#Death Before Dismount

[darktripz]

EQUIPPED DAGGER - Forest of Frost Enchantment

EQUIPPED DAGGER - Winters of Arcania

PRESSURED REMAINS - Death Before Dismount EP

MOURNFUL LAMENT - Winter ‘22 Rehearsal

[fire-swift]

So if you are wondering what's with the talk of leaving tumblr there have been screenshots shared around (including staff) of a memo saying that most of the staff is being sent to other divisions of Automattic

The OG tumblr post can no longer be reblogged and appears when it wants but here's a link: https://www.tumblr.com/apollo-cackling/733481726677008384/transcript-you-win-or-you-learn-we-are-at-the

And a link to a news site with the screenshot and some commentary: https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2023/11/tumblr-is-reportedly-on-life-support-as-its-latest-owner-reassigns-staff/

[gwillwrites]

For You, For Her

Little self indulgent first kiss thing between OCs. Lovita belongs to @grumpys-blank-worddocument. Art credit also goes to AJ.

The light in the electro-lantern flickered. Hyram reached over and gently tapped the lantern’s casing, coaxing the batteries to provide a little more power and keep the bulb stable. Percussive maintenance worked wonders more often than not, even to the point where the techpriests the tanker knew followed it as a matter of practicality as much as any of their more esoteric rituals and maintenance practices. The lantern flickered once more, as if to protest being struck, before the light grew stronger and stabilized. Hyram watched it for a moment longer, just to make sure the little machine spirit wasn’t trying to trick him. When it failed to resume its flickering, the tanker turned his attention back to the data slate on his desk.

Hyram didn’t get letters often. There were few outside his regiment that he spoke to, or cared enough about him to actually write. He didn’t even need all the fingers on his hand to count them. All three, so far as he knew, were still back home on Venturia. Tonight’s reading was from his sister. She wrote to him most frequently, usually three or four times a month on average. Of course some of that frequency depended on when and how often Hyram was able to get a break between things to write her back.

The data slate winked on with a plaintive hum. It seemed all the machine spirits were taking issue with being used tonight. Hyram couldn’t necessarily blame them. The blizzard outside was enough to make anyone grumpy. Were it not for the fur-lined coat he wore and the space heater working overtime in the corner of the tent, he would be throwing a fit too. Hyram let it warm up for a moment before opening Emillia’s letter.

Dearest brother, I hope this finds you well.

Hyram smiled. He could hear Emillia’s voice in his head as he read what she had written. They hadn’t spoken face to face in over a decade. Not since he had joined the Astra Militarum. She had been eleven back then, but he could imagine what she would sound like as a grown woman now. It was one of those things he just knew.

Your last letter left me in a state of worry. I don’t know what a knight-desecrator is, but it sounds terrible. If you truly managed to destroy one, then I suppose the Imperium is better off for it.

“You have no idea.”

Imagining you face off against something so horrible is just… Mother and I both worry. She is doing well, by the way. You asked in your previous letter. The doctors said there is no more sign of the disease in her. We are all elated and she is slowly gaining her strength back. She will still need to go back for periodic monitoring to make sure it does not return, but we are hopeful. The Emperor has truly blessed her in her healing. But back to the point, if you are well enough to keep writing after facing such a monster, I suppose we do not need to worry so much.

“Prayers are always welcome though.”

On a lighter note, how is Lovita?

Hyram could hear Emillia’s smug tone through her written words, and could imagine the knowing smirk gracing his sister’s face as she wrote them.

You did not mention her in your last letter. Is she still around? Are you still seeing each other?

Hyram snorted. “Maybe that’s because I wrote the last letter from the medicare’s tent,” he said. “And seeing each other is hardly the way I would describe it.”

Even as he said the words, there was a strange pang in his chest, as if he wanted it to be true. There was no denying that something existed between the two of them. Hell, even the rest of his crew were doing their best to get something to happen. That made Hyram feel guilty. Lovita had done her best to express interest, but he had purposefully ignored her, telling himself he wasn’t worth her time, she could do better with anyone else, that he didn’t deserve her. All because of the way he felt about himself, his past, and his own perceived shortcomings. Was he wrong?

I hope you give her a chance. Not just because I think dating someone would do you some good, but because I think you deserve a chance at happiness in this life, Hyram. Even if it is only fleeting. I do not know how long the God-Emperor will keep your paths crossed. I do not know if you know. But I know that if there is anything there between you at all, you owe it to her and to yourself to try.

“You owe it to her…”

The last words died on his tongue as he read and reread them. Hyram’s brow furrowed as emotions warred within his breast. He could agree with the first part. Hyram wanted Lovita to be happy, and he would do anything he could to see her smile. Hearing her laugh had become a bright spot in his life, something he chased after more often than he would care to admit.

But did he owe it to himself?

His father sprung to mind, and the guilt and rage of that night that saw Ezekiel Barrus’ life extinguished at the hand of his eldest son. Hyram’s intentions had been good, but there had been enough spite in his actions that night to render him guilt-ridden since then. Over fifteen years later, and he had been unable to wash the blood from his hands. He hadn’t even been able to disguise it with the blood the Astra Militarum expected him to shed. So instead, he had convinced himself he wasn’t deserving of happiness, and had worked to deprive himself of everything and anything that could possibly grant it.

Including Lovita.

Hyram placed the data slate down. His sister’s voice continued to ring in his head as he skimmed through the rest of what she had written in the letter, but he was no longer focused on what she had to say, as if it had absorbed too much new information at once and needed to blot out everything else to give him a moment to process.

You owe it to her and to yourself to try.

Maybe Emillia was right.

+++

The stench of blood and antiseptic mixed with the scent of mud and wet earth. Hyram pulled his jacket tighter, as if the rain pouring from above hadn’t already soaked through every layer of clothing he wore. It wasn’t the rain that caused him to seek warmth. Hyram had been cold and wet before. He would be cold and wet again. He was used to it, and weathered the discomfort as well as anyone in the Astra Militarum. No, the pulling of his coat had nothing to do with the weather and more to do with the nervousness he was feeling.

Hyram stopped a junior orderly struggling through the mud with a trolley laden with supplies. Boxes of syringes, bandages, clotting powder of dubious value now that it was as soaked as the orderly was. The trolley’s wheels had gotten mired down in the mud and the orderly was struggling to free it and get it moving again. In exchange for his aid in freeing the stuck trolley, Hyram received from the orderly the information he needed. He made his way down the row of tents, turned left at the first intersection, and continued along until he found a long tent of drab green fabric with the word RECOVERY stenciled in yellow paint over the entrance flap.

Hyram stepped inside.

The smell of antiseptic doubled in his nostrils, and the sound of the storm was replaced with the groans of the injured and the patter of rain on the canvas above. It took a moment for Hyram’s vision to adjust to the dim yellow light seeping from glow globes hung at intervals along the tent’s support poles. 

The wounded and convalescing were placed on cots and arranged head to head and foot to foot. White sheets provided warmth, though some had heavier blankets given to them by sympathetic squadmates or families following in the regimental trains. The cots were arranged in a grid pattern, with avenues up and down and across at intervals that allowed medicae and nurses to pass and minister to those under their care.

“I’m sorry, sir, but visiting hours for the patients has ended for the day.”

Hyram turned to find a short man in a nurse’s apron standing beside him. He was balding, with thick spectacles perched on the end of a pointed nose. The name tag pinned to his chest read Klawskinni. One of Klawskinni’s hands clutched a clipboard close to his chest while the other adjusted his glasses, as if trying to bring Hyram into better focus.

“Yes, I know,” Hyram said, his gaze going back to scanning the tent.

“Visiting hours resume tomorrow morning at 1000,” Klawskinni said. “You can visit your- hey, wait! Sir!”

Hyram strode past the man, ignoring his pleas to wait and slow down. Klawskinni did his best to keep up, but the taller man’s strides were longer and carried him farther faster. Hyram did not care. He had seen who he had come for.

Lovita stood up from the bedside of a trooper with bandages wrapped firmly around the left side of his head. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she heard Klawskinni’s frazzled tone. “Sorias?” she called. “What is the matter?”

Then she saw the tanker coming towards her, and her eyes widened. “Hyram? Hyram what are you-”

The rest of the sentence caught in her throat as Hyram pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers. Lovita’s eyes went even wider, surprise written clear across her face, before she melted and kissed back. She almost threw her arms around Hyram’s neck before she remembered where they were.

“Hyram!” Lovita stammered, pulling back just enough to look up into his eyes. “What was that for?”

Hyram swallowed breathlessly, suddenly aware that he may not have thought this course of action through entirely. “I, uh… Because I wanted to.” Hyram glanced around, acutely aware that some of the patients were looking at them. A few had knowing smirks on their faces. One gave him an enthusiastic double thumbs up.

“You wanted to?” Lovita raised an eyebrow. “Hyram this is hardly the time or place.”

“I… I know…” Hyram felt color rush to his face and fought to keep embarrassment from rising any farther. “I’m sorry.”

Lovita looked up at him for a moment longer. Then she smiled and placed a hand on his cheek. “You are a wonderful, silly man, Hyram Flint.” The hospitaller went up on her toes to reach his lips and kiss him again. Someone on the far side of the tent gave an obnoxiously cheerful whoop. Lovita let the kiss linger before coming back down. “And my shift ends in an hour.”

“An hour.” Hyram repeated, still blinking owlishly at her. Then he smiled, an honest smile full of more warmth than any Lovita had seen on his face before. “Alright then. I’ll meet you back here in an hour.”

“Good,” Lovita said. “Because I am quite interested in seeing what else you might want to do after that kiss.”

[vhagarys]

Mother of Dragons

husband!aemond x reader

summary: traveling alone into the forest proves dangerous, an unlikely companion comes to your rescue.

warnings: attempted sexual assault, violence, kidnapping, angst, protective!vhagar, minor character death, mentions of pregnancy, fluff, happy ending!

The heat of the fading sun sunk into your flushed, pink skin as you dismounted your horse and landed on the forest floor beneath you.

Ser Arryk had prevented you from venturing outside the gates of the Keep the previous afternoon, by command of your husband. You secretly loved your husbands protectiveness, knowing just how deeply he cared for you.

But, the past few days in the heat of summer made you restless.. desperate to find reprieve outside the confines of the Keep.

Since your betrothal to Aemond, time alone soon became was scarce. And though you loved spending time with Helaena and her children, your sanity required solitude.

Your mood as of late has felt a bit stale as well. The shrills of delight from your nieces and nephews, usually bringing a smile to your face, had lately become more of an annoyance.

Though you usually reveled in your handmaiden brushing through your tangles, lately you only seemed content with your lord husband’s nimble fingers massaging your scalp.

These conflicting emotions were unlike you, and you hadn’t the slightest idea what had possessed you.

While your husband and his Kingsguard met for their weekly meeting, you devised a plan to journey into the surrounding forests with your horse.

Such behavior would not be taken kindly by your husband, though you’d convinced yourself he’d come to understand your desire for peace and quiet. How easily it was for him to take to the skies on his dragon and escape the world below when he craved solitude.

Such luxuries were not available for you. Thus, in the small hours of morning, you managed to evade the guards outside the stables and venture into the forest.

The air was fresh and earthy. Breezes filled with the scents of dew and grass whisked through the holes of your gown’s laces, sending goose prickles across your skin.

Silence enveloped you, save for the occasional ruffling of leaves and grunt from your horse. You sighed in relief as your feet met the soft cushioning of the forest floor.

Haphazardly, you removed your riding jacket and slung it over a low hanging branch. The shimmering reflections off the lake pulled you close. Like the sweet melodies of a siren’s voice, you couldn’t help but move closer to until you reached the shore of the water.

Before you knew it, you began removing the laces of your riding boots. Feet bare, you crept closer to the shallow edges of the lake.

Your horse broke your trance, stomping his feet and neighing loudly in your direction. Your head snapped to assess what caused the outburst, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

“Just a while longer, sweet girl,” you soothed, hoping to calm your companion long enough for you to enjoy the cool water a bit more.

Turning back towards the vast blue, your toes finally met the shallow river banks. A loud sigh escaped you as you inched further into the lake. The ends of your skirt were soon submerged, thoroughly soaking through the multiple layers of fabric.

A delicious chill crept up your spine as you reveled in the cool reprieve, oblivious to the world around you.

So entranced, your ears failed to register the sharp cry from your horse, warning you of the dangers approaching.

Fast, booming footsteps overwhelmed you before you had time to regain your bearings.

You screamed in pure terror as large hands harshly pulled at your arms, two sizeable men yanking you out of the water.

“Stop! Please! Please, you’re hurting me,” your horse continued to stomp his feet, crying out loudly at your scared state.

The taller of the two, with scars litterings his cheeks and forehead, smiled wickedly at your wreathing form. He effectively subdued your flailing limbs with an arm slithered around your neck, tight enough to scare you into submission.

“If I’d a known it was this easy to get my hands on you, I’d have paid you a visit much sooner, lady Y/N.” Tears blurred your vision as the other man stood in front of you and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

Fear consumed you, the dread of being so far removed from anyone who could rescue you.

“Aemond! Aem-”

The man clamped his hand around your mouth. You thrashed in his hold, kicking with all your might as the other man crowded your space and gripped your face with his calloused hands.

“If I were the prince, I’d of never let you out of my sights. You’re quite the specimen, my lady. Just lookin at ya makes me hard.”

Bile rose up your throat at his vulgar words. You averted your eyes from him despite his proximity, praying to any gods that were listening to save you.

His smile only grew wider. He pressed himself closer, until you felt his hardness against you.

Your screams were muffled by the hand smothering your mouth, and your throat began to burn from overuse.

“I bet,” his hand moved down to roughly grope at your left breast, “you’ve got a tight little cunt hidden under all those layers, eh? I bet I could fuck you better then that one-eyed prick ever-”

You managed to break your right leg free from its constraints and deliver a solid kick between his legs, causing him to groan loudly and stumble backwards.

“You fucking bitch!” The sting of his hand against your cheek throbbed painfully as your head whipped to the side.

His hands gripped the top of your bodice, and promptly ripped through the front of your gown, exposing your breasts.

“You wanna play this game with me? Huh? Lucky for you, I love when they fight back.” His eyes were as black as the nights sky as the man behind you grunted in agreement, pressing himself to your buttocks.

Suddenly, a menacing growl boomed through the clouds. Your captors froze and jerked their heads to the skies.

A large shadow engulfed the entirety of the lake, the three of you swallowed in the dark clouds.

One of the men backed away from you, his eyes bulging out of its sockets.

“Don’t fucking tell me it’s a” the roars grew louder as a large green mass descended from the skies.

Vhagar.

The men watched in horror as the dragon set its course towards the three of you.

Aemond, he’s here.

A rush of relief shot through you, but to your confusion, there was no rider atop the fearsome beast.

Vhagar landed in the lake. You couldn’t help but shake in fear as the dragon, much like yourself, had ventured unaccompanied by your husband.

She leaned her neck down, and you were met face to face with her large, black pupils.

Your body collided with the forest floor as the man once holding you shoved you towards the dragon.

“Here! Take her, we mean no harm, please!” The scarred mean shrieked in terror, frozen in place while his friend bolted into the forest.

A sharp pain from your belly caused you to visibly wince, whimpering audibly as you cradled yourself.

You felt the air from her snout as she leaned towards you, and gently nudged your shaking form as if to console you.

I know you. I will not harm you. You could hear the unspoken words as you craned your head to meet her eyes.

Tears continued to fall as you lay still on the forest floor, any attempts of moving sent shockwaves of pain through your body.

Rustling behind you redirected Vhagars attention. The man was slowly creeping away, and you noted the wet stain on the front of his trousers.

She took a booming step forward, and before you knew it one of her large, veiny wings encompassed your limp body.

Your line of sight was blanketed by the fine networking of scars and holes littered across her wings. It was easy to forget how long she had been alive, how many wars she had fought in.

Your heart cracked at the thought.

Vhagar’s screech bounced off the trees of the forest, and you only wished you could see the man’s expression before you felt the warmth of dragon fire through her wings.

His screams quickly diminished as his form disentegrated from the merciless flames.

She huffed the last bits of smoke in her snout towards his ashes. You shivered as the cool breeze glided over your exposed nipples, dress still damp from your venture into the lake.

Vhagar let out another series of roars, these sounding almost sad, helpless.

“Y/N!” his voice tore through the branches and you knew your husband had come.

Still hidden beneath her wings, he galloped towards his dragon unaware of your shivering body.

“Skoriot iksos ziry, Vhagar,” your husband’s voice was filled with anguish.

(Where is she)

You tried to conjure up a reply, yet all you could muster was a whimper.

Vhagar growled disapprovingly at him. Carefully, she removed her wing and his eyes grew wide as he witnessed you tucked beneath his dragons limbs.

He rushed towards you and fell to his knees. Guilt surged through him as he witnessed the state of your clothes, the layers goose prickles fixed on your skin.

I failed her.

He covered you in his riding leathers and began to inspect the redness on your cheeks.

“My love, I am sorry, I am so sorry. I should’ve-”

You shook your head softly. “The fault is mine, my love. I-I snuck out without your knowing, it was wrong of me-.”

He watched in horror as you winced and grabbed at your belly, his own hand reaching out instinctively to console you.

His eyes were ablaze in fury, that anyone would dare to lay hands on you. Picturing you alone and afraid filled him with a fire that was foreign and all-consuming.

“Prince Aemond!” Two kingsgaurd cautiously approached the three of you, bringing forth a heavily beaten man struggling to escape their grasp.

“I’ve done nothing! Let me go, please! Please!”

“We found him fleeing from the forest, figured he played some part in injuring the princess”, they ignored the man’s pleas.

Aemond met your gaze and you nodded. He growled and went to unsheath his dagger and bury it in the man’s neck. Weakly, your fingers clutched at his sleeve and murmured, “Please don’t leave me, not now.”

Your words were droplets of water dousing his flames, his eyes softened at the sight of his beautiful wife.

He nodded, lightly wiping away a fallen tear. He was riddled with guilt at you feeling the need to sneak away to have some time to yourself.

The war had made him untrusting towards others, afraid to let anyone too close to you in fear they may harm you.

He’d been so wrapped up in fruitless council meetings that he’d neglected his favorite person.

His person.

Aemond scooped you into his arms, kissing you lightly atop your forehead before turning to his dragon.

“Kirimvose raqiros,” he looked into her large orbs. They swam with worry, he sensed it.

(Thank you, friend)

Gently, the fearsome dragon lowered her head and softly nudged the hand cradling your belly.

You were touched by such an act of gentleness from your husbands companion.

Smiling, you lifted your fingers to caress her snout, and offered a small “thank you, friend” before your husband mounted you atop his horse and took you home to see the maester.

——

“Well, my princess. There will be slight bruising on your abdomen and on your cheek. Nothing that will be permanent, thankfully,” the maester shuffled around the bed and place a pouch of ice to your temple.

You winced slightly.

“I’m glad to hear it, Maester Orwylle. Can you call for my husband, he’ll be delighted to hear such news.”

The maester grinned.

“My princess, I believe there are other good tidings from my examination. You are with child, your grace, a healthy one from the looks of it.“

Your eyes widened.

Tears of joy gathered in your eyes as your hands shot down to caress your belly.

“But the fall, Maester-”

“Your fall did not disturb the babe, thank the heavens. From my observations, it appears your are 4 weeks along.”

4 weeks?!

And you’d been none the wiser. Though, that was likely to explain your uncharacteristic moods as of late.

A tentative knock came at the door.

“May I come in?” your husbands soothing voice seeped through the cracks of the doors.

Maester Orwylle grinned lightly, “I will leave you two alone.”

He opened the doors and bowed lightly to the prince.

“Congratulations, my prince,” was all he offered before he retreated down the corridor.

Slightly bewildered, he quickly approached your bed and kissed the top of your hand. Anxiety radiated off of him as he scanned over your face for any signs of discomfort.

“My love, what did the maester say? Is everything alright?”

Your fingers intertwined with his. You sniffled and moved his hands to rest atop your bruised belly.

“We’re just fine, dear husband.”

A couple moments ticked by in silence as he processed your words

“We?“ he paused, “You mean, are you-” you nodded, beaming at your husband as you added,

“I’m with child, my love. Our child.”

Aemond sunk to his knees. Fingers still twined, you felt his tears seep through your bandage wrappings from the maesters. He peppered small kisses across your skin.

“No harm will come to either of you. From this day, I swear it on my life,” his words were fierce, yet his tone was light.

“Perhaps Vhagar will let me ride her, take our child on a little adventure,” you mused, thinking back to earlier.

She knew. Vhagar knew of the babe growing in your belly. With her and your husband together, no harm would ever dare come to your child.

You closed your eyes and reveled in the comfort of the moment.

Aemond chuckled lightly, nodding his head.

“Something to look forward to…They may claim a dragon too one day, just as their father once did.”

A roar echoed from the gates of the dragon pit.

authors note: vhagar is a softie, confirmed. husband aemond is starting to become my fav trope, enjoy <3

- alice +++

[bookofbonbon]

ours is the hunt - daemon targaryen.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Reader.

Warnings: 18+ Cheating. Hunting. Death/Killing. Mentions of pregnancy/ending a pregnancy. This is kinda fucked up, read the summary. Probably major spelling and grammar mistakes. Tense/POV mix ups.

Summary: Based on a request from the lovely @holy-minseok. like how westerosi kings warn the people of the consequences if they move out of line, reader presents daemons mistress to him on a spike with her swollen belly as a final warning for his betrayals.

Word Count: 2.8k+

A/N: This took on a life of its own and didn't play out exactly as the request but, hopefully it's still enjoyable (well... as enjoyable as it can be). Italics section is a flashback.

The Kingswood is eerily silent in the minutes before sunrise. The party, like many of the woodland creatures, still slept, peaceful in their oblivion as servants moved quietly around the camp to prepare for the rush that daybreak would bring. You take a deep breath, the crisp forest air a welcome change from that of the stench of King’s Landing; the smell of the previous afternoon’s rain also lingers but it would dry with the promise of good weather and a bright sun. 

“My Lady,” Ser Eadric Qyle calls, your most loyal, your sworn sword. “Everything is prepared to your instruction.”

“How many?”

“Three total. Two in the woods as we had hoped now, one. We will release the last one on your instruction.” 

The snap of a twig, a slight breeze, the distant wail of a wounded animal and the flutter of wings as the early morning bird sings its song as it flies across the waking sky. The forest whispers your name and you answer its call. 

“Let the hunt begin.” 

-

Your horse slows to a trot and eventually, to a stop as you approach the camp; an accompanying stablehand taking hold of the reins as a stool is brought to aid your dismount. 

“I had wondered where my wife had gone,” Daemon’s voice comes from beside you with a hand held out. “I should have known to check the woods.”

Your smile is wide, eyes lighting up at his presence as you take his hand and dismount. He is still dressed in his sleeping robes, the Targaryen Prince having obviously just woken not long ago. The thought that he immediately came to seek you out upon waking endears you. 

Steadying yourself with a hand on Daemon’s shoulder, you find your balance and firmly plant your feet on the stool; with the added height you find yourself at eye-level with him and greet him with a kiss to the side of his head. 

“Good morrow, my love.”

Daemon returns the greeting by leaning into you with a groan, head dropping into the juncture between your neck and shoulder, his arms wrapping around you. 

“Remind me again why we must be here at this bloody thing?” 

You wrap an arm around his shoulder, hand soothing his back. 

“You cannot get out of this, Daemon,” you tell him with a small laugh. 

Daemon groans again, his breath hot against your neck as he attempts to burrow his face deeper, grumbling all the while. He doesn’t get far however, when you thread your fingers through his unruly hair and pull. 

“What was that, my love?”

“When you said you arranged a hunt for my name day, I thought it would be just us. Not a whole fucking camp for a Royal Hunt.” 

While Daemon was content to revel in celebrations of his victory, a Royal Hunt and a Royal Tourney were two entirely different things. Besides, he could think of much better things to do on his name day and he makes it known, allowing you to hold his head in place, a familiar glint in his eyes that you force yourself to ignore.

“Did you really think your Lord-King brother would allow that? You have him to thank for-” you release his hair to gesture at the several tents. “-this.” 

“Hm. How generous of him.”

You hum in agreement, adjusting the top of his robes.

“Very but, worry not, my love. Despite reports of only one stag, Ser Eadric and I managed to gain the trail of one other.” 

A grin pulls at the corner of Daemon’s lips.

“The Royal Hunt will track one stag and we will hunt the other,” you finish. Using your grip on his robes to pull him closer, you brush your nose against his, before pressing your lips to his for a brief moment. He tries to deepen the kiss but you don’t allow him. 

“Now, come,” you step down from the stool, taking his hand in yours. “Let's get you ready for the day.” 

“Very well,” Daemon agrees, pressing a kiss to your hand with a charming smile. 

You return the smile before turning and leading him back to the centre of the camp with a tight jaw. 

Daemon’s mood lightens considerably thereafter. The Rogue Prince noticeably happier after you broke the news that the two of you would separate from the Royal Hunt because while Daemon loved to hunt, he hated not being the one to actually do it. He didn’t need someone else to track down the game just for him to land the final blow in some false display of strength and authority. He could do it himself. He wanted to do it himself. He liked to do it himself. And though his mood had lightened, you noted that it didn’t stop his eyes from wandering around in search of someone else.

-

By mid-morning, the camp is teeming with life, the several Lords and Ladies of Westeros who gathered in celebration of Daemon’s name day dotted all over the grounds and inside tents. You yourself enter the main tent with Ser Eadric, the grand structure larger than that of most of the homes of the smallfolk. 

You don’t have to look far to find Daemon, Viserys’ great laugh leading you right to him; the two brother’s seated beside one another at a long table surrounded by other lords. 

Turning to Eadric, you place a cloth in his hand. “Release the last stag and give this to the bloodhound,” you instruct. He nods, taking it in hand and departing.

Taking a deep breath, you roll your shoulders back to loosen them, a delightful smile gracing your lips as you approach Daemon and Viserys. Daemon immediately reaches out for you out of habit once you're seated, and you cradle his strong hand between your own. 

“Ah my Lady,” Viserys greets you and you, him, with a bow of your head.

“Your Grace.”

“I have been meaning to offer you both my condolences following the death of your brother and my congratulations, I hear you have been named heir of Blood's End.”

You tighten your grip around Daemon’s hand then loosen it, both hands releasing his as you begin instead to fidget with your own fingers. Daemon notices immediately, taking hold of one of your hands in his, his grip firm in silent comfort as he sends you a reassuring look. 

“A regrettable hunting accident,” you pull at the collar of your riding jacket. “But, please, accept my thanks for your congratulations, Your Grace. It is an honour and I can only hope to be half the ruler my Lord-father is of Blood's End.”

“Well, I cannot say what type of ruler you will be but, from what I heard you are double the hunter of that of what your brothers were and rival even that of your father-”

“Better,” Daemon interrupts proudly with a squeeze of your hand. 

“Better?” Viserys’ repeats in amusement. 

You breathe a laugh at Daemon’s antics, “I am able to hold my own somewhat.” 

Daemon scoffs at your downplay of your skill, “my wife is humble, brother but, I am not. She is the better between her and her father. Perhaps one of the best in all the land.”

You make a show of balking at the declaration, forcing a meek laugh “I- that is not-”

But, Viserys’ cuts you off, holding one hand up in surrender, “if Daemon says you are one of the best then I believe him. I mean what good is it if House Chase’ words are ‘Ours is the Hunt’ if they cannot do exactly that?”

Viserys’ laughs heartily at his own joke and you spare a glance at Daemon who grins at you playfully.  

The conversation teeters off soon after that as Daemon and Viserys’ listen to the report sent by the Royal Huntsman. You in turn, turn your attention to one of your Ladies-in-waiting, Lady Millicent. While the custom of having Ladies-in-waiting was unusual outside of the Great Houses, the custom was needed within your own House as it was in fact greater than even that of your liege lords, House Baratheon. House Chase commanded both a larger army and fertile lands that weren’t felled by the terrible weather that surrounded Storm’s End. House Chase was second to Baratheon in rank only. 

“My Lady, I’ve been meaning to ask but, where is Lady Gwendolyn? I’ve not seen her around the camp all morning, I fear-”

“Yes,” Daemon interrupts abruptly. “Where is Lady Gwendolyn?”

You delight at the question, ears burning as you turn your attention to Daemon about your newest Lady-of-waiting of six, maybe seven months. 

“I did not know you had such a keen interest in my ladies of waiting. Husband.”

“My only interest is that she attends to my grooming every morning and yet, when I needed her this morning, she was nowhere to be found.” 

Daemon shrugs the question off with a practiced ease while your lips almost pull dangerously downwards, mask hanging by a thread and nearly slipping completely at the brazen statement. Instead you fix your smile, reaching across to smooth the neck of his hunting attire. 

“I have given Lady Gwendolyn leave while we are here, she is likely with her kin in the woods.”

-

A dull light permeates from the lantern in your hand, bathing its immediate surroundings - including yourself - in a warm glow as you carefully navigate the unfamiliar bed chambers that your husband had come to frequent as of late. Shadows bouncing off of the walls, the silhouettes of the two figures in the bed become clearer the closer you get. 

See, you weren’t naive to the ways of men and their crude sexual appetites; the way they would seek out other women when their wives could not sate them. 

‘It is the way of men, he will have his whores and his playthings but you are his wife and no whore can take away from you.’ is what your mother had told you but, you would not heed her words. You would not lay down while your husband took mistresses and whores alike and you had told him so, warning him once of the consequences.

Placing the lantern down on the bedside table, you peer down at the Baratheon beauty laid in the bed with your husband; a few drops of milk of the poppy in their goblets and it was keeping both husband and whore sedated. 

The mattress dips slightly under your weight as you settle yourself beside her sleeping figure, hip to hip as you take a closer look at your Lady-in-waiting, who had also taken up position as Daemon’s mistress, stealing both his time and attention from you. 

Lady Gwendolyn of House Baratheon, the niece of a cousin of a second son nobody; a distant relative carrying the Great name of the Great Stags of the Stormlands. 

“Ser Eadric,” you call on your sworn sword; fingers ghosting over her abdomen. The swell is slight but it is there. “Our Prince’s name day is fast approaching. Ensure arrangements have begun at first light. We will celebrate like none before.”

-

The sun sits at its peak in the sky, streams of its light filtering through the tops of the forest's trees. The crossbow is heavy in Daemon’s hands as he sits astride his horse, sweat gathering on his forehead as he watches his surroundings; the reins of your own horse in his other hand. He had led the first few hours, and now you had taken over. 

As planned, the two of you went out with the Royal Hunt and eventually broke off under the guise of returning to the camp. 

Daemon’s ears perk at the sound of a nearby wail and the flutter of several wings as a group of birds seem to scatter. Dismounting, Daemon joins you on the ground, coming to stand behind you as he scans the woods for any signs of danger. There is no danger however, just your blood hound.

