the marble floors, each echo punctuating the space between you and the safety of the ballroom. The laughter and music fade, replaced by the heavy thrum of your heart and the frantic rustle of your gown.

“Seokmin, you’re hurting me!” you protest, panic creeping into your voice. You feel the pressure of his fingers, warmth mingling with the discomfort. As he glances back at you, anger flickers in his eyes before it softens, just for a moment, revealing a vulnerability that pulls at your heart.

He loosens his grip, but the air between you crackles with tension, a silent battle of wills that feels palpable. “Where are we going?” you ask, concern bleeding into your tone. “My mama will worry, and Minghao, and Jeonghan—”

“Damn Jeonghan!” he snaps, his voice rising, shattering the fragile silence around you. The heat of his words lingers in the air, mixing with the coolness of the corridor.

“Seokmin!” Your cheeks flush with indignation, a mixture of anger and hurt blooming in your chest.

“I told you,” he hisses, urgency fueling his movements as he pulls you further into the shadows of the hallway. The flickering candlelight casts ghostly shadows that dance along the walls, an eerie backdrop to your escalating emotions. “I told you he’s a scoundrel. And you wouldn’t listen—”

“Enough! I will not have you sully his good name. What in God’s name are you trying to accomplish?” you fire back, desperation tinging your words. The air feels thick, heavy with unresolved feelings that twist like vines around your heart.

“Will you listen?” He halts abruptly, spinning to face you, his expression a tempest of frustration. The tension radiates between you, and you can see the muscles in his jaw clench as he gestures toward a small window that overlooks the private gardens. “This is the man you wish to marry?”

He pushes the window open, and moonlight spills into the dim room, illuminating his features with a ghostly glow. Outside, you see Jeonghan, silhouetted against the soft glow of the moon, entangled in a passionate embrace with Lady Choi. A sickening twist of emotion churns in your stomach, a cocktail of heartbreak and unexpected relief; at least one of you gets a taste of the one they love.

“He is a SCOUNDREL,” Seokmin roars, his voice rising with indignation, the words dripping with disdain as he steps closer, his presence a whirlwind of intensity. “I shall duel him for your honor. I must tell Minghao of the grave error you have made—”

“Seokmin—” you start, your voice rising with urgency, but he interrupts again, the fervor in his tone igniting a fire within you.

“We must duel tonight, before the sun rises—”

“SEOKMIN! I knew.” The words escape you, a rush of truth that bursts forth like a dam breaking, raw and unfiltered.

“You—you knew?” His eyes widen, disbelief crashing over him like a wave, and for a moment, everything else fades away. The silence that follows is suffocating, filled only with the quickened rhythm of your breaths and the pounding of your heart. The weight of your confession hangs heavy in the air, thick as smoke.

“Yes.”

His expression contorts, shifting from shock to outrage, and you can feel the air crackling with tension. “You knew he was sinning with a married lady, no less, and you still agreed to marry him? My God, Y/N, I knew you wished to marry, but I didn’t know you would abandon all sense for that!” His hands are balled into fists at his sides, frustration radiating from him like heat from a flame.

Your chest constricts, the familiar ache of longing and sorrow spiraling within you. “Oh, you dolt, it was an arrangement! I knew he loved another, just as he knew I loved another!” You can feel the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, the weight of your heartache spilling over into your voice, echoing off the cold walls.

A heavy silence envelops you both, every breath echoing with unspoken truths. The air feels charged, electric, as the reality of your situation sinks in.

“You love…someone?” he asks, the vulnerability in his voice slicing through the tension like a knife.

“I must go, my mama—” You attempt to break free, but he grasps your wrist again, his fingers warm yet insistent, the touch igniting a spark of something more profound within you. You can't meet his gaze, the shame of your feelings swirling with fear and longing.

“Y/N.” His voice is a soft plea, low and raw, wrapping around you like a familiar embrace. The way he says your name sends a shiver through you, and for a moment, you feel as though you are on the brink of something monumental.

“Please, Seokmin.” Your voice trembles, a mixture of desperation and desire, the air thick with unspoken confessions.

“Who? I shall make him pay for everything he has done to you, my dear friend—how dare he—”

“Oh for God’s sake, it’s you!” The words tumble out before you can stop them, the truth bursting forth like a firework exploding in the night sky.

You attempt to retreat, to escape the intensity of the moment, but his grip is unyielding, a tether binding you to him. With a swift motion, he yanks you back, and before you can even process what’s happening, his lips crash onto yours, fierce and unrelenting. You can taste the warmth of his breath, the desperation in his touch, and it wraps around you like a cocoon. For that brief, intoxicating moment, everything else fades away—the hurt, the confusion, the chaotic world outside—leaving only the two of you.

You melt into him, the kiss a torrent of everything unspoken: the longing, the frustration, the fear of what lies ahead. It’s passionate and fierce, as if the very fabric of your souls is interwoven in that moment, a confession without words. His hands cup your face, grounding you as the world blurs around you, leaving just the warmth of his body and the desperate connection that binds you both.

He groans, muttering a curse under his breath, and it ignites something deep in the pit of your stomach. You know this is a terrible position – if anyone were to see you, your reputation, your future, your engagement would be ruined – but when his lips find your pulse point in your throat, all you can do is arch your back with a low keen. 

His teeth graze your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You clutch at his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket, desperate for purchase in this whirlwind of sensation. The rational part of your mind screams at you to stop, to push him away, but your body betrays you, leaning into his touch with a hunger you've never known before.

"Seokmin," you gasp, his name a prayer on your lips. He responds with a low growl, pressing you against the wall, his body flush against yours. The heat between you is palpable, electric, threatening to consume you both.

His hands roam your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You're dizzy with desire, drunk on his touch, on the intoxicating scent of his cologne mingling with the musk of his skin. You know you should stop this, end it before it ruins you.

But you can't bring yourself to end it. Not when his touch feels like salvation, like coming home after years of wandering lost.

"We shouldn't," you manage to whisper between kisses, your words contradicting the wayyour fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.

Seokmin pauses, his breath hot against your neck. "Do you want me to stop?" he asks, his voice husky and strained. 

Before you can even fathom an answer, the sound of footsteps down the corridor sends your mind into a panic. You shove him off, urgently trying to right your dress. 

Seokmin stumbles back, his eyes wild and still clouded with the raw emotion of your kiss. His gaze locks onto yours, both of you caught between passion and the creeping dread of what you’ve just done. The footsteps draw nearer, each one a reminder of how close you are to ruin.

The door swings open, and Minghao strides in, his eyes narrowing the instant he takes in the sight of you both—flushed cheeks, disheveled attire, the undeniable aura of something forbidden and unspoken hanging heavy in the air.

“What is the meaning of this?” Minghao’s voice is a blade, slicing through the room with cold fury.

Seokmin straightens, trying to regain his composure, but the guilt is written all over his face. You feel your heart slam against your ribcage, panic curling like smoke in your chest. But Minghao’s gaze stays sharp, unforgiving as he looks between the two of you.

“Seokmin,” he starts, his voice low and dangerous. “You’ve dishonored my sister—this is unforgivable. You must either make amends or answer me on the dueling ground at dawn.”

You cast a desperate look toward Seokmin, but his face is tense, unreadable, his own turmoil barely held at bay. He takes a deep breath, then steps forward, addressing Minghao with a steady resolve you didn’t know he possessed.

“Minghao,” Seokmin says, his voice low, respectful. “Please understand. I would never wish harm or shame upon your sister. I care for her deeply—more than I can put into words.”

The air in the room thickens, dense and electric, as if even the walls are holding their breath, waiting for the decision that will shape your fate. Minghao’s stance is rigid, his eyes flashing with anger and something else—concern, maybe fear. It sends a cold wave through you, underscoring the gravity of what he’s demanding. The faint scent of candle wax mingles with the night air creeping through the open window, casting a ghostly glow across the floor.

Your heart races, each beat echoing like a drum in the silence. Your skin still hums with the memory of Seokmin’s touch, the heat of his kiss lingering on your lips like a forbidden brand. You swallow hard, the taste of that moment bittersweet, and glance toward Seokmin. His face is caught between shock and something else—determination, maybe defiance. He’s breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling, and his gaze flits between you and Minghao as if assessing the weight of his next words.

“Then prove it,” Minghao says, voice low and slicing through the haze that surrounds you, “or I’ll demand satisfaction for my sister’s honor.”

The word honor hangs heavy in the air, and a slow burn of anger coils in your chest. Your fingers curl into your palms, nails pressing into the skin, grounding you against the urge to scream. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. You never wanted to be caught like this, not in a moment of vulnerability twisted by the presence of an audience. Minghao’s protective stare feels like a chain around your neck, while Seokmin’s gaze—a mixture of apology and restraint—only intensifies the confusion swirling inside you.

“Brother,” you say, forcing your voice steady, though your heart feels as if it’s beating in your throat, “this is unnecessary. I am engaged to another. You know this. To demand a marriage over one moment is—”

Minghao cuts you off, shaking his head. “We both know that arrangement is nothing more than an exchange of power, not a bond of love. But this?” His eyes narrow as he looks at Seokmin, his expression hardening. “This is no mere arrangement. I won’t allow this… this recklessness to tarnish your future. Not if I can prevent it.”

His words twist around your heart, anger simmering as he speaks as though you’re not even here, as if you’re some fragile creature incapable of understanding the consequences of your own actions. You tighten your hands into fists, the fire in your chest blazing hotter, burning through your lingering shame and leaving only fury in its wake.

“Brother, this is my choice,” you say, your voice sharper than you intended. You refuse to let him dictate your fate, no matter how well-intentioned he may be. “I won’t be forced into anything, not by you, and not by—”

“Fine,” Seokmin interrupts, his voice low, but the intensity behind it makes your breath hitch. His gaze shifts to Minghao, defiant yet respectful, a calm resolve settling over him that you’ve never seen before. “I’ll marry her.”

The words strike like a thunderclap, sudden and irrevocable, and the room feels smaller, suffocating in the aftermath. You gape at him, heart pounding, pulse roaring in your ears as the weight of what he’s said crashes over you.

“You’ll… what?” Your voice is little more than a whisper, confusion and anger tangling together, leaving you breathless. It’s as if the ground beneath you has tilted, your life, your future, shifting without your consent, controlled by the decisions of two men who seem to think they know what’s best for you.

Seokmin meets your gaze, and for a moment, the vulnerability in his eyes betrays the mask of resolve he wears. But then his expression steels, his jaw set as if he’s made peace with something.

“Fine,” he repeats, his tone unwavering. “I’ll do what’s necessary.”

The finality of his words ignites a fury in you, fierce and hot. How dare they decide your fate like this, without so much as a thought for your own desires, your own choices? Your fists clench, knuckles white as you stare between them, your breaths coming short, uneven.

Minghao nods approvingly, his gaze flicking back to you, as if expecting gratitude, as if this was what you wanted all along. But you feel trapped, as though walls are closing in, boxing you into a life decided for you, a future crafted by others’ expectations.

“Is that it, then?” you ask, the bitterness in your voice surprising even you. “You two decide, and that’s that? No thought for what I might want?”

Seokmin’s gaze wavers, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. But he doesn’t answer, and neither does Minghao. The silence stretches, heavy and charged, and you realize with a sharp pang that neither of them truly understands—that perhaps they never will.

The weight of their silence drives you to turn on your heel, striding down the corridor in a rush to escape. You don’t care about decorum anymore. All you want is space, a moment to process the shock, the hurt, the sheer indignity of having your future decided without so much as a word from you.

But the sound of hurried footsteps behind you keeps pace. You don’t need to look back to know who’s following.

“Wait!” Seokmin’s voice is laced with desperation, and you feel the words tug at you despite yourself. “Please, Y/N—just… please, stay. Let’s talk this out.”

You quicken your steps, but his voice drags you back, its gentle earnestness slicing through your anger like a double-edged blade. You stop, shoulders tensing as you draw in a shaky breath, trying to steel yourself against him. But when you turn around, his expression—pleading, open, raw—almost undoes you.

“Talk about what, Seokmin?” you say, voice barely concealing the tremble. “There’s nothing left to discuss. Decisions have already been made, haven’t they?”

