#FLAILS UNCONTROLABLY

[3katanas]

Roronoa Zoro | The Greatest Swordsman

[spacevixenmusic]

Source: Migi & Dali [2023]

[melon-moth]

every time a girl has to write a term essay an angel dies

[myfavouritelunatic]

*CRYING*

HIS FACE. I CANNOT. 😍😭

[naomiknight-17]

I'm seeing my family doc tomorrow and I am gonna try my damndest to get some kind of kickass painkiller for my next diagnostic procedure

Taking advil beforehand doesn't do shit. I need the good stuff. I am NOT going through that kind of pain again unassisted I will revolt

[cecenyss]

I wish I was a muppet so I could flail uncontrollably with no consequences. And for the scrunch

[swiiivet-screamathon]

I think something that I really do love is just the tiniest guys who can't affect the world, like a kitten or a puppy or a lizard, get SO so mad at the world trying so so hard to do anything about it

Yeah sure animal being upset isn't great and happy animal good but I can't help it their valiant attempts are a beauty to watch, like buddy just calm down a little bit and the world won't seem so antagonistic

[issysh3ll]

Over ♡ Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Overstimulating Matt for the first time while you ride him Warnings: SMUT, overstimulation, creampie, sub!Matt, reverse cowgirl, consent <3

“Ohh my fuckkk” Matt groans as he watches your ass bounce on his cock. Your knees are planted on either side of his body with your hands on his thighs. Matt’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head as he tries to take in as much of this view as possible. Your ass ripples and shakes with each smooth roll of your hips and he can see your juices leaking down the length of his cock.

The sight alone is driving him wild, making him dream of this feeling lasting forever. "S'good... wan' forever" Matt stutters out, trying to tell you what he wants but the feeling of your walls squeezing him firmly with each wet motion is causing a knot to build quickly in his abdomen and his mouth cant form the words correctly around his continuous string of moans and whimpers.

His legs twitch and tense as he frantically tries to hold back his impending release, wanting this feeling, this view to last forever. “I’m gon’ – shiit – gon’ cum” he stutters out between moans. His hands reaching out to you in an attempt to grip the jiggling flesh of your ass, desperate for something to hold on to as he loses himself in the pleasure. 

“Go on, baby, cum inside me” you encourage and with one more smooth motion you feel his cock twitching inside the grip of your walls. But this doesn’t stop you, your hips continuing to dance in his lap as he spurts out the final pump of his cum. Matt wails helplessly behind you, squeezing his grip on your ass and flailing his legs aimlessly as the unbearable pleasure doesn't end. He didn’t know this was possible; the overwhelming bliss usually ends once his orgasm subsides, but this time it’s still going.

“Aw Matt…” you murmur, slowing your dance to a more gentle pace as you look back and see his face screwed up in a mixture of pleasure and confusion, “... thought you wanted this to last forever... Can you keep goin’ for me?” 

Matt’s eyes carefully peer open as the pace slows, allowing him to catch his breath slightly. “Y-yes… please,” he nods his head at you eagerly, his mouth hanging open - unable to form any words. He can’t speak or think of anything other than the feeling you’re bringing him, and how badly he wants it to never end. He can feel every agonizing inch of his cock as it’s swallowed by the soft walls of your pussy. He isn’t even aware of any other part of his body with every nerve in his brain overrun by the intensity of this feeling.

His eyes lock in on the mesmerizing view of your ass bouncing repetitively on his lap. The pace being slower now allows him to take in the way your back arches with each blissful motion, the way the flesh on your hips recoils each time you ram them down against him. 

Despite the overwhelming sensations bordering on pain, Matt can't imagine a better feeling. His muscles are melting in his body as his brain goes foggy with pleasure. His mouth hangs open loosely, small gasps and pants of air breaking between the strings of whimpers and cries falling from his lips.

Matt’s twitching becomes more frantic and uncontrolled, his grip on your hips tightens desperately and his shaky breath hitches. “It’s okay…” you coo. One of your hands trails up his thigh and gently scoops under his balls. Your fingers caress carefully over the soft skin and you murmur over your shoulder to him again, “just let go, cum again f’me”.

The added stimulation of your hands cupping him causes an empty cry to rip through matt’s chest and his whole body tenses as he explodes inside you for the second time tonight “ngh– FUCK!”.

Masterlist

Taglist: @slimshiesty @bernardsbendystraws @gxldenlush @sturniolo-fann @submattenthusiast @sturni0l0tripletzz @colorthecosmos444 @rainuhh @mattscoquette @bambi-slxt @ribread03 @sturnthepot @yourenogoodforme-blog @sturnobsessedwh0re @zayluvss @55sturn @zariyam @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @witchofthehour @bagsbyclair0 @stars4star @mzandi @naisblogsblog @fionaheartswomen @luvs4matt @x0x0bunny @sturniozalt

[bookwormjust]

Slipped into the shower (established relationship with Azriel)

You were in the middle of your shower, enjoying the warm water cascading over you, when your foot slipped on the slick surface of the tiles. You yelped as you lost your balance, arms flailing as you tried to catch yourself. You landed awkwardly on your bottom with a soft thud, but instead of feeling pain, all you felt was a rush of embarrassment—and the urge to laugh.

As you sat there, water still pouring down on you, the absurdity of the situation hit you, and you couldn’t help but burst into laughter. Just as you were trying to gather yourself, the bathroom door flew open, and there stood Azriel, eyes wide and shadows swirling around him in a protective frenzy. His panic was palpable, but the second he saw you sitting on the shower floor, laughing uncontrollably, his expression shifted from alarm to confusion.

“Are you okay?” he asked, still hovering at the doorway, clearly unsure of whether to be concerned or amused.

You looked up at him, still laughing so hard you had to clutch your sides. “I slipped!” you managed to get out between fits of giggles, your shoulders shaking from how ridiculous the whole thing was. “I’m fine, I just—oh gods, you should’ve seen your face!”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed slightly, though the corners of his mouth twitched as if he were fighting back a smile. “I thought you were hurt,” he muttered, stepping inside the bathroom, his wings rustling behind him as he approached.

You wiped away a tear from laughing so hard and looked up at him, grinning. “Nope, just my pride,” you said, trying to stand but slipping again on the wet tiles.

Azriel reached down in an instant, his hands warm as they gently but firmly pulled you up. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you steady, his expression torn between amusement and exasperation. “You’re impossible,” he murmured, though there was no hiding the fondness in his voice.

You couldn’t stop laughing, even as you leaned into his chest, the warmth of his body contrasting with the coolness of the water still spraying down on you both. “I know,” you said, grinning up at him.

Azriel shook his head, finally giving in to the smile tugging at his lips. “You’re lucky you didn’t hurt yourself,” he said, his tone teasing now as he brushed a wet strand of hair away from your face. “Though I’m glad to see you’re laughing instead of crying.”

You giggled again, your laughter finally calming as you stood securely in his arms. “Thanks for the rescue,” you said, playfully leaning your head against his chest. “I knew my Shadowsinger would come save me.”

Azriel chuckled, his hand resting at the small of your back, pulling you closer. “Always,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. His lips curved into a smile as he added, “But next time, maybe don’t make me think you’ve broken a bone?”

You grinned, looking up at him with mischievous eyes. “No promises.” 

He let out a low laugh, his eyes filled with warmth as he held you under the spray of the water, his presence grounding and steady. “I guess I’ll have to keep a closer eye on you, then,” he said, his voice soft but laced with affection.

And as you stood there, wrapped in his arms, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for moments like these—where even the most ridiculous accidents turned into something full of love and laughter.

[arieswritez]

vincible

vincible | mark grayson x gn!reader (fluff)

alright since you all asked so kindly here's the fluff from my last hc 🫶🏾 :

cw: slightly suggestive but nothing nsfw. that's all :D

"why's it looking at me like that?"

the two of you are in bed and with his weight pinning you down, you find it hard to concentrate on what he means.

your head's all fuzzy with the way he's been drowning you in kisses. he kisses you like it might be his last chance to do so: sweet, languid until they melt into something more feral. the way his costume hugs his body doesn't exactly help your concentration, either.

your body's warm as it soaks up his body heat - he's like a fucking furnace - and it yearns. . no. . demands for his attention. you ignore him, making a soft, impatient sound that sounds more like a whine as you try to guide his lips back onto yours.

however, he keeps his head turned to your right, staring at a spot on your bed and says, "what're you lookin' at, huh?"

you pull back, confused, then follow his line of vision.

finally, you see what he sees: a stuffed animal perched against your pillow.

you watch as mark squints at the toy, then, tilts his head and scoffs in indignation as if it's just hurled an insult his way.

"what'd you say?" mark sits up and away from you, puffing out his chest.

the plushie stares at mark with big, black, empty eyes.

you stare up at mark, confused, as he carries on his one sided beef with your plushie.

"they cuddle you while im not here?"

mark crawls over to your plushie and grabs it by its soft neck, his fingers wrapping around the entirety. he pulls it close, putting his nose right up against the toy's. "you wanna say that again, tough guy? don't you know who i am?"

"mark, what're you doing -" you giggle, leaning back on your elbows to watch the ridiculous display before he shushes you.

