#It’s. a whole thing. I’m still working on the fic

[hyuckiefluff]

Flipped Pt. 2 | Mark Lee

pairing: gryffindor!mark lee x slytherin!fem.reader genre: smut summary: the first time you met mark lee, you flipped his world upside down— literally. seven years later and after countless attempts to avoid you, you're still driving him insane. except now, it’s for an entirely different reason. wc: 6.3k+ cw: explicit content, cursing, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, semi-public sexual acts, oral (fem receiving) a/n: hi!! this is a continuation to my hogwarts au, so please read part one before checking this out <3 I originally wasn't even planning on adding any smut to this fic, and I think it works well without it, but still, a little smut is always a good bonus so here it is! enjoy!

By the time your seventh year rolled around, you and Mark felt like two halves of the same whole. You spent nearly every possible hour together and most of it was sweet and wholesome. He’d sit with you in the greenhouse while you tended to your plants, pretending to be helpful but mostly just watching you with this lovesick look on his face. Or sitting beside you in the library when you worked on assignments, though he hardly ever got any studying done himself. Or at the Quidditch games, where he’d celebrate his wins by flying over the stands and swooping down to kiss you.

But there were also the other moments. The ones where you simply couldn’t keep your hands off each other. Most of your prefect shifts ended in heated makeout sessions behind the statue of the one eyed witch on the third floor. Or tucked away in the Astronomy Tower when everyone else was asleep. Or in the dark staircase leading to the dungeons, pressed against the cold stone wall with his hands roaming your waist and your fingers tangled in his hair. You two found a way to use any place that offered even a little privacy.

And it was getting harder and harder to stop once you started.

You could feel the way his kisses were getting hungrier. Like that time when his hands slid under your robes during Charms class. Or the time in the greenhouse when he kissed you so deeply his knee had ended up between your legs, and you’d gasped, clutching at his robes before hastily pulling away.

And last time things almost went too far.

You’d been tucked in a hidden alcove near the Transfiguration classroom, his back against the stone wall, your body pressed firmly against his as his mouth moved feverishly against yours. His hand had slipped beneath your robes, skimming up your thigh, and before you even realized it, he was fumbling with the buttons of your uniform. His breath was heavy, and you could feel how badly he wanted you, his hands trembling slightly as he tugged at your clothes.

“Wait—” you gasped, grabbing his wrist.

Mark froze immediately, his face paling like he’d done something horribly wrong. “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to” he pulled his hands back “I wasn’t trying to push you or—”

“No, it’s not—” you swallowed hard, trying to ignore the heat still simmering in your stomach. “It’s not that I don’t want to… I do. It’s just…”

Mark watched you carefully, still looking wrecked with guilt. “…Just what?”

You bit your lip. “I don’t… I don’t have any experience with this. I’ve never…I mean, I’ve kissed people before but not like… that. Or… y-you know.”

It took Mark a moment to process what you were saying. Then his face softened immediately, his brows knitting with so much tenderness it almost made you cry.

“Hey, that’s okay” he breathed, pulling you closer again but gentler this time. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

You felt your face burn. “I don’t know… I guess I was embarrassed. I thought you’d expect me to…”

“I don’t,” Mark cut you off gently, his thumb stroking your cheek. “I swear. I don’t expect anything from you, Y/N. I just… I get carried away sometimes because I really, really like you. But you can tell me to stop anytime, okay?”

“Really?”

“Really,” he promised. Then he nudged your nose with his, grinning cheekily. “Besides… I think it’s kinda cute you’ve never done any of that before.”

You swatted his arm, groaning. “Oh my god, Mark.”

He just laughed, pulling you back in for another kiss.

Later that night, you were curled up in the common room with Karina when the question came bursting out of you like word vomit.

“How does sex feel like?”

Karina choked on her pumpkin juice, coughing violently as her eyes practically popped out of her skull.

“I’m sorry— what?” she spluttered, whipping her head toward you like you’d just grown a second head.

“Like… is it painful at first?” you pressed on, your face heating up. “I imagine it is. It probably depends on the… y’know… size. I mean, I read about it in a Muggle book back home but it was mostly about conception, not really the experience itself, so I—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold it.” Karina held up a hand, looking half-horrified and half-amused. “Where is this coming from… Since when are you so curious about sex?”

“Rina, I’m seventeen.... almost eighteen. It’s perfectly normal for me to start being curious about these things.”

“Oh, so it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you spend every free period snogging the Gryffindor Seeker?”

“Keep your voice down!” you hissed, glancing around the room.

“What?” Karina giggled. “It’s not like everyone doesn’t already know. I think half the school’s caught you guys in the corridors by now”

You groaned loudly, covering your burning face with your hands. “Forget I ever asked.”

“Oh no, no, no. You can’t just drop a bomb like that and then back out—”

Before you could beg her to drop it, Haechan strolled into the common room in his Quidditch uniform, hair damp with sweat, looking like he’d just finished practice. His eyes immediately landed on the two of you  and of course, he caught the tail end of Karina’s cackling.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, flopping onto the couch next to you.

Karina turned to him, grinning like the devil. “Oh, nothing. Our sweet, innocent little Y/N here just wants to know what sex feels like.”

“Karina!” you shrieked, whipping around to glare at her as she howled with laughter.

Haechan’s jaw dropped. “WHAT?” He turned to you, scandalized. “You—? You wanna know about... holy shit…”

“Oh my God, stop,” you groaned.

Haechan’s face split into a wicked grin. “Ohhh, I’m so telling him you’re asking about this—”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Why not? I think he’d love to know that his girlfriend’s getting all hot and bothered thinking about—”

“Haechan!”

“I’m kidding!” he laughed, hands raised in surrender. “But seriously. What exactly do you wanna know, huh? Like… the logistics of it? Or do you just wanna know if Mark’s packing—”

You lunged at him with the pillow. “I swear...”

“Alright, alright!” he howled, practically collapsing onto the floor in laughter as you rained down pillow smacks. “I’m just saying, if you want details, I’m right here—”

“Absolutely not.”

Haechan, despite his teasing and borderline inappropriate comments, was surprisingly chill about Mark and you. You had made it clear months ago that you had no romantic feelings for him. He’d taken it well, saying he saw it coming, and from that moment on, he treated you just like he would anyone else. He even became close friends with Mark, realizing he had more things in common with the seeker than he initially thought.

Karina, still crying from laughter, gasped, “Oh my God, you should ask Mark yourself. See how he reacts.”

You froze, mortified. “Are you insane? I’m not asking Mark what sex feels like!”

“Why not?” Haechan snickered, finally pulling himself back onto the couch. “It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it already. Honestly, I’m shocked you two haven’t done it yet, considering how often we catch you practically shagging in the corridors.”

“We do not!”

“Oh, please,” he scoffed. “You two make the entire school feel single.”

You groaned, absolutely done with this conversation. “I hate both of you.”

“But seriously. If you’re curious, just… talk to him about it. He’ll probably combust on the spot, but he’ll definitely be honest with you.” Karina suggested.

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling a little hot under the collar.

…Yeah. Like that conversation wouldn’t end with you both tearing each other’s clothes off.

Mark was in the Gryffindor locker room, gulping down water after finishing practice, when Peeves suddenly popped up right in front of him with a loud "Boo!"

He flinched, nearly choking on his water and dropping the bottle to the floor.

“Peeves, what the hell!” Mark coughed, clutching his chest as the poltergeist erupted into a fit of maniacal laughter, floating circles around him.

“What do you want?” Mark huffed, yanking off his gloves. He was the last one in the locker room since he stayed behind to practice a little longer for the upcoming match.

“Ooh, Peeves has a message for you! A juicy little message about your pretty girl!” Peeves sing-songed, grinning mischievously.

Mark froze mid-motion. “Y/N? What about her?”

“She’s in the prefect’s bathroom right now, calling out for you!” Peeves giggled.

Mark furrowed his brows, confused. “Why would she be looking for me there? I’m not a prefect, I can’t even go in there.”

Peeves simply shrugged dramatically, floating upside down. “Peeves is just telling you what Peeves saw! Go, don’t go, who cares! But your pretty girl seemed awfully eager to see you…” he teased before disappearing with a loud pop.

Mark stood there for a second, his heart suddenly hammering. Were you really asking for him in the prefect’s bathroom? That made no sense. But if Peeves was telling the truth… 

“Shit,” Mark muttered, quickly tossing his gloves aside and hurrying out of the locker room.

He knew Peeves wasn’t exactly known for being helpful, but what if this time he was actually being serious? Mark’s gut twisted at the thought of you upset or needing him for something.

When he reached the entrance to the prefect bathroom, he hesitated. He wasn’t supposed to be here— it was strictly for prefects and Quidditch captains— but he couldn't just walk away if you were inside asking for him. With a deep breath, he gripped the handle and pushed… but the door didn’t budge.

Mark cursed under his breath. Of course, there was a password.

He racked his brain, trying to remember if you’d ever mentioned it. But you’d never told him the password. Why would you? He wasn’t a prefect, so he had no business knowing it.

“Think, think, think,” Mark muttered to himself, glancing up and down the corridor to make sure no one was around to catch him. Then he remembered that Jaehyun, the Gryffindor team captain, also had access to the bathroom. Mark recalled how he had once bragged about how nice it was, especially with the giant bath and fancy soaps. He’d also, at some point, mentioned the password in passing. What was it again? Pine something…?

“Pinewood?” Mark tried hesitantly, his wand out.

Nothing.

He groaned and ran a hand through his damp hair, his nerves bubbling up again. Peeves had said you were in there looking for him. What if you were hurt or crying, and he was just standing out here like an idiot?

“Pineapple? No, that’s stupid. Pine scent?” Mark paced in front of the door, feeling his frustration rise. He was about to give up when it finally hit him.

“Pine Fresh,” Mark said, his wand raised with more confidence this time.

A soft click echoed from the door, and Mark felt it give under his touch. His heart thudded in his chest as he pushed it open and stepped inside. The room was warm and steamy, the faint smell of soap and fresh water filling the air. Massive white marble walls surrounded a pool-sized bathtub filled with shimmering water.

“Y/N?” he called out, his voice echoing slightly.

Silence.

Mark’s brows furrowed. His stomach sank. The room looked empty like you’d never been here at all. His gut twisted as he realized Peeves’d probably just duped him. That little poltergeist lived for messing with students, and Mark had fallen for it like an idiot. He was about to turn and leave when—

“Mark?”

His head snapped around, his heart leaping to his throat.

You were there.

You were sitting against one of the walls, your legs curled up to your chest, looking small and anxious. Your face was a little flushed, though Mark wasn’t sure if it was from the steam in the room or something else. The second you locked eyes with him, relief flooded your features.

“Oh my god, you are here,” you breathed. You scrambled to stand, your socks slipping slightly on the wet tiles as you rushed toward him.

“Wait, wha... what’s going on? Are you okay?” Mark asked quickly, meeting you halfway. His hands instinctively went to your arms, his concern spiking when he realized how clammy your skin felt. “Why did Peeves say you were asking for me?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, your teeth catching your bottom lip nervously. Mark watched as your gaze darted around the room like you were trying to muster up the courage to speak.