“Not like this,” he says, his voice soft, an ache threading through his words. His hand reaches out toward you, hesitating in the space between you both. “Not without you. I’m sorry. I should have… I should have thought—”

“No,” Minghao interrupts, stepping up beside Seokmin, his jaw set and his gaze unyielding. His hand wraps firmly around your elbow, his voice edged with protective steel. “It’s done for tonight. She’s had enough. We’re going home.”

Minghao’s grip is gentle yet firm, and before you can protest, he begins to lead you down the dimly lit corridor, each step echoing louder than the last. You glance back, catching the hurt etched into Seokmin’s face, his hand outstretched as though still reaching for you. But he doesn’t follow; he stays rooted in place, watching you disappear.

The carriage ride back is filled with silence so thick you could cut it. Minghao says nothing, and you’re grateful. You can barely keep your thoughts in line, let alone handle a conversation. You close your eyes, leaning back, but the image of Seokmin’s pleading face and the desperate, furious embrace you shared lingers like an imprint on your skin.

When you arrive home, you stumble up the stairs, trying to erase the chaos of the evening, but it follows you like a ghost. You catch your reflection in the hallway mirror, and the sight stops you cold. Your hair is in complete disarray, a few strands falling loose from your intricately pinned style, and your face is flushed, cheeks streaked with faint traces of dried tears. Your chest rises and falls, still heaving from the intensity of everything that has happened.

You barely recognize yourself. The wildness in your eyes, the raw emotion painted on your face—it’s as if the person staring back at you is a stranger, a part of you that you’d never thought you’d see.

Hours pass, but sleep evades you, each tick of the clock an insistent reminder of the turmoil simmering inside. Every time you close your eyes, you’re back in that dim room, tasting the fire of his kiss, feeling the weight of Minghao’s words, and wondering if you’ll ever be free from the choices that were made for you tonight.

Tagging: @kibs-and-bits @moondustmemories @shinwonderful @ivehypnosis @gwend0lyne @thestoryofana13 @mellowamour @blissedjoon @begentlewithme-please @xabsolutelynothingx @reiofsuns2001 @mngyulvrs @mooniewrld

@archivistworld @lexyraeworld @ateez-atiny380 @walkinganxiety01 @lovecleastrange

@uriguyeok @nenojaems @carefully325 @meowmeowminnie @ts19009 @flickhurstyles

@spookyeomgoose @princelingperfect @tinkerbell460 @xueisaaa17

@deekaykaykay @ottersmind @sungbeam @blvenote @kyeomsworld

[novaursa]

The Second Daughter (simple things)

- Summary: You were born as a second daughter under the watchful eye of a full moon. And just like the moon you were beautiful—and cursed to exist only in the dark.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the rogue

- Next part: her favor

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @l3thal-l0lita @ninihrtss @barnes70stark

The gardens of the Red Keep were alive with the sound of birdsong and the soft rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. You sat beneath a sprawling tree, its branches casting dappled sunlight over your pale hair as you listened to the idle chatter of your ladies-in-waiting. They sat nearby on cushions, their laughter and gossip a pleasant backdrop as you ran your fingers lightly over the embroidery in your lap. Ser Lorent stood at a respectful distance, his sharp eyes ever watchful.

It was a rare sight for you to join the gardens in this manner, a fact not lost on the court. Whispers had already begun to ripple through the halls of the Red Keep—stories of the blind princess gracing the gardens, her poise and beauty on display amidst the lush greenery. Those whispers, as all whispers eventually did, found their way to Jason Lannister.

Jason had been lingering near the outer edges of the Keep when the news reached him. He didn’t waste a moment, seizing the opportunity with the same precision he would employ in a hunt. He strode toward the gardens, his mind already working on how best to approach you without appearing overly eager. As he neared the vibrant beds of flowers lining the pathways, an idea struck him.

Bending down, Jason plucked a small bundle of blooms—soft lavender sprigs, delicate daisies, and a few vivid marigolds. The arrangement was modest but carefully chosen, their fragrance sweet and fresh in the morning air. He smiled to himself as he adjusted the stems, confident this gesture would set him apart from the other lords.

Rather than approaching directly, Jason made his way around to another entrance, stepping lightly onto the gravel path that would lead him to your corner of the garden. As he emerged from the greenery, the soft giggles and murmurs of your companions ceased abruptly.

“Your Grace,” one of the ladies whispered, her voice hushed with a mix of awe and trepidation.

Ser Lorent, standing stoic as ever, leaned slightly closer to you. “Lord Jason approaches,” he informed you, his tone neutral but alert.

You nodded calmly, your expression unbothered. “I expected as much.”

Jason, now within earshot, offered a charming smile as he inclined his head to your ladies-in-waiting before focusing entirely on you. “Princess Y/N,” he greeted, his tone warm and respectful. “A pleasure to find you here this morning.”

“Lord Jason,” you replied, your voice soft but welcoming. “It seems the gardens are full of visitors today.”

Jason chuckled, stepping closer and extending the bundle of flowers toward you. “I thought these might brighten your morning, Your Grace. A humble gift for someone who already outshines the blossoms around her.”

Your ladies exchanged glances, their expressions torn between curiosity and disapproval. Jason half-expected one of them to scold him for such a bold gesture, but instead, you surprised him.

Your fingers brushed lightly over the flowers as you leaned closer, inhaling their fragrance. A small, genuine smile graced your lips. “Lavender, daisies, and marigolds,” you said softly, your voice carrying a note of quiet delight. “These are my favorites.”

Jason blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “You recognized them by scent?” he asked, his voice tinged with wonder.

“Of course,” you replied, your tone gentle. “The lavender is calming, the daisies are sweet, and the marigolds… they remind me of the summer sun.”

Your words struck him, a rare moment of genuine appreciation cutting through his usual bravado. “Then I am glad I chose well,” he said sincerely, his smile softening.

You turned your face slightly toward him, your expression serene. “Thank you, Lord Jason. That was very thoughtful of you.”

Jason inclined his head, his golden hair catching the sunlight as he replied, “It is no trouble, Your Grace. The flowers pale in comparison to the one who holds them.”

Your ladies-in-waiting stifled a few giggles, though Ser Lorent’s stern gaze quickly silenced them. Jason’s confidence, however, was undeterred. He watched as you traced your fingers over the petals, your delicate movements reflecting the quiet grace he had come to admire.

Jason Lannister stood before you, momentarily humbled. The sight of your genuine smile as you cradled the simple bundle of flowers was a stark contrast to what he was used to. In Casterly Rock and the courts of King’s Landing, he had spent years wooing women with grand gestures, lavish gifts, and boasts of his wealth. Yet here you were, radiant with quiet joy over something as unassuming as flowers he had plucked on a whim. It disarmed him, in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Princess,” he began, his voice softer now, as if the weight of the moment had tempered his usual confidence. “Would you care to join me for a stroll? The gardens are far lovelier when shared.”

Your ladies-in-waiting exchanged glances, their curiosity palpable as they awaited your response. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath as you considered his offer. Then, with your characteristic grace, you rose from your seat, handing the flowers to one of your companions to hold.

“I would be pleased to, Lord Jason,” you said, your voice warm and steady.

Jason smiled, stepping forward and offering his hand. You reached out, your fingers brushing his palm lightly before settling in his grasp. His touch was firm but careful as he guided your hand to rest on his arm.

“You honor me, Your Grace,” Jason said sincerely, the usual bravado in his tone softened by something more genuine.

With that, the two of you began to walk along the gravel paths, the sound of your steps blending with the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. Behind you, Ser Lorent followed at a discreet distance, his vigilant presence a silent reminder of his duty. Yet he allowed enough space to grant you and Jason a semblance of privacy.

The air was fragrant with the scent of blooming roses and jasmine, and the warmth of the sun filtered through the trees above. Jason glanced at you as you walked, your hand resting lightly on his arm, your posture poised yet relaxed. He was struck again by your composure, the quiet confidence you carried even in unfamiliar territory.

After a moment, you spoke, breaking the comfortable silence. “Tell me about yourself, Lord Jason,” you said, your tone curious but not pressing. “And about Casterly Rock. I’ve heard it’s magnificent.”

Jason chuckled softly, glancing ahead as he considered your request. “Magnificent, yes,” he agreed. “It’s a fortress carved into the mountains of the Westerlands, overlooking the Sunset Sea. The walls are so high, it feels as though you’re standing on the edge of the world.”

Your lips curved into a faint smile. “It sounds breathtaking.”

“It is,” Jason said, his voice carrying a note of pride. “The rock itself is honeycombed with tunnels and chambers, some of which are older than memory. There are halls grand enough to host a hundred lords and their retainers, and vaults so deep they’ve held the treasures of House Lannister for generations.”

You nodded slightly, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his sleeve as you walked. “And what of the sea? Does it truly stretch beyond sight, as they say?”

Jason’s gaze softened, his admiration for you deepening as he replied. “It does. On clear days, you can see the waves glittering like diamonds in the sunlight. And when storms roll in, the cliffs echo with the roar of the water. It’s… untamed, but beautiful.”

You tilted your head slightly, imagining the scene through his words. “It must be a place of great strength, yet also great wonder.”

Jason smiled, impressed by your insight. “You’ve described it perfectly, Your Grace. It’s both a fortress and a symbol—a testament to House Lannister’s resilience.”

You turned your face slightly toward him, your expression thoughtful. “And what of you, Lord Jason? Do you enjoy the Rock, or do you find it confining?”

Jason hesitated, caught off guard by the question. “I enjoy it,” he said after a moment. “But… I confess, there are times when I long for the open road. The world beyond the Rock is vast, and there’s much to see.”

You nodded, a faint smile gracing your lips. “I understand that feeling. Even in the Red Keep, I sometimes feel the walls closing in. It’s why I ride through the city. To feel a sense of freedom.”

Jason glanced at you, his admiration growing with every word. “I think I understand now why the people speak of you with such affection,” he said quietly. “You have a way of seeing the world that others miss.”

You smiled at his words, though your expression remained serene. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I simply listen more closely.”

The stroll continued, the gravel crunching softly beneath your boots as you and Jason approached the far edge of the gardens. The vibrant blooms gave way to a more manicured space, where a small cluster of nobles had gathered under the shade of a towering oak. Their chatter was light, though the occasional burst of laughter carried on the breeze. As you drew closer, the unmistakable figure of Lord Otto Hightower came into view, his sharp gaze sweeping over the group before landing on you and Jason.

The sight of you walking arm-in-arm with the Lord of Casterly Rock immediately caught Otto’s attention. His interest sharpened, his brows knitting together in a subtle frown. The intimacy of Jason’s hand guiding yours, combined with the quiet ease between the two of you, seemed to speak volumes—more than what was strictly proper for a casual acquaintance.

Jason, ever attuned to the nuances of court, noticed the shift in Otto’s demeanor almost immediately. He straightened slightly, his usual lion-like confidence slipping seamlessly into a more guarded posture. His green eyes flicked briefly toward the other nobles in the group, who were also beginning to take note of your approach.

“I see we’ve become the center of attention,” Jason murmured softly, his voice pitched low enough for only you to hear.

“Not unusual,” you replied with a faint smile. “Though I suspect their interest lies more in you than in me.”

Jason chuckled, though the sound carried a nervous edge. “I think we both know that’s not true.”

As you reached the group, one of the lords—a man with thinning hair and a ruddy complexion—leaned toward another, his voice loud enough to carry. “It seems Lord Jason has a talent for persistence. First the King’s heir, and now her younger sister.”

The remark elicited a few murmurs and stifled laughs, but Otto raised a hand, silencing the whispers with a single gesture. His face remained composed, though his eyes gleamed with calculation as he stepped forward to greet you both.

“Princess Y/N,” Otto said smoothly, bowing his head slightly. “And Lord Jason. What a pleasant surprise to see you both enjoying the gardens on such a fine day.”

“Lord Otto,” you greeted, your tone calm and polite. “It is indeed a lovely day.”

Jason inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Lord Otto,” he said, his voice measured. “It seems the gardens are a favored retreat for many.”

Otto’s gaze lingered on Jason for a moment, his expression carefully neutral. “It would appear so,” he replied. “Though I must admit, I did not expect to see the Lord of Casterly Rock lingering in the capital for so long. Your presence has been… noted.”

