#and flirting ensues and they fall in love and kiss

[swanconcerto]

unempowered vincelovely au where lovely works at a blood donation clinic and vincent is their new over-enthusiastic regular

[eldrith]

˗ˏˋ Dead Men Don't Sing ˎˊ˗ Jacaerys Velaryon

jacaerys velaryon x fem!stark!reader words: 9.5k requested: yes synopsis: “it is rather custom to marry within the bloodline,” jacaerys admits, hesitating, “but there are other duties,” he murmurs, “–ones that even the Gods cannot ignore.”  notes: thank you to the anon who requested this, it was months and months ago <3 i found this written and dusty in my drafts and realized how much i liked the concept of it so i finished it up, changed up a lot of plot (sry). peace & love (thinking abt when @softspiderling said that cregan & r had chemistry in this fic. fuck you) warnings: canon-typical marriage betrothals. something something heavy belief in the divine right of kings (cringe!), jace is so in love again guys, fluff and flirting, feelings of anxiety & worry, heavy on politics and the targaryen prophecy. doubts of magic and light religious tones. kissing. requests closed. masterlist.

THE CRYPTS BELOW WINTERFELL ECHO WITH FOOTFALL.

A dripping thing, echoing through low ceiling and sliding over stoned walls; your pace moves slow, measured. 

Aboveground yields a morning snow; it is no harvest season, yet you worry so of the rime which curls its way over the tender shoots of crop; kissing a delicate crust atop glacial lakes in the near distance, lining the roofs across Winter Town. 

Down below such crust of earth, the crypt holds no true warmth, instead boasting a rather eerie silence; though you’ve always felt drawn to such quietude in certain times – moments punctuated only by the rustle of fur cloaks, the steady drip of tallow wax candles that burn beneath the proud visages of ancient stone.

A gentle sigh escapes your lips. 

Your breath, barely visible in the cold, dissipates like a whisper of a cloak around a corner; The man beside you paces with deliberate slowness, though still his long strides force you to quicken your own. 

A familiar rhythm from childhood. 

He broods – or perhaps merely reflects; it is difficult to tell, though his introspection proves an unwelcome distraction and concern alike. 

“You think far too loudly, brother.”

Your voice, a stone dropped onto the serenity of a glassy pond; stirring, your brother beside you lets out a soft huff of amusement, turning to glance at your profile. "Aye, it seems I do,” he acquiesces, though he seems more than content to leave it as such.

And the ensuing quiet – his scrutiny of your features becoming almost unsettling. You purse your lips, folding your arms over the furs that ward off the chill, slowing to a halt – he, in turn, slowing beside you.

“Cregan,” you cast a guarded glance his way, “I appreciate your company, but…” You pause, clearing your throat, “Why did you ask me here?”

You cannot ignore the furrow of his brow, nor the weary sigh that escapes him. “I do not wish to burden you with troubles, sister,” he murmurs, his gaze drifting – mindful of spirits; watching, listening. “But there is something we must discuss.”

You, softly gesturing for him to continue under the flicker of torchlight. 

Yet, he does not speak at once; instead, guiding you further along the shadowed path. You allow him the moment of silence, a foreboding drop stirring unbidden in your chest. Has the time come to prepare for the Wall – will you set the Greybeards alone to fight in the Southern war? Dribbling wax slides over the edge of a wyck - a white tear falling to the frozen earth below. Winter is coming, you know; and so does war. 

You stop before a weathered stone – Cregan, his face so hardened even with young age; you recall in the earliest recess of your memories a more youthful visage – the brother who dangled you by the ankle in the Great Hall; who dragged you along to target practice in the yards, who met your gaze with mirth when you were scolded at the dinner table. Much has changed. 

“A raven came from Dragonstone this morning,” his voice is steady – the mention flares a mild concern in you; your brows furrow. 

“Different from the letter that arrived at my chambers just moments ago?” You wonder – the scroll was penned by Prince Jacaerys; though this is an occasion not extremely uncommon, as you’ve grown to write to him often in the past months of his departure. 

But your brother nods. “Aye.” He affirms, “It was signed by Queen Rhaenyra.” 

You blink up at him, breath bated – palms, growing moist though the cold nips gently at your nose: Never has the Queen herself sent letter by raven. Cregan utters your name, and you meet his gaze. 

“Prince Jacaerys has asked for your hand in marriage.”

Of the many possibilities you’d imagined, this was not one of them; shivers of flattery over your spine, quivering your breast in an icy shock.

And a scroll unread, perched upon your drawing table in your quarters – has Jace written to you to ask you himself? Your lip, plump under the pressure of your teeth. 

Though not wholly unpleasant, it is still a sudden shock to you, and your mouth opens – then closes with a soft click. You find yourself momentarily lost for words.

A breath, warm against the cold, escaping your mouth, fingers restless within your thick gloves. “Did–” You pause, clearing your throat, willing your heart to steady its foolish race. “Have you sent a response?”

A flicker in an otherwise stoic facade, gone in an instant: Some amusement laced into his visage that vexes you in a way only a sibling can.

 Quietly, your brother denies. “It was requested by the Prince for you to send a response yourself. The Queen wishes to be assured this is a marriage that will bring strength to the realm – one that will be strong from the beginning. She does not choose the future queen regent lightly, it seems.” 

A heat that grows twofold; and a sprouting dizziness as the proposal hits you. The future queen regent – Gods be good. 

The proposition is far from traditional. 

As the sister of the Warden of the North, you have always assumed your path would lead to a marriage with one of the High Lords of your own region – though with great war comes change, you understand well – and Cregan has mentioned it satisfactory to find a Targaryen princess among your House; perhaps you and Jacaerys will serve in such a steed. 

 A glance to the stone man before you; an ode, to Torrhen Stark. The King Who Knelt. 

A shiver of reality. Leave Winterfell, as a Targaryen bride – to go to the war brewing in the South – and there grows a flicker, beneath your concern. Hunger, pride. 

You’ve always known what’s expected of you; and Starks do not shy nor cower from responsibility. 

“This is no small task.” Your words, quite blunt as they often are – another nod from Cregan. 

“I remind you,” He assures, “It is no done deal.” 

A flicker of your lashes as your breath clouds before you; above your head, you wonder if the flakes which flutter from the sky have ceased in the wake of the day’s far sun. 

It is indeed a thought to consider; the North, your endless horizon of snow and stone – of moors and fields, of steep slopes and commanding eminences, carved by the hands of gods more ancient than the first of men. 

That cold kiss of wintered forests, of towering pines in snowed shadows; gnarled branches of the Wolfswood, icy rivers of threaded silver untouched by the frills of southern decadence; and the cold less endured than revered, a landscape of beauty drawn within the fierce devotion of its people. 

An unshakeable and profound sense of soul that tugs you towards the frozen earth, to the bodies brought back through turns of Winters, of endurance, of love, of life. 

“I would mislike to leave Winterfell,” You admit; a child once more, tucking toes beneath warmed covers as you hid from shadows upon walls. 

Perhaps he recalls those same nights; when you’d stayed awake against the syrupy droop of eyelids, listening to your Lord father’s tales of hunts and beasts beyond your comprehension. 

“As would I regret to let you leave,” His voice comes after a moment. “Your insight is not to be understated. Perhaps this is why the Queen wishes you to join her council in my stead.” 

Another shock to you – to marry the Prince, yes, but to join the Queen’s council? A flash of pride, conspicuous, licking up your spine – though you’re lost in the trappings of memory; of loss, of life. 

“What is it father said?” You muse quietly, watching shadows flicker over a contoured face of stone. “The South…Where men smile with daggers behind their backs.” 

Some huff from weary lips. “I hold no concern for how you might fare against a dagger, sister.” He reminds you; your fingers, calloused in the grooves of a longbow – you placate a wry huff, mind saturated with thoughts. “A serpent's lair, the Crownlands are.” He gruffs.

It is solemnly that you nod; a wistful memory of your Prince, curls entangled with the sharp wind, embedding pearled snowflakes into tresses. 

“I am not without my own doubts,” Cregan slowly admits, “Leaving the North – in wartime, as well – holds few assurances of safety, even at Dragonstone.” 

Your voice is considerably less steadfast than it’d been an hour past, when you’d directed the letter from the Prince to wait until your duties with Lord Stark were through – “I would not leave my home, my charge, merely for some Prince.” You mutter. 

Yet, the glance from your brother brings a small grin to your lips. 

He perhaps agrees with your stubborn resolve; you two, cut and sewn from the same sturdy cloth, borne with the same pelts upon your back. A tilt in his visage, looking at you. 

“Our father’s word was given. It is our duty to uphold it.” He murmurs; and then, a melting of such a look – as if Lord Stark has retreated, yielding Cregan in his wake: “You’d be queen one day, long after the war.” 

Still reeling, a warmth to your face as you consider the Prince – rosy cheeks, with that smile brighter than snow; he, with a fur cloak gifted to him in his visit to treat with your brother those months ago – a regal face, if you’ve the grace to know what such a thing is. 

The boy with kind words and genuine laughter; a fleeting brush of his hand on yours as he’d greeted you to his ancient beast; The square of his shoulders as he’d solidified Northmen for his Queen mother’s banners. A look, shattered and wet, as he mounted his beast in the wake of his brother’s death. Septa’s voice from the vestiges of adolescence: Heavy is the crown, my dear. 

“It is my duty,” you murmur more to yourself than to your brother, “To Winterfell, to the North. To our Queen… and the realm.” 

Cregan’s hand finds your shoulder in a grasp, “Sister.” Your eyes meet his own. “I would not have you do it if I did not believe it was the right choice. Jace is a good man. He will treat you right.” 

Indeed, a union of your house and the Prince’s would strengthen the North; you could ensure the maintenance of autonomy – and loyalty, a venerable duty long upheld by your house for hundreds of years. A marriage that serves not only your people, but such enduring legacy of kin. 

“Just as well,” He adds, “the prospect of marrying Jacaerys might prove rather agreeable to your sensibilities, would it not?”

He jests. The corner of your eyes narrow as you shoot him a sharp look; a smile emerging despite your efforts to conceal it. The warmth of anticipation creeps across your cheeks, a delicate flush across your face despite your valiant efforts to contain it. 

"You overreach, brother,” you speak, though both you and he can hear the fondness in your voice. 

A quiet moment, in which a memory surfaces – Jacaerys, bidding you farewell months past; a pain in his eyes, ragged with grief and urgency to return – his younger brother, killed by Aemond One-Eye.

A shaky kiss upon your knuckles, the cracking of a voice otherwise proud; the last glance of that massive beast swallowed up by the clouds. Your heart skips a beat at the knowledge of him, as your own. 

“I will marry Prince Jacaerys,” You agree, hoping to conceal the eagerness from your tone, “...for the good of the realm."

Cregan huffs, pulling you into a brief embrace, your eyes both stuck on the statue before you. "Aye, and perhaps a bit of warmth for your heart, too.” He jests; a rare occurrence, and certainly in these days of war and the eve of winter. 

“Is that not what you’d wish for your sister?” You jest in return, hiding the fluster of your cheeks. 

His expression sobers minutely. “You bring honor to our house.”

The long, stone face of Torrhen Stark watches your breath rise and fall from your lips. 

Hesitance melts away, leaving a giddiness, a sense of duty softened by an affection in your heart. “A wolf in the South,” you murmur. 

And a dragon at her side.

VERMAX IS RATHER DISPLEASED TO FLY NORTH AGAIN. 

Huffs and whining screeches; saged scales that melt tiny flakes of snow around the saddle - Jacaerys consoles his steed with a huff of amusement. “Se iōrves kessa daor umbagon syt mirre, Vermax.” He insists; The cold will not last forever. 

It is not until the sloping valleys and rolling mountains give way to dusting of snowcaps and frozen-earth that his stomach begins to burn with that odd feeling; excitement. 

Trees that reach up towards the heavens – ever green in their life, barely stirred by the beating of Vermax’s wings high above. 

Otherworldly, the North is; and Winterfell, with towering walls, sprawling courtyards, the frosted roofs that glint even through the thick of cloud – pure earth, that ancient knowledge within the ground, held for thousands of years past. Wisdom, sewn into rings upon rings within trees – depths of icy pools, glistening cold as glacier’s tears even in the dead of summer. 

Something, an aching feeling returns; not an ache for home, but for you. 

Eyes, amber and anticipatory, searching the grounds so far below – a wall, dark and thick in the sprawl of the low cirque. Vermax breaks through the clouds with a call, the whipping Northern wind blowing icy shards into Jacaerys’ inhale. Still, he looks with a fire, an intent – battlements, courtyards, all bustling and brimming.

The familiar banner of black and red, raised by the men sent weeks ahead in anticipation of the Prince’s arrival – and the Stark banner, hanging large enough to just see from the outskirts of Winter Town. 

The East Gate opens; a company awaits his arrival, bustling in the yard of the Great Keep – squinting against sharp air as Vermax circles in agitated descent. It is an odd thing, to see the expressions of men, women, and children become clearer in descent – to see the fear, the astonishment, the reverence in the ancient being in the sky. But he searches each visage turned up towards him; and then, there – with a grin and a flip in Jacaerys’ stomach, he finds you. 

Piled, swathed in thick furs that bring out your hair; standing straight beside your mass of a brother; a warmth that blossoms into heat as your head tilts, tracking Vermax in the sky.  

A heavy thud against the muddy ground encrusted with a fresh layer of crisp rime; the rich shades of green across the North have been kissed by some fae of frost that barely cowers under the heat of his ancient creature – and though it retreats in his molten wake, Vermax huffs at the feeling of frost and snow. 

Jace dismounts Vermax; pressing his forehead to the dragon’s thick neck, the warmth a final solace before he faces the unforgiving weather of the North – a mutter to his steed, running his palm over the scales, “Sȳz, vermax.  Ao ipradtis; ao gōntan sōvegon sȳrī.” 

Good, Vermax. You must eat; you flew well. 

He is accompanied, then; two dragonhandlers bowing to him, draped in borrowed furs as they tend to his weary beast. It is rather comfortable, to hand him off to them; a luxury, he supposes, when they are here to tend to the Valyrian rituals that will come in just over a week’s time. A skip in his heart as he thinks of the night to come: You and he, bound for life. 

His title is announced in the quiet of the Keepyard; he enters, feeling rather foolish as just one man faced with such a company – his eyes, unable to unstick themselves from you. The young Lady Stark; the Northern Star, some have called you; He finds himself agreeing. 

Head high, he walks as the prince he is, nodding to Lord Cregan; Formal proceedings that are blinked away in moments with a very present preoccupation of trying to keep his stare off your face. 

And then, after a lingering moment, ravens circling the sky, wind howling down the slopes of distant mountains, Cregan steps forward, arm extended – Jacaerys returns his grin, a camaraderie returning in his chest. 

In the grasp of his forearm, in the rough hug he shares with his friend, Lord Stark murmurs. “I see now why you were so reluctant to leave the first time, my Prince.” Cregan’s voice, rich with mirth; a sheepish grin that grows upon Jacaerys’ expression. Laughter between them, as easy as it ever was, the weariness that’d built in Jace’s flight northward dissipating. “I’ve been told a wise man knows when he’s found something worth returning to, Lord Stark,” Jace quips in response, the heat on his face deepening when his gaze darts in a glance towards you. Your brow, lifted at his words; full of grace but with a smattering of warmth across your cheeks, a small smile. 

The cold air seems to have brought a flush to you – dipping into a graceful curtsey, the wolf clasp of your cloak catches in the cloudy light of afternoon. His heart flips as you greet him: “My Prince,” and gods, your voice – “I hope you and Vermax found no undue hardship enduring such a journey.” 

It’s all Jacaerys can afford to bow deeply in return, eyes remaining on your own gaze; a gesture of respect and courteousness, but a strike of something far more personal lingering behind his stare. Your palm is bare, he’s shocked to see; and lifted within his own, his lips brush over your knuckles. 

Your cheeks darken, and he feels his heart race. “The purpose is far worth the journey, my Lady.” His voice, earnest, polite. 

Your smile widens just so. 

THE GREAT HALL IS DOUSED WITH LIT HEARTHS. 

The celebration is a swell feast – Jacaerys sits, having dined on a hearty meal and several goblets of wine: Roasted game, honeyed bread, mulled wine. At the high table he sits, and the din of the hall rumbles around him, drifting slowly into the high-beamed ceiling. 

A lingering storm has momentarily lifted in the warmth of familiar faces, of the unrelenting bite of cold that still yet lingers in bones weary from flight. There is a dread that has stayed within Jacaerys for many turns of moon now – a mourning thing, one that has left him with less and less smiles to divulge with each passing day. 

The horizon brews; a clouded thing, one dark and full of smoke and whispers – and yet here he sits, warmed by furs, by hearth, by ale – and by you, aside him. 