"hey, you stay out of this. i'll deal with you later." he snaps before turning his attention back to the toy. "oh, you don't care? well, let's see if you care about this -"

mark suddenly shoves the toy into his face.

he flops down atop your bed, wildly flailing with one hand while the other mushes the plushie against his face. he's comically good at it, too, looking like he's being mauled by some feral cat.

he's only emboldened by your uncontrollable laughter: grunting with effort as he rolls over the stuffy and delivers a few blows. even making his own sound effects before he rolls onto his back, your toy gaining the upper hand once again.

this time, he sits the toy atop his face and flails like he's being suffocated. eventually, his body falls limp. the hand that isn't holding the toy upright falling limply at the side of your bed.

your plushie's fought dirty and won.

"i dunno, mark," you manage to say between hiccuping laughs, "you seem pretty vincible to me."

"very funny." comes his muffled voice from beneath the toy. he sits up, stuffy still in hand as he fixes you with an accusatory glare. "laugh. yeah, laugh, while your boyfriend's being mercilessly beaten."

he crawls closer and he thrusts the toy in your direction, waving it side to side by the back of the neck, holding it at arm's length like he's afraid it'll attack him. "i guess you want him now, don't you?"

you raise a brow. "don't misgender my plushies, grayson."

mark retracts the plushie and flips it upside down, looking at its bottom. "oh, right."

you let out a chortle of laughter and he's on you in seconds: pinning you down and smushing the plushie against your face, making kissy sounds while you breathlessly beg him to stop.

[mymegumi]

03:47 ෆ ITADORI YUUJI

⠀ for: @driaswrld sorry pookie for the emotional dmg (-ω-、)

“yuu,” you grunt, hands flailing out in the darkness as you try to push your lug of a boyfriend away from you, “stars, you need to stop eating so much, you weigh as much as a tractor trailer.”

the response you get is a long snore, followed by the soft smacking of his lips.

normally, you wouldn’t complain about your sweet boy’s body weight or the comforting pressure of his limbs draped over you, but currently, you’re facing a singularly unique experience that no one has ever seen happen before—you need to pee. badly. yuuji has been bulking lately, meaning for dinner you have to make about three servings of food, all for him, and then a fourth serving for yourself (of which he usually finishes off for you if you can’t manage to eat it all).

not to say you dislike watching your boyfriend’s gym experiences, or even that you discourage them, but you’re just annoyed now that he’s gained about 5-10 pounds of muscle mass that you can barely manage to push him off of you.

he’s not a gentle sleeper. in fact, he’s single-handedly the most violent sleeper you’ve ever met and the first time you’d stayed over at his apartment, he scared you awake at least three or five times. now, you’re so used to his sudden spasms and uncontrollable snoring that it hardly phases you, or you can just ignore it and fall asleep again, but the discomfort of needing to pee has taken precedence over anything else.

yuuji is truly lucky you love him more than anything else, right now, because he’s star-fished himself across your queen-sized bed, an arm over your stomach and his legs flung over both of yours while the blanket is tangled between both of your bodies. he is happily snoozing away, blissfully deep in dream world as you continue trying to push him off.

this wouldn’t be an issue, because despite his bulking and the near constant complaint of ‘yuu, you weigh too much for us to wrestle properly because you always win!’, normally, you can at least shove him off enough to scramble out of the tangle of limbs.

tonight is an issue because he’s clingy.

yuuji is a stage-five clinger in his sleep only a third of the time. most of the time you’re free to come and go as you please, but sometimes, on rare occasion, he can psychically know you’re trying to leave the bed and stop you in his sleep. he’ll grab your waist and shove his face in your neck, he’ll snag a wrist and interlace your fingers, and on the one rare time, he’ll somehow hook his foot around your leg and make you fall back onto the bed. it was insane, the lengths he would go to to make you stay in the comfort of your bed—all while miraculously asleep.

so, you’d tried to sneak out of bed to pee and he’d grabbed your hip, forcing you back into bed with the grip of a man desperate to keep you by his side. you’d find it endearing if you weren’t about to pee your pants.

“i love you,” you whisper, turning your head to press your nose into his cheek and trying to burn a hole in his head, “but i’m gonna murder you if you don’t wake up and let me leave.”

“s’love you.” he mutters. he tilts his head towards you and presses a kiss to your nose.

you narrow your eyes. “what’s megumi’s middle name?”

“francis.”

he’s not awake. the poor boy wouldn’t have lied so easily if he was awake, and you are left to flop against the mattress helplessly.

you hate waking him up because he always looks like someone kicked a puppy in front of him and then told the dog it sucked. it just wasn’t nice and he deserved all the nice things in the world. you also hate waking him up because he is somehow such a deep sleeper. you’d have to be screaming your lungs off at an intruder for him to wake up in perfect lucidity.

you’ll have to find another plan to sneaking away from him and going to the bathroom. you wouldn’t give up, but you’d bide your time. eventually he’d have to move away from you and then, that’d be your chance to slip away.

(you end up falling asleep in his embrace and running to the bathroom frantically when the sun rises.)

[momotonescreaming]

STWG Daily Prompt: Date Night

“Does Thursday work?” Jeff asks, voice tinny and sort of muffled. Eddie can hear the sound of flipping pages, the creak of the plastic from the phone's speaker. 

“Shit, sorry dude.” Eddie says, looking at the loose pages of lined paper he's scribbled his schedule on. It works for him, and it's better than nothing. “That's date night.” 

A pause. For a moment, all Eddie can hear is the sound of Jeff breathing through the speaker. 

“Date night, huh?” Jeff eventually asks, and Eddie can hear the smarmy grin he's wearing. It's leaking into his voice, the absolute delight in it all. Just the right side of teasing, the bastard. He'd hate it, would snap and snarl and throw it all back if he wasn't also fucking delighted. 

He could say that now. He had a boyfriend, who holds his hands and kisses him and schedules date nights. He gets this. He gets to talk about it with his best friend. Can mention he has a date and doesn't have to hide the fact that it's with his boyfriend. He gets to share in the gentle ribbing for once. It's not just him on the outside looking in — as they tease Gareth for getting a date with a girl from his English class, or Jeff hitting his anniversary with his girlfriend. 

Eddie's been domesticated and he doesn't mind in the slightest. 

“Yes, it's date night,” Eddie retorts, trying to send as much faux malice down the phone as he can. He's smiling though, as he sits at the kitchen table, phone cord absently tangled through his fingers. “And Steve's been working hard planning it, so I will not be rescheduling.” 

“I didn't ask you to,” Jeff laughs, tone light. 

“Well good.” Eddie teases, wishing they were having this conversation in person so he could stick his tongue out. Really ham it up. 

Another pause, and Eddie uses the silence to flip through his papers, looking through all the events and dates and times he's scribbled out. Fuck, he really needs a calendar. 

“So?” Jeff prompts, drawing the word out. “Tell me about date night.” 

“You sound like your mother,” Eddie laughs, holding the phone in between his ear and his shoulder, pinning it there so he can free up his hands. So he can sort through his papers and fidget with the phone cord at the same time “Begging for gossip.” 

“You love my mother,” Jeff retorts — snappish — but it's obvious he's smiling. Laughing through it. “And you say that like you aren't gagging to talk about it. Come on.” 

“Okay fine,” Eddie relents. Sighing as he sinks into his chair, slouching, his socked feet skating across the floor. “You caught me.” 

“Not hard,” Jeff laughs. 

“Steve’s been talking a lot about wooing me lately,” Eddie starts, ignoring Jeff’s teasing. He finds himself smiling as he talks, creeping across his face uncontrollably. Fuck, the things Steve does to him. “As if he hasn’t wooed me already. So he’s planned this like, romantic dinner at home. Instead of going out to Enzo’s he wants to like, bring Enzo’s to us? Said he was going to treat me right. Have the fancy dinner I deserve, where we can play footsie under the table and hold hands without, y’know, worrying.”

By the end of his sentence Eddie’s feeling like he’s melting into his chair, insides melting into something soft and gooey. Pulling his hair across his face to hide his blush. Jeff can’t even see him, but he can’t help it. He wants to giggle and kick his feet. Jump and scream and flail around. It’s all building up inside him, this honey sweet affection. He doesn’t quite know what to do with it all. 

“He going to light candles? Have soft music playing in the background?” Jeff asks, teasing melting away into something softer. 

“Literally yes,” Eddie exclaims, dropping his hair and trying not to wiggle too much in his seat. “He’s so sweet, I’m going to throw up.”

“He’s good for you, man.” Jeff says simply, and it means a lot. That other people can see it — can know — just how happy Steve makes him. 

[Part Two]

[multifandomme]

Respite

Pairing: Olivia Benson x Female Reader

Summary: Olivia learns what it's like to be denied.

Genre: Smut, (orgasm denial, praise, choking, light humiliation, oral sex, fingering), not suitable for minors.

Word Count: 1k.

This piece is for day 3 of kinktober under the 'denial' prompt.

More works from me here. || Masterlist here. || Kinktober 2024 Masterlist here.

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The bullpen was eerie come nightfall, silent, the murk occluded only by the dim orange of desk lamps. Olivia’s frame lurked behind the frosted glass of her office like a shadow, creeping slowly until she emerged in the doorway with a lust-filled stare. She should have been home by now, though in typical Olivia fashion, her mind had been rattled by a particularly harrowing case. 