Daemon moves past you and calls the hound to heel at his side. 

“We’re close,” you toss the hours old droppings back onto the ground and pick up your own crossbow. “These droppings are fresh.”

“Very close.” Daemon calls you over to where the bloodhound sits obediently by his feet. There is blood around its jowl. A thrill goes down your spine at the sight, knowing that the two of you were close now. 

“We go on foot from here,” he declares, trying the reins of your horses to a nearby tree and you agree.

Moving silently ahead through the Kingswood, what was once vibrating with life, has now come to standstill with your approach. All the woodland creatures recognising the two predators hunting in their territory. 

Your eyes flitter from the ground to up ahead as you follow the Stag’s tracks, Daemon trailing behind you and then- the sudden trample of hooves to the left of you and a blur of brown and then silence. 

“Daemon,” you whisper and nod up ahead. 

There in the distance stands the Great Stag the two of you had been hunting for the better part of four hours, its mammoth antlers moving frantically as it turned its head over and over. 

Daemon places a hand on the small of your back and you turn your head toward him. 

“From here?” you ask and he nods, stepping carefully in front of you.

The Stag stumbles around clumsily, which Daemon can only assume is from when the bloodhound must’ve sunk its teeth into it but it otherwise remains in the same area, believing itself to be safe.

“Let us test out the might of these crossbows from here,” Daemon croons quietly. The armourer had declared it the single most powerful crossbow, capable of bringing down the greatest creatures from an even greater distance. 

Positioning himself, Daemon presses his body against yours, your hand touching his collar before you slide it down and place it on his waist. The only thing that could be heard was the sound of both of your breaths as you watched over his shoulder. He lines up the shot, finger on the trigger, your breaths in harmonious sync, his back against your chest as your hearts beat as one. You slide a hand underneath his arm, steadying his hold and with a kiss to his shoulder blade, he pulls. 

Thwack!

The recoil is slight as the sound reverberates with a sickening crunch. The Stag cries out but, before it can make a move to run, you’re passing Daemon your own crossbow and he sends another arrow straight through its neck with perfect precision. 

There’s a beat of silence as the entire woods including yourselves come to a halt, your breaths the only sound that could be heard. It’s soon broken however, by your laughter, the sound building into something hysterical as you step away from Daemon. Catching Daemon’s attention, he turns to you, initially in concern, it doesn’t take long however for him to join you when he sees how delighted you are. Catching you by the back of your neck, Daemon pulls you into him, his mouth covering yours in a searing kiss which you happily return. 

“Shall we claim our prize?” you break the kiss, foreheads pressed together.

Daemon nods, taking your hand into his and eagerly leading the way. 

You hum happily beneath your breath, keeping a keen eye on him as the two of you get closer, watching and waiting, watching and waiting until finally- there’s a catch in his breath, footsteps faltering as his head tilts, bemused. You feel the way his hand twitches in your hold, grip loosening as he glances back at you, confused until- a sharp intake of breath and the realisation of not, what he has killed but, who.

You slip your hand from his hold as he chokes on a gasp at the sight of his mistress, his whore, the Lady Gwendolyn. She is covered in a layer of mud, her usual gown replaced with a dirty and ripped tunic and pants, a strip of cloth tied around her mouth and gagging her. One arrow shot through her chest, nailing her to the tree behind her and the second through her neck; on the floor beside her lies the head of a stag. 

Three total. Two in the woods as we had hoped now, one. We will release the last one on your instruction.

“What is this?” Daemon speaks in abject horror.

“The last one,” you tell him grimly. 

Daemon continues to stare at Gwendolyn, dazed and not understanding what was happening as he watches blood drip from her wounds and onto her swelling belly.

“What have you done?”

“What have I done? What have you done?” you tut, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Do not fret, I granted her this small mercy, my last mercy,” you inform him, hand adjusting his collar. “A quick and clean death.”

Your words seems to bring him back to himself, horror and confusion short lived and replaced with a fury you had never seen before. It does naught to frighten you though.

“She was with child,” he turns on you, jaw impossibly tight as he spits the words at you; crowding you against a tree. “My child.”

“I know,” you tell him softly with a nod.

Your placidness unsettles him. You can see it in his eyes and the way he flinches at your touch when you brush his hair back from either side of his face.

“So heed this as my final warning for your betrayals. I won’t be so nice if there’s another one.”

Steadying yourself with a hand on his arm, you reach up and press a kiss to the side of his head, “happy name day, Daemon.”

-

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

bookofbonbon 2024. All rights reserved.

[myladysapphire]

The Dragon and the Wolf

Prologue

You had been betrothed to Cregan stark at the start of the war. He was the noble and honourable stark that he was he supported your mother claim without restraint. So much so your mother saw it fit to betroth the two of you. So when disaster strikes and you and your younger brother are the only two survivors, you a shipped of north in your grief, leaving only Cregan to heal your wounds.

word count: 2,115

CW: angst, death and more death. not proofread!

Cregan Strak x Veleryon(strong)!reader

Masterlist | series masterlist | next part

disclamer:  i do not own any of claim any of the A song of ice and  fire characters, all rights belong to GRR MARTIN, all characters are his except for my Original characters

a/n prolouge, more of an info dump about dance of dragons and readers relationship with cregan during the war.

As snow blazed outside the castle your mind took you back to the days before your life was consumed with grief, the days when you have just arrived in Winterfell, sent by your mother to win over Cregan stark to support her cause.

You had been surprised your mother had sent you here and not the Vale, as she had done with your twin Jacearys. But you soon saw why.

It had been easy to convince Stark to join you’re the blacks, as they were now referred too, he was the noble and honourable lord stark, he kept his father’s oath with no complaints, and he allowed you to stay in Winterfell for as long as she wished. And you did stay, you liked the north, it gave you such a warm feeling, a feeling you had always felt you missed in the red keep and Dragonstone. You loved the north, you loved the snow, as did your dragon, Silverwing. You spent your whole life either in hot son or rainy storms, and yet, despite Cregan saying you were so warm it was if you your self was a dragon, you had always preferred the cold. And now when you felt the drops of snow fall onto your face you wished for the snow to never stop.

You remember Cregan showing you around Winterfell for the first time, taking you to the gods woods, he himself, as most in the north were, prayed to the old gods, and you who never once felt a calling to the gods, you felt it the second you entered the woods, the way the winds sang to you as you entered, the hot springs warming you instantly, and the gods tree. Despite having one in kings landing this sight was spectacular, it was so…peculiar and yet beautiful. With faces carved so naturally the faces seemed to move with he wordless song the wind sang you, and from the look on Cregan’s face he knew the exact feeling you were experiencing.

He was so welcoming to you, sending you smiles at every glance, looking for you in every room. You spent nearly every second together, whether it was talking politics and the facts of the alliance or hunting or walking the grounds. You seemed to do it together.

But you knew it was to good to be true, the second you heard Silverwing calling out, sensing another dragons presence, you knew only bad news would follow.

“Sister” you heard Jacearys greet as he dismounted Vermax, “Lord Stark” he bowed his head.

“Brother” you greeted back, “what brings you to the north?”

His face dropped, eyes filling with sadness. “I’m so sorry, I should have come sooner”

“what-“you didn’t understand what he was saying, but you knew it was bad, and it seemed so did the gods as the wind was growing hasher, wind aggressively hitting your face.

“Luke-“ Jace croaked, and your face started to drop “Aemond he…Luke’s dead”

You dropped, eyes filling with tears. You couldn’t believe it.

Aemond. He had once been your Aemond, your dearest companion, your betrothed. But then word had reached about his new betrothal to Floris Baratheon. Your marriage was supposed to unit the realm, prevent the war that would now be inevitable. You had felt some sadness over the news of his new betrothal, but in truth you hadn’t been close to him in years, you loved the idea of marrying him, but now…now the thought made you sick.

Jace had explained fully what had happened, the raging storm, the chase and the fall.

Killed riding a dragon, like a Targaryen, and buried at sea like a Veleryon, had it not been so tragic, it would be almost poetic.

Grief filled you, body and soul, and you hated that you didn’t know, for two weeks you lived in bliss, practically courting a man. As your brother, your sweet Luke lied dead and alone.

Your mother had searched the sea for those two weeks for the body, for hope that he lived, before biding Jace to retrieve you. You all needed each other, more than ever, consumed with grief and the rage.  The grieving came first like all deaths, with the funeral taking place, though with no body you and Jace had burnt his clothes, saying teary prays, before having Lukes favourite food and sharing his favourite memories.

And then rage. You all wanted revenge, and Daemon had taken it upon himself to do just that, and before you knew it war raged.

You and Jace had returned to Winterfell, and though both deep in your grief, you found comfort once more in the snowy planes of Winterfell, and most of all the people within them.

It was funny, you and Cregan had fit so well together and then Jace came along and suddenly you felt replaced.

All the time you had once spent with Cregan, sword fighting, politicking, hunting and walking, was now done with Jace.

You supposed it was natural, he the future king and Cregan the warden of the north. But it was more than that, they were brothers. But you were his future wife, your mother having sent a raven to lord stark upon your return proposing the marriage, he had accepted instantly and you, you had accepted. Cregan was everything you wanted, a friend, handsome, ruggish and tall. But now you felt like you were begin ignored.

You weren’t jealous, it was what always happened.

You were shy and calm, Jace was loud and chaotic. They were opposites and he easily took the spotlight, not that she wanted it. They were twins, with him being born first, with black hair and brown eyes, and you with silver hair and Arryn blue eyes. You were the image of their mother and he, the image of their father, not that they would ever admit it.  It was like he was the moon, and you were the sun. You were always there and nothing special, but people always took notice of the moon, every aspect of it was studied and praised, but the sun was only ever important when eclipsed by the moon. You were always by Jace’s side, and despite being a princess of the realm, he was a prince, the future king, who wouldn’t take notice of him first.

So, you stood on the sidelines, sometimes following the pair as they talked and talked, but most of her time was spent with Sara.

You and her too had a lot in common, having both understood what it was to be a bastard, to be left out. Though you didn’t admit it right out, she knew what you meant, from the way you understood her as she ranted and from how you related through your own experiences. Though they were different you were still outcasted and felt as if you lacked the natural respect others were given.

Though she had earnt that respect. she was respected throughout Winterfell, being the unofficial lady of Winterfell after the death of his wife, Arra Norrey, who died birthing their son, who was quick to follow his mother. The people of the north respected her but with you, the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen you always felt as if you owed something, something that you had to make up for. And instead of seeing the respect you did command you only saw the respect your brother was given

That respect for Jace only grew as the first battles were fought. As Jace grew into his position as heir and Cregan became a key advisor in the war.

It was a weird and terrorfying time, with you and Cregan betrothed but knew it would either end in death or a quick marriage. Neither of you knew how to act,, the days of your endless conversations changing to shy smiles and even shyer words.

And then he left, leading his own battle in your mother’s name.

Then Jacearys died alongside Viserys, them both joining Luke in their burial at sea.

And moons later her mother took Kings Landing. Her younger brother Joffrey now heir, but not even a moon into her mothers new reign as an uprising began, the dragon pit raided, dragons killed, and her brother tortured a killed.

you were beside herself in grief, guilt coursing through you as you had left, you had gone, leading your mother’s forces to lead your second battle of Tumbleton, and though you had won, and caused the death of your uncle Daeron and a large number of the green forces, you returned to even more chaos.

you were surrounded by death, and slowly became more and more alone.

As Aegon retook Kings Landing, his men holding you and your only surviving sibling Aegon as her mother was burnt alive before them.

Then the death if both Aemond and Daemon above the gods eye.

You were all alone, separated from your brother, Cregan thousands of miles away. And she locked in a keep waiting for Aegon to decide whether to kill you or marry you.

you prayed for the former, wishing to join them, your sweet brothers.

Jace, your sweet twin, you had always thought they would leave the world together, they came in it together it only seemed right. you had felt so empty, as if you were missing the other half of yourself. you regretted that so many of your memories of him were clouded in envy, and regretted not cherishing every moment you could with him.

Luke, sweet Luke, so kind and nervous and though not innocent, he deserved so much better. you missed him so much, and hated how he was taken so young, so horrifyingly.

And Joffrey, he was just a babe, wanting to be as brave and strong as his sister and brothers, killed by the mob, alongside their mother’s dear dragon who was doing everything to protect him.

And Viserys, a part of you hoped he lived and would one day return to her, but you didn’t want to hope, you didn’t have it in you anymore.

you had nothing, not really, you barely had it in you, the anger, the need for revenge.

But when Aegon announced his plans to marry you, the rage came, the angry. He had taken everything from you and now he was taking away your freedom.

It was easy to find those who wished to plot against him, your grandsire Corlys begin the first to approach you. Mad over the death of his beloved wife Rhaenys, he had long awaited this moment.

He and a few over men gave you a wine laced with poison, and small doss of poison to drink yourself to build immunity. It was a long prosses, taking three months before you acted. It was easy to enter his chambers, he too lonely and racked with guilt, he seemed pleased at your company, and even happier at the wine you brought him.

You had drank the laced wine and then some, both drinking your sorrows away and making your way down to the iron throne, you had laughed as he sat upon it, your mothers rightful seat, and laughed even more when he started chocking, he couldn’t breath, he was dying. You should of felt glad but as you watched him take his final breath, all you felt was grief. Another family member dead, and another step closer to being alone.

Cregan took kings landing the next day, he found you weeping in the throne room at the sight of Aegon. He had swept you in his arms, holding him to you as you cried, screaming it was your fault, confessing your sins, but he didn’t see it as your fault, m your kill. He saw it as Corlys and Larys Strongs, executing them and all those who betrayed Aegon and manipulated you.

He crowned Aegon king, married him to Aegon’s only surviving child, Jaehrea, uniting the two branches and ending the blasted war.

And he took you home, to Winterfell.

You were so consumed in your grief you hadn’t even noticed, the carriage traveling the whole thousand leagues had passed so quickly.

You didn’t even remember saying goodbye, promising to write, and promising to love them.

You didn’t remember crying as you watched them, two children making oaths they didn’t understand, lead by men they did not know.

You finally came back to reality as you reached Winterfell, Silverwing roar alerting you of your arrival. She one of the last dragons left, too consumed in grief at the death of her mate Vermithor.

“princess” you heard Cregan say softly as he opened the carriage door, “were home”

next part

Taglist

@aleemendoza2425-blog@apollonshootafar@zillahvathek@flrboyd @targaryenmoony @theanxietyqueen17@leavesmealobe @dark-night-sky-99 @deeeeexx

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[creganslover]

Woman Like You

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Fem! Warrior! Reader

Requested?: Yes/No

Summary: Skilled as a warrior like your husband, you both made the dangerous pair... the latest battle proves just how much you mean to him.

Word count: 1.6k

Warning/s: canon-typical violence, graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of blood and death, near character death, cregan being whipped for his woman

Note: loved making this omg

GIF is not mine, credits to the owner!

It had been a harrowing battle, not knowing left from right, up from down as bodies rallied against one another, the clash and clinging of swords ringing in your ears, horses whinnying as their rider had been dismounted only to be slain. 

The amount of bodies falling over with no longer a life to them, and there you also stood fighting, a female warrior, married to Cregan Stark, the two of you making the dangerous pair through your cunning skills and Cregan’s exposure to battle.

Now both of you were fighting under the Queen Rhaenyra’s banners, honouring the oath Rickon Stark, Cregan’s late father had made under Viserys’ proclamation for Rhaenyra as his heir. 

Before the battle had started, you were in your shared tent with Cregan, as the troops were began to be rounded up to march, a thousand of his greybeards and your own army of blackwings, the two of you preparing each other in their armour, the action done in silence as you both strapped your gears on. 

It was Cregan’s hand grabbing your wrist that made you halt your movements, your eyes finally meeting his. Both of you had trusted each other out and in the field, though both of you knew every battle forward had counted, and that you would treat it as the last. 

“Promise you will return to me.” Cregan’s husky voice spoke in a whisper, staring you down with a tender gaze, blue flecked with hazel eyes searching yours, grip momentarily tightening on your wrist to travel down to squeeze your hand. As done countless times, you reply, “Always.” Never failing to give him a smile, making him mirror it with a chuckle of relief at your reassurance. 

Until you had gotten separated from your husband in the heat of the battle, you two had held out well even when separated yet it felt like the enemies had just kept on coming, banging the end of your shield at your attacker’s face, sending them lunging back as you thrusted your sword in their stomach, cutting clean through before you had pulled it off, flecks of blood spraying as the man hurled in pain, dropping to the ground.

You had not known how long the battle had raged for, all that you knew was your muscles had begun to strain, dodging and putting on the offence as you could, dirt and blood scattered everywhere. 

Successfully putting down another opponent, another came rushing to you, sword slicing part of your arm, making you cry out as they had also managed to land a hard blow to your side, that would surely be a nasty bruise. 

Still, you were not as easily felled as they thought, managing to regain back your senses, adrenaline pumping within your veins as your grip on your sword had tightened, letting out a yell as you swung and advanced, hitting left to right, sword slicing efficiently at the man’s side as you threw your broken shield away, holding your sword, Ashbringer, in both hands before thrusting it upon the man’s neck, blood running down the steel of your sword before pulling it out. 

That’s when a series of arrows had been launched into the sky, not knowing which was which as you tried to deflect some by grabbing your shield yet again, though an arrow had already dug itself onto the back of your shoulder, making you groan, using your strength to cover yourself with your shield as the arrows had landed. 

When the arrows had stopped, your mind had fogged, vividly you saw Cregan’s face in your mind as the words he had uttered to you hours before rang. 

Return to me 

・・・・・

Cregan had litters of bodies lay around him as he became the opposing side’s target, knowing his worth and they had intended to cut him off. His broad form swung his sword Ice, not opting for a shield as it only hindered his movements. 

His men yelled around him, his graybeards killing tens of the opponents as they had only managed to fell a few of Cregan’s men. They were winning, they had the upper hand. Cregan only needed to push a little further, and all of this would cease. 

“The Lady!” 

“Keep Fighting!”

“Arrows inbound!”

Cregan felt his blood suddenly run hot, head snapping around him as the shouts grew in intensity, until his eyes spot a distant blur. You as he looked to the sky to find rains of arrows, making Cregan react and haul a body from the ground, using it as his shield as bouts of arrows pierced through its body, his eyes wide and alert and searching for you. 

He was able to see you defending yourself, staggering, an arrow on the back of your shoulder, the pained look on your face.

Cregan saw red. 

The rumbling in his chest grew to a roar as he screamed, throwing the arrow-clad body to the ground before he shouted. “You want me? Come get me!” 

Enemies turned their heads towards him as Cregan swung Ice at the oncoming assailants, ignoring the burning in his whole body as he and his sword had moved as once, determined to get to you, his wife. He was covered in dirt and blood that wasn’t his, except for the minor cuts on his face, and the bruises he had felt forming onto his body. 

Alas his enemies fell one by one as his men fought valiantly, Cregan making his way to you as he managed to grab you in time before you fell, careful to handle the arrow still peeking from behind your shoulder. 

The battle had begun to die down, Cregan still holding you in his arms as he looked at you, his heart never wavered in battle nor showed vulnerability before, now it did as he shook you lightly, inspecting you. “(Y/N),” he repeated before his men had spotted the scene, immediately calling for aid. 

“Stay with me, as you promised.” Cregan breathed. 

・・・・・

Darkness. That’s all you could see, with your body feeling light as a feather. 

It felt like you were floating on some void, where it held nothing but peace. You tried reaching out, but a flicker of orange lit in the distance, a smooth glow, followed by the smell of the forest trees, like a campfire. 

You watched as the orange glow began to scatter, spreading the dark void with its own colour, and then you sensed some sort of pull, until it had become stronger. 

Your eyes opened. Blurry at first, blinking a few more moments as everything slowly began to sink in, body feeling numb as you tried to shift on the cot. Looking around your surroundings, you were in your tent, back at camp perhaps? 

A woman stood by the table, preparing her herbs, a healer, you recognized. It was your healer Taisa, and when she had turned around, her eyes widened as she placed the bowl hurriedly back down. “My lady!” She said in surprise, knowing she had been commanded by Lord Stark himself to alert him if his wife had awoken at once. 

Taisa was already running out the tent before you could utter a single word, or yet you were unable to from your body still processing what it had went through.

Your shoulder was bandaged that wrapped around your torso peeking from your loose tunics, along with your left arm that had blood starting to soak through as you moved, making you groan as you assessed yourself. 

Cregan had been manning the map room, along with the other lords and their army in ally, pacing around and spewing all kinds of forms of defenses and offenses, it had been hours since the battle had ceased, taking in few left live opponents as prisoners. 

Cregan was pacing until the tent flap shifted, revealing Taisa, Cregan immediately halting, she had not even uttered a single sound out her mouth. 

You were awake.

“My lords,” Cregan only said as he rounded the table, ducking out the tent as he forced himself to navigate his way to the tent you were in. His heart pounding near his ears as a few steps more he’d be inside, pushing through the flaps, and there you did lay, eyes open, face harbouring an expression of fatigue. 

Cregan wasted no time gliding towards you, taking you in and slowly grabbing your right uninjured hand as he knelt in front of the cot, gaze scanning you all over. “Wife.” His voice faltered. 

“Husband.” You managed to croak out, moving to sit up which Cregan refused to let you but you won in the end, now he was knelt in front of you as you sat. His huge rough hands, rid of their gloves now, enveloped yours, thumb stroking circles upon the back of your hands. 

You lift your right hand, coming to cradle his face, stroking the slight flush on the apple of his cheeks as he let out a heavy breath, closing his eyes, brows knitting as he leaned into your touch, showing his utter devotion to you and you only, making you smile.

“I thought I had lost you.” He voiced, eyes still closed, making you frown. “Look at me, Cregan.” You spoke, slowly regaining your voice back as Cregan’s eyes flickered open, staring into you. 

“You will not lose me, not now, not ever.” You began. “I’d wager it would take more to kill me.” You smirked, finding a way to still lighten a situation upon the brink of what could have been. 

The end of Cregan’s lip tugged upwards in amusement, his features softening as he chuckled, nodding along and finally letting himself relax with the fact that you were okay, you were going to live. He turned his head where your palm cradled his face, pressing his lips upon your palm before looking at you. 

“Aye, you are right. It would take more for a woman like you.”

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

Delicate part.1

Description: As a young knight, Ser Gwayne Hightower journeys to King's Landing to take part in his first tourney. Eager to see his beloved sister Alicent and prove himself to his distant father, Gwayne finds himself enamoured by Alicent's friend.

Part 2

Writer's note: Elizabeth here. I thought I would try my hand at writing a story for the icon that is Gwayne Hightower. The reader/Y/N of the story will be on the asexual spectrum.

Warnings: Female reader/Y/N, but I won't be going into details about their appearance. Team Green sentiments. Positive sentiments towards Alicent (I can't help it, I love her).

The sun shone over King’s Landing, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of salt and spice from the port and markets of Fleabottom across the air, as a young knight rode towards the Red Keep. As the imposing structure of the Red Keep came into view, Ser Gwayne Hightower struggled to fully suppress the trepidation he felt as he approached the entrance and was hailed by two guards.

“Who goes there?”

Pushing his nervousness as a young knight of but ten and seven years aside, he schooled his expression into one conveying the confidence of a knight far beyond his years. Arriving at the King’s stronghold to compete in his first tournament against other knights, not just bannermen of the Hightowers from Oldtown, he attempted to conceal any signs of apprehension from his features.

“You may announce the arrival of Ser Gwayne Hightower, son of the Hand of the King, my good man, and do make haste about it. The journey has been long, and I would benefit from the illustrious hospitality of your King.” He addressed the guards before him, with not a small degree of arrogance, a smirk on his face.

Presenting his patent of nobility, illustrated with the green and black sigil of his House, with a flourish, he nodded respectfully towards the guards as they granted him admittance to the Red Keep. Riding forth with an air of confidence he did not fully feel, an illusion he was no stranger to assuming, he surveyed the vastness of the King’s stronghold. Meeting the gaze of any knight’s he encountered on his progress with a jaunty smirk and nod in their direction, he dismounted from his horse gracefully, before entrusting it to the care of a stable boy, ruffling the boy’s hair as he did so.

His first order of business was to locate his dear sister, who he had not seen for many months now, but who he sorely missed, living so far away from her as he did in his father’s seat in Oldtown.

Gwayne made his way through the Keep, familiar with the route to the courtyard where he expected to find his dear sister, knowing from her letters and his previous visits it to be the place she often sought repose from the pressures of Court. 

Striding along the balustrade overhanging the courtyard, he knew he was right when he heard the sweet sound of his sister's laughter, accompanied by that of another's. He promptly increased the pace of his strides in anticipation of their happy reunion after months apart. His Lord father's decision to take Alicent with him to King's Landing, leaving him to preside over their seat in Oldtown, had been a source of pain for them both. Two years her senior, Gwayne doted on his sister, even more so after the untimely death of their beloved mother when Alicent was but ten and twelve years old. Gwayne had always sought to compensate for the loss of their mother's loving presence with his attentive care and love towards his sister, something his own father was unwilling or unable to provide them with. Alicent had clung to him and wept when she was leaving High Tower and he was scarcely able to suppress his own emotions, as he tried to comfort her, promising to write to her everyday and to visit when he could.

Alicent had written to Gwayne immediately to inform him that the King was to hold a tourney, asking him to arrive at the Keep a few weeks before the event, so that they could extend their time together. Gwayne had sent his acquiescence to her request by raven the next day, rejoicing at the thought of reuniting with his beloved sister and escaping the suffocating halls of his ancestral home. In the absence of the warmth of his late mother's love and his sister's laugh, as he chased her through the halls, his home had the ominous feeling of being haunted by shadows of long past happiness. 

Hearing more laughter, he looked over the balustrade onto the courtyard below, expecting to call out in greeting to Alicent. He paused, however, when instead of Alicent, he saw another young lady standing in the middle of the courtyard by the white trunk of a tree. Her eyes were closed and she smiled as she counted down from ten, before opening them rapidly and looking about her.

"I'm coming to get you, Alicent!" 

He was arrested in his movements by the sight of her, struck by her pretty features. A smile grew on his own face as he watched their game continue. His heart was warmed to see that his sister had not been without friendship in King's Landing, and this warm feeling extended to the lady searching for his sister below. 

He quietly chuckled in amusement as he saw the girl search this way and that for Alicent, and he slowly made his descent to the courtyard, careful not to make too much noise, and alert her to his presence. 

Approaching the lady, who now searched for Alicent behind the trunk of the tree, with careful steps he bent his torso to lower his head next to hers and whisper conspiratorially near her ear.

"I do believe, my dear Lady, that my sister is to be found yonder, by that bushel." 

Surprised by his presence, the lady let out a high pitched shriek and stumbled back a step, tripping over a raised stump of the tree. 

His eyes widening in alarm, not having truly intended to frighten her, he swiftly reached his arm out to encircle her waist and prevent her from falling. Holding her hand in his free hand, he looked into her eyes with concern.

"Are you well, my Lady? I apologise for startling you."

A brief look of confusion passed over the lady's expression before she processed what had happened, and it was was replaced by a stern one. Holding onto his elbows to right herself, she responded with a chastising tone, promptly removing herself from his hold

"I don't know what you mean by sneaking up behind me, Ser."

Seeing that she was unharmed by his fumble, and seeking to restore himself to her good opinion, he rallied himself.

With a charming grin, he elegantly bowed before her, one hand on his heart and the other taking hers confidently in his to plant a gentle kiss on it. 

"Please accept this Knight's humble apologies, my dear Lady. I had only meant to aid you in your game." 

He frowned slightly as the lady quickly withdrew her hand from his, fearing he had really offended her.

"Spoil it, more likely" Alicent laughed, emerging from behind the bushel Gwayne had indicated a moment ago. 

Pulling his eyes away from those of the beautiful lady before him to meet his sister's sally, Gwayne opened his arms out to her, "sister!"

Alicent needed no further invitation before she ran into his arms and he lifted her up, spinning her half a turn, before returning her to the ground and wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

Once again turning with what he hoped was a winning smile to the lady before them, Gwayne sought to invest as much charm as he could into his voice.

"I have yet to be introduced to your lovely friend, sister."

Looking up at him with her own stern look, Alicent playfully swiped at his shoulder.

"You have already made a mess of that, brother. You half frightened Lady Y/N to death when you rudely interrupted." 

With an exaggerated sigh, Gwayne responded to his sister's accusation.

"I know I am the basest of villains and I will put myself to the sword forthwith if the Lady Y/N will not forgive me my crime." He rejoined, solemnly, bending his head in mock dejection, even as he really did feel contrite to have frightend the young lady.

Slapping him on the back of the head, which had Gwayne holding his neck in mock pain, Alicent pressed her index finger to his chest and warned him.

"Y/N won't be charmed by your antics, Gwayne. I have warned her of them beforehand."

Smiling indulgently down at his sister before looking over at the lady Y/N once again, who he rejoiced to see smiling in amusement at the two siblings, he held his hand to his heart dramatically, as if her words were an arrow through it.

"You wound me sister. I was under the impression you had asked me here to be your champion at the upcoming tourney, precisely because I am the most charming of knights. I hadn't realised I needed to be good with the lance too. An unfortunate oversight. I had thought my charming smile would be enough to fend the other knights off."

The laughter of the ladies at his antics sounded like the delicate chime of bells to him, and he was elated to have entertained them both and, hopefully, returned himself to the good favour of the pretty lady before him. 

Meeting her gaze with his own, a softened expression on it, which communicated his contrition for having startled her, despite his jesting, his heart fluttered as she met his gaze with an amused smile.

"I'm afraid you are to meet a swift and brutal defeat, Ser, if your charm is the only weapon in your arsenal."

Laughing heartily at her wit, he winked in response.

"Fear not, sweet ladies, I have a few tricks up my sleeve, should my smile not be enough to blind the other knights. Although I am convinced that it will be."

As introductions were made, the three sat together underneath the russett foliage of the tree above them, exchanging recollections from their childhoods and talking excitedly of the plans they had to make the most of their time together before the tourney.

After an hour or so had passed of Gwayne delighting in amusing the ladies with his, admittedly, embellished tales of gallantry and heroism, his face fell slightly.

The sparkle in his eye diminishing, he turned to Alicent.

"With regret, my dear ladies, I have tarried too long in your sweet company and must present myself to my father."

Alicent looked commiseratingly at her brother, knowing as she did how little her Lord Father cared for his son's presence. 

"I'm sure father will be most pleased to see you. In any case, I certainly am." 

Looking up at his sister from his somewhat reclined position along the grass, in front of the two ladies, his expression softened and he squeezed her hand affectionately before jumping up. 

Bowing before the ladies respectfully, he wished them a good afternoon before turning on his heel in the direction of his father's apartments, little expecting a happy reunion. 

Otto Hightower's reception of his son was as cold as he had expected it to be but, mercifully, short. He had only expressed his expectation that his son would perform to the honour of their House at the upcoming tourney, and shown him his living quarters, which were along the hall from Alicent's.