A girl no older than himself – a friendship kindled merely in the beginnings of formality, of happenstance; polite smiles and high chins, eyes lingering as he followed your brother into the study. 

A peculiar thing it is now, to sit beside you, to feel that string pull between you so inevitably; and though he is turned away from your warmth, well engrossed in a discussion with Lord Stark, he feels that tension – that tautness that soon will be severed with unseen shears, which will seal a dream conjured years before your birth. 

And throughout the evening, his gaze has more than often wandered to your own visage, carved in those same harsh winds of beauty – a smile warm and true, a depth sinking into his stomach; for as Jacaerys has dined heartily, his appetite for food has given way to an appetite for conversation. 

The hall boasts cheer, laughter; an odd thing, in the tide of coming war, in coming strife even this far North; the Lord returns to the Wall not even a fortnight after the wedding, and with him goes half the rations of crops saved through the Northern harvest. 

With Jacaerys will go his new wife – and with you, a secret untold to any but those who sit the throne. 

The fire in the hearth is great, and it swallows Jacaerys’ eyes as he sips from his cup; licks of flames, screams unheard through halls – the final breath of many, the staggering gasp of death. 

Outside, snow blows harsh and cold against the walls – a breath of winter, howling and iced. 

It is a song that lingers in Jacaerys’ mind, even as the music inside the hall crescendos and the ale flows; and finally, he is torn from his trance with the departure of a lord from White Harbor from before you, leaving you finally by your lonesome. 

Jacaerys turns to you – and at his stirring, you glance to his hoping gaze; your cheeks warmed in the same breath as his own, you glow in the firelight. 

He gestures gently before you, towards the hall brimming with people, “A celebration in our honor, yet it seems finding a moment alone has proven rather difficult.” His voice remains as warm as he’d hoped, though evergreen and mantled by duties, by composure. And you, a flower of grace and stoicism, nod kindly - he's always found the dance of formalities to be amusing.

“It seems the whole land has anticipated your arrival once more, Prince Jacaerys.” Your voice is tinged with that same warmth he remembers from those moons ago.

He ought to accept your kindness with compliment; or perhaps ask how the owl that’d nested in the rook outside your chambers during his last visit fares – but indeed he is met with that insistence of passing time, of his mother’s words fallen onto his shoulders; of a whispered dream of years to pass and years still to come.

When he looks at your visage, honeyed by the glow of firelight, some warmth mixes shockingly with an icy knowledge of what is to come. 

“It has been too long since we last met,” He says - and, perhaps in a moment of insecurity, his lip is bitten and pulled from pearled teeth. “I have missed your company.”

He does not miss the soft growth of affection that blossoms upon your countenance, nor the shift in your hips as you turn to face him more, your fingers absently tracing the rim of your goblet in a mirror of his own nervous habit. 

“And I have missed yours,” your voice is equally quiet to his own, in some conspiratorial hope to remain private while remaining in a room full of guests. Your lip is caught between your teeth just as his was – he wishes to unfurl it with the soft of his thumb. “Though, I confess, it is strange to know that soon we will no longer need ravens to speak to one another.”

A soft chuckle from his lips – a thought indeed that crossed his mind after sending his last raven Northward; and in the shadow of looming war, what a relief it may be to have you beside him. 

If he were any more a fool, Jacaerys might worry indeed for your safety in the coming times – and though that thought lingers still in the stoop of his mind, he is no more ignorant to your abilities than he is admiring them. 

A memory, one of fresh falling snow and the youthful innocence of only half-year ago; before the shift of tides, before the moonlit jaws of Death found his brother – before the death of the young one in the Red Keep, and the fall of Rhaenys and Meleys just days ago at Rooks Rest; before it all, when still the horizon brimmed with a more peaceful hope for settled war, there was time of laughter. Of a hunt drawn about for a Royal Guest in Winterfell, when he came with wishes of an alliance, of oaths sworn in blood and brotherhood. The hunt brought anticipation - and, in his foolish Southern ways, Jacaerys had wondered if you’d see he and your brother off in the courtyard of Winterfell – perhaps with a favour of yours to gift him, and a kiss upon his cheek for well-hunting. 

It was not such delicate smiles and whispers he was met with; no, instead he found another horse, saddled with your frame and a bright grin upon your face, your hair plaited away from your peripherals and a longbow strewn across your back. 

A fond memory, those days watching you traipse across snowstruck Wolfswood – and the snap of a string, the fall of a buck into the earth below. Your grin, your appearance; so unlike your kin, and yet so shared in hardiness with your brother – a warmth now so foreign in a world laced by such ominous ideas as fate. 

Jacaerys chuckles at the memory, and also at your words, sobering as they are light. “Strange,” He repeats, tilting his head to you. “-But welcome, I’d hope?” 

And though it is a tease sent with the efforts of putting the thick tension of betrothal at ease, there still lingers a fear of the answer; and a leak of hesitance in his words. 

When you hold his gaze for a moment, he nearly doubts the flicker of affection that still drips from your rosy cheeks. But your expression softens, and your earnesty is undeniable. “Of course,” You beam and it sends his heart into a flutter, “It will be quite welcome.” 

And it is in this moment, a quiet one, that Jacaerys nearly cracks; a split that would leak out the foreboding world of prophecies, of danger and fear and worry – if only in search of some comfort, of some assurance that the truths he lives are merely the whisperings of a bloodline destined to rule. 

Though he loses the moment when you turn to the revelry before you; and Cregan rises from his seat beside Jacaerys, drawing his attention away from blistering flames and flurries of chill that strike through his heart. 

YOU FIND A MOMENT TO CATCH YOUR BREATH IN THE MORNING.

The sun is high in the sky for such an early hour; perhaps a reflection through of the sheet of thin gray which stretches from one horizon to the other. A sweet light over the rather empty training grounds – and your skirts drag along snow as you brush hair from your cheek, nocking another arrow. 

The target, more than plenty paces away, is riddled with arrows from your work – the bow in your hands, warm and smelted to the form of your grip, carries that same woody scent from youth. You draw back with an inhale. 

Though you know very soon of a presence in the morning courtyard; You can feel the gaze upon you as soon as he enters. And with a small tremble, it occurs to you – no matter where the Prince goes, it seems you can always feel him near. 

You resist a small grin, exhaling as you release the arrow; it embeds itself into the center of the target, a light thud that presses your heart against your ribs. 

Jacaerys watches you; this, you know – and you nock yet another arrow. 

The prince leans rather casually against a post just a few paces to your right, though there is little casual about the heat of his stare upon you – your glance is merely through the side of your lashes, a short thing in effort to pretend you are less effected by his presence. 

Though, you cannot deny the burning in your cheeks, a determination in your throat as you draw the bowstring once more. 

A murder of ravens scatter across the sky to the South – you let the arrow fly; It notches just to the right of your previous shot. A smile, tugging the corner of your lips once more before you drop your arms, glancing to your audience. 

“Impressive as ever, my lady,” Jacaerys muses; his gaze is imbued by lashes and the sun, though there is some esteem within his stare that brings a flutter to your stomach. 

Impressive. 

A heat on your cheeks – as if you’re a blushing little maiden, complimented for the very first time. Though, you remind yourself, he’s spent his life in the highest courts of the land; he himself squired for many years, acquiring fair skill in such trades – and you hum, mind filled with visions of men from all stretches of the realm and beyond – jousts, tourneys, all to show at the King’s court. 

 “Well,” You brush the hair from your cheek once more against the faint wind, nocking and drawing a fresh arrow, much less focused this time, aware of his gaze burning through your frame. “I’m sure Southern men like you have seen feats far more impressive.” You tease, eyes locked down the line of the arrow.

Jacaerys huffs a small laugh at your jest, stepping further into the training yard. The wind blows, and you wonder if you should have taken another fur; but his voice is warm and you are put at ease.

“Perhaps,” He agrees, voice nearing your focus, “But some Southern men certainly know to appreciate what we cannot find back home.” 

You’re lucky you’ve released the arrow just as he finishes his sentence; your stomach flips, butterflies sprouting within your chest at his gentle flattery. He is quite the charmer - and though you find amusement in his attempt, still grows your warmth at the attention.

It is still in the courtyard, and Jacaerys nods toward the target, where your arrow has hit the mark. An approving hum, brows lifted to underscore some coming point: “Like a woman who can outshoot any knight in the realm.” 

A blatant praise – and you lower your bow, hoping to suppress the blush creeping up your cheeks. “Why don’t you try your hand?” you suggest, your tone teasing in attempt to flit such fluster upon the Prince instead. 

He grins in a way that brings to mind a time less full of strife – always one for a friendly back-and-forth; Hands upon the hilt of his sword, Jacaerys shakes his head. “I’m not foolish enough to challenge you, my lady. I’ve learned to respect northern steel – be it by sword or arrow.”

You tilt your head, unable to school such a playful glint in your eyes. “So you’ve come all this way just to be bested by a woman?”

A provocation; perhaps testing the waters. And it shows in his expression, the stark divergence between your brother’s personality and your own; you suspect he is pleased with the opportunity. 

His grin, as you’d hoped, only widens – cheeks reddened by the morning chill, eyes bright against the sun. “I’d consider it quite an honor.” A flick of his gaze to the target and back. 

A roll of your eyes – highly inappropriate for a lady, especially to the Prince - but he only seems to find it more amusing. The smile tugs at your lips; you tamper it with your teeth, “I don’t believe flattery helps your aim, Jace.”

At his nickname, his cheeks seem to glow – a name he’d insisted you’d call him in the dark solitude of the Godswood during his initial visit to Winterfell those many moons ago. 

He shakes his head, ever the charming Prince: “My aim is of no consequence. I am more than content to watch you hit the mark every time.”

The space between you has begun to narrow, and you can just make out the freckles which kiss the bridge of his nose. You hold the bow to him, “Come now, my prince.” You insist – and he acquiesces, stepping forward with a growing smirk. 

You, in effort to see the blush upon his cheeks again, send him a smile. “Aim for the center, and you might impress me.” 

The look he gives you is mildly amused; his shoulders, proud and brushing against yours as he handles your weapon. Deft fingers wrap around the bow as he tries to mimic your stance; and it is rather clear, as it’s been the handful of times you’ve seen him in the yard sparring, that he is far more comfortable with a sword in his hand than a bow. 

And your smile grows at this; the heir to the Iron Throne, trying to impress you with a weapon that is not his own. 

Your amusement is not so concealed; in a moment, he glances to you and huffs, arms still stretched to aim for the target. “I see your confidence growing, my lady,” he chides, and you lift a brow – he grins boyishly, eyes returning to the target, “Perhaps you mean to humble me.”

A feigned thoughtfulness as you tilt your head, tresses of silken hair glinting against your furs, “Humble you, Jace?” You feign surprise, blossoming at the growing smile upon his countenance, “That seems an impossible task.” 

There's a warmth lying low beneath your jest – and whatever sharpness delivers with your wit is softened by the candid affection you hold for your newly betrothed. He laughs, and it is a song you wish to remember for the rest of your years.  

His cheeks are that same very pink you’ve cherished for many moons - and he lets the arrow fly; though it strikes the target, it lands fingers shy of the center, and you conceal a laugh. 

Your prince sends you a look, and though his mouth opens with some likely sharp words of humility, he is interjected by another voice in the yard. 

“–Impressive,” Cregan’s voice cuts through the morning wind, startling you and Jacaerys alike. Jacaerys turns, hands lowering the bow as he nods almost sheepishly; Cregan steps closer – an expression only mildly imbued with amusement. 

He regards you first, then your betrothed. “I see our prince has found a new skill.” 

Flustered as though caught stealing wine from the feast table, you busy yourself adjusting the bowstring; and though Jacaerys chuckles, the sound is tight. 

“It seems I’ll need more practice,” He says easily, eyes flickering to your own warm gaze and leaping away when heat creeps onto your cheeks. Cregan merely claps him on the shoulder, a grin small and amused upon his visage, “Come with me, then. You’d best not distract my sister.”

A sheepish glance with hot cheeks between you and Jacaerys before you bow to him, sending a sharp glance to your brother.

The two leave you to your practice in search of a hearth in which to discuss before; and you nod to them, cheeks alight and eyes trailing over the silver dragon holding together the Prince’s furs. 

THE DAY JACAERYS TELLS YOU IS A DAY BROUGHT ON BY A SQUALL OF ICE AND SNOW.

Since his arrival, days have fallen in succession of clear skies and silent winds; and with the weather has brought a change in your betrothed. You have spent most days watching frost curl over begging pines from your chamber windows with growing unease - though your warmth is still shared well and kind between you, Jacaerys grows agitated in his time away from the war; a thing you understand too well, and wish to ease in the coming days. 

And, unlike the days of his arrival, there is too much to do now to any longer relish in the still-present small moments – the times which bring in the smell of holly and pine, of clove and spiced wine, of wide smiles and the steaming scales of your betrothed’s ancient accompaniment. 

The wedding has been planned – and in only a few more days, you and Jacaerys will become one; you will whisper words long thought and wondered, you will bind your palms, you will share your blood. 

Though in no way unsure of the union, still lingers the presence of something unspoken – in the growingly distant amber eyes, in the insecure stuttering of words, in the shaky palm which soothes over your own underneath leathered gloves. It seems Jacaerys furrows his brow in riddles more and more these days – and a darkness follows, some weight that brings his lips to drop and his voice to taper in the ends of sentences. 

You have begun to wonder once more why indeed a union between you and Jacaerys was so suddenly proposed by the Queen. 

Your breath shows against the casement; The day has brought with it more than a chill – and in search of an excuse, you wonder if the Prince has drawn a large enough hearth, if he has found furs thick enough to stave the chill. Yourself, a girl sewn and grown from Northern soils, still finds a strike of shiver from your veins when you rise from your own hearth; and so, with a small flash of worry and a gathering of pelts from your own bed, you set off to the guest quarters. 

JACAERYS SITS BEFORE HIS HEARTH. 

He welcomes you with a nod and a gesture to join him upon the settee; you deposit the armful of furs upon his bed with a gentle breath and murmured words – and though it is well into the morning by now, Jacaerys looks as though sleep evaded him in the night previous – teeth-bitten lips, mussed curls, a heavy gaze that lingers upon the melting flakes of snow in your hair. 

It is only moments of gentle conversation; a tale of the nesting owl above your chambers that brings a gleaming smile to Jace's eyes, a wonder of the turned crops coming from the Neck; mere half-hour passes before he, ever mindful, shifts towards your visage. 

“What troubles you?” he wonders – a stare that leaks with some unknown vulnerability, that stiffness that has still pervaded the pair of you despite your comfortability. 

And perhaps that very observation is it; you swallow down the rising resistance - a melting of icy hesitance, a heavy weight shared between shoulders so different yet destined.

Jacaerys watches unblinking – you notice for perhaps the first time the signet ring that perches upon his smallfinger, glinting black and ruby in the daylight. Your own ring – a wolf, dark and proud, sits upon your middle; and you wonder how indeed a wolf will fare in a den of dragons. 

You’ve spent enough time with Jacaerys – though this has been swaddled in the nest of the North; your own comfort of life, of family and that sweet soul-binding heritage. Perhaps what troubles you is this – of the impending binding of your life to his own by duty and blood: To know him and be known for the rest and beyond; of fighting a war not of your own making but of your own fate – and yet, with your love and devotion for him fostered and growing, leaking from your very core, it still feels foreign.

“I do not know,” you admit in a surge of emotion, glancing into the open pit of emotion within his gaze. “I cannot help but wonder…why,” you utter slowly, eyes shifting under the uncomfortable embrace of vulnerability. 

And his own vulnerability shows upon his sleeve as he turns to face you fully, drawn in silhouette from the glowing embers that warm the chill in your heart. “Why?” He repeats, eyes searching your own. 

You do not fear your betrothed; you know nothing but faith and conviction laced between your hand and his own. Jacaerys is of good blood; not in the sense perhaps that his ancestors might boast, but that of the same very blood your Northern people acclaim – honorable.

He, even in the unlikely instance of a lack of a lasting affection or love, will always hold you honorably as his wife, and in time his Queen – and this, indeed, you hold in common.

You will perhaps always hold flame for Jacaerys, even if time passes in your marriage and he does not hold such equal affections – and this is some comfort in itself, to know that he will protect you no matter where you lie within his heart. 

 Your words come easier in the passing moment, as Jacaerys awaits your gospel with the veneration of a knelt pilgrim – and you come to understand that somewhere within his breast is a flame alight; an affection returned, with your name burning there. 

Your lips part, and his eyes track the motion. 

“Our union. It is…” You swallow, “Unusual.” 

Your heart aches only in the flickered trace of sorrow that paints his gaze; he leans back to the settee, an expression clouded by unnamed emotions. It is not any absence of affection, then, from either of you – a coupling not lacking in love, then, but instead marked by a trace of fate that drags your heart into worry. 