You knew why she had requested your presence, working under the pretence that it was comfort that she was seeking, though it never seemed to end that way. And, predictably, when the thunderous slam of the door echoed behind you, her lips sprung to meet yours in a heated exchange. 

“Fuck, I’ve missed this,” she mumbled, her words vibrating against your lips, too impassioned to break contact for even a second.

You hummed in accordance, your hands peeling the clothes from her body, feet stumbling clumsily until Olivia’s back found the edge of her desk. 

“You just can’t get enough of me, can you?” You husked, seductively, your teeth quick to pluck at her bottom lip, tearing a whine from her.

A month ago, Olivia had been adamant that this clandestine arrangement was to exist as nothing more than a one-night stand, a meaningless fling to be passed off as a moment of weakness. The irony existed in the way that she had broken her own rule, fated to be called to her office most nights of the week, her muffled groans bleeding out into the empty bullpen. 

“You were gone for two days,” she breathed, her hand wrangling with yours until she had successfully dragged your palm against her silk-clad pussy, wetness tainting your fingertips. “Feel it,” she urged, “that’s what you do to me.”

The reality of her arousal forced your stomach into flexion, a tinge of delight thrumming deep inside of you with persistence. But, it was Olivia that captured your undivided attention, her eyes silently pleading with you as she widened her thighs, bracing for her inevitable ruin. 

“You’re fucking dripping,” you smirked, two digits etching tight circles across the growing patch of damp, a gasp emitting from her in response. “Pathetic.”

“No,” Olivia whimpered, weakly, her sense of conviction rendered futile the moment her hips jogged forward in search of further contact, her thighs quivering uncontrollably. 

“Such a pity, isn’t it?” You cooed, your fingers ghosting her clit so softly that Olivia’s features twisted into an expression of pain, agony almost. “You just can’t seem to get off without me,” you riled, faux sweetness lilting your tone, “you need my hands on you, my fingers in that pretty pussy of yours, don’t you?”

The question hung in the silence, unanswered, groans of frustration falling from her lips each time she drove forward just to feel you retreat in avoidance.

“Please,” she sobbed out, her fists knocking mildly against your chest in a feeble protest. “Please, touch me, do anything.”

Her pleas only filled you with zeal, ultimately deciding to submit to her demand for the moment, your ulterior plan fated to remain hidden for the time being. 

“Move and you lose,” you stated, sternly, Olivia’s eyes twinkling with excitement at the prospect of a challenge, a victorious smile upturning her mouth. 

Slender digits breached the hem of her panties, softened motions calling a fresh wave of arousal into existence. Olivia clung to you with unyielding force, the grave reality of having her pleasure stripped from her keeping her fixed in position. She wanted to flail, to buck, to manipulate your fingers into the depths of her, but she knew better than to break the rules. 

“You’re gonna make me-”

“Not yet,” you growled, insistently, your motion ebbing away as a means of reminding her what was at stake. “You’re going to wait until I tell you,” you affirmed, your free hand lifting to cinch at her throat, a guttural moan blurting from her. “You’re going to be a good girl and follow the rules, hm?”

Olivia nodded, albeit weakly, the pursing of her lips only reiterating the hastening approach of her downfall. Abruptly, you stuffed your fingers into her soaking pussy, observing intently as she spluttered against the simultaneous tightening around her neck. And, you pounded relentlessly, your eyes never straying from her, searching for any sign that she was about to crumble and subsequently defy you. 

“I’m gonna cum,” she rasped, frantically, her eyes widening all of a sudden. “Please, let me cum, please.”

In an instant, you ripped yourself away from her, basking in her dissatisfaction as she scowled, her chest heaving, gaze afire. A wry chuckle emanated as you studied the visceral torment that plagued her, resettling yourself before her until your knees met the wood beneath. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” you cooed, her panties yanked down to encircle her ankles as you drew in close, your tongue sneaking out to savour the taste of her. “You’re just too fun to play with.”

Still reeling from the callous denial you had orchestrated, Olivia opted to stay quiet, inwardly curious as to what else you had planned at her expense. The thoughts were soon licked away by the feeling of your tongue lapping ardently against her clit, her body jolting wildly in response to the newfound stimulation. 

The dulling remnants of incomplete euphoria soon reawakened, Olivia’s fingernails clawing at your scalp as she willed you on from above. Her hips established a methodic pace, manipulating your mouth with precision, her own hanging open as she peered downwards through half-lidded eyes. Undeniably, it was a sight at which to marvel, positively entranced by the sounds that flung free of her. And yet, nothing compared to the beauty of her desperation, the feral despair that took her under when she was forsaken to be unfulfilled, made to wait. 

“Please, fuck,” she whispered, urging you further against her pussy as her body grew rigid, wound tight, her collapse imminent as her knees began to buckle beneath her weight. “Can I?” She cried out, entirely afflicted by the temptation that ailed her, that ran rabid inside of her with nowhere to go.

You halted, a devilish smirk fused to your lips as you regarded her towering form from below, her body trembling visibly, violently, hands bunched into fists of rage.

“No,” you concluded, swiping her arousal from your chin, the taste of her bound to prevail. “But good girls wait, don’t they?”

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––--– ♡ –––--

[13rurururi]

♥︎ "my boyfriend is a two-faced liar" (geto suguru x reader)

To an outsider, Suguru seems like the most gentle and doting boyfriend. Little do they know, he's quite the rough brat-tamer behind closed doors, and you're left to handle his harsh punishments like the good girl you are.

pairing: Geto Suguru x Female! Reader

cw/s: 18+, degradation, dirty talk, pussy slapping, vaginal sex, fingering, mirror sex, suguru is possessive, dom! suguru, sub! reader, cockwarming, nicknames (princess & baby), etc.

a/n: everyone is aged-up

Suguru is the sweetest boyfriend.

You are merrily walking side-by-side in the boisterous streets of Shibuya. Bashfully, he gingerly clasps his hand on yours, keeping you snuggled right beside him. He treats you to your favorite meals and buys you numerous gifts in your beloved date spots — cafés, parks, and shopping malls — all the while taking pictures of your giddy, smiling face.

He nuzzles his face on the crown of your head and softly kisses your cheeks 'til they're blushing red. He offers you his jacket when you feel cold, and he laughs heartily at how it loosely drapes around your adorable figure.

When the sun prepares to set, he walks you home, letting you blabber and giggle about anything on your mind. He's a good listener, and you feel truly loved by your dearest Suguru.

As you near your house, however, the softness of his eyes gradually dissipates into a darkening stare. You feel yourself shrink under the intensity of his perusal, and your words falter until it's silent. You're at the entrance of your home, and Suguru doesn't bid you goodbye; instead, he towers over your figure, firmly grabbing your waist under his jacket that flutters around your frame.

He doesn't bid you goodbye — instead, he hoists you up his shoulder and brings you to your bedroom without uttering a word.

After all, Suguru is a two-faced bastard.

Now, as you limply flail over his broad shoulder, he mercilessly trails his cold fingers up-and-down your inner thighs, purposefully ghosting a thumb over your aching pool of arousal.

"You think you can just flirt with anyone like a whore, huh?" With his harshly spat words came a whine-inducing slap on your ass, eliciting a broken whimper from your parted lips. He carries you with ease, as if you weighed nothing to his well-trained, muscular form. Without missing a beat, Suguru pins you down on your bed, nearly burying you in your thick duvet.

"I wasn't flirting! He—he asked me for directions, that's all—" Your attempt at explaining yourself to your agitated lover is interrupted by two thick fingers shoved into your mouth, making you uncontrollably salivate on Suguru's rough digits.

"You could've ignored him, but you talked to him like a slut desperate to get all her holes stuffed full," he berates you in a deep rumble, keeping his fingers in your gurgling mouth despite your desperate effort to move his burly arm. On instinct, you feel your jaw clamp down on your boyfriend's fingers, making him faintly yelp at the prick of your teeth on his skin.

Realizing what you have done, you gape at Suguru with a frantic look in your widened eyes. "Suguru, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

Rip!

The resounding tear of your dress envelops the room, and you feel goosebumps travel across your bare skin — both from the cool air and the sharp, lust-filled glower of your boyfriend's eyes.

Geto takes a step away from the bed, taking a moment to admire your depraved, squirming figure. You didn't wear any underwear; after all, he had requested (borderline demanded) you to do so, and who are you to deny your sweet, sweet lover?

Feeling a vulnerable coolness prick at your bare skin, you cross your legs together as you clumsily try to shield your perky nipples with Suguru's jacket that you're still sporting. Geto dives back into your bed, his sudden weight causing you to lightly jump and jiggle in all the right places.

Fuck, he's getting so hard. He'd usually succumb to your sensual whimpers, but his pretty girl needs to pay for her mistakes. He releases a huff of air through his nostrils as he latches his palms onto your bare midriff, repositioning you to sit on his lap with your back against his sculpted chest.

Spreading your legs in a torturously slow manner, you feel his lips subtly move against your ear as he gravelly mutters, "You know who you belong to, right?"

Your whimper is cut short by him twisting his figure to directly face both your bodies towards a full-length mirror near your bedside table. Such a mirror is an essential prop to multiple cute couple selfies you make Suguru take with you.