“I…” You swallowed thickly. “I didn’t actually ask for you. I mean... not out loud. I just- I was in here thinking and I really, really wanted you here. And then Peeves showed up and I think he just… I don’t know, sensed it or something and—”

Mark’s stomach did a little flip. You were thinking about him so intensely that Peeves picked up on it?

“Wait, wait.... slow down,” Mark said gently, his thumbs rubbing circles on your arms. “Why did you want me here? What’s wrong?”

You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, you almost looked embarrassed. “I… I need to talk to you about something. I didn’t know how to say it and I—”

“Hey, hey,” Mark interrupted softly, his hand tilting your chin to look at him. “It’s okay. I’m here"

You took a shaky breath, and then  “I want to do it.”

Mark blinked. “…Do what?”

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as you averted your gaze, suddenly looking incredibly nervous. “Hey, it’s okay. Just tell me,” he urged softly.

You swallowed hard, your eyes flickering back up to his wide, shiny, and filled with something he couldn’t quite place. But it stole the breath straight out of his lungs. Suddenly, you rose onto your tiptoes and kissed him.

It wasn’t like your usual kisses. It was deep and desperate, your fingers curling into the fabric of his Quidditch robes tightly. Mark instantly kissed you back, his hand cupping the back of your neck to keep you there. But just as his head started to spin from how good it felt, you broke away and before he could even ask what was going on, you blurted it out.

“I want to have sex with you, Mark.”

He felt his entire body stiffen as his eyes snapped open, sure he had misheard you or that you were joking, or that Peeves had somehow cursed his ears. But the look on your face was anything but playful.

You were serious.

“W-what?” Mark croaked, his voice cracking embarrassingly.

Your face flushed, but you didn’t back down. You held his wide-eyed gaze, your hands now clenching into fists at your sides. “I… I’ve been thinking about it for a while. And I know we’ve never really talked about it or anything, but I just—” You swallowed hard. “I want you. I really want you.”

Mark’s brain was malfunctioning. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again like a complete idiot. “You mean like… like now?” he stammered, his voice embarrassingly high.

“I mean if you want to,” you rushed out. “We don’t have to. I just… I don’t know. I thought about it and then I couldn’t stop thinking about it and… and I didn’t know how to bring it up so I just—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Mark interrupted, his hands shooting up like he was trying to slow down time itself. His pulse was roaring in his ears. “You seriously, like, actually want to…?”

“Have sex with you?” you finished bluntly, your voice small but certain. “Yes.”

Mark swore he nearly passed out.

“Oh my god,” he wheezed, running a hand down his face. “Are you…I mean, not that I don’t want to, but are you sure?”

“Yes,” you said quickly, your voice shaking a little. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life, Mark. I just… I think about you all the time. And not just like—” You gestured wildly, your face burning. “not just like normal thinking about you. I mean like thinking about you. Like in ways that make me—”

Mark made a strangled noise in his throat. “Holy fuck.”

You groaned, covering your face in embarrassment. “Oh my god, this is so humiliating”

“No, no! It’s not! It’s hot,” Mark blurted without thinking. “I mean… it’s not embarrassing. Like at all. I’m just... wow.” He paced back a step like he was trying to physically process this information. “You’ve been thinking about it?”

“Yes,” you practically cried. “For months.”

Mark clutched his chest. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“So you… you’d want to?” you asked quietly, watching him carefully.

Mark let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-disbelieving wheeze. “Angel, if I knew you’ve been wanting this for months we would’ve done it a million times by now.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait, really?”

“Are you kidding me?” Mark choked. His face was practically glowing red now. “I’ve been... I’ve wanted you like that since forever. I just didn’t want to push you or make you uncomfortable or— oh my god.” His hands flew to his hair like he was about to rip it out. “You actually want to?”

“Yes, Mark!” you laughed, still flushed. “I literally just said that.”

“And you mean like right now?”

You hesitated for half a second, then took a deep, shaky breath. “If you want to.”

Mark stared at you. Then his gaze dropped to your lips, and then lower, and then—

“Holy shit.”

And then he was kissing you again. Harder, more desperate, like the floodgates had finally burst open and he couldn’t get enough. His hands found your waist, gripping you tight as he walked you backward until the small of your back hit the marble edge of the enormous bathtub. You gasped into his mouth, and Mark swallowed the sound like he was starved for it.

“You have no idea how much I’ve thought about this,” he groaned between kisses. His fingers splayed against your waist, digging in like he was trying to anchor himself. “Like, stupid thoughts.... Constantly. Every time we’re alone together I just—”

“Me too,” you panted, tugging his sweater up slightly so you could touch his skin. “Every time you so much as look at me, I just... god, Mark.”

“Fuck,” Mark cursed, his teeth catching your bottom lip as he kissed you even deeper. “You’re gonna kill me.”

And Merlin help him—he was ready to let you.

Mark yanked your robes off in one swift motion, his touch eager but careful, like he was still trying to convince himself this was real. Your vest followed just as quickly, and when his fingers made quick work of the buttons on your shirt, you had to bite your lip to keep from gasping. He was so quick like he knew what he was doing, and for a fleeting, horrible moment, you wondered how many times he’d done this before. 

...Had he done it with Mia?

Your stomach dropped and you squeezed your eyes shut, willing the thought away. Not now. You were not about to ruin this for yourself by thinking about that. Not when Mark was kissing you like his life depended on it, not when his hands were brushing over your skin like he needed to touch you.

And Merlin, his mouth felt so good. Soft and warm, his tongue curling against yours as his hands ghosted over your waist. Your shirt was completely open now, hanging loosely off your shoulders, and you barely had a second to feel self-conscious before Mark was already tugging it off.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your lips, his voice strained. “You’re so—” His words trailed off into a low exhale as he pulled back just enough to look at you. His pupils were blown wide, his gaze devouring every inch of exposed skin.

Heat rushed to your face. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Mark asked, his voice rough.

“Like you’ve never seen a girl in a bra before.” You tried to sound playful, but your heart was pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it.

Mark let out a breathless laugh, his hands finding your waist. “I haven’t. Not like this. Not you.”

Oh.

Your stomach flipped violently.

You didn’t have time to dwell on it because you were already tugging at his uniform, desperate to get him equally undressed. His Quidditch robes were a nightmare to get off, heavy and tangled around his feet, and you couldn’t help but giggle when he nearly tripped trying to kick them off.

“Sorry— sorry, fuck,” Mark laughed breathlessly, finally ripping the damn thing off and tossing it aside. His sweater followed, and then you were tugging at his tie, trying to loosen it enough to get it over his head.

“Why is your uniform so complicated?” you grumbled, your hands fumbling.

“Tell me about it,” Mark huffed, yanking the tie off himself and tossing it somewhere behind him. You barely had a second to catch your breath before his hands were on your waist again, pulling you flush against his bare chest.

And oh my god.

Your mouth ran dry. His skin was burning hot, still slightly damp from Quidditch practice, and his lean frame was ridiculous. The toned muscles of his stomach, the sharp lines of his collarbones, the veins running down his forearms. You couldn’t stop staring.

“Holy shit,” you breathed without thinking.

Mark blinked. “…What?”

“You’re, like… really fit,” you admitted, your face heating up.

Mark stared at you for half a second, and then he laughed a nervous, slightly disbelieving sound. “What? No, I’m not—”

“Mark,” you cut him off, your eyes still glued to his chest. “Yes, you are. Do you even realize how many girls at Hogwarts talk about you?”

He looked scandalized. “What?”

You laughed, your hands running over his sides just to feel him. “I’m serious ‘Hot Seeker Mark Lee.’”

Mark actually choked. “Stop— what the fuck”

“You think I’m joking?” you teased, loving how red his face was getting. “Girls love you.”

Mark groaned, his head dropping forward to rest against your shoulder. “Oh my god, stop. I’m literally trying to hold back right now and you’re—”

“Hold back?” you laughed breathlessly. “Why?”

He lifted his head, and the look on his face was almost pained. His gaze dropped to your chest, to the lacy black bra you hadn’t exactly planned for him to see, and then back to your face. “Because if I don’t, I’m gonna, like—” He swallowed hard. “I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”

Heat flared in your stomach.

“Then lose it,” you whispered against his lips.

The second the words left your mouth he crashed his lips back to yours, messier this time. His hands gripped your waist and he pushed you even closer. Your legs instantly parted to make room for him, and he stepped between them, pressing his erection against your core.

“Mark,” you gasped, your brain short-circuiting. “Your pants—”

“Oh, right” Mark breathed, realizing he was still half-dressed. His hands fumbled with his belt, but his fingers were clumsy from how badly he was shaking. “Fuck, can you—?”

“Yeah, I got it,” you said quickly, reaching down to unbuckle it yourself. Your hands brushed against the prominent bulge in his pants, and Mark whimpered. 

You froze. “Did you just...?”

“Don’t,” Mark groaned, his head dropping onto your shoulder again. “I’m barely hanging on right now, please don’t.”

You bit back a laugh. “You’re so cute.”

“Agh, stop laughing” Mark whined, his face burning.

“Sorry, sorry,” you giggled, finally managing to unfasten his belt and push his pants down his legs. They pooled around his ankles, and Mark practically kicked them off in desperation. Now you were both down to your underwear, and the sight of the outline of his arousal straining against his boxers made your mouth water.

And apparently, Mark was having the same reaction because his eyes were glued to you. His chest heaved, his jaw slack, his gaze devouring every inch of bare skin like he couldn’t believe it was in front of him.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice wrecked. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

Your smiled shyly. “You think so?”

“Do I think so?” He exhaled sharply, his hands skimming over your bare thighs. “Angel, I’ve literally had dreams about you. Fantasies. Every time I see you in those stupid little skirts—” He broke off, his hands gripping your waist tighter and pushing you impossibly closer.

Mark’s gaze snapped to yours, and you swore his pupils somehow dilated even more.

“Can I touch you?” you both blurted at the same time, and then immediately burst into breathless laughter.

“Jesus—” Mark groaned, his head dropping as he laughed. “We’re such losers.”

“Losers who are about to have sex,” you reminded him, grinning.

Mark laughed harder, but his amusement quickly dissolved into something primal when his hands slid up your thighs again, fingertips skimming dangerously high.

“…Please,” you breathed, your voice barely audible.

Mark’s hands were shaking slightly as he tugged at your panties. Your breath hitched in your throat when you felt him start to pull them down, and for a moment, you almost closed your legs instinctively, but his gaze was full of a hunger and a kind of desperate focus that made you feel weak in the knees.

He paused for a second, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, I promise, pretty girl,” he whispered, the words low and heavy.

You felt your pulse quicken at his words, the rush of heat between your thighs making everything feel too much, but all you could do was nod. You had no idea what you were doing, but the need to have him all over you was enough to make you forget any uncertainty.

With one last look to make sure you were okay with this, he dropped to his knees and dove between your thighs. You gasped, your legs trembling as his tongue licked a long, clean stripe up your already wet core. It felt too good, too overwhelming, and your hands scrambled to grip at his hair as his mouth moved over you, sucking on your clit with a fervor that made your eyes roll back in your head.