After some time, your prince speaks. “It is rather custom to marry within the bloodline,” Jacaerys admits, hesitating. Amber eyes, flickering deep into the hearth, as if trying to light the embers that die down with just his stare; you wonder, faintly, if he could. His words are an echo of many nights swirling in doubt above your bedposts – and to hear them, a warmth of relief in your breast.

 “But there are other duties,” He murmurs, “–ones that even the Gods cannot ignore.” 

His tone has reduced to a rather trance-like state; your eyes, roaming the rich of his furs before focusing in the distance; a ring of clouds, circling the light of the sun just out of view. 

Beams of heavenly breath, breaking through the cold sky; a break in the squall, some gasp of mercy from the Old Gods – and a ring of light, sprouting from Jacaerys’s head. It is some ancient song, an echoing you’ve only truly felt in the silence of the crypts low below your feet – you blink twice at the sight of such a reverent sight, his grace outlined in the slope of his nose, the pout of his lips. 

His voice is lower than a whisper when it comes once more. 

“Aegon.” 

Rather struck by the light of heaven’s breath breaking around Jacaerys, your brows furrow; you tilt your head, rising to follow as your betrothed leaves the settee. His eyes are stuck on the flutter of snowflakes from the heavens, his back aflame with the fire of the hearth – and he stops before the window, blinking away frost. 

An odd, ancient feeling stirs in your mind – your shoulder brushes the fine tailoring of his cloak as you join him at the casement overlooking the Godswood; Your voice is clear against the blanket of quiet. 

“The Usurper?” 

His lips are pursed for a moment before a gentle shake of his head. “The Conqueror.” 

It is once again awakened – this seed of uncertainty, the knowledge of the trickling poison which drips from the old blood of Valyria and poisons the minds of those men upon their Stone – but you tilt your head to your Prince, considering his words. 

A breath that plumes against the crawling chill of snow, and Jacaerys’ voice is distant once more. 

 “I’ve heard his song.” 

Perhaps Jacaerys has been kept inside too long: In that way the cold can take a man’s mind – curl around it with frost, trickle ice into veins so sewn with fire; turn him mad. 

You take a small step closer; cold air upon your face, the warmth of his arm brushed against the peak of your shoulder.

It is an attempt, youthful and unsure, at comfort – though he accepts it as he turns to look at you. A gentle gaze, the kind he’s always saved for you, warming the side of your visage; you’re much too gone in thought, eyes stuck at the peek of red bleeding through the pines in the distance. 

The leaves are frosted, though they remain ever crimson, ever watching. You whisper to Jacaerys, eyes upon the godswood. 

“Dead men don’t sing, my prince.”

YOU FIND YOURSELF REFRESHED IN THE BREAK OF WINTERSNOW THAT AFTERNOON.

The Godswood; a sheltered overhang provided by the sprawling branches of the Weirwood – your knees floated within the chasmous snow pelted fresh-fallen and sweet onto the frozen earth.

Jacaerys rests near you – perched on what below lies a boulder, he watches the flakes fall gentle onto the surface of the pooled spring behind you, your quiet words deadened in the blanket of snow. 

The wind is forgiving today – and you can only hope, as you rise from your knelt position before the tree, that it will extend its mercy unto the ceremony in three day’s time. 

There is only the plume of your breath and the muffled compaction of your boots against the settled snow that accompany the short distance to your betrothed. 

Steam rises in tendrils from the warmth of the pond’s depths; a simmering fate from the icy flakes which flutter onto its surface, giving the last breath of their life in sacrifice for its own. 

“How fares Vermax?” 

Your voice carries with it that sullen evergreen repose – Jace looks up at you from where he sits, a small smile gracing his countenance. “He has found a cave to the West.” 

You nod with a knowing smile, lowering yourself to perch beside your betrothed upon the soft snowed earth, your furs dark against the bright kiss of the Gods. “I wondered if he might,” You murmur, recalling the natural springs not unlike the one you sit before; their warmth a relief to any who are graced by their presence within the caves of the slopes. “It would do him well to return home soon.” You murmur, eyes roving over the hands, ungloved and calloused with cold and fight, which rest in Jacaerys’ lap. 

Perhaps in resistance to the weather or from the heat of your attention, he flexes his lithe fingers; and with the breath he takes, he looks to you. “He’s never quite agreed with the North.” He admits with a soft smile. You nod thoughtfully, wondering indeed how such a being of fire could fare against the land of ice. 

“And his rider?” You wonder then, eyes hinged on a swaying pine in the distance, its needles shed of snow as a pile falls to the ground. 

Jacaerys looks at you with that expression once more – a warm one, but one hesitant by nature. “I’d say he is learning to weather it,” Jacaerys answers with a lingering smile, though his gaze shifts momentarily to the horizon, where the faintest sliver of dusk begins to creep through the flurry of snowflakes. “He's come to learn that it grows on a man, much like its people.”

Your lips curve in a bout of shy flattery, and you shake your head. 

A loss for words stretches on into more; the water is calm in its reflection, and you watch snowflakes flutter from the stretch of gray, kissing your hair and tangling in your lashes. The clearing is large, though still so very intimate – it is not long before your thoughts meander to the days ahead, to the many preparations still to be done despite your moment of respite. 

After a beat, you speak into the blanket of quiet. 

“Three days.” You muse, blinking away flurries of white and turning to your betrothed. “Does it not feel strange to you, that in so little time, we are to be bound?”

Jace exhales, his breath clouding the air which swirls before you, and you look up to him in wait. He tilts his head just so, blinking away flakes as they come to kiss his flushed skin. You watch them melt to his lips with some faint lick of envy. 

His voice is hardened by the deadened air of winter, though you know there is nothing but kindness laced within. “There is no hesitation in me, if that is what you ask.”

A warmth pools within you at his chosen words, at the thought of he and you, under the very tree which you now sit, joint in hands and bound by blood. 

Perhaps it is that small yearning that festers unsaid in your heart – or it is the residual worry of his words of songs and men long-dead this morning in his chambers; but you press on gently. “And why is that, my Prince?” 

He looks into your eyes, then – and you see some search for verity amidst the downfall of snow; your fingers are cold, and they itch to hold his own. “Do you hold your own reservations?” In his tone holds no such judgement; merely the curiosity of a boy no older than one and twenty – and you, in the same turn of years, shake your head. 

“No, I–” Your lip is bitten once more, and his eyes remain upon them despite the flush on your cheeks. “I suppose I just wish to know,” You whisper, swallowing thickly, “If it is all… for strategy.” 

Jacaerys takes a moment; you allow it, watching as the flakes fall into the curls, as his eyes skim over the Northern edge of Winterfell, falling somewhere far, far beyond. “It is not simply a duty for me,” He chooses, tracing your visage with the care befitting of one who’s known you for life. “I believe you know this.” 

And perhaps you do; you smile under his accusation, tilting your head. “I suppose so, though I should like to hear you say it,” You admit, looking towards the very horizon he’d worried over. A murder of ravens, cutting dark through the gray blur of afternoon. “You speak too much in riddles these days.” 

It seems as though your words penetrate whatever foggy worries swirl within his sharp mind; and he nods solemnly. 

“You’re right,” and his voice is quieter now, guarded; unsure whether to reveal what such odd whisperings might mean. “I must have you know,” he starts, glancing to you, “that my care for you goes beyond duty.” 

His words are a balm to the brunt of fate that now befalls you; his cheeks as pink as your own, and he whispers kindly. “I have long held an affection for you in my heart, and hoped you might feel the same.” 

Any words of agreement are halted upon your lips when Jacaerys takes another breath, one laced with the weight of a realm divided: “But after Lucerys…” He clears his throat once more and you are struck with his pain.

Your palm finds his knee in some hope of comfort provided; his own falls atop it. “Princess Rhaenys and Meleys fell at Rooks Rest while I travelled North; a war wages still - and yet I had to come. I know you wonder why, and you deserve to know.” 

And you wait with breath bated, as you have for many days in wonder of why indeed now seemed fit for the Prince to come to the North for you. 

“My mother… shared something,” he begins once more, his tone low, “Passed down through our blood, through King and King – from long before Viserys, to my mother, and now me... A prophecy.” 

Your stomach has grown a pit of anticipation, some dreadful cloud gathering above you. Your Prince blinks to you shortly, brows drawn in consternation - as though it is a far crime and violation, what he is to tell you. 

And then he begins: words strung with the cloudiness of destiny, of doubt lingering in a stream of worry – and you sway where you repose, in a blinking dread when mentions come of a common enemy, of a terrible winter long to come.

And you, then, are struck with thoughts – of the long nights at Castle Black; of the men who patrol the wild lands, who speak in hushed voices and train with hard hands – of the old memory of Death, which lingers in the dreams of Northern children and on the tongues of Septas sat before hearths. 

You turn your gaze from the Weirwood’s branches above to Jacaerys, who looks out over the horizon to the breath of twilight leaking through.

A song – a dead man’s dream; of the ice of the north, he explains, and the fire of Valyria. 

It is a cold many minutes in which you breathe, a dread lingering between you and your beloved prince, hands clasped together and hearts beating as one. It does not do well to play on a foolish man’s beliefs – though your prince is no foolish man, and the hands of fate are too tightly bound. 

“You speak of fire and blood,” you whisper finally, “Of dreams that burn through the night?” 

The eve that falls is quiet, and the wind forgives your trespassing. He nods solemnly, your prince; and his absence of further response lets your mind wander.

Swirls of snow dance along the footprints left in your previous wake; the wind blows strands of hair across your vision.

Jacaerys’ eyes are amber pools and you drown in them, in the heat that has grown in the knowledge of words dreamt by a long dead man, in the legacy which leaks through each new crowned Targaryen. You drown in the knowledge that perhaps, in some way, a truth rings within this so-believed prophecy; secret as the lands which lie far to the North.

Your lips are wetted gently, shaking your head as you continue your thought. “But magic does not only run hot,” you murmur, “It does not only belong to the South.” 

His expression turns – and a weight which indeed shrouds him finds you too, cocooning you and your betrothed, binding you with threads of fate long ago tied and drawn. The woods whistle with the breath of winter, and you hear their song. 

“It is in the roots of the tree, in the bones of this land,” You admit, “My ancestors prayed to the Old Gods, and in return they whispered in the wind, spoke in the silence. And they, too, endure.”

Jacaerys shifts beside you and your palm is taken into the cradle of both his own. “I do not wish to burden you with such things.” He murmurs - and a memory of your brother's same words the day this very betrothal became so; it is forever, then, that the men of your life will wish to protect you from harm.

In the moment’s breath, you speak quietly: “–But such things are ours now, are they not?” You wonder aloud; and in the relief of a smile, he nods smally.

“There are threats to face sooner; I know it is no small ask to bring you into the throes of conflict. But perhaps our blood,” He murmurs, cheeks tinged pink, “might one day save the Realm.” 

An odd thought – but still one that does not change the truth: You go into the heart of the fire in three days’ time; but you will go with Jacaerys, and you will not be alone. A wolf in the South – and a dragon by her side. 

In the lingering peace of companionship, Jacaerys huffs gently. “I wish I could have done more,” He murmurs, “Ensured a proper betrothal.” His cheeks remain stained in that crimson colour against the fading light of the sky, and you resist the longing feeling to feel his lips against your own. 

You laugh, a short thing in the muffled quiet, “It matters not, Jace,” You promise, a smile small and kind upon your visage. In his shift, you slide gently between his knees – and your palms squeeze his own. 

“I’d have courted you,” He insists in that boyish nature you remember from those moons ago – and the air that’d frozen your lungs in the moments fallen behind has thawed into a budding giddiness. You smile at his tone, tilting your head. “Is that right, my Prince?” You tease, lifting your brow, “Taken me for strolls in the gardens, picked me flowers?” 

His smile is so boyish and hopeful; your heart skips as he nods. “Of course.” His grin grows softer as you shift. 

It is when the space between you narrows in a moment that you purse your lips gently, eyes tracing the curve of his own cherried lips. “Though my duty is to the North, it is also to the Queen,” You begin. His eyes fall to your own lips. “And to you. I hold love for you in my heart, Jacaerys,” You admit, cheeks warm, “And I am quite pleased to be your wife.” 

His hand leaves your own – and in its ascent, you see a slight tremor; when your face is cradled by his palm, you let your eyes flutter shut. 

It is only a momentary shock when lips, cold and light, press to your eyelid; a brushing so gentle, you wonder if it will not melt into the snow itself. 

Jacaerys’ breath lingers, a quiet warmth as he moves to your other eye, kissing away the flakes of snow which cling to you in reverence. A stirring in your breast as your hands find his cloaked arms, strong beneath your grasp; a whisper into the earth around you as snow falls. 

He pulls away only in a plume of warm breath that you feel against your visage; your eyes open to find his own, warm and wanting. A fire burns in you, and it calls his name – somewhere in the distance, Vermax roars. The edges of the pond lap over a small crust of ice, and your touch warms against your betrothed. 

“I was made for you,” He murmurs, lips chilled against your warm cheek; and you believe it. He says your name, and it falls from bitten lips with a desperation that sets your nerves ablaze; "I will love you with everything I am," He promises; and fingers trace the curve of your jaw, a gentle thing – a lingering of breath with your own, a hitch to your lungs as desire claws at your throat. Your smile is small and melts under the weight of heat.

In a moment, you cannot bear the space which lingers, small and unforgiving, between you; Without hesitation, your palms slide over his furs, kissed with snow – and soon, you card your hands through the curls at the nape of your betrothed’s neck. 

It is a pull towards your awaiting lips, and soon Jacaerys kisses you soundly. 

Hands slide to your waist, dropping from your jaw to cradle you between his legs, flush in the heat of shared life; and you, a blossoming flutter of affection and anticipation for nights to come. Hands tremble – yours, around his neck, his, curved around your waist. 

The snow falls heavier still – and a howl of wind that blows you closer to Jace, a short share of giggles between you, giddy and alight with some small kernel of hope. The Godswood is quiet, and your lips slide together in a shy, lingering sweetness; he pulls away from you only to press small kisses upon each exposed breath of skin you offer, and you laugh into the quiet, heart beating as one. 

“I am yours.” 

And for some time, a soft exploration of affections beneath the sprawling limbs of the tree – and the words fall from lips taking and giving, smiling and sighing, pursuing and pressing. 

The woods sing with the bells when supper is called; and so with hair tangled, cheeks warm, you rise together. 

Arm in arm, your betrothed and you retrace footprints kissed with the gift of fresh-fallen snow; words quiet and half-burdened with the weight of the future – but still remains the lingering of hope, the promise of love even in the dreary eve of fate. 

The Godswood of Winterfell echo softly with footfall; The warmth of the Great Hall awaits you both. Jacaerys presses a kiss to your knuckles, and you push open the doors together.

taglist & mutuals <3 ; @dipperscavern @oldtowrs @systraes @lukehughes43 @rhea-ripley @jottositto @earth4angels @mattnott @divinesolas @hxtd @housetargaryenloyalist @bucksplum @v3lary0ns @princessvelaryon @princessbellecerise @vee-mage @bitchydragonparadisee @elaena-aerrin @kenna-the-cosmic @xxselenite @smurfelle @alyssa-dayne @uhnanix @still-jon-snow @astrxq @cregan-starks

[francisofthespook]

Closer

Oneshot

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: After a long journey, you and the group have finally settled down at Alexandria. You decide to throw a little party after you found a Nine Inch Nails CD while on a run. You spend most of the party waiting for your favorite archer to arrive. By the time he does, your favorite song is playing...

Setting: Alexandria, pre-saviors

Warnings: Suggestive content/Drinking/Descriptions of being drunk/I don't really know what to put here I've never done warnings before so if I'm missing something please let me know !

Word count: 4,433

Author's Note: Hi ok so this is the first time I've written like this in literally so long, the last time I remember writing fanfic or oneshots was when I was deep in the 1D fandom in like 2013 and it was dogshit. So please be patient with me while I figure this out again. If there are any errors or I do anything wrong, kindly let me know and I will fix it. I love you all, I have been inspired by so many of you great writers on here and it has renewed my love for writing <3 (especially you @thevegandarkelf <333)

(ps divider and gif made by me:) )

((pps if the gif or dividers act weird lmk because I've never made them before))

OK HERE IT IS !!

Parties. If someone were to ask you what you missed the most since the dead started rising, you would say parties. (Or maybe your Juul, but there were good enough replacements for that…) You had been in your first year of college when the fall happened, far from your family and in a city you didn’t know that well. But you were lucky enough to have been out of the inner city when things started to fall apart. Even though you had a good distance between you and downtown, you were still not shielded from the chaos that ensued when the dead began attacking. You had been out working on an assignment for your environmental studies class by a quarry when the cell towers went down. Since you had most of your stuff on you, you decided to stay put until you got reception again. (ha.)