You recall taking a romantic picture with him just this morning prior to your date. In the photo, you were carelessly leaning on his well-defined chest while Suguru snaked a strong arm around your waist — both of your faces were alight in joy and evident infatuation for one another. It's your favorite portrait taken with him yet.

Now, as you tearily gaze at your wet, bare cunt spread wide open by your supposedly gentle lover's calloused fingers, you realize that your innocent mirror may soon become tainted by your boyfriend's darker desires. You have no time to ponder further, for Suguru hastily buries two digits deep into your squelching pussy.

Instantaneously, your moans begin to penetrate the sex-filled air, urging Suguru to move his digits quicker. His motions are fluid, precise, and merciless as he manages to hit the spot that makes you arch your body in pure bliss.

Grabbing your chin with one hand, he forces your gaze back to your sinful caricature in the mirror. He relentlessly pumps his fingers in-and-out of your tight hole, coating your slit and sensitive clit with a thin sheen of your wetness.

"My slut — you're my slut, my pretty little cumdump," he gruffly mutters from behind you as he suddenly ceases his ministrations, entirely removing his coated digits from inside you.

The abrupt loss of stimulation made you wiggle on his lap, begging for relief in a shrill, blissed-out voice. "Suguru, please touch me!"

The last intonation of your desperate plea is unconsciously relayed in a scream when Geto roughly brings his palm down on your sobbing pussy, slapping you into a flutter of pain and hedonism.

"Nngh! Mmh!" You're left with no ounce of coherence as Suguru continuously strikes your sensitive pussy lips in a consistent and devilishly harmonious tempo. Your euphoric melody accompanies each slap, slap, slap perfectly — together, you compose a depraved symphony that Suguru regards as his favorite tune.

Soon, Suguru grows satisfied with your obscene reflection on the now-corrupted looking glass. He nudges your limp head to urge you to see, and you can't help but lightly twitch in building arousal at your state: your legs are wide open and limp across your boyfriend's lap; your pussy is fully exposed, revealing a mess of reddish skin and glistening cum; finally, you look at your lover's face on the reflection — the lustful haze is yet to clear, and you know he still has plans for you.

"Think you deserve my cock now, baby?"

The dark undertone of his usually calm voice makes you swallow your anxious anticipation. Tilting your head to face him, you gingerly peck his cheek in an unspoken submission; and you stare into his eyes with a look you know makes him relent and tirelessly please you all night.

"Can I please have your cock, Suguru?"

Blinking your eyes in innocent seduction, you drag your fingers across his clothed chest, trailing down to unbutton his dress shirt. You stop your movements right above your boyfriend's throbbing member, unlatching the buttons of his pants, which makes Suguru shakily sigh in short-lived relief.

"Please, Suguru?"

With a low groan, Suguru maneuvers your frame to face him, sitting you down on his erect cock. He makes you shed off your remaining garments — his jacket — and gives you the illusion of control as he sits back and watches you remove his clothes with clammy fingers.

Your fleeting sense of boldness disperses into air once the two of you are entirely bare. Your sudden shyness makes Suguru chuckle at you mockingly, and he runs his rough palms from your hips to your breasts, toying with your pert nipples by pinching them with his thumb and index finger.

You instinctively rub your body against his in response, yearning to be wholly engulfed by his warmth. Seeing you so desperate in your lewd display, Suguru decides to give you just that.

"Then take all of it, princess."

Wrapping his hands around your arched waist, he hovers your sopping cunt right above his fully-erect cock, and as if you were his ragdoll to play with, he brings you down on his entire length without an ounce of warning.

An explosion of sensual moans, breaths, and the beat of skin-on-skin permeates your bedroom. You ground yourself by latching your arms around his neck, running your fingers through his loose man-bun. You occasionally tug his locks, and such an action makes him release a short, pitched moan that only heightens your excitement.

Suguru watches your connecting bodies with dilated pupils, his movements slowly becoming sloppier with your gradual approach to release.

"You're fucking sucking me in, baby," his breathy words of humiliation make you subconsciously squeeze his length even more. "You're so damn cock-hungry for me, huh? Only for me, right?"

You rapidly nod to appease your boyfriend, for you feel as if you have been stripped of all sense due to the overflowing pulse of pleasure coursing through your veins. Geto's cock stuffs you full with each thrust, and his ruddy head manages to hit your g-spot each time. Your warm walls twitch when his cock leaves you, only to cry out in a painful stretch when he enters you in the next beat.

You feel Suguru's fingers slip from your waist — either due to a layer of sweat or his approaching climax — and you press your lips together to muffle a particularly loud whine when he circles a finger on your bulging clit. The combined actions of your surprisingly impatient lover accelerate your build-up to release. Then, suddenly—

"Suguru!" Your shrill yelp of pleasure indicates the arrival of your climax, and it was romantically simultaneous with Suguru's own release. Your vision blurs and is momentarily overtaken by a bright light before you regain consciousness once again.

Panting and grunting faintly, he sits you down on his half-hardened length. To your surprised contentment, he brings you closer to him as he fully embraces your limp and sensitive frame, sensually kissing your forehead.

You still need to get used to Suguru's abrupt switches from a sweet and loving boyfriend to a domineering bastard that leaves you fucked senseless, and vice versa.

Regardless, you embrace him as well, and you hum in hazy satisfaction when he rubs gentle circles on your lower back. You know you'll spend the rest of the evening cock-warming him as he listens to your hushed stories. If you're lucky, you may get him to share some of his tales, as well.

In the end, your boyfriend Suguru truly is a two-faced bastard; however, your exciting days of eruptive pleasure always end in tender kisses and embraces.

"I love you," he whispers in your ear, and it feels like the universe silences itself to make way for his meaningful declaration.

Truly, you wouldn't want it any other way.

a/n: Here I am once again with Suguru brainrot. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this one — he's such a complex character, you know? Reblogs and notes would be appreciated! ☆

[badger-tales]

More Than Meets The Eye//F.W x Reader

a/n: oops I went a little crazy with this fic. i was only gonna write like 2k.

request:

Hii!🫶🏻

Can i request Fred Wealey x Slytherin reader?Fred wouldn't spare a second glance at her because he expected her to be mean and arrogant...and then they bond through a prank.He gets to know her.He is surprised at how well they get along.She still has a strong personality,like being determined and ambitious,prioritizes her goals, but they also share common humor with Fred,supports him and his dream,is honest,stands up for him and his family and etc.

Honestly, I am more about the beginning of their connection,but I'd be very happy if you want to add romance.

Also, I wouldn't mind if the reader is gn.

Thanks in advance!♡♡

word count: 7.4k

Fred Weasley had never really given much thought to anyone in Slytherin, especially not you. It wasn’t anything personal—well, actually, it sort of *was*. From the moment he and George had stepped into Hogwarts, they’d been fed the same story over and over again: Slytherins were ambitious, ruthless, cold, and far too pleased with themselves for anyone’s liking. That was just the way it was. House stereotypes ran deep, and for Fred, those old tales of Slytherin superiority seemed to hold more than a little truth. 

Most of the Slytherins he encountered fit the mold perfectly—smug, calculating, always scheming in their own dark corners of the castle. In Fred’s eyes, they had an aura about them, a kind of icy detachment that separated them from the warmth of Gryffindor camaraderie. So it was only natural that he didn’t spare you more than a passing glance whenever you crossed paths. 

At least, not until that day.

You weren’t mean, necessarily, but there was something about you that set you apart—a kind of magnetic presence that made people take notice. Maybe it was the way you moved with confidence, the way you held your head high like you always knew exactly where you were going and how to get there. You walked the halls like you owned them, and for Fred, that kind of self-assurance could only mean one thing: you were another one of those Slytherins. The type that had ambition running through their veins, and absolutely no time to waste on anything or anyone that didn’t serve their goals. 

You always seemed focused—too focused. Good grades, a close-knit group of friends, and that perpetual look of someone already ten steps ahead of everyone else. You never bothered with Gryffindors unless you had to, and Fred had long assumed he was no exception to that rule. You hardly ever looked his way, and he certainly didn’t make the effort to look back.

But all of that changed the day you pranked him.

It had started off like any other afternoon in the Great Hall. Fred and George had been huddled together at the Gryffindor table, heads bent in deep discussion about their next grand plan. The hall was alive with the usual chatter and clinking of silverware, but the twins were in their own world, plotting whatever chaos they could unleash next.

Fred was mid-sentence, leaning over the table, when suddenly—BAM. A bone-chilling shock of cold hit him, ripping through his body like he’d been plunged into the icy depths of the Black Lake. His breath hitched, and without thinking, he shot up from the bench, arms flailing, his wet robes clinging to his skin. Water dripped from his hair and pooled at his feet, and he shivered uncontrollably as the hall erupted in laughter.

It took him a second to regain his bearings, blinking as he processed what had just happened. George, looking equally baffled, stared at Fred’s drenched form with wide eyes, hands lifted in mock surrender.

“That wasn’t us,” George muttered, casting a wary glance around the hall. “Who—?”

Fred didn’t even get a chance to finish his thought before a soft, unmistakable chuckle floated across the table. His ears perked up, and his gaze followed the sound. There you were, sitting a few seats away, your arms casually crossed over your chest as you watched him with a look of pure amusement. The faintest smirk tugged at the corners of your lips, but it was the glint in your eyes that caught Fred’s attention—the kind of glint that screamed mischief.