“Oh my God, Mark,” you moaned, your body involuntarily trying to press closer to him. Hehummed against you, his hands caressing your thighs.

His mouth wasn’t slowing, even when your thighs tried to squeeze around him. Every flick of his tongue made you feel like you were floating and falling all at once. You couldn’t help the moans that kept escaping you, the tightness in your stomach that was building up with each second.

Your breathing was erratic, and your body was trembling from the pleasure, all you could think about was how badly you needed him—how badly you needed to feel more of him.

“Mark… please,” you whimpered, but you didn’t need to say anything more. He knew exactly what you wanted.

His hands gripped your thighs tighter as his tongue continued its delicious work. You were already so close, your body coiling tighter and tighter with each second.

The pleasure built slowly at first, a steady, insistent warmth curling in the pit of your stomach. It coiled tighter and tighter with every flick of Mark’s tongue, every soft hum that vibrated against you. Your fingers clutched at his hair, unsure whether you wanted to push him away or pull him closer.

It was too much, too intense, and yet you couldn’t stop chasing it. The sensation crackled through you like static, lighting up every nerve in your body, making your breaths come in short, desperate gasps.

Then—something inside you snapped.

Your body tensed, your legs trembling as a strangled moan tore from your lips. You had never felt anything like this before—like you were shattering and unraveling all at once, floating somewhere between pleasure and something dangerously close to madness.

Mark didn’t stop. He kept his mouth on you and his hands firm on your thighs while you trembled through the aftershocks. Your body twitched, hypersensitive. He only pulled back when you gasped out his name in a broken plea. His lips were glistening, his eyes blown wide with awe and the sight was almost sinful.

You pulled him to you, crashing your lips against his, tasting yourself on his tongue. He groaned into your mouth, his hands kneading the flesh of your ass, pulling you impossibly closer. It wasn’t until you felt him—hot, heavy, bare against you—that you realized at some point his boxers had come off too.

The realization made your breath hitch, and when you pulled back slightly to look down, your stomach clenched.

Oh.

You’d never seen him naked like this before. You’d imagined it, sure, but now that he was here completely bare in front of you, flushed from head to toe, his cock hard and pressing against your slick folds; you felt a different kind of heat spread through you. He was beautiful. And big. Your throat went dry, your fingers twitching against his shoulders.

Mark must have noticed your sudden hesitation because he stilled, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath ragged. “You okay?” he murmured, his voice rough but gentle.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. His pupils were blown, his lips swollen, but there was something tender in the way he was looking at you—patient, waiting.

“I just…” You exhaled a shaky breath, fingers drifting tentatively down his torso, feeling the hard planes of his stomach. “You’re… um.” You bit your lip, heat flooding your cheeks.

Mark let out a breathless laugh, his hands smoothing over your waist. “Yeah?” His lips brushed the corner of your mouth, teasing. “What about me?”

You swallowed again, your eyes flickering back down. “You’re just… bigger than I thought.” The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and as soon as you realized what you’d said, you squeezed your eyes shut in mortification.

Mark choked out a laugh, his head dropping against your shoulder. “Jesus, Y/N,” he groaned, his hands flexing on your hips. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Ugh... sorry” You buried your face in his neck, burning from the inside out, but you couldn’t stop yourself from giggling.

Mark pulled back slightly, tipping your chin up so you’d look at him again. His expression had softened, though his eyes still burned with desire. “You’re sure you still want this?” he asked, thumb brushing your cheek.

You took a deep breath, letting yourself take in the sight of him again—his flushed skin, the way he was holding himself back, the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

You nodded, heart pounding. “I want you, Mark.”

That was all it took.

Mark groaned, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. His hands guided your hips, and you felt him rut against you, his cock sliding against your slick folds. The contact alone made you gasp into his mouth, your fingers gripping his shoulders.

“Fuck, baby…” he groaned, his voice breaking as he fought to keep himself together. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, pulling a whimper from you, and he swallowed it like he was starving for more of you.

Your head was spinning and your body was still sensitive from your first orgasm, but the ache for all of him only grew more unbearable.

“Please, Mark… I need you,” you begged, your fingers gripping his biceps.

Mark squeezed his eyes shut trying to control himself, keeping in mind that you’d never done this before and he needed to be careful. But the way you were pleading for him made it nearly impossible.

“Shit—okay, okay, angel,” he promised, his voice cracking under the weight of his need. His hand slid between you, gripping himself at the base, and you gasped when you felt the hot, blunt tip press right against your entrance.

His breath caught. “Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”

You nodded quickly, your chest heaving. “I will… just—please—”

And then he pushed in, slowly, carefully, like he was afraid you might break. The stretch burned, a sharp sting that made your breath hitch and your nails dig into his shoulders, but you didn’t ask him to stop. Mark’s face contorted, his brows furrowed like he was in pain just trying to hold himself back.

“Fuck…you’re so tight,” he gasped, his head dropping to your shoulder as he pushed in a little more. Your walls clenched around him involuntarily, and his whole body shuddered. “God, Y/N—”

“You’re so big, Mark,” you whimpered, your thighs shaking as you tried to adjust to the overwhelming stretch.

“Angel, you’re doing so good,” Mark gritted out, his voice strained as he stilled inside you, trying to give you time to adjust. His fingers were digging into your waist like he was using all his strength to not start pounding into you. “Just tell me when, okay? I don’t wanna hurt you.”

You sucked in a shaky breath, your body slowly accommodating him. The sting soon melted into a dull ache, and the pleasure started creeping in. You rolled your hips experimentally, and the friction made you both groan. 

“I’m okay,” you breathed, your voice shaky but sure. “You can move.”

Mark let out the most wrecked sound you’d ever heard and then he did. He pulled out just a little before sinking back in, the drag of his thick length against your walls making you throw your head back against the tile. 

“Holy fuck,” Mark rasped, his grip on your ass tightening as he thrust into you again, a little deeper this time. “You feel so…so fucking good” 

The pace he started was slow but there was no mistaking the sheer desperation in his touch. And you were losing your mind. Every stroke made you gasp, the head of his cock brushing places you didn’t even know could feel that good, and the tension in your core was already building again. 

“Mark, faster...please,” you whimpered, wrapping your arms around his neck. The ache had turned into pure bliss now, and you needed more of him. 

“Fuck…yeah, okay—” Mark practically growled, and his pace quickened, his thrusts becoming rougher. His hand slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit.

Your body jerked in reaction, your walls clenching down around him so tight it made his hips stutter. 

“Shit… do that again, baby. Please—” Mark begged, his voice cracking as he pounded into you harder. The sound of skin slapping filled the steamy bathroom, mixed with the high-pitched whines leaving your throat and the desperate grunts coming from Mark.

Your nails raked down his back and he hissed. “Mark… I’m—oh my god—I’m gonna—”

“Cum for me, angel,” Mark growled, his thumb rubbing harsh circles on your clit, his thrusts losing rhythm. “Please—fuck—I need to feel you cum on my cock.”

And that was it. Your body tensed as the coil in your stomach snapped again. You sobbed his name, your walls clenching down so hard around him it made his hips falter. Mark cursed loudly, his thrusts growing erratic before he finally stilled inside you, his whole body shaking as his own orgasm ripped through him. 

“Fuckfuckfuck—” he gasped, his face buried in your neck as he came hard, his fingers bruising your hips as he emptied himself inside you. 

For a moment, the only sound in the room was your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the castle. Mark stayed inside you, his arms still trembling as he held you against him. 

“You okay?” he finally rasped, his voice hoarse and breathless. 

You managed a soft, blissed-out laugh. “I think… that was the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Mark pulled back just enough to look at you, his flushed face breaking into a dazed grin. “Yeah? That good?

You leaned up and kissed him softly, smiling into his lips. “I don’t think I can get enough.” 

And Mark laughed, his nose nudging yours as he kissed you again. “Fuck… me neither.”

The train wheezed as it prepared to depart, and you and Mark stumbled onto the platform, both breathless and disheveled from sprinting to catch it in time.

Your hand was still clutching Mark’s as you tried to straighten out your clothes. Your skirt was askew, your shirt half tucked in, and your hair a mess from the rushed… activities prior. Mark didn’t look any better, his tie crooked, his shirt rumpled, and his hair sticking up in odd directions.

“What were you two freaks doing?” Haechan called through the open window as you approached. Karina was beside him, smirking like she already knew the answer.

“Um…” you fumbled, glancing at Mark for backup. “I forgot my… uh… thing, and Mark was helping me find it,” you stammered, tugging at the hem of your skirt in a poor attempt to look composed.

Haechan scoffed. “Right. And I’m the bloody Minister of Magic.”

“Right,” Karina snorted, her eyes narrowing with amusement. “So you’re telling me you two weren’t shagging in the empty dorms while everyone was on the train?”

“What?” Mark drawled, trying to sound appalled but his voice cracked halfway through. “That’s… ridiculous. Do you really think we’re capable of such.. depravity?” 

You bit your bottom lip to keep from laughing, but the little grin trying to peek through made it impossible to sell your innocence.

“Mate, your shirt is literally on backwards,” Haechan deadpanned, pointing at Mark’s disastrous state. “Just get on the train, you bloody nymphos.”

Your face burned, but you couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. Mark, always quick with his mouth, gestured wildly. “This is a gross violation of our characters, honestly.”

“Yeah, yeah, get in before we leave you,” Karina waved dismissively, biting back a laugh of her own. “And fix your clothes, lover boy.”

Mark squeezed your hand, grinning like an idiot as he led you onto the train. The two of you practically collapsed into the first empty compartment you found, still a little breathless, and when you finally caught your reflection in the window, you burst out laughing.

“God, we look a mess,” you giggled, trying to smooth down your hair.

Mark plopped down next to you, his head falling back against the seat.

“Worth it though,” he mumbled, a small smile playing on his lips.

He turned his head to look at you, his soft brown eyes melting with affection as he took in your flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and hair still a mess from his fingers. His chest tightened with the overwhelming urge to kiss you again, but he just smiled instead. “So worth it.”

The train began to move, and you turned your head toward the window. The castle was still visible in the distance, and your heart clenched at the sight of it shrinking away. 

You felt Mark watching you, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over the back of your hand. “You okay?” he asked softly.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah. It’s just… hard, you know?”

Mark’s gaze flicked to the window, watching the last of the castle towers disappear from view. “Yeah… it really is.”

For a moment, you let yourself mourn it— the end of an era, the end of childhood, the end of the place that had been your entire world. But then you felt Mark squeeze your hand, and when you turned to look at him, he was already smiling softly at you.

“But hey,” he said, nudging you gently. “It’s not really the end, we’ve got plans, remember? Summer at mine, then we’ll find our own place. Maybe a flat in London, or  I don’t know… wherever you wanna go. We’ve got forever now, Y/N.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you smiled through the sting in your eyes. “Forever?” you repeated softly.

“Forever,�� Mark promised, lifting your intertwined hands to press a lingering kiss to your knuckles. “I mean, if you’ll have me, obviously.”

You scoffed, giving him a playful shove. “Mark Lee, we literally defiled the Gryffindor dorms fifteen minutes ago. I think you’re stuck with me now.”