It wasn't too long after, that a small group began forming at the quarry. And there, you met your new family. It hadn’t been easy, far far from it actually, but you guys survived. You took it day by day, but you survived. You weren't particularly skilled in survival, but your group was, and you had picked up little things along the way that crafted you into the person you were now.

Your group had set up several camps along the way, but none of them lasted long enough to get too comfortable. So when you finally landed at Alexandria, the hesitancy was looming for a while. For the first few days, everyone slept in one house, despite being offered each a place of your own. To be honest, you loved sharing a house with everyone. Not just because of the safety it made you feel, but also because it just meant getting to stay close to a certain archer that you had grown fond of.

Daryl was… hard to read. He was quiet and stoic most of the time, but around you he got a little softer. You knew he liked you, but you weren't sure if he like liked you, like you did. But in fear of ruining the friendship you had worked so hard to build, you kept quiet and substituted flirting with friendly gestures. Letting him know that you cared, but not that you cared cared. Sure, there had been many times when it felt like all the cues were lined up and you could just lean over and kiss him, but you knew him well enough to know that even if he maybe felt the same way, his emotions would overwhelm him and he would probably run. So you played it safe. A good rule of thumb, especially in this world.

However, after a while, your group slowly started to let their guard down. They accepted that Alexandria could be what you all had been looking for. You started to get just a little bit comfortable. You could tell this shift in the group's demeanor frustrated Daryl. He wouldn't allow himself to let his guard down and he thought you all were mad for beginning to trust this place given your past experiences. But you didn't care, you were just relieved to finally be able to get a good night's sleep without having to worry about the dead stumbling upon you while you weren't conscious.

When Deanna threw the first party, you were sold. It was a quaint gathering of everyone in the community, nothing like the ragers you knew from high school and college, but it gave you hope. Hope that there was still a chance to get back to where you were, or at least close to it. You had begun to feel less and less human every day that you were on the road. But being here with a drink in your hand and a skirt on for the first time in god knows how long, you started to feel human again.

When you found the CD on the run, Daryl had scoffed and told you to put it back. “There's nothing wrong with bringing back something fun” you had told him. “Yeah well fun's not gonna keep us alive now ain't it?” he replied. Maybe he hadn't meant for it to sound so harsh, but it hurt just a bit. You had frowned and looked down at your shoes, feeling deflated with guilt. “I know we need to survive, but we also need to still feel like humans.” you sighed and looked back up at him. At seeing your expression, his own softened. “When we were out there on the road, I forgot what that felt like. It may just be a stupid CD, but it reminds me what we're fighting for.” He didn't say anything after that. Just gave you a small smile, a nod, and squeezed your shoulder while he walked past you to continue gathering items from the shelves.

You had been planning it for weeks, and it had finally come to fruition. You invited everyone from your group and some of the Alexandrians that you had gotten to know over the past few weeks. It definitely wasn’t a frat party like the ones you used to know, but it was close enough. The CD you had found a while back was blaring through the house as you filled up another cup of your DIY ‘jungle juice’. Admittedly, Nine Inch Nails were never your favorite band, but you remember how their album ‘The Downward Spiral’ used to spin on your record player while you absentmindedly did chores around your college apartment. Human, you remember how it made you feel human. Though you obviously never acknowledged that feeling at the time.

It was definitely funny to see everyone's reaction to the music when you had put the CD in the player. For some reason, the group had formed a collective opinion of what you were like before the fall that did not include ‘listens to rock’. But like the others, being given a safe place to stay allowed your true personality to shine through as the stability and comfortability grew, bringing you one step closer to the girl you used to be. As the drinks kept flowing, the attendees became more agreeable to the music. (Plus it was the only CD you had, so it would have to work whether they liked it or not.)

The party went on, and you found yourself discreetly scanning the crowd for your favorite archer, but were disappointed when you were met with his absence. Of course, you knew that something like this was extremely out of his wheelhouse, but still, you were sad to see he had yet to show up. 

“So, don't feel like you have to… but I’m having a party this weekend, and I would really like it if you came.” You turned your head to look at him and gauge his reaction. “A party?” He scoffed and looked back down at the squirrel he was gutting on your porch steps. “Dun think that's really my scene." He grunted. "Plus, got more important things t’do.” You looked back out at the street in front of you and nodded your head. Trying to hide your disappointment and biting your lip. “I figured.” You replied. “But still,” You looked back at him again, “it would mean a lot to me if you came.” You gave him a small smile when he met your eyes. His expression softened, like it often did when he looked at you. An annoying habit he couldn't seem to shake off. He would never admit it, but he had grown an achingly large soft spot for you over the years, you were his reason to keep going, keep fighting, you were his Achilles heel. 

He had a hard time understanding his feelings towards you. He knew he liked you, you were his friend. But if he had only ever acknowledged you as a friend, then why did his heart speed up just a bit when you looked into his eyes? Why did he feel a fluttering in his stomach when you gave him a big toothy grin after finally catching a deer you had been tracking? Why did his shoulder feel like it had been brushed by a flame whenever he shouldered past you? He didn't want to think about it. Stuff like that didn't matter given the state of the world. Or did it?

“I'll see if I can make it” He finally mumbled. Not wanting to let you know that you had won him over, or the effect that you had on him. “Really?!” you squealed, your eyebrows shooting up your forehead and a huge smile on your face. “Dun push it.” He grumbled as he shifted his focus back to the squirrel. But as he turned his head, he made sure his hair fell in front of his face to hide the small smile that was forcing its way out. “Okay! I'll see you Friday then.” you beamed as you got up, using his shoulder to help yourself stand. There was that fire again.

As ‘March of the Pigs’ began playing, you had given up on waiting for him. Throwing back another shot of whatever you could find in front of you and swaying to the music as you re-entered the dancing crowd. It was a little silly to see everyone acting so loosely, never in a million years would you have guessed that the Rick Grimes could actually somewhat dance, it was amusing nonetheless. You made your way towards him and Glenn on the makeshift dancefloor and started moving along with them. 

“This is the best party I’ve been to in years!” Glenn shouted to you over the music. Rick chuckled and took another sip from his cup before pointing out, “It's the only party you’ve been to in years” You laughed and threw your head back, the alcohol making everything funnier than it should be. You reached for Rick's shoulder to steady yourself as your laughing died down. You felt warm and tingly, your head light, your smile so big it was making your cheeks sore. You felt human. Your expression shifted as you watched the two boys focus on the front door closing. You turned your head to see what they were looking at, but the alcohol made you dizzy from your movements and you further leaned into Rick for support, your drink sloshing in your cup as you spun. “What?” you slurred to them. Rick locked eyes with you again. “Daryl’s here.”

A sobering shot of butterflies ran through you and you tried to hide your excitement before Rick and Glenn could see it, but it was too late. “Told you it was Daryl, man! You owe me five bucks.” Glenn laughed and pointed to Rick. “Okay, okay,” Rick chuckled and raised his hands in surrender. “When the war on the dead is over and society goes back to normal, I will be sure to give you five dollars.” He replied as he rolled his eyes. You looked between the two of them, “Five doll- what? What are you talking about?” You sputtered out. Glenn put his hand on your shoulder and leaned down close to you while whispering as quietly as he could given the state of the music, “It was just a little bit obvious that you were waiting for someone to show up” he said, holding up his fingers in a pinching motion.

Your eyes grew wide with surprise and a little embarrassment as he pulled away. “What?! No, I was not! What’re you talking about?!” Glenn straightened back up and gave you a smirk. “You're not as discrete as you think you are” You felt the already present heat in your cheeks grow even hotter. “I was betting on it being Spencer but I guess I was wrong.” Rick shrugged and you looked at him in horror. “What? Spencer?! God no!” “So you were waiting for Daryl then, right?” You looked back at Glenn, shooting him a warning look. He held his hands up in surrender “Hey man, I'm just calling it as I see it. Not my fault you've had a blaring crush on him since the farm.” You covered your face with your forearm in embarrassment and the movement made a droplet of your drink fall to the ground. “Oh my god, is it really that obvious?” You dragged your arm down your face before looking back up at the two. They looked at each other before focusing back on you and giving small, smug nods. 

“But hey, look on the bright side. One, I don't think he's noticed. And two, it's obvious he feels the same way.” Rick gave you a sly grin and a pat on the back. You removed your hand from his shoulder and shook your head. “You guys are making me so self-conscious now” You chuckled to yourself before hiding your face again. Glenn gave you a reassuring smile and said, “Go, talk to him. He obviously came because you asked him to. If it were anyone else he would have walked away before they could get the full invite out.” 

You groaned and took a deep breath before addressing the boys again. “Okay, fine. But when it's made obvious that he does not like me, and just came out of pity, then you both owe me five dollars.” You pointed your finger at them and they laughed before nodding and giving you a thumbs up as you backed away and chugged the rest of your drink.

You approached Daryl as your favorite Nine Inch Nails song started playing. The swirling bassline of ‘Closer’ making you feel light in the head again. Or was it the sight of him standing there, basking in the soft glow of the lamp from the entry hall? He looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight between his feet and looking around like he didn't know where to stand. You grabbed another cup from the table as you walked past it and towards him. Trying to play it cool, you sauntered up to him until you were standing right in front of him. You were close, definitely too close, but the alcohol had messed up your depth perception and you totally didn't mean to land that close to him. Yeah, definitely the alcohol… 

“Well hello stranger, didn't expect to see you here” You sung out as you handed him the cup. Was that too much? Oh god, that was too much. Gotta take it down a notch. You looked down and shuffled backward a bit so you weren't encroaching on his personal space. His discomfort seemed to dissolve as he looked at you. His shoulders visibly relaxing a bit and a small grin spread on his face. “I told ya I'd come.” He replied, stifling a small laugh. “You told me you'll see if you can make it, which is ‘Daryl code’ for ‘I definitely won't be there but I don't want to tell you no to your face’ ” You pointed towards him but you miscalculated the distance again and landed your finger in the middle of his chest. Yeah, totally the alcohol, definitely not the magnetizing pull you feel toward him every time you are in the same room. Whatever.

You worried for a split second that your poor attempt at flirting had come across as an insult, but were quickly relieved at the sound of his small laugh once again. God, that laugh made you feel like you had drank all the liquor in this house. It made you feel buzzy and your whole body shuddered at the feeling. “If it were anyone else yeah, but I'd never stand ya up.” You made eye contact with him as he smiled at you and suddenly the room was empty, and it was just you two staring into each other's souls. 

Nothing else around you registered in your mind as you stared into his blue eyes and drowned out all the background noise. You leaned closer and muttered as sultry as you could, “Well I guess I must be pretty important then, huh?” You tried, but it came out with a hint of a slur. Maybe it was the drink he had begun sipping on, or maybe the fact that the music was loud enough that no one could hear him, or maybe it was because everyone else was already tipsy enough that they were paying you no attention, but a small wave of confidence visibly came over him as he leaned into your ear and whispered, “I guess you could say that.” He lingered by your ear for a minute before pulling back and locking eyes with you again.

You weren't sure how to react. Your body felt like it was on fire, the root of it at your ear where he had just been, still feeling the breath of his words like a ghost against your head. You tried to play it cool. You stepped back while outstretching your hand to him, “Come dance with me, this is my favorite song.” You flashed him a smile and he scoffed and took another sip of his drink. “I dun dance.” He shook his head. “Maybe not in general, but tonight you do.” You tried to counter, but he just shook his head again while smiling. “Ya go on and dance to yer song. I'll be here when yer done.” You rolled your eyes but started to move back towards an even tipsier Glenn and Rick. 

You let me violate you

You let me desecrate you

“Who is this again?” Rick asked as you approached them. “Nine Inch Nails.” You replied, taking a sip from the new cup you had grabbed on your way back over. “Pretty raunchy, not somethin’ I would’ve listened to.” He responded. “Well judging by the way you've been dancing I wouldn't say you hate it.” You scoffed. “So? How’d it go?” Glenn cut in. “Mmm” you bit your lip, unsure if you should confide in them the heated moment you just experienced.

You let me penetrate you

You let me complicate you

“He said he wouldn't have come if it were anyone else's party. So I guess that's a good thing…” You said, sounding unsure of yourself. You didn't want to overthink anything, you were worried that you were just making up his attraction to you in your head. You were trying to save yourself from the embarrassment if it did end up being something you misread. “Good thing? That's a great thing!” Glenn countered. “Is he not coming over?” He questioned, looking around to see Daryl still leaning against the wall by the front door, sipping on his drink. “Nah, I told him to come dance with me, this is my favorite song on this album, but he told me to go dance and he would be there when I came back.” You replied, trying not to sound too disappointed. 

(Help me) I broke apart my insides

(Help me) I’ve got no soul to sell

“Well then let him be a party pooper. We’ll dance with you.” Rick gave you a smile as the three of you continued to sip on your drinks while swaying to the music. You glanced over your shoulder briefly to check on Daryl and found him staring directly at you. He looked almost… jealous? Well if he was, then it was his own fault for staying over there instead of coming to dance with you. But why would he be jealous? You were suddenly struck with a devious idea that sober you would never have executed. You started singing along to the lyrics, you knew what was coming next, and your stroke of boldness had taken over your brain. You angled your body and turned your head back towards Daryl, trying to make it look as natural and inconspicuous as possible, and began mouthing the lyrics at him. 

Help me, the only thing that works for me

If you weren't sure before, you were sure now. As you began mouthing the lyrics while dancing closely to Rick and Glenn, Daryl's stare became more intense, more purposeful. He was jealous. You took that as an advantage and shifted your attention back to the two boys in front of you. This time you threw your head back at an angle while mouthing the next line, trying desperately to get Daryl to see you, but also trying to make sure it didn't look like you were doing it on purpose.

Help me get away from myself

As the line rang through the small house, you made a split decision to make a bold move. As you sang the next line out, you turned your head once again and looked him directly in the eyes. His were already locked onto yours, and you stared him down as you sang,

I wanna fuck you like an animal

You swayed and moved your hips to the beat, the skirt you were wearing rising up ever so slightly over your thighs as you did a subtle squat as you swayed. You looked back toward your dancing buddies again, hoping they hadn't noticed what you were doing, but they were oblivious. In their own little words dancing along to the music and the flow of liquor through their veins. 

I wanna feel you from the inside

The music continued to bounce through the air, the room had become hot and humid, adding to the tension you felt towards Daryl. A small bead of sweat rolled down your back as you continued moving your hips to the beat.

I wanna fuck you like an animal

You felt a sudden ignition of a flame against your hips as two large hands began to sneak around them from behind. For just a second, you froze in fear, before your nose picked up the all too familiar notes of him, this time with a hint of liquor. You didn't look back, you didn't acknowledge him, you just kept dancing. Ever so slightly grinding up against him as he stood stiff behind you. Rick and Glenn, still oblivious to what was going down right in front of them.

My whole existence is flawed

You ran your hands up through your hair, your cup had been lost at some point but that was beyond your thought parameters right now. You slowly arched your head backward and leaned into him. Almost by instinct, like some primal urge that existed within him and had been lying dormant for years, he leaned his head down into your neck and breathed you in. You slightly craned your neck to the side to make space for him. A combustion of nerves spread like wildfire throughout your entire body. The space on your neck where his breath was hitting felt white hot, numb, and electric all at the same time. You felt like you were being born again, it took everything in you not to let out a small moan right there. The overwhelming feeling of him being on you took over and as the next line played out, you angled your head up just enough so that your mouth was at his ear and whispered to him the next line,

You get me closer to god

He grunted and pulled you closer into him. Bringing your arms down from holding your hair up, you placed them over his hands that were gripping your hips. His breathing was a constant flow against your neck as you continued to subtly dance up against him, causing droplets of condensation form on your skin. The whole room was spinning now, but not from the alcohol. No, his touch had sobered you up from that, but now you were drunk off him. You spun around to face him and put your arms around his neck as he adjusted to wrap his around your waist.

“Hi,” you whispered with a sickening grin on your face, eyes locked directly into his and your faces so close, your noses almost brushed against each other's. “Hey,” He whispered back, obviously fighting off a grin. “So you do dance then?” You challenged, hoping that you wouldn't scare him off by being a little more direct. “I guess for ya I do” He murmured. You took this a green light to push a little further. Looking off to the side while you feigned innocence you said, “Well I wonder what else you can do for me that you wouldn't do for anyone else…” That was it. That was as far as you could push it, you had thrown the ball into his court and it was his turn now to take the reins and show it, if he did have any interest in you that is.

He was taken aback a bit by your remark, but he quickly shook off the surprise. He looked into your eyes, searching for the sign that you wanted this as badly as he did. He thought he saw it, but he wasn't sure if he was just blinded by his own attraction and deflecting it onto you. But in the millisecond that his mind ran through all the possibilities of disaster that could come from misinterpreting your interactions, he decided to take a chance. He bit his lip before he slowly leaned into you yet again, brought his lips to your ear, and whispered, “I can show ya if ya want.” 