You tilted your head slightly, raising a single eyebrow as your eyes locked with Fred’s. You didn’t say a word, but the message was clear as day: Got you. The smirk deepened, and Fred felt the heat rise to his cheeks—not from embarrassment, but from theyer disbelief.

Had you, a Slytherin, just pranked him? 

Fred stood there, blinking, momentarily thrown off-kilter. Slytherins didn’t prank. They schemed, sure, but this? This was something else entirely. He’d expected arrogance, maybe a condescending remark or two, but this? This playful, teasing glimmer in your eyes—this was a whole new side of you he’d never seen before.

For a split second, Fred didn’t know whether to be annoyed or impressed. But as the hall’s laughter died down, he felt his mouth twitch into a grin, the shock fading into something more like admiration. It wasn’t every day someone managed to catch him off guard. And for you, of all people, to pull it off? Well, that was something he could respect.

Fred glanced at George, who was still trying (and failing) to stifle his own laughter. “Looks like someone’s playing our game,” George said, nudging Fred with his elbow.

Fred’s grin widened as he turned back to you, shaking off the last of the water from his robes. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough for you to hear. “Didn’t think I’d see the day a Slytherin pulled one over on me.”

You didn’t reply, but the satisfied smirk on your face said it all.

Fred stared at you, still dripping wet, his shock morphing into something else entirely—a blend of disbelief and curiosity. His brows were raised, and there was a slight flicker of admiration in his eyes. He hadn’t expected you to be behind it. Not you. He wiped the water off his face with a quick swipe of his sleeve, blinking through the last remnants of surprise.

"Was that you?" Fred asked, his voice a mixture of incredulity and—though he wouldn’t admit it yet—something like respect.

Your smirk only grew wider, a glint of satisfaction dancing in your eyes as you met his gaze without hesitation. “Maybe,” you replied, your tone casual and entirely unbothered, as if soaking one of the Weasley twins was a perfectly ordinary part of your day. You leaned back slightly, watching his reaction with amusement. “It’s not like you Gryffindors own the art of mischief, you know.”

Fred blinked again, still caught off guard by your audacity. Slytherins didn’t pull pranks like this—at least, not ones that weren’t dripping with malice or some underhanded agenda. But this? This was pure fun, a clever, harmless trick. His kind of fun. His lips twitched upward despite himself, the corners of his mouth lifting into a grin that was more impressed than anything else.

“Right, well,” Fred said slowly, his surprise now melting into something warmer, “I can appreciate a well-executed prank, even when I’m the one getting soaked.”

You tilted your head, your smirk deepening as you shrugged, the gesture effortlessly cool. “I’d hope so,” you replied, eyes never leaving his. “Thought you could use a taste of your own medicine.”

Fred let out a short laugh, and for a moment, it felt like the entire hall had faded into the background—the noise of clattering plates and chatter dulling to a distant hum. You had his full attention now, and he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that you’d just broken some sort of unspoken rule. Slytherins didn’t prank him. Yet here you were, defying every expectation he had, and doing it with style.

George, still laughing beside him, clapped Fred on the shoulder, clearly enjoying the moment as much as Fred was. “they’s got you there, mate.”

Fred kept his eyes on you, studying you in a way he hadn’t before. There was something about the way you carried yourself—sure, you were ambitious, confident like any Slytherin. But there was something else too. A spark of humor, a playful side that Fred hadn’t seen in you or any of your housemates. It was like you weren’t just focused on winning or getting ahead; you enjoyed the game itself, the thrill of pulling off something clever. 

After that day, Fred couldn’t help but notice you more. Whether it was in the common spaces between classes or across the Great Hall at mealtimes, there was a new, unspoken connection between the two of you. A shared look, a grin exchanged across the room, and sometimes, when the timing was just right, a wink if one of you had managed to pull off something particularly sneaky. You didn’t hang around with the Gryffindors, not like Fred’s usual circle, but it didn’t matter. There was something about you—something that felt a little too familiar, like the two of you were cut from the same cloth in ways Fred hadn’t anticipated.

It was a few days later when Fred and George were sitting in a quiet corner of the castle, heads bent together over a crumpled piece of parchment as they plotted their next grand scheme. The brothers were deep in discussion, hutheyd whispers and wicked grins, when your voice cut through the air, smooth and teasing.

"Planning something good?" you asked, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. You leaned against the wall with your arms crossed, just enough swagger in your stance to grab their attention without even trying.

Fred looked up, a slow grin spreading across his face as he leaned back against the stone wall. “Always,” he said, his voice light and playful. “Why? Want in?”

You didn’t answer right away, instead tapping your chin thoughtfully, as if weighing your options. Finally, with a small, amused hum, you gave a short nod. “Could be fun. What are we targeting?”

George’s eyes went wide, flicking between Fred and you as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “Are we seriously teaming up with a Slytherin?” he asked, though the glint of excitement in his tone betrayed him.

Fred shrugged, shooting you a sideways grin. “Why not? they've got talent.”

At that, you flatshed a quick grin of your own—sharp, confident, and just mischievous enough to match the Weasley twins. Something in Fred’s chest warmed at the sight. He hadn’t expected to like you this much, hadn’t thought you’d be the kind of person who could stand shoulder to shoulder with him and George in the art of causing magical mayhem. But here you were, already fitting right in with the two of them, your mind working just as fast, just as sharp. It was almost too easy—like you were meant to be part of the team.

It didn’t take long for the three of you to hatch a plan. The idea was bold, ambitious, and absolutely hilarious: charming all of Hogwarts’ staircases to reverse themselves at random intervals, creating chaos for anyone trying to get anywhere in the castle for at least an hour. Fred could already picture it—students lost, moving in circles, teachers getting increasingly flustered as they tried to reach their classrooms. It was perfect.

As you all sat together, conspiring over the finer details of the prank, Fred couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of camaraderie. There was something electric in the air, a shared excitement that buzzed between the three of you. It wasn’t just the thrill of the prank itself—it was the fact that you were part of it. That, somehow, the boundaries between Gryffindor and Slytherin didn’t seem to matter when you were plotting mischief together.

And as Fred exchanged a glance with you, your eyes gleaming with the same kind of mischief that always lived in his, he realized that this was only the beginning.

When the prank finally went off without a single hitch—just as the three of you had planned it—Fred couldn’t help but feel a surge of genuine admiration. The chaotic symphony of moving staircases, confused shouts, and students doubling back in frustration echoed throughout the castle. Everything unfolded exactly as intended. It was a beautiful disaster, one Fred and George might have taken full credit for under normal circumstances, but this time, there was someone else in the mix. 

You.

He glanced over at you amidst the mayhem, and for what felt like the hundredth time that day, he found himself impressed. You were sharper than he'd realized, quick on your feet with ideas and witty comebacks, and your sense of humor? It matched his own in a way that surprised him. Where he and George were used to bouncing ideas off each other in perfect sync, adding you to the mix had been... effortless. It was almost as if you'd been part of their mischief-making duo all along. The way you kept up, even outsmarting them in some cases, made Fred feel like he’d finally met someone outside of his brother who got it—the thrill, the fun, the sheer genius of a perfectly executed prank.

And the more he thought about it, the more he liked it. He liked how you weren’t afraid to speak your mind, whether it was about the prank or something else entirely. There was a blunt honesty about you that Fred found refreshing. It wasn’t like the typical Gryffindor bravado he was so used to—charging into things headfirst and hoping for the best. No, with you, it was different. There was a sharpness to your words, a determination that showed how driven you were toward your own goals. You were ambitious, no doubt about it. But you weren’t above teaming up for something as ridiculous as a prank.

That night, as the three of you sat together near the Gryffindor common room, celebrating the chaos you’d unleatheyd on the castle, Fred found himself laughing—really laughing, the kind that made his stomach ache and tears prick at the corners of his eyes. George, too, was still chuckling beside him, recounting the way Snape had nearly gotten caught in one of the staircases as it reversed direction. But Fred’s focus wasn’t entirely on his brother. It kept drifting back to you.

As the laughter slowly faded into an easy silence, Fred leaned against the stone wall, catching his breath. He looked at you, and for the first time, he realized just how wrong he’d been—not just about Slytherins, but about you. All that time, he’d thought of you as nothing more than another ambitious snake with no room in your life for fun or friendship. But here you were, your laughter still lingering in the air, looking more at ease than he’d ever seen you.

"You're not so bad," Fred said, nudging you playfully with his elbow, his grin still lingering. You were standing near the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, your posture relaxed in a way that told Fred you were no longer trying to prove anything—to him or anyone else. It was just you. And he liked that.

You shot him a look, but there was no real bite to it, just a teasing smile that softened your features. "Thanks, Weasley. You're not half as annoying as I thought you’d be either."

Fred chuckled, but there was something in your voice—something light, playful, but genuine. It wasn’t just teasing; it was a little warmer than that, like maybe this whole thing had surprised you too. The back-and-forth between you two was easy, natural even, and Fred found that he liked this feeling—this... whatever it was.