Jason’s smile didn’t waver, though his grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly. “The capital holds many charms, my lord,” he said lightly. “It would be a shame to leave too soon.”

One of the ladies in the group, a woman with a sharp nose and an even sharper tongue, interjected with a smirk. “Indeed, Lord Jason seems to have discovered quite the charm in Princess Y/N.”

The comment hung in the air, a veiled barb disguised as idle observation. Jason turned to her, his eyes narrowing slightly. “The Princess’s grace and intellect are undeniable,” he said smoothly. “I count myself fortunate to enjoy her company.”

The lady raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening, but it was Otto who spoke next. “Such attention from one as esteemed as yourself is no small thing, Lord Jason,” he said, his tone cool but polite. “I trust your intentions are as honorable as your reputation suggests.”

Jason’s smile remained firmly in place, though his jaw tightened imperceptibly. “Always, Lord Otto,” he said, his voice steady. “The Princess deserves nothing less.”

You tilted your head slightly, sensing the undercurrent of animosity in the exchange. “It seems my walks inspire much discussion,” you said softly, your tone carrying a quiet authority that drew all eyes to you. “I did not realize the gardens were such a stage.”

Otto’s gaze shifted to you, his expression softening just enough to appear respectful. “Forgive us, Your Grace,” he said. “It is only natural for the court to take an interest in such a distinguished pair.”

Jason seized the opportunity to turn the conversation. “It’s a testament to the Princess’s ability to command attention without effort,” he said, his tone warm. “A rare quality, and one that should be admired.”

Otto studied Jason for a moment longer before offering a faint smile. “Indeed,” he said. “The Princess has always been a source of admiration.”

The tension eased slightly, though the air remained thick with unspoken questions. You nodded politely to the group, your serene demeanor unshaken. “If you’ll excuse us, my lord,” you said, addressing Otto. “We were enjoying the gardens, and I would hate to delay the others from their conversations.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Otto replied smoothly, stepping aside to let you and Jason pass. “Do enjoy the rest of your walk.”

Jason guided you forward, his arm steady beneath your hand as you left the cluster of nobles behind. Though he didn’t speak immediately, you could feel the subtle shift in his posture, the way his shoulders relaxed once the group was out of sight.

“Well handled,” you said softly, a hint of amusement in your tone.

Jason chuckled, though the sound was laced with lingering anxiety. “I’d say the same to you, Princess. It seems we make quite the spectacle.”

“Perhaps,” you replied, your voice light. “But not all spectacles are unwelcome.”

Jason glanced at you, his admiration deepening as the faintest smile played on your lips. Despite the court’s scrutiny, you remained unshaken—a quiet strength he found himself drawn to more with each passing moment. As the two of you continued your stroll, the murmur of the nobles faded into the distance, leaving only the sound of birdsong and the gentle rustle of the garden’s blooms.

Rhaenyra stood on the stone balcony overlooking the Red Keep’s expansive gardens, her hands resting on the cool railing as her eyes followed the figures below. There, amidst the vibrant blooms and greenery, you walked arm-in-arm with Jason Lannister, your quiet grace and calm demeanor unmistakable even from a distance.

But Rhaenyra’s gaze was not one of admiration. Concern flickered in her violet eyes, her brow furrowing as she watched you engage with the golden-haired Lord of Casterly Rock. His practiced charm and confidence grated on her nerves; she had seen it too many times before.

“Does he ever stop talking?” she muttered under her breath, though no one was there to answer.

The sound of footsteps behind her drew her attention, and she turned her head to see her father, King Viserys, stepping onto the balcony. He carried a goblet of wine, his mood seemingly lightened by the day’s progress.

“Rhaenyra,” Viserys greeted warmly, his tone tinged with fatherly affection. “Hiding away in shadows? That’s not like you.”

“I’m hardly hiding, Father,” Rhaenyra replied, though her tone lacked her usual playfulness. She turned her gaze back to the gardens.

Viserys followed her line of sight, his expression softening as he spotted you. “Ah,” he murmured, leaning against the railing beside her. “It’s good to see her out there. She spends so much time alone.”

Rhaenyra’s lips tightened, her fingers drumming lightly against the stone. “She’s not alone now,” she said pointedly.

Viserys chuckled, his mood buoyed by the sight of you smiling as Jason said something that earned a faint laugh. “No, she’s not. And that’s a rare thing. Look at her—so at ease, so… happy.”

“She shouldn’t be so at ease with him,” Rhaenyra snapped, her tone sharper than she intended.

Viserys glanced at his daughter, his own expression shifting slightly as he noted the irritation on her face. “What troubles you, Rhaenyra?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “Jason Lannister is a fine lord. Perhaps… perhaps his attentions are not unwelcome.”

Rhaenyra’s head snapped toward her father, disbelief flashing across her features. “You can’t be serious,” she said, her voice low but firm. “Jason Lannister tried to win my hand just days ago. Now, after being rejected by both of us, he’s already sniffing around her. Does that not strike you as opportunistic?”

Viserys frowned, though his gaze remained fixed on the garden below. “Perhaps. But Y/N is no fool. She has a quiet wisdom about her. If she finds Jason’s company agreeable, who are we to question it?”

“Agreeable?” Rhaenyra scoffed, crossing her arms. “She’s too kind to push him away. You know that as well as I do.”

Viserys sighed, setting his goblet down on the railing. “Rhaenyra, must you always see shadows where there may be none? Y/N deserves attention as much as you do. She’s not lesser because she is second-born or because she—” He hesitated, his voice softening. “Because she bears her blindness with such grace.”

“She deserves better than a lion looking for his next conquest,” Rhaenyra shot back, her frustration clear.

Viserys turned to face her fully now, his own expression darkening. “You speak as though she’s incapable of making her own decisions. Have you so little faith in your sister?”

“It’s not about faith,” Rhaenyra replied, her tone lowering. “It’s about protection. You may see this as harmless, Father, but I know Jason Lannister. He doesn’t give up, and he doesn’t stop until he’s claimed what he wants.”

Viserys’s gaze returned to the garden, his mood visibly shifting as your laughter reached their ears, faint but genuine. His jaw tightened, the weight of Rhaenyra’s words settling over him.

“Perhaps,” he said finally, his voice heavy with thought. “But Y/N is stronger than you think. And if Jason’s intentions are less than honorable… he will answer to me.”

Rhaenyra’s expression didn’t soften, her concern remaining etched on her face. “I hope you’re right,” she said quietly. “Because if he hurts her, no coin in the realm will save him from me.”

Viserys glanced at her, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips despite the tension in the air. “You’ve always been fiercely protective of her,” he said, his tone warmer now. “She’s lucky to have you as her sister.”

Rhaenyra said nothing, her gaze returning to the garden below. As Jason guided you toward another path, your hand still lightly resting on his arm, the worry in her eyes deepened. Whatever your father saw as harmless, she saw as a threat—a threat she would not ignore.

The amber hues of the setting sun painted the gardens of the Red Keep in warm light as your stroll with Jason came to an end. The distant hum of courtly life faded into the background, leaving only the faint rustle of leaves and the soft sound of your footsteps on the gravel path. As you reached a quiet corner of the gardens, Jason slowed his pace, finally stopping beneath a towering tree whose branches reached out like protective arms.

“Princess,” he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of the moment. “It seems we must part for now. Duty calls, as it always does.”

You turned toward him, your hand still lightly resting on his arm. “Indeed,” you replied, your tone calm but tinged with a hint of reluctance. “Duty is ever a demanding companion.”

Jason chuckled, the sound warm but subdued. “True words, Your Grace. But I am grateful for the time we’ve had. It’s a rare gift to spend a moment in such company.”

He stepped back slightly, gently releasing your hand before taking it again, this time with both of his. His touch was firm yet careful, as though he held something precious. “If I may,” he said, his voice quieter now, “a proper farewell.”

You nodded slightly, your head tilting toward him in quiet permission. Jason lifted your hand to his lips, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed a kiss to your knuckles. The gesture was courtly, practiced, yet there was a tenderness to it that felt genuine.

As he held your hand, he hesitated for a moment before bringing it to his cheek. His skin was warm, the faint stubble of his beard brushing against your palm. “A small indulgence,” he murmured, his tone both respectful and uncertain. “To know the man who seeks your favor.”

The words caught you off guard, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you allowed your fingers to move, tracing the strong line of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbone, the sharp bridge of his nose. His features were unfamiliar to you, but his stillness, his willingness to let you explore, spoke volumes.

“You are bold, Lord Jason,” you said softly, your voice carrying a note of amusement. “Few would allow such a thing.”

Jason’s lips curved into a faint smile beneath your touch. “Boldness is often the price of sincerity, Your Grace. And I wish to be nothing but sincere with you.”

You let your hand linger for a moment longer before lowering it, your fingers brushing against his as you withdrew. “Then I thank you for your honesty,” you replied, your tone measured but warm. “It is… refreshing.”

Jason inclined his head, his golden hair catching the light of the fading sun. “And I thank you for your trust,” he said earnestly. “It means more than I can say.”

He stepped back then, his movements slow and deliberate, as though reluctant to leave. “Until next we meet, Princess,” he said, his voice lingering in the air like a promise.

“Until then, Lord Jason,” you replied, inclining your head slightly in farewell.

As Jason turned and began to walk away, the sound of his boots on the gravel faded into the distance. You stood still for a moment, the cool evening breeze brushing against your skin, before Ser Lorent approached. His presence was steady and grounding, and though he said nothing, you could feel his worry like a tangible thing.

“You disapprove, Ser Lorent,” you said softly, your tone more a statement than a question.

The knight hesitated, his armored gauntlets resting lightly at his sides. “It is not my place to approve or disapprove, Your Grace,” he replied carefully. “But I am sworn to protect you, and I cannot help but feel… cautious.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing against the folds of your gown. “Your caution is not unwarranted,” you said. “But I assure you, I am not so easily swayed.”

Ser Lorent inclined his head, his tone quiet but resolute. “I know that, Your Grace. But even the strongest hearts can be vulnerable.”

You turned your head slightly toward him, your expression calm but unreadable. “Then it is fortunate that I have you to guard mine, Ser Lorent.”

The knight’s posture straightened slightly, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Always, Princess,” he said firmly.

With that, you began to make your way back toward the Keep, Ser Lorent walking at your side. 

Jason Lannister walked back into the Red Keep, his steps echoing through the stone halls. The warmth of the evening garden lingered on his skin, but his mind was already shifting back to the bustling politics of the court. His hand briefly brushed against his sleeve, where her touch had lingered moments ago—a reminder of the connection he had just forged. A faint smile played on his lips, though it was quickly tempered by the sight awaiting him in the corridor ahead.

Tyland Lannister, his younger twin, was speaking animatedly with two familiar figures: Lord Beesbury, the elderly but sharp Master of Coin, and Grand Maester Mellos, who always seemed encumbered by the weight of his chains. They stood clustered near the council chambers, their discussion quiet but pointed, as was often the case with matters of the Small Council.

Tyland spotted Jason first, his eyes lighting with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “Ah, here he is,” he called, his tone carrying an edge of playful mischief. “Our golden lion returns from his hunt.”

Jason raised an eyebrow as he approached, his stride confident despite the underlying irritation at Tyland’s jab. “Hunt, is it? You make it sound far more savage than it was,” he replied smoothly.

Lord Beesbury, his lined face breaking into a faint smile, turned toward Jason with a nod of acknowledgment. “Lord Jason, good evening. It’s rare to see you wandering the Keep at this hour.”

Jason inclined his head politely. “Evening, Lord Beesbury. Grand Maester,” he added, nodding to Mellos, who gave a small grunt of acknowledgment.

“I could say the same for you,” Tyland interjected, crossing his arms as he leaned casually against the wall. “Though I imagine your evening stroll was far more… eventful than ours.”

Jason shot his brother a pointed look, though his smile remained intact. “The gardens are a fine place to find peace, Tyland. Perhaps you should try it sometime.”

“Peace,” Tyland echoed with a chuckle. “Is that what you call it?”

“Enough, boys,” Mellos said, his tone weary but firm. His chains clinked softly as he shifted. “The Red Keep has enough rumors without the two of you adding fuel to the fire.”

“Rumors?” Jason asked, arching an eyebrow. “What sort of rumors, Grand Maester?”