At dinner, Gwayne and Alicent had only been able to exchange glances at one another in solidarity. He had sought her out in her own apartments afterwards to catch up on the events they had missed in each other's lives over the course of months of separation.

With a boyish timidity, Gwayne asked Alicent if he might join her in her activities the following day, outside of his own training schedule. Looking indulgently at her brother and taking his hand in hers, she responded in a light, jesting tone.

"Why on earth do you think I asked you here, if not to spend time with me, you fool?"

Smiling at her in earnest now, Gwayne playfully tapped his chin.

"As I said, sister, my charming smile and dashing manner will be your champions at the tourney." 

Gwayne allowed himself to fall backwards against the chaise he was sitting on as his sister playfully pushed him in the chest and rolled her eyes at him. 

Smirking at his sister, Gwayne posed his next question with a similarly jesting tone, which he hoped concealed his vested interest in her answer.

"And will your lovely friend be joining us?" He asked, a glint in his eye. 

Alicent swatted him on the shoulder.

"Y/N has been a good friend to me. The days have not been half so long or lonely since I met her. I do hope you two will be good friends. I’ve told her so much about you."

"Nothing good, I hope," he smirked. "I have a reputation as a shameless charmer to maintain."

"Be good, Gwayne. She won't fall for your charm."

Rising to bid Gwayne good night as she left the room, Alicent did not hear Gwayne murmur quietly, "we'll see about that."

Part 2 up

@liafiction @ambrosia-v-black @darknessinside11 @just-some-random-blogger

[just-some-random-blogger]

Snow Angel

Daemon's Version

I'll angel in the snow until I'm worthy but if it kills me, I tried.

Gwyane's Version ❄ Daemon's Version ❄ Aegon's Version ❄ Aemond's Version ❄ Jacaerys' Version ❄ Cregan's Version ❄ Criston's Version

Daemon Targaryen x Snow!Reader | 700< | cw: fem!reader, reader is Lord Rickon Stark's bastard daughter, canon divergence, angst, violence, blood, war, death, typos, etc.

A/N: renee rapp my beloved

Though you were his wife by law, you were not by heart.

It did not hurt you, at least not anymore. You understood your place. You understood your duty; your duty was to your house, to your family, to him.

This was how you found yourself in the crosshairs of peril.

Daemon had been lost for days on end. He'd not given word ever since his proclamation to seize Harrenhal for the Queen— for his niece, his beloved niece. You knew why he was so eager to act. He so badly wanted to win Rhaenyra's favor.

They had not seen eye to eye lately, and one could say it was your fault. You were getting in the middle of their relationship, you, his wife. It felt as though there was not a soul in Westeros who did not know of their relations, and yet even in that blatant shame, not once did you ever bring it up to your husband.

Not once.

Why?

Because he saved you when you were wed. You had been promised to an old lord known to be a wife beater. You were told that it was the best match you would ever get, but then you caught the interest of the prince of Dragonstone, even if for a fleeting moment.

You thought that what you had was akin to desire, if not love, but it seems he only married you to spite someone that truly stoked such a thing within him. And now, you were sent to the North to remind your half brother of House Stark's pledge to that person, to Queen Rhaenyra. Your kin did not take kindly to that. But it was not Cregan that found offence in your appearance, but his men, some five of them.

Daemon dreams about this in Harrenhal. He dreams of five direwolves pulling you apart, limb from limb. He wakes up in a cold sweat because of it. When he rouses with word that a raven came telling of the conditions of his wife, he did not need to read its contents to be inspired to saddle Caraxes.

He makes his dragon land inside Winterfell and demands, "WHERE IS MY WIFE?!"

Cregan runs and meets him once he dismounted, leading him to your room.

His expression falls when he sees you. You were badly cut and beaten. You looked like you were ready to greet the Stranger. He grabs Cregan by his furs and hisses, "where are the men that did this?"

"I've sent them to the Wall," Stark raises a hand, indicating he did not want to fight.

"The Wall?" he shoves him away, "their heads should be on a sp-"

"They are my men. I will do with them as-"

"They outnumbered and ambushed my wife! You think they deserve the honor of keeping their heads?!"

Daemon was about to draw Dark Sister, until he heard a soft voice call his name. He turns to you, catching the way you stirred, and immediately comes to your side.

You weakly reach out a hand and he takes it. He is warm, a complete opposite to you. You feel lethargic but you manage to pull your lips into a semblance of a smile. You whisper, "you've come."

Your husband stares at you. He clutches your hand in both of his.

You rub his skin with your thumb.

He shakes his head, "I will exact your injuries of your attackers. They will regret the day they left their mothers' cunts."

You no longer have the energy to respond. You weakly smile at him before closing your eyes.

He stays with you until you fall asleep. He stay with you until he is told your eyes would no longer open again. He had to be subdued before he killed the maester that announced the news.

Cregan could do little to stop the prince and Caraxes from flying off to the Wall. He all but threatened to burn the whole of it down if your attackers did not come forth. And when they do, Daemon tells them to fight him or be fed to his dragon.

And so the fools attacked him, and were slain, and were fed to his dragon anyway. He flies back to Harrenhal after, and you haunt him in his dreams.

[austinbutlerslovers]

Benny Cross the Bikeriders Fantasy Part 6 Finale

Label Mature 18+

Chapter 6 For Keeps 🔗Chapter 1 🔗Chapter 2 🔗Chapter 3 🔗Chapter 4 🔗Chapter 5

🔗 Master List

Summary With every thing stripped from Benny he begins to understand what he really wants out of life and after a fateful turn of events putting your safety at risk finalizes his decision changing both of your lives forever.

♠️ Passionate Smut ♠️ Edging • claiming •oral on female• sexual teasing •mutual mastrubation • pinning •mating press •breeding kink• clit stimulation•nipple play •breast play • rough sex • multiple orgasms •multiple cream pies

📖 Proof Reader @purejasmine 🫦 Smut Consultant @burnthheparaphilia

Heavily Inspired by the Bikeriders Movie Mentions of death ☠️ attempted violation of female💥

🏍️ Inspo: anonymous requests combined •The ‘red dress’ scene (but Bennys there) •Benny desperately wants to get you pregnant •Benny protective over you •The ‘fight scene’ with angry sex •Happy ending for Benny

For Keeps

The day of the Vandals picnic arrives and when you and Benny ride in the scene is a far cry from the gatherings you remember.

The atmosphere is pure chaos, loud music pulses through the air with everyone heavily intoxicated, the usual beers replaced by hard liquor and hooch. Scantily clad women mingle through the crowd, their presence heightening the already rowdy energy. The heavy scent of marijuana blends with the roar of motorcycles, amplifying the wild unruly ambiance.

As you and Benny pull up, the bikers erupt into cheers and chants, their voices ringing with excitement. “Benny’s back!” some shout, their enthusiasm undeniable “The legend lives on!” Cal yells enthusiastically, his voice cutting through the cheers of the group.

As Benny dismounts the motorcycle, he can’t help but smile, his face lighting up with a mixture of relief and exhilaration. The warm reception from the Vandals fills him with a sense of belonging and joy.

After you dismount, Benny carefully retrieves his crutch from where he’s welded a custom piece to fit his bike. With you by his side, he steadies himself on the crutch and makes his way toward the group of Vandals gathered at a table, with Johnny and Brusy seated front and center.

Johnny’s eyes fall to Benny’s cast and crutch as he approaches. “You rode all the way in on that?” Johnny asks, a note of surprise and teasing in his voice.

“Yeah, I just strapped it to the bike,” Benny replies with a weary sigh, the strain of riding with a broken ankle evident in his expression.

You interject with a hint of frustration in your voice. “He needs all of this because his ankle is still healing, Johnny,” you say, your words edged with anger from your unresolved argument about Benny.

You side eye Johnny before spotting Betty, Donna, and Gail waving you down in the distance. Turning to Benny with a loving smile, you cup his jaw and press a big, lingering kiss to his cheek. “You need anything, you let me know,” you say sweetly and as you step back, you see the glimmer of appreciation in Benny’s eyes as he watches you depart, a dreamy smile on his lips.

You know how much Benny cherishes his time with the Vandals, and despite your unease of him remaining in the club, you leave him to reconnect with his friends.

As you sit with the old ladies, you watch in disbelief as the new chapters of Vandals revel in the chaos of drinking, fighting, and wild behavior.

The club scene has transformed into a display of menacing bikers. There are more fights, louder arguments, and public displays of fornication than you’ve ever witnessed in your life. The atmosphere is filled with the raw energy of unbridled menace, making the whole scene feel oppressive.

Benny finds you a short time later and sits down at the picnic table, resting his crutch beside him. He listens to you recount the tales of how he’s recovering and how much better he’s doing to the group of gathered ladies. He looks over at you fondly, enjoying your company and wanting to be by your side more than he does with the members of the club that he can no longer keep up with as they dance and drink and shout and run wild.

As nightfall descends, the groups spread out around various campfires, a long standing Vandal tradition. The main Vandals gather closely, with Zipco regaling the members with wild stories, his voice rising above the crackling flames.

The men settle into a variety of spots, some perched on weathered logs, others lounging in mismatched chairs, and a few simply sitting cross-legged on the ground.

The fire casts a warm, flickering glow over the scene, illuminating their faces as they listen and laugh, wrapped in the camaraderie of the night.

You and Benny sit on chairs leaning against each other as he absently runs his fingers over your hand and the tender gesture makes you smile. When he steals the occasional glances at you with his eyes filled with love, it deepens your smile even more.

Across the fire, Johnny watches the two of you from his seat. Betty perched comfortably on his lap. His gaze is on Benny, distracted from Zipco's animated storytelling, his mind drifting to a decision he made long ago that needs to be addressed tonight.

Johnny nudges Betty gently before rising abruptly, drawing everyone’s attention away from Zipco’s tale. He looks over the group, before nodding to Benny and gesturing for him to follow.

Benny rises slowly, gently squeezing your hand for reassurance as he balances on one foot. You hand him his crutch ensuring he’s steady with a tender touch before he heads off.

Johnny leads Benny a short distance away from the group, guiding him towards their bikes. Benny rests his crutch on a piece of fence, using it for support as he steadies himself. The night is dark with only a park lamp casting a soft, yellow glow over them.

“Means a lot you coming out here all banged up like that,” Johnny says pointing at his cast while Benny lights up his cigarette.

“I’ve been thinking,” Johnny continues, “I can’t run this club forever. I’m gonna have to find somebody to…” He pauses, his eyes meeting Benny’s, “to take it over.”

Benny exhales a cloud of smoke. “What about Brusy?” he asks.

Johnny shakes his head, placing a hand on his bike. “I love Brusy like a brother,” he says, his voice firm, “but it ain’t Brusy.”

Benny exhales his smoke again as Johnny adds, “Brusy will get eaten alive by these guys.”

Johnny trails his hand along his bike and looks Benny in the eyes. “It’s gotta be somebody that…” He searches Bennys eyes, “they respect. It’s gotta be somebody that ain’t gonna take no shit from ‘em.”

A silence falls as Johnny and Benny look toward the campfire where the bikers are gathered.

“It’s you,” Johnny finally says.

Benny looks at Johnny, chuckling softly as he takes a drag from his cigarette.

“C’mon,” Benny says cracking a smile, thinking Johnny isn’t serious.

Johnny’s gaze is unwavering as he stands up from his bike, walking over so close to Benny that it’s intimidating. Johnny’s eyes bore into Benny with an intensity that is unsettling.

“Look, I built this club out of nothing,” Johnny says, stepping even closer gesturing with his hand. “I put more into this fucking club than my own family. This is my family,” he insists.

Benny looks at Johnny with newfound understanding, seeing the concern in Johnny’s eyes.

“Y’know, I don’t know how many fucking chapters we got now. We’ve got old guys, new guys, young guys—most of the new ones I don’t know. But the guys I do know, they ain’t gonna follow anybody except somebody who can hold their own.”

Johnny’s eyes are almost desperate as they lock onto Benny.

Benny quickly looks down, avoiding Johnny’s intense gaze.

“Look at me,” Johnny demands. Benny hesitates before finally meeting his eyes, a flicker of resignation showing.

After a tense moment Benny breaks the silence.

“I’m all fucked up,” Benny answers, gesturing to his cast. “And my girl is the one paying my fucking dues,” he confesses with vulnerability.

Johnny’s scoffs as Benny takes a long drag from his cigarette.

Benny exhales a cloud of smoke with a sigh, turning his head away as he speaks. “You’re a grown man,” he says, before meeting Johnny’s intense gaze.“You’ve got a house, you’ve got a job. I don’t want that. I never cared about any of that.”

Johnny’s face turns serious as he taps Benny’s vest, right on his Vandals biker patch.

“That’s why it’s you,” Johnny says. “All these guys in here, they’re all trying to be you. You see?” he asks, looking Benny deeply in the eyes.

Benny looks off into the distance, seeing you quietly by the campfire, the soft glow of the flames illuminating your beautiful face. His heart aches with the weight of the decision before him. “Johnny…” he begins with hesitation.

But Johnny gets in so close he’s inches from Benny’s face, and Benny can feel his breath as Johnny says, “It’s yours,” his voice low but firm, each word carrying a heavy significance. Benny meets Johnny’s intense gaze, the silence between them tense with unspoken words.

Seeing the extreme conflict in Benny’s eyes, Johnny softens his resolve slightly and finally turns away.

“Hey, you know, just think it over,” Johnny says in a lighter tone, trying to mask his desperation.

Benny can feel Johnny’s urgency as he takes a final drag from his cigarette and gathers his crutch, using it to return to the campfire. He takes one last look back at Johnny who remains rested against his bike, lost in thought.

When Benny returns to sit beside you, there’s a profound change in him. His eyes carry the weight of deep thought as he sinks into his seat next to you.

The ride home reflects his mood, cold and windy, with a chill that mirrors the silence between you. Benny is clearly lost in thought. By the time you both arrive home, it’s late. He’s sore, aching, and exhausted.

You head straight to warm up in a hot shower. As you stand behind him, washing his back with a washcloth, you gently ease his sore muscles as he stands under the warm water, letting the stress of the day slowly wash away.

After drying off, you settle into the fresh sheets of your soft bed, and turn off the light. Benny curls up against you, his breath warm and soft against your neck. As you begin to drift off in the comfort of his arms, he quietly reveals what’s been on his mind, “Johnny offered me the club.” Benny says his voice heavy with the gravity of his thoughts.

You turn slightly to look at him, feeling a twinge of anxiety.

“He said it’s mine if I want it,” Benny continues, looking into your eyes feeling undecided.

“Well, what did you say?” you ask gently.

“I didn’t say anything,” Benny replies, pulling you closer.

You rest your head on the pillow, thinking about the weight of the decision Benny will have to make. “Just rest now,” you say softly, your voice soothing as you gently stroke his hand, offering him comfort while he processes his thoughts.

Restored

The next week Benny finally gets his cast removed at the hospital. It’s a moment of triumph and relief. The doctor carefully uses a small, vibrating saw to cut through the hardened plaster, making quick, precise movements to ensure Benny’s skin remains untouched. As the cast comes off, he stretches his leg, testing its flexibility for the first time. The feeling of freedom is evident in his smile.

When Benny stands for the first time without the cast, he takes a tentative step, then another, gaining confidence with each movement. He turns to you, his eyes shining with gratitude, and wraps you in a warm hug. “Thank you, baby. I couldn’t have done it without you,” he says, his voice filled with deep appreciation. He pulls you in for a heartfelt kiss, a gesture that speaks volumes about how much your support has meant to him.

Once home, Benny eagerly dives into his chores. He starts by de-weeding the garden, pulling out stubborn weeds with a determined look of satisfaction. Next, he tackles his list of tasks around the house: cleaning the drains in the sink, and repairing the sticking window in the living room. His enthusiasm is undeniable as he works, each completed task a testament to his regained strength and stamina.

After he finishes his work, Benny heads to the shower, stripping naked as he turns the water on, letting it warm up. The steam begins to fill the bathroom, softening the edges of the mirror.

He steps under the stream, letting the hot water cascade over his tired muscles, washing away the dirt and grime from his skin. As he lathers up, his eyes drift down to his foot, where the red, jagged scar stretches across his ankle, a constant reminder of what he’s been through.

By nightfall, Benny surprises you by preparing a home cooked meal. He playfully pushes you out of the kitchen when you enter , his hands firm yet gentle on your waist.

“Go on, get off your feet,” he insists with a smile. As you turn back to protest, he leans in and kisses you, long and lingering, his gratitude evident in the way his lips meet yours.

His smile widens as you part, and he can’t help but watch the way your hips sway as you head to the living room, a warmth spreading through him at the sight.

He serves up spaghetti with tomato sauce and a crisp salad with Italian dressing. It’s a humble, straightforward meal, but the care and effort he put in to prepare it make it extraordinary. You both enjoy dinner with satisfied grins, savoring the flavors and the comfort of the familiar routine.

After dinner, Benny leads you into the living room, where he selects a record from your collection, holding it gently as he slides it from its sleeve and placing the vinyl onto the turntable.

He lowers the needle, and the room fills with the warm, crackling sound of the song as the music starts to play, filling the space with a melodic tune.

Benny turns to you, his eyes lit with anticipation, and gently pulls you into his arms, holding you close as he brushes his lips against yours in a soft, tender kiss.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to do this with you?” he asks, his hand resting around your waist as you move to the music.

“Forever, Benny,” you reply, your smile mirroring his. You both bask in the joy of the moment, swaying together and savoring the simple pleasure of being in each other’s arms.

He kisses you again, this time with greater need, his hands cupping your face.

“I love you,” he whispers. You look into his eyes, a playful glint in yours.

“Show me,” you say, pulling him by both hands toward the stairs.

Benny’s face lights up with a grin as he follows you up, step by step remembering when he was stuck on the ground floor with a cast.

“I missed this too,” he says in a playful tone his voice full of anticipation, making both of you laugh as you ascend the stairs together.

Once you reach the bedroom, Benny lifts you effortlessly into his strong arms. He holds you close, his eyes dark with desire and affection as your legs wrap around his waist.

“I’ve been wanting to hold you like this again for so long,” he says, his grin is infectious his eyes lock on to yours .

“Me too, Benny,” you reply, smiling as a thrill runs through you being carried in his strong arms. You look into his eyes, your heart pounding, and gently cup his face, lowering your lips to his in a soft, appreciative kiss.

Benny gently lays you on the bed, his touch tender as he settles you into the familiar comfort of the master bedroom.

His fingers caress your face with affectionate care, his eyes reflecting deep gratitude and longing. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed this….how much I missed you… “ he says as his thumb gently brushes over your lips, “I thought about being healed and back in your arms everyday.” He smiles fondly.

His eyes soften giving way to something deeper. “You cared for me at my worst and …I just want to show you how much I appreciate you,” he says, his voice laced with emotion as he leans in and kisses you tenderly, full of his unspoken desire.

With a soft touch, he begins unbuttoning your top, his fingers lingering on your skin as he slowly removes it. His hands then trail to your jeans, sliding them down your legs with deliberate care. He stands to take off his own shirt, revealing his chiseled, muscular torso without a bruise in sight. His smooth skin showing all the contours of his muscles in the light.

You grin at him, taking in how handsome he looks, noticing the flex in his muscles seem even stronger than before. Your eyes drop to his hands as he begins unbuttoning his jeans, and your heart rate spikes with anticipation.

Benny lowers his jeans, standing before you, completely naked. His cock is long and hard, substantial in length, a clear sign of how much he desires you.

He gives you a commanding look as he grins his voice low and full of authority, “Show me how much you missed me baby” he says lowering his hand and running it along his cock. “Play with yourself until you begging for me” he orders.

Your breath quickens, a thrill coursing through you at his words. You seductively smile at him unhooking your bra and letting it slide down your arms, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze. Next, you slip your fingers into the waistband of your panties, peeling them off until you are completely bare before him.

You settle back against the bed, spreading your legs just enough to give him a tantalizing view.

Your fingers start to explore yourself with soft a deliberate touch, teasing your entrance gently at first, before pushing your fingers inside, causing a soft moan to escape your lips making Benny’s eyes darken with desire.

He climbs on top of you, his weight pressing down at your sides just enough to remind you of his presence, his breath warm and tantalizing against your skin.

He hovers above you, his body close but not quite touching, teasing you with the promise of what’s to come.

“Keep going for me,” he commands wrapping his hand around his cock, slowly stroking himself, the need between you building with each passing second.

You continue moving your fingers within yourself, your breathing becoming ragged as you surrender to the sensation. “Benny,” you whisper, your voice trembling with raw need as he pants above you. His eyes locked on yours as he strokes his cock harder in a quick deliberate rhythm.

As your moans grow desperate for him he lowers his mouth to your neck, trailing kisses that send shivers down your spine, his lips warm and soft, lingering just long enough to make you crave more.

His hand slides to your breast, his touch teasing as he firmly pinches your nipple, eliciting a gasp that makes you arch into him, the pleasure sharp and exquisite.

Benny’s breath quickens as he watches you beneath him, your face a picture of pure bliss, your body responding eagerly to the dual sensations of your own touch and his. His breaths become more ragged, his hand moving faster, stroking his cock harder

“Tell me you want me,” he whispers his voice thick with desire, his words sending a thrill through you.

“Please,” you beg, your voice laced with need. “I want you Benny.” The intensity of your plea drives him wild.

Without a word, Benny takes your wrist, pulling your fingers from you and guiding them directly into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around them, tasting you with a groan of satisfaction.

Then he places your hand back on your clit. “Tease it while I taste you,” he says as he lowers himself between your legs.

You do as he says, rubbing your clit with increasing pressure as his lips press against your soft folds, his tongue flicking and teasing, his warm breath fanning over your skin.

His mouth works expertly, licking and sucking with just the right amount of pressure, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

He places his fingers over yours, making you press harder on your clit as he guides your hand in slow, deliberate circles. “Benny,” you moan, your voice trembling with need.

He grips your hips, pulling you closer to his face, his breath hot against your skin as he laps at you, each stroke of his tongue teasing and deliberate. His movements are unrelenting drawing out every sensation until your eyes flutter closed and a loud moan escapes your lips, the pleasure too much to bear.

Your fingers circle your clit faster and faster, the sharp jolts of pleasure amplifying every sensation as Benny’s eager lips and tongue work at a relentless pace. Your hips begin to buck against his mouth, and he holds you firmly in place, your thighs tightening around his head, trapping him. He buries his face between your legs, thrusting his tongue deep inside you, coaxing your orgasm with deliberate strokes.

Loud moans escape your lips, the sound a mix of desperation and pleasure as your release comes, your body trembling as you squirt directly into his mouth. Benny groans against you, the vibrations of his voice making you moan in pleasure with him.l

As you come down from your high, breathless and spent, Benny takes his hands to your thighs, gently pushing them up and wide, your legs bending easily under his touch.

“I’m not even close to being done with you yet,” he breathes, his voice heavy with passion as he gazes down at you.

His hands grasp beneath your knees, his grip firm holding you in a way that leaves you completely vulnerable to him.

“You’ve given me everything, and I’m going to make sure you feel every inch of how much appreciate you.” He says using one hand to guide his tip to your entrance as his other hand keeps your leg firmly in place.

He pushes his cock deep into to your soaked walls. The sensation of him stretching you wider as he pushes in makes your breath catch, the tight pressure building with each inch he claims.

He settles within you, his large cock filling you completely, pressing against you at an angle that has you moaning his name.

He shudders replacing his hand to hold your other leg, spreading you wide apart the position leaving you completely at his mercy. With a deep, groan, he presses hips against you, pushing his cock all the way inside you as he begins to thrust.

His eyes flicker between your face and body as he watches the way you take him in. Every moan every gasp, the way your breasts bounce with every thrust, your nipples hardening with every jolt of pleasure.

He shifts his angle slightly, hitting just the right spot to make you moan louder.

“You feel …so good,” he praises, his voice raw and full of desire. His large hand slides up your side, until it reaches your breast, he

squeezes firmly, brushing his thumbs over your nipple before pinching it firmly between his fingers.

The sensation sends a sharp wave of pleasure through you, making you gasp. Benny’s eyes darken as he watches your reaction, the way your body arches into his touch, craving more.

He lowers himself onto you, his chest pressing firmly against yours. The weight of him feels grounding, the heat of his body searing against your skin.

His breath comes in warm, ragged pants against your neck as he leans in, capturing your lips in a deep, hungry kiss. His hands cup your breasts squeezing and teasing your nipples as his hips thrust in a relentless rhythm, driving his cock deeper into you making you moan in pleasure.

His hands slide to the backs of your thighs, gripping them again as he picks up the pace, his thrusts become deeper, more intense, his cock pushing against a place that has you moaning into his mouth with every firm stroke.

The pressure is euphoric his cock filling you completely, leaving no room for anything else. You can feel every inch of him, every pulse and throb, as he claims you over and over again.

His grip on your thighs tightens, holding you in place as he increases his pace, his hips slamming against you with a force that leaves you breathless.

The controlling position has your body arching and writhing beneath him as he drives you closer and closer to the point of no return.

“Benny,” you cry out your voice trembling with desperation as he watches you fall apart beneath him. Your abs tensing as your walls clenching tightly around his cock.

You can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel Benny as he takes you higher and higher, his pace relentless, his desire for you all consuming.

Your moans are unending as your body trembles, your heart racing as you teeter on the edge of oblivion,

“You’re gonna come“ he says breathlessly and reaches his hands between your bodies finding your clit. His fingers press firmly against it as he thrusts. Your body responds immediately, your hips bucking up to meet his touch as you moan desperately into the air.

He pulls you into a searing kiss his lips moving against yours with a fierce intensity, as if he’s pouring every ounce of emotion into the connection. His lips never leave yours, staying softly pressed together in a series of hot, open-mouthed kisses.

The pleasure becomes so intense that you moan into each others mouths feeling the tension building into an unbearable peak.

You cling to him, your nails digging into his back as you surrender to the sensation.

“Come with me,” he urges , his voice rough with desire as he gently guides your legs back until you’re perfectly positioned beneath him in a mating press. His biceps flexing as he holds your legs in place.

“This one’s for keeps,” he says, his voice strained with effort, each word a promise as his hips thrust driving himself deeper. He pushes harder, his back arching with each powerful stroke that fills your completely.

“I’m gonna come!” He yells and you both cry out in unison as the intensity overtakes you, his body claiming you with an overwhelming force.

Your orgasm crashes through you your walls pulsing and clenching around his cock as he continues thrusting into you. Your muscles tensing and quivering uncontrollably as wave after wave of pleasure surges through you.

Benny lets out a deep, guttural groan, his body shuddering as he reaches his own climax. You can feel the rush of his release hot and thick, filling you completely as he comes deep inside you. His cock pulses with each throb of your core, the warmth of his cum spreading through you, mingling with the slickness of your own arousal.

Your breath comes in shallow, ragged gasps, as you cling to him, the sensation filling you with a sense of completion, of being claimed by him in a way that words could never convey.

Benny’s chest is heaving with exertion as he rests his face in the crook of your neck. You can feel the sweat on his skin, the way his body trembles with the effort.

Benny groans as the intensity of his movements begins to subside. His cock softly pulses making him feel euphoric as a satisfied sigh escapes his lips. His hands, once so firm, now gently caress your skin, his touch tender, almost reverent, savoring every second of being connected to you in this moment.

He remains close, his body still pressed tightly against yours, his cock nestled deep within you, as the final waves of pleasure slowly fade away.

You’re left in the quiet silence of the night, your bodies still entangled, your breaths slowly synchronizing, as you both bask in the lingering warmth and connection that only the depth of your love can bring.

Devoted

Benny repeatedly misses meeting after meeting with the Vandals. Every time the phone rings with Johnny Brusy or Cal on the other end, he comes up with an excuse not to attend, choosing instead to stay with you.

He hugs you, kisses you, and showers you with affection at every opportunity. He can’t seem to keep his hands off you especially your stomach, where he’s convinced his baby is growing.

One afternoon, his curiosity finally gets the better of him. You’re both doing simple tasks around the living room, you’re dusting the shelves, humming softly to yourself, while he’s putting records back into their sleeves, the warm notes of a vinyl playing in the air.

You move with a lightness on your tiptoes as you dust the higher shelves, a bright smile never leaving your face. There’s something different about you today, more radiant.

As you reach for the next spot, you accidentally knock a book from the shelf and you smile as you bend down to pick it up. You kneel carefully, one hand resting on your waist as you stand back up, the movement gentle and deliberate.​

Benny pauses, watching you for a moment, mesmerized by how you seem to be glowing. It’s not just your mood or the way you move with a gentle grace it’s something deeper, something in the way you carry yourself.

“You’re like sunshine today baby,” Benny says, his voice soft with admiration.

You look back at him, your eyes sparkling. “Am I?” you ask with a grin, stretching up on your tip toes again, playfully dusting his shoulder.

He chuckles watching you, feeling a sense of wonder. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “You’re different. Something’s changed.”

As you walk around him, a soft giggle escaping your lips, he senses it. There’s a new softness to your movements, something gentle but undeniable, and he’s drawn to it.

He can’t help but be curious. “Let me get a look at you,” he says, stepping closer, gently resting his hands on your waist.

He kneels in front of you, bathed in the soft afternoon light of the living room and lifts the hem of your dress.

His fingers trace the skin of your stomach, his touch gentle but searching, trying to understand the change he’s sensing.

His eyes fixate on you navel with a burning curiosity. “How soon until we can tell?” he asks in a serious tone,

You smile at his earnestness. “It’ll be a few months until the doctors can tell, Benny,” you reveal, fully aware he won’t be too pleased with the wait.

He frowns slightly, his thumb lightly brushing across your belly button.

“I’ve been giving it my all, you know,” he says, his voice playful as he leans closer speaking softly to your belly. “Been working hard in there every day,” he adds with a teasing grin, making you giggle.

He then cautiously presses his finger into your swollen ovary. “Ow Benny!” You exclaim and he looks up at you his eyes worried “I’m sorry baby” he says quickly his eyes full of repentance.

“it’s alright Benny.” you say smiling at him warmly seeing how fascinated he is.

“I have to know.” He says having you hold your dress back.

He presses both of your ovaries with his thumbs at the same time making an odd sensation course through you as your face winces in pain.

“Hurts?” He asks glancing up at you before focusing back on your abdomen.

“Yea Benny it feels really sore“ you confirm your voice strained. He has a look of sudden realization as he immediately releases his hands standing taller than you.

He glances down at your abdomen then back into your eyes

“I’m a hundred percent sure my baby is growing in you right now.” He admits

“Benny what!” Your say smiling at his enthusiasm

“You’re having my baby.” he confirms and you gently laugh seeing the conviction in his eyes.

“Benny” you say sweetly wrapping your arms around his neck gazing into his blue eyes lovingly. “There’s no way you can tell this soon.”