Mark let out a loud laugh, his head tipping back, and it was like the heavy weight in your chest finally lifted. Because yes, you were leaving Hogwarts, and yes, things would never be the same again but you had Mark now. You had forever. And that made it all okay.

“Goodbye, Hogwarts,” you whispered under your breath. “Thank you for everything.”

And just like that, the castle disappeared from sight.

asjkjdh i loved writing this so much :(((( i could literally make a whole hogwarts series

[ladykailitha]

Murder in the Heartland Part 3

Welcome to the permanent home of this fic! Every Tuesday until it's finished, this story will come out at 10am EDT.

I'm starting to wonder if I'm shadow banned or something because there has been a sharp decline in people seeing my stuff. Even if I tag them. So if I tag you and you get the notification, let me know, because when a story goes from 122 notes on chapter 1 to only 77 notes on chapter 2, I have to wonder if people who asked to be tagged are getting the notifications.

But hopefully with this story have a forever home, I can get the number back up.

Also I realized I spent an ungodly amount of time hunting for Billy. It won't always be that way and we'll get to the meat of the story soon. I promise.

In this we Eddie doing some legwork before meeting Susan and Max and the meeting itself.

Part 1 Part 2

~

Interviewer: That really doesn’t answer the question. What do you say to the rumors that you’re a serial killer?

Steve’s eyes go wide and his jaw drops: People are saying what now? That’s ridiculous! No one accused Agatha Christie or John Grissom of being serial killers. Should we make Dick Wolf go to jail because he takes real life crimes for his TV shows? This fascination with thought crimes is borderline insane and I’m not going to even deign to even entertain the idea.

Interviewer: It’s interesting you bring up Dick Wolf. Are you say that you take inspiration from true crime as well?

Steve: there is a long history of mystery writers using current events to help flesh out their works and to say that I’m continuing that long tradition I thought would have been a given at this point.

~

The first thing Eddie did after getting off the phone with Max was make his way to the high school to get Billy’s school records.

But he did not come empty handed.

“Linda!” he greeted the school secretary brightly. “I know you’ve missed me, because I missed our lovely chats.”

Linda rolled her eyes. “I miss those beers and chocolates more than I missed you. I still don’t know where you get them because no one else seems to carry them.”

Eddie batted his eyelashes sweetly. “But if I told you that, then what would I bribe you with?”

“You could always not do that,” Linda said wearily. “Like not bribe me at all. You can leave me alone with my chocolate and my beer.”

“I could...” Eddie said all syrupy, leaning on the counter on his fists. “Or you could get me Billy Hargrove’s school records.”

Linda paused in reaching out for her goodies and tilted her head. “Now what do you want that for? He graduated the year before you did.”

“That he did, light of my life,” Eddie said, oozing charm. “But his dear, sweet step-sister who is a sophomore here, is looking for him because he never came home. The police won’t look for him because he’s an adult.”

Linda sighed and then pushed herself to her feet. She went over to the row of filing cabinets and went straight to H for Hargrove. About a minute or so later she returned with the file to see the chocolates and beer on her desk.

She quietly handed over the file and tucked her treasures away in her drawers. “You’ll copy those and return it to me within fifteen minutes or I call the cops for theft.”

Eddie grinned and then saluted. “You’ve got it!”

Even with a minor paper jam, Eddie had the whole file copied and returned to Linda in under ten minutes.

“Until next time, sweetheart!” he crowed with a jaunty salute.

Linda just shook her head and pulled out the chocolates to snack on.

Eddie went to a nearby cafe and opened up the file. A lot of it he already knew. Like the fights and the underaged drinking. But some of it was. Like that he had beaten Steve for the captain position based on actual merit. Out in California he had led his team to two championships on the junior varsity team and should have done the same out here.

There were all sorts of behavioral problems. Like enough to make Eddie’s own school record look clean as a whistle in comparison. Accusations of doping and steroids. Stuff he certainly didn’t get from Eddie. He stayed clear of that stuff. Roided athletes were no fucking joke and the last thing he needed was his brains smashed out because he didn’t have the right amount or some shit. Near constant rage issues, which would track with the steroids.

Eddie rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He wondered if he could see if he had a criminal record. Like anything before he was eighteen would be sealed. But the dude was almost nineteen when he went missing, so maybe he had run afoul of the law and had gone on the run.

The more he dug through the file though, the more concerned Eddie got. He had been talking to the school counselor about nightmares and Miss Kelly had written that she feared he was being abused by his father.

Eddie winced. He knew what that was like. If he hadn’t had Wayne to run to maybe he would have turned out like Billy instead of the geek he was today. Being forced to look and act a certain way, and being beaten for not being good enough.

When he reached the end of the file, he closed it and then his eyes, too. Shit. Nothing in that file was good in terms of an sense of morality or whatever, but it was good in giving him some leads on where Billy could have absconded to.

First stop was back to the office to talk to Murray about the criminal file and then on the phone to see if he could get into contact with any of his friends out in California.

Well, technically first stop was to Le Creme’s French bakery for their eclairs and raspberry cream horns. If he was going to get Murray to do his dirty work with the cops, he was going to need to come bearing gifts.

He strolled into the shop, prizes held high, “Hey, Murrrr, how’s it shaking?”

~

Eddie wasn’t sure what to expect when he went over to the Mayfields, but the two ladies were not it. Susan Mayfield was a petite blonde woman with a softness Eddie associated with being a mom. Max was everything hard and sharp and bitter. She had been dealt a shit hand and was angry at the world.

Conspicuously absent was Neil Hargrove. Eddie had assumed that the man would have wanted his son hunted down and brought back so that he could continue to have control over him. But he wasn’t there.

Eddie looked around the home and there was a distinct lack of male presence to be felt anywhere in the small house. He didn’t mean stuff ‘associated’ with men, like sports stuff and beer bottles everywhere either. He knew the kind of man Neil was, and there was none of the ironclad control of Susan and Max’s stuff hidden from view. It looked homey and lived in.

“Excuse me,” he said gently. “I was assuming Billy’s dad would be here, considering that it is his son who went missing.”

Max snorted and Susan shushed her. “Neil left after Billy vanished.”

“But not like immediately after,” Max clarified. “Like after a few days of not knowing where he was.”

Susan offered Eddie a seat and then sat down on the sofa. “You have to understand. Things weren’t good with Neil before Billy left for cigarettes and never came home.”

Eddie snorted and Max’s face twisted in a sardonic smile; she knew that stupid trope, same as him.

“So tell me everything you can remember about the day he left,” he said, pulling out a small leather bound notebook and pen.

They went through everything they could remember and Eddie wrote it all down. “Did he have any friends out in California that he might have gone to?”

Susan and Max shared a glance. But Susan shook her head. “We’ve already called his closest friends. They don’t know where he is.”

Eddie tapped his pen on the paper. “That’s fine. It won’t hurt to touch base with them again to see if he’s been in contact since, okay?”

They rattled off the names and phones numbers of Billy’s closest friends in San Diego and his favorite haunts.

“Are there any places in Hawkins or the surrounding area that he might have gone to if he got in trouble?” he asked, and then looked up at them expectantly.

Max shook her head. “He really hated Hawkins. He blamed everyone for us coming out here. Everyone but himself.”

“And why was that if you don’t mind me asking?” Eddie said tilting his head to the side as regarded them. Susan looked uncomfortable as she shifted in her seat, while Max was clearly upset about whatever went down.

“He broke of friend of mine’s arm,” Max admitted, looking between Susan and Eddie. “Because he put it around my shoulders jokingly.”

“Woof,” Eddie said with a grimace. “That’s some really nasty anger issues. He had been violent before that?”

“He was just trying to be a protective older brother,” Susan explained, gripping her knees tightly.

“Like hell he was,” Max scoffed, rolling her eyes at her mother. “I think he had started taking steroids around that time, because he hadn’t been like that before.”

“Max!” Susan protested. “You can’t just accusing people of doing drugs like that!” She turned to Eddie. “There was no proof that he was on drugs at all. He just had a temper like his dad, is all.”

Max bit her tongue but Eddie could see that she was holding back a scathing retort. It looked to him that he was going to have to get her away from her mom to get a real picture of the guy. Besides, he knew all too well that what Susan said was a blatant lie. Eddie had sold him those drugs himself. All but the ‘roids anyway.

Susan turned back to him. “Is there anything else you need?”

Eddie tapped his pen on the paper a couple of times as he regarded her. Her knees were pressed together and her hands had a white knuckle grip on them. Her jaw was firmly set and her lips her pursed. She did not want him here, that much was clear.

He got to his feet. “Nope. That’s enough to start with. If I need anything more, I’ll be in touch. These type of jobs can take time, but I promise weekly updates, whether or not I have anything, all right?”

Max was on her feet shaking his hand in an instant.

He smiled and winked at her. “Since you’re the one signing my checks, I assume I have to defer to you?”

“Damn straight,” she said grinning back.

He nodded once and then walked out the door. He really didn’t have much more information then he did before, but he did know one thing. And that was Billy Hargrove was the favorite and Max was that weird kid that parents struggled to understand and then ultimately gave up on around the time the hit puberty. He knew, because he was one.

Eddie walked out to his van and looked back up at the house bought with literal blood money and saw Max watching out the window. He gave her a salute and then got into his van.

He knew who Billy’s friends were in town, he just wondered how many of them stuck around after high school. Tommy Hagan, Carol Perkins, and Heather Holloway.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he drove back to the office. Susan didn’t want to believe Billy was into drugs, but there were just far too many signs that pointed otherwise. Maybe it was time to call in his favor with Rick.

Because if Billy wasn’t getting his ‘roids from Eddie, he was getting them from somewhere else and he really doubted it was a Cali contact. So it must have been someone in town and the only person who would know would be good ole Reefer Rick, Rick Lipton. The man who controlled all the drugs in Hawkins.

~

Reposted so that everyone can see the correct post. The other will be deleted!

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10- @tartarusknight @hattsy-likes-pretty-stuff

[theemporium]

hear me out: a blurb with reader who’s a pro athlete and nico comforting her after a tough loss (i think everyone needs a little nico comfort in their life) <3

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

based off this fic

.

It was the worst kind of loss, in your opinion.

The weekend had been a rollercoaster of emotions since you entered the paddock on Thursday morning. It was Zandvoort, the first race back after the summer break, and being the current lead in the championship meant a lot of eyes were on you coming into the weekend. It was supposed to be a weekend for you to secure your spot at the top, to make sure everyone knew you had every intention of staying at the top for the rest of the season. 

The media were relentless on Thursday, desperate for a quote or answer they could twist and manipulate into the next big headline. They were pitting you against your teammate, against any driver they could make you comment on, trying to get you to say a bad word about fan favourites. 

Then, Friday happened. The car wasn’t cooperating, the upgrades were doing the opposite of what the team intended and the sessions were left useless when your car spent more time in the garage than out on the track. 

Then Saturday followed a similar path, with a useless practice session and a disappointing qualifying that had you scraping into the top ten. 

But you kept pushing.

You had hoped that there was still something left in the weekend to redeem. And when Sunday came along, things were starting to look up for you. A great start from lights out and a risk taken on tire strategy had worked in your favour. By lap thirty, you were looking at a podium. By lap fifty, there was hope in your side of the garage for a possible win—a redemption for the weekend.