Beesbury chuckled softly, his tone as dry as parchment. “Oh, the usual. Whispers of alliances, speculation about heirs, and of course, the ever-present interest in who walks with whom in the gardens.”

Jason’s smile didn’t falter, though his jaw tightened slightly. “Surely the court has better things to discuss than a simple walk.”

Tyland’s grin widened, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, they’re discussing plenty, brother. But I’d wager your name is coming up more often than usual. Something about the younger Targaryen princess being a far more promising pursuit than her elder sister.”

Jason turned to his twin, his gaze sharp. “And what of it, Tyland? Am I to take advice on discretion from the man who thrives on the council’s whispers?”

Tyland laughed, unbothered by the jab. “Touché, brother. But do be careful. The court has a way of turning even the smallest gestures into grand tales. And you, dear Jason, are providing them with plenty of material.”

Jason straightened, his smile returning though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let them talk,” he said simply. “The truth is far less dramatic than their fantasies.”

“Is it?” Mellos asked, his tone mild but probing. “The truth, Lord Jason, often lies somewhere between perception and reality. Be mindful of which side you’re seen on.”

Jason inclined his head, conceding the point without argument. “Sound advice, Grand Maester. I shall endeavor to keep it in mind.”

Beesbury sighed, his tone wistful. “Ah, to be young and at the center of intrigue. It seems some things never change.”

Tyland chuckled, his arms still crossed. “Indeed, my lord. But I imagine Jason wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Jason said nothing, though his gaze lingered on his brother for a moment longer than necessary. Finally, he turned back to the group, his tone light but firm. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I believe my evening requires some reflection.”

“Reflection, is it?” Tyland called after him as he began to walk away. “Or more planning for your next stroll?”

Jason raised a hand in farewell, his smile faint but present. “Good night, Tyland.”

As he made his way down the corridor, the echoes of their conversation faded behind him. His thoughts drifted back to you, to the softness of your voice and the strength of your presence. Whatever the court whispered, Jason knew one thing for certain: he was far from finished with his pursuit.

The soft glow of candles illuminated your chambers as you prepared for bed. The air was quiet save for the faint rustling of fabric as you folded your day’s gown and set it aside. Alys, your trusted servant, lingered nearby, tidying the room before retiring for the night.

“Will there be anything else, Your Grace?” Alys asked softly, her hands busy with the folds of a blanket.

“No, Alys,” you replied gently. “That will be all. Rest well.”

With a bow, she left, closing the heavy door behind her. You began unbraiding your hair, your fingers deftly working through the strands. The familiar motion was soothing, a moment of peace before the day fully faded.

That peace was interrupted by the sudden sound of your door opening. You turned your head slightly, already recognizing the brisk, purposeful footsteps that followed.

“Rhaenyra,” you greeted calmly, your voice neither surprised nor startled. “What brings you here so late?”

Rhaenyra strode into the room, her silk gown rustling with each step. Her face was tense, her brows knit with worry that she didn’t bother to mask. “What are you doing?” she asked, her tone sharper than usual.

You blinked, setting down your hairbrush. “Preparing for bed,” you said simply, though you could already sense the true weight of her question. “Or do you mean Lord Jason?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, confirming your suspicion. “Yes,” she said finally, her voice clipped. “I mean Jason Lannister. What are you doing with him?”

You sighed softly, turning fully toward her. “Walking. Talking. Accepting flowers. Nothing untoward, if that’s what concerns you.”

“It is what concerns me,” Rhaenyra said sharply, stepping closer. “You shouldn’t have allowed him to get so close to you. His intentions are far from innocent.”

You tilted your head slightly, your expression remaining calm. “And what makes you so certain of that, Rhaenyra?”

Her eyes narrowed, frustration flickering in her gaze. “Because I know men like Jason. He’s persistent, ambitious, and charming when it suits him. You may think his kindness is genuine, but I assure you, he has a goal in mind.”

“And that goal is me?” you asked, your tone soft but pointed. “He has not said or done anything inappropriate, sister. Why should I turn him away when he has been nothing but courteous?”

“Because it’s not about you,” Rhaenyra snapped, her voice rising slightly. “It’s about our family. He’s trying to worm his way back into favor after being rejected by me—and by Father—by using you.”

The words hung in the air like a heavy curtain, their weight palpable. You studied her silence for a long moment before speaking, your voice as steady as ever. “Ah. So this is about you, then,” you said quietly. “As it always is.”

Rhaenyra’s expression faltered, her frustration shifting to something more vulnerable. “That’s not what I meant,” she said, her tone softer now. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“And I appreciate that,” you replied gently, though there was a firmness beneath your words. “But I am not so naive as you think me to be, Rhaenyra. I know what Jason is—or what he might be. But he has shown me nothing but kindness, and I will not shun him without cause.”

Rhaenyra’s lips parted as though to argue, but you raised a hand, silencing her before she could speak. “You need not worry, sister,” you said, your tone calm but resolute. “I will remain in my chambers until the court quiets. Like I always do.”

“Y/N—” she began, but you shook your head.

“Goodnight, Rhaenyra,” you said, turning back toward your dressing table. “Rest well.”

Rhaenyra lingered for a moment, her frustration and worry warring within her. She took a step forward as though to continue the conversation but stopped herself. Finally, she sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly.

“Goodnight, sister,” she said quietly, her voice heavy with unspoken thoughts.

As she left the room, the door closing softly behind her, you let out a slow breath, your fingers resuming their work on your hair. The quiet of your chambers returned, but the echo of Rhaenyra’s words lingered, like the faint embers of a fire that refused to fully die.

[mrsjellymunson]

Say Hello To My Little Friend

Written for the @steddiemicrofic August prompt ‘plug’ | WC: 437 | Rating: M | CW: Secret crush, embarrassment, mentions of a sex toy | Tags: mishearing/misunderstanding, getting together. Mature content below the cut, MDNI.

“You’d really want one?”

“Yeah, I definitely want a plug…”

The seniors’ keggers were loud, but overhearing Steve yell that over the clamour was something Eddie never expected.

His birthday was coming up, so perhaps this year Eddie would find the ideal present, something so-very-Steve, but that also says, by the way, I like you.

Eddie spends ages scouring his favourite shops, looking for the perfect butt plug for his crush, if such a thing even exists. He settles on something in sleek black silicone, a nice size for a beginner but also functional. With rhinestones on the end, because nothing's too good for his princess.

On Steve's birthday the gang gathers in his backyard. Food is consumed and Steve gets his presents. But this year Eddie hangs back, nervous. He sidles up to Steve late in the afternoon.

“I, uh… I have something for you, but I need to give it to you… in private.”

“Ooh. Is it…?”

Eyebrows bouncing, Steve pinches his thumb and forefinger together, waggling a giant invisible blunt.

“N-no, it’s…”

Before Eddie can explain that it’s significantly more personal, there’s a sudden furore. Amongst a chorus of squeals Robin appears - with a puppy in her arms. It’s unusual-looking, with a squashed face and a passing resemblance to Winston Churchill (and Dustin’s baby photos, but nobody brings that up). Steve rushes over, grinning, petting it and asking,

“Who’s this??”

Robin replies,

“She’s for you! A birthday gift from me and your folks.”

Steve’s beside himself, cooing at the furry bundle as Robin explains to everyone about the rescue pound two towns over, and how Steve’s parents helped with the adoption from afar, delighted for Steve to have company as they’re so often away.

Eventually leaving the puppy playing with the kids, Steve follows Eddie when he retreats for a cigarette, getting him alone.

“So, where’s my present?”

“Uhh, Steve, I-”

Steve lunges for Eddie’s jacket pocket, pulling out a prettily wrapped parcel and tearing it open before Eddie can stop him.

Handling the smooth silicone, Steve’s initially aghast, then intrigued, and finally confused.

“Wait, is this because of what I said at the party? When I told Robin I wanted a Pug!”

Eddie’s mortified, heat building in his chest and spreading up his neck.

“Yeah, I know that now. Please, don’t make this worse…”

He goes to move away, but Steve grabs his jacket, stopping him. He slides his hand down to Eddie’s hip, gently squeezing.

“Y’know, I’ve actually always wanted one of these too.”

Stepping closer, he adds, voice low,

“You’re gonna have to show me how to use it, though.”

🐶

PSA: Please adopt, don’t shop. Also, neuter your pets.

Thanks so much for reading!

My masterlist

Tagging my usuals, ILY all: @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician @guiltyasquinn @madaboutmunson @airen256 @sunshinepeachx @the-unforgivenn @skrzydlak @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @80s-addict @abellmunsonmovie @definitionwanderlust @sheneedsrocknroll92 @munson-blurbs @wonderlanddreamer @daisy-munson @maedesculpaeusoubi @kurdtbean @mediocredreams

[coupsie-daisies]

Kinktober '23: Mommy Kink | Yoon Jeonghan

Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut (minors DO NOT interact), Kinktober 2023

Summary: A conversation with your friends leads to a slip up during an intimate moment with Jeonghan, and he's determined to hold it over your head, not that you mind one bit

WC: 1.4k

Warnings: Petnames (baby, princess), oral (fem receiving), fingering, Jeonghan is a tease, dirty talk, Jeonghan is called Mommy, Reader kinda spaces out after orgasming, soft shit at the end, a pussy slap

A/N: This is unedited, but I thought it was cute

Tags: @dragonofthenorth0726 // @wooyussy // @burningupp-replies // @bunnypig18 // @decaffedthoughts // @brownieracha // @ferrethyun // @snow-pegasus // @walkxthexmoon // @aesteraceae // @wonuqrtz // @mixling-blog // @wonwooz1

Main Masterlist

Kinktober '23 Masterlist

This fanfiction is property of @/coupsie-daisies, reposting on any other platform is prohibited

Having a pretty boy for a boyfriend was delightful. He made sure you wore matching outfits, and let you style his hair as long as you let him do your makeup sometimes. It was a bonding experience really. The most amusing part was the way your friends reacted. They were enamored with him, almost as much as you were, and it led to a lot of long conversations that would always stick in your mind.

Like the time they grilled you about his skincare routine because they were jealous of his complexion. Or the time that they questioned which one of you really wore the pants in the relationship (and you were delighted to tell them that you did, but you were kind enough to let him think he was in charge). Or, most memorably, the time that you spent a tipsy night in divulging the details of your quite active sex life and Jeonghan's bedroom preferences.

It was a reference to that conversation that brought on the thought that was now playing on repeat in your mind. You'd been at your friend's house, all of you laid out across the living room watching some reality tv show drama and sipping at your drinks when Mia turned to you.

"Ya know, I've been thinking about Jeonghan again. Ever since he grew out his hair, he just looks so soft and fluffy." She said with a giggle. You raised an eyebrow at her sudden statement.

"What exactly is it that you wanna know?" You asked, very used to reading into her offhanded statements. Poor attempts to segue into absolutely out of pocket conversations. Which, you had to admit, was part of what you loved about your friendships. Too much information was a difficult line to reach, and everyone was curious about everything. It kept things entertaining.

"What does Jeonghan like being called in bed?" She asked. You snorted out a laugh.

"I don't really call him anything unusual. Hannie, baby. Same stuff I always call him." You said with a shrug. You knew some people were into titles or certain petnames, but it had never come up between the two of you, and you hadn't ever given it much thought.

"Yeah, but is that what he prefers? He seems...freakier than that." She said. You curled your nose up and laughed.

"I mean, I never really asked."

"You know, you're kinda right. With the curls and stuff he kinda looks like he'd wanna be called mommy. Take care of his princess." Your other friend Aaliyah piped up. You bit back a cackle at the idea. But underneath it all, you had to admit that the idea stuck.

It stuck enough that weeks later you were still imagining what that would look like, how he'd react. Never enough to bring it up, though. That was just embarrassing, especially if he didn't like it. Or if he decided it was time to tease you about sharing the filthy details with your friends.

But the last thing on your mind now with his face buried in your pussy was asking him if you could call him something new in bed. You arched off the bed, hips grinding against the lapping of his tongue and the brush of his nose against your overly sensitive bundle of nerves. You huffed out a moan, squirming under the intense squeeze of his fingers against your thighs.

You slid your fingers into his hair, tugging lightly at the curls and revelling to the feeling of his hummed laughter against your folds.