Benny glances down between your bodies before looking back into your eyes his hands firmly on your waist. “I’m one hundred percent sure.” He says with unwavering certainty.

Better Off

With Benny avoiding time with the Vandals, it comes as a shock when you receive a call one afternoon, and it’s Betty on the line.

Her voice is trembling as she relays “I have some devastating news… Brusy… he died in a motorcycle accident.”

Your breath catches, and you grip the phone tightly as Betty explains. It was an early morning ride when someone backed out of their driveway without seeing him. His death was instant. You cover your mouth in shock, trying to process what she’s saying. “What about Gail?” you manage to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“She’s inconsolable,” Betty replies, her voice breaking with emotion.

In a daze, you bid her farewell and hang up the phone heading straight to the garage, where you find Benny working on a bike. You stand in the doorway, hesitating, unsure how to break the news. Benny finally looks up at you, his hands covered in oil, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

“What is it?” he asks, noticing your distress.

You take a deep breath, deciding to just tell him plainly. “Benny… Brusy died in a motorcycle accident.”

His reaction is not what you expect. Without even looking up, he mutters, “He’s better off.”

You’re stunned. “What?” you ask, thinking you misheard him.

“I said, he’s better off,” Benny repeats, this time taking the cigarette out of his mouth to look at you, his tone detached.

“Benny, you can’t say that,” you try to reason with him, still in disbelief.

Benny shrugs, going back to work on his bike, his indifference unsettling you. “How can you not have feelings, Benny?” you ask becoming frustrated with his lack if concern.

“My dad made sure of that,” he says, not bothering to look up as he tightens a bolt on the bike’s engine

“What did you say?” you ask, stepping further into the garage, drawn in by the rare mention of his past.

“He’s better off too,” Benny adds, still unbothered, as if he were discussing something trivial

“Benny!” you exclaim, shocked. “Your father… passed away?” you ask, your concern rising.

“Yeah,” he replies nonchalantly, wiping his hands clean of oil and tossing the rag over his shoulder. “It’s just as well.

The news hits you hard, but Benny’s stoic demeanor leaves you feeling helpless.

The next week you attend Brusy funeral with all of the Vandals to pay your respects. The family refused the floral arrangements from the club, so Johnny has the Vandals form a line at the entrance, a silent show of solidarity.

As Brusy’s family arrives, his mother and father are the only ones who attend. His father clutches his mother as they walk through the line of Vandals to the ceremony. Brusys mother recognizes Johnny, and her grief turns to anger. She looks him in the eyes with disgust and spits directly in his face.

“Get out of here, would ya?” Brusys father adds, leaning in after her with a serious tone. But Johnny and the Vandals remain, unmoved.

After Brusys death, the guilt weigha heavily on Benny. Seeing his brotherhood again in such sad times shifted something inside him

To your dismay, Benny throws himself wholeheartedly back into the Vandals. He’s running missions, going on weekly rides, and always at Johnny’s beck and call, eager to help at a moment’s notice.

He gets into more fights, racks up more speeding tickets, and makes more court appearances, as if he’d been desperate to make up for lost time.

Even though part of him wants to pull away, he cant seem to let go. The thrill, the loyalty to his brothers—he couldn’t resist, no matter how much he might have wanted to break free

Every time he comes home and sees you, there’s flicker of guilt in his eyes. He knows he should leave the club—he told you several times that he planned to walk away from the Vandals. “I’m just gonna leave,” he’d say, but you could always see the doubt behind his words deep down you knew he didnt meant it.​

Every time Johnny called, Benny was right back by his side. Even though Benny didn’t want to take over the club, he could see the emptiness Johnny felt after losing Brusy, and that’s what kept him tethered-what kept him coming back.

After Brusy died, things began to change in the club. More people from tougher walks of life wanted to join, seeking the comfort and strength in numbers that the brotherhood provided.

Johnny had to turn away dozens of them, questioning their loyalty or finding it lacking altogether. But as new sects sprang up with different styles of leadership he began to lose his control.

The parties and picnics grew wilder and more chaotic until Benny stopped inviting you altogether. He preferred you stay home, safe and comfortable, while he helped Johnny sort through the increasingly violent and unpredictable issues that came with managing so many new, unruly chapters.

She’s Fine

When, Benny does finally invite you it’s to one of the largest parties the Vandals have ever thrown, held in an old, abandoned manor in the middle of a field in Chicago. As you arrive, a sense of unease settles in your stomach. You only know Johnny, Cal, and Cockroach; none of the old ladies from the club are there. In fact, there are only the new, provocative and wild girls, which immediately puts you on edge.

You sit with Benny as he drinks his beer, listening to Sunny, a new recruit, recount his tales of being a ‘Dead Devil’ member in California. As Sunny proudly describes his thrill of being in a club of “proper fuck-ups” like himself, you notice that the new bikers have a common uniting theme from all corners of the country.

They seem like renegades, exuding the mentality of dangerous, cutthroat survivors who are banding together to carry out their dirty work, empowered by their strength in numbers.

You try to relax, seeing the edgier side of biker life with Benny, but there’s a rougher, more aggressive undercurrent tonight. The feeling is unsettling and hard to ignore.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of a biker grabbing a girl with a roughness that’s meant to be playful, but the way he handles her is terrifying. The girl laughs it off, but the danger lurking beneath the surface is unmistakable.

When Benny drinks the last of his beer you get up to fetch him another. As you pull a cold one from the cooler in the kitchen, you encounter a skinny young woman smoking a cigarette.

“Are you new?” she asks, her eyes scanning you up and down.

“No, well, I mean, I’m with a Vandal,” you reply, gesturing towards Benny.

She takes a drag of her cigarette and offers a weak smile. “He’s handsome,” she says, her gaze lingering on Benny before she turns back to the conversation.

“I don’t blame you for being claimed by one,” she says, eyeing a biker from across the room. “I’ve had my fair share of men, but bikers… there’s something about em…the roughness, the edge, the way they push you beyond your limits,” she adds, giving you a knowing look as she takes another drag from her cigarette. “I can’t get enough of ’em,” she mutters, slowly exhaling a cloud of smoke that lingers in the air.

The biker she’s been eyeing gestures for her to come over, and without another word, she struts away, leaving you standing alone, her words hanging in the air.​

Feeling a bit uneasy, you make your way back to Benny, unable to shake the conversation. As you approach with the beer, you notice all the men are looking in the direction you just came from.

You glance back and see the girl you just spoke to is now seductively dancing for the biker in the other room, a crowd of men gathering around to watch.

It dawns on you that the new girls around the club seem different—more open, more seductive, almost like… but you shake the thought from your mind. As you sit back down next to Benny, he places his arm around you, rubbing his thumb along your shoulder, trying to comfort you.

Suddenly, Johnny bursts into the room, snapping his fingers, his eyes deadly serious.

“Hey, guys, I need you,” he says, and Benny, Cal, and two of the new recruits quickly jump up and rush outside.

“I’ll be right back,” Benny tells you, concern etched on his face as he follows Johnny out, leaving you alone on the couch.

As you sit there waiting, a creeping unease begins to settle in. You notice several bikers standing around, their eyes flicking toward you more often than you’d like. The longer you sit, the more uncomfortable you feel. The room feels heavy, the atmosphere shifting as the men’s gazes linger on you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl.

Deciding it’s safer outside, you get up, intending to wait for Benny on the porch. But as you head toward the front door, you notice several bikers watching your every move, their eyes following you like a pack of wolves eyeing prey.

A cold chill runs down your spine, and with a sinking feeling, you realize the girl who was dancing seductively in the next room is gone, along with several of the other girls leaving you in a room of men riled up without a distraction.

You clutch your body instinctively, feeling the weight of their stares, every instinct screaming that something’s not right.

Just as you reach for the front door, a large, menacing biker steps in front of you, blocking your way. “Where you going?” he demands, his voice filled with malice as he grabs your arm with a vice-like grip.

“Let me go!” you scream in shock, shoving him as hard as you can, but his grip only tightens. Panic floods your veins as another biker grabs your other arm, and a third seizes your leg. They lift you off the ground, your body fighting with everything you have, but their hold is relentless, overpowering your desperate struggle.​

“We’ll take good care of you, pretty thing,” one of them laughs, his grip like iron as he holds you.

“Let’s take her upstairs,” another one suggests, the words passing between them with a dark, unspoken understanding, as if they’ve done this a hundred times before, a silent agreement among predators who have found their prey.

Their faces are lit with excitement and thrill as they carry you to the stairwell, their eyes gleaming with twisted pleasure as their hands greedily roam over your body. “Stop it! stop it! let me go!” you panic, your voice trembling as their rough hands slide beneath your clothing, fingers brushing against your skin. “No, no!” you cry out, your voice rising in desperation.

They work together, ignoring your pleas, their grins widening as they tug at your clothing, reveling in the power they have over you. The more you resist, the more it fuels their twisted desires.

“Let’s see what else she’s hiding,” a third one grins, his fingers pushing into your waistband.

You begin to kick, punch, thrash with all your might, managing to break free of one’s grip just long enough to claw another biker across the face, leaving deep, angry red marks.

“Damn, girl you got some fight in you !” the biker yells, grabbing your wrist with force. Your screams begin to pierce the night air, each one more desperate than the last, filled with raw, frantic energy as they continue to carry you up the stairs.

“She’s never been broken in,” one of them says, a dark grin spreading across his face as he covers your mouth with his hand, muffling your screams as they drag you up toward the landing.

You begin to cry as the terrifying reality sets in, and a fist comes out of nowhere, smashing into the face of the biker covering your mouth. He stumbles back, releasing you in shock.

You see Johnny clawing his way through the men to get to you. He grabs you, pulling you out of their grasp with a fierceness that leaves no room for argument. “This is Benny’s girl!” Johnny shouts, his voice ringing with authority.

The bikers quickly realize their mistake, fear and regret flashing across their faces. “We thought she was working,” one of them stammers, panic rising in his voice as he tries to justify their actions. “We were just trying to get ours,” another says, but the words falter as he sees Johnny’s eyes burning with a need for retribution.

They begin to disperse, leaving you crumpled on the stairs, your head resting against the wall as you breathe heavily, trying to process the horror of what just happened.

Your clothes are in disarray, and you shiver uncontrollably, still feeling their hands on you, your skin crawling with fear and disgust. You try to cover yourself, but your hands are shaking too violently to close the remaining buttons. The sensation of their rough, unwanted touches lingers, burning into your mind, a memory you can’t shake.

Johnny crouches down beside you, his face serious, his attempt at reassurance doing little to comfort you. “You okay, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice gentle, but the look you give him is one of pure, absolute hatred.

Hatred for Benny still being entangled in this life, and hatred for the negligence and wildness of these new members that nearly cost you everything.

Johnny meets your gaze, his eyes pleading, trying to convince you, and maybe even himself, that everything is under control. “Nothing happened, alright?” he says, nodding as if the repetition will somehow make it true, will somehow erase the trauma that’s etched into your soul.

You stare at him blankly, your mind slipping into a numb, distant place. “Where’s Benny?” you ask weakly, your voice cracking as you teeter on the edge of shock.

The thought of how close you came to being violated by several men at once crashes over you, leaving you drowning in despair as you retreat into your mind staring blankly ahead.

“Nothing happened. You’re fine,” Johnny repeats, but the words sound distorted, as if they’re coming from far away. His is voice hollow and meaningless, as if me keeps saying the words enough times it will somehow make them true.

Just then, Benny rushes into the door way of the stairwell, his eyes wild with concern, panic evident in every line of his face. “What the fuck happened? I was gone for a minute!” he exclaims, his gaze locking onto you, taking in your disheveled appearance, your vacant stare.

“Baby, are you alright?” he asks, dropping to his knees beside you, his voice trembling with fear.

Your eyes drop to meet his, but everything feels distant, like you’re disconnected. The world around you blurs, sounds muffled and distorted. You try to speak, but no words come out, your throat tightens, and your mind is blank, unable to process what just happened.

“Benny, she’s fine, some of the guys got the wrong idea,” Johnny says, trying to downplay the situation, but there’s a tension in his voice, a realization that things have gone far beyond what he can smooth over.

“What do you mean, they got wrong idea? She can’t even talk; she’s fucking shaking!” Benny shouts, his anger flaring into something dangerous.

“It’s all been handled, it’s okay,” Johnny tries to reassure him, but Benny isn’t buying it. He sees the truth in your eyes, the trauma that words can’t cover up.

“Johnny, she’s not right,” Benny says, his voice tight with a mix of fury and desperation. He quickly takes off his jacket and wraps it around you, his hands moving up and down your arms, trying to warm you, to bring you back from the place where you’ve retreated.

“They got a little handsy,” Johnny finally admits, his voice lacking the nonchalance he’s aiming for, knowing he’s failed to protect you.

“How handsy?” Benny demands, his voice dangerous with a promise of retribution.

“They just thought she was one of the girls, but she’s fine, Benny. Nothing happened. I took care of it,” Johnny insists and his words simmer Benny’s growing rage. He trusts Johnny with his life and that means yours too.

Benny helps you to your feet, your legs trembling so violently you can barely stand. He pulls you close, holding you tightly against him “What happened, baby?” He asks in a hushed tone his eyes searching yours, desperate for some sign that you’re okay, but you can’t give him that.

Your mind is lost somewhere dark, replaying the nightmare over and over again, the terror of what could have happened gripping your heart.

“I’m taking you home, baby,” Benny says, his voice soft but firm, the determination in his tone clear. He knows he needs to get you away from here, away from the chaos, away from whatever just happened.

He scoops you up into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist. His grip is strong and protective, but beneath it is a layer of fear, of guilt, knowing that his world, his choices, brought you to this point.

As he carries you quickly to his motorcycle, you rest your head against his shoulder, still shaking, still trying to process the horror of what you just survived.

Johnny stands there, watching you both leave, scratching his head in frustration, stress etched into his features knowing this was a big fuck-up, one that might cost him to lose Benny for good.

Don’t Leave Me

As Benny rides home with you, his grip tightens around your hands, holding them firmly against his chest. You can feel the tension radiating off him, anger and fear battling for control in his mind. The roar of the engine, the wind whipping past, it all feels muted, overshadowed by the weight of what just happened. As you bury your face in his shoulder, you know deep down that things between you and the Vandals will never be the same again.

When you get home, Benny immediately takes you to the shower. He carefully helps you out of your clothing and adjusts the water temperature. As he holds you against his chest waiting for the water to warm up you finally realize you are home safe.

But it also brings a wave of emotions you’ve been holding back and tears well up in your eyes. You cling to Benny and when he looks down at you hearing your sobs, his expression softens with concern.

“Oh, baby,” he whispers, holding your face in his hands. “I’m here, I’ve got you.” He says his thumbs brushing away your tears, but you can’t find the words to tell him what really happened. The fear of what might come next—or maybe just the shock of it all—keeps the truth stuck in your throat.

“Shh shh it’s alright” He says seeing you struggle to find the words and calmly guides you under the hot water the warmth immediately embraces your stunned body.

You close your eyes, letting the water cleanse you and when you open them, Benny has stepped away to give you some privacy.

“Benny,” you call out, panic creeping into your voice feeling the vulnerability of being alone.

“Yeah, baby?” he responds, returning to the doorway shirtless preparing for bed.

“Don’t leave me,” you plead, your voice tinged with a sadness that cuts through him.

“Baby, I won’t,” he reassures you, reaching into the shower and turning off the water. “I’ll stay by you all night,” he says as he helps you out and dries you off wrapping the soft towel around your shoulders. “I’ll stay with you forever,” he says holding you close and pressing a kiss to your forehead to reassure you of your safety, but you can see the turmoil in his eyes.

Later that night, you lie awake. Benny’s arm is wrapped protectively around you, but despite his comforting presence, you can’t shake the fear of the chaos that unfolded. The new Vandals are ruthless without remorse and you’re terrified that this is just the beginning and that things will only spiral further out of control.

You wonder why Benny won’t leave the club and why he refuses to take over, and it dawns on you that he must hate what the club has become. What started as a brotherhood and a symbol of freedom has turned into chaos and mob mentality. Benny’s only reason for staying is to help Johnny enforce some semblance of order, but even that seems like a losing battle now.

You decide to tell Benny the truth in the morning. It wasn’t just a misunderstanding with a few members getting handsy; they were all going to violate you, and Johnny barely managed to save you in time.

As you lie there you understand the truth, Johnny lied because he knows the only reason Benny would ever leave the club is for you.

When you wake up the next morning, Benny is in the shower. Feeling famished, you decide to make breakfast for both of you, slipping into a short-sleeved dress before heading downstairs.

After preparing eggs and toast, you set the food on the counter and call up to Benny, determined to tell him everything. You know that once he hears the truth, he’ll finally have the reason he needs to walk away from the Vandals.

You hear his footsteps upstairs, the familiar creak of the dresser drawer opening, but he doesn’t come down. When he doesn’t respond to your second call, an uneasiness forms in your chest and you head upstairs to check on him.

“Benny?” you call softly as you step into the master bedroom. Benny turns to face you in the act of quickly throwing on his jacket. The tension in the air is undeniable as you take in the scene. Something’s off…something’s very wrong.

“Yeah?” he replies, his voice tight, as though he’s been caught red-handed.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your eyes narrowing, picking up on his unusual behavior.

“Nothing,” he says quickly, but you can see that he’s fully dressed, ready to head out. There’s an urgency in his demeanor, a desperation he’s not quite managing to hide.

“I have something I need to say,” you begin, your heart heavy with the weight of what’s been on your mind.

“I gotta be someplace,” he interrupts, his eyes darting toward the door like he’s desperate to escape whatever’s coming next.

“We all have to be someplace, Benny,” you say, your tone serious, conveying that this is not something you’ll let slide.

“Alright, what is it?” he asks, leaning back against the dresser, his shoulders tense with the stress and that seems to be eating at him.

A long silence stretches between you as you search for the right words as your emotions swirl inside you, threatening to burst forth. Finally, you say it outright, the words heavy with finality.

“I can’t live like this anymore, Benny,” you say, your voice trembling with more emotion than you intended. “And I’m not gonna live like this anymore.” The finality in your words is clear. If he stays in the club, you can’t stay with him.

Benny’s eyes narrow as he processes what you’re saying.

“Last night, Benny, you weren’t there. You didn’t see it,” you reveal, the memory of what happened still raw and painful. “I..I don’t know what I would’ve done if they got me up those stairs and into that bedroom.” Tears well up in your eyes, and you push them back, fighting the disgust and humiliation that threatens to overwhelm you.

“What bedroom?” Benny asks, his concern deepening, the seriousness of the situation dawning on him as you try to hold back your tears.

“Johnny said he took care of it,” Benny says slowly, his eyes narrowing in confusion. “He said when I was gone, nothing happened.”

“That’s not true, Benny!” you exclaim, your voice cracking as the anger and fear you’ve been holding back finally break free.

“They tried to take me up the stairs, a group of them, and you didn’t see it!” Your voice rises, the frustration of staying silent for too long making it impossible to hold back the torrent of pain and fury.

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice low, full of regret. His mind reels, replaying Johnny’s words, the betrayal evident in every line of his face as he realizes the truth of what you’re telling him.

“You weren’t there!” you scream, the anguish of the night before breaking through in a wave of despair.

Benny stares at you, seeing you so broken cuts him deeply, and he hates that he’s the cause of it.

You bite your lip, trying to keep it from trembling as you summon the strength to speak the most painful truth. “If they had done what they planned… I don’t think I could live with myself.” Your voice cracks as the weight of the situation crashes down on you, leaving you trembling with sadness.

“C’mon, don’t say that, baby,” Benny says, his eyes filling with hurt. He can see how deeply this has affected you, and it breaks his heart.

“Who would even want me after something like that?” you whisper, the fear and shame eating away at you needing him to understand the gravity of the situation, to see what the club has done to you—to both of you.

His eyes glisten with unshed tears as he stares at you, the weight of what you’ve endured crashing down on him. Johnny lied. The Vandals are out of control. The club is spiraling, and he’s been blind to how deep it’s gone.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks, his voice low and tense filled with the weight of impossible choices.

“I want you to quit the club,” you say with certainty.

Benny’s eyes narrow, his face hardening. “Don’t ask that,” he says, his voice edged with steel.

He knows he can’t just leave the Vandals, it’s a brotherhood bound by blood, to cut ties, especially now, would mean being ‘out bad,’ a fate worse than death in his world.

“Let’s leave for a while then, maybe travel for a few months. We can go anywhere, Benny. Let’s just leave some place,” you plead, desperation lacing your words.

And there’s a silence as Benny looks down, rapidly processing everything you’ve just told him.

You stare at him, waiting, your heart pounding in your chest. The tension in the air is undeniable as you wait for his response, hoping this will be the moment he finally decides to walk away from the chaos.

“Benny,” you say tensely, waiting for his answer, hoping against hope that he’ll choose you. But he sits in silence, his jaw clenched, his knuckles white as he grips the dresser’s edge, the internal battle evident in his tense posture.

“Benny!” you shout desperately, realizing he’s still not ready to leave the Vandals after everything.

“What?” he snaps, the frustration finally breaking through. His anger flares for a moment as he bites his lip, but then he calms, the fight draining out of him. His eyes fill with a heartbreaking sadness, and for a moment, it looks as if he might cry. The vulnerability in his expression is raw and unguarded, and it twists something deep inside you.

“What did you think this was hm?” he asks, his voice heart wrenching, as he remembers all the times you accepted him as he was. “What did you think this was ever gonna be?” he repeats, his voice trembling with conflict.

His words cut deep, a reminder that you married a full-blooded biker, with all the darkness and danger that comes with it, no questions asked.

“Benny,” you whisper, your voice weak and trembling, not wanting to do what you know you have to. He looks away, his jaw clenched and tense as he waits, knowing what’s coming.

Silence falls between you as you look down, wiping the tears that stream down your cheeks. You sniffle, feeling your heart break with the realization that changing Benny was a fantasy, and it was naive to think otherwise.

Benny turns back to the dresser, opening a drawer and tucking something away, but you’re too heartbroken to care.

The realization that you need to prioritize your life without him hits you with a crushing finality, and the dream of a life together shatters in the quiet of the room.

Just as you gather the strength to speak the words, Benny suddenly surges forward, closing the distance between you in an instant. His body presses against yours, his hands gripping your jaw as his lips crash against yours in a kiss more frantic than anything you’ve ever felt.

There’s an overwhelming urgency in the way his mouth moves against yours, his kiss rough and desperate like a man on the edge, as if he knows this is his last chance, and he’s trying to make up for every mistake in this one heated moment.

You barely have time to catch your breath as his hands grip you tightly, wrapping around your waist, pulling you even closer, as his mouth devours yours.

His tongue pushes in, the kiss raw and unyielding, leaving you breathless. There’s no gentleness here, only a frantic need to claim you, to make you his again before everything falls apart.

You know what you need to do, the words you need to say, but Benny doesn’t give you the chance. He breaks the kiss just long enough to tear off his coat, tossing it aside in one swift motion. His grips your arm as if you’ll run away, holding you in place as his other hand moves to unfasten his jeans.

His lips return to yours with a feverish intensity, the kiss hard and demanding. He’s not giving you room to think, to protest, to do anything but feel the overwhelming power of his need.

Despite the turmoil raging within you melt into his embrace. His touch so familiar is powerful makes everything else fade away.

He’s holding onto you, to make you forget, to keep you here with him and the desperation in his touch is impossible to ignore.

Without breaking the kiss, Benny grips your arm and pulls you toward the dresser with sudden, forceful energy. His hold is firm, his need undeniable as he presses you against the unforgiving surface. There’s no room for words, no space for second thoughts his intentions are clear.

He yanks your dress up, the cold air hitting your skin, making you shiver. The tears you’ve been holding back prick at your eyes, but before they can spill, Benny’s hands are on you, pulling you back into the moment, pulling you back to him. His fingers are rough as they spread your legs wide, finding their place with a familiarity that’s charged with a new level of intensity.

He doesn’t hesitate and pulls your panties aside, finding you’re already slick from his touch, your body betraying the chaos in your mind. The moment he pushes his tip into you, a painful moan escapes your lips, vibrating through your entire body.

He doesn’t give you time to adjust, doesn’t even consider it. He thrusts in with one forceful, push his size filling you entirely causing an ache you can barely withstand.

“Benny,” you gasp, your voice trembling as you struggle to catch your breath, wanting to ask him to slow down, to give you a moment.

But Benny is beyond that now. His pace is brutal, relentless, his hips snapping against you with an intensity that leaves you reeling, your body caught between pleasure and pain. Each thrust sends a shockwave through you, the friction overwhelming as your walls tighten around him.

The harsh sound of slapping skin fills the room, mingling with the desperate moans that tear from your throat as your body presses against the dresser. There’s a rawness to his movements, a desperation in the way he’s taking you, like he’s trying to drown out his own pain, his own fear, with every thrust.

Benny’s grip on your waist tightens, his rhythm growing more frantic as he chases his release, as if can find solace in it, that he can somehow escape the reality of what’s happening between you.

You’re both lost in the intensity of the moment, but there’s no relief, no comfort only a desperate, chaotic need that threatens to tear you both apart.

And then, just as suddenly, he stops. He pulls out of you, leaving you gasping at the sudden emptiness, your body still trembling from the relentless assault. Without a word, Benny grabs your waist and hastily pulls you away from the dresser.

He practically lifts you onto the bed, his hands shaking as he positions you beneath him. You catch a glimpse of his face, and your heart tightens at the sight—his eyes are red-rimmed, filled with a torment he’s barely holding back. He’s fighting to keep control, but the tears are there, threatening to fall, the raw emotion in his gaze nearly breaking you all over again.

He hesitates for just a moment, his breath catching in his throat, before he pushes your panties aside once more, and thrusts back into you with force.

The way he fills you again so quickly sends shockwaves through your aching core as you arch from the bed.

His weight bears down on you, his hips grinding into yours with a ferocity. The pleasure builds, but it’s a dark, jagged thing, tearing through you as your body starts to surrender to the intensity.

The initial ache gives way to something deeper, more profound. Your moans are filled with a mix of pain and need, as he continues his relentless thrusts, refusing to let you go, refusing to give in.

His face buries into the crook of your neck his breaths hot and ragged against your skin, and you feel his tears mix with your sweat. His grip on you tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as if he’s trying to anchor himself to you.

“Don’t leave me,” he chokes out, his voice thick with anguish, muffled against your skin but clear enough to cut through you like a knife.

“Benny,” you gasp, feeling the raw emotion in his voice, the way his need is almost suffocating. You hold him tighter, knowing you need to do something, say something to bring him back from the edge.

His thrusts slow, becoming deeper, more deliberate, like he’s trying to carve his presence into your very soul, to make sure you feel him long after this moment ends

You feel his anguish and torment as he groans, his voice filled with pain, his hands gripping your hips with an intensity that matches the depth of his thrusts. He’s making you his, pouring every ounce of his desperation into you. In that moment you understand you can’t leave him, not when he needs you so desperately.

“Benny,” you whisper in his ear, your voice soft but steady, trying to ground him, to pull him out of the spiral he’s caught in.

“I won’t leave you.” You confess. Your words cut through his heavy desperation, and he lifts his face to yours, his eyes brimming with an emotion so intense it steals the breath from your lungs. He kisses you, and it’s not gentle, it’s desperate, frantic, his lips filled with a hunger that’s all-consuming.

His body presses harder against yours, each thrust deep and powerful, driven by the turmoil raging inside him. He loses himself in the feeling of you, moaning against your mouth as his muscles tense, every inch of his body thrusting against yours with wild, unrestrained passion.

His hips drive forward with a force that leaves you breathless, every thrust a wordless plea, as if he’s trying to drown out everything else—the anger, the fear, the guilt—desperately holding onto you as his salvation.

Your hands slide up to cradle his face, and you kiss him back with everything you have, trying to pour all the reassurance you can into that kiss.

Your body responds to every thrust, your own pleasure building as he pours all the pent up emotions he’s been holding back into each movement.

You moan his name, your voice trembling with the intensity of it all, as you feel him tense against you, his cock pulsing as he nears his release. His thrusts become frantic, his desperation to hold onto you undeniable.

He cups your jaw, his fingers digging in just enough to make you focus on him, his eyes locking onto yours, the vulnerability in his gaze making your heart race. “Tell me you love me,” he whispers, his voice cracking with emotion.

“I love you, Benny,” you say, and it’s the truth, even in this dark, twisted moment. You pour every ounce of yourself into the words, pulling him into a deep, desperate kiss. The connection between you grows stronger, more intense, as his body begins to shudder, his control slipping away.

He groans into your mouth, his muscles tensing as he finally reaches his peak, he presses as close to you as possible, holding you against him as he comes with a final desperate thrust. His hips push against you forcefully his cock pulsing his release into you.

He collapses against you, his breath coming in heavy gasps as your arms hold him close, feeling the weight of everything that’s passed between you and you hold him tighter, knowing you’re all he has in this moment.

His breaths are warm against your neck, his body trembling with the weight of his emotions. You trail your hand down his back, your touch soothing, comforting, something that grounds him, even in the midst of all his chaos and as the room falls into a heavy silence, he basks in the comfort of your arms, finding peace in your embrace.

You thread your fingers through his hair, and the connection between you feels different now, deeper, more intimate than before.

The weight of his turmoil seems to lift as he realizes that he has you, and you are everything to him and he knows now he will never let you go.

For the first time Benny feels completely loved, wrapped in your warmth and security finding what he has always longed for.

After a moment in shared silence, he finally speaks from the heart.

“I’m going to leave the club,” he says, his voice steady with newfound resolve as he rests against your chest feeling your fingers affectionately weave through his hair.

“I have to take care of one more thing with Johnny today, and then I’m out,” he confirms, tilting his head up to look at you, his eyes filled with determination.

You nod, feeling a surge of emotion wash over you. For the first time, you truly believe that you and Benny will be free, that there’s a future for both of you beyond this life.

He wipes the tears from his face, grounding himself in the warmth of your body and you gently take his hand and place it on the side of your stomach, your heart pounding with what you’re about to say.

“Benny, you were right,” you begin, your voice trembling slightly with emotion and be looks down at your hand as you place it over his, the significance of the gesture slowly dawning on him. “I am pregnant,” you reveal softly.

For a moment, time seems to stand still. His eyes widen with the realization, and you see the shock flood his expression all at once. In that instant, everything changes for him. It’s as if the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders, and a new purpose has settled into his heart. This—this is what he’s always wanted, even if he never dared to hope for it.

His eyes search yours with an intensity that leaves you speechless. “We’re going to have a baby,” he whispers, almost in disbelief, his voice heavy with emotion. The words hang in the air, filled with awe and reverence. You smile and nod, cupping his face gently, seeing a new side of Benny right in front of your eyes —one full of hope and tenderness.

“I’m going to take care of everything,” he promises, his voice firm with newfound determination. “We’re going to be free, and I’m going to give you and our baby the life you deserve.” He says with conviction.