Your veins filled with ice, your heart stopped beating, the butterflies in your stomach turned into wasps, buzzing around rapidly and stinging your insides with desire. He pulled back and looked at you. As hard as you tried, you couldn't close your mouth as it hung slightly agape. He did feel the same way. He did want you as badly as you wanted him. Your mouth formed into a smile with your eyes half-lidded, weighted down from the lust you felt towards him. “Okay,” you spoke, barely audible. 

Moving your hands down to his, you wrapped your small ones around his large ones and pulled them off of your hips. You slowly turned around, looking back at Glenn and Rick one more time before you began, as discreetly as possible, pulling Daryl towards the stairs that lead up to your room. He froze for a second, and you looked back at him. He hadn't really meant ‘right now’ when he said that, but he was filled with butterflies as he accepted that you definitely meant ‘right now’ and he let you pull him behind you and up the stairs. 

When you reached the last step, you glanced out at the partygoers, making sure that everyone was occupied and hopefully wouldn't notice your and Daryl’s absence for a little bit. As you scanned the crowd you locked eyes with Rick and Glenn who were holding back smug looks. You threw them a middle finger before taking the last step and guiding Daryl into your room, closing and locking the door behind you. Hopefully, the music was loud enough that no one would hear you…

okay there it is, plus the song that inspired it ! pls be nice :)

[scoutswritingcorner]

YOURE MY FAVORITE HAZBIN WRITER!!!!

could i possibly request a tiny little one shot of lucifer’s new wifey (reader) meeting charlie for the first time?? and everyone’s reactions and maybe charlie warming up to her and calling her mom :(((

First Meetings

Lucifer x GN!Reader

Platonic Charlie x GN! Reader

TW:NONE!

A/n: Hihi Anon! This was a really cute request! Your words mean a lot to me! Hope you enjoy! As always Reader will be genderneutral as that’s something I’m more comfortable writing with and so everyone can enjoy!

Lucifer happily grabbed your hand and kissed the golden band on your finger as you both walked towards the Hazbin Hotel, “Darling, you’re shaking like a leaf.” You called out, squeezing his hand as he smiled at you, “I’m just nervous is all..what if she doesn’t approve?” He asked frowning as tears welled up in his eyes. You pulled him into a gentle hug, “I think she will, the way you talk about her she seems like she would love seeing you remarried and happy again.” you hummed, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek as he hugged you back with a bright blush on his cheeks, “You’re right, she’s gonna love you just as much as I do!” He replied, jumping up in excitement pulling you along towards the Hotel.

-👑 Charlie absolutely adores you! You make her dad happy and bring him more out of his shell and his depressive moods. The first time she calls you mom/dad/parent? She gets so embarrassed because it slipped out but she’s so happy that you aren’t mad. Lucifer definitely cries and then Charlie starts crying cause her dad is crying. 

-🎀 Vaggie was weary of you at first. But soon enough calmed down seeing how happy her girlfriend was and slowly started to trust you more. At least you call her by her name the first time.

-🕷️ Angel Dust playfully pouts because now the hottest man in all of hell is off limits. But in all seriousness, he doesn’t really care. He will flirt with you too and don't think your off limits since your married.

-♠ ️ Husk also doesn’t really care all that much but he’s happy for Lucifer and Charlie.

-🦌 Alastor straight up doesn’t give two fucks. He’ll jokingly try to steal you away from Lucifer and chaos ensues. Listen- I love this deer man but he does not have any fucks to give.

-🐍 Sir Pentious freaks the fuck out, like- accidentally trips and falls right infront of you dropping the pan of cookies he had and salutes to you whenever you talk to him. HE IS SUCH A DORK COME ON NOW- But he’s happy for Lucifer and Charlie-

-🪲 Nifty is mad at you, she’ll respect you, but she’s mad at you cause you took one of her “bad boys”.

[its-time-to-write]

This may be a bit of a strange idea (Feel free to ignore this request)

But since your about Jaime Tartt baby fic. I had the thought of Jaime trying to give reader a break takes the baby in a stroller to training with Roy and Roy is just kind of like WTF and other hijinks ensue like maybe someone flirts with Jamie with the baby or roy gets left with the baby at somepoint or Reader is freaken out cause the baby is gone. IDK just an idea that has been stuck in my head since I read your baby fic

Dude this request was not strange AT ALL. It was actually nice because it was similar to something I wanted to write, and I haven’t been able to do that because I’ve been doing requests. THANK YOU.

i’ll still be right next to you my dear

Your daughter Bea is five months old. You’re still sleep-deprived, but less than you were a month ago. Jamie does his absolute best as her dad and your husband, but the weight of it still falls to you. Things have gotten considerably less tense, too, since you moved out of the flat and back into your house. It was weird at first, both you and Jamie walking on little eggshells around each other. 

The tension was broken with an all-hands-on-deck moment at 1am, when Bea had a stomach bug or something, and you two had no choice but to just laugh in resignation at the sheer enormity of the mess she made. There go the beginnings of sleep training. 

Bea had her own schedule, one that involved being an early bird like her dad. She would wake up five to ten minutes before his 3:30 alarm went off, and it got to the point where he barely even set it anymore. 

Jamie would get out of bed, throw on some pants, change her, and then zip through his morning routine. He’d put her back to bed, give you a half-awake kiss, then be out the door before Roy could knock. 

(Roy made that mistake early on, waking Bea. You thoroughly chewed him out in an exhausted rage. Jamie says it’s the closest thing he’s ever seen to Roy crying).

Anyway, at 3:55 this Saturday morning, Jamie kisses you, says, “I’ve got Bea, so sleep in,” and is gone before you even know what’s happening. 

You flop back on the pillow and are out in seconds. 

—

“The fuck is this?” Roy says the moment Jamie steps out the door, pushing a happy Bea in her jogging stroller.

“The fuck does it look like?” Jamie replies. “Her mum needed sleep, so Bea’s joining us for training.” He leans over the stroller to look at his daughter and coos, “Isn’t that right, angel?”

Bea makes a delighted gurgle and Roy grunts.

“Oh come on, don’t tell me the great Uncle Roy is daunted by a silly wee baby?” Jamie says, grinning. “You are Bea’s favorite.”

Roy glares at Jamie. “Don’t fucking lie to me, everyone knows Sam’s her fucking favorite. She even likes fucking Isaac better than me.”

Jamie pouts. “Don’t listen to him, Bea. We know you love Uncle Roy, even though he’s being a twat.”

Roy just grunts and looks at Bea. “You know how I feel about you, kid,” he says. She babbles. She knows. 

“Alright, come on. Suppose the stroller gives your dad some extra weight while he runs.”

Jamie grins, and starts jogging down the street.

—

You wake up to the sound of silence. No Bea, no Jamie. Just birds chirping and the sun shining. You squint at the clock. 8:37am. You reach for your phone and see a selfie from Jamie of him, Bea, and Roy marked 7:02am with the caption, headed to breakfast! 

You now have a hazy recollection of Jamie saying something about taking Bea when he left, but it felt like a dream at the time. The silence makes more sense now. 

You smile and send heart emojis. I love you! you type. 

love u 2, Jamie replies. Then: I hope that was for me not Roy?

You shake your head. That boy. He thinks he’s a comedian.

You roll out of bed and stretch. Time for a nice, long shower, then a good coffee from Jamie’s complementary espresso machine. You’re not gonna lie, there are certain perks to being married to a footballer.

—

Meanwhile, Jamie and Roy have stopped for breakfast at a café that Roy says fits in with Jamie’s diet. He says no coffee and Jamie makes a disgusted face and replies you’re not the boss of me, which is why they’re letting Bea decide if Jamie gets coffee or not by seeing who will get her to smile first. 

Jamie wins, of course. It’s part of being a dad. 

They’re sitting at a table outside till 9am, Bea out of her stroller and in Jamie’s arms. They’re on their third cups of coffee and Bea’s draining her bottle of formula like there’s no tomorrow. Jamie is in the middle of stroking Bea’s nose (a miniature version of yours) and watching her eyes blink slow, when two girls walk up to their table. 

“Ohmygod, no way, is that your baby?” one girl asks. 

Jamie looks up and gives a polite, perfunctory, “yeah,” and turns back to Bea. Roy’s sitting back in his seat, ready to watch this unfold. 

“It is like, so totally adorable. There’s something so sweet about a baby, don’t you think?” the other girl says, putting her hand on Jamie’s shoulder. He shifts away as politely as he can. 

“I just think that like, men with babies are so much hotter than men without babies,” girl 1 continues, oblivious to Jamie, who has shifted Bea onto his chest and is displaying his left hand as conspicuously as possible. He taps Bea’s back with his ring finger in what he hopes is an absentminded manner. 

Roy holds back a snort.

“Especially single dads,” says girl 2. “Soo hot. I’ll give you my number if you ever need a babysitter.”

She’s barely done speaking when Jamie blurts out, “I’m married.” He looks so harried that this time Roy can’t hold back a laugh. The girls turn to him with a glare, then back to Jamie. 

“She doesn’t have to know,” says one of them. 

“Pretty sure she does,” Jamie replies. “And anyway, I ain’t interested. Have a good morning.”

Bea, the angel that she is chooses that exact moment to start burping. 

The girls give her a disgusted look and turn away. 

Roy looks at Jamie, eyebrows raised and a ghost of a smile on his face. “Nice fucking move with the ring finger,” he says. “If it were me, I’d’ve fucking given them a different fucking finger.”

“That’s where you and me differ, granddad,” Jamie replies, wiping spit up off his vest (waterproof, thank god), “I’m a gentleman.”

Roy rolls his eyes and shakes his head. 

— 

The windows are open, the laundry is spinning, and you’re dancing around the house. You love Bea, but god you also love good rest. And a clean house. And Jamie Tartt. Man, you love him. You can’t believe he took Bea out for the whole morning and knowing him and Roy, they’ll be out until at least 11am. You smile. That gives you time to head to the shops and pick up some flowers, which will make you feel like a civilized human being, one who has her life together and can take care of her child and her husband and maybe, just maybe, one who is in the mood to get laid tonight. 

—

Jamie and Roy are strolling through Richmond, passing by shops and enjoying what feels like the first lovely day in ages. Jamie hasn’t heard from you since you asked is this shirt clean or dirty? with a picture near the washing machine. He knows Saturday cleaning is like a ritual to you, one you picked up in high school and carried on through college. You have a system and you take your time, windows open and music playing. He can picture you spinning around the house putting things away, and that mental image is enough to make his face split into a smile. He remembers the Saturdays you spent before Bea, you cleaning and dancing, and him, well, not helping but certainly dancing with you and promising that he’ll give you more dirty sheets to wash if you’d just take a tiny little break? In the bedroom? With no clothes on because they need to be washed, wink wink?

It usually worked. 

You’d lay in bed for precisely ten minutes afterward, take a no-nonsense shower, then kick him out of the house. He’d be gone for an hour, buying you that chocolate you liked and whatever flowers he thought suited the day. There’s a good thought. He should get you flowers, a reminder of their early days of romance. And maybe, just maybe, Bea can sleep soundly enough that they can revive other traditions, too. 

“Roy,” Jamie begins.

“No.”

“Oi, you didn’t even let me finish!” he says indignantly.

“Fine. What do you fucking want.”

“It ain’t for me,” Jamie says, “it’s for Bea. And my wife. I want to get her flowers, but it ain’t easy to push the stroller and look. Can you take Bea around the green? I’ll come find ya when I’m done.”

Roy stares at Jamie, and Jamie is sure he’s going to say no. But then Roy walks around to the front of the stroller and crouches down in front of Bea. 

“If your dad fucking goes and gets flowers for your mum, do you promise to be alright for twenty minutes? I know I’m not fucking Sam or Isaac, but Phoebe thinks I’m a good uncle. She’s a proper fucking dweeb, but a good judge of character.”

Bea just stares at him. Roy slaps his thighs and stands up. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s go.”

Jamie grins and says, “Bye, Beatrice. Be good for Uncle Roy.” He gives her a kiss on her forehead, a boop on the nose, and is gone, weaving through Richmond, man on a mission. 

“Your mum’s a fucking saint for putting up with him,” Roy says to Bea. Bea says nothing. She’s fallen asleep. Roy shrugs and starts pushing her in the direction of the green. Better asleep than crying. 

—

You’re showered, dressed, with just a touch of makeup, and you’re on your way to the flower shop. There’s this little one you and Jamie used to go to. You know the owner a little, but you suppose Jamie knows her better because he’s been in more. She’s about the age of his mum, and has a soft spot for him. He overpays and always leaves one flower for her. He hasn’t had the time to be over since Bea, so you say hello and show her some baby pictures, and then some of Bea and Jamie. You both laugh over your favorite, Jamie passed out on the couch, mouth open, wearing gray sweatpants and a single sock, with Bea on his stomach in a gray onesie and a single sock. She’s drooling on him and his hair’s a mess, but you think it’s adorably hilarious. Like father, like daughter. 

Now, you’re perusing the flowers. It smells wonderful, the warm weather diffusing the fragrances through the shop. You turn a corner and bonk straight into a man with his back turned to you. You open your mouth to apologize and he turns, and out comes, “Jamie?”

He smiles and you peer behind him. “Where’s Bea? Oh my god Jamie, did you lose our daughter? She had better be close by, I swear to god, Jamie Tartt, how do you lose an entire baby, especially one as noisy as Bea?!” 

You’re oblivious to Jamie’s attempts to interrupt your rant, so when you pause for a breath he says, “love.”

You turn to face him, from where you were trying to stand on your tiptoes hoping for a glimpse of Bea’s stroller. 

“I didn’t lose her. She’s with Roy. D’you really think I’m that irresponsible?” 

He looks so hurt that you realize what you’ve been saying. Your hands fly up to your mouth. Of course Jamie wouldn’t lose Bea. He loves her. He looks at her as though she makes the stars shine. 

“Babe. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I just wasn’t expecting to see you, and then I wasn’t expecting to see you without Bea, and I thought I’d surprise you by getting flowers before you both got back, and-” you stop. Jamie is gently holding your face and smiling, no longer hurt. 

“Babe,” he says, “love of me life and best mum around, it’s ok. I know whatcha mean.” He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Bit funny we had the same idea, innit?”

You smile. You’d been so caught up in your split-second worry about Bea, you didn’t even realize what was happening. 

“Guess some things don’t change,” you reply. “You pick out any good ones?”

Jamie places his hand over his heart. “Love. I only pick out good ones. I picked you, didn’t I?” You laugh at his sparkling eyes, and put your hands on his waist, pulling him close. 

“Pretty sure I picked you,” you reply. 

Jamie hums. “That’s a fuckin lie, and you know it.”

Your feeble retort is cut off by his lips on yours. 

—

You and Jamie walk toward the green, hand in hand. He’s holding bright yellow daffodils in the other. 

Jamie spots Roy first. “Oi!” he yells, “look who I found!”

You wave, jog over to Bea, and crouch down. “Hi baby! I missed you! Did you have fun with Uncle Roy?” Bea babbles at the sound of your voice. 

“Oh good,” you reply, “he is your third-favorite uncle, after all.”

Roy nods. “You fucking get it. Jamie tried to feed me this fucking bullshit that I was fucking number one.”

“Jamie!” you say. “Everyone knows it goes Sam, then Isaac, then Roy.”

Jamie puts his hands up defensively. 

“Honesty,” Roy says, “Such an admirable quality. Remind me again why you’re with this fucking prick?”

You pretend to think for a moment then say, “For his money.”

Jamie says “Oi!” so you quickly amend, “And his smokin’ hot body.”

Jamie nods, satisfied. “That’s better.”

Roy is looking at Jamie in disgust. “You two are so fucking adorable, it’s fucking disgusting. C’mon Bea. I see Sam over by that bench. Let’s give these fucking idiots some time alone.”

You and Jamie turn to each other. 

“He said we’re adorable,” you say, grinning. 

“He said we get alone time,” Jamie says, grinning back. 

“Roy!” you call, “how much time do we have?”

“Three hours!” Sam yells back. “I want to walk Bea to my restaurant!”

You and Jamie turn back to each other, giddy. 

“You know what that means,” you say. 

“Sex,” he replies immediately. 

You laugh and grab his hand. “C’mon, babe. Let’s enjoy our alone time.”

As you walk away, Jamie says, “Oi, need to tell you about these girls who were trying to flirt with me. But don’t worry, I gave them the finger.” He holds up his ring finger and you slap his arm. 

“This is why I love you.”

“Really? And here I only thought you were with me for my money,” he replies. 

“And your hot body. Don’t forget that one,” you say. 