"Mommy, please," You whined, a tiny wail slipping out when he pulled away, looking up at you with your hands still laced through his hair and your wetness glistening around his mouth. He smirked, that dangerous sort of glint in his eye that made you squirm and flush warm with nervousness.

"What was that, baby?" He asked, fingers digging into your thighs a little tighter and making your breath hitch. Your mind went blank for a moment, desperately scrambling for the words you'd said but finding them just out of reach.

"Jeonghan," You pulled your hands from his hair to cover your face as you wiggled your hips at him, hoping to entice him into touching you again, the burning of your near orgasm fading into a dull, achy throb between your legs now without his touch.

"That's not what you said, princess. Try again." He said, sitting up now and wiping at his face. You made a frustrated noise, kicking your feet uselessly and only feeling more frustrated when he chuckled at your tantrum.

"I don't know what I said. Baby, please. Was so close, please." You pouted, reaching out for his hand to guide it back between your legs. He gave in, fingers teasing against your cunt, dipping in just a little before pulling back to run the full length of your folds.

"I think you know what you said. Wanna call me mommy?" He asked, and your eyes flew to his face, wide and searching for some sort of rejection. You hadn't even processed the slip up, but Jeonghan seemed entirely amused by it. "Just had to ask, you know I'd do anything for you. So tell me, is that what you want? Want mommy to take care of your needy pussy?"

You whimpered, hiding your face in your arms again and rolling your hips against his fingers. He landed a slap to your core and you jerked away from the touch only for his free hand to grab your thigh and drag you back into place.

"Asked you a fucking question. Better answer it if you want to cum at all tonight." He warned, tone dark and low in a way that you knew meant business. You nodded, peeking out from behind your arm.

"Yes please."

"Please, what?"

"Please fuck me, mommy. Need you to make me cum." You said, face so warm that it felt like you'd just combust right then and there. Jeonghan gave you an approving nod before sliding two of his long fingers inside of you, curling them to press against your gspot, rubbing at the rough patch and listening to the pathetic string of noises that it drew out of you.

"That's it, good girl. Take my fingers, cum on 'em okay? Maybe then mommy will let you cum on his cock. You want that, don't you? Want mommy to fuck you dumb over and over again?" He slid a third finger in, stretching you open and pistoning them against your most sensitive spot. You let out a choked moan, something akin to a sob. Your head nodded frantically as your hands searched for something to hold on to, eventually finding purchase on his bicep.

"Yes, please please please make me cum. I'm yours mommy, just wanna make you feel good. Wanna be so full of you. I need it, wanna be good." You were crying now, the rush of embarrassment at being caught in your little fantasy bringing you to the edge with an intensity that you weren't used to, and the way Jeonghan's mouth was running burned humiliation through you, sparks of pride and arousal flaring in your veins.

"Go on, princess. Cum for mommy." He ordered. And you couldn't deny him even if you'd wanted to, your walls clenching around his fingers and your cum dripping down his wrist as he continued milking you through the orgasm, leaning down to kiss over your shoulders and collarbone, murmuring sweet praise into your skin.

It felt like your orgasm lasted for several minutes, your vision swimming and your breath coming out shaky and desperate. Jeonghan smoothed his hand along your jaw, waiting patiently for you to come back down. When you blinked up at him with glossy eyes and tear streaked cheeks, he smiled fondly.

"Hey baby, welcome back. You were in lala land for a minute. How do you feel?" He asked, all of the intensity gone from his voice now. In place was the softest, sweetest tone of pure adoration. You hummed, stretching your legs out a little.

"Good. Really good." You mumbled, reaching out to grab his arm, just wanting to touch him.

"Good. Let's get you cleaned up, okay?" He said. You pouted.

"You didn't cum yet." You said, not wanting to leave him hanging. He laughed.

"I'll live. That was more than enough for me. Could watch you cum like that forever." He leaned down, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. "So...Mommy, huh?"

You were never gonna live this one down.

copyright 2023 coupsie-daisies, all rights reserved

[diazsdimples]

Tease Tidbit Tuesday

Tagged by my favourite @theotherbuckley. Here's another small bit of dad!Buddie in the lead up to Aidan's second birth celebrations!

Eddie gave himself a couple more minutes of indulgently staring at his husband and son before deciding it was probably time to wake them up. It was Aidan’s second birthday, after all, and he knew the little boy wouldn’t want to sleep through any of it. Eddie gently reached out and pulled Aidan from Buck’s grip, bundling the little boy into his arms and pulling him against his chest. “Good morning, my little man, it’s time to wake up” he whispered into Aidan’s hair as he pressed small kisses against his head. Aidan whined, displeased from being pulled from his slumber, and used Eddie’s arm to push himself into a sitting position. Eddie braced Aidan with a hand on his back as the boy let out a face-splitting yawn, rubbing his eyes and looking at Eddie blearily. “Hi buddy” Eddie smiled, rubbing Aidan’s back in small circles. “Sleep well?” Aidan nodded and leaned forward to rest his head against Eddie’s chest, snuggling against him in his still half-asleep state. “Daddy sleep?” he asked tiredly, and Eddie nodded. “Yeah bud, Daddy’s still asleep. Should we wake him up?” “Uh huh” Aidan replied with another yawn and pushed himself off Eddie’s chest once again. As he crawled across the bed, his leg became trapped in the sheets and he faceplanted into Buck’s arm as he got stuck. Buck sat up in a rush, the sudden jolt pulling him awake in an instant and he looked around wildly. “What happened, what’s the matter?” he blurted, disoriented. “Hi Daddy” Aidan giggled as he picked himself up, crawling back up onto Buck’s stomach. “I two!” Buck, his brain finally coming back online and bringing him up to speed, let out an exaggerated gasp and tickled Aidan’s tummy. “You’re two?” he asked in his over-the-top baby voice. “That’s so big, baby, can you show me how many fingers that is?”. They’d been working on holding up fingers to show numbers and Aidan had gotten the hang of holding up his pointer finger to show the number one and could sometimes work out two fingers. With his face screwed up in concentration, tongue sticking out, Aidan held up his hand. He stared at his fingers with determination and slowly lifted his pointer finger and his middle finger until he was satisfied, he’d gotten it right. With a delighted grin, Aidan held up his hand and showed Buck and Eddie. “Two!” he exclaimed, very proud of himself. “You’re so smart!” Eddie grinned and he pulled Aidan off Buck’s stomach, holding him tight and peppering his face with fast kisses. Aidan giggled hysterically and tried to push away from Eddie’s grip. “Stop, Papa” he demanded, trying to frown at Eddie but couldn’t keep a straight face as Eddie playfully poked his side. “Come on, you little gremlin, lets get you ready for the day”. Eddie rolled out of bed, pulling Aidan with him, and swung him up onto his hip. He rounded the bed and leaned over to kiss Buck a quick kiss, holding Aidan out in front of him. “Give Daddy a kiss and then it’s time for a bath”. Aidan planted a wet kiss on Buck’s cheek and pulled back, settling into Eddie’s arms with a pleased look on his face. “Thanks for that, pal” Buck said as he wiped his son’s slobber off his face with a grimace and Aidan sent him a toothy grin, waving at Buck from over Eddie’s shoulder as Eddie carried him from the room.

tagging @wikiangela @thewolvesof1998 @watchyourbuck @callmenewbie @knightlywonders @fionaswhvre @evanbegins @cal-daisies-and-briars @thosetwofirefighters @housewifebuck @disasterbuckdiaz @eddiebabygirldiaz @loserdiaz @littlespoonevan @malewifediaz @hoodie-buck @monsterrae1 @fortheloveofbuddie @wildlife4life @incorrect9-1-1 (let me know if you want to be added/removed from this fic's taglist)

[anne-chloe]

Trust me | Three |

Jareth/Goblin King x F! Reader

Summary : As Sarah's next door neighbour, you're often Mrs Williams' last resort as a babysitter. Sarah had never liked this, but she can be extremely unreliable at times. One stormy night, Sarah grows frustrated with her baby brother and babysitter, resulting in saying a phrase that she later wants to take back. Now, you are stuck in The Goblin Kings realm with little hope to returning home again, unless Sarah can reach the castle and defeat Jareth in time.

The smell of flowers and greenery happened to be thick in the air. The scent wafted towards you from the only open doorway, enticing you forwards and into the unknown.

You were aware that everything was some sort of trick set up by Jareth, so you reminded yourself to remain cautious while heading forwards.

Inside the room lay a lot of flowers. You were fascinated to see that the ceiling was made entirely of glass, and that this room appeared to be a greenhouse. You wandered further in, sticking to the main path and refusing to stray, but you allowed yourself the opportunity to gaze at the gorgeous bundles and bunches in the room. Flowers of all sorts, roses, daisies, hydrangeas, peony's... thousands of flowers and all a rainbow of colours.

You paused in delight when you came across a patch of sunflowers. Sunflowers happened to be your favourite flower, and just the very sight of them brought comfort and joy. Your parents had planted them in the garden a few years ago to bring some colour to the house. In your eyes, it did more than just being colour to the house—it brought bee's, sunshine, happiness and an overall warmth that made you skip everywhere.

You reached your hand out the touch the sunflower, to assure it was real and not another trick that Jareth was playing on you. Sure enough, as the tips of your fingers brushed against the petals, you smiled truthfully at its realness.

But you couldn't linger over flowers for too long.

You pulled your hand back and turned on your heel, continuing onwards to the other side of the room, where you were starting to see the entrance to another room. You willed yourself to pick up the pace, wanting to find Tobey and leave as quickly as you could.

Your thoughts drifted to Sarah. Had she noticed yours and Tobey's absence at all? It seemed as though The Goblin King had made it so that she couldn't hear your yelling through the door. You didn't want to think of the possibility that Sarah had simply gone back to sleep, enjoying the quietness of the house.

What would happen when Mr and Mrs Williams returned home to find you and Tobey missing? Would Sarah explain that she had wished you both away? Would she feel even an ounce of guilt that she had condemned you to The Goblin Kings twisted games?

You didn't want to doubt that Sarah would have a change of heart. You wanted to believe that she'd make a wish for you and Tobey to come back. But that seemed extremely far fetched and unlikely as you navigated the castle deeper and deeper, finding yourself no closer to Tobey or an exit.

A stray sunflower caused you to stop before reaching the doorway. It lay on the ground, completely out of place. You stepped up to it, reaching down to pick it up by the stem, but something in your mind suddenly warned you against it.

You retracted your arm immediately and stood up straight, frowning down at the lonesome sunflower. As much as you desired to hold it and twirl it between your fingers, you felt as though something might befall you by doing so. It was obvious that Jareth had placed this for you to pick up; but why had he done so? It must be another trick.

You inhaled deeply and stepped over the flower before continuing through the doorway. If you had looked back, you would have seen the way the petals withered and curled into themselves.

You don't know what trick could have come from picking up the flower, but you didn't want to find out. For all you knew, another trap door was underneath it, and picking it up would only trigger the trap. You didn't want to risk being stuck in a hole again, where you might have no other choice but to ask for Jareth's help.

You decided that if you could withhold from asking for his help for as long as possible, then your chances of escaping would be much greater. You didn't trust Jareth, and asking for his help meant that you did.

Coming into an empty room, you paused directly in the centre. You looked at all four corners, your heart sinking into your stomach when you realised the doorway you had come from had now disappeared. But there was nothing inside the room. However, looking up, you saw a doorway higher than you could reach on your own.

Your brows furrowed together in focus, a frown deep on your face as you scanned the room again. And again. But nothing was there that could possibly help you. How were you supposed to reach the top?

Your answer came in the form of rumbling. The ground shook for a moment as stairs started to rise from the floor. You blinked rapidly at the appearance,  and immediately you made a start for the stairs.

Just as you reached the top, where the doorway was, it suddenly closed off and reappeared in the ceiling above you. You gaped at the trickery, feeling betrayed at your hope being snatched so fast from you. Is this The Goblin King's game? To dangle hope in front of you and then snatch it away last second?

You steadied yourself against the wall and stretched your hand upwards, trying to touch the doorway. You were too short. So you jumped to try and grab the side, so you could attempt at pulling yourself up, but again that was a futile attempt.

Jareth then appeared standing normally in the doorway. You squinted as he came into view, wondering how he had somehow altered gravity in a way that made it possible for him to stand like that. He crouched down and leaned his hand through, offering for you to take it.