For a moment, the two of you stood there in the glow of the flickering torches, silence settling comfortably between you as the others around you continued chatting. Fred turned toward you again, his grin softening into something more thoughtful.

"You know..." he began, scratching the back of his neck. "I’m glad we did this. I didn’t think I’d ever say it, but I actually enjoy having you around."

The words were sincere, maybe more sincere than Fred had meant them to be, but he didn’t take them back. He couldn’t. Because the truth was, he really did like having you around. You weren’t just some prank partner or an occasional clever rival—you were someone who challenged him in ways he didn’t expect. And that? Well, that made you someone worth knowing.

Your smile grew just a little warmer at his words, and for a second, Fred swore he saw something shift in your expression—something almost... fond. "Careful, Fred," you said, your voice carrying a hint of amusement. "People might start thinking we’re friends."

Fred let out a light laugh, though it felt like something more, something unspoken passing between the two of you. "Would that be such a bad thing?"

You didn’t answer right away, instead turning the question over in your mind, and Fred could see that you weren’t dismissing it outright. It wasn’t like you to offer your trust or friendship easily. You were too sharp for that, too guarded, too Slytherin, maybe. But then, after a moment, you shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips.

"No," you said, your tone softer now. "I suppose not."

And that was it. Simple words, exchanged in the quiet of the evening, but to Fred, they felt heavier than they should have—like you’d just let him in, just a little, but enough to know there was something real there.

Fred didn’t say anything more, didn’t need to. But as he stood there beside you, he felt something settle inside him, a lightness he hadn’t expected. Maybe you weren’t just a Slytherin. Maybe you weren’t just the ambitious, clever person he’d thought you were. Maybe you were something more. Someone more.

And maybe—just maybe—you were someone he wanted to know a lot better.

Days had a way of blurring together at Hogwarts, especially when you were caught up in the whirlwind of pranks and laughter, but lately, Fred found himself paying more attention to the small moments. The little flashes of time where you crossed paths—fleeting, but somehow charged with a new energy. It started slowly at first. He'd catch your eye across the Great Hall, a brief glance that always ended with a knowing smirk exchanged between the two of you. Then in class, he'd feel your gaze on him from across the room, or he’d notice you walking ahead in the corridors, and something inside him would stir—a spark of recognition, of expectation.

It was odd, really. Fred had never thought he'd actually enjoy the company of a Slytherin, especially outside of a prank war. But here you were, slipping seamlessly into the chaos of his life, like you'd been part of the madness all along. You fit in so naturally with him and George that it was starting to feel like you were an honorary Weasley twin—sharp, quick-witted, and always one step ahead. You weren’t just a partner-in-prank; you were a constant presence now, someone Fred had grown used to looking for, whether he’d admit it or not.

The pranks kept coming, too. After the staircase stunt, which had sent the whole castle into a delightful frenzy, you, Fred, and George had begun working on a series of smaller, subtler stunts. It was almost too easy. You always seemed to know exactly what would work, how to make the chaos just disruptive enough to be hilarious but not catastrophic. Fred couldn’t help but admire that. It wasn’t just that you could keep up with him and George—it was the fact that you made the mischief better.

But what surprised Fred most was how much he enjoyed being around you when there wasn’t a prank in progress. It wasn’t just about causing trouble anymore. It was something deeper, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. The way you laughed, the way you challenged him in conversation, even the way you’d give him that small, genuine smile—those were the moments Fred found himself thinking about more than he cared to admit.

It was on one of those rare afternoons when Hogwarts seemed quieter than usual. The hustle and bustle of the castle had slowed, and Fred, fresh from Quidditch practice, his broom slung casually over his shoulder, was heading back to the common room when he spotted you by the lake. You were sitting alone, reading, the usual group of Slytherins conspicuously absent. 

The sight of you, bathed in the soft light of the afternoon sun, caught him off guard. You looked different here, outside of the usual spaces where chaos brewed. Fred hesitated for only a moment, feeling an unfamiliar boldness rise within him. He wasn’t about to let this chance slip by.

Grinning to himself, he walked over, his long strides carrying him swiftly across the grass until he was close enough to cast a playful shadow over your book. "Well, this is unexpected," he teased, dropping down onto the grass beside you without waiting for an invitation. "You, out in broad daylight, no mischief in sight? I’m shocked."

You glanced up from your book, one eyebrow arched as you took him in. "Believe it or not, Weasley," you said dryly, "I do have other things going on besides plotting your downfall."

Fred let out a laugh, stretching his legs out and leaning back on his elbows, completely at ease in your presence. "I don’t know," he replied, casting you a sideways glance. "You’ve got a talent for it. Can’t imagine you giving it up entirely."

"Who said I’m giving it up?" you shot back smoothly, closing your book and setting it aside with deliberate care. "Maybe I’m just taking a break before the next strike."

Fred’s grin widened. There it was again—that playful edge, that back-and-forth that came so naturally between you two. He couldn’t help himself; he nudged you lightly with his elbow, the gesture almost affectionate. "I should be worried, shouldn’t I?"

You shrugged, the faintest of smiles tugging at your lips. "Probably," you said, though there was a spark of amusement in your eyes.

It was that smile, that small, genuine smile, that did something to Fred. He was starting to realize how much he liked seeing it, how much he looked for it in those quieter moments between the laughter and chaos. You didn’t smile easily—not like George, not even like Fred himself—but when you did, it was real. Honest.

There was something about you—something different from anyone else Fred had ever known. It was in the way you held back, keeping parts of yourself hidden, but not in a cold or distant way. It was just... you. Fred respected that, maybe even admired it. You didn’t need to prove yourself to anyone, and that made the moments when you let your guard down—like right now—all the more meaningful.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the breeze ruffling the pages of the book beside you. Fred found himself glancing at you again, his usual grin softening slightly. You were just sitting there, reading by the lake, no pranks or schemes, no grand plans for the next wave of chaos. And yet, Fred felt that same warmth, the same pull toward you that he’d been feeling for weeks now.

"Don’t tell me you’re actually reading that," Fred teased lightly, nodding toward the book, though his tone wasn’t as sharp as usual. "Seems awfully serious for someone who’s so good at plotting pranks."

You laughed softly, and Fred swore it was one of his new favorite sounds. "I can have layers, you know," you said, rolling your eyes. "Contrary to popular belief, my entire existence doesn’t revolve around your demise."

"Shame," Fred replied, eyes twinkling. "Keeps things interesting."

"Don’t worry," you said with a smirk. "I’ll make sure to keep you on your toes, Weasley."

Fred grinned, something fluttering in his chest that felt a little like excitement, but something else too—something he wasn’t quite ready to admit to himself just yet. Maybe it was the fact that being around you felt easy, natural. Or maybe it was because he knew that you weren’t just someone to laugh with or prank with. There was more to you than that, and Fred couldn’t deny that he wanted to know all of it.

As the sun began to sink lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the lake, Fred found himself wishing for more afternoons like this—where it was just you and him, no distractions, no grand schemes. Just the two of you, sitting by the lake, exchanging easy banter, sharing something that felt... right.

He didn’t say it out loud, but Fred knew. He liked you. Maybe more than he’d expected. Maybe more than he was ready to admit.

“So, what’s next on the list of Slytherin goals?” Fred asked, his voice casual, though there was an unmistakable flicker of genuine curiosity beneath his playful tone. He wasn’t used to asking questions like that, not with people outside his usual circle, but with you? There was something about you that made him want to know more—something beyond the pranks and witty comebacks.

You leaned back on your elbows, eyes fixed on the shimmering surface of the Black Lake, where the late afternoon sunlight danced on the water in rippling, golden threads. The world around you was quiet, peaceful in a way that felt rare at Hogwarts. Fred watched as you seemed to contemplate his question for a moment, your gaze distant, thoughtful. Finally, you spoke, your voice steady but relaxed, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"I’ve got my eye on a few things," you said, exhaling softly. "Mostly school-related, getting ahead in my classes." You glanced at him then, as if already anticipating his reaction. "I know it sounds boring to you, but I’m not about to coast through just because I can pull off a good prank."

Fred tilted his head slightly, watching you in a way he hadn’t really done before. He’d always been the kind of person who found more joy in breaking the rules than following them, living for the thrill of chaos and spontaneity. But you? You seemed to walk a fine line, balancing ambition and fun, seriousness and mischief. You weren’t defined by any one thing, and that intrigued him more than he wanted to admit.

“Nah, doesn’t sound boring at all,” Fred said after a pause, surprising himself as much as you. His voice had softened, no trace of his usual sarcasm or teasing grin. "I respect it, actually. You know what you want, and you’re not afraid to go after it."

You turned your head to look at him, a bit taken aback by the sincerity in his words. Fred Weasley wasn’t exactly known for deep, thoughtful conversations, but there was something in his tone—something real—that made you stop and consider him in a new light. It wasn’t just a passing compliment. He meant it.

"And what about you, Weasley?" you asked, sitting up a bit straighter now, your interest piqued. "What are your big ambitions? Or is it all just pranks and Quidditch with you?"

Fred chuckled, though the sound was quieter than usual. He shifted his position, plucking absently at the blades of grass between his fingers. The question caught him off guard in a way that few things did. He’d never really thought too seriously about his future—at least, not in the way you seemed to think about yours. But now, sitting here with you, the question felt like it demanded more than his usual joking response.