Then the rain came. And all it took was one stubborn driver making it difficult for you to lap them before your car headed straight to the wall and your race was over. 

It was fucking frustrating. The weekend had been bad from the start and just when you had hope of something more, it was ripped away from you. It was frustrating and annoying and so disappointing. It fucking hurt. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to take your helmet off, even after you climbed out the damaged car and followed the marshals back to the garage. You couldn’t bring yourself to take it off and let the camera that had been stuck on you since the crash to see the way your eyes were welling up with tears, for the world to see how fucking annoyed you were at yourself and the whole situation. You didn’t want to give them any reason to doubt your place in the sport. 

You moved deeper into the garage, fully intent on hiding away in the motorhome for as long as you could before you were dragged out to the media pen when you felt arms wind around you and pull you into a person.

It took less than a few seconds for you to recognise the person as Nico. 

“I’m proud of you, schatz,” he murmured, barely loud enough for you to hear through your helmet but it was enough for the last of that resolve to crumble. 

He led you back to your motorhome, a hand on your back guiding you through the garage and away from the cameras and the people and the pitying looks. And once you both were behind that locked door, he was lifting your head and slowly unbuckling the straps of your helmet, pulling it off with your balaclava following until he could see your face. 

“Oh, baby,” he murmured before dragging you back into a hug, letting you nuzzle your face into his chest and cling onto his shirt whilst the sobs racked through you.

And Nico got it. He probably got it better than anyone else. As a fellow athlete, he understood how frustrating and upsetting it was to be so close to the win before having it ripped away from you. He knew no words would make you feel better, not yet. 

So, he just held onto you until you finally felt you could breathe again.

“They won’t shut up about this,” you eventually spoke, your words muffled by the way your face was squished into his chest but Nico understood your words well enough. “God, they are gonna be on my ass next weekend and—” 

“And you’ll prove them wrong,” Nico said, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head. “It’s a weekend to learn and move on from. You’re still leading the championship regardless of who wins out there. You are going to do this, baby. You are going to win and show them all.”

You let out a small sigh. “You seem so sure.” 

“Because it’s you,” Nico answered with no hesitation. 

You leaned your head back to look up at him, a small smile working its way onto your face. “Thank you for being here.” 

“Always,” Nico smiled back, leaning down to press his lips against yours. “I make a really good WAG.” 

This time you let out a proper laugh, which just made his smile widen. “The hottest WAG in the paddock.” 

Nico beamed. “And I carry that title with pride.”

.

[specific-dreamer]

I'm so obsessed with the Curtis Parents. Do you have any hcs: fluffy, angsty, all of it PLSS

absolutely i do !

a hc (but ig technically not bc s.e. said it on her twitter awhile ago but) mrs curtis’ full name is karen josephine curtis

(and as a big fan of transfem darry, she changes her name to karen josephinne. so she’s still a jr and also bc i think it’s hilarious that she has her parents name just with an extra n. I DIGRESS)

karen wanted a girl but she didn’t want a girl ykwim. like she would’ve been over the moon if they had a girl, but she was always scared a daughter would be too much like her (i can’t explain it v well i’ll come back to this in a later post)

darrel (mr curtis; i never call him darry just fyi) is absolutely too easy going on the kids but he’s still the threat. like “you just wait til you’re father hears about this” not because they’d get in serious trouble but because like soda he wears everything on his face and it completely ruins the boys (and the gang) to see his disappointment. his favorite line is fs “im not mad just disappointed because i know this isn’t you”

oh also. soda? wears everything on his face bc he can’t hide anything. darrel wears everything on his face bc he doesn’t feel the need to hide it.

darrel absolutely has a favorite and it’s darry (who he calls junior 80% of the time)

(i’ve mentioned this 100 times before but) karen paid for ace to take ballet bc she was worried ace was becoming “too boy-ish” and it was “unladylike” for ace to wear baggy clothes and shorts all the time (jokes on her ace fell in love with ballet)

(they had to stop paying for the classes like a year b4 canon bc money was too tight)

dally use to have longer hair that he always complained about and once karen offered to give him braids (not to the scalp ofc just like some plaits) and he laughed in her face, left, came back with hair scissors and a razor (stolen) and said “just get to cutting mrs c”

darrel read somewhere that shaving ur baby bald will give them thicker hair down the line bc it gives it the chance to grown even and he wanted to do that with darry, but karen said absolutely not bc she didn’t trust it. though she lets him do it with soda just to see and his hair grows back so thin 😭😭 he’s got a lot of it but it’s defo not thick so they don’t do it to pony. (so you have darry and pony with heads full of hair, no scalp in sight, vs soda with long hair but if you move two strands you see his whole scalp) (it’s ok at least sodas the pretty brother)

now, context for my favorite, when the outsiders musical was still a concept they toyed with the idea of the curtis parents being like ghosts on stage. totally would not have worked, i’m glad they didn’t go thru with it HOWEVER its a banger idea so here are my hcs

they’re ghost obvi

darrel doesn’t ever really leave the cemetery and if he does the closest he’ll get to the house is the lot

karen on the other hand ? is always leaving. she likes to watch over the kids/follow them around

if not following them then she’s at the house. sometimes she forgets she’s just a ghost she hollers at the boys when the door slams or when they go too long without cleaning the house (especially the dusting, it drives her nuts that they don’t dust the house)

darry visits mr curtis all the time and they have (one sided) conversations (i totally did not write a mini fic of one of their convos whattt)

karen was with steve at his house when everything went down at the fountain

OH I FRGT darrell cannot move/touch real things except his headstone bc he hasn’t left ? strengthened?? his ghostly powers get.

karen on the other hand can move a couple things around (like i said it pisses her off that the boys don’t dust or wipe down the table before eating. i am not joking when i say that’s how she discovered her powers had like real affects; she was moving little things around while helping darry clean up and lit a candle when they finished. darry had turned around and was like “🧍🏾‍♀️i did not light that candle wtf”

anyways i digress. i say all this to say) karen was with steve that night making sure he got a good nights sleep and his dad wouldn’t bother him

so you can imagine how upset she was when she found out about the fountain

darrel learned what happened first when he sees this kid roaming around the cemetery clutching his side whilst looking lost and scared

(and yes i said the cemetery; i think paul forced darry to let him help pay for their funeral but that’s neither here nor there)

darrel? terribly angry at bob. which yk fair bob was drowning his son. but darrel’s a father first and foremost so his dad radar was kinda going off the walls watching this kid roam around lost to hell

i have more on this au but i wont bore you

hope you enjoyed anon !

[novaursa]

Can I request a Cregan Stark x Reader fic? I really want to see more Dark!Cregan themes so with that in mind here’s my idea sorry if it’s long!

The reader is Jaces twin sister and has always taken to charity work, specifically tending to the ill and injured. She enjoys creating new medicines as well as different procedures/treatments to injuries, most of them tend to lean towards women thought as that’s where there is so much more to discover. It’s been said had she been born a man she may have been a maester, however the life of a septa was not for her either for she was nothing if not the blood of the dragon. She has the temper and tongue to go with it to the point of need to keep her practicing small and quiet as she’s clashed with the faith and their beliefs of a lady learning such things (thought it’s more then likely that she incurred such wrath for simply being better at it then them). Enter the betrothal, Rickon is about 2-3 years old needing a mother the Warden of the North a new wife, Rhaenyra seeing a good opportunity to gain an ally through blood jumps at the chance to join the houses much to her daughter’s dismay. Reader is super rude and standoffish with him within the confines of propriety, she practically a master with cutting remarks. However she LOVES Rickon as he’s her salvation (believing it’s a lost cause to try for children when he already has an heir) and it drives Cregan NUTS he is after all just man and man that has been with out the feel of woman for years now. Reader is practically perfect if it weren’t for how much she dislikes him, his son loves her, his staff love her, his people love her. Hell even his banner men even do since she has so many of their wives ears. Here’s where the dark 18+ stuff starts, reader has actively started to get on his nerves with the disrespect so Cregan starts tracking her moonblood with the intention of ‘putting a babe in her to calm her’ (classic sexiest era man brain but stick with me) he knows the reader is attracted to him whether or not she wants to admit it. He’s seen her get hot and bothered looking at him during training. All of it comes to head though when she throws the insults of savage northerner at him and he snaps, “I can show you savage princess” with a small display of strength, ripping the front of her dress and grabbing her neck to push her shocked face up to his (very dub-con vibes) he ends up just keeping her in his chambers for the whole of her fertile week, doing everything from licking, to fingers to his cock. He ends up getting her pregnant with Westeros first successful triplet birth. By the time Luke’s petition rolls around and they go to support him, the triplets are a few months old and she’s already pregnant again. Haven’t fallen completely for him (All due to his slight manipulations)

You can pick if reader is a dragon rider and if they’re Valyrian features are more prominent or they look more like a bastard or have bits of both!

This feels like so much and I’m sorry if it’s too long I just wanted to make sure I gave like a good description of characterizations. Your writing is so amazing and well detailed! Please delete this if you are uncomfortable with anything I requested! I was so happy when I saw you had your requests opened for my birthday month I took it as my own little sign. 🫶🏼🫶🏼

Hope this finds you well and in good health!

Requests are still fucking closed!

Did you read what is posted?!

Did you!?

This just tells me how a lot of you are ignoring everything on purpose.

If I see this request again, or something similar in my inbox when requests are open, it will be deleted.

You are not getting a head start before others. You wanna play in my backyard, you'll play by my fucking rules.

Get in the line!

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 1: Hidden Devotions

Summary: It is Heavenerys and Amos’s wedding day.

Word Count: 5,967

Warnings: References to abuse.

Notes: Heavenerys and Amos belong to @call-sign-shark, Emilia Mormont belongs to @cillmequick, Aeva Martell belongs to @evita-shelby, and Rose Tyrell, Jared Stark, James Stark, and Jay Stark belong to @justrainandcoffee.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 4: Union

“Tommy.”

He knew from the tone of Jon’s voice what was wrong before he even said anything. Deep sigh leaving his lungs, he finished attaching the Hand of the King pin to the front of his tunic, straightening it in the mirror before turning to face his brother. 

“Where is he?”

“His chambers.”

“Right,” swiping a hand through his hair, Tommy tried his best to shove down his irritation. “I’ll deal with him.”

“You’re sure that you don’t want me to handle it?”

“I’m sure. Go find Polly or Hev and see if they need anything.”

Jon departed, leaving Tommy alone in the chambers that the Boltons had graciously put him up in. Pinching at his brow to try to stave off the headache already building behind his eyes, he took a deep breath, working to steady his temper. 

Of fucking course it had to be today. 

It was expected, but still. He had started to hope that perhaps they would be able to avoid something like this entirely. 

Squaring his shoulders, he gave himself one last look in the mirror, grabbed up his cloak, and went to the door, walking with quick strides down the hall. 

The days leading up to the wedding had passed quickly. A craze of last minute arrangements and meetings with Amos, his family, and other various lords and ladies who had traveled north for the celebration. He had barely had a chance to catch his breath amidst everything. 

Wrenching open the door, Tommy stepped into the dimly lit chambers. 