You stared at his hand for a beat, your own hand beginning to rise to take it. Just as your own fingers brushed against his, rumbling caught your attention as several more staircases started to rise from the floor, the walls and the ceiling. None of them directed to where you wanted to go, which was up, so you ignored them and continued to stand on tip-toes to grab Jareth's hand.

Then, like the doorway had done, at the last second, the stair case underneath you turned into a slope. You immediately lost your footing. A gasp left your throat as you felt yourself falling, then sliding down to the bottom of the staircase.

You rolled across the floor. Sitting up, you hissed at the throbbing in your bottom and your hands, which had taken the brunt of the fall. Then, you accusingly looked back to Jareth, who remained crouched in the doorway, his smirk wider than ever and a devious glint in his eyes.

You pushed yourself to stand and clenched your fists by your sides. "What was that for? I was accepting your help!" You whined, feeling deeply betrayed that he had, again, snatched away your hope at the very last second.

"You rejected my gift," Jareth pointed out smoothly.

His gift? Did he mean the sunflower?

Your bottom lip trembled slightly. "I thought it was another one of your tricks, so I ignored it," you explained, now feeling rather silly for thinking that a flower could set you back. But you couldn't cross it off as a possibility when everything was so incredibly odd.

Jareth shrugged. "And I decided to not help you here."

You couldn't believe how sensitive The Goblin King was. He was seriously offended that you'd ignored his flower, and because of that he was punishing you for it. It was clear that Jareth did not take being rejected very well.

You tried not to stamp your foot out of throwing a temper tantrum. This entire situation was incredibly against you. It was like Jareth was deliberately keeping you away from Tobey.

"Maybe if you had given me the sunflower yourself, I might have actually accepted it," you quipped back, growing frustrated with this entire conversation.

"Maybe if you trusted me, you wouldn't be stuck all the way down there," Jareth countered in a teasing voice.

Trust him? You felt like screaming at the implications. How could you possibly trust him when all he had done was tease and trick you? He had stolen you from your world and forced you into some sort of game, which you didn't want to play, and was now keeping Tobey away from you. You wanted to blame Sarah for all of this, but how could she have possibly known her wish would come true?

Jareth stood up, tapping his cane against the doorframe, a sinister smile playing his lips. "Oh, [Name]. My dear, we could be so great together, if only you'd open your heart and trust me."

Then, he swished his cloak and disappeared, leaving you to stew in your emotions. You wanted to scream loudly in frustration, but that would do no good and would probably give Jareth the amusement he wanted.

Instead, you huffed and tried to reassess the situation. Lots of stairs leading to nowhere, some of them upside down, others protruding from the walls... how would you even begin to go about climbing the staircases on the ceiling?

Then, as if answering your question, new doorways appeared at the top of each staircase. You gasped and made your way to the nearest one, peering in and being confused when it only lead back to the same room. However, you noticed that you were now standing on the staircase that came from the wall.

You didn't feel unsafe. It was like gravity had shifted and made it so you could stand there. If it weren't for the actual situation, you would have found it to be extremely cool, and you would have complimented The Goblin King for his creativity.

So you began rushing up the steps and entered another doorway, now finding yourself on the opposite side of the room, across from the actual doorway you wanted to be in. You frowned and stepped to the side, eyeing the staircase that had attached to this one. It would mean you'd have to somehow be upside down, and you couldn't see how you could make that happen.

Trust me.

Isn't that what Jareth had said?

Sure, he played lots of tricks on you to throw you off your course, but he'd never actually put you in danger. When you fell through that trap door, you had landed so softly that you wouldn't have even believed that you'd actually fallen. And when the staircase turned into a slope, the fall down hadn't hurt as much as it should have done, considering it was made of stone.

You peered over the side, eyeing the upside down staircase with great skeptism. You decided to sit down and dangle your legs over the sides, and you took a deep breath in, squeezing your eyes shut as you pushed yourself off the edge.

You expected a falling sensation to take over, but instead your feet came into immediate contact with something firm. You gulped, opening your eyes, now aware that you were standing upside down on the staircase.

So, if you now flipped the room, you could get to the bottom of the staircase and run to the other side, and all you'd have to do is slip into the doorway that was now on the floor.

You took cautious steps down, but once you assured yourself that you wouldn't suddenly fall up, you darted to the other side. You reached the doorway and stepped inside, watching as the walls shifted and altered to match your gravity.

You breathed a sigh of relief. You had taken a chance and decided to trust The Goblin King, which is exactly what he said you should do. In a way, didn't that mean he had helped you? Would that mean that you had accepted his help, or had you just taken his advice?

Either way, you had escaped that room at last, and now you could move on to the next, to face whatever the next obstacle may be.

And as you left the room behind, Jareth watched with great interest, his smile wider than ever at the fact that you had listened to him. And wasn't obedience always rewarded?

[velidewrites]

A prompt for Elain week (if it inspires you!) : tired/cranky Elain coming home to a surprise prepared by Lucien & baby Elucien.

Also, a duckling offering, keeping in the spirit of Elain week 🦆🌸

Elain was dying.

Her mind felt as though it had been turned into a puddle—a soggy mess deserted by all thoughts but one: sleep.

She should’ve known better than to exhaust herself like that. Still, she’d insisted—had begged Feyre to go one more time until her sister crossed her tattooed arms and firmly told her to go home.

So Elain did. Rhysand, Cauldron bless him, had winnowed her onto the large landing on the upper levels of the Day Court Palace, usually reserved for the High Lord’s Pegasi—though, as a winged beast himself, Elain thought with a small smile, her brother-in-law had fit in just right.

He rolled his eyes playfully, ever the daemati—as if, despite her mental shields sturdy and high up, he could read the thought only by looking at her face. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he told her before flying off into the night sky.

She could barely walk as she made her way inside—today’s lesson, it seemed, had managed to take its toll on her physical strength as well. Fortunately, her rooms were located on this level. She wasn’t entirely sure she would’ve survived a walk up the stairs tonight.

A thrum of a mighty, ancient magic welcomed her from a shaded corner of the hall, as it swirled around its owner like bright rays of sunlight.

Elain didn’t even bother to look in his direction—to the wide, knowing grin, no doubt blooming upon his face. She was well aware of how utterly ridiculous she looked without his insight.

“Not a word,” she muttered.

Helion’s low chuckle echoed off the golden pillars, trailing after her until she stood in front of the large, ornate doors of her quarters.

They opened before she even managed to reach for the handle, revealing a very tall and very handsome male waiting on the other side.

Lucien’s lips twitched. “You look like hell.”

Elain shot him a glare, and he laughed. “This isn’t funny,” she warned, but Lucien’s laugh only deepened, a rich, honeyed sound that seemed to wrap itself around her skin.

Cauldron damn him, but she couldn’t help but smile. “Fine. Maybe it is a little funny.”

Lucien’s auburn brows shot up with amusement. “I have never seen your hair look more like a bird’s nest.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And we’re back to not funny at all.”

Lucien’s grin turned feline. “So cranky, my mate,” he purred, reaching to brush his fingers over her cheek.

Elain’s heart quickened, but she looked down—down to the pink bundle nestled in his strong arm, to the tiny face buried within, small, rosy lips parted in a gentle dream. “How long has she been asleep?” she asked, her voice a tad quieter now.

“Not long,” Lucien told her. “Come inside. We have a surprise for you.”

“Oh?” Elain asked, but she stepped into the room anyway.

Lucien jerked his chin to the right. “Bathroom,” he instructed.

So to the bathroom she went.

What she found inside made her sigh with delight.

The grand, marble tub, stationed in the middle of the open space, was filled with bubbles to the brim, the soft scent of warm, sparkly water filling her lungs deliciously. But it was the flowers floating atop that made her eyes burn—the roses, daisies and violets, all a lovely gift meant to raise her spirits and make the experience even more special.

“You deserve a moment to yourself,” her mate’s voice sounded quietly behind her. “You’ve been working so hard, Elain.”

She turned to him with silver lining her eyes. “Thank you.”

Lucien winked. “It was a team effort, you know,” he said, gesturing to the babe still sound asleep in his arms.

“Oh, I’m sure.” Something tightened in her chest at the sight of them. “I missed you both so much.”

His gaze softened. “My offer still stands, if you want it. I can teach you how to winnow without you ever having to leave.”

“I know, I just—” she sighed. “I feel like I hardly ever see them anymore—my sisters. We’re all always so busy—it’s nice to see them, to spend some time together. Even if Feyre’s being a pain in my ass.”

Lucien chuckled. “I can only imagine.”

“I’m getting better, I think,” she told him. “I winnowed into Rhys’s office from the hallway. He didn’t expect it, of course, though I admit, seeing him jump up in surprise was—what?” she asked, brows furrowing at the sight of a soft light, glowing gently from Lucien’s face.

“Nothing,” he said, something gleaming in his russet eye. “I’m so proud of you, Elain.”

Elain smiled. “I’m proud of myself, too,” she admitted. “And of you—for being so brave and watching over our daughter all by yourself today.”

Lucien nodded sagely. “It was quite a task, if I do say so myself.”

“Well,” Elain grinned openly now. “There’s enough space for two in that bathtub.”

Those beautiful, shining eyes slowly slid down her body—then, back to the babe, cradled in his arms.

Lucien said, “I’ll be right back.”

For @elainweekofficial

[grians-mailbox]

[You find in your mail-box a bundle of flowers, the bundle is made up of daisy’s and alliums tied with a lovely mint green ribbon. Under the bundle is a small bag with lemon bars and pumpkin bread. An origami dragon set next to it.

Noticing the dragon has a small doodle of a frog, you investigate. Opening up to find a letter in slightly messy scrawl]

Hello there!

I’ve recently moved into a birch forest nearby and noticed your abode!

I was coming back from flower collecting (for my bee’s) and had some snacks on me that I maaaay have forgotten about.

Don’t worry! They’re still fresh!

From your friendly neighbor away in the birch forest

- Wolf

[Another frog is doodled below]

[ oh this was a lovely surprise. he didn't usually get such heartfelt gifts from anyone besides pearl unless obligations called for it. the anticipation tickles his bird instincts just right, sitting cross-legged as he unraveled all the goodies, each one eliciting a chirp and making his wings flutter with delight. ]

[ should be be concerned that yet another stranger from the woods was reaching out to him? ... but the drawing was so cute. it's fineeee. ]

considering the amount of deforestation that's taken place since the server started, i'd be surprised by just how close this forest really is. sorry about that, by the way, it's just what happens with so many people around.

thank you for the gifts. i'm afraid as a humble fisherman, my bounty is not as nice as the one you have given me. still, i hope it'll provide useful to someone with far better skills than me in the kitchen.

from your curious, and very grateful, neighbor by the lake.

-Grian

[ there's a very, very bad doodle of a parrot at the end. ]

[ there's no flowers to decorate his, and the bundle is wrapped in scraps of fabric: fish and kelp of course, in a box of its own, while the rest was a mix of colors: an enchanted book, some amethyst, and a spyglass. since they were probably some distance away. ]

[college-cryptids]

[A continuation of a previous tale.]

She was so small when she was born.

My daughter came into the world in the way most children did, red-faced and squalling, only a few moments old and already full of spirit. For a moment I was afraid– had she been hurt somehow? Was she ill, in pain? I had no other children; I did not know what to make of her screams, and they frightened me.

But the midwife was an old woman who'd seen many children into the world, and she only tutted. With lungs like that, she said, my little girl would grow up strong.

Just like her mother, I'd said, proud. My brave, beautiful wife had chuckled though her face was beaded in sweat.

No, she'd whispered. That fire she gets from her father.

I didn't know what she meant, then. The midwife handed my only daughter to my wife, her wailing soothed from her mother's familiar touch. When she was at last passed to me, small and fragile and more precious than gold, I was deathly afraid. My hands were clumsy, callused, strong but unsteady. I feared I was unsuited for the task of carrying such a priceless load.

But when those tiny eyes opened, and I met my daughter's gaze, I had no choice but to try.

That year was a season of turmoil for our little household– a new baby brings worries and troubles along with the joy, and my wife had not recovered from the strain of bearing her. She died that icy winter, planting one last kiss atop our baby's head before her pale hands went still. I dug her grave with my own heavy hands, my tears warming the icy ground only for mere moments as they fell.