“Me and George—we’ve got dreams,” he began, a bit hesitant. His voice wasn’t quite as confident as usual, and for once, it lacked its typical swagger. “We want to open a joke shop, you know? Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.” He let the name hang in the air for a moment, as if testing how it sounded when said aloud. “But it’s just an idea for now.”

You shifted slightly, turning to face him more fully. There was something in the way he said it that made you pay closer attention, something in the way the words seemed both hopeful and uncertain. "A joke shop?" you repeated, intrigued. "Sounds like you’re well on your way already. Between you and George, half the school already thinks you run one."

Fred chuckled again, but this time there was a trace of uncertainty in his laugh. His fingers played with the grass as he looked down, avoiding your gaze for a moment. "Maybe," he admitted, his tone a bit quieter now. "But it’s risky, you know? Our mum thinks it’s all a big waste of time."

You frowned, your brows knitting together in disbelief. "That’s ridiculous," you said firmly, your voice full of conviction. “Your pranks are brilliant, Fred. You’ve got something here—something that could be bigger than you realize.”

Fred blinked, his head snapping up to look at you, taken aback by the weight of your words. He wasn’t used to hearing people take his ideas seriously, not like this. Sure, George was always by his side, and the two of them had enough confidence to laugh in the face of doubt, but this? You weren’t just humoring him. You believed in him. And that hit harder than he expected.

“You really think so?” he asked, his usual bravado softening, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it.

You didn’t hesitate, meeting his gaze with a steady certainty that made Fred’s heart do a small, unexpected flip. "Of course I do," you replied, your voice calm but firm. "You’ve got a gift for making people laugh, Fred. That’s not something to take lightly. The world could use more of that. And if it’s what you want, you shouldn’t let anyone stop you—not even your mum."

For a moment, Fred couldn’t speak. He just stared at you, the words sinking in, warming him from the inside out in a way that caught him off guard. It was rare for him to feel this way—this seen, this understood. Most people saw him as just the jokester, the prankster, always up to something but never serious. But you saw him differently, and that meant more than he could put into words.

A slow, genuine smile spread across Fred’s face, but it wasn’t his usual cheeky grin. It was something softer, more real, a smile that reached his eyes and stayed there. "You know," he said after a moment, his voice a little lighter, "for someone who’s all about ambition and personal goals, you’re a pretty good friend."

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint returning to your eyes. "Is that your way of saying you like having me around, Weasley?"

Fred let out a soft laugh, nudging you playfully with his shoulder. "Maybe. Don’t let it go to your head."

But as the two of you sat there by the lake, the sun sinking lower on the horizon, Fred couldn’t shake the warmth spreading through his chest. For the first time, he wasn’t just thinking about pranks or jokes or the next laugh. He was thinking about you—about the way you saw him, the way you understood him in a way no one else did.

And for the first time in a long while, Fred wondered if maybe, just maybe, there was something more between you than friendship. Something worth exploring.

You scoffed lightly. "You say that like being ambitious means I don’t care about other people. I just don’t waste time on people who aren’t worth it."

Fred leaned back on his elbows, mirroring your posture as he glanced over at you. "And I’m worth it, then?"

You rolled your eyes, but your smile didn’t fade. "Surprisingly, yes."

Fred chuckled again, but the sound was quieter this time. There was a comfortable silence between you, one that felt easy—natural, even. It was in these moments, when the pranks were set aside, that Fred realized just how much he enjoyed your company. You weren’t what he’d expected. You were honest, driven, but not ruthless. You stood up for what you believed in, and apparently, that included him and his ridiculous dreams.

The conversation drifted after that, moving from Quidditch to classes to some gossip about Snape’s latest unfair detention, and Fred found himself talking to you about things he normally didn’t share with people outside his family.

By the time the sun started to set, casting long shadows over the grass, Fred realized he didn’t want the conversation to end. He liked this side of you—the one that wasn’t all Slytherin determination and ambition, but someone who could tease and laugh and encourage him, too.

As you stood up to leave, Fred reached out and lightly grabbed your wrist, just enough to stop you. When you looked down at him, confused, he gave you a crooked grin.

"Hey," he said, his voice a little softer than usual, "Thanks. For believing in the joke shop thing. It means a lot coming from you."

You held his gaze for a moment before nodding. "Anytime, Weasley."

He let go of your wrist, watching as you walked away, his heart doing a little flip in his chest. He didn’t know when it had happened, but somewhere along the way, Fred had stopped seeing you as just a Slytherin. You were more than that. You were you, and that was someone he wanted to keep around.

That evening, as Fred lay in bed staring at the ceiling, George nudged him.

"You’ve been staring at the ceiling for ages. Thinking about a new prank, or is it something else?" George asked, a knowing smirk on his face.

Fred hesitated, then grinned. "Maybe both."

George gave him a look. "Is this about a certain Slytherin?"

Fred shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. "Maybe. they're—" He paused, searching for the right words. "They're not like the others."

George chuckled. "Clearly. You’ve gone and gotten yourself interested."

Fred threw a pillow at his twin, but his mind was still on you—on how you’d looked at him today, how you’d believed in him. Maybe George was right. Maybe Fred was interested.

The chill of autumn had settled into the castle by the time Fred’s feelings for you became undeniable. He’d tried to play it cool—tried to act like it was just fun working together on pranks, just a friendship with a Slytherin he hadn’t expected to like. But as the weeks passed, Fred found himself thinking about you more often than not, and it wasn’t just about jokes or mischief anymore.

He liked how you challenged him, how you made him think, and how you were unflinchingly honest. You didn’t just see the prankster side of Fred; you saw him, his dreams, his frustrations. It was a connection Fred hadn’t expected, but now that it was there, he couldn’t ignore it.

Which is why it stung when he overheard what happened in the dungeons one afternoon.

Fred was passing by the Slytherin common room on his way to Potions when he heard raised voices. Curiosity piqued, he slowed his pace, pausing by the stone corridor to listen.

"Why are you always hanging around with Weasley and his lot?" a familiar, sneering voice spat. It was one of your housemates, a particularly snide sixth-year named Malvin. "You know they’re blood traitors, right? Dirt poor and—"

"Shut up, Malvin," your voice cut through sharply, filled with a kind of venom Fred had never heard from you before.

Fred’s heart stopped. He knew he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but something about the tension in your voice made him stay put, listening.

"Yeah, right," another Slytherin, Bexley, chimed in. "What’s wrong with you? Hanging out with Gryffindors, defending that pathetic family—"

"They’re not pathetic," you snapped, your voice fierce and unwavering. "They’re decent people, which is more than I can say for some of the so-called ‘pureblood elite’ around here."

Malvin snorted. "You’re joking, right? Fred Weasley? He’s a joke. His whole family’s a joke. You’re embarrassing yourself by hanging around with him."

Fred’s stomach twisted at the cruel words, but what hit harder was the silence that followed. He could picture you standing there, tense, eyes flashing. He half-expected you to walk away, to let it go like anyone would when facing off against their own housemates.

But then, your voice cut through the air again, colder than he’d ever heard it.

"If anyone’s embarrassing themselves, it’s you. You think that insulting people makes you better than them? Grow up, Malvin. Fred’s twice the person you’ll ever be."

Fred’s breath caught in his throat.

"Unbelievable," Bexley muttered, sounding disgusted. "Look at you, defending a Weasley. Maybe you should’ve been sorted into Gryffindor after all, since you’re so keen on playing hero."

"Maybe I should have been," you shot back, defiant. "At least Gryffindors know how to treat people with respect."

There was a tense pause before Malvin spoke again, his voice lower, more threatening. "You’ll regret this, you know. People talk. Stick around with the Weasleys long enough, and your own house won’t want anything to do with you."

"Good," you said, your voice unwavering. "Because I don’t want anything to do with people who treat others like rubbish."

Fred’s heart swelled. He didn’t wait any longer. He stepped out from the shadow of the corridor and walked straight into the common room entrance, ignoring the startled looks from the other Slytherins. His eyes were locked on you, standing tall, arms crossed, with a fire in your gaze that made Fred’s chest ache in the best way possible.

"Y/N," Fred said, his voice firm but soft. "You don’t have to do this."

You turned to him, surprised. But then your expression softened, just slightly. "Yes, I do."

Fred stared at you for a moment, his chest tightening with something he couldn’t push down any longer. He didn’t care what anyone said anymore—about him, about his family, about Gryffindor or Slytherin. You had just defended him and his family against your own housemates, knowing full well the backlash you’d get. And that was when it hit him—how much he really, really liked you.

No. How much he was falling for you.

Malvin sneered, stepping forward. "Oh, look, the hero shows up to—"

"Shut it," Fred snapped, cutting him off. His voice had a sharp edge now, something fierce that wasn’t always there. He turned to you, ignoring the others entirely. "You alright?"

You nodded. "Fine. Just dealing with idiots."

Fred grinned, feeling a surge of pride at your bravery. "Well, you do that pretty well."

The Slytherins were still glaring, but Fred didn’t care. His eyes were on you, and in that moment, all he could think about was how much he wanted to tell you—everything.

"Let’s go," Fred said, reaching out his hand.