The road ahead is now clear to him, more important than ever before. His resolve to protect you, to protect this new little life growing inside of you, deepens into an unshakable certainty.

The future he’s been so unsure of now holds a new and profound meaning, and he’s completely devoted to you and the family you’re about to create together.

Stay Gone

Benny gets on his bike, a faint smile forming on his lips. The thought of you, pregnant with his child, fills him with a warmth he’s never felt before. He loves you, and he’ll never leave you as long as he lives.

As he rides toward the Vandals’ bar, a surprising sense of relief washes over him. He’s ready to leave the club, something he’s never seen an original member do before. He wonders what Johnny will say. Benny knows he could’ve gotten out when he broke his leg, but he’s always been loyal, always honest with Johnny. After all, Johnny was the one who took him in when he was abandoned and alone, welcoming him with open arms and the rest is history.

The whole ordeal of Johnny’s meeting today stems from the night at the party when you were attacked by the newer Vandals.

Benny had left you to deal with the aftermath of another brutal incident when Cockroach, one of the original members, had been beaten to a bloody pulp by a group of new recruits.

He told the newer Vandals around a campfire that he planned to leave the club and become a police officer. But the new recruits, coming from different sects, had begun creating their own rules, transforming the brotherhood into something harsh and unforgiving. In their world, loyalty had taken on a brutal, unyielding edge, and in their eyes, pigs don’t fly with bikers.

When Cockroach left the campfire to relieve himself, three of the newer members exchanged a knowing look of agreement, disgusted by what they deemed his disloyalty. Without hesitation, they took turns beating him to within an inch of his life.

Johnny, Cal, Wahoo, and Benny saw the aftermath—concern flickering between them as they took in the severity of the beating on one of their own. The unspoken tension hung heavy in the air, a silent acknowledgment that their brotherhood was being torn apart from the inside.

After Cockroach healed up, he arrived at the club with his head hung low. He wanted out; he wanted to start a new life. Benny and the other members listened to his tale in silence. Once he limped out of the bar, everyone felt unsettled he was an original member, and this would set the precedent for how anyone who wanted to leave would be treated.

Johnny turned to Benny, with a solemn knowing look. “You still got your pistol?” He asked

“Yeah, why?” Benny replied.

“Because we’re gonna go see Cockroach,” Johnny said with a dark glint in his eye.

Now, as Benny reaches the club in the afternoon, he dismounts his bike, pistol tucked securely in the back of his waistband.

During the argument with you, when he discreetly had to hide the fact that he was carrying a gun, he knew the club had indeed become corrupted.

The days of freedom and friendship are now, power shifts and territorial disputes favoring drugs and violence. He doesn’t know what Johnny has planned needing his pistol, but he’s almost certain they won’t kill Cockroach to set an example for leaving the Vandals.

He pushes the doors open to the low hum of blues playing in the background, the usual bar sounds mixing with the music. He spots Johnny and Cal drinking in the corner. He can already hear the sadness in Johnny’s voice as he finishes telling a story about Brusy, making all the guys nod, feeling the weight of Brusys recent passing. “Live a biker, die a biker,” Johnny says, downing a shot.

As soon as Johnny sets the glass down, he smiles, seeing Benny. “There he is!” Johnny says, chuckling as he gets up.

“Johnny, we need to talk,” Benny says, his tone serious.

“About our little mission to see Cockroach? We’ll discuss that later. Come have some drinks, join the guys,” Johnny says, gesturing him over.

But Benny doesn’t budge. “It’s about my wife,” he says with tension.

The room falls silent, and everyone turns to look at Benny, sensing the gravity of his words.

Johnny scratches the back of his head, a bit of apprehension creeping into his voice. “What about her?” he asks, glancing over with a knowing expression on his face.

“She won’t be coming around the club anymore,” Benny says, his voice firm.

Johnny nods slowly. “Good, good. You know, it’s different now. She really shouldn’t—this is a man’s world,” he says, prompting a round of chuckles from the bikers.

Benny knows Johnny won’t side with him on this. Even though the men touched you, Johnny dismissed it as a mistake, chalking it up to confusion with the prostitutes around. But the fact that they manhandled you so violently, despite knowing you screamed for your life, shows they have no shame. You were deliberately targeted.

Johnny senses the shift in Benny’s demeanor, hears the edge in his voice sees the fire in his eyes. He knows Benny’s planning something, and he’s determined to remind him tonight what happens when someone tries to leave on their own terms.

Benny doesn’t join Johnny’s table. Instead, he heads to the bar, sitting alone with his thoughts as he orders a drink.

As Benny downs his glass, his mind drifts to you, how you’ll spend your lives together, raising your child. He’s keeping this precious part of his life to himself, knowing it’s one less thing Johnny can use against him if it comes to that.

At nightfall, Johnny drives Benny to a quiet neighborhood on the lower east side near the tracks. With Benny as second in command, Johnny wants to enforce the new rule for leaving the club, using Cockroach as the example.

Johnny pops the trunk, and Benny’s eyes widen in surprise when he sees a shotgun inside. Johnny grabs the shotgun, slams the trunk shut, and gestures for Benny to follow.

Benny pulls his gun from his waistband as they creep through the neighborhood.

“Don’t do nothin’. Just follow me,” Johnny whispers.

They finally stop in front of a house on the back row.

Johnny cocks and aims the shotgun, blasting the door handle. The loud sound and flash take Benny aback.

They walk through the clearly abandoned house to the kitchen.

A solitary figure sits in the darkness on a chair. When he stands up and steps into the light, Benny recognizes Cockroach. He’s battered and bruised, looking up at Johnny with a glum expression. He knew this was coming; he got the call to stay put until Johnny arrived, allowing him the dishonor of leaving the Vandals.

“Give me your pistol,” Johnny says to Benny. Benny looks at Cockroach, then back to Johnny, and silently hands over his weapon.

Johnny takes Benny’s pistol and, without hesitation aims it at Cockroach’s knee, firing a shot. Cockroach wails in agony as Johnny wipes the blood around his wound

“You let it bleed,” Jonny says, locking eyes with Cockroach, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. His voice is low, unyielding

“Go now and stay gone.” Johnny says with menace. It’s the final, brutal declaration of excommunication from the Vandals, and there’s no mistaking the seriousness in Jonny’s tone.

This isn’t just a warning it’s a death sentence to any ties Cockroach had with the club. The message is unmistakable: the brotherhood is severed from him forever.

Johnny hands Benny his pistol, and Benny feels the heavy weight of it in his hand—the weight of what the club has become.

Benny takes one last look at Cockroach, thinking of all the years and rides they’d shared, only for him to be shot in the leg, perhaps never to ride again and tucks his pistol into the waistband at his back following Johnny out into the night.

The drive back to the Vandals’ bar is silent, not a word spoken between them, both retreating into their thoughts, the weight of the situation hanging heavily on their minds. When the car parks on the familiar street in front of the club, Johnny cuts off the engine

“What the fuck was that?” Benny finally asks stunned by the brutality.

Johnny sighs. “That was taking care of Cockroach,” he emphasizes.

“Like you took care of my wife?” Benny glares at him, his eyes full of rage, still unsettled over what happened to you.

Johnny looks Benny in the eyes, recognizing the accusation, and simply nods.

“Is that what this club is now?” Benny asks. “Is that who we are?” His voice presses, challenging the violent turn the club has taken.

Johnny takes his time, lighting a cigarette. “That’s it,” he answers flatly.

Disgusted, Benny immediately gets out of the car.

Johnny stubs out his cigarette and quickly hops out after him, “Benny, wait!” He shouts.

Benny turns around, his face a mix of anger and dismissal.

“These new guys… these young guys, they don’t listen,” Johnny tries to explain, his tone pleading.

Benny just stares at Johnny, his expression hardening

Johnny’s eyes are almost begging. “I can’t run this club no more,” he admits, his voice heavy with defeat.

Benny looks at Johnny, seeing the desperation in his eyes. For a moment hesitates, torn between his loyalty to Johnny and the overwhelming need to be with you.

Johnny’s eyes plead. “I need you,” he says.

After a moment of thought, Benny finally speaks, making his decision to leave the Vandals clear.

“I don’t ask anyone for anything, and I don’t want anything from nobody,” he says firmly, his eyes locked on Johnny.

“It’s not me, and it’s never gonna be me.” His voice is firm with the weight of his decision, the rejection of Johnny’s offer to lead the Vandals is final.

The two men stare at each other for a moment longer—Benny leaving the club, and Johnny left with a club he no longer wants to lead.

Without another word, Benny turns, hops on his bike, and with a swift kick, roars the engine to life. The sound echoes through the night as he speeds off into the darkness, leaving the Vandals, and Johnny, behind for good.

Out Good

When Benny arrives home, he parks his bike in the driveway, feeling a huge weight lifted from his shoulders he’s finally done with the Vandals. As he dismounts, his hand lingers on the handlebar, his heart heavy with memories of the guys—their adventures, the campfires, the meetings, and the endless rides with the club. Without his pack, he feels like a lone wolf, but now he knows he is creating a new wolf pack of his own with you. One that will last forever.

After Benny showers downstairs, he quietly enters the master bedroom, trying not to disturb you, but you’re already awake, having heard his bike. “Benny?” you call out softly, sitting up in the dark.

“Yeah baby,” he replies, sitting on the bed and climbing in close, pressing himself against you.

his presence soothes you instantly “Benny, I was so worried,” you say softly and he kisses your cheek, his lips lingering warmly against your skin. “You don’t have to worry baby,” he whispers gently.

He kisses you slowly, laying you down on your back, his heart filled with desire. You are the center of his world, the one who kept him from letting the club consume him entirely.

He pauses the kiss to look down at you, hesitating for a moment, almost reverent before he speaks. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice thick with emotion as he gazes into your eyes. “For everything I put you through…you didn’t deserve any of it.”

“Benny…” you begin, reaching up to affectionately touch his jaw, and he leans into your touch, kissing the palm of your hand.

“I’m sorry too,” you say softly, and he looks at you, confused. “For what, baby?” he asks, placing your hand on his chest, holding it there.

“I actually thought of leaving you, Benny,” you admit, your voice heavy with emotion. His expression softens as he cups your face gently. “I know, baby…but after everything I put you through,” he says, his hand trailing down your arm in a comforting gesture. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispers, his voice full of regret, knowing deep down that you are far better than he ever thought he deserved.

“You deserve more than you think,” you say with a soft smile, guiding his hand to your navel. His eyes follow, looking down at your hands together over your stomach, and he feels a wave of relief wash over him.

“I’ll never leave you Benny,” you promise as he presses his hand over yours, feeling the strength of your commitment, and for the first time he believes you.

“I know, baby,” he whispers, his hand gently trailing up to your jaw, holding it tenderly as he leans down to kiss you softly.

His lips move slowly over yours, full of love and longing, his emotions overflowing because he’s yours, completely. You reach up, threading your fingers through his hair, knowing that you’re both bonded together permanently, with a future full of endless possibilities to create the life you both want.

Bennys Decision

As the weeks turn into months, your belly grows bigger and rounder. The cute summer dresses you once wore have been replaced by long, flouncy dresses that comfortably fit your growing bump. Benny, fueled by his enthusiasm for repairing motorcycles, has enrolled in trade school, leaving you every day to work toward his degree and provide fulfilling purpose for your new lives.

You’ve both decided that once he graduates, he will open a shop in the heart of Chicago, where he can repair cars and motorcycles alike. It was always a dream of yours to open a business, inspired by the guidance of your father, and you are overjoyed that it will now be for Benny.

At trade school, Benny quickly makes friends with like minded enthusiasts, bonding over discussions of engine tuning, and custom builds. The friendship among them eases the transition from Benny old life to this new, more hopeful one.

Benny hasn’t seen the Vandals for months, and though he’s not out bad, all the members know to steer clear of him. The distance is both a relief and a lingering shadow in his heart.

One afternoon, as you water the plants in the kitchen, the faint sound of a motorcycle catches your ear. Smiling, you assume Benny is home and put on your housecoat to greet him. The fabric wraps around your bump, and you take a moment to button it up before stepping outside.

As you step into the crisp, cool air, you’re surprised to see Johnny instead of Benny at the curb. “ Hi Johnny” you greet him as the autumn breeze tugs at the hem of your coat, and you pull it tighter around yourself.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Johnny responds, though there’s a lingering sadness in his eyes for who he really wanted to see. “Benny around?” he asks, stepping forward but keeping a respectful distance.

You cross your arms over your chest, feeling the cool breeze nip at your skin. The weight of your pregnancy makes standing in the cold tiring, so you ease yourself into the rocking chair on the front porch.

“You know Benny,” you say with a warm smile as you settle into the chair.

Johnny nods, his gaze drifting to the quiet street before returning to you. He hesitates, studying your demeanor, the wind rustling through the trees the only sound breaking the silence between you.

“You look good,” he finally says with a reluctant grin. “Cold weather’s got you glowing with the whole rosy cheeks thing,” he adds, pointing.

You smile, a hint of amusement flickering in your eyes as you begin rocking in your chair. Johnny’s clueless comment makes you smirk to yourself. The warmth of the secret you’re carrying adds an extra layer of satisfaction as you bask in the quiet moment.

“What is it, Johnny?” you ask, noticing his eyes narrow as he studies you, a flicker of recognition in his glance.

He shifts his weight and gives you a small, almost knowing grin. “Yeah, do me a favor,” he says, the grin not quite reaching his eyes.

“Sure,” you respond, curious.

“Don’t tell Benny I stopped by,” Johnny says and the words carry a weight that’s hard to miss.

You smile with a bit of resignation, remembering the times you had your own doubts about Benny, when you weren’t sure he’d ever change for you. But he did, and now you both stand on the other side of that decision.

Johnny takes one last glance back at you, something unreadable in his expression, before turning and getting on his new, expensive bike. The engine roars to life, and with a final look your way, he rides off down the street, disappearing into the distance.

As you watch him go, you feel the bittersweetness of the moment. Benny chose you over Johnny, and that choice brought you here, to this new chapter. The bond between them may have been strong, but Benny’s love for you was stronger.

You pull your coat a little tighter around yourself, feeling the weight of the moment, and then slowly rise from the chair, ready to step back into the warmth of your home and the life you’ve built together with Benny.

Some Kid

Benny wakes up early with the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. He has a final at trade school in the afternoon, so he decides to take advantage of the quiet hours of the morning to complete some tasks around the house.

Lying beside you, he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead before his hand slides down to rest on your swollen belly. With only a few more weeks to go, the anticipation fills the air in the quiet house. You stir slightly, rolling over a sleepy smile spreading across your face. “Mmmm,” you murmur as you stretch, and Benny’s arms wrap around you, pulling you close.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he whispers, his voice soft and full of warmth as your eyes flutter open.

“Good morning, handsome,” you reply, your smile widening as he strokes your hair lovingly.

“You want me to make you something to eat?” he asks, his tone gentle. You shake your head, stifling a yawn with your hand.

“Just rest then,” he says, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. You nod in agreement, your eyes closing again as he carefully slips out of bed.

After a quick shower, Benny gets dressed for the day and heads down the hall to the nursery.

As he pushes the door open, he can’t help but smile. Everything inside has been handmade and painted by him in preparation for the impending arrival. He’s painted the walls, built a bookshelf, and constructed a changing table. Now, he sits down to put the finishing touches on the cribs, his heart swelling with pride and love. Unlike him his kin will want for nothing.

By the time Benny finishes, you’ve joined him in the nursery, sitting in the rocking chair he made. You’re engrossed in a book on business operations for opening a mechanic shop, your hand resting protectively on your belly. Benny comes over, leaning down to plant a loving kiss on your lips.

“I gotta go,” he says, knowing it’s time to head out.

You pull him back, kissing him in return and he rubs his hand along your belly kneeling down, pressing his lips to your bump. “Stay put until I get back,” he says softly to your womb, making you giggle.

“I’ll see you all later,” he says affectionately his hand lingering on yours before leaving.

Just before noon, Benny sets off for trade school. The class is routine and after finishing his exam, he shoots the breeze with his friends before everyone departs and he begins the ride home.

As Benny rides, a tug of sadness pulls at his heart. The familiar feel of the wind and the rumble of his bike brings back memories of riding in a pack, of belonging. Now, he’s solo, and the loneliness seeps in. At a red light, instead of turning toward home, he finds himself heading into a rougher neighborhood. He stops a few blocks short of the Vandals club and strides into a nearby bar with a practiced ease, sitting down and ordering a whiskey.

The bar is loud and rowdy filled with bikers murmuring about a recent shooting. “Yea some kid challenged him and instead of fighting like a man the kid shot the guy point blank in the chest. Guy died right on the spot in the parking lot, well known biker too.”

“Yeah, he ran the Vandals club,” one of the older bikers chimes in, then notices Benny at the bar . “Hey, didn’t you ride with that guy?”

Benny’s face goes ashen as the realization hits him. It’s Johnny who’s been shot. He swallows hard, the lump in his throat nearly choking him. “His name was Johnny, right?” the biker asks, and without looking over, Benny nods. He slowly downs his shot with haunted sadness in his eyes, the turmoil inside him undeniable. After a moment, he pays his tab and exits the bar into the cold evening air.

Outside, the weight of the news crashes over him like a tidal wave and Benny feels the wind sucked out of him as memories of Johnny flood his mind—Johnny’s laughter, his words of encouragement, the way he never took anything too seriously. Johnny, his best man, his mentor in every way that mattered.

Benny’s heart shatters right there in the parking lot. He grits his teeth, trying to hold back the emotion, but it’s too much. Quickly, he mounts his bike and drives home, the wind lashing at his face as he pushes the speed, the adrenaline barely masking the agony gnawing at his insides.

When he pulls up to the house, you’re already on the porch, hearing the loud roar of his motorcycle as he sped down the street.

Benny dismounts, and the sight of him breaks your heart. His eyes are red rimmed, his face a mask of anguish, as if he’s on the verge of tears but trying desperately to hold it together.

He walks toward you with slow, heavy steps, his breath catching as he struggles to keep his emotions in check. You can see it in his eyes, something terrible has happened.

As he reaches you, Benny collapses onto the porch steps, the weight of his emotions pulling him down. When you sit with him and he buries his head against your chest, and that’s when the dam finally breaks. He sobs uncontrollably, his cries raw and desperate, his breath hitching as he gasps for air. His handsome face is twisted in torment, his body shaking with the force of his grief.

“…Johnnys …dead…” he finally gasps out his voice trembling and you hold him close. You wrap your arms around him tightly as if you could shield him from the pain. Your fingers gently stroke his hair, your other hand rubbing soothing circles on his back as you press soft kisses to his head, though you know nothing can ease the ache in his heart.

Benny clings to you, his sobs unrelenting, the loss of Johnny cutting deep into his soul. He’s inconsolable, the grief overwhelming him, as if the very foundation of his world has been ripped away. The weight of Johnny’s death has broken him, and all you can do is hold him, letting him release the torrent of pain he’s been holding inside.

Time seems to stand still as you sit together on the porch, the evening air cool around you. Benny’s cries slowly begin to subside, his body exhausted from the intensity of his emotions. You continue to hold him, your presence a steady anchor in the storm of his grief, your love the only thing keeping him from being completely lost to the darkness.

When the Bow Breaks

When Benny prepares you dinner a few weeks later, he’s starting to return to some semblance of himself. His movements are still weighed down by grief, but he pushes through, focusing on taking the best care of you. The lingering sadness in his eyes is evident, but he channels all his energy into caring for you.

“C’mon, baby, you need to eat for us,” he urges gently, noticing you toying with the food on your plate again. “You haven’t eaten a thing today” he says noticing your expression unsettled.

“I cant…Benny, I don’t feel well,” you reply softly, a touch of sadness in your voice.

Concerned, he comes to your side, placing the back of his hand to your forehead to check for a fever. “You’re burning up, baby,” he says, worry creeping into his voice as he feels your clammy skin scorching his hand.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he insists, his concern growing.

As you stand, a sharp pain grips your lower abdomen, and you wince, instinctively reaching holding his hand steadying yourself. The sensation intensifies, spreading through your body like a wave, and suddenly, you both realize what’s happening—your labor has begun.

Benny’s eyes light up, despite the terror flashing in them, as the reality of the moment sinks in. “Baby! It’s happening!” he exclaims, his breath catching in a mix of excitement and fear.

In that instant, all thoughts of the loss that has haunted him are pushed aside. His focus is entirely on you, the woman he loves more than anything and he’s prepared to welcome his offspring into the world.

He sets you gently on the couch, his every movement tender, though the pain intensifies with each passing second. “It hurts, baby?” he asks, his voice laced with worry seeing your face flushed as you breath sharply with your eyes closed.

“Yeah, Benny really bad,” you gasp, gripping the edge of the cushion as another wave of pain hits you.

“Wait right here,” he says, darting upstairs. He returns in a flash with his rucksack, packed with everything you’ll need for the hospital. Carefully, he helps you into the car, his hands steady but his heart racing with a mix of anxiety and excitement.

Every bump, every turn of the car has you moaning in pain, and Benny does his best to drive softer, his heart pounding as he tries to keep you as comfortable as possible.

The tension is undeniable, the anticipation almost overwhelming as he finally parks the car under the hospital awning.

“Wait right here, don’t move,” he says, dashing inside. Moments later, he’s back with the medical staff, who quickly load you into a wheelchair. By now, the pain is agonizing, your body covered in a light sheen of sweat, your face flushed. Benny walks alongside you, his emotions a chaotic mix of panic and thrill as you’re wheeled into the hospital room where you will give birth.

An hour passes, filled with the struggle and strain of labor. Dozens of pushes later, Benny is right by your side, your hand clinging tightly to his, your body spent. “I can’t do it,” you relent, tears of exhaustion brimming in your eyes.

“C’mon, baby,” he says, his voice firm yet gentle. “Just keep your eyes on me. you’re almost there. just one more push.”

His words give you the strength you didn’t know you had, and with one final, determined push, the sound of a baby’s cries fills the air. You look at Benny, your eyes shaking with disbelief and joy. Then, to your astonishment, another cry follows, and together, the sound of new life fills the room, echoing around you both.

The medical staff moves quickly, cleaning and wrapping the babies in soft blankets. They place a tiny, wriggling boy in Benny’s arms, and a precious little girl in yours. You both are ecstatic, your hearts swelling with a love so profound it brings tears to your eyes.

Benny is overcome with emotion, his eyes welling up as he gazes down at his son. He’s so filled with joy he can barely speak. “This is the happiest day of my life,” he chokes out, his voice thick with tears.

You’re exhausted, your body aching from the ordeal, but as you look down at the tiny bundles in your arms, your heart fills with a love you’ve never known before. Benny coos softly at his son, then reaches out to touch his daughter’s bundled up form, his hand trembling with joy.

He carefully places your son into your arms, so you’re holding both of your newborns together. Overwhelmed with happiness, Benny leans in and kisses all three of you, his lips lingering on your forehead, then brushing against each baby’s head. His body trembles with pure, unfiltered joy, and you can’t help but get wrapped up in his excitement.

As you cradle your babies, Benny’s eyes meet yours, and in that moment, you know that this is what you both have been waiting for this is the life you’ve fought for. He kisses you again, a deep, lingering kiss full of love and gratitude, and as you hold your family close, you realize that nothing else matters. This is your world, and it’s perfect.

Florida

After several years together Benny is now a full fledged mechanic and business owner, with his shops so renowned in Chicago, he’s even expanded to Florida where the two of you purchased a beautiful vacation home to escape the harsh winters.

Your Florida home is a stunning two story, three bedroom house that radiates warmth and comfort. The exterior is a blend of sandy beige and soft white, with large windows that allow the bright Florida sun to flood the interior with light. The front yard is warm and inviting, with a swing set for the twins surrounded by lush greenery and vibrant flowers.

On the second floor, the spacious bedrooms each have their own balcony, offering breathtaking views of the surrounding area. The master bedroom’s balcony is your personal oasis, where you watch the sunrise over the ocean with Benny in the mornings.

Inside, the décor is a mix of modern elegance and cozy touches of plush furniture, hardwood floors, and soft, muted tones that create a sense of peace and relaxation.

The first floor is Bennys garage haven filled with his impressive collection of cars and motorcycles. Though he doesn’t ride as often anymore, you still see the flicker of excitement in his eyes when he hears the loud roar of a bike nearby.

Today is no different as you glance out from the second story large pane glass window of the kitchen. You catch Benny’s expression as he listens intently to the sound of a motorcycle that fills the air in the distance, a look of nostalgia and joy lighting up his face.

He’s sitting with his friends by the back yard pool beer in hand. The barbecue is going strong nearby with one of your neighbors tending to the hot dogs on the grill.

“Daddy’s looking at you,” Bella says, her voice full of innocent mischief. You turn away from your task of putting the finishing whisk on the potato salad, crouching down to your daughters level.

“Is he now?” you ask playfully, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear as she waves at her daddy.

You look up to see Benny gazing at you with that warm, affectionate smile that never fails to make your heart flutter. His hair is longer and a bit sandier blonde from the Florida sun, gently swept back. A handsome mustache now adorns his face, framing his full lips in a way that makes him even more striking.

Suddenly Benny’s eyes light up even more, and he begins to laugh. You follow his line of sight and see your son, Johnny, pressing his face against the glass window, licking it with all the enthusiasm a six year old can muster.

“Johnny!” you call out, half-chiding, half-laughing. He bursts into a fit of giggles, pulling back from the window with a mischievous grin.

“C’mon, you two let’s go see Daddy,” you say, picking up the bowl of potato salad. Bella slips her small hand into yours, and little Johnny follows closely behind, his toy motorcycle clutched in his hand. He drives it along the wall as he walks, making the familiar “brrrrn brrrrr” sound with his little voice, lost in his imagination.

As you reach the landing and turn toward the pool, your neighbors over for the barbecue-b-que wave and smile, the sound of jazz floating through the air from the large outdoor speakers. The neighbors kids are all squealing and running around, their laughter blending with the music. Benny stands up to greet you all, his smile broadening as he kneels to hold Bella, hugging her tight. He ruffles little Johnnys hair before they both run off to join the other children at the party.

You place the potato salad with the rest of the dishes on the long table, looking over the array of delicious food with a satisfied grin. Benny makes his way over to you, his eyes never leaving you. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close as he presses a kiss to your cheek.

“I can’t keep my eyes off you in this little dress,” he whispers against your ear, his breath warm and his tone full of affection.

You grin, a playful twinkle in your eye. “You’re insatiable, Benny Cross,” you tease, your voice soft and loving.

“You bring it out of me,” he murmurs back, his words filled with warmth and adoration. He turns you in his arms, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, feeling the strength and comfort of him as he holds you close. Benny leans in, his lips capturing yours in a long, loving kiss. It’s a kiss full of passion and tenderness, a kiss that speaks of the deep love and connection you share.

As his lips move against yours, you feel the world around you fade away, leaving just the two of you in this perfect moment. His hand slides up your back, holding you gently yet securely, as if you’re the most precious thing in his world. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and he gazes into your eyes with a look of pure, unfiltered love.

“I love you,” he whispers, his voice low and full of emotion.

“I love you too, Benny,” you reply, your heart swelling with happiness as you lean in to kiss him again, savoring the taste of his lips and the feel of his arms around you.

🏍️ THE END 🏍️

Special thanks: purejasmine, burnthheparaphilia & butdaddyilovehim99 I couldn’t have done it without you.

🏍️ Benny Cross Tag List 🏍️

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[lizzyiii]

His Lady Love (8)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson! reader

taglist | to be added to the taglist just add your username to this DOC

word count | 5.2k words

summary | chapter title: The Side Quests of Lady Mikaelson and Jaehaerys Targaryen. Flashback, flashback. Flashback, flashback. Flashback!!! (backpack song from dora playing)

tags | uhh, child sickness? creepy man, death, blood, miscarriage, reminder: reader is mentally and physically a teenage girl, with the knowledge and memories of a five-hundred year old vampire.

note | My heart will always be soft for viserys iii and the boy he was (before becoming angry and abusive). I always thought Dany was the prince that was promised, now I realise it was Jaehaerys all along. Jaejae the 2nd, you will always be famous to me. Alsooooo can we talk about CrazyTom's artwork of Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, Aegon and Viserys. I'm obsessed!!!

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

The sun hung low, casting long shadows across the landscape, yet it felt as if you had been riding for an eternity. Your heart ached for Jaehaerys; the boy had gone from being flushed with fever to trembling like a fragile leaf in your arms. The relentless chill of night seeped through the sky as you desperately sought refuge, knowing that time was slipping through your fingers.

A troubling notion flickered at the back of your mind, persistent and unwelcome: vampire blood possessed remarkable healing properties. You understood its power all too well—but administering it to a child? The thought sent a shudder through you, compelling you to cast it aside.

At last, a flicker of hope emerged on the horizon, a humble farm materializing in the fading light. You encouraged your steed to quicken its pace, each stride bringing with it the promise of sanctuary.

Yet, as you approached the entrance, a gnawing doubt took root in your mind. The farm was eerily silent; no animals roamed the barren fields, and the grass grew wild, reclaiming the land it once served. Rusty gates hung crookedly on their hinges, their broken visage painting a grim picture of neglect. Though the place bore the marks of despair, it was shelter you so desperately needed.

In the heart of the farm stood a dilapidated house, its once-inviting facade now obscured by age and wear. Your brow knitted in concern as you noted the boarded windows, their splintered frames, while shattered glass glimmered ominously like shards of a lost past.

Dismounting the horse with careful precision, you cradled Jaehaerys in your arms, his small frame feeling impossibly fragile against you. His small head rested against your shoulder, and with tender care, you drew the blanket around him, eager to shield his silvery hair from sight.

With a determined stride, you approached the door, Jaehaerys nestled protectively against you. You wrapped your knuckles against the weathered wood, the sound echoing in the stillness. After a brief, agonizing wait, you knocked again, more forcefully this time, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. Your patience, a rare commodity in such dire moments, teetered on the brink of exhaustion. Just as you reached for the handle, ready to force your way in, the door creaked open violently.

A man stood there, his expression a mask of suspicion that softened upon recognizing you—a mere girl holding a babe. He appeared to be in his late twenties, towering over you with a lean frame, almost ghostly in his thinness. Dark hollows etched into his cheeks and sunken eyes spoke of sleepless nights and countless burdens, aging him far beyond his years.

You took a steadying breath, feeling the weight of your urgency. "Forgive me, sir," you began, your voice a blend of desperation and resolve. "My son is gravely ill, and I implore you to grant us shelter from the weather."

His dark brown eyes flicked over your form, lingering on the boy before darting past you to survey the evening sky. "Seems fine to me," he remarked, a hint of sarcasm threading through his tone.

A sigh escaped your lips, a mingling of frustration and exasperation. You understood the rules of invitation all too well; only through his willingness would you find sanctuary. "I assure you, he has taken ill. A fever seizes him, and I fear he won't make it till sunrise if we remain out here. Please, I beg you—let us come inside."