I planted a rowan sprout in place of a headstone with my sleeping daughter wrapped snugly on my back, and in the dead of a winter's midnight I vowed she would not meet her mother's fate.

The seasons passed like falling leaves. My daughter– I called her Keena, for her mettle– grew from that tiny, delicate bundle into a hardy child, curious and kind, with a shock of red hair like curling flames. Soon enough she was trailing after me as I went about my work, asking countless questions. She wanted to know about the trees I felled, the tricky ways of the candles in our lanterns, the forest's creatures that tittered and laughed when the shadows grew long.

The first of these, I answered readily. But as for the last, I had no reply.

It was midday when Keena clambered down from her perch in a neighboring oak, wanting to know about the markings on the handle of my axe. I granted the tree I was after a reprieve for a moment as I knelt down beside her, took her dirt-stained fingers in my own. Together we traced the carved letters of her mother's name, and she listened as I told her the tale with a somberness I hadn't expected from one her age.

As she grew ever faster she persisted in her questions, wanting to know this and that, seeking knowledge beyond the scope of my shoddy understanding. I was certain when school began that it would be good for her. And in truth it was– she loved her books and the other children she came to know. When she wasn't looking I watched in wonder at the look on her face when she pored over her lessons, marveled at the delight and dawning understanding that made her face light up so brightly the sun would have envied her glow.

But the questions changed, in time.

Now, ours was a village steeped in traditions, in half-uttered rumors hailed as gospel and salt lines on every doorstep. Keena returned from the villages wanting to know of the iron charms that the young women carried, wanting to know why the old crones pressed daisy chains into her hands when they heard that she came from the forest. I told her what little I knew of those paltry superstitions, and soon enough she was shaking her head just as I did. The forest was home, I told her, and its supposed mysteries were nothing but useless folk tales.

You're shaking your head at me. So am I– you must know that I know different now. If only I had known then.

But the questions kept coming, day after day as Keena went to and from the village. Some days no sooner had her tawny braid come into view between the tree trunks than a question had already passed her lips. I calmed her worries easily enough, told myself it was only childish fear that she would outgrow in time.

Until the day she didn't come home.

I don't want to linger on the terror of that day. Something in me died, when the sky darkened and my little girl was nowhere to be found. In the weeks to come I tore through every inch of the village more times than I could count, praying to every god in the temple that I would find my heart.

I didn't find her. She had vanished, disappeared without even a whisper, and no one knew what had become of her.

The fervor faded as the village moved on, as the seasons kept withering and they forgot about my Keena. But I could not forget. I petitioned the citymen, the few nobles who deigned to pass our way, I would have gone to the king himself if they would have let me beyond the palace gates.

"The wild man," they called me as I searched one end of the village and the forest around it, then the other, over and over again. I suppose I was. My heart was missing, and without it I was nothing.

With a heavy heart I carved Keena's name into my axe, every stroke of the knife heavy with a thousand apologies. The final cut was a vow, a promise to find her even if it killed what little remained of me.

It was the crone who told me of the fey, twenty years after I had last welcomed my daughter home, insisting it was truth even as I scoffed in her face. It was the creatures of the wood who had taken my daughter, those phantasms I had scorned for so many decades. They took children who interested them because they could scarcely father children of their own, and they couldn't bear the notion of their people dying out. It was they who had stolen my daughter away, she said. It was them she was pursuing.

The crone didn't want me coming with her, I think. Perhaps she felt it was too dangerous for a simple woodsman, perhaps she only found me poor company. I have no clue– I couldn't be dissuaded.

The crone took me deep into the forest, to a place even I had never seen before, treading over the moss and tangled roots as though she did so every day. She pulled her hood close around her as she led me to the fairy ring, telling terrible stories of what would happen if I stepped into it. She gave warnings of eternal servitude and stolen names, of a world that would change you if you wandered it for too long.

She allowed me time to ponder, but my mind was made up. My daughter was missing, and I had coated my axe-head in iron.

It was a long journey, mine, and steeped in blood. I found rather quickly that those fable-born creatures didn't take kindly to a human wandering free in their kingdom, but I learned the ways of their realm quickly enough. Their world, if not their nation, spoke the language of growing things, and that was a language I knew well.

It would take too long to share how I discovered where they'd taken my Keena– any creature smart enough to feel fear can be compelled to share what it knows, but too few of those feathered, pompous beasts had the knowledge I was after. Suffice it to say, I could not breach the castle walls alone.

The crone had come through the ring with me, in search of another lost soul wandering the fey realms. She traveled these roads often enough, she said, and she did not bat an eye when I told her I was to force my way through the shimmering palace gates. She listened quietly when I told her of my Keena, my brilliant little girl who glowed like the sun and warmed everything she touched.

She gave me a long look, when I had told my tale in full for the first time in twenty years. When she had been silent so long I thought she had simply grown uninterested, she asked me something I didn't expect.

What will you do, the crone asked me in a voice of brambles and smoldering fire, if she isn't the child you remember?

What will you do if she cannot come home?

I couldn't have made it into the palace without the crone's help. The fey palace was strange and alien, twisting in peculiar ways and glinting in the shade like a burning candle. The creatures that walked it were beasts unlike anything I knew, all clawed hands and bugs' wings and ears that drew back in anger like hungry wolves. The crone wove some enchantment over us both, hiding us from discovery with red cloaks and sprigs of rowan wrapped in scraps of cloth, pressed quickly into my hands.

I don't know what I expected to do, when I reached the throne room of the Faerie Queen.

The doors splintered apart easily beneath my axe, and my heart burned with anger at every swing. I was thunder and blazing fury as I stormed inside, the fey courtiers reeling back at the bloody, glinting edge of my blade. I spat curses and threats as the Queensguard rose and drew their blades, protecting that... thing, on the throne.

When axe met sword, and I heard the cry of a voice I would know anywhere in the world, something shattered in my heart.

My axe had been slowed by a guard in shimmering armor, with hair like fire tamed into a long braid down her back. I will never forget the expressions that crossed her face then, one after another– fury, bewilderment, fear.

And finally, dawning understanding.

My Keena halted the rest of the guards with the authority of a general, speaking words of ash and starlight to the strange Queen. I don't know what she told them, but they sheathed their blades and allowed me to embrace her. I wept as she did, held her close as she told me what had become of her since she had come to this alien place.

She had been sworn to the Queensguard, Keena told me. She had grown so wise and so skilled–as I knew she always could be– that she had been chosen as the right hand of the fey crown.

I was less surprised by this than I was by how brilliant she was. She carried herself with the confidence of a practiced soldier; she spoke with the knowledge of the highest scholars. Oak leaves bloomed from her braid like spring flowers, and her armor gleamed like the rising sun.

My daughter had grown up strong.

Oaths meant little to me by then– I took her hand and pleaded with her to come home with me, but Keena only shook her head. The fey didn't work like we did, and without the leave of the one who had bound her, she couldn't leave their realm unless she meant to return. Their magic, she mourned, had ways of knowing your intentions, and it was not easily defied.

I proposed plan after plan, offered anything I could think of; it was all for nothing. I would have torn that kingdom to pieces if only it would bring my little girl home again, but she wouldn't–or couldn't– hear of it.

I would have stayed with her then, built myself a new life among these strange creatures, but Keena would not have that, either. Being there had changed her, had caused fey magic to bloom from the depths of her being and warp her spirit like the boughs of a tree in a storm, and she didn't want me to share her fate.

At last I pressed my axe into her hands and kissed her forehead, and for the second time in twenty years I bid my daughter farewell.

The crone didn't speak as we made our way back to the human world, breaking her silence only to hush the red-swaddled infant in her arms that she had saved from some fey noble's house. I made the journey in a haze, empty and despairing and unsure what to do. I hardly protested as the crone led me to a cottage that was not my own, a house creaking and unfurling like an oak tree in the wind.

The infant didn't quiet for her, but he did for me. I held the slumbering baby in a stricken haze as the crone puttered around her hearth, speaking to the pot over the fire in a language I didn't recognize.

But on the morning of my third day there, as the fog began to clear, I did come to know it. It was the language of the fey.

She told me parts of her tale then, weighing each word like precious stones, parsing out the story between answering pleas from the passel of children running in and out of doors and refreshing the odd little symbols drawn in chalk on every doorway and window.

My only question was the one she already knew– could she set my Keena free?

That, the crone didn't know. But she swore to try, if in return I aided her in searching for the other souls captured by the fey.

I sharpened myself a new axe, and before long I had set to work.

I see my Keena still, every blue moon when I gather the strength to follow the crone into the fairy ring, or else I hear news of her when the latter returns with a different child saved. There is a somberness about her now, so unlike the little drop of sunlight that brightened my every waking moment. It is a rare moment when I can come close enough to speak to her, but I relish every chance. It is slow going, this new work of mine, as fey magic is a thorny bramble near impossible to unravel. But I swore that I would understand it, that one day I would undo the spell that keeps Keena trapped under fey rule like all the others.

One day, I will bring my daughter home.

His daughter was stolen by the Fae. Two decades of fruitless searching later, his time for vengeance has come. He kicks in the door to the Queen’s throne room as she flies to her feet, grabbing the hilt of her sword before recognition flashes across her face. “Dad… what are you doing here?”

[pers-books]

Brain training for the Third Doctor

Tim Treloar, Daisy Ashford and Jon Culshaw star in Doctor Who and the Brain Drain, a full-cast audio adventure due for release in February 2025.

The first of 2025’s Third Doctor Adventures box sets brings together the UNIT team of Doctor Who Season 7 in a brand-new adventure which – like the TV stories of that era – is told over seven episodes. 

In Doctor Who and the Brain Drain, the Doctor (Tim Treloar) is getting used to his recent exile on Earth and settling into his role as UNIT’s scientific advisor when he’s dispatched to Scotland on his latest mission. 

Accompanying him are Dr Liz Shaw (Daisy Ashford) and Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart (Jon Culshaw). This fledgling team will have to pool all their skills, as monsters, ghosts and more threats await them. 

Doctor Who – The Third Doctor Adventures: Doctor Who and the Brain Drain is now available to pre-order as a collector’s edition CD box set (+ download for just £24.99) or a digital download only (for just £19.99), exclusively here.

A newly exiled Doctor accompanies Liz Shaw and the Brigadier to a symposium held in an imposing Scottish castle. Professor MacLeod and her son have developed a new treatment for memory loss and a possible cure for dementia. 

As the Doctor investigates sightings of strange mythical creatures, and ghosts are unleashed in the castle’s corridors, Liz and the Brigadier search for a connection. 

Just what is happening to the energy produced by the MacLeods’ revolutionary treatment? And what is the strange creature that hides in the castle grounds? 

The supporting cast of Doctor Who and the Brain Drain includes Rosalyn Landor (known for classic films including The Devil Rides Out and The Amazing Mr Blunden), as well as Mark Elstob, Susan Harrison, Glen McCready, and Callum Pardoe. 

The script is co-written by Nicholas Briggs, Big Finish’s executive producer, and Richard James, an experienced writer of stage plays and thriller novels, here making his Big Finish debut. 

Nicholas Briggs said: “My wife had been editing one of Richard’s books and said to me, he writes beautifully. He also knows his old Doctor Who and has a very clear sense of the Third Doctor era, so I asked him for ideas for Third Doctor stories. He sent this one pitch and it had something about it that I really liked. It felt like Doctor Who, but also like an old-fashioned Sunday afternoon teatime adventure.” 

Richard James added: “Nick’s written not just some of the best Doctor Who for Big Finish, but some of the best scripts I've ever heard. I love his Eighth Doctor and Lucie Miller stories; I remember listening to those avidly. So I was delighted to co-write with him.  

“And I never knew I was such a big fan of the Third Doctor era until I started writing the script and suddenly I could hear the Doctor, the Brigadier and Liz Shaw in my head. It was quite extraordinary. Liz is really interesting, and was criminally underused at the time, so I gave her the opportunity to come to the fore and do her own investigating. 

“It was amazing hearing those words coming back to me by the people who were born to say them. Not just the likes of Tim Treloar, Daisy Ashford and Jon Culshaw as the triumvirate that we all know and love, but also the incredible supporting cast.” 