You hesitated for a second, then placed your hand in his, letting him pull you away from the common room and out into the corridor. Once you were clear of the Slytherin common room, Fred finally stopped, turning to face you fully.

"You didn’t have to defend me like that," Fred said, though his tone was softer now, filled with gratitude. "But… thank you. For standing up for me and my family."

You shrugged, but there was a warmth in your eyes. "It’s nothing. They were out of line. I don’t care what house I’m in—people don’t get to talk about you or your family like that."

Fred smiled, the kind of smile that reached his eyes. His heart was pounding now, but for a different reason. It wasn’t just gratitude he was feeling—it was something bigger. He couldn’t deny it anymore.

"Y/N," Fred began, taking a step closer to you. His voice was quieter now, a little more serious than usual. "I’ve been thinking… about you. About us."

Your eyes widened slightly. "Fred—"

"I like you," Fred blurted out, his cheeks going a bit pink but his grin never faltering. "A lot. You’re not just some prank partner or a mate to hang around with. You’re… you’re incredible. And today, when you stood up for me—" He paused, his grin softening. "It just made me realize I don’t want to waste any more time pretending I don’t feel this way."

You blinked, processing his words, but Fred didn’t give you a chance to reply just yet. He scratched the back of his neck, looking slightly sheepish now.

"So, um… what do you say? Would you want to go out with me? Like, a proper date?" His voice was laced with hope, his usual confidence just slightly shy as he waited for your response.

For a second, you just stared at Fred, your eyes widening slightly in surprise as his words sank in. You hadn’t expected him to ask—not now, not like this—but there it was, hanging in the air between you, as real and clear as anything. His question wasn’t some flippant remark, some casual joke. It was Fred, standing there with his usual crooked grin, but there was something else in his eyes too—something soft, hopeful, and entirely sincere.

And then, slowly, a smile broke across your face—not the usual smirk you gave him when you traded banter, but a real, genuine smile, one that reached your eyes and softened your whole expression. It was the kind of smile that made Fred’s heart stop for a beat, then race twice as fast.

"You know," you said, stepping closer to him, your voice light but full of something warmer, something that made Fred’s pulse quicken, "I was starting to wonder when you’d finally ask."

Fred’s heart skipped a beat, the world around him seeming to still for just a moment. You were close now, so close that he could see the glint of amusement in your eyes, the way your lips curled just slightly at the corners. He’d been teasing, sure, but now that he was looking at you, seeing that smile, that look, he realized that maybe this wasn’t a joke after all. This was real.

"So that’s a yes?" Fred asked, his voice a bit more breathless than usual, though he tried to keep the grin on his face. His heart was pounding now, loud enough that he wondered if you could hear it.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your expression didn’t fade. In fact, it only deepened, and Fred couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. "Yes, Weasley. That’s a yes."

Fred’s grin widened, a rush of pure joy surging through him so fast he barely had time to think before his arms were around you. He pulled you into a tight hug, lifting you off the ground without a second thought, his heart soaring as your laughter bubbled up, light and easy in his ear. The sound sent a thrill through him, and in that moment, Fred felt like he was on top of the world.

You held on to him, your laughter fading into a breathy chuckle as he spun you once, just enough to make you squeak in surprise before he set you back down. But even as your feet touched the ground again, Fred didn’t let go. His arms stayed wrapped around you, holding you close as if he was afraid to let the moment slip away. His forehead rested gently against yours, and for a moment, everything else faded away—the noise of the castle, the bustle of students in the distance. It was just the two of you, standing there in your own little world.

"You know," Fred said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, "I think this is going to be fun."

You smiled up at him, your eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief he loved so much. But there was something more behind it now, something that made his chest feel impossibly full. "Of course it will be," you replied, your voice as light and teasing as ever, but the words carried a promise. "We’re in this together now."

Fred chuckled, his breath fanning lightly against your skin as he leaned forward, pressing a gentle, teasing kiss to your forehead. It was quick, playful, but there was a tenderness to it that made his heart skip yet again. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his arms still loosely draped around your waist.

"Together, then," he said, his grin returning in full force, the playful edge back in his tone. "Let’s make some trouble, yeah?"

You smirked, that familiar spark of mischief flashing in your eyes, and Fred felt the thrill of it run through him. "Always," you replied, your voice confident, playful—*you*, in every sense of the word.

And in that moment, Fred Weasley knew—*really* knew—that he’d found something special. Something real. There was no more guessing, no more wondering. You weren’t just someone who could pull off a good prank or keep up with his teasing. You were someone who believed in him, who laughed with him, who made him feel like anything was possible. 

And he wasn’t about to let that go. Not for anything.

[miiroki]

𝘿𝙖𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙣 𝙏𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙧𝙮𝙚𝙣 & 𝙣𝙞𝙚𝙘𝙚! 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧/𝙤𝙘

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘩 𝘢𝘪𝘳. 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘙𝘶𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 ���𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘴 11𝘵𝘩 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥.

Warning: targcest, (niece and uncle) 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

one: ✶ two: ✶

Prince Daemon Targaryen, Lord of Flea Bottom, as he was now deemed in hushed tones had nothing on his mind except his marriage with Lady Rhea Royce.

He had thrown quite the fit when it was announced, his own brother had agreed with the marriage, which lead to the eventual ceremony.

Daemons own grandmother, Alysanne, had arranged the two to wed, others in the council nodded at the offer. The Royce’s were the second most powerful house in Vale, on paper it was a good match for a prince who was second born and wasn’t sent to inherit anything.

But the others had neglected one crucial detail. Daemon Targaryen was vicious, and only marched to the beat of his drum.

Having been wed to an intolerably plain women that bored him was terrible, not being able to return to Kings Landing whenever to visit with his sweet niece had irked him, Runestone felt like exile.

Above all else his bride was not of Valaryen descent, even if Rhea bore children, it’s likely that they would never become dragon riders. To Daemon being wed to a women of brown hair, akin to horse shit, dark emotionless eyes, and that dull bronze armour, had to be the most humiliating action that had ever been done to him.

—

Daemon had finally been able to return to Kings Landing, where they would celebrate his nieces 11th name day.

Rhaella had written to him non-stop. Their were times where he had just finished his reply before another one of her letters had come again.

It’s sure that she has grown into a lovely girl, a flower with no thorns. The girl was gentle to even the roughest thugs for goodness sake.

Daemon had not held back and gotten her more things than any child should own, but it was his wonderful niece. She was no ordinary child.

—

“Kepa!” Fathers Brother

As soon as Caraxes had situated himself on the the ground, Daemon slid off his the wyrms wings and had leaned down, opening his arms towards his niece.

The young girl was dressed in frills and lace, she looked like a cake. Rhaella jumped into his arms and tried to embrace his neck.

“Lēkianna” Child of the older brother

Daemon embraced the girl in his end, tensing and crossing his arms across her back, as if she’d fly away as soon as he relaxed. He untucked her from his chest and pecked her forehead.

“Eman missed ao tolī olvie” I have missed you to much

He whispered in her hair, and slowly caressed the now messy silver locks.

Soft. Her scent had mixed with that of the Dragons den, like smoke, citrus and flowers, and something else he cannot name.

Rhaella squirmed into the crook of his neck and giggled. “You’ve gotten larger uncle. Mayhaps Caraxes will have a harder time riding with you”

He chuckled back, moving his arms to end at her waist, tickling her in the process.

Rhaella laughed uncontrollably while flailing in her uncles hold.

“You’ve gotten cheekier with no one to test you I see”

Rhaella didn’t listen and continued to climb all over his chest, finding herself on his shoulders, with Daemon having a strong hold on her legs.

—

Rhaella’s name day celebration was well underway, many lords of the area had attended and brought gifts, ranging from jewel encrusted jewelry, to soft animal shaped pilwe.

The young lady of the hour had last been seen with her twin sister talking to other young maidens from distinguished houses.

Currently she was no where to be found.

On a grassy hillside, the pair of Daemon and Rhaella had escaped the roaring festivities. Viserys had always liked his feasts.

Rhaella had come up to Daemon and requested for him to take her away from the all the ‘scary people’, as she put it.

He had taken Caraxes out of his den and flew to a small grassy Island littered with wild flowers.

Rhaella had been entertaining herself by sticking flowers of all shapes and sizes into Daemons hair. The silver locks now filled with blues and yellows. His back was facing her as he lounged on the grass.

“You look prettier like this Kepa” Rhaella muttered in a hushed tone, her fingers desperately trying to keep the red flower from falling off his head.

“Are you saying your uncle is not attractive?”

“Noo” Rhaella gasped and encircled her small arms around his neck once more.

Daemon chuckled and slowly stood from his spot, dragging Rhaella up in the process.

“We should return, the people would be devastated if the young princess was to run away with her uncle” He carried her, pressing her small body into his tuniced chest.

“I refuse!” She grumbled into his clothes, gripping onto the maroon leather.

“You mustn’t sweetling”

“But I should”

“Stop it” Daemon taunted, reaching Caraxes who was enjoying the sun.

Rhaella sighed for the seemingly thousandth time, and continued to bury herself into her uncles body. “If I must you must also stay”

Daemon peered down at the young girl, her ears were red with embarrassment, and warm to the touch.

“As the young princess wishes of me” He laughed, earning smacks from the girl.