The man scrutinized you, searching for hidden truths behind your wide, beseeching eyes. Then came the question that sent a ripple of caution through your veins: "Are you alone?"

A warning echoed in your mind, a primal instinct urging you to tread carefully. Yet, you were not merely a helpless girl; you were an Original, a creature of the night with immortality coursing through your veins. Steeling your resolve, you responded with a nod, your eyes wide to convey innocence, "Yes, I am."

He stared at you for a moment more, then stepped aside, inviting you to enter. “Come inside, then,” he murmured, granting you passage across the threshold.

As you ventured into his dwelling, it mirrored the desolation that lingered beyond its walls. The atmosphere was devoid of warmth, wrapped in a shroud of emptiness that seemed to echo the chill of the wintry night outside.

“How do you survive in winter?” you couldn’t help but ask, curiosity leaking into your voice.

He moved ahead of you, shrugging dismissively as if the question were an afterthought. “I get by.”

You followed him through the dimly lit corridors, ending up in what you surmised was his bedroom. With a gesture towards a ghastly contraption that barely resembled a bed, he said, “You can put him here.”

Grateful, you nodded and brushed past him, gently placing Jaehaerys down on the makeshift bed. With tender care, you swept the strands of hair from his face, attempting to obscure the telltale glimmer of his silver locks.

“You look a bit young to have a child,” the man remarked from his position behind you, his gaze trailing over you with an intensity that unsettled your very core.

"Aren't all girls?" you replied softly, allowing a hint of bite to creep into your tone as you turned your attention back to Jaehaerys.

"Fancy clothes you've got on," came his voice again, laced with curiosity and something more insidious. You sighed inwardly, frustrated by his relentless inquisition, feeling the heat of his gaze like a noose tightening around your throat. "You a lady or something?"

Your eyes drifted down to your attire — a simple green dress, elegantly cut but unpretentious by your standards. To you, it was nothing but fabric; to the eyes of the common folk, however, it gleamed with the opulence of fine material and intricate embroidery that bespoke of you standing.

"Or something," you replied vaguely, then spun to meet his gaze head-on, a noncommittal smile painting your lips as you turned to face him. "You've been so kind, yet I realize I have yet to learn your name. My name is Rebekah and this is my son, Jayme," you said.

A sly smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, an expression that held secrets of its own. "Hello, Rebekah. I’m Tym," he said, the name rolling off his tongue like a promise—or perhaps a threat, you couldn't discern yet.

The air thickened with a momentary silence, as your attention remained fixed on Jaehaerys, who stirred restlessly upon the rickety bed. With a subtle clearing of his throat, Tym broke the stillness. “Got some stew simmering over a pot. Care for some?”

His intentions appeared benign, yet a cautious wariness lingered beneath your polite smile. “That would be lovely, Tym,” you replied.

As he turned to fetch the stew, you cradled Jaehaerys, your fingertips brushing against his fevered brow. You planted a gentle kiss atop his head, whispering a quiet prayer for his recovery, your thoughts drifting back to a distant, haunting memory of the only time illness dared to lay its claim upon you.

You laid in your small makeshift bed, your frail form draped beneath layers of faded linen. It was a peculiar day, the air thick with the scent of impending rain, yet it did nothing to soothe the searing discomfort that coursed through her. At the tender age of eight, you found herself ensnared by a relentless cough, the kind that rattled your small chest and left you gasping for respite.

Your mother, Esther, hovered close, a blend of nurturing instinct and divine desperation etched upon her face. With deft hands, she anointed your forehead with fragrant oils, whispering incantations as if the very words could weave a protective barrier against the illness that sought to ravage her youngest child. Dreamcatchers, crafted from woven twigs and adorned with feathers, hung limply around the bed, enchanting the air with their promise of sweet, undisturbed slumber.

Though young and naïve, you could sense the depths of your mother’s magic, a language that danced just out of reach of your understanding. As your body quaked with another fit of coughs, you felt an unwelcome chill enveloping you, a stark contrast to the fever that scorched your skin.

“Shh, my sweet,” Esther cooed, her voice a soft balm against the storm of her anxiety swirling within the room. She gently stroked your flushed cheek, her eyes—usually so fierce and commanding—now wide with concern, scanning every inch of her child for signs of relief.

Suddenly, the sun’s warmth spilled through the hut as the flap was pushed aside with an abruptness that startled you. With great effort, you turned your head, your heart fluttering at the sight of your father's imposing figure silhouetted in the doorway. For the briefest moment, joy sparked within you—your father had come to check on you.

Yet that joy was extinguished instantly as you watched him barely acknowledge your presence, his gaze locked onto your mother like a hawk zeroing in on its prey. “Wife,” he rumbled, his voice rough and unyielding, “Hendrik calls for you.”

Without a glance in Mikael’s direction, Esther continued her tending, damp cloth in hand as she wiped away the sweat that clung to your overheated skin. “I am busy, Mikael,” she replied, her tone firm, unyielding against her husband.

Your small frame tensed as the tension in the air thickened. Your father’s eyes darkened, annoyance flashing across his face. “He is in distress,” he pressed, his voice low, “he needs his mother.”

Fleeting uncertainty crossed your gaze as you stole a glance at your mother. Esther's lips pursed, a familiar sign of her frustration simmering just below the surface. “And she needs me more,” Esther countered defiantly.

“I will not ask you again, Esther,” Mikael’s voice was dangerous now, a rumble that hinted at the storm brewing beneath the surface.

With a resigned sigh, Esther’s gaze softened as it met yours, a flicker of pain reflected within, as she acquiesced. “I will be out in a moment.”

After a tense moment that felt like an eternity, Mikael strode from the hut, leaving a cold breeze in his wake. You could almost see your mother’s shoulders sag, the weight of contention that had filled the air lifting slightly.

Esther returned to her ministrations, fussing over you as if her very life depended on it, before leaning down to place a gentle kiss on your hot forehead. “Rest, my sweet. I promise, I will return.”

The present moment snapped into focus as the soft creak of the door announced Tym's return, his hands cradling a small bowl of steaming stew that filled the air with an enticing aroma.

You offered a grateful smile as he approached, accepting the bowl with a sense of warmth that contrasted with the chill of Jaehaerys's feverish skin. Though you had no need for sustenance— in all honesty, you had no need for human food, whatsoever—it was Jaehaerys who was truly in need of nourishment. Yet the delicate strands of his silver hair were a secret you dared not expose.

With wide, innocent eyes and a pleading smile, you turned your gaze to Tym, your voice a gentle lilt. “You’ve been so gracious and accommodating, Tym. Might I trouble you for a glass of water to soothe my parched throat?”

His expression faltered for a moment, surprise flickering across his face, before it transformed into a smirk that danced across his lips, revealing a charming dimple. With a nod of understanding, he lifted himself from his seat and made for the door, ready to fulfill your request.

The moment he stepped beyond the threshold, you seized the opportunity. Raising your wrist to your mouth, you punctured a vein with your sharp fangs, allowing a few precious droplets of your vampire blood to trickle into the simmering stew. The rich, coppery liquid blended seamlessly with the bubbling broth, and just as swiftly, your wrist healed, the wound disappearing as if it had never existed.

You leaned over the sleeping form of Jaehaerys, your voice a delicate whisper entwined with the warmth of your concern. "Jaehaerys, my sweet," you murmured softly, gently brushing tousled silver strands from his forehead. "You must wake and eat."

The boy’s lips pouted, instinctively shaking his head in protest, prompting you to coo in a soothing tone as you gave him a gentle shake. "Just a few bites, darling, then you can drift back into slumber. I promise it will help."

Slowly, his violet eyes began to flutter open, blurriness giving way to confused recognition. "Munās," he murmured, the word escaping his lips like a soft caress. A tender smile graced your face at the endearing term, encouraging him along as you lifted a spoonful of the stew to his mouth. (Aunt)

As he slowly sat up, the blanket slid away, unveiling his Targaryen silver hair glistening in the soft light. With a cautious lean, he accepted the offering, his tiny bites deliberate and slow, while you continued to weave sweet encouragements into the air.

Another harrowing cough wracked your small frame as you lay ensconced in the shadowy confines of your hut. Tears welled in your eyes, cascading down your cheeks as the weight of despair pressed upon your fragile heart, specter of death lurking ever closer.

Your head turned slightly, drawn by the soft patter of footsteps crossing the threshold of your sanctuary. Hope flared within you as you believed it might be your mother returning. Slowly, you blinked open your weary eyes to behold a small boy with bright, golden hair and piercing blue eyes, peering hesitantly around the dim room.

“Nik,” you croaked, a wan smile flickering to life despite your ailment.

Niklaus met your gaze, his own lips curving into a smile that illuminated the gloom. “Baby sister,” he said, his voice warm and reassuring.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you murmured, your voice hoarse and scratchy. “You’ll catch my sickness too.”

With a puff of bravado, Niklaus drew up his chest. “It’s quite all right. I was chosen as the sacrifice.”

Your small brows knit in confusion, the gravity of his words lost on your young mind. “What?”

He began to explain with a playful glint in his eyes, “Initially, Elijah offered himself but Rebekah, Kol, and Henrik voted, and I was chosen to come instead.”

“Why?” you asked, a small pout forming on your lips.

A mischievous grin danced across your brother’s face as he playfully drew out a small box he had been clutching. "Because, dear sister, I've brought gifts."

With that revelation, your sickened facade brightened, and hope rekindled within you. “Really?” you gasped.

“Indeed,” Klaus said, settling beside you, the box nestled comfortably in his lap. He opened it with care, revealing its treasures to you.

"Rebekah crafted this lovely flower crown just for you,” he announced, lifting out a quaint yet ruffled circlet made of daisies. A tender smile spread across your lips as Niklaus gently raised your head to place the crown upon it.

“Now, this is from Elijah,” he continued, holding up a delicate bracelet of tiny beads before sliding it onto your wrist. “He thought it would add a touch of color to your day.”

A frown grew on his face as he reached for yet another item. “Henrik was at a loss for what to offer, and Kol…” he hesitated, clearly exasperated, “Kol handed you an acorn.”

A delighted giggle escaped your lips at the absurdity of it all. “An acorn? Why on earth would he do that?”

“He thought it would be amusing,” Klaus replied, rolling his eyes, while you giggled in actual amusement, as he placed the acorn in your palm.

You gazed up at Niklaus with the purest adoration, your voice softening as you asked, “Now, what did you bring me?”

He hesitated for a moment, a shy smile creeping onto his face as he rummaged through the box once more. Finally, he withdrew a small wooden figurine, expertly carved into the likeness of a girl with delicate wings. Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized the beauty before you. “A fairy,” you gasped, snatching it from his hands with reverence.

“It took quite a bit of time to craft her,” your brother admitted, a hint of bashfulness coloring his cheeks.

Cradling the wooden figurine as if it were spun from glass, you murmured in awe, “I love her. I shall name her Nikola, after you.”

“I’m honored, baby sister,” Klaus replied, his smile brightening, though a shadow of concern lingered in his azure gaze as it wandered over your frail form.

A shadow fell upon the moment as a voice broke through, startling you both. “Niklaus,” came Finn’s stern tone from the entrance, his figure half-illuminated in the dim light, his gaze aflame with concern. “You ought not to be here.”

“I was merely—”

“It’s far too dangerous,” Finn interjected, his tone unyielding. “You must leave at once.”

Niklaus huffed, frustration laced in his voice. “Very well, I’ll take my leave.”

With a final, gentle squeeze of your hand, he cast a glare at Finn as he slipped out of the hut.

“He was only bringing me gifts,” you murmured to your brother softly, seeking to defend Klaus.

Finn turned his gaze upon you, his features softening entirely. “He is but a boy, sister, which means his body is more susceptible to the fever.”

“Oh,” you replied, frowning in understanding. Your eyes flickered to him, a hopeful smile gracing your lips. “But you have a gift for me as well, yes?”

A roguish grin unfurled on Finn’s lips as he lowered himself beside you, leaning in conspiratorially. “Indeed... my delightful company."

You pouted, feigning dissatisfaction at his answer. Finn relented swiftly, his eyes twinkling. “Fear not, sweet sister, for I come bearing treasures.”

From behind his back, he revealed your favorite flower—a rare middlemist bloom—its delicate petals unfurled like secrets waiting to be whispered. “But this doesn’t grow in our region,” you gasped, voice cracking yet lilting with awe.

“Indeed,” Finn replied, his expression warm as he regarded the flower. “I traveled great distances to find it, and what’s more, there’s something undeniably special about this one.”

“What is it?” you inquired, your heart racing with excitement.

“I’ve been practicing magic with Ayana,” he confessed, pride lighting his features. “And I have successfully cast a spell to ensure this flower shall never wilt.”

Your eyes widened in wonder, absorbing his words. “You mean it will remain this way forever?”

“Yes,” he affirmed gently, placing the flower delicately within your small hands. “Let it symbolize my eternal love for you.”

Your youthful heart raced at his declaration, a radiant smile gracing your lips. “Eternal, truly?”

“Indeed, my flower,” Finn replied softly.

As that memory enveloped you, a bittersweet thought gnawed at your heart. Finn's ‘eternal love’ had faltered in the wake of your misstep, a fleeting mistake that had cast a long shadow over your bond. The pain lingered like a specter, even as you tended to Jaehaerys, carefully guiding him to sip the savory stew infused with your healing blood. Each gentle caress of your hand across his fevered brow was filled with an unspoken hope.

The tranquility was shattered, a sound like breaking glass slicing through the air, pulling you from your reverie. You whipped around, your heart racing as you caught sight of Tym, his gaze locked onto the boy child. “Tym,” you breathed, feeling a prickle of dread.

“The boy’s hair,” he spat, voice laden with accusation. “It’s silver!” You flinched at the loudness of his words, your eyes darting to Jaehaerys, who, to your relief, appeared to be deep in slumber once again.

You felt a wave of dread wash over you, the boy nestled against you oblivious to the chaos. “He’s a Targaryen bastard,” you countered, your wide eyes feigning innocence, your voice a whisper of urgency.

Tym shook his head vehemently, his once warm expression now twisted by suspicion. “No, no! You called him Jaehaerys,” he exclaimed, his finger jabbing toward you like a dagger. “Today was the prince's funeral! Did ya kidnap him?”

Your heart sank, frustration simmering beneath your composed exterior. You raised your hands, palms facing him in an attempt to calm the brewing tempest, as if easing a wild beast. “No, please. Just calm down,” you urged, your tone laced with reason.

Yet a spark ignited within Tym’s gaze, transforming his concern into something darker. “Perhaps there’s a reward out for the two of you,” he sneered, the words dripping with malice. With that, he turned to leave.

But before he could take a step, you appeared before him with a feral grace that startled him. He stumbled backward, landing abruptly on his rear as shock flared in his eyes. “What the fuck are you?”

With a soothing tone, you replied, “I need you to calm down, Tym.” You tried, almost desperately, to appeal to a semblance of mercy within him.

In a frantic attempt to escape, he began to crawl away, but you were far too quick. Swiftly, you seized his chin in a gentle yet firm grip, directing his gaze to meet yours, channeling your compulsion. “Calm down,” you urged, feeling the power of your words weave through the air like tendrils of shadow.

Gradually, you noticed the tension in his shoulders ease, yet a gnawing uncertainty tugged at your mind. Yes, you were a stranger to him, but the haste with which he spoke of rewards for both you and Jaehaerys left a bitter taste on your tongue.

Driven by an insatiable curiosity, you whispered, “What were your intentions with me?”

The compulsion settled over him like a shroud, and he answered without hesitation, the words spilling forth in a smooth, almost languid cadence. “A pretty girl comes to a lonely man's door. It’s practically a gift from the gods.”

“And what if I did not reciprocate those feelings?” The question escaped your lips with a pang of trepidation. Deep down, you feared you already knew the answer.

Tym shrugged, his gaze locked with yours, a reckless glimmer in his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. You’re a girl, and I'm a man.”

A weary sigh escaped you, disappointment settling like a stone in your chest. You dropped back onto your heels, your mind swirling with the implications of his words. In a world where predators lurked in shadows, your thoughts danced with the darkest possibilities—his intent to claim you while you slept, disregarding your will and robbing you of your decency, mere steps away from a child.

Deep sorrow enveloped you, thick and suffocating. With men like this, the glimmer of hope for any kind man felt like a cruel joke. “I genuinely believed you to be different—a bit strange, yes, but kind.” Your voice softened, laced with disbelief. “And now I see you possess the same animalistic traits as the rest.”

You paused, considering your next words with the weight they carried. “But I am not just any girl. And because of that I have the power and strength to protect other girls that cannot protect themselves.”

“And to do that,” you murmured, a chilling intensity igniting your gaze as your veins darkened beneath your skin, your pupils transformed into hungry slits, your fangs stretching long and sharp as moonlight kissed your features, “I must rid the world of men like you.”

Panic flared in his eyes, tangible and raw, yet your compulsion anchored him in place, keeping him eerily calm as you leaned closer, your breath a whisper of silk. “I haven’t fed in days. Soothe your mind by knowing that I shall savor every drop.”

With that, you descended, your fangs finding purchase in the soft flesh of his neck. His warm blood surged into your mouth, hot and intoxicating, even as he struggled against the inevitability of his fate, the frantic thumps of his heart echoing the finality of the moment, while his protests faded into a desperate silence — knowing it was a battle he could not win.

You lay in a restless slumber, your breaths ragged and shaky, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on your brow like dewdrops in the pale light of morning. Once again, Esther softly dabbed a cool, damp cloth over your forehead, worries etched deep in her face as she watched her youngest child struggle to summon the strength to open her weary eyes.

“Mama,” Your voice emerged, frail and whispered, like the rustle of leaves in a faint breeze.

Esther’s warm, deep-brown eyes locked onto her daughter’s, and a bittersweet smile graced her lips, tinged with sadness. “Hush, my love, I am here.”

The young girl gaze held Esther’s, filled with a mixture of trust and fear, as your mother’s tender hands continued to soothe your frail, sickly form. Yet, as the heat surged through your small body, you could not suppress the trembling words that slipped from your lips, “Am I going to die?”

For a heartbeat, time seemed to freeze in the hut. Esther’s hand stilled, her heart clenched tightly in her chest. She diverted her gaze, struggling to conceal the tears that threatened to spill, the weight of her daughter’s words echoing in the silence. After a brief struggle for composure, she raised her hand to wipe away the dampness from her cheeks, looking down at the precious girl before her with fierce determination. “No, my sweet. You shall be just fine.”

A heavy stillness enveloped the hut, the world outside a distant murmur as your small voice broke through it once more, tremulous yet bold, “Will Father be sad if I die?”

Esther felt her heart shatter at those words, each syllable a dagger to her already broken spirit. Mikael harbored disdain for you, a constant reminder of his wife's unforgivable betrayal. Fortunate that he remained unaware of Niklaus’s lineage, yet Esther’s sweet daughter nevertheless yearned for her father’s love, seeking any semblance of affection in a heart hardened by resentment.

In that moment, Esther summoned what remained of her resolve, donning the familiar mask of tenderness, “Of course, he shall be, my star.” The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, yet she couldn’t bear to shatter the fragile threads of hope that clung to her daughter.

As your eyes fluttered shut once more, the lull of despair washed over Esther. She turned away, struggling to disguise the stark truth that loomed ever closer: her precious child hung at death's door. She could not bear the loss of another—never again, not after Freya.

Flaws ran deep in Esther, but they were borne of circumstances beyond her control; the bond she shared with you was a force unto itself. Perhaps it was the innocence of her youngest that drew Esther in, or perhaps it was the stark contrast to her other children. The warmth of your light was undeniable, a glow that illuminated the fears she dared not confront. Still, she would love them all—though deep down her heart loved you most.

With a surge of fierce determination, she pressed her hand to her abdomen, feeling the promise of new life stirring within her—a babe that once again grew. Yet the sacrifice loomed before her.

Night had cast its velvety cloak over the world; the moon watched solemnly as her family succumbed to slumber. Gathering the materials for her desperate ritual, Esther prepared with practiced hands. The moment felt both heavy and sacred. With a steady resolve, she sliced her palm, crimson droplets spilling forth to dance upon your fevered brow. Then, she cradled her daughter’s head, her other hand resting over her own womb.

With a whisper that quivered in the air like a prayer, Esther began to murmur the spell—repeating it like a mantra, “Hanc vitam in eam.”

"Hanc vitam in eam."

"Hanc vitam in eam."

Each iteration grew more fervent, woven with her love and desperation, a last thread of hope tethering her spirit to your fading vitality.

When she finally opened her eyes, a wave of relief washed over her like the dawn breaking through the darkest night. Your strained features had eased, the pallor giving way to the flush of life. A sob escaped Esther, raw and unrestrained, as she sank beside her precious child, lifting the fragile frame into her arms.

All that mattered now was the warmth of your body against her own, even as blood seeped unnoticed from between her legs, the physical price of her choice.

A/N — actually confirmation that reader is esther's fav. also to go in more detail of reader's infatuation with finn, it's mostly because in her time, you were raised to become the perfect wife, and her mother always used to tell her, "when looking for the right husband, he should be like finn." obviously she took that too literally.

Next up, Reader returns to King's Landing...

Anywayyy

ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪᴋᴀᴇʟsᴏɴs

(can you tell I made this within an hour ;) )

Names that are in bold are ones that couldn't be added :(

@barnes70stark @izabell26 @anyisaravia2001 @urdeftonesgrrrl @helo1281917 @strangefunthornqueen @ellie-xOxo @hueanhdang @elenapri0502 @goest-and-fuckest-thyself-blog @caged-birdies-blog @darktrashsoulbear

@lenavonswartzschild @writtenbyhollywood @gl4ssw1ngp1xy @goddesslilithmoriarty @sunset18rose @filmflux @ln8118 @esposadomd @sara-grimes-yess @littybeech @gyneve @https-kokomi @void21 @yariany02 @baby-w3-ar3-infinite @baby-i-can-see-your-reylo @niktwazny303 @missyviolet123 @caribbeangal @ggukiespace @levimaids @Lokisgoddessofpower

@anakilusmos @spacexdrago @strawberymilktea @snowtargaryen @fiction-fanfic-reader @feelingfaye @sxlsvv @crystal-siren @no-one0804 @tojisprincess @meraxesruin @supernaturalstilinski @talilosha@emerald-error20 @athanasia-day @mynameisbaby9 @lexi-anastastia-astra-luna @siriusblackrunmeover @shilphy87 @moonstruksandco

[itsfeckinwimdy]

10 Types of Kisses

Various LOTR/TH x Reader

Pairings: Aragorn, Fili, Haldir, Kili, & Legolas x Reader (separately).

Pronouns: n/a.

Prompt(s): 10 types of kisses by @urfriendlywriter. You can find her post here. (I used 9/10 of them).

Word Count: 3.4k words (3415)

Warnings: No beta, we die like Boromir. open wounds (Aragorns + Fili's), marriage (Fili's), swearing (Kili's), mentions of battle + death + blood (Legolas).

Tree Speaks: I had a lot of fun writing this but it also went into territory that I'm not particularly comfortable with writing yet so we'll see how this pans out.

Translations: amad - mother, dwarrowdams - a term used for female dwarves.

LOTR + TH Masterlist

Published: 25/02/2023

1. Aragorn

soft kisses - where they're just lying beside you, hands playing with your hair as they trail tender kisses all over your lips

The two of you were meant to be sleeping of course, but the gloom of the mines made it hard to settle. You supposed that's why he pulled you away from the others slightly, to a spot just that bit further away.

Aragorn was on first watch as usual, having made it his task since the beginning of the journey, and always insisted that the hobbits and Gandalf got plenty of sleep. But with that came the usual knowing looks between the two of you as Aragorn knew his love wouldn't sleep unless he would.

So with that knowledge, and him sensing his love's rising anxiety at being trapped underground, it now brought them to this.

He tilted your head up from where it was resting against his chest, his hand cupping your face. Aragorn brushed a few loose strands of hair off your face from where it had fallen out of place as his own head tilted down towards yours. His hand gently entwined with your other, and he paused in his movements, allowing you to decide next.

You gently reached up, threading your hand through his long locks and gently pulling him down towards you. He pressed his lips to yours, mouth moving slowly, softly, intimately.

He pulled away, your lips chasing after his, a small smile gracing his lips as he pressed another kiss, and then another, and then another to your lips.

the type of kiss where you can't find words to say after, or the ones where your forehead lingers against each other's

Aragorn's horse trotted through helms deep, having just pulled him up from the river bed where if not found, he would've succumbed to his wounds. He dismounted his horse and received a scolding from Gimli before forcing himself up the staircases and into the deep.

Legolas rose from outside the doors, greeting his friend who believed him dead. The elf pulled him into a familiar embrace before pulling back and making a sarcastic comment about the ranger.

The elf turned a small smile gracing his face before yelling the name of a person. The ranger followed his line of sight. It fell on his love, you.

You looked up after the elf who yelled out to you, before seeing the man you mourned for standing with him. Abandoning your stuff, you ran to him, arms thrown over his shoulders and crushing him to your chest as a few sobs left you.

His arms encircled you as he leant his forehead against yours. He didn't care at that point about the mud caking him and he didn't think you cared enough at that point, so it made no odds on whether he was careful or not.

He pulled back slightly, raising his hand to caress your face before pressing his lips to yours. Tears left both of you as his mouth moved languidly with yours.

Aragorn pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. He wanted to say so much to you, fearing that he would never see you again but all thoughts left him as he wished to stay in this moment, longing for nothing but you.

2. Fili

messy kisses - curly hair, ruffled sheets and half-buttoned clothes as you just want more and at that moment, they're the most beautiful soul to you ever

The sun trickled in through the window, bypassing the curtains that hadn't been fully drawn across the night before. The young (ish) couple lounged in the bed, bodies pressed together as close as they could get with the few layers of clothes still between them.

He tilted your head up to meet his, his lips pressing against yours, moving languidly in the early morn. Fili reached up, hand caressing your courting and marriage braids that were still somewhat intact.

He groaned, feeling one of your hands gripping the hair at the base of his neck and the other slipping under his shirt across his chest.

Fili pulled back, eyes fluttering open to meet yours; your own half-lidded as you drew in a few stuttering breaths. It was a pleasant greeting from your love first thing in the morning, one that you would be against again.

You gazed up at Fili, the dwarf hovering over you, careful not to rest his entire body weight on you. The tressels of sunlight filtered through his hair, causing a glow to shine over him.

His eyes trailed over your face, memorising every detail as if it was the first time he saw you.

kisses on your body ♡ frail kisses on your shoulder! on your lower back, belly and trailing to your neck, collarbones, lips.

A cry of pain left your lips.

Oin pulled the blood-soaked cloth away from where it was pressed tightly against your side. The infection from the arrow had spread, the orcs having laced it with something deadly.

The pain wasn't something Fili wished on anyone, much less you. So he did his best to comfort you whilst the infection ransacked your body. His hands firmly held you, one holding the back of your head, and the other gripping your forearm to stop you from forcing Oin's hand away from the wound he was trying his best to treat.

After Oin had doused the cut in water, trying to flood any dirt that wormed its way in, Fili pulled you closer. The healer moved back to gather some more altheas and cloths, leaving you curled against your prince's chest.

Fili dropped his head down to your shoulder, as your tears continued to douse his shirt - not that he cared as it was covered in sweat, grime, and whatever else from the trip across middle earth - his hand on your head slipping down to the back of your neck, stroking his fingers in what he hoped was a soothing pattern.

He pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, the fabric of your tunic had been pulled away, cut away for easier access. It would need replacing, he noted, but hoped that it would be enough to cover you until the sun rose again.

Fili continued his ministrations, pressing another kiss further up your shoulder. And then another at the junction where it met your neck. He considered pressing one to your neck, in that one spot he knew made you shiver, but with the way you were sitting in his lap you were already considered improper in public, so he begrudgingly decided against it.

Oin chose to return at that moment, pressing the churned-up altheas against your wound and then tying the cleanest cloth over it. You cried out in pain, more tears falling. It was like someone was driving a burning knife into your arm, over, and over, and over again. The pain rolling in waves.

Fili kept whispering words of praises and comfort, the Kadzhul translations lost in your mind as all you could feel was the pain, and him.

The knot was finally tied on the bandage. Fili slid his hand from the back of your neck to cup your face, pressing a chaste kiss against your forehead before leaning his own upon yours.

I'm here, you're safe now, I love you, the action spoke more words than Fili could find himself saying.

3. Haldir

lazy kisses as they admire you - fingers delicately trialing your jaw as they kiss your lips

"Haldir," you groaned, leaning back against his chest, head turned up to face him. A smile graced his lips, his eyes locked with yours, shining full of love.

It wasn't often you got to spend a prolonged period of time with your Marchwarden, especially with him being gone for months at a time to guard Lothlórien's borders. So any time you spent with him was precious, even if you knew he would be leaving at the end of it again.

The braid in his hair was loose, albeit from your hands running through his hair earlier, causing him to have a sexy, but dishevelled look. The thought of elves being supermodels no matter what state they were in flashed through your mind again causing you to chuckle slightly.

Haldir raised his hand, letting it linger under your jaw as he delicately leaned down to place another kiss against your lips. Warmth bloomed through you and as his lips moved against yours, all thought about him having to leave again in a few days retreated into the depths of your mind.

You were drunk off the taste of him, off his kisses as he stole your breath each time. And nothing would ever change that.

goodbye kisses - kisses lingering like liquor in each other's lips, bitter but sweet, "I'll always come back to you, love. you're my home after all."

The boats gifted to the fellowship had just finished being prepared and were packed full of provisions to last you a good while.

The thought of having to leave your home again haunted you but not just because it was where you lived. No, because this time you were leaving your love, not knowing when you were to see him again. He was your home.

The Marchwarden was allowed to see his love off, having been granted a week's leave whilst you and the fellowship recovered and stayed in Caras Galadhon, Lothlórien. After you were sent as an emissary to Imladris, Rivendell in the common tongue, and word had returned that you had embarked on a journey to destroy the one ring, Haldir was worried for you.

He knew the history of the ring, as did most if not all elves and was worried about the dangers you may face. He knew that you could protect yourself, having been a sparring partner against you for years, but the worry did not dissipate.

He met you at the shoreline, his hand over his heart in the traditional greeting before he held your hand in his. Sadness filled his eyes as he wished not to see you leave, but knowing that this was a journey you were willing to take.

Haldir leant his head against yours as he fixed the cloak hung around your shoulders, ensuring that the broach was attached properly.

His hands lingered on your waist as he prepared himself to say goodbye again. It was one thing being the one who was leaving, but now that he was on the receiving side for once, he now knew how your heart felt each time he went on patrol. That feeling of not knowing if you were coming back or not eating at his heart.

Your hand on his cheek stole his spiralling mind from his thoughts as your lips pressed against his. A tear threatened to leave his eye as he consumed your kiss like a drug. The fear bubbling in his chest soothing to make way for the love he held for you but the melancholy feeling at having to be parted from you made it more bittersweet than anything.