Big Finish listeners can save money by purchasing Doctor Who and the Brain Drain in a bundle with 2025’s second Third Doctor Adventures box set (Title TBC), which is due for release in October, for just £47 (collector’s edition CD box set + download) or £38 (download only).     Alternatively, listeners can buy this series as part of a bundle of all 15 Classic Doctor Who box sets released in 2025 for £335 (collector’s edition CD box set + download) or £275 (download only).   

All the above prices include the special pre-order discount and are subject to change after general release. 

Please note that Big Finish is currently operating a digital-first release schedule. The mail-out of collector’s edition CDs may be delayed due to factors beyond our control, but all purchases of this release unlock a digital copy that can be immediately downloaded or played on the Big Finish app from the release date.

[mikayla44baby]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Madewell Women's Size Large Ruffle Tiered Daisy Embroidered Midi Skirt.

[momercurio]

Remind those you love to stop and smell the flowers with this 3-Fragrance Flower bundle. 🌼 Includes one Dainty Daisy Fragrance Flower in each of these fragrances:

Aloe Water & Cucumber: Aloe water, cucumber peel, palm frond and pineapple nectar are oh-so-mellow.

Starburst Sky: Sweet apple mesmerized by whipped vanilla and creamy coconut clouds against an amber blossom sunset.

Sunkissed Citrus: Lively blend of oranges, lemons, limes and grapefruit.

https://momercurio.scentsy.us/shop/p/95372/daisies-delight-3-fragrance-flower-bundle

[saintouija]

@loetise LAMENTED:   allie arrives in a whirlwind of curls and pink ribbons, bearing the brightest smile, with hearts and glitter all over her dress. she presents duchess with a bundle of pink, red, and white flowers. of course roses, but daisies, lilies, babies breath, hydrangeas, too. the flowers sprinkled with glitter- that's all over her, too -and have a ribbon tied around them. however, tucked into the ribbon is a little dove plushie holding a heart. and then, of course, she asks. "will you be my valentine?"   &   tell a STORY!

          “Oh!”          Duchess gasps in delight, clapping her hands together and bouncing up and down excitedly.          “Yes, yes! Of course! These—These are for me?”

She accepts the bouquet and hugs it to her breast, blushing brightly. 

[stampwithtami]

Flower Cart Fun Fold Card [Arrow Fold Series #4]

FLOWER CART ARROW FOLD CARD Today, I am thrilled to dive into the world of creativity and share with you my experience with the Stampin' Up Flower Cart Bundle. As we step into the new year, the crafting community is abuzz with excitement, thanks to the upcoming release of the 2024 January - April Mini Catalog. I couldn't wait to get my hands on this fantastic bundle and explore the possibilities it holds for my card-making adventures. The Stampin' Up Flower Cart Bundle: Let's talk about the star of the show – the Stampin' Up Flower Cart Bundle. This delightful stamp and die set combination offers a myriad of design options for creating charming and intricate cards. The attention to detail in the designs is impeccable, making it a joy to work with. Sneak Peeks: In the spirit of sharing the excitement, I've sprinkled a few sneak peeks of other fabulous products on the card. The Bright Skies dies and the coordinating Sunny Days Designer Series paper add a touch of whimsy and vibrancy to my creation. What's even more exciting is that you can snag the Sunny Days Designer Series paper for free during Saleabration, starting January 4. It's the perfect way to kick off the crafting year with some extra flair! Learn more here. Arrow Fun Fold Series – Installment 4: For this project, I decided to incorporate the Arrow Fun Fold technique, marking the fourth installment in my Arrow Fun Fold Series. If you've been following along, you know that this series is all about adding a dynamic fun fold element to your cards. It's a playful way to showcase your creativity, and I encourage you to explore more ideas and tutorials in the series for added inspiration. In conclusion, my journey with the Stampin' Up Flower Cart Bundle has been nothing short of delightful. The anticipation of the new catalog, the thrill of experimenting with fresh products, and the joy of sharing my creations with you make this crafting adventure truly special. As we approach the release date, get ready to embark on your creative journey with the Flower Cart Bundle, Bright Skies dies, and the Sunny Days Designer Series paper. Don't forget to mark your calendars for January 4 and take advantage of the Saleabration promotion to add a bonus touch to your crafting supplies. Stay tuned for more crafting escapades, tutorials, and creative inspiration. Until then, happy crafting! INSTRUCTIONS & VIDEOS INSTRUCTIONS     INSTRUCTIONS ARROW FOLD VIDEO ARROW FUN FOLD VIDEO CLASS SPRING MINI CATALOG REVEAL See this new Flower Cart Bundle and all of the new products in the 2024 January-April Mini Catalog  on this video. Click the button for more details. 2024 SPRING MINI CATALOG REVEAL MATERIALS TO MAKE THIS CARD STAMPIN UP MATERIALS I USED Click the thumbnails for more details on each product and to shop my online store.    SEE MORE TUTORIALS MY ARROW FUN FOLD SERIES ARROW FOLD SERIES Click the thumbnails below for more free tutorials in my series. NEED A CATALOG? PHOTOS Want to save these ideas for later? Pin them to your favorite Pinterest board. Have you tried these designs? I love to see your creations! Be sure to share them on #shareyourcrafts post every Saturday on my Facebook Page    I just love these new Flower Cart dies. So adorable. A view of the inside of the card. I added some clouds and grass from the new Bright Skies dies. This die set coordinates with the Sunny Days Saleabration Designer Series Paper I used. I cut the flower from the Sunny Days DSP using the from the Flower Cart set. Then I added some daisies from the Hearts and Flower Adhesive Embellishments. The Landscape Arrow Fold technique completes the card. See the video and tutorial above to create this card. Read the full article

[thuzyblog]

Unveiling the Marvels of Maltese Poodle: A Delightful Dive into Designer Dog Bliss

Meet the Maltese Poodle, lovingly referred to as the Maltipoo, a charming blend of the intelligent Maltese and graceful Poodle breeds. Adored for their wit, elegance, and affectionate demeanor, this designer dog seamlessly merges the best traits of both worlds. With a gentle disposition and hypoallergenic allure, the Maltese Poodle is fast becoming the cherished companion of ardent dog aficionados.

Exploring the Enchanting Maltese Poodle Realm:

Elegance in Size: Small stature graced with curly or wavy fur.

Personality Traits: Affectionate, intelligent, and playfully spirited.

Designer Dog Stardom: Among the elite designer dog breeds.

Temperament: Friendly, adaptable, and ever-eager to please.

Years of Joy: A resilient 10 to 15 years of companionship.

Color Palette: Varied hues, including pristine white, creamy, and silvery tones.

Genetic Fusion: A delightful blend, showcasing the genetic treasures of both Maltese and Poodle.

Guide to Nurturing Your Maltese Poodle: A Warm Embrace of Care

Delicious Cuisine:

Chicken: A lean protein source with essential amino acids.

Brown Rice: Fiber-rich, promoting digestive health.

Fish Oil: Omega-3 fatty acids for a lustrous coat.

Comfortable Surroundings:

Soft warding off boredom.

Secure Play Area: Protection from larger animals and a safe haven for play.

Care Routine: Regular interaction and playtime for happiness and mental stimulation.

Grooming Ritual: Brushing thrice weekly, monthly baths, bi-weekly face cleanups, and monthly nail checks.

Embarking on the Joyful Journey with Your Maltese Poodle:

Welcoming a Maltese Poodle into your home is akin to embracing a bundle of joy. While their needs aren't exhaustive, diligent care is paramount. Devotion to their well-being ensures a harmonious companionship. Equip yourself by preparing a balanced diet, a cozy environment, stimulating toys, a consistent care routine, structured training sessions, and avenues for socialization.

Essential Equipment:

Soft-bristle brush for grooming.

Chew toys aiding in dental health.

Comfortable harness for leisurely walks.

Safeguarding the Health Landscape: Common Ailments and Precautions

Common Health Issues:

Patellar Luxation: Regular vet checks for early detection; consider glucosamine supplements.

Progressive Retinal Atrophy: Vet visits for early detection; no known preventive medication.

White Shaker Syndrome: Regular vet monitoring with prescribed prednisone.

Essential Vaccines: DHPP (Distemper, Hepatitis, Parvo, Parainfluenza), Rabies, Bordetella.

Embarking on the Naming Adventure: Common Monikers for Your Maltese Poodle

When naming your Maltese Poodle, resonate with their personality and appearance. Opt for names aligning with their charming demeanor.

Common Names:

Bella, Max, Daisy, Charlie, Lucy.

Navigating the Path to Acquisition: Buying/Adopting Your Maltese Poodle

Hotspots of Popularity:

U.S., U.K., Canada, Australia. Average Price Range:

$1,000 to $3,000. Adoption Community:

Explore platforms like Facebook, Instagram, and breed-specific forums. Pre-Adoption Checklist:

Verify the dog's health, vaccination status, and medical history. Rescue Groups:

Maltipoo Rescues spanning the U.S., U.K., and Canada.

Embark on this enchanting journey with your Maltese Poodle, and let the companionship bloom! 🐾

[kellieblog]

Maltese Poodle Unveiled: Unveiling the Charms and Wonders

The Maltese Poodle, affectionately known as the Maltipoo, stands as a testament to the delightful fusion of the Maltese and Poodle breeds. Celebrated for their intelligence, grace, and loving disposition, this designer dog harmoniously blends the best of both worlds. With a gentle temperament and hypoallergenic traits, the Maltese Poodle emerges as an increasingly favored companion among devoted dog enthusiasts.

Insights into the Maltese Poodle Realm:

Appearance: Small stature, often adorned with curly or wavy fur.

Characteristics: Affectionate, intelligent, and playfully spirited.

Popularity: Among the top echelons of designer dog breeds.

Temperament: Friendly, adaptable, and ever-eager to please.

Lifespan: A resilient 10 to 15 years.

Coat color: Varied palette, including shades of white, cream, and silver.

Breed Status: A delightful amalgamation, blending the genetic treasures of the Maltese and Poodle.

Nurturing Your Maltese Poodle: A Comprehensive Guide

Food:

Chicken: A source of lean protein and essential amino acids.

Brown Rice: Facilitates digestive health through its fiber content.

Fish Oil: Enriched with omega-3 fatty acids, contributing to a lustrous coat.

Environment:

Soft Bedding: Ensures warmth and comfort.

Interactive Toys: Stimulate their minds, staving off boredom.

Secure Area: Provides protection from larger animals and a safe play haven.

Care Method: Regular interaction and playtime foster happiness and mental stimulation.

Grooming: Brush thrice weekly, monthly baths, bi-weekly face cleanups, and monthly nail checks.

Preparing for Life with Your Maltese Poodle: A Joyful Journey

Adopting a Maltese Poodle parallels welcoming a bundle of joy into your abode. While their needs aren't exhaustive, diligent care is paramount. Dedication to their well-being ensures a harmonious companionship. Equip yourself by preparing a balanced diet, a snug environment, stimulating toys, a consistent care routine, structured training sessions, and avenues for socialization.

Essential Equipment:

Soft-bristle brush for grooming.

Chew toys aiding in dental health.

A comfortable harness for leisurely walks.

Navigating the Health Landscape: Common Ailments and Safeguards

Common Health Issues:

Patellar Luxation: Regular vet checks for early detection; consider glucosamine supplements.

Progressive Retinal Atrophy: Vet visits for early detection; no known preventive medication.

White Shaker Syndrome: Regular vet monitoring with prescribed prednisone.

Vaccines: DHPP (Distemper, Hepatitis, Parvo, Parainfluenza), Rabies, Bordetella.

Embarking on the Naming Journey: Common Monikers for Your Maltese Poodle

When christening your Maltese Poodle, resonate with their personality and appearance. Opt for names that align with their charming demeanor.

Common Names:

Bella, Max, Daisy, Charlie, Lucy.

The Path to Acquisition: Buying/Adopting Your Maltese Poodle

Popularity Hotspots:

U.S., U.K., Canada, Australia. Average Price:

$1,000 to $3,000. Adoption Community:

Explore platforms like Facebook, Instagram, and breed-specific forums. Pre-Adoption Checklist:

Verify the dog's health, vaccination status, and medical history. Rescue Groups:

Maltipoo Rescues spanning the U.S., U.K., and Canada.