He had to battle against the urge to grind his teeth at the sight that welcomed him. 

The entire room was practically overturned. Blankets and furs off the bed, chairs tipped over with their legs snapped off. A pitcher of wine had been smashed against one of the stone walls, leaving a red stain. The curtains on one of the windows ripped from their rod to lay in a bundled mess on the floor. Rugs were rucked up, little pieces of decor used to embellish the bedside tables and mantle of the hearth tossed about and smashed. Shattered glass from the broken mirror crunched under his shoes when he stepped deeper into the room, towards the figure huddled on the floor near the far wall. 

“Aerthurys,” he said, fighting to keep his voice calm. 

The only answer he got at first was a quiet sniffle. “Tom?”

“It’s me.” He eyed his older brother warily. “You need to get dressed.”

“I’m not going.”

“Yes, you are.”

A quiet sob. “I can’t.”

“You have to. If you don’t show up, they will view it as a slight.”

“Fuck the whole lot of them.”

Tommy felt his temper strain, dangerously close to snapping. “Careful.”

One of Aerthurys’s purple eyes peered out at him from over where his knees were drawn up to his chest. The heartbreak there was palpable, as was the resentment just lingering behind it. “You don’t understand.”

“Brother, we’ve talked about this…”

“You did this. You and Polly. You took her away from me.”

“You knew that this was to happen since we were children. Polly made it clear from the beginning that she would never allow you and Hev to marry.” He could not help the irritation that entered his voice. “You should never have gotten involved with her in the first place.”

“Fuck you. You’ve no idea what it’s like. You’ve never loved anyone.” Tommy felt his jaw harden. Aerthurys sneered. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re even fucking capable of it.”

“Get up.”

“No. Fuck off. Leave me alone.”

Tommy lunged forward, seizing Aerthurys by the front of the shirt, dragging him upwards onto his feet, their faces only inches apart. 

“Enough of this! I have coddled you since the engagement was announced. You think that I don’t have better things to do than deal with another of your fucking tantrums!? We have a fucking duty to perform! Your feelings are not more important than ensuring a peaceful transition of power and securing Hev’s place on the throne.” He shoved Aerthurys towards the wardrobe. “Get dressed. Now.”

Aerthurys sniffled, staring at him with a look of anguish that almost managed to pierce the irritation simmering under Tommy’s skin. For a moment, he thought that he may actually try to fight him on it, but then Aerthurys’s shoulders slumped, turning to begin picking through the clothing not already strewn across the floor.

“I hate him,” Aerthurys mumbled. “I fucking hate him and I don’t trust him. He’s going to hurt her.”

“Hev says that she can handle him.”

Aerthurys’s mustache twitched, face swelling with further distress. “She doesn’t understand what he is.”

“She understands more than you give her credit for.” Tommy stepped around him, picking out clothing from the wardrobe that looked presentable enough and pushing it into Aerthurys’s hands. “He likes her. That’s a good sign.” 

Aerthurys said nothing, instead merely bending to pick up the toppled folding screen and disappearing behind it to get changed. 

“Besides,” Tommy clasped his hands in front of him, leaning against the wall while he waited, “there’s no stopping this now. You know that.”

Still there came no response. Tommy huffed. He knew that his brother often danced upon the line of falling into complete madness. Aerthurys had always been fragile. Sensitive and quick to anger, with temper tantrums that, without Tommy’s or Heavenerys’s intervention, may very well have led to the levelling of entire cities.

He could see that madness roiling beneath his brother’s skin now, threatening to let loose.

Tommy was not sure how much longer he could keep him under control. Especially with Heavenerys intending to remain at the Dreadfort after the wedding. 

Though, in some ways, perhaps that would be a good thing. It would give Aerthurys space and a chance to move on.

When Aerthurys emerged from behind the screen, Tommy took a step forward, adjusting his clothes, trying to make him appear less disheveled.

“Jon’s going to keep an eye on you.” He met Aerthurys’s eyes sternly. So don’t try anything. “Get drunk. Find a whore or maybe even a fucking noblewoman to help your forget about her.”  

Aerthurys’s face twitched, eyes casting down to the ground. Tommy rested a hand on his shoulder. “You have to let her go, Aerthurys.” He said it as gently as he knew how. “You have to let her go.” 

Aerthurys sniffed, shrugging his hand off of him.

“I love her, Tom.”

Tommy sighed. “I know,” he began to steer Aerthurys towards the door. “It’ll get better.”

Aerthurys cast him an unconvinced look, his eyes full of hopeless, near unfathomable heartbreak. 

∗ ∗ ∗

The face carved into the bone white bark of the heart tree seemed to stare out at Lucy. Sap as red as the tree’s leaves collected in the crevasses of the carving’s eyes and overflowed, so that the face chiseled in the tree looked as though it were weeping tears of blood. 

Lucy shivered where she stood between her mother and Teddy, drawing her cloak tighter around herself. She had forgotten how creepy the godswood could be, sometimes. Especially in the dark. 

It was not often that she came to the godswood. As a girl, her father made them go regularly, and he himself often visited at least once a day to pray quietly beside the tree. But despite his insistences and bullying on the matter, when she grew older, Lucy started coming less and less. She could not even remember the last time that she had prayed. 

Her mother, being of the Riverlands, practiced the Faith of the Seven, and had ensured that Lucy and her brothers were all educated in its teachings, even if she did not insist that they actually converted to the Faith. But the Seven had never spoken much to Lucy as a belief system either.  

She supposed one could say that she was faithless. 

Around her, people shifted in preparation for the ceremony that was about to begin. Though many had come for Princess Heavenerys’s wedding, only a select few were permitted into the godswood for the actual ceremony. On account of the limited space. But everyone was invited to the feast that would take place right after.  

She was just beginning to grow impatient–and rather cold–when the wedding finally began. Amos looked like a true prince of darkness, practically blending into the shadows cast by the heart tree. Night may have fallen about an hour ago, but seemingly hundreds of candles had been placed to light the way from the Dreadfort to the godswood, the flickering of the flames causing shadows to dance across Amos’s face. Despite whatever Lucy may have thought of him, her cousin had never lacked for an air of regality. And yet, she could have sworn that there was an edge of nervousness in his dark eyes. When he caught sight of his bride approaching him, something in his features lit up, as if he were a man seeing the sun for the very first time.

Lucy could not help but wonder, and not for the first time, if it all really was an act like she originally thought. After so many years of living in Amos’s dark, crushing shadow, her hands stained with the things he’d forced her to do, her eyes witness first-hand to the cruelties he had enacted and the coldness of his heart, it was hard to believe that he could actually fall in love. 

And yet.

There was no denying the way that he looked at the princess, who was indeed near-angelic in her ivory gown, escorted by Tommy to stand before the heart tree with her future husband. 

Lucy wondered vaguely why it was Tommy who gave her away, and not Aerthurys, but one look at the eldest of Tommy’s siblings, and she was pretty sure she had her answer. The man looked utterly miserable, eyes barely able to so much as glance at Heavenerys before they quickly darted back down towards the ground. 

She cocked her head, curious, shifting from foot to foot. They had gotten a fine dusting of snow earlier in the day, just enough to ever so lightly powder the ground. The more she examined Amos and Heavenerys’s faces, taking in the way their features softened and glowed when they looked at each other, the more treacherous hope began to burn in her chest. 

Maybe she really was wrong. Maybe this was indeed what Amos had needed. Maybe he and Heavenerys would have a happy, prosperous marriage.

As the wedding commenced, Lucy found her mind and eyes wandering to where Tommy was standing. He had taken a step back to stand with the rest of his family after fulfilling his part of giving away the bride. Hands clasped at his front, the candlelight casting shadows across his handsome features. 

Despite her attempts to remain focused on the wedding, her attention kept drawing back to him. A couple times, she caught him returning her quick little glances in his direction. She could have sworn that something seemed to soften in his face when their eyes met.

The spell was broken promptly when the officiant–it was agreed upon in advance that the wedding would include elements from marriage traditions of both the Old Gods and the Faith of the Seven to honor the two differing religions between House Bolton and House Targaryen–asked if there were any who would challenge the union about to take place. A noticeable tension entered Tommy’s shoulders, his pale blue eyes darting over to Aerthurys, narrowing to slits, looking half ready to launch himself at his elder brother in a tackle if he needed to. 

Aerthurys met Tommy’s gaze, mustache quivering. Lucy watched curiously at the silent battle of wills seemingly occurring between the two brothers. Until finally Aerthurys’s shoulders slumped, head bowing in submission. No sound was uttered in response to the officiant's question, and the ceremony went forward as planned. 

At the exchanging of the cloaks, Tommy stepped forward to fulfill his role of removing Heavenerys’s maiden cloak from her shoulders, folding it carefully in his arms and stepping back to allow Amos to drape the bridal cloak adorned with the colors and sigil of House Bolton over her. To symbolize her passing from her family’s protection to her husband’s.  

“With this kiss I pledge my love,” both bride and groom spoke, their lips meeting in a passionate press that went on a moment too long to be considered chaste. 

The officiant’s voice boomed in the otherwise quiet of the godswood, declaring Heavenerys and Amos officially man and wife.

“One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever,” his announcement rang out. Cheers erupted from those gathered around the heart tree. Lucy brought her hands together in quiet claps, forcing a strained smile to her face. Amos swept Heavenerys giggling and beaming up into his arms, carrying her towards the castle where the feast was to be held. 

“It was such a beautiful ceremony, don’t you think?” her mother asked, linking their arms and beginning to pull Lucy along to follow the rest of the crowd in the direction of the great hall. 

“Yes,” Lucy agreed absentmindedly, voice quiet, battling against her lingering dread and nerves. 

It was done. They were married. Amos would be king.

∗ ∗ ∗

It did not take long for the celebrations to get well underway. The great hall was packed full of people, mingling and dining upon the generous spread of food, wine, and ale. 

Lucy sat at her place at the high table, a goblet of wine in hand and watching lords and ladies dance in a space that had been cleared in the middle of the hall. It really did seem that representatives for houses from every corner of the country had traveled to the Dreadfort for the occasion. There was Princess Aeva Martell, hailed rightfully as one of the most beautiful women in all of Westeros, practically having to beat back with a broom the small army of men who had gathered in the hopes of asking her for a dance. And across the way was Lucy’s old childhood friend, Rose Tyrell, laughing while playing some sort of game with her brothers and a few other lords and ladies at their table.

Gathered around Amos and Heavenerys were the three Stark boys, Jared II, James, and Jay. A rare smile flashed upon Amos’s face, glancing over at his new wife seated beside him while he conversed with his three friends, a hand gently rubbing at her back as he did.  

How odd it was, to think that there was a time when Houses Stark and Bolton were bitter enemies. The mending of the bonds between them yet another thing to add to Amos’s list of endless accomplishments. 

Heavenerys laughed at something one of the Starks said, leaning happily into Amos’s side. He beamed back at her, head turning to press a quick kiss to her forehead. 

“Is it odd to have the Dreadfort so full of people?” Emilia Mormont asked from the seat she had taken beside Lucy at some point during the festivities.