“How could I forget?” he says. “When we get home, let’s put it to some good use.

[quitealotofsodapop]

Wonder what the stone royals reaction to Shadowpeach is, specifically, the extremely rocky relationship Macaque and Wukong have and how the two can't go two seconds without bickering, yet would immediately drop everything to protect the others the moment any danger appears. They don't have the context of Macaque being a redeemed villain or how those two had a nasty breakup and only just recently reconciled the Noodle Gang has

They are delighted but concerned???

You see; Prince Shihou and Prince Liu'er have had a "hey, a love match arranged marriage would be cool"-situation going on for a long time. Something that they've have been aware of since cubhood.

BUT they had a little falling out with that whole "Brotherhood" business and some foot-in-mouth comments by each other;

Actual version of their "under the mountain"-breakup:

Wukong: "WOW. And I thought I fumbled!" Shihou, face in hands: "Can we please change the subject?" Macaque, remembering the Scroll: "In your defence, peaches, I had been a little unreasonable." Wukong: "Aw, thanks plums. Only took you 2000 years." Macaque: "Would you have preferred never?" Wukong: "I would have preferred it before we nearly killed each other!" Wukong & Macaque: (*new heated argument about the past ensues!*) Shihou: "Um... are they ok? Should we call somebody or...?" MK, unconcerned: "Oh yeah, they're ok. This is how they lead up to flirting." Wukong & Macaque: (*argument quickly turns into frustrated yelling and crying, ending with a passionate hug and kissing*) Shihou: "Wow. You were not lying." MK: "Unfortunately. So many training sessions cut short..."

Ultimately the alternate stone royal family are happy that their elder son still managed to find his soulmate despite fate trying to pull them apart at every turn.... but they aren't entirely used to all the cat-fighitng.

The Stalwarts: (*have been Shihou's and Liu'er's friends since childhood.*) Marshal Ma: "Nah. This is totally in character." General Beng: "Only difference is that Liu'er isn't wearing a dress." Marshal Liu: "And has his adult fur." General Ba: "It's so silky! Like the night sky!"

[obsessedobsesser]

Are you into fanfiction? Have you written any, or do you have any favorites that you would recommend?

It may be safe to say that I have an addiction to Good Omens fan fic.

There's of course the fandom favourites (Slow Show, Factory Settings, Shotgun Wedding, Rough Enough For Love, Or Be Nice, One Night In Bangor, etc, etc) which I recommend to everyone as they are beloved by the fandom for a reason.

But, here are 10 that I've come across that others may not know of:

'Thus saith the Lord' by TheManicMagician (Teen And Up).

I read this fic on my way home from Florida sitting in an airport because our flight was delayed. I was so engrossed with it that I missed all the commotion of someone being taken off the previous flight on a stretcher. It does deal with hurt Crowley though and mind controlled Aziraphale. 10/10 would read again.

2. 'Would I Lie to You?' by FeralTuxedo & TawnyOwl95 (Explicit)

The boys are rival team captains for a show 'Don't Lie to Me" - which is based on the real life show 'Would I Lie To You?'. Lots of bicker flirting in this one. I'm a huge fan of FeralTuxedo and TawnyOwl and they do not disappoint with this fic. I devoured this.

3. 'Talk about the weather' by nightbloomingcereus (Mature)

Aziraphale is a meteorologist and Crowley is a YouTube storm chaser. I didn't know I needed this fic in my life until I read it. It's funny and heartwarming and believe me when I say that you'll fall in love with the story and the characters.

4. 'Honey, You'll Survive' by HotCrossPigeon (Teen and Up)

Look, sometimes I just like to see Crowley hurt and being taken care of by Aziraphale. This scratches that itch. The writing is so good and they capture the characters really well.

5. 'The Sandford Flower Show' by Mussimm (Explicit)

I am literally so shocked I do not see this fic pop up as often as it should. The plot in this is GENIUS. IT IS SO GOD DAMN GOOD. Crowley takes Aziraphale to a flower show and they meet Mephistopheles, a fallen seraph. Because our boys are idiots, shenanigans ensue. Seriously. Go read this.

6. 'Trial & Error' by fellshish (Explicit)

Crowley is on trial for temping an Angel (Aziraphale). I just read this one about a month and a half ago and I honestly can't get it out of my mind. The writing is hilarious and keeps you enraptured throughout it all. I also really adore how fellshish writes Crowley and Aziraphale. Their other fic The Loophole, or, How to Convince a Demon God Exists in Three Easy Steps is also amazing :)

7. 'The Shared Desk Dilemma' by MissUnderstoodLyrics (Explicit)

Crowley and Aziraphale are both teachers at Eden University who are forced to share a desk. A prank war ensues. As you can expect, this is a enemies to lovers fic and who doesn't love one of those?

8. 'Big Name Feelings' and 'And They Were Streamers' by ghostrat (Explicit / Mature)

BNF just finished a few days ago and it's such a cute fic. It's a fandom au where Crowley is a fic writer and Aziraphale is an artist. ATWS - as it says on the tin, the boys are streamers and live together. I absolute adore anything written by ghostrat.

9. 'how do we turn on the light?' by moonyinpisces (Explicit)

Honestly, I just know that this will be up there on my list with Factory Settings once it's finished (mainly because it already is). It's SO GOOD. It takes place after S2 and the second coming is happening. I really don't want to even give much away because I want everyone to read this. Everything about it is GENIUS.

10. 'Sit Tight, Take Hold' by nieded (Explicit)

I legit just finished this fic on Sunday but it has moved up to my must read list for anyone who is looking for GO fan fiction. The boys are Formula 1 drivers and the drama in this is *chef kiss*. For context, this fic is 150K words. I finished this fic in 2 days. It really is THAT good. It's also part of a series called #RAINBOWROAD so once you finish this fic, there is more to read!

This is only the tip of the iceberg of my ever growing list of GO fics.

Thanks for the ask :)

[lupinmoonlight]

Heyyy i love ur writing girl it is amazing.

So I wanted to request smth. Well I thougth about smth like she's in her last year and she sees him for the first time and directly falls in love with him? After a poison lesson she has to serve detention and prof snape isn't there so remus takes over and they flirt and make out or smth???

Masterlist AO3 Kind of part 2?

Detention?

Summary - Your detention takes an unexpected turn. You end up candidly sharing stories and chocolate with Professor Lupin, perched on a desk side by side, work completely forgotten. Tension builds up and fluff ensues (1,462 words).

Warnings - professor/student relationship, age gap, kissing, fluff, some touching, very light smut if you squint, flirting, my grammar (english is my second language), not proof-read.

Notes - Thank you for your request anon! Sorry for taking so long. University is kicking my butt! Thank you to everyone for sending requests! Don't worry, I am slowly going through them. Thank you for your patience :)

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for another evening under the oppressive gaze of Professor Snape. The cold, damp air of the dungeons made your skin crawl and it clung to you in a way that made you shiver. Each step felt heavier than the last, and the weight of yet another unfair, unjustified, stupid detention settled in the pit of your stomach.

When you opened the door, however, instead of the dark, brooding presence of the dungeon bat, you were met with the soft, gentle gaze of Professor Lupin. You both stopped in your tracks, taken aback by the unexpected meeting. A beat of awkward silence filled the room, but Lupin was the first to break it.

"Y/N," he began, the slight hint of a smile on his lips, "It seems there's been a change of plans. Professor Snape had to attend an emergency and asked me to oversee your detention."

You nodded, trying to mask the relief and thrill that washed over you. "I…understand, Professor."

Lupin held up a piece of parchment, clearing his throat slightly before reading in a tone that was slightly mocking the one of Snape's, "Detention assigned to Miss L/N for assisting another student during class." He raised an eyebrow, looking rather incredulous. "Your punishment is to hand wash every potion instrument."

Lupin rolled his eyes and, with a swift flick of his wand, every beaker, flask, and cauldron gleamed, spotless clean. You watched in astonishment, your voice suddenly caught in your throat.

Lupin grinned. "I think making a student wash instruments for a good deed is rather absurd. Consider your detention…modified. You're free to leave, or you can stay here and keep me company while I grade these essays," he said, motioning to the large pile on his desk, a hint of hope in his tone.

A part of you knew you should leave, but another part- the part that longed for his company- compelled you to stay. The allure of spending time alone with him was too tempting to pass up. "I think I'll stay, if that's alright with you, Professor. I have some studying to do and could use the quiet space."

He nodded and smiled, his gaze lingering on you for a second longer than necessary. "Suit yourself."

The room settled into a comfortable silence. The only sound was the occasional rustling of papers and the scratch of quills. But beneath the calm, there was an underlying tension, something that made your heart flutter and your cheeks burn up slightly.

You found yourself losing focus on your book. Every time you tried to concentrate, your eyes would drift towards Lupin. You'd steal glances, noting the way his brow would furrow in concentration, the soft sigh he'd let out reading a particularly difficult essay, the way the quill looked so small held between his long fingers. Your mind wandered, thinking about what his fingers would feel like gripping your thigh, around your neck, under your skirt…You forced yourself to snap out of it before the way you started to squirm betrayed your dirty mind.

Lupin wasn't oblivious either. He'd occasionally glance up, catching your gaze, making you flustered. The blush that crept up your cheeks did not go unnoticed, and it only fueled the Professor's smitten glances.

Clearing your throat, you tried to break the tension. "Professor, may I ask a question?"

"Of course," he replied, setting down an essay.

"Why did you really offer me to stay?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

Lupin paused, searching for the right words. "I believe in fostering a space for students where they feel safe and…understood. And, well, perhaps I enjoy your company."

As the night wore on, the stack of essays lay forgotten. What began as a quiet study session slowly morphed into something more intimate, a shared space of laughter and stories. You had both abandoned your work, now perched side by side on a desk, a half-eaten chocolate bar between you.

The closeness was new for you. Your knees occasionally brushed, sending little jolts of electricity through you. Your usual shyness melted away bit by bit, replaced by a comfortable ease you hadn't known you could feel around a professor.

"So, Professor," you started, a curious tone in your voice, "what was your time like at Hogwarts? Any wild adventures?"

"Oh, plenty," Lupin reminisced with a soft laugh. "My friends and I…we were quite the handful. Always exploring, getting into trouble."

"Trouble?" you echoed, your interest piqued. "You don't seem the type."

"There's a lot beneath the surface, Miss L/N," he replied, a hint of mystery in his voice. "I wasn't always the…composed professor you see now."

Feeling an unexpected surge of courage, you decided to push the limits a little bit, inching closer, "Oh? Show me then, Professor," you said teasingly.

To your surprise, Lupin didn't retreat. Instead, he stood up, placing his hands on either side of you on the desk. He leaned in, close enough that you could see the faintest lines of laughter around his eyes.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your cheeks burning. You'd never been this close to him- or anyone- like this.

"You know," he said softly, "when I was your age, I thought I had the whole world figured out. But life…it has a way of surprising you."

You swallowed hard, your gaze fixed on his. "Like how?"

"Like finding yourself in a dungeon, sharing a chocolate bar with a remarkable student," he replied, how voice low.

You laughed nervously, "And what else has life taught you, Professor?"

His eyes twinkled. "That sometimes, the things we want most are the ones we least expect. And often, they're right in front of us."

You breath hitched. The air between you was charged, stifling, intoxicating.

"Professor, I-" you began but faltered, unsure of what you were about to confess.

Lupin tilted his head, his expression softening, leaning in so close that your breaths mingled. His proximity was overwhelming, rendering you speechless.

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent shivers down your spine. "It's okay, Y/N," he murmured, his voice a gentle whisper.

Before you could gather your thoughts, he brushed his lips against yours, so softly it was like a whisper of a touch, as if he knew if he allowed himself more he wouldn't be able to hold back. It was a tentative kiss, a test of boundaries. The faint taste of chocolate lingered from the bar you'd shared, blending with the unique essence of him, creating a flavor that was intoxicatingly him.

His hands, which had been respectfully resting on the desk, now traveled with a newfound boldness, moving from the nape of your neck down to your waist, drawing you infinitesimally closer. His touch was possessive yet gentle, strong yet incredibly tender, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Everything around you blurred into insignificance, leaving only the two of you in a bubble of forbidden desires and burgeoning feelings. You found yourself cataloguing everything- his scent, his warmth, the roughness of his scruff in contrast to the softness of his lips- committing each little detail to memory. You wanted more, craved more, wanted him to pour his soul into you, becoming one.

As he pulled back, there was a teasing glint in his eyes. He studied your face, his thumb brushing lightly against your lips, tracing the curve gently, the contact going straight to your core. His gaze was intense, hungry, searching, as if trying to read every thought that raced through your mind.

"The end of the year is approaching. You'll graduate, and then…" He trailed off, the implication hanging heavily in the air.

He smiled, his eyes locked on yours. "There's a nice little place in Hogsmeade. I've always thought it would be nice to visit it with someone…special."

The word hung between you, its meaning crystal clear. It wasn't just an invitation; it was a promise of something more, something that stretched beyond the walls of Hogwarts and the constraints of your dynamic.

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. "I'd like that," you managed to say, your voice steadier than you felt.

Lupin smiled. A smile of pure joy. One that reached his eyes and seemed to light up the entire room, your entire world. "Then it's a date," he said, the words sealing a promise of future moments.

He stepped back, allowing you to slide off the desk, your knees weak.

"Let me walk you to your dorm, it's getting late."

"Thank you, Professor."

With that, you left the dungeons, your heart racing and your mind replaying every moment of the night, the memory of the kiss lingering on your lips.

[anjelicawrites]

Currently writing

True love’s kiss (Maleficent!Aemond Targaryen x woodland fairy! reader) Sleeping beauty!AU 3/?

Do you like scary movies? (Michael Gavey x reader) Scream!AU 0/7

Out of time (Osferth x reader) Outlander!AU 0/?

Soft IV (Aemond Targaryen x reader x Osferth)

Untiteled MOTA (Gale Cleven x reader NSFW)

After the heathwave (Aegond x reader NSFW)

His body remembers (Aegon II Targaryen x reader NSFW)

Little red riding hood, sweetest lamb to the slaughter (werewolf!Osferth x human!reader x vampire!Aemond Targaryen NSFW)

We are here to hurt ourselves (Lestat de Lioncourt x reader NSFW)

Chance encounters (Armand x reader SFW)

Cringefail Throuple: Billy gets his “Well done shag” | Cringefail Throuple: Michael needs to be fucked into silence while watching trash TV | Cringefail Throuple: their first time together | Cringefail Throuple: Billy and Michael first time together | How the War Boys throuple got together and their first time | Cringefail Throuple: the boys get hot and bothered while watching a spicy video of reader sent them during finals | dark!Michael Gavey x fem!reader smut| OG!Poly either prompt #1 or #8 from this prompt list | OG!Poly and the huge dildo reader once bought | OG!Poly Osferth, Aemond and his pierced nipples + Aemond wears the Mexico lace top | OG!Poly the first time Aemond went down on reader | Cringefail Throuple 💡the cringies on holiday! | OG!Poly and Osferth being such a loud sub, he and reader had the police called on them | Billy and Michael react to reader wearing a sexy harness | OG!Poly roleplay Aemond being a captive prince | Aemond's first time sucking Osferth off | How the War Boys Polycule plans a date night at home | Aegond x Aegon's wife!reader. Reader helps the brothers repair their relationship with a threesome | nipple play with poly!Aemond until he cries | Cringefail Throuple: can the boys come untouched when sucking cock? | poly!Aemond who gets off on being called pretty| poly!Osferth getting destroyed by poly!Aemond after the huge dildo prank | War Boys Polycule, Tom gets punished for being a flirt | Osferth x professor!reader with religious kink and corruption | the cringies and temperature play | Aegond x reader: Aegon gets fucked while wearing a slutty maid outfit | Aegon x reader, he gets pegged while wearing a slutty maid outfit | modern!dark!obsessed Aegon who falls for a reader who doesn't even know who he is and ends up as his basement wife | Aegon x reader where reader takes control over pathetic Aegon |

| Aegon x wife!reader. He begs for reader's attention | Michael and reader meet Billy's parents by mistake and they don't take too kindly to the throuple situation | modern!Aegon takes take of his partner who is struggling with their diabetes | Cringefail Throuple: Michael is dommed hard plus nipple biting | Aegond: college!Aegon opens an OF, Aemond finds out | for all the throuples: how do the boys manage when reader feels jealous and starts to withdrawn? | Michael Gavey gets head until he cries | dry humping with Billy Taylor | wedding night with shy virgins Billy Taylor x wife!reader | Aegon II Targaryen x wife!reader: Helaena tells reader about Alicent's betrayal and reader has to tell Aegon | poly!Aemond rubs one off after being called 'pretty' by reader | poly!Aemond in subspace | Cringefail Throuple: Michael gets his brain sucked through his dick by BIlly as reader dirty talks him and plays with his nipples | Aegond: Aegon gets his dick sucked until he cries | modern!Aemond x reader: sexting | Aegond: Aemond facefucks Aegon in the brothel, after he’s discovered with Sylvi | modern!Aegon x classmate!reader. He’s falling for reader but can’t stay away and having fantasies about her sucking his cock | Cringefail Throuple 💡: the cringies assemble furniture. Michael fails, Billy is a natural pro and reader is just there to be chaotic; sex ensues | War Boys Polycule: the first time Tom fucks Billy, and reader is there to cuddle Billy during the action | Aemond Targaryn x reader x Michael Gavey (AKA the Nerdy Poly) for -😎 anon | a second part to the “Are you jealous prompt” Tom Bennett x reader | a second part to the oneshot “One step from you” modern!prosecutor!Aemond Targaryen x commissioner!reader | modern!Aegond x reader. They belong to a cult and kidnap reader so that they can marry Aegon | The Cringies spitroasting Michael when he’s too bitchy to function | temperature play with sub!Aemond Targaryen| Cringefail!Billy starts running the pub and experiments with newer drinks, not everything goes the way it should | Cringefail! Billy asking for affection using coupon tickets | the War Boy poly discover the existence of sex toys | Tom Bennett x reader. Reader tries to help him with PTSD | OG!Poly roleplaying a knights x princess scenario | the cringies find out about Michael's love for tentacle porn. Sex ensues | Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader. He fucks her as she only wears a necklace | strict headmaster! Michael Gavey. How he is at home and how he's at home with his wife | modern!Aemond Targaryen x reader. He takes care of reader when they're sick |

17/11 Updated!