His lips lingered over yours as you pulled away, his hand raising to stoke a strand of hair back from your face. Haldir wished he could keep you here in his arms but understood the task you had undertaken would not be dropped lightly.

4. Kili

kissing and realising this is the person you'll always love, you'll always want to touch and snuggle with

Kili didn't think he could hold you any closer than he currently was.

You were practically melded into him, hands gripping tightly to the back of his jacket. The clothing was still damp from the thunderous storm you had walked through, but nonetheless had to still wear.

The terror that shot through him as the thunder giant collided with the mountain, believing that he had lost not only his brother but you as well, was something he never wished to feel again. His hands trembled slightly at the thought.

He shifted slightly, taking some pressure off his shoulder whilst pulling you upwards slightly so you were level with him. The ground wasn't pleasant to lie on, less so on his side, and even less so with damp clothes on, but Kili knew this was the company's best option right now.

Kili rested his head against yours, his eyes meeting yours. He nudged his nose with yours affectionately, giving you time to pull away.

It was something he always did, you noted. Every time he wanted to kiss you but couldn't find the words to say it, or was surrounded by too many prying eyes, he did that. Gave you that tell that allowed you to decide what happens next.

You tentatively leant forwards, tilting your head upwards ever so slightly, letting your lips press against his. There was no rush. No incessant desire to pull the other closer, just him.

Kili moved his lips slowly with yours, savouring every moment that he got with you. Fuck, he loved you. The realisation pulled at his heartstrings more, knowing that he could've lost you today.

prohibited kiss - you're not even supposed to be seeing each other but your hands are on his hair and his hands around your waist, lower bodies pressing into each other as you kiss

Laughter radiated through your body as you were pulled through the endless turns and corridors of Erebor. The stone walls were lined with torches and braziers all lit with fires burning brightly.

To anyone else, it would be a maze, a catacomb of tunnels that unless sense was made of them, would surely lead to your demise. But years of living there had engraved the pathways into your mind, and no doubt Kili's.

His hand dragged you to a secluded corner, himself coming to a halt. He could no longer hear the guards trying to follow the two of you. Pride flooded his chest as he gazed back at you, finally alone with his betrothed.

You were finally able to get a good look at him, now that he didn't have all the dwarrowdams fawning over him. Even if he wasn't "beautiful" by dwarf standards, he was still a prince and would have people trying to gain his favour.

But his title didn't matter to you. Kili did.

And by the creator himself, did you love the way he looked. His hair tousled from the running, and the short beard he was so desperately trying to grow accentuated his face.

But the ceremonial robes that hung to his body? You couldn't resist.

He found himself pushed back, pinned against the pillar. Kili's eyes locked with yours, the same fire of desire within him, burning through you.

Your lips pressed with his, mouths moving frantically with the others. Your hands that gripped onto the front of his robes slid up, trailing up his neck and into his hair, pulling slightly to press him into you more.  A groan left him at a particularly harsh tug before your hand moved to trace his courting braid.

He pulled away, panting, breathless, kissing you again and pulling you into him, arms gripping your waist, hands in his hair, your bodies practically merging into one. If his Amad caught him now, he wouldn't even have to face the scornful looks of Dwalin, he would already be lying in his grave.

But could he let you go? Fuck no.

5. Legolas

shy kisses - when you're the one pulling them closer, and they nuzzle their face in your crook after the kiss, hands around your waist as their ears get red

You were scared. If anything you were currently lustful, but you were about to fight in a war against ten thousand troops with an army of less than a third of that. So you were scared.

Legolas had turned to where you leant against one of the pillars, choosing to come and check all the fastenings on your armour. He was meticulous and methodical as he went to each and every one, adjusting where he deemed necessary whilst checking it caused you no discomfort.

A soft smile graced your face, as you watch his gentle movements before reaching out to cup his face in one of your hands. A blush, so subtle anyone who didn’t know Legolas would miss it, warmed his face, his head lifting and eyes locking with yours. It was as if he was staring straight into your soul, his piercing grey eyes full of love but fear.

You pulled him towards you, Legolas leaning his head down as his hand held over yours on his face, the other resting gently on your waist. Leaning up, you gently pressed your lips to his. Just once, mind you, the action as tender as possible, letting him come to you.

Legolas leant into you, pressing his lips back against yours, moving at a slow pace. He wanted to savour this moment as much as possible before the two of you walked to what could be your deaths.

ahem.

The clearing of the person's throat sprung the two of you apart, you mentally preparing for the endless stream of apologies to whichever passerby caught you, only for it to be someone you knew all too well.

"Aragorn." You spoke, heavily embarrassed to be caught with your lover.

The ranger looked between the two of you, his face being that awful neutral resting one making it so you couldn't judge his feelings on the matter. Aragorn must have read the panic starting to creep up in you as a teasing smile broke out.

“I have no qualms with this,” he began before looking over his shoulder towards the entrance of the armoury, “but the people of Rohan may not be as forgiving if you are caught.”

He turned on his heel, making his way up the staircase and leaving the two to their devices.

A moment passed and then a chuckle left your lips as a sigh left Legolas’. His head fell to your shoulder as the blush absconding his cheeks spread like wildfire tinting his ears a rosy colour.

At least it was only Aragorn, you mused, If Gimli had found you then he wouldn’t stop teasing your elf.

kisses of reassurance - saying that you're safe, still with them, that your heart is still beating wildly in your chest, that they couldn't get rid of you if they tried, that for some insane reason, you're not dead yet

Your chest heaved, trying to inhale as much air as possible as you sprinted up the mud-soaked hill. Aragorn had yelled for the soldiers to retreat into Minas Tirith and you were making your way as fast as you could until an arrow pierced your shoulder.

The doors were closed and sealed as you entered alongside the last few stragglers, a resounding bang from the wood hitting the stone frame. The room spun on its axis.

The throbbing pain in your arm continued, each ebb seeming stronger which was probably due to the adrenaline wearing off. Maybe you should've stayed fighting, it surely couldn't hurt as much as your arm did, you thought as your uninjured arm reached out to hold yourself up against the wall.

Giving up on keeping yourself upright, you slid falling somewhat ungracefully to the floor, blood dripping from your wound and soaking your sleeve. It was funny how much damage one arrow could cause.

You blinked.

The sun had risen, and from where you could see it, it was around mid-morning. Your eyes focused and you could see a worried face in a sea of platinum blonde hair. Legolas.

Ignoring the sound of the elf’s worry, you pushed yourself up into a seated position, as he gracefully knelt down next to you. His hands mindlessly moved to cup your face, as he had to pull his eyes away from your crudely bandaged arm. The arrow had been jagged and cut more as it pierced you, causing more blood to be lost.

Your hand covered one of his as Legolas moved to press his forehead to yours.

“I'm okay,” you whispered, breaking the silence between the two of you. Your thumb stroked the back of his hand absentmindedly, as you tilted your head up, meeting his lips with yours. It was one of desperation, longing and fear. A shuddered breath left you as the two of you broke apart.

“We’re okay.”

[bless-my-demons]

Redamancy: Chapter Twenty-Nine

Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: does a handsy Jasper need a warning?

Notes: oh my god it’s been so long, I’ve been eating myself up over not posting. I’ve been working myself to death, but I’ve finally got a long weekend off and so I used it to get back to what makes me happy - this story! Omg I hope you guys love it🥹 I also have to go through and update my taglist later tonight, so bear with me on that until I add it!

Word Count: 1500

Series Masterlist

• April 3rd, 2006 • Forks HS •

Reader

Tingly.

That’s the state of my body this morning, the state of my mind.

Not only am I riding an emotional high from our conversation this weekend, but my dream last night… Good lord, that dream.

I can feel the echoes of his fingers on my skin, the coolness of his lips, the wet trail they would’ve left behind… the solid weight of what surely his body would feel like, pressed against mine. I can imagine all of what it would be like vividly, to be under him, to get carried away, to just explore-

“You alright, darlin’?”

His voice jolts me from the day dreaming stare I had on the locker before me, caught red handed. To make matters worse, that deep southern tenor questioned me inches from my ear, causing a blush to heat my cheeks to an almost uncomfortable degree.

“Perfectly fine, why?” I immediately busy myself within my locker so that I don’t have to face him right away.

“You do remember that I can feel you, right?” His voice is low and his hands find my hips tenderly, but the air changes around us.

My heart rate skyrockets, this is dangerous. His fingers flex against me and the death grip I have on this book in my hands turns my knuckles white.

“Jasper-” his name is a whispered warning, but also a plea.

“I know.” Instantly a cooling, soothing balm blankets our tension and I release the tightness in my chest. Leaning backwards into him I just feel tired all of a sudden, like I had run a marathon. “Let’s get out of here.”

His request sounds more like a demand and I twist in his arms, “Is that a good idea?”

“Darlin’, I don’t have many of those these days.” His mouth quirks up in a lopsided grin as he shoves all of my school supplies back in my locker, shutting it and tugging me along behind him towards the student parking lot.

Jasper

Something is on her mind, something dangerous. Something I absolutely want to know, something I’m not sure I have the strength for, but I can’t help it - it’s her.

I’ve never been more thankful for an overcast day with no rain: perfect motorcycle weather. Come to think of it, my sister had a knowing look in her eyes as my siblings all piled into their respective vehicles as I straddled my bike this morning. A decision that currently led me to now: Y/n and I leaving school before midday.

Those thoughts I interrupted earlier have her quiet, but her emotions are raging and it is driving me insane. Curiosity, need, nervousness - a dangerous concoction begging to overtake my rational mind. Separating myself from her feelings is almost impossible at this point, she is so well ingrained in me.

Finally arriving at my thankfully empty home, I shut my motorcycle off and offer a steady hand to help her dismount. Swinging my own leg over, I turn towards her and lean against it, observing her for a moment with crossed arms.

“What?” She makes eye contact as she struggles with the chin strap of my helmet.

Grabbing the helmet by the chin piece, I gently tug her forward between my legs, “Tell me.” I lace the command with neediness to encourage her to be pliant.

And judging by the way her lips part behind the dark visor, the immediate dilation of her eyes, and the weight of her hands settling on my thighs gently, I might’ve laid it on a little too thick.

Chuckling, I free her from my helmet and riding jacket. By the time I finish, she seems to snap from the daze and her hands clench on top of my legs.

“Not fair, Hale.” Feisty this morning.

I lean forward towards her ear with a grin as I stand from my bike to put away the gear, “All’s fair in love and war, sweetheart.”

Reaching to swat my chest, I grab her hand gently before she could injure herself.

Pausing as I hang my jacket up, her teasing response sends excitement through me, “Two can play at that game, baby.”

Stepping into my room, I realize too late what has her curiosity: my desk. Well, the art that occupies every inch, my art.

“What is all this?” Leafing through pencil sketches of my favorite hunting spots and pen etchings of my family at random moments, she gets to the important ones hidden below. Her breathing hitches and I know she’s found them, the ones of her.

Some are in pencil, some are in random felt-tip pens, but my favorites? Those are charcoal. A decently basic medium, but I feel like it captures so much more than anything else ever could. Maybe it’s because I use my fingers to smudge and shape her perfect curves and lines, but it radiates emotion in sweeping gestures and subtle shading - something that’s hard to capture with anything else.

“There’s-” awe, shock, surprise, they all shuffle through her and I’m on edge, waiting to hear her thoughts. “There’s so many…”

I watch her carefully examine each one and I smile when she chuckles at a few - some of her at school, some of her here in my home, moments I not only committed to memory, but to paper.

“Now you know what I do with my free time.” I smile through the minuscule anxiety that bubbles up at her seeing my secret hobby. Everyone in my family knows I draw, but they haven’t seen my drawings.

“Jasper…” I can tell she’s getting emotional, but a part of me is excited for her to see my innermost thoughts on paper, to see herself through my eyes - the unaltered beauty she contains.

“You haven’t even seen the ones I cherish the most.” Opening a familiar sketchbook buried under many other drawings, I reveal my favorites. “The very first ones.”

Her breath hitches, running a reverent finger down the first page. It’s the very first moment I saw her, crouched, scooping up papers on her first day of high school in Forks - absolutely radiant.

“You were a vision that day. A beautiful tornado that wrecked my world, I tried to capture every detail from memory because I never want to forget-”

Her hand finding my cheek breaks me from my explanation and my eyes find her watery ones, mouth open, searching for words clearly hard to get out, “Jasper…”

“I love you.” My confession steals her breath completely this time, the first time I’ve uttered these words aloud and it feels absolutely right. “I’ve loved you since the moment you hit me with that door. I knew I was absolutely ruined for anyone else and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Tilting her chin up with the tip of my finger as it wobbles at my confession, I smile, “Say something, darlin’.”

“I love you, too.” Now it’s my turn to go wholly still. “I knew from the moment I saw you I’d never be the same, I was yours-”

I couldn’t wait another second, I closed the minuscule gap between our mouths to seal these confessions. I love her and she loves me. Me.

Tilting her head back slightly as I cradle her, I take my cue to deepen the kiss, to pull her closer carefully. Groaning into her mouth, fuck I can’t get enough of her. Trailing kisses down her jawline as she tips her head to the side for much needed air, her gasps drive me to lift her onto my desk.

“Jaz…” her breathy plea of my nickname freezes me, panic seizing my actions.

“I am a gentleman, but only just barely.” My voice is gravel in my own ears, breathed down the slender column of her throat.

A shiver from her causes me to clench my jaw and attempt to gather myself.

“Maybe I don’t want a gentleman right now.” Her whisper damns me, it fucking sets me on fire.

A slamming door downstairs straightens my spine and my hands abandon the exploration of her. Fuck, my family’s timing couldn’t be better, but also worse.

“Honey, we’re home!” Emmett’s booming voice echoes up the stairs and immediately I know he knows, he can probably smell it.

Huffing, I help her regain her footing and straighten her clothes from the rumpled mess my hands made of it. I also take half a thought to smooth her arousal, a damn shame-but a necessity if we’re to face my siblings for the rest of the evening.

“Fucking Emmett.” Her frustration draws a chuckle from me as we make our way downstairs.

“I heard that!” My brother’s response causes her to roll her eyes at me playfully and I shake my head, my heart weighing much fuller in my chest as she plucks its invisible strings with her shit-eating grin.

Next

Taglist part 1:

@aoi-targaryen @Min-jianhyung @pbbsl @timelordhunterandmysterysolver @sheerangermany @clearwater-hoe @Blackbluerose666 @ivy-plays @random-human02 @delightfulbluebirdstarlight @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @gaymazinglula @l3ejm @angelfuzzy2 @losa12308 @thekinkpopstandsforkrackheads @flyawayprincess @ropickle @catbusloki @deviat3dsn0wf0x @lovesanimals0000 @unrevived @h-naec @cutesnakemum @zudooms @itsmytimetoodream @stinkii-boii @acoolnight @anothercoffeeblogx @irishblend10 @from-now-on-im-switzerland @kyraslife2 @naolvshan @kiiwiigii @rosedpetal @kiaraandrea @foolsgoldxo @heartfilia01 @azuredgalaxies @geekysimmerthings @graciereads @ramen-girl-2424 @0hmydekiru @creeqvealley @Cherriebat @whichwitchisthebitch @dragon-rider-with-a-book @secretfairytailpetscookie @psychobitchsthings

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

My Body is a Cage

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Heavy angst, death. Word count: ~2.3k

Summary: When Aemond goes to Storm's End to offer a betrothal between his younger brother, Daeron, and one of Lord Borros Baratheon's daughters, he does not anticipate the arrival of his nephew, Lucerys, nor does he anticipate murdering him. He seeks comfort and reassurance in the arms of his betrothed, but soon finds she has neither to offer to a kinslayer... Based on this request.

Author's note: For @doomwhathouwilt Moodboard by the wonderful @flowerandblood. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

Grief is an impregnable fortress, an all consuming void that, once toppled into, feels impossible to escape. When grief turns to rage, there is the false belief that one has found freedom, however, it is merely the act of replacing the bars of a cage with anger instead of sorrow. The emotions vibrate at a differing frequency, yet the imprisonment is fortified with equally devastating consequences.

The air is thick as Aemond dismounts from Vhagar, the sulphurous stench of dragonfire clings to his leather riding coat like a shroud as his boots crunch heavily across the gravel, leading him back towards the imposing ruin of Harrenhal. His skin is hot, he can feel the soot that darkens the ends of his snow white hair also sticking to the flesh of his cheeks. There is no time to pause and wipe it away, not when duty awaits.

The heavy oak doors creak as he pushes them open, revealing the men that sit around the long table in the centre of the room - his war council - dwindled to a paltry number since the war began. They stand as he enters, each of them look ashen faced, none standing quite as proudly as they once had. He swallows thickly, before addressing them.

“Be seated,” he snaps dismissively. “Have the Riverlands been scouted? Do we have the final count of Houses that have fallen?”

How different life is now to what it was a year ago.

Aemond’s betrothal to Lady Fell had been a political arrangement, a bargaining tool utilised by his grandsire to secure loyalty to Aegon’s claim to the throne in the Stormlands. A lady in waiting for Helaena, it had made perfect sense, she was already present within the Keep, so their courtship could be easily managed.

Despite the formality of it, Aemond had grown to love her, and in turn she loved him. She was patient where he was quick to anger, forgiving where he was vengeful, all of the things he knew he did not deserve and yet yearned for just the same.

He basked in the glow of her radiant smile, his heart softening when she did not recoil from his disfigurement. With every stolen kiss in darkened corridors, every eager touch that lingered in places that decency dictated be saved for their wedding night, the burden of the injustice that had been bestowed upon him felt lighter to bear. Despite the hardships that had befallen him, his affection for her came easily, there was nothing simpler in his world.

Then his father, King Viserys, had passed away, and life for Aemond grew infinitely more complicated.

There had always been the unspoken intention that his mother and grandfather planned to challenge his half sister Rhaenyra’s claim to the throne, however, even he was surprised by the swiftness with which they moved to coronate Aegon. Further still, there was the responsibility that fell to him as second son to help assure his brother kept the throne that his family had made bold moves to secure.

Many of the lords that had sworn fealty to Rhaenyra as heir to the Iron Throne had long since passed, and she would surely be sending reminders to their heirs of the vows sworn more than a decade ago. It was up to Aemond to ensure that better offers were made in Aegon’s name.

With Daeron in Oldtown, Aemond was tasked with earning the fealty of The Stormlands. Despite his own impending marriage to Lady Fell, without the support of House Baratheon they would stand little chance of gaining any further support from that part of Westeros. In order to do this, he was to fly to Storm’s End to offer a marriage proposal between his younger brother and one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters.

He had been given a warm reception upon his arrival, and Lord Borros had readily accepted his offer. Aemond has chosen carefully for Daeron, desiring for him to have a match that would make him as happy as he was with Lady Fell. He had selected the youngest of the Four Storms, Floris. Closest in age to his sibling, and the most comely of her sisters, she had seemed the best suited. Aemond had felt satisfied that he could return to King’s Landing proud of what he had accomplished for his family.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the arrival of his nephew, Lucerys Velaryon.

When he saw the dark haired boy enter the hall, he had felt a phantom slash across the left side of his face, a malevolent rage simmered beneath the surface of his skin, barely concealed by the sinister smirk that tugged upwards at the corners of his mouth.

With every word that Lucerys uttered, Aemond’s mood grew darker. Was it not enough that his half sister’s bastard had taken his eye? Now he meant to take his brother’s birthright too.

As he had chased down Lucerys and Arrax on the back of Vhagar, he had only intended to scare him. If his nephew felt only a fraction of the fear that he had endured as a boy, as he had laid bleeding and maimed upon the dusty ground of Driftmark, then he would consider it a triumph, a reminder that there was a debt to be paid.

His heart had lurched when the jaws of his dragon had snapped around the body of the one they had been pursuing, sending both rider and mount toppling into the sea below. He had killed him. Yet the tears he wept as he made the sombre return home to King’s Landing were not for the death of Lucerys, they were for the consequences that his family would face as a result. The debt owed to Aemond had been paid in blood, and it would cost his family everything.

He had immediately sought out Lady Fell’s chambers upon his return to the Red Keep. The rain had dripped off of his riding leathers and onto the flagstone floor in cold rivulets as he had hovered in her doorway, eye wide and imploring.

She had rushed to him, grasping his forearms and pulling him inside. Her touch had immediately grounded him, calmed the pounding in his chest. It would all be alright in the end, how could it not be with her at his side?

“You will catch a fever like this,” she said with a soft laugh,”could you really not wait to get changed to see me?”

He raised a hand to stroke through her soft hair, loose and brushed through, ready for sleep. It was only as he did this that he realised he was trembling, and not from the cold.

“Aemond?” She asked, her brow furrowing with concern. “What is it?”

It would be fine. He could tell her this. She loved him. She would understand.

“I killed him,” he told her in a hushed tone, his eye reluctantly meeting hers.

Her lips had parted in shock, before she exhaled shakily. “Killed who?”

“Lucerys,” he told her, “I did not mean to, I only meant to frighten him, but I lost control, and now he is dead.”

He had expected her to embrace him, to tell him Lucerys had gotten what he deserved, that she would stand by him.

Instead, she had pulled away, and at the loss of her touch Aemond had felt as though he was in freefall. The warmth that usually filled her gaze when she looked upon him was filled with an emotion that he had never seen her direct at him before: fear.

His stomach had twisted into knots and his throat had grown dry as he’d taken a step towards her, hoping to bridge the gap between them, and instead she had furthered it by taking one backwards.

“Kinslayer,” she had whispered shakily. “Leave my chambers at once or I shall scream.”

He had turned and walked away without another word, a gaping void opening within his chest at the realisation that her love for him had died alongside Lucerys.

His world had seemed as though it was coming to an end when Lady Fell departed King’s Landing to return to Felwood. She was taking his heart with him, and he grieved the loss of her, alongside the knowledge that he had jeopardised his family’s prospects for an alliance with the Houses of the Stormlands.

Consumed by grief, her absence was never felt more than in the moments when his nephew, Jaehaerys, was murdered and Aegon was grievously injured in battle. He no longer had her to turn to for comfort, and so his sorrow turned to rage, hot as dragon’s fire. If the only person he had ever truly loved saw him as someone to fear, then he would become just that. The loss of her would not be for nothing.

It was this thought that had clouded his thoughts as he had seized Harrenhal, and put every person residing within to the sword. Every person except one: Alys Rivers. She was a witch, and the visions she conjured within fire aided him in his efforts in battle, though his uncle continued to evade him.

He had grown to love Alys, not in the same way he loved Lady Fell, but he felt that Alys was the match that he deserved. Lady Fell possessed a kind heart, a purity that Aemond could never dream of aspiring to. There was a darkness within Alys that paralleled his own, and so when she invited him to her bed, he did not resist.

There was no hushed laughter, or gentle caresses, the pair of them tore at each other like wild beasts, both of them pouring their malice into the other. There was no warmth to be found in her gaze, only a sharpness that served to encourage his bloodlust and desire for vengeance.

She had told him that she was expecting his child, and his thoughts had drifted to what could have been with his betrothed; a soft, happy bundle of joy that would have been all of the best parts of its mother. He wondered what qualities the bastard he had fathered upon Alys would possess, perhaps they had created the second coming of Maegor Targaryen. It would be no less than what he deserved.

When the news had reached him of Rhaenyra’s capture of King’s Landing, he was briefly thankful that Lady Fell no longer resided there, though enraged that he was not able to fly back to the capital to defend his family. If he ended his occupation of Harrenhal, then it would provide his uncle with the opportunity to seize it back.

The fear in Lady Fell’s eyes flashed through his mind once more. Fear. If he could inspire that, do any damage possible to his half sister’s plight, then he would. His losses would not be for nothing.

He was merciless as he mounted Vhagar and flew over the Riverlands, torching everything in his path. Every House that had sworn allegiance to Rhaenyra Targaryen would burn, for her capture of the capital would be meaningless with no supporters left to aid her.

It is in the wake of this that he stands, waiting to hear of the total losses of support to his half sister.

The maester clears his throat, unfurling a parchment upon the tabletop. “The final raven has just arrived, your grace,” he tells Aemond. “House Darry, House Blackwood, House Fell–”

“House Fell?” He interrupts, his blood turning to ice in his veins. “Impossible, they are based in the Northern Stormlands.”

“Yes, your grace. However, there was a betrothal between the youngest daughter of House Fell and the youngest son of House Blackwood. Lord Fell and his family had been guests of Raventree Hall.”

Bile rises in his throat. He had killed her. The only good thing he had ever had in the world had died at his hands. She had been right to be afraid of him, and yet it had not helped to save her. He does not want to live a life where her goodness has been snuffed out. For every atrocity he has committed in the name of his family’s honour, he has known that the gentleness of her soul is a beacon of hope that there is goodness in humanity. Now there is nothing. He is trapped in a prison of his own making.

It has to end.

With the aid of Alys, he tracks Daemon to South of the Trident, West of the Kingsroad in the Southern Riverlands. His uncle is eagerly awaiting him.

As he kisses Alys, his usual ferocity is absent. His lips are soft and tender against hers, filled with unspoken devotion, the goodbye kiss he never got to give to his intended.

He knows this is a battle he will not return from as he chains himself into Vhagar’s saddle. The cage he is trapped in has only one means of escape.

Daemon is a savage opponent, and Aemond fights as though he has nothing to lose. What else could possibly be taken from him, when he has already deprived himself of it? As his uncle leaps from the back of Caraxes towards him, he does not resist, even as the blade of Dark Sister plunges brutally into the socket of his seeing eye.

His final thought as his body tumbles down towards the icy waters of the God’s Eye is that finally he is free, and if he could not reciprocate his true love’s purity in life then perhaps the Seven will see fit to grant him the opportunity to do so in death.

When grief is allowed to mutate into rage, it will become a person’s ruin, and none more so than that of Aemond Targaryen.

[j-k-writes]

The Bronze Targaryen - 3

Summary - After his mother's death in 115 AC Y/N Targaryen is summoned by his father Daemon to King's Landing in the hopes of forming a betrothal between the new heir to Runstone and Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Warnings - targcest (cousins), general HOTD warnings, mentioned daemon x rhaenyra

Kingslanding reeked. 

(Y/N) wrinkled his nose as they got closer and closer to the gates of the keep. Daemon laughed at the sour expression on his son’s face, urging his horse closer to the boy. 

Daemon leaned toward (Y/N), speaking lowly, “You will get used to it.” 

“I don’t intend to stay long enough to get used to it, father.” (Y/N) urged his horse forward, hoping to reach the keep and escape the foul stench as quickly as possible. The people of Flea Bottom paid him little mind as he rode past, only pausing their daily tasks when his father and escorts strode past behind him. 

The gates of the Red Keep loomed over him as he and the riding party approached, and (Y/N) took in the vast courtyard. The squires and knights all paused their training to gape at the arrival of the prince and his son, and (Y/N)’s posture straightened at the attention. He reminded himself this was not the keep of Runestone, and that he knew naught of the workings and whims of the people here. He dismounted from his horse carefully, brushing his hand softly down the mare’s snout. 

A stable boy took the mare’s reins from his hands and guided the horse away from him. (Y/N) turned to face his father, who waved him over. Taking his place next to the white-haired prince (Y/N) looked to the keep’s steps. A stout brown-haired man awaited the party at the bottom of the steps, flocked by two kingsguards in white. The stout man wore the badge of the hand, pinned to his tunic. He bowed to both princes before speaking. 

“Prince Daemon, welcome back.” The man turned to (Y/N), “And Prince (Y/N), welcome to Kingslanding. The King awaits you both in The Great Hall.” 

“Thank you, Lord Strong.” His father spoke next to him. “And congrats on your promotion.” 

The man, Lord Strong, nodded his thanks to Daemon before turning on his heel and making his way into the keep. The halls of The Red Keep were filled with murmurs as (Y/N) and his father followed the King’s Hand through the halls. He could feel the eyes of the courtiers and servants following him as he walked, keeping his eyes straight ahead so as to not meet their curious gazes. He could hear his name whispered with delight and curiosity, as was his father’s over and over again. 

Once again his father walked close to his side, whispering to him, “You must not let them bother you.” 

“What?” He kept his eyes forward, but his brow furrowed in confusion. 

“The stares and whispers,” Daemon clarified. “This is not Runestone, you are a mystery to them.” 

“They are a mystery to me as well.” 

Daemon chuckled, “Yes, but you are a prince, they are not.” 

His father stuck by his side the rest of the walk through the keep until they reached the grand ornate doors to The Great Hall. (Y/N) took an uneasy breath as they both approached, and his father whispered to him one last time as the doors opened, hand softly resting on his shoulder. 

“They will love you.” 

And with that, his father stepped away and the doors opened.

“Prince Daemon of House Targaryen and his son, Prince (Y/N) of Houses Royce and Targaryen” 

Silence fell over The Great Hall as her uncle and cousin entered. Her uncle walked tall and proud, his clothes black as they possibly could be, the red sigil of their house stood bright across his chest, and his blade was sheathed proudly at his side. Shadowing him was her cousin, her betrothed, she supposed, dressed not in the colors of their house but in his mother’s colors instead. His (H/C) hair was pulled back into a loose bun, a few curls escaping and framing his face. He donned a brown tunic, leather covered in runes Rhaenyra did not recognize, covered his chest and shoulders. Although he walked nearly as tall and proud as his father, there was something in his steps that gave away his discomfort. 

Rhaenyra caught her father straightening in anticipation, he was as much a stranger to Daemon’s son as she was, she remembered. He was a comely boy, looking more like her uncle than she had expected. For that at least Rhaenyra was grateful, for she would have no trouble pretending to be interested in him even if only for his looks. 

“Your grace,” Daemon bowed to her father, “May I present my son, Prince (Y/N) of Houses Targaryen and Royce.” 

Rhaenyra could not help but chuckled at the disdain for the title in her uncle’s voice. 

“Your grace.” (Y/N) kneeled next to his father. 

“Rise, the both of you.” Viserys smiled at the father and son duo, getting up off the throne and approaching them. He turned to (Y/N), studying him, he placed his hand on the boy's cheek, causing him to flinch in confusion slightly, “I am saddened that we have remained strangers for so long, nephew. But know that you are, and forever will be, most welcome in my court.” 

“Thank you, your grace.” 

Viserys turned to her, “Rhaenyra come.” 

Rhaenyra walked toward the three men, pointedly avoiding her uncle’s gaze, she did not wish to anger her father in the middle of court. She caught her cousin’s gaze instead, his violet eyes widening at the sight of her. 

“Princess,” He breathed, before remembering himself and giving a bow. 

She smiled at him, “Rhaenyra, we are family, cousin.” 

He nodded, reddening slightly. It was obvious to the princess that he would rather be anywhere else but under the gazes of her father’s court. 

Rhaenyra turned to her father, “Perhaps it would be best to dismiss the court, father. So that we may discuss things more privately.” 