“Yes,” Lucy turned her attention to her friend, forcing herself to put Amos and her still swirling feelings of trepidation from her mind. At least for the time being. “I wonder if we’ll be getting more foot traffic in general now that Amos and the princess will be living here at least part of the time.”

Something teasing sparked to life in Emilia’s eyes. “You know, an awful lot of the lords in attendance tonight are quite suitable…”

“I’m sure many of them will have paired off with equally suitable ladies by the time the celebrations are over.” Lucy managed a strained smile, trying to keep her tone light and unbothered.

Emilia frowned. It was fortuitous that when her mother had learned of the Mormonts having a daughter roughly the same age as Lucy, she insisted on fostering a friendship between them. While Lucy was friendly with many of the northern ladies similar in age to her, Emilia had always been the one who she was closest with. 

“Victor can’t keep you locked up in here forever.”

“He seems determined to.” There was a time when she thought marriage would be her escape. A way out of the Dreadfort and away from her father’s cruelty. Of course, in all her fantasies, her husband was a kind and gentle man. Even though she knew that she was unlikely to be that lucky.

But her father rejected each and every suggestion of betrothal. Granted, there were not that many to begin with, but even those few offers quickly dried up once it became clear that Victor Bolton had no intention in saying yes to any of his daughter’s potential suitors. 

Lucy still could not entirely figure out why. Eventually she concluded that he must think it was yet another punishment of some kind. For what, she had no idea. 

Probably for that first and most horrible offense which she had committed against him: being born a girl.

It was starting to grow noticeable. It was already odd enough that she was nine and ten and yet unmarried, even more so that she was not even betrothed. She was sure whispers were already starting to spread that there was something wrong with her. 

Emilia reached out, covering Lucy’s hand with hers, giving her a sad smile. “Have you ever thought of going over his head to Amos about it?”

Lucy grimaced. “He’s left the matter of mine and my brothers’ betrothals to my father and Lorelei. He’s never cared much about marriage. If they hadn’t offered him the hand of the future queen, I don’t think he would have ever married at all.”

“Strange, since he’s so worried about the advancement of the house.”

“I suppose he figured that Orion and my brothers would be able to secure prestigious enough matches that it wouldn’t matter all that much.” She glanced around at the great hall. Even crowded full of people, with a roaring fire and countless torches jutting from the walls, the castle felt oddly cold. As if there was a chill baked so deeply within its bones that there was no chasing it out. Not even with dragon fire. 

A heaviness fell over her at the realization that she was likely to never know any home outside these walls. She would spend the rest of her days here, isolated in this cold, dark, agony-soaked place. 

Emilia opened her mouth to say more, when a shy voice interrupted them. 

“Emilia, would you like to dance?” Jay Stark stood before them, his cheeks tinged pink, eyes hopeful. 

Emilia’s eyes widened, excitement entering them at the invitation from her betrothed. But then she looked back at Lucy, and an edge of reluctance danced across her face. 

Lucy smiled encouragingly. “Go on. Have fun. We can talk more later.”

She could tell that Emilia was trying to temper her giddiness in front of her. Likely not wanting Lucy to feel as though she were throwing her happiness with her betrothed in her face. Leaning in, Emilia gave her a quick kiss to the cheek in goodbye before letting Jay lead her away. 

Slumping back in her chair, Lucy again took up watching the other occupants in the great hall. 

The Stark boys had broken up, Jared still speaking with Amos and Heavenerys while Jay guided Emilia towards the dance floor and James wandered over to the Tyrell’s table, sliding into a chair next to Rose–his betrothed–and saying something into her ear which had her giggling. Lizzie Stark, a cousin of the three Stark boys, was giggling behind her hand while speaking with Prince Jon in one of the far corners of the room. Teddy was huddled at a table with a handsome man from the crownlands. 

She was struck with a sudden piercing, deep sense of loneliness. Everywhere she looked, it seemed that everyone–her old friends and acquaintances, her family, and those whose faces she did not know–had at least one companion. The empty spaces around her seemed as wide as an ocean between her and everyone else. Like she was trapped on her own little island, able to do nothing but watch the festivities unfold around her; not actually invited to truly join in.

Her fingers encircled tightly around her goblet of wine–likely her only consistent companion tonight. She was not fool enough to think that anyone else was likely to attempt to engage her in conversation, let alone ask her to dance. She was not a great beauty, and what few men may have been interested were likely too scared to actually approach her thanks to her house’s reputation.

Resigning herself to spending the majority of the evening by herself, she held out her goblet silently to a passing servant to have refilled and shifted to sit at a more comfortable angle in her chair. If she was going to spend the rest of the feast there, she may as well get comfortable. 

“Mind if I join you?”

Her head snapped up, eyes growing so wide it was a miracle they didn’t pop out of her head. Tommy smiled down at her softly, eyebrow raised. 

“No, not at all. Please,” she gestured to the chair Emilia had been sitting in. Tommy sank down next to her with a sigh, analytical gaze sweeping over the hall. Lucy rested a hand on her chin, watching him, remembering the look of tension which had crossed on his features during the ceremony. “Everything seems to have gone well.”

“Yes,” Tommy agreed. She cocked her head, debating if it would be a good idea or not to ask about the earlier odd behavior of his older brother. 

She had heard the rumors which circulated regarding Heavenerys and Aerthurys. And, like many, she mostly dismissed them as little more than gossip from court over two young Targaryens cousins being friends. Given their house’s history, those types of whispers were always bound to occur one way or another. 

But seeing the way that Aerthurys looked at Heavenerys throughout their stay, coupled with that expression of agony during the wedding, and she was quickly rethinking her stance. 

But she did not want to pry. Tommy was amiable towards her, but she wasn’t about to try her luck and ruin the unexpected, blossoming friendship she had found with the prince by asking too many questions about his family’s personal affairs.

“They seem very happy,” Tommy nodded towards the bride and groom.

Lucy followed his gaze to where Heavenerys was dragging a smiling Amos towards the dance floor. “Yeah, they do.” She tried not to feel too bitter at the prospect, but it was hard, when Amos seemed to always get everything he wanted. 

The future queen. Respect at court. One of the most powerful positions in Westeros. Her father’s love and approval. Friendship with the Starks. He was showered with all of it and more. Meanwhile, what did she get? Nothing. Save for glances of suspicion, blood under her nails, and the back of her father’s hand striking across her face.

Again, there was that infernal twisting of loneliness at watching the couples dancing together, experiencing a joy and tenderness she would likely never get to know. 

“Would you like to dance?”

She started at the question, head snapping back around to stare at Tommy. He was looking at her inquisitively, something inviting and warm in his eyes. Lucy felt her cheeks warm. Gods, had he noticed her staring longingly at the couples swaying on the dancefloor? The last thing she wanted was for him to have offered only because he felt sorry for her.    

“Oh, you don’t have to. I mean, I’m horrid at it…”

His lips pulled upwards. Standing, he held out a hand to her. “Come on. Don’t worry; I’ll lead.”

She hesitated only a moment, something fluttering in her stomach. Reaching out, she took his hand, swallowing hard at the way it seemed to practically swallow hers, warm and calloused against her skin.

“I’ll probably step on your toes,” she warned. 

Tommy looked oddly delighted at the idea. “That’s alright.”

She let him pull her to her feet and lead the way to the dancefloor. Facing each other, one of his hands entwined with hers, he brought the other to rest on her waist, holding her close enough to feel the heat from his body. It shouldn’t have surprised her how warm he was. Rumor was that nearly all Targaryens ran hot. 

She settled her free hand on his shoulder, gulping at the feel of strong muscle even through the layers of his clothes. He began to sway them in time with the music gently, fingers shifting against hers where their hands were clasped. 

“Shit. Sorry,” she hissed when she, as predicted, stomped on his toes. 

He just chuckled warmly, giving her a small squeeze as if to say that it was alright. Lucy let herself relax, leaning in a little closer to him without even thinking. 

He was just so warm, was all. How could she really be expected to not want to be closer to him?

When she peered up, it was to find that he was staring down at her, an unreadable, yet almost tender expression on his face. She was so short, the top of her head barely came up to his chin, but they were still close enough for her to make out the freckles dusting his nose and the incredibly long, dark eyelashes framing his eyes. His lips looked full, and pink, and soft. 

A shiver went through her that had nothing to do with being cold, though Tommy seemed to interpret it that way, considering his response was to press a little firmer on her waist, bringing her even closer to him. 

From over Tommy’s shoulder, she spotted Rose dancing with James. When she caught Lucy’s eye, Rose raised an eyebrow, looking between her and Tommy, expression puzzled. But Lucy’s focus was drawn quickly back to Tommy when he twirled her. A small giggle left her, letting him draw her back into his chest. 

She could not say how long they danced for. She was not paying enough attention to the music to tell how many times the song changed. And when they did part, it was only because the bedding ceremony was about to take place. 

They both lingered back, watching rather than actually participating. While the bedding was tradition, Lucy was surprised Amos allowed for it to occur at all. Even though he implemented much stricter rules. Unlike a typical bedding, there was to be no stripping of the bride or groom. The lords and ladies were permitted to carry or usher Heavenerys and Amos to the bedroom, remove their cloaks, and set them on the bed. That was all. 

The hoots and hollers gradually decreased in volume as the small crowd gathered around Heavenerys and Amos retreated with them towards the bedchamber. The great hall was suddenly almost eerily quiet. That was, until a loud crash sounded from the corner, the heads of the few others who also chose not to participate in the bedding snapping around to stare at Aerthurys.

He had knocked over a table, swaying dangerously on his feet, slurring when Aeda rushed forward to catch him before he could tip over.  

Beside her, Tommy cursed. 

“Excuse me,” he said apologetically in her ear, striding with quick, heavy footsteps to gather up his older brother. Lucy cocked her head, watching. Aerthurys was too far away for her to be able to make out what he was mumbling to Tommy and Aeda, but when she briefly caught sight of his face, it was to see that it was still carrying that agonized, heartbroken expression from earlier. 

“Were you not going to tell me?” 

She looked over to find Rose standing at her side. “About what?”

“You and Prince Thomaryon.”   

Lucy frowned, confused. “What about us?”

Rose raised an eyebrow, one side of her mouth pulling up cheekily. “That you’re…you know…”

“What!?” Lucy sputtered. “No, no, it’s nothing. He was just being nice.” Because no one else wanted to dance with me, she added silently. 

“It really didn’t look like nothing.”

Lucy gave a shake of her head. “We’ve just gotten friendly while they’ve been staying here. That’s all.”

“Mhm.” Rose was still looking at her funny. Lucy huffed, feeling her face grow hot.

“Come on. Let’s go get some more cake before the rest of them come back from the bedding.”

But even as she led Rose towards the aforementioned table, she could not help but cast a few quick glances in Tommy’s direction, turning the suggestion of Rose’s words over and over in her head.  

∗ ∗ ∗

The days following the wedding passed quickly–too quickly, in Tommy’s opinion. But even though Polly was reluctant to leave Heavenerys alone in the north, they had to depart eventually. There were matters in King’s Landing that needed their attention.

But still, it surprised him how reluctant he actually was to leave. Though his desire to stay had little to do with sentiment for the Dreadfort. 