[deusvervewrites]

What were the best fics you've read this year?

I'm narrowing this down to the fics that I started reading in 2023

Genesis: AFO!Midoriya as a Vigilante, and Ashido getting OFA.

Shuten-Doriya: Transfem!Midoriya with an Oni Quirk. She and Inko end up making a highly-popular Sake brand. Hatsume and Melissa make a robot that turns communist.

CoG: The Missing Link: A MHA crossover with Psyren that adapts it to the MHA setting in a fascinating way

Hellspawn: Midoriya with a demonic Quirk

Supporting a Hero: Support course Midoriya dating OFA!URaraka. Hero!Toga.

Oops, Seiai: Midoriya is accidentally enrolled in Seiai. Shenanigans ensue.

Mechanize!: Support course Midoriya who has a Quirk, unknown to him.

Changing Gears: Come on. You already know.

Four Minutes for the Truth: Ace Attorney crossover with Ghost Trick that assumes you know the twists in Ghost Trick. Sissel has to keep Edgeworth alive

Gears & GFs: Quote the summary, "Momo hacks. Mei invents. They fall in love, meet, fight, and kiss— in that order."

Ghost of a Chance: Another Ace Attorney and Ghost Trick crossover, this time with Mia as the ghost

Heroes Beneath the Mask: Persona 5 crossover with MHA with the interesting twist of not having Joker and Midoriya roleswap.

Welcome to demon school, Izuku-kun!: Fucking read it.

When Fangirling Reaches New Heights: Fem!AFO!Midoriya is bad at being a Villain but good at flirting with OFA!Uraraka.

Good Intentions (Make Bad Excuses): Dadzawa arrests Quirkless Vigilante Midoriya in an effort to make him a Hero only to discover that he is in a Midoriya Has Trust Issues fic and just shattered the tenuous relationship he'd built

Those who Help the Heroes: Another Support!Midoriya fic, this time with online friends

Pony Tsunotori's Second Quirk: Bootleg One for All: Look there is nothing here I can say that the title doesn't.

Oops, One for All for All: Same author and description as the previous entry.

Accidental Apotheosis: Ash is actually an Arceus because his dad is secretly the Arceus. Hilarity ensues.

Ghost of Tatooine: From the author of my favorite BotW fic, this Star Wars fic is based around the idea that Anakin didn't become Darth Vader because Sideus fucking killed him and Luke can see his ghost.

Feels Like There's No Gravi-TEA!: A fluffy one-shot of Uraraka and Yaoyorozu getting together.

Grindstone and Forge: Midoriya clears extra-dimensional dungeons to gain superpowers and Yaoyorozu has OFA.

[butmakeitgayblog]

Starlet au first time?

It's a few weeks after their first kiss (did I mention these two moved at a glacial pace???)

But they wait and they take their time because this really isn't something either wants to just... fall into. They've spent over a year denying their feelings and pushing each other away and pretending that they're fine with just being friends, and now everything just feels so big between them. The feelings and the love that is founded in more than just attraction, and the reality of actually getting to act on it.

They go on dates, initially. And by dates I mean having dinner at Lexa's house, just the two of them. Usually Lexa cooks, because the extent of Clarke's prowess in the kitchen is reserved to slightly burnt grilled cheeses and cold salad, but Clarke finds her own ways of helping out. Making it feel more domestic. More romantic. She brings wine and flowers and kisses the chef between offers to stir things, and gets handsy during one particular pasta making lesson that leaves Lexa with palm shaped flour prints on her once-expensive slacks.

It's not that they're putting off having sex or running from it, they're just not trying to force it. They enjoy the phase of getting to be close without overthinking everything. Getting to flirt and touch and learn each other, without expectation.

It'll happen when it's supposed to happen, just like everything else between them.

Which is why when a summer heat wave storms through LA and Lexa invites Clarke over to swim in her very luxurious, very private pool, neither really thinks much of it.

Except Lexa likes the kind of bikinis that that look like too tight and too small boyshorts. The kind that ride low on her hips and show off her thighs and hug her ass like they were painted on. And the fact that it comes with this stringy little top that barely covers her small, rounded breasts just really isn't fair in Clarke's professional opinion.

Not that she has a n y room to say anything, because the halter number she chooses that barely wrangles her own cleavage, paired with bottoms that are little more than a handkerchief tied with twine leave Lexa choking on her own tongue.

But it's fine, because they're adult women who can absolutely behave themselves in the company of scantily clad leading ladies, so it's fine and also! It's fine.

And it is fine as they sun bathe and it is fine when they slip into the water and it is fine as they relax in the cool that washes over them.

It's all fine right up until Clarke gets a little too comfortable in how good it feels to just be together, laughing at some sassy remark Lexa's said that earns her a splash right to the face. A battle of splashes ensues - a war of blood must have blood in the form of water right to the eyes - which is still fine... right up until Clarke finds herself pinned to the edge of the pool.

With a very firm thigh pressed right between her legs.

And honestly Lexa doesn't quite know what she was thinking other than that she would not be ceding this battle. She hadn't started it, but she was going to finish it, and Clarke could be stubborn when it comes to admitting defeat.

But her carefully constructed battle strategy goes right out the window at the sound of Clarke's gasp. At the sight of crystal blue eyes dilating and the warm feel her center pressed tight against her thigh.

She didn't realize she'd grown so serious until she notices just how serious Clarke looks too. The way her swallow matches Lexa's swallow. The way her breathing feels heavy where she's pinned to Lexa's chest. It's not even a conscious thought when she slides her thigh forward and feels Clarke's warmth slip against her skin as Lexa rocks into her.

She'd just wanted to hear Clarke gasp like that again...

But Clarke feels so good, and her wide eyes so wonderfully blue. She bites her lip when Lexa pushes into her again, fighting a flutter of her lashes as she sways into the movement too. Lexa feels herself shaking and her heart hammering against the feeble walls of its cage, but she can't do anything other than keep pressing, keep pulling, feeling Clarke get slicker against her thigh.

She feels like she she could pass out in that moment. With Clarke so close as they share each breath and neither daring to move; to look away. They stare and shiver and work calm their shallow panting, even as Lexa feels Clarke begin to roll her hips in an answering rhythm. Her heart nearly stops when Clarke reaches for her hands and lifts them off her shoulders, only to move them to the pool's edge for better leverage and moans a breathy,

"Harder..."

And there's not much she can do but kiss Clarke like her life depends on it, because with the way her body reacts to the command, it probably does. She nearly comes when a thigh slips in and presses firmly against the mess between her own legs because out of all the ways she'd imagined having Clarke, this surprisingly was never one of them. But it feels so right to feel this desperate, to whimper needy high pitched moans with every massage of her clit. It feels right to match Clarke's rhythm and suck her tongue in time the pounding in her core, to nearly growl when a particularly good grind lets her feel Clarke shudder and clench.

It's fast race to the finish, all clutching hands and searching lips that suck in needy, watery kisses. It's bites to collarbones and finger shaped bruises across her hips until Clarke spills over her thigh in a hot rush of pleasure, with Lexa joining shortly after.

It's amazing, and surreal for how unplanned it all was, despite Clarke's panted accusation,

"I see... You lured me here to seduce me... Well played, Alexandria. Well played."

Any guffawing Lexa does in response is quickly silenced when she's crowded out of the christened pool and stripped out of her ruined bathing suit. And when she's hoisted up to wrap her legs around Clarke's hips, she knows this was how it was supposed to be. Because while she hadn't imagined the first time getting her girlfriend(!!!) off would go anything like it had, Clarke carrying her to her room while whispering softly against her lips, "Let me take you to bed, baby"....

Now that she had definitely envisioned.

[mysticalsoot]

guitars and domestic bliss

a/n; this was an idea that I wasn't originally going to write. but lilly is like that and gave more ideas and so we're here. i actually really adore this fic alot and while I am not confident in my tickling or kissing writing skills, I think this turned out decently. (i also have three more fics I'm gonna finish to post soon, hehe)

summary(I forgot, wtf); reader and Wilbur (both autistic coded) like silently playing guitar together, and Wilbur uses that knowledge to help calm down reader during a storm! flirting, over guitar kissing and trampoline tickles ensue!

pairings; cc!wilbur x gn!reader

warnings; swearing (I think, honestly just assume my writing has swearing), kissing, thunderstorm mentions, Wilbur is flirty not entirely suggestive but that man is a flirt (not always a good one) so yk!

pronouns; none!

words; 2.4k exactly

masterlist

—★—

You and Wilbur had plenty in common, similar interests, habits—even similar functions of your brain. One thing that was the most similar, was your love for music and playing music. It was a common occurrence for the both of you to simply just be next to each other, playing whatever riff or song that came to mind for hours. You'd either be somewhere in your shared office, either sat in your chairs or on the floor—or standing opposite each other as you smiled and played anything and everything.

It was a mindless activity the both of you enjoyed, something tactile you could do without speaking or thinking. Fingers plucking at the strings, forming chords on the fretboard, heads bouncing a smidge at the sounds and rhythm. Wilbur humming lyrics incoherently, but he knows exactly what they are and somehow, so do you.

His face would contort in this concentration, eyes shut and mouth smiling as he would listen to the sounds of the music. It was peaceful to be here, it was peaceful to watch him. And you came to the conclusion that this is what domestic bliss must be like. Watching your lover enjoy something he loves, see the smile curve up on his lips as he throws himself into the lake of passion. Butterflies would flutter and erupt in your heart escaping the confines of the muscle and into your chest.

These moments of calm felt like home, like safety. That's something you knew, something you felt.

Today was no different, it was quiet and dark. A storm had been passing over for a few days, sheets of rain falling from the sky and hitting the roof over and over. Thunder and lightning erupting in an anger only a god could muster. And sure, it spooked you, you'd jump at every sound and your heart raced in panic. It had been going on for a few days, and Wilbur decided to drown out the sounds. 

He grabbed his favorite guitar, the greenish blue one he liked to call teal but you liked to call seafoam. And he sat on the bed opposite you, beginning the usual habit of strumming a tune, but this time to comfort you and him too.

It wasn't long after he started playing that you joined in too, grabbing your own guitar and playing along. You watched as his fingers danced on the fretboard, moving to each different chord and note while his other hand plucked at the strings as he bounces his head in joy. It was nice to watch him so in tune with the music, so in love with it.

You played along with him and then he switched to playing Call Me What You Like. Your face fell and you stumbled over chords as you tried to play along with him, but failing.

Wilbur looks up from his guitar at you, eyes boring into yours through the stray curls on his forehead that dip down over his eyes. His lips curve up into a soft but mischievous smile, "You alright there, darlin?"

You pull your lips into a thin line, looking down at his guitar and then at yours, "You only taught me the beginning, I can't play along," You frown slightly as you do your best to scour your memory for what the chords looked like and what strings he plucked.

He chuckled lightly and put his guitar flat down on the bed, near the pillows and he scooted closer to you, "Then let me show you," He grabbed your hand gently and moved it lower on the fretboard, by the eighth fret. He moves your fingers to the right strings, "Now strum down," He smiles when the note rings out, nearly perfect and your face erupts into a mirrored smile. "There you go, love," He smiles, moving your fingers to the next chord, and nods, signaling for you to strum again. A different tone of sound rings out, but this time it sounds broken and you cringe.

"Ouch," You chuckle shyly, trying again and Wilbur looks down at you with a soft gaze. You strum down again and this time it sounds much better, and closer to what the song sounds like.

"Good job, love," Wilbur's smile is steady and only grows in size, his eyes shining with love and care.

This continues for a while until you can play the entire song on your own. Wilbur grabs his guitar and holds it back into his arms, going back to playing yet again. The two of you continue playing various riffs and songs you both know, for a good while. Occasionally your eyes would glance up at him, watching him as he played. His eyes were now open, glinting with love and his mouth curved into a soft grin. 

He mumbled the lyrics and as he did so, he'd glance up at you. He'd smile when a particular line came up, I'll go through every doorway and doorframe you see suitable for us to go through, he'd smirk and you knew with that stupid line he had intentions of poking at your height. But he didn't and rather continued on through the verses and lyrics, singing softly as he strummed along. You followed with your own strumming, adding to the calming noise that nearly drowned out the sounds of the storm. Calmness washed over you when you realized you had forgotten about the storm in its entirety. You suppose Wilbur deserves more credit than he's given, he's good at this. At calming you and helping you. 

The storms quieted down not long after, but you both continued playing. His attention was locked on his guitar and every movement of the chords, but yours kept deterring from the music, and the guitar held in your hands, and your eyes locked on him. It baffled you how someone could be as pretty as him, as perfect as him.

He was perfect with how his hair falls over his eyes when he looks down, how he smiles so soft and small, and how he breathes a laugh when he fucks up whilst playing. It was beautiful to you, serene to see him in such a domestic setting.

He looked huggable—kissable.

You waited for a moment to catch him off guard, the gears in your head turning as you watched him continue playing, moving on to a different song. He hummed instead of quietly singing, and you put down the guitar on your lap. You watched him for a few moments, and he glances up briefly, just enough to give you a sly smile before readjusting his eyes to land on his own guitar.

You waited for a moment where he looked up while playing and you were quick with your movements, grabbing onto his collar gently and pulling him down to meet your lips to his. A screech could be heard from the strings of the guitar along with a squeak from him. His eyebrows went up in shock for a moment before his face relaxed. He let his hands fall to your waist as your lips connected with his, soft and sweet. He chuckled against your mouth, smiling and pulling away a moment later. Your hands still grasped his collar as you looked up. Wilbur's face was tinted pink, and he set his guitar aside before pulling you closer. 

A smirk curved upon his lips and he chuckled again, "You should do that more often, maybe on stage?" His head dipped down close to yours, and a kiss pressed to your cheek.

"Wilbur!" You smacked his shoulder and your face turned a dark shade of red, your lover laughing lightly at the sight.

"What? You should! That'd be a great clip, don't you think?" He's cocky with his delivery and he sighs as he lets his forehead fall to rest on your shoulder. Wilbur's hands rest on your sides and he pulls you closer and onto his lap.

"You're horrible," You grumble to him, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, and your arms snake around his back.

"You didn't say it was a bad idea," He presses a soft kiss to your jaw, pulling back from where his head rested on your shoulder. He reaches up to hold your face in his hands, thumbs running over the soft skin of your cheeks. You hum and melt into his touch and his eyes sparkle with love as he watches you, your eyes closing and your hands resting on top of his.

"I didn't say it was a good idea, either," 

"I still think it should be on the table," Wilbur counters, pulling your face closer to his and he places a gentle kiss on your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment. His breath fans over your face, past your eyes and it tickles you. A giggle falls past your lips and you can't help but let a soft smile curve on your features.

"How about…no," You pause, and your eyes glance up to meet his, and your soft smile turns into a smirk, "Ask one of your bandmates to kiss you instead," 

He's taken aback for a moment, pulling away from leaning his head on yours and he looks down at you. His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water and then he shuts it closed a final time, mouth forming a thin line. He doesn't answer you and so you giggle.

"That isn't a no either!" You wrap your arms around his neck and he brings you in for another kiss, this one less rushed and slower than before and you pull back, "You'd kiss Ash, wouldn't you?"

"I didn't say anything so you can't incriminate me!" He nuzzles his face into your neck again, arms wrapping tightly around your middle and he grumbles at you.

"I'd kiss him too," You press a kiss to the top of his head and the only response you get from him is another grumble.

He pulls away again, and looks down at you, eyes boring into yours with an uncanny seriousness to them, "Who wouldn't?"

"Mm, an insane person," A peck to his lips.

"Correct!" He chuckles and pulls you back against him, before falling back onto the bed with you in his arms, "How are you feeling now?"

"Much better," You mumble against him as you nuzzle your face into his chest, your arms wrapping around his middle as his hands find their way to rub circles on your back.

"Is my amazing guitar playing the reason?" Despite not being able to see his face, you can still hear the smirk through his words.

"Fuck you," You smack his chest playfully.

"Hey!" He giggles, "I'll tickle you!" 

"Nooo! What a horrible punishment! Aaaah!" You giggle through the entire string of words, your tone so painfully sarcastic and playful, but you sneak out of his grasp before he can even think of tickling you. You jump off the bed and run out the door into the hallway. 

"Hey! No fair!" He yells after you, making grabby hands as he follows you through the hall and down the stairs, "I'm gonna get ya!" You both giggle as he follows you, the house isn't big enough to get out of his reach and so you go through the living room and through the backdoor.

"You'll never catch me!" You jump down the stairs and through the yard, avoiding any puddle the storm left behind.

"I'd like to see you try!" You're both out of breath by now, giggling and laughing as you run around the yard. 

You find your way to the trampoline stuffed in the back corner of the yard. Two 20-somethings don't need a trampoline, really but it was in your childhood home and your niece and nephew really liked it. So you and Wil kept it and sometimes used it yourselves. get your head out of the gutter, you jumped on it like little children, it was fun!

You hopped up on it, and Wil was quick to follow, hopping on and plopping next to you. His hands found purchase at your sides and tickled, you bent over giggling, holding your stomach as you swatted at his hands. 

"Stop!!" You let out through giggles, and you were somehow able to get your own fingers on his neck, tickling him back which made him retract immediately.

"Hey! No fair!" He was giggling and managed to pry your hands off his neck and you took the opportunity to jump up out of his reach before he could process and tickle you again.

"It's entirely fair, Wilbur!" You giggled as he too got up and stood on the trampoline.

"Nope," He jumped forward towards you, gently and grasped onto your sides, pulling you down onto the trampoline with him. You squealed at him and tried to wiggle out of his grasp before he could tickle you again.

"Wiiiill!!" He wrapped his arms around your middle, pulling you closer as you both giggled, not yet noticing how the wet trampoline has dampened either of your clothes.

"Whaaaaat?" Wilbur smiled as he did his best to breathe normally again, giggles not interrupting it anymore.

Your own giggles waivered out, and you turned your head on its side to look at him. You reached your hands out to grasp his face, "I love you."

His cheeks are dusted a light pink and his smile becomes soft, he leans up to kiss your nose and then he pulls back, "I love you too," He chuckles as he looks around, "Our clothes are wet now."

"Oh, I know. I was just ignoring it," You shrugged and kissed his forehead.

"Alright, whatever," He chuckles as he nuzzles his head against your chest, and you run your fingers through his hair. His hands snake up underneath you, onto your back and you both lay there silently, the only sounds are of nature and your breathing.

You both lay there on the trampoline, in domestic bliss before the rain begins pelting down again. It was nice while it lasted, and you both hurried inside to get warm and dry off. But you both gazed at each other and without saying anything, you both agreed that it was worth getting soaked if it meant you got to hold each other.

taglist; @lvrboysoot @lillylvjy (if you wanna be added just send an ask!)

[thgfanfictionlibrary]

Teen and Up Rated Fics Masterlist (63)

Part 1- Part 58 / Part 59 / Part 60 / Part 61 / Part 62 /

Created: May 28th, 2024

Last Checked:—-

Every Breath You Take-VanillaCottonCandy (ao3) Summary: I wouldn’t go into this unarmed. I would go home and prepare myself with a loaded bow and a knife. I would head to the woods, perch myself up high in a tree, and when he showed up looking for me, I’d take him out before he even had a chance to notice me. That’s what I decided would happen. That’s what I convinced myself would happen. But unfortunately, that is not what happened at all. / A mysterious man comes to District Twelve. No one knows who he is or what he wants. Just that he wants Katniss Everdeen. Set two years Post-Mockingjay. Canon Compliant. Heavy on Everlark. Everything You Are-katnissdoesnotfollowback (ao3) Summary: Everdeen. Katniss Everdeen, Licensed to Kill, has spent almost a decade trying to bring down the villainous Coriolanus Snow. But when she’s assigned a new field partner, she starts to question if it’s been worth everything she’s given. Eyes are for the Stars-JLaLa (ao3) Summary: They had only one night before he went on tour. Katniss and Peeta were going to make the most of it. Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop-JLaLa (ao3) Summary: Inspired by the Landon Pigg song of the same name. Katniss Everdeen meets soon-to-be college graduate Peeta Mellark during Finals week. Sparks fly over hot beverages. Five Ways to Eat Stale Bread-loungemermaid (ao3) Summary: "Very expensive. Too expensive for my family to eat, unless it's gone very stale. Of course, almost everything we eat is stale" or Five vignettes about Peeta's childhood to young adulthood, centered around recipes using the hard dry loaves no one else wanted. Garden Games-VanillaCottonCandy (ao3) Summary: Set after Mockingjay. Katniss and Peeta enjoy a day in the garden together. Written for The Hunger Games Season Of Hope 2021 prompt “Katniss and Peeta spend an afternoon, Post-MJ in the garden. Flirting and playful snakiness ensue. As does kissing.” Having Fun Yet?-lovelee (ao3) Summary: He had straight white teeth, dimples, and thick blond hair combed back over his forehead in a style that was almost retro. He was a CW-type for sure, the non-threatening-good-guy-wet-dream of fourteen-year-olds all across America. Not Katniss’ type at all. And maybe not quite The CW’s type, either, since he was here on a cater-waiter job at some ridiculous mansion in the Hills instead of a dressing room on the set of The Vampire Diaries. (Katniss, Peeta & a catering job. AU inspired by Party Down. Written for Day 6, Sloth, of Prompts in Panem.) Heel Pieces: Cut Scenes from Five Ways to Eat Stale Bread-loungemermaid (ao3) Summary: Non-linear bonus scenes or things that just didn’t originally make the cut in the first story, updated as I think of them. I just couldn’t leave them behind. All in Peeta’s pov unless stated otherwise Hold on-keeptheearthbelow (ao3) Summary: Schools have been shut down in a crisis, leaving it up to volunteers to get food to hungry children. Holiday Havoc Ensues-katnissdoesnotfollowback (ao3) Summary: Johanna and Finnick despise the holiday parties that their boss throws. This year, they've decided to throw a holiday party worthy of their coworkers. There will be music, dancing, games, creative insults, rebellion, food, and even a gift exchange. Hopefully there won't be any murder or arrests, but you never know what's going to happen when you pack this many victors into one house…

[romanreignseater]

hey-hey! I was wondering if i could get a 18+ Roman Reigns imagine, based off the song lyrics: “Aw, he like his bitches psychotic. Sit on his face and explain why I'm toxic. How you talk shit but ain't backin' it up?” Where she and Roman have like a slightly ‘toxic’ relationship, where it’s really they just get jealous over simple things. One night they get into a big fight, and she is like ‘if you really want toxic’ and it leads to like heated smut! Thank you!!!! :)) :D

Psycho Bitch (Request).

Roman Reigns x Reader

Rating: 18+

Warning: Heated smut; choking, slapping, spit-kink. Toxic couple behavior.

A/N: Thanks so much for the request, I’ve been working on my Jey fic so I haven’t thought about any sort of Roman smut and this is a…

BEAUTIFUL IDEA 💕 !!

A little birthday smut never hurt.

GIF: @jeysuso

Aw, he like his bitches psychotic (Yeah)

Sit on his face and explain why I'm toxic (Uh, eat that thing), uh

How you talk shit but ain't backin' it up? (Uh-huh)

Toxic (täksik) - very harmful or unpleasant.

You and Roman’s relationship was kind of toxic…

Ok, it was really toxic.

But, in a good way.

You guys weren’t official, but you were definitely exclusive. You were an up and coming WWE Superstar, starting up in NXT and quickly making your way to the main roster.

You’ve been on the main roster since 2020 and your situation-ship with the newly created Head of the Table soon ensued. His sly looks and slick comments caused you to fall into his trap.

And of course you came out of an uncomfortable relationship and Roman came out of a nasty divorce, so you guys were never really committed to start a relationship.

Yet here you were, moved into his house basically, toothbrush beside his, and pancakes (almost) every morning in bed. Practically in a full blown relationship.

You never would look in another man’s direction, but boy did you love when Roman gets jealous. So, you may or may not have put the moves on the young, blonde waiter at lunch for Roman’s birthday.

“Are you fucking serious?!” Roman slammed the down behind him as you ignored him and walked all the way upstairs. “Don’t ignore me bitch!” His footsteps soon reached you and next thing you know your face was slammed against the wall. Your arms held behind your back by one of Roman’s hands and the other pressing your face against the wall.

His dick pressed against your ass and his burly chest molding perfectly onto your back. Goosebumps arose from the depths of your arms and legs, as Roman breathed heavily in your ear. Your staggered breathing caused Roman to chuckle.

“I know that pussy gettin real wet for daddy. You was flirting with that bitch on purpose huh?!” All of your senses tingled as he thrusted his hips forward. His hand traveled from your head to the back of your neck, nearly strangling you.

“Answer. The. Fuckin’. Question.”

“We not even together bitch, why do you care?!” You said strained.

Roman let go of you and turned you around. His hand was quick to travel back to your neck. “You’re fuckin’ mine bitch, ya’ understand me?!” Roman squeezed your neck tightly and you were barely able to get your words out.

“Prove it… pussy.”

You were shoved into Roman’s bedroom and tossed down onto the bed. His kisses were rough and passionate, sending shockwaves to your cunt. Already sloppy and wet from your rendezvous in the shower this morning.

His fingers slip into your pants and quickly sop up your wetness. Rubbing you so heavenly, targeting your clit perfectly. “Mmmm, don’t stop.”

A slap was drawn across your face. “Don’t tell me what to fucking do!” You quickly shook your head yes, heeding to his warning. “Let daddy work his magic.” Your pants were stripped away and panties ripped to shreds.

Tapping your thighs, “Come on mama, you already know. Spread em’.” You shyly spread your legs, opening wide to your Tribal Chief.

“I knew that pussy was screaming for me.” You yelped as Roman began to slap your pussy harshly. “Oh—ow.” Roman laughing boldly.

“Gotta make sure these fools still see my handprints, since you say we ‘not together’.” Dipping down, “I might as well make sure they can still taste a little of me on here too, right?!”

“Fuck.”

Roman dove right into your sweet cunt, swirling his languid tongue across your clit. From your hole and back. Your hands gripped his luscious locks hardly as the feeling was intense, almost near death. You felt his soft, yet rough beard tickle your inner thighs as he slowly parted your pussy lips to reach further depths. Twirling his tongue in small, delicate circles along your clit and making your head loll back as a deep moan bursted from you.

“Fuck, my pussy so sweet.” Roman went back to lapping and slurping on your clit. Your hands slid onto his broad shoulders to support your body as you grinded against his tongue. Your orgasm nearly reached you, but then Roman removes himself from you.

“Nooo… I was about to cum.” Roman slapped your face once more. “Sweetheart, don’t tell me how to do my job.” Tapping your cheek, Roman signaled for you to open your mouth. Crossing your arms over your chest, you slowly opened your mouth wide.

“Atta girl.” Roman’s spit soon trailed from his mouth into yours. Without hesitation, you swallowed his spit quickly. “I’m gonna fuck you now, okay mama?!” Speaking to you like a damn child, you removed your top feeling giddy that your release was coming.

Removing his clothing, Roman’s rock hard body and dick lie perfectly for your viewing pleasure. “Imma really show you, your mines.” That last part was whispered into your ear as he slowly entered you.

His dick hitting the back of your pussy with a firm pounding. All while, the bedsheets were being gripped for dear life as you cried softly to him before he brought his face closer and kissed you deeply, letting his tongue explore your mouth.

“I want your cum in me please.” You begged. “You want my cum all up in you baby?!”

“YES!!”

“Tell me I’m yours.”

“You’re mine, you’re mine and I’m yours. Nobody else, but you daddy.”

“Watch me baby.” Your eyes never left him.

He held your hip with one of his hands and the other slowly rubbing up and down your soft and dripping folds. Taking his time, making you feel every inch of him. “Daddy stretching that pussy out good huh?!” You could only nod at the sheer amount of pleasure you were receiving.

“Fuck yessss.” Your eyes rolling to the back of your head and Roman’s pace quickened. Your pussy twitched and your breathing became considerably heavy.

“I’m gonna cum daddy.”

He stops.

“WHAT THE FUCK?! I was gonna cum.”

Roman slapped you across the face once more. “I do whatever I want with my pussy. You said it yourself I’m yours and you’re mine.”

“But, you know I take care of you. Watch how daddy takes care of you.” You both watched as he entered you again, stroking your pussy. You whimpered as the tumultuous pleasure came back making your cunt quiver.

You forgot your ABC’s and 123’s at that point by the way your Samoan king was fucking you. “Unhh, fuck baby I’m cumming for you.” He moaned as his thrusts became heavy. They soon came to a halt and a deep, guttural moan came from his throat. Your vision blurring as you reached your highs together.

Dick still twitching as he pumped his cum into you. He kissed you languidly and pulled out of your sensitive cunt. He bent down quickly and kiss your clit, making you jolt.

“Are we together or what?!”

“Happy birthday bitch and goodnight.”

He kissed the top of your head and covered you up.

“You’re mine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

THE END!!

Thanks so much for the request anon!!!

MY TAG SQUAD: @cyberdejos2 @thesamoanqueen @nayys-world @mzv11 @babybatlover @vogueyonce @harmshake @harlem11680 @seeingstarks @thewarlordsworld @alyyaanna @southerngirl41 @christinabae @pitlissa22 @thealliasylum @fame-ass-ers @iluvthebloodline @jeyusos-girl @ah-fin3sse @solosikoasgf

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag squad!! 💝

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

gert's masterlist of 2023 ted lasso fics! which is. all my ted lasso fics lol

there are so many here buckle up

crack/primarily humor fics:

semaphore - rated: G - chapters: 1/1 - Trent/Ted

Four bracelets and thirteen mugs later, Colin might have finally gotten the hint. Because it was directly pointed out by a crowd of himbos, but you know, still! We got there! Right?! Right?!

birds of a feather - rated: T - chapters: 1/1 - Trent & Colin (Gen)

Colin notices Trent's mug, alright. (Or: Trent's increasingly less subtle attempts at broadcasting that he is a Safe Person and Also Queer do reach Colin, but Colin gets the wrong message.) (It could be worse. He could have thought Trent was flirting.)

exercising restraint - rated: E - chapters: 1/1 - Trent/Ted; ft Diamond Dogs

Following a fun and informative encounter with his favorite ex-journalist, Ted has a rather uncomfortable meeting with the Diamond Dogs. Featuring: Trent Crimm and the be-catted bag, Leslie Higgins knowing a lot about BDSM, Roy Kent being the world's most unwilling participant in this conversation, and Beard being Beard.

☆ Ted Lasso Kisses Trent Crimm On The Mouth - rated: T - chapters: 1/1 - Trent/Ted; Richmond Ensemble

In the locker room, Coach Lasso kisses their resident emotional support biographer, casual-as-you-please, and then leaves like nothing happened. Chaos ensues and the entirety of the club somehow gets involved. Trent wishes for the sweet release of death.

a preacher, a bikini, and a kiss or two - rated: T - chapters: 1/1 - Trent/Ted; Diamond Dogs, ft Will

The Diamond Dogs discuss first kisses. This leads to… a series of events sure does happen. And did happen.

☆ Rupert Mannion Is Batman (He Isn't) - rated: M - chapters: 13/13 - Trent/Ted; Richmond Ensemble

A series of bizarre, loosely related events occur, all kicked off by Trent absently mentioning that he may or may not have once hooked up with Rupert Mannion.

☆ painting the town richmond blue - rated: T - chapters: 1/1 - Trent/Ted; Trent's ex-wife

Ted Lasso unexpectedly runs into a very drunk Trent Crimm (the Independent), along with his equally drunk ex-wife. They're having a GREAT time. Ted is… pulled along for the ride.

Trent and the Vampire! - rated: M - chapters: 1/1 - Trent & Colin; Trent/Ted

Trent has a truly stupid amount of hickeys to hide thanks to SOMEONE. (Ted is unrepentant