Her father looked around them at the curious and whispering courtiers, all trying to catch a look at the fabled son of Prince Daemon. Only then did he seem to realize how uncomfortable his nephew seemed to be under the weight of their judgment. 

“Of course,” Viserys nodded solemnly, he turned to his newly appointed hand, “Court is dismissed for today Lyonel, I wish to speak with my family privately.” 

And with that Viserys wrapped his arm around Daemon, speaking to him as they turned and walked back down The Great Hall. Rhaenyra walked up to (Y/N), grabbing onto his arm which startled the prince slightly. 

“We should follow.” Rhaenyra smiled at him, and he blinked at her before speaking. 

“Right,” He blushed, “Of course.” 

They trailed after their fathers, (Y/N) only tensing further with every step they took. 

“I suppose the court is intimidating to those unused to it,” Rhaenyra said, hoping to ease some of her cousin’s nerves. She needed him to relax if she was to grasp an idea of what her future husband was like. 

“I am not quite sure what to make of it yet, princess.” 

“Rhaenyra,” She reminded, “It is good to be unsure, (Y/N). It’s harder to fall for their schemes if you do not trust them.” 

He smiled, genuinely, at her comment. He leaned closer to whisper to her as they walked, and she realized that he was more than just comely, “I take it you are not fond of everyone in your father’s court, Rhaenyra.” 

She made a noncommittal noise, shrugging but giving her cousin a smile all the same.

She had been angry with her father’s decision to betroth her to Daemon’s son without her permission, seemingly out of revenge on both his daughter and his brother. She had promised her father she would do her duty as wife and heir, but only if he’d dismiss the scheming vulture that was Otto Hightower. He’d done his part, now it was her time to do hers.

His uncle took his place at the head of the table, and Daemon took a seat by his side. Rhaenyra let go of his arm, striding over to the table and picking up the pitcher of wine, walking around the seated men and filling their cups. (Y/N) stood at the table, a comfortable distance from the rest of his family, hands resting on the back of the chair. When Rhaenyra was finished she stood directly across from her cousin, giving him a look that made him avert his eyes. 

Anyone with eyes could see the beauty in Rhaenyra, it was no wonder to (Y/N) why she was called ‘The Realm’s Delight’. 

“You may sit, my boy.” Viserys said, and (Y/N) turned to face his uncle and father. Daemon was smiling smugly at his son’s discomfort. 

“Forgive me, your grace.” (Y/N) took a seat. “But I am eager to discuss the reason I was summoned from Runestone.” 

“Yes, of course.” Viserys’ smile faltered at his words before he composed himself. He turned to Daemon and Rhaenyra, clearing his throat before continuing, “I have proposed a marriage to both your father and grandsire. Between you, (Y/N), and your cousin, my daughter, and heir, Princess Rhaenyra.” 

(Y/N) froze, looking at his cousin with wide eyes, and his uncle continued. 

“House Royce is one of the most ancient houses of Westeros, descended from the First Men. They were once themselves kings, and the further unification of House Royce and House Targaryen would bring strength not only to both houses, but the realm itself.” 

“I am aware of my house’s history, your grace.” (Y/N) spoke, tearing his eyes away from his cousin to face his uncle and father, “But forgive if I say I am confused at this proposal. I am to become the Lord Royce of Runestone upon my grandsire’s death-” 

“I was saddened to learn of the death of your mother.” 

“Thank you, your grace.” (Y/N) continued, “But as I was saying, I am to be Lord Royce, and Rhaenyra is to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. How will the succession be handled, if we were to wed?” 

Would it not be easier to marry his cousin to a second son? As was done with his mother and father. (Y/N) was to take the name Royce when he claimed his seat as well, would Rhaenyra’s children with him be Targaryen’s or would they be Royce’s. As beautiful as his cousin was, this marriage had too many questions to comfort (Y/N). 

“Rhaenyra is my heir, upon my death my throne and titles will pass to her,” Viserys spoke, “Your first born child, regardless of gender, will inherit the Iron Throne from her. Your second born child will inherit Runestone from you.” 

“As Royce’s or Targaryen’s?” 

“You are a Targaryen, (Y/N).” Daemon bit out, clearly frustrated with his son’s questions. 

“Yes, but when I take my seat I will do so under the name Royce. Will our children take my name when they are born?” 

Viserys smiled, “Like you, upon their birth your children shall take their father’s name, be that Targaryen or Royce, in keeping with our traditions. However, at such a time when your first born ascends the Iron Throne, he or she will do so bearing the name Targaryen.” 

Daemon smiled, “Dragons will rule The Seven Kingdoms for the next hundred years just as they did the last.” 

(Y/N) had come to Kingslanding expecting a marriage between him and some lord’s daughter, but Rhaenyra was the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, not some minor lord's daughter. (Y/N) did not wish for the complexities of this marriage, but by a simple glance around the room, he realized that his future had already been decided for him. 

He was to be the future King Consort of The Seven Kingdoms, no matter his wishes.

“House Royce worships the Old Gods, do they not?” 

(Y/N) startled at the sound of Rhaenyra’s voice, standing from where he was kneeling to face his betrothed. “Rhaenyra. How did you find me?” 

He and Rhaenyra had been dismissed from the Small Council chambers hours ago, their fathers talking amongst themselves about further preparations. (Y/N) had given Rhaenyra a small apology before giving her his goodbye and asking to be shown to his chambers. He’d hoped to find some peace in the solitude but found himself restless as he paced around the unfamiliar room. It had only taken half an hour before he’d felt mad and went looking for a Godswood. 

The Godswood in The Red Keep was pitiful compared to the one in Runestone, but (Y/N) supposed it would make due as he knelt to pray. He’d hoped to be undisturbed till night fell but alas his betrothed had found him nearly an hour later. 

“Your guard said you were here.” Rhaenyra smiled at him, stepping close. “You do not wish for this match.” 

“Princess I-” 

“I could see it on your face, (Y/N).” Rhaenyra said, “Don’t fret, I know this union is not what you would choose. I did not choose it myself. But if it has to be someone I am glad it is you.” 

“You do not know me, cousin.” 

“Yes, but-” Rhaenyra bit her lip. “I hold nothing against you.” 

“Nor I you.” (Y/N) sighed, “Truly, Rhaenyra, my qualms with this match are not an insult against you. I am simply worried that our duties as respective heirs will conflict with our duties as husband and wife.” 

“I understand.” Rhaenyra smiled, she took a seat at the roots of the tree, and (Y/N) followed suit. “We will just have to find a balance between the two, cousin. I have faith it will not be as hard as you fear it to be.” 

“Istiti jorepagon.” (Y/N) said solemnly, and Rhaenyra lit up at his words. 

“Ao ȳdragon Valyrīha?” 

(Y/N) nodded, “My mother made sure I was properly educated.” 

“I think we will both find happiness in this marriage, cousin.” Rhaenyra said. “I see no reason why, if we both do our duty to the realm, we cannot dine where we see fit.” 

(Y/N) laughed, surprised at the princess’ boldness in her desires. “And where would you like to dine, Rhaenyra?” 

She shrugged, smiling at him, and he mused that maybe this match could work for them after all. They would simply have to make it work to fit both of their tastes. 

“I have been told my tastes are not proper for a lady of my status.” She said, and (Y/N) clicked his tongue. 

“Well I will not starve you of your desires, cousin.” (Y/N) said. “I only ask that you do not deny me mine.” 

She leaned close to him, and he could smell a faint hue of wine on her breath as she spoke, “I have told you of my desires, cousin. It is only fair that you return the favor.” 

“I am not picky, I dine where I am welcome.” 

Rhaenyra smirked, leaning back slightly and looking (Y/N) up and down. (Y/N) bit his lip, watching her movements. She leaned forward again, pressing a kiss to his cheek, she lingered long enough for it to be considered improper, and (Y/N) was glad for the privacy of the Godswood. 

“I will see you at supper, (Y/N).” 

She walked away, leaving (Y/N) to watch her as she left him in the Godswood.

---

Translations -

Istiti jorepagon - We must pray

Ao ȳdragon Valyrīha? - You speak valyrian

[amywritesthings]

silver underground. | chapter 23

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 4.6k Summary: the night of day 163 - also known as the final confession

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - angst, mentions of death, sensuality, levi is sad(tm) but we are finally giving him what he needs! Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Masterlist.

As soon as Captain Levi hauls himself upright on the saddle of his horse, he’s gone.

Like a bat out of hell, his horse takes off towards the direction of the old Survey Corps headquarters.

Dust and dirt from the hasty exit licks at the tip of your boots.

The rest of the Levi squad had only finished settling on their own horses, with you the last to remain on the forest floor.

“He seems eager to get back,” Petra states with a slow apprehension to her tone.

Oluo grunts in reply, and you know.

You can feel his eyes locked onto the back of your skull.

Asking—

What happened between the two of you? 

Why do you remember the outcome of the last mission? 

What aren’t you telling us?

The myriad of questions are not lost on you, because you ask them yourself.

After all, you were barely given a chance to explain.

To understand.

Even before the rest of Levi squad made it to the fall site, the tension between you and Levi was palpable.

The way Levi stared at you, held you, in the aftermath.

Trapped between the before times and what you’ve been reduced to before his very eyes —

“James, are you good?” Gunther asks, softer this time, but it's all white noise.

Figure out if you mean it.

If you really do remember — any of this.

Levi's voice is the only one registering in your mind.

If you think you know me, then say it with your whole damn chest and hold nothing back.

You do. You know him.

Captain Levi.

Child of the Underground.

Captain of the Special Operations Squad.

Though you know him as something else; something profound; something too devastating to lose.

The one who almost got away.

Before you can say a word, your body moves on autopilot: you shove your foot into a worn stirrup and jump up and onto your horse with the reins gripped in both hands.

Snapping them with newfound urgency, you leave the remaining members of your squad behind to bridge the gap between you and Levi.

Go.

Wind sweeps your emerald cloak like wings behind you as you ride, urging you horse faster, faster, faster—

And you inhale.

The more that you breathe, the more that you push yourself forward, your body feels less like a foreign entity. 

Your fingers flex without a detached delay. 

The leather against your palm feels right, like—

…like you’ve finally woken up on the right side of the bed again.

By the time you reach the headquarter courtyard, his midnight horse is already tied to a banister at the stable.

In a rushed dismount from your saddle, your shaking hands hurriedly tie the knot around the same banister and rush towards the open doors.

As you run inside your shoes switch from crunch to click, from dirt to concrete floor.

The sky, once swirling in uncertain grays, opens to a light rain. 

An incoming storm echoes through cavernous hallways, turning grayed stone to black.

Everywhere you look, he isn’t there — the foyer, the rest areas, the abandoned offices —

"C'mon, c'mon..."

As you turn the corner towards the kitchen, your eager ears pick up the leisure pace of two sets of boots.

You move faster, hoping to see that familiar head of raven hair.

To your surprise, you find Hange and Moblit at the very end of the corridor chatting after a meal. 

When they notice your arrival, Moblit gives a little half-smile of recognition while the Section Commander holds out their arms, eager to greet you.

“Hey, hey! She’s back from all the action!” Hange yelps with excitement. “Now tell me, how—”

“Where’s Levi?”

Your sharp question interrupts Hange’s cheerful greeting.

In this light, Hange appears so much clearer to you. Gone is the fuzzy confusion; their outline now just as sharp as their wit and wonder.

(Something like a found safe space, warm and comforting.)

“Levi?” they question. “Huh, I didn’t think he was back.”

So they don’t know yet.

He didn’t say anything.

But he's here, you know he made it back here—

Urgently, you step towards the two.

“I need to know where he is. It’s urgent.”

“Did something happen?” Moblit gently presses.

“I remember,” you state, as if that’ll explain anything. They blink in tandem. “I don’t know how, but it—”

Your hand rises to your mouth, covering it and giving yourself a moment to think.

Except the problem is that you need to say it — thinking, second guessing, slows this down.

Focus.

Your hand drops, and your voice says the first thing that comes to mind.

“Hange — you and I once drank Moblit so horrendously under the table that he was bedridden for two days.” 

Hange’s boot squeaks against the floor in an echo as they stop dead in their tracks. 

“And whenever we meet in the city, Moblit and I order dumplings from that one nice old woman just outside the hospital. I think — you get the most basic order and always make sure to bring something back for Hange.”

Moblit’s eyes shoot wide. “Whoa, that—”

You hold a hand out to placate Hange, who looks like they’re two seconds away from screeching with elation.

“I can’t explain to you know I know all of this, and I don’t have time to figure that out right now. It’s just sort of word-vomiting out of my damn mouth the longer I let myself talk — so I don’t want to stop talking, and I’ll figure out the details and the rest with the two of you later, but it—”

It could disappear at any minute.

You can’t breathe.

It’s so hard to breathe, but do your best to gulp an inhale anyway.

“Please, just… I need – to talk – to Levi.”

Before I forget again.

Before he thinks I’ve forgotten him all over again.

Both Hange and Moblit stare in a haze of surprise.

By the time you open your mouth to plead a third time, Hange holds up a hand. 

Their expression darkens with a seriousness they so rarely possess.

“If he’s not by Erwin’s office or with us, then chances are he’s in his bedroom."

His bedroom.

Relief floods your system.

“Right,” you exhale, jolted by adrenaline. “Thanks, Hange.”

With that, you speed off in the opposite direction.

Up the stairwell.

Down the hallway.

Be here, be here, be here.

Fist raised, you lunge forward towards the wooden door—

Yet the door opens freely, and you’re trapped staring into the eyes of Levi Ackerman.

He blinks away his surprise to that evergreen mask of indifference — resignation? 

There’s no edge to his shoulders. They’re sagged.

Lowering your fist, you’re met with silence. 

(You’ve come to hate silence more than anything.)

So you speak first.

“Can we please—”

“Yeah.”

No pleas heard. No begging to be done.

“Yeah, might as well.”

Levi simply agrees.

The hand gripping the edge pulls the door towards him, conceding with an invitation inside.

Terrified doesn’t even begin to cover it — you push your way through, only to pause when your mind begins to recognize just how familiar this room feels with the light dance of rain outside an open window. 

Everything is so neat. Clean.

(And in the back of your mind, a voice says it’s exactly how you left it.)

The door locks shut, and the rest of the world ceases to exist.

Levi casually walks past you, pulling a chair from his desk and flipping it to face his bed.

He sinks down onto it, knees spread apart while his arm rests casually over the back.

“Start, then.”

His voice is guarded, shortened, as his eyes watch you from under wet, black fringe.

You stare, twisting your fingers around and against each other to self-soothe your nerves.

Your nostrils expand as you muster the courage to speak.

Yet when you do, your voice is smaller.

(So much could go wrong in one single moment.)

“I’ll start, just…"

"Just what?"

"Don’t shut me out.”

His eyes narrow. “I told you I wouldn’t.”

“I know, but this is different,” you argue weakly, wetting your lips.

“Try me,” he flatly goads. “I told you from the beginning—”

“—that you weren’t going to hand us our memories, fuck, I know already,” you bite to chomp off the rest of his statement, tired of hearing him push further distance between you. “Let me talk this bullshit out at you, alright? Not with you — but at you. Because the more I talk, the more things come back — it’s like my fucking unconsciousness is working faster than the rest of my body.”

His jaw clenches, but he says nothing.

When a few moments have passed, you take several steps forward to meet him — but turn to sit on the edge of his bed.

(Like you know belong there.)

He stops moving entirely, brow knit as he watches you descend.

Start, then.

“Before everyone swooped in, I told you that I thought I knew who I was. But… the more time goes by, it isn't a maybe anymore."

Your eyes remain on your hands, noting the calluses and age-old lines of scars across your fingers and palms. 

"And the longer time goes on, the more I talk, it becomes so much clearer."

Remember.

“I never knew my birth mother,” you continue, “not really. As far I know, she died when I was small. A lot of the details are still fuzzy, but some other sick bastard took her place. I think it's so hazy because there’s not much to remember about her. Mother... cared only about winning money."

Lost in your own thoughts, you drop your chin to your chest and exhale.

"I might have had siblings. None of them actually looked like me. They were just... stuck, too. And so many of them died."

All nameless faces.

All battle fodder for the almighty coin.

“I knew that the only way to live was to fight, so I fought. Hard. Every damn day until I couldn't stand on my two feet sometimes. That’s how we met.”

When you lift your eyes to stare him, he doesn’t react.

His nostrils flare in a twitch, but Levi remains in control of himself.

“My mother pit us against each other for money,” you continue softly. “That’s why I kept seeing this small, skinny boy in my dreams at a pub. For weeks, over and over, it was you. I gave you food — I wanted a friend. And…” 

You trail off, chewing on your next words very carefully. 

“And you gave me that. A friend. A chance to join your gang and live a life that was mine.”

Absently, your hand raises from your lap to your neck.

In the hopes of quelling your budding anxiety, your fingertip runs along the delicate silver chain at your sternum.

An old habit that won’t die, even in a state of memory loss.

Yet you catch him, right as it happens:

Levi’s hardened eyes shamelessly drop from yours — to stare at your fingers.

Your fingertip dips and circles the gray gem, mindful of its smooth texture.

Moments pass.

His eyes do not lift.

A familiar warmth spreads through your chest.

“My necklace.”

Then his eyes raise, as if suddenly aware of where he’s staring. 

“You gave it to me, didn’t you?”

You see him in your mind’s eye: a younger version of Levi sitting there, embarrassed to be offering such a delicate, sentimental gift to another person.

His gangly, teenage self overlaps the exhausted, battle-worn Levi across from you in his chair.

Both fighting.

Both surviving.

You feel so small as you try to remember the finite detail. Hitting a wall the longer the silence stretches, you're unable to pinpoint the exact memory.

Your nose scrunches in frustration, searching for that train of thought like a life line. 

“It was for my fifteenth— No, maybe my seventeenth—”

“Eighteenth.”

His voice is barely a murmur. 

Levi’s eyes do not leave your face.

“It was your eighteenth birthday.”

He manages to capture the memory eluding you before it can float away and dissolve to the wind.

A smile loaded with relief passes your lips.

It’s only a small nudge in the right direction, but it’s all you need for the memory to blossom like a flower on the surface in Spring.

The image of yesteryear blooms— 

White, billowing sleeves rolled to his elbows.

A cinched vest kept his clothes from flying off his small frame.

“With a lot of alcohol.”

“Yeah.”

“And a lot of extra cleaning the next morning.”

He exhales, slow and drawn out. “Something like that.”

You inhale sharply through your nose, emotions overwhelming you.

“Ever since Hange gave the necklace back to me, I can’t help but touch it any time I feel stressed or panicked. It’s like all of those bad feelings, they… go away. Disappear like the way titans do.”

Worries, gone like ash.

A ghostlike sensation runs against your lips, forcing you to reach and run along their seam.

Even if it's far away, you see it: a tilted head; black fringe.

Even now, you feel it: his lips so close; eyes wandering; the loss of reason.

“And you… you kissed me that day.”

Your first.

Both of your firsts.

When you smile, you notice then: his knuckles against the back of the chair turn translucent white.

“Wrong,” the captain tightly states.

Wait.

You freeze, fear settling in your belly.

“What?” you question. “But... but you did.”

He’s gripping the wooden backing so hard it could snap.

“I didn’t,” he forces out. “...you kissed me.”

Oh.

Oh. 

He’s not shutting you out.

Elation sweeps over your mind like a soothing balm as memories of pawing hands and inexperienced desire enters the forefront—

Finally clear as day.

Do you regret it, his voice whispers in the abyss.

“I never regretted that,” you reassure him, like you can finally answer him with absolute honesty. “Though technically you leaned in, and I ran with it.”

He huffs in disbelief. "Yeah?"

You smile with certainty. "Yeah."

Kisses between you two were just the tip of the iceberg. You know that now. 

You’ve seen it, felt it, tasted it—

In this very bedroom.

After a pause, the captain’s voice comes out strained.

“Of all the damn memories, that’s the one that stands out?”

You can’t help but huff with exhausted amusement.

“It isn’t the only one," you reply. "There are a million fragments I’m still piecing together and not everything makes sense, but there are some things that are just so vivid to me now. like…”

“Like?”

“Like our friends.”

Emotion flickers across his expression as he sits up further.

It’s like he’s been waiting to hear the names of your deceased comrades on your lips.

“You remember—”

“Isabel,” you whisper. “And Furlan. Yeah, it’s… bits and pieces just like everything else, but we grew up with them. I remember how we'd all spend hours zipping around that damn stolen ODM gear like we owned the joint. Somehow four kids managed to make an entire home in the Underground. And I wasn’t — I couldn’t be there when they—”

Profound sadness hits you like a ton of bricks, clipping your words.

I couldn't be there when they died.

The picture isn't complete, but you remember the sinking feeling in your belly when he had told you. So much time had gone by — you can vaguely pick out Isabel's wild red hair and recall thinking maybe the sun looked just like that. Furlan's infectious, warm laugh echoes in the back of your mind.

And you nearly joined them as a memory.

(No wonder why Levi was so angry with you at the start of it all.)

The rain continues to tap against the stone walls outside as another stretch of silence befalls the room.

One of Levi’s hands reaches for his face and runs down the length of it, tugging the skin as he goes.

His eyes drop to the floor, his dampened fringe shielding them from view.

“Un-fucking-believable…”

Your brow furrows.

“What?”

“This.”

That same hand sweeps a frustrated gesture between the two of you.

“This shouldn’t be possible,” he grunts. “You hit your goddamn head almost a year ago and — and you nearly did the same fucking thing again today, and you’re telling me that’s all it took to suddenly wake you up?”

The harshness of his words cause you to rear your head back. 

Hange nearly ran to you with open arms when you told them you remembered.

You had thought perhaps Levi would do the same once you had proven your mind to him.

Yet he’s reluctant.

Angry.

“That isn’t what I’m saying,” you retort, narrowing your gaze. “I tried telling you months ago that my memories were fragmented, but you didn’t want to hear it. What, were you hoping I wouldn’t remember?”

Instantly his eyes are back on you. “I didn’t say that.”

“It sure feels like that, Levi,” you snip. “Was it because of our fight?”

The whites of his eyes explode.

“Our what?”

“Before we went on the last expedition,” you clarify under your breath. “When you tried sidelining me with counsel to Erwin. I asked you why you didn’t trust me to fight at your side, but it wasn’t that you didn’t trust me.”

What is the excuse you always, always, use?

It was such a vicious question in the heat of the moment.

Levi doesn’t hide his surprise this time.

Although he doesn’t answer your question, you can see it:

The same turmoil that pushed him to the brink of shouting, coming back to haunt him.

Because if I lose you this time, then that’s it!

The rattle of the storm increases in volume right outside his open window, billowing the sheer curtains from the wall.

You promised.

You promised him so many things that day.

Nothing will happen to me.

I’m not going anywhere.

“I won’t die on you, right?” you say to yourself, as if in a daze — trapped between the present and the past. “Because if I did, you’d drag my ass from Hell yourself.”

His face twists, contorts in pain, only for a second.

He catches himself at the precipice before he can truly react, swallowing it down—

And then it hits.

You understand what he isn't saying.

“You haven't stopped blaming yourself,” you realize out loud in a bewildered whisper. “Even after saving my ass a second time, you're still holding onto that guilt like it was a choice you had made instead of me.”

You stand abruptly from the bed and cross the room towards him.

Levi immediately jumps out of his chair like a cat that’s been dunked in water, terrified you’ll push him back under.

No matter how compelled you are to be near him, he repels. 

“It wasn't your fault,” you urge, softer this time. “Look at me. Levi — it wasn't your fault.”

His bluish-gray eyes narrow in defense. “Don’t start this—”

“When I fell—”

“No.”

“Levi,” you chastise. “You said we could talk.”

“I did,” he hotly retorts. “Not about that day.”

The air in the room shifts.

“Anything but that day,” he repeats, softer this time. “Please. I just —”

Struggling with what he wishes to say, his chin drops to his chest.

“...despite all my best efforts, despite whatever plans I put in place, I watched you fall in the same shitty forest not once, but twice, like it's a sick fucking dream I get to repeat over and over until I learn.”

All of your facial muscles smooth with sadness. “Except there wasn't anything to learn because you did nothing wrong. Levi, you caught me.”

“But not the first time,” he says simply. “Not when it mattered.”

The way he speaks about himself…

Humanity’s Strongest, reduced to one perceived failure, as if he could rewrite history and control your mistakes. 

Timidly you slide a boot forward, testing his resolve. 

Levi doesn’t move. His head remains bowed.

“You have spent months punishing yourself for something that I chose to do,” you urge under your breath in a damn-near plea. “What is it that Erwin tells us to do? Dedicate our hearts?"

"Don't use that shit against me, James," he warns.

Raising your hands in surrender, you shake your head wildly. "I'm not. Believe me, I'm not, but you need to understand it was my choice. I wanted to save the others. I wanted my life to matter."

You see his jaw clench like he's forcing himself to hold back what he wants to say.

You step another boot forward.

"Six months ago when I first saw you in that hospital wing in Trost, when you tried to rile me up, it was—”

“An error in judgment," he interrupts.

“Exactly what I needed,” you finish over him. 

His head lifts. 

You meet, eye to eye.

“I couldn’t understand why I was so transfixed by you,” you continue softly with the utmost sincerity, hoping he will hear you out. “You walked out of that room and all I wanted was to know you. To understand you, like you held this invisible key this entire time that could unlock whatever the hell it was that I was missing. But all you ever did was pull away from me, hide from me, trying to convince me you were some villain in my life—”

“James.” 

Abruptly Levi steps forward as if ready to walk straight through you—

—like you’re nothing but a ghost’s apparition.

Instead he is met with living, breathing warmth. 

Your eyes can’t leave when his breath tickles the skin of your face.

Levi stares back, entranced by the color of your eyes.

Infected, plagued, by the reality that stands before you both.

One false move, and it’ll be a repeat of the conversation in the tree tops that made him retreat.

“I have tried to keep you safe almost my entire life," Levi murmurs, and you can practically feel the vibrations of his voice rocking through your body.

“And you did.”

“I didn’t.”

“Levi, you—”

“I pushed you into danger—”

“Pushed?”

“—and I am sorry—”

Your hand shoots out, turning his cheek to look you dead in the eye. 

“Stop it.”

Levi freezes, looking so much more uncertain now that he did ten minutes ago.

“Stop," you repeat with exasperation. “You're not listening to me. I'm here. I'm right here.”

He swallows to coat his throat, motion thick. His neck bobs.

"I don't know how else to convince you it isn't a fluke," you continue, voice cracking. "You won't let yourself see me. You won't let yourself believe I'm not dead. Levi—"

And just when you think you’ve lost him—

He turns towards the warmth.

His cheek nuzzles your open palm, eyes wearily slipping shut, as if helpless to do so.

You’re holding the first face you remember and the last face you’ve seen —

The partner you left in the forest so long ago.

The man that wants more than he’ll ever allow himself to take.

Levi's confession is barely audible:

“...I don't want it to be too good to be true again."

The floorboard creaks as his foot shifts towards you, angling himself towards you. 

He inhales slowly through his nose, relishing in a private thought, before shaking his head. His hair nearly tickles your forehead.

When he doesn't open his eyes, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

If he won't see you—

Slowly, cautiously, you reach for his hand until yours curls over it.

At first his fingers flinch in your grasp, his blue-gray eyes snapping wide to watch.

Then eventually they relax, surrendering.

Higher and higher, you skim it past your ribcage and pull it up to your left breast. 

His arm tenses, eyes shooting wide. 

You remain relaxed. Focused.

“What is it you feel?” 

“I don’t under—” 

“Just… pause, for once in your life, and tell me what it is you feel.” 

You press his palm harder against your chest, your heart hammering beneath your skin. 

“Please.”

Albeit apprehensive, Levi doesn’t move away. 

His eyes dart to your lips, your sternum, until they lock onto your joined hands.

“You.”

Strained — he chokes on his response.

“I feel… you.”

As if pulled by gravity Levi steadily leans closer, brushing your nose with his.

His jaw clenches, the muscles taut in his mouth, before his palm flattens of his volition against your chest.

Your eyes flutter, relishing in his proximity.

You turn to him, seeking out his body heat.

For the first time in months, you feel it with such certainty.

Familiarity.

His free hand rises to your cheek, cupping the side of your face.

You suck in a sharp breath between parted lips, and he makes a small noise like he’s agonized over being apart from you.

“Every time that I’ve been given the choice, I always choose you,” you confess softly, a mere whisper. “I run right towards you even when I don’t know you. You are the only thing that has ever made sense to me in this world.”

There — you memorize the slide of his calloused palm, running gently along the height of your cheekbone.

Slow, as if mesmerized by your skin’s softness.

Shakily, you continue and choose the point of no return.

“Tell me you don't want me anymore, and I’ll stop running to you. If I have somehow misjudged you and what you might still feel—”

“Say it.”

Levi’s voice engulfs you — the heavy baritone, barely touching your lips.

His expression darkens like he wrestles with two separate trains of thought.

Conflict etched in his brow, he swallows once more and speaks with a tenderness you only remember in dreams.

“Say you remember me.”

After all this time, you've waited for the puzzle to connect.

The pieces that were once scattered now sew themselves together; anew.

He asks without asking.

You answer without uncertainty.

“I remember you.”

As if mesmerized by the curves of your body, Levi’s hand glides from your chest up your throat—

Until his fingers cradle the back of your head.

His other hand remains on the side of your face, holding you as though you could turn into water at any moment.

"Say it again."

You don't hesitate to obey his command.

"I remember you."

To make your point, you turn your chin into his hand — eyes locked — to press a gentle kiss to his palm.

He nearly hisses from the physical contact.

"Again."

Levi's breath slides into your mouth like a phantom kiss of his own.

(Touch starved after so many months apart.)

“I remember you, Levi Ackerman. I remember you, I remember you, I remember—”

You stop talking when he leans in, lips barely brushing yours. 

Your breath halts. 

His is ragged. Soft.

Then he speaks, as if to pray after a long night of war:

“Dirty trick."

That’s all it takes.

Levi reaches out whip-fast, using the palm against your skull to pull you into a searing, life-altering, mind-numbing kiss. 

You go pliant against him, melting like candle wax, willing to take anything he’ll give.

Lips press and pull, his breath hot on your tongue.

His hands search you as if he doesn't know where to touch first — your face, your neck, your shoulder — until he decides to loop his forearm at the small of your back to dip and lift you without ever breaking the kiss.

You jump until your knees bracket his hips, and he pulls you flush to his body.

Levi hastily kicks the chair out of his way to carry you directly to his bed.

And after all this time, you feel it — know it — remember it.

The absence dissipates.

The world finally starts to turn.

You have found your way home.

.

author's note:

...hehe. So how are we feeling, Levi Nation? Let me know in the comments!

Thank you for your patience as I took a little break this summer to write some modern!Levi with Press Four for More Options. To readers old and new, I am so grateful for your encouragement and support. (Every reblog gives this writer wings.)