“Come with me for a moment?” he asked Lucy after breakfast ended and everyone split off to finalize their preparations before they were to begin the flight south. 

She raised an eyebrow in inquiry, but nodded, letting him lead her outside into the courtyard and beyond the front gates. 

“Everything still seems to be going well with Amos and Heavenerys,” he commented as they walked across the field. 

“Yes, it does.”

He glanced over at her, a thoughtful look having overtaken her features. “Will you tell me if that changes?” Even though they were well outside the castle walls, his voice lowered. 

Lucy looked over at him sharply, a teasing quirk lifting at one side of her lips. “Are you asking me to be your spy?”

He had to suppress a smile. “Something like that. Just…” he sighed, looking out towards the woods. There was a chill in the air. It wouldn’t surprise him if later in the day, there would be snow. He returned his gaze to Lucy. The air might have been cold, but her eyes were warm. “Look after her, will you?”

Lucy nodded. “I will. I promise.”

“Thank you.” 

She tipped her head towards the field they were walking through. “Did you take me out here just to ask about that, or…?”

He shook his head. “I thought that he’d want to say goodbye to you.”

“Who…?”

The answer to her question came in the form of his large, living shadow landing in front of them, chirping eagerly.     

“Hey, big guy,” Lucy grinned, stroking the side of Syndor’s snout when he offered it to her. “It was so good to meet you.” Syndor purred when she gave him a few scratches under the chin. She cast a sideways glance Tommy’s way. “You’ll be coming back?” He was fairly certain that he did not imagine that hopefulness in her voice. 

“Yeah. In about a month or so. I’ll fly up regularly to check on Hev and meet with her and Amos.” 

“That sounds like a lot of flight time.”

He shrugged, still staring at her face. Even with time, he hadn’t gotten used to how striking her features were. The fiery shade of her hair. The strong pronouncement of her jaw. The hundreds of freckles dotting her skin. She had to be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. “I don’t mind it.”

They remained with the dragon for a little while before returning back to the castle, where they reluctantly parted ways so that he could return to his chambers to ensure that he had everything he needed packed.

The Boltons gathered in the courtyard to see them off, farewells exchanged between them before they were to go to their dragons. Many who had traveled north for the wedding had already departed, the camp which was erected just outside the Dreadfort’s gates mostly disbanded.

“Have a safe flight home,” Lucy said, approaching him after he said goodbye to her father and Amos.

“I will.” Tommy was struck with a sharp, strange feeling. A pull in his chest. Like his body was physically rebelling against the idea of leaving her behind. He fought hard to keep it under control. Reaching out, he took hold of her hand. “It was lovely to meet you, Lucy.” He lifted the back of her small hand to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to the soft, freckled skin. 

Her cheeks dusted with an adorable shade of pink. “You too, Tommy.”

He drew in a sharp breath, still not quite used to his name on her tongue. 

Dipping his head one last time, he forced himself to step away from her, moving to the gates with the rest of his family. 

He gave a sharp shake of his head. He would be back within a month’s time. No need to get all over dramatic about departing. 

“Tommy,” Heavenerys floated up to his side. “Can I talk to you?”

“Yeah. You can walk me out.”

She linked her arms with his, leaning in close so that she could murmur into his ear as they walked out the gates and towards the dragons. 

“Aerthurys isn’t doing well.” It wasn’t a question.

From the corner of his eye, Tommy peeked at his brother, walking with his head bowed, scowling at the ground.

“No,” he admitted with a sigh. Heavenerys squeezed at his arms with her small hands. 

“Watch over him, Tommy. Please?”

“I will. Don’t worry.”

“And don’t be too hard on him,” she gave him a knowing look. “He’s going to need time.”

“I know,” he sighed again, this time more deeply. “I’ll try.”

“Thank you.” She gave him a little squeeze to the arm, features brightening. She let him go when they got to Syndor.

“Hev.” He stopped her before she could walk away. “Write to me if you need anything.”

“Of course.”

“And talk to Lucy.”

Heavenerys raised an eyebrow. “You trust her?”

“I do.”

“Amos doesn’t like her.”

Tommy bit his tongue, choosing his next words very carefully. “Nevertheless, I think she would make a good ally for you. For us. She’s smart.” It would be such a waste to let her potential rot away, hidden and unused up here.

Heavenerys searched his face, then shrugged. “Arlight.”

“I’ll be back to check in on you soon.”

“You make it sound as though you’re my babysitter,” she complained, but grinned teasingly at the unimpressed look he gave her. “Travel safe, cousin. And don’t worry about me.”

They said their final goodbyes, and he climbed up onto Syndor’s back, Heavenerys wandering off to speak with a few other members of the family. He settled comfortably in the saddle, waiting until everyone else was also seated and ready on their respective dragons before taking flight. 

The rush of the wind in his hair was a great relief. Peacefulness washed over him, eyes closing, falling into the familiar feel of the dragon under him, their bond humming strongly.  

Syndor circled the castle and surrounding field once, and Tommy took the opportunity to give one last look down at the Dreadfort and its inhabitants. Even though she was a tiny speck down below, he could still make out Lucy thanks to her flaming red hair, head tipped up, watching him and Syndor.

He drove the dragon into a deep swoop over the castle, ending in a mid-air somersault. Just to stretch the dragon’s wings a little before the long flight. Not because he was showing off for the little redhead down on the ground.

Not at all.   

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Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[halestrom]

Hi, sorry I’m late to the game!

I know you did some answers for this already but I really do love blank space: 2, 3, 11, 15 (Jake + Bradley), 17 and 30 (but more so on if you have any more thoughts on their relationship rather than if you would do an actual sequel)

And bonus, but I’m interested in the answer for 22, for any fic!

xoxo tornadeoqueen 🤠

@tornadeoqueen never too late!!

2. How did you come up with the idea?

i was bored at work and i send @nimuetheseawitch the message 'A fic where Bradley’s been married like 4 times because he just wants to find love' and then it just kind of blew up. initially jake wasn't gonna be the divorce laywer it was just funny to think of bradley getting married and then jake as the divorce lawyer came about and thats all she wrote.

3. Did the idea change at all by the time the fic was complete?

lol 3 ex's got added. so much of the fic was focused around that idea that i knew where it was going most of the time. (i also don't tend to plan a lot so sometimes its hard to remember.)

tho, looking back over the shit i was sending i did come across this. so lol this never made it in but its hilarious to read.

Omg they’re all hanging out and Bradley has a new girlfriend and Jake is eying her and she’s like ‘what’ and he’s like ‘you’re signing a prenup’ and she is baffled and Bradley just flips him off

11. What was the most challenging aspect of writing it?

7 OC's honestly. The daggers are basically all OC's to begin with but at this point I have a solid grasp on how I want to write all of them and how I expect the friendships to fall, so its a little easier. But then I needed to add the OC's and that was just difficult. Also to write them in a way that makes it reasonable for them to still be friends, despite being divorced. And a lot of it very handwavy, it's also why I gave bradley one really bad ex. for ~~realism~~

15. Talk about the characters’ struggles & how you decided on those

Jake: honestly, he didn't struggle much this fic except for how much he wanted to ask bradley out and 90% of the reason it took as long as it did was because i wanted to meet all the ex's first.

Bradley: We kinda see parts of it, but Bradley really does struggle with love. he wants it. He wants to get married and the length of time he's with his ex's gets shorter and shorter on purpose because he marries people on a whim because he wants that. And so he ignores a lot of other things to try and get it. And then he does work for it, each time hes gonna do his best but hes still imperfect and so he gets hurt when it ends but he keeps trying but he lives with this perfect idea of love because of the tragedy of his parents and it takes him a while to disassociate fictional love like that and real love that is imperfect but still worth it.

17. Talk about the fic’s ending. Why did you end it where you did?

I didn't really plan of having a scene from Jake's pov initially. I knew I wanted to get through the date, but I realized at the time that I tended to write a lot from Bradley's pov and I wanted to do more of Jake, especially in that world. So I decided to switch, also because we had had enough, and then i had to deal with where I wanted it to end and that's when the whole 'i already won' came about because it is SO JAKE. He did win, he got Bradley, he will be THE ex.

30. Would you ever return to the story’s universe and write more?

SO I have two fics planned for this as sequels. The first one is a series of little moments from the pov's of the ex's + javy as they observe jake and bradley over the years. And the second one is a series of little firsts for jake and bradley. one day ill get to it.

[luuxxart]

the kurusu magnetism™

[danothan]

Just reading some comics and saw a panel I thought you might like. :)

ah fuck, characters reminiscing always get to me ;__;

but i will never ever get over that fond way these two talk to and abt each other. especially when they’re poking fun, you can just hear the love in their voice it’s SICK.

the halbarry love language is annoying each other, but even more than that, it’s being each other’s exceptions

[penn-dragon]

Hey, on the topic of my own fic writing, I’ve got a question for my followers/fic readers.

I have a tendency to never post any of my writing, because my various unmedicated (I’m working on it) neurodivergences and mental illnesses make it very hard for me to ever finish pieces, and I feel really bad about starting a fic that someone could be really into and then potentially never finishing it when my brain suddenly decides I’m not allowed to write any more of it. So a long time ago I made it a rule for myself that I never post anything until it’s 100% finished, even if I have like multiple chapter that are perfectly ready to be published. Which ultimately leads to me never posting anything and sitting on a hoard of writing that only myself and select friends ever see.

So my question is, it more upsetting to read part of a story that might never get finished? Or to know that there’s writing out there that you don’t get to read just because it’s not finished?

[stargirlfics]

healing isn’t enough, I need to punch my dad in the face

[impossible-rat-babies]

okay gamers I think we’re back in the pits bc I fell asleep putting together a DT timeline for eyrie and estinien

[pussymasterdooku]

my beloved imac from 2014 with a cracked screen that i conned my dad into giving me so i had a computer on which to do stupid freelancer shit for him but use primarily for personal use (file storage, use appletv to play streaming sites on our actual tv, play sims) seems to be……engaging in behaviors that for lack of a better way to put this best resemble when my elderly cat started having seizures after a hard summer of kidney problems and we had to be like. oh it’s the end the end? obviously less emotional than that but. you know. she’s had a long good life and maybe it’s her time. that’s okay. all things end. anyway. all this to say we are trying to coax her into not just waking up again but pretty please just giving me two files that are the backbone of the recurring stupid freelancer shit i do every month. please baby i have hand problems i can’t build those templates again. please.………

[deepseawave]

obsessed w the tags on ur last reblog

Omgg, thank you haha, it was a quality post so I just had to appreciate it in full force 😂❤️

Can‘t believe someone would actually enjoy my yapping :,D

[ceramicbeetle]

almost no one has written binx/hob content and certainly no one had written it in the way i am currently finding it intriguing, which is admittedly disappointing. so perhaps i will have to do it if no one else will.

[jorvikzelda]

reading is… frustrating. I first read this thing when I was in an all too foggy state, I’ll think, so I didn’t really absorb it all too well — I’d best read it again and really make sure to take it all in. And so I do, and I really do take it all in! Except then I’ll be all too foggy to read for a few days, and when I get back to it and continue on to the next chapter I’ll just have. Completely forgotten what happened in the last. Makes you feel rather defenceless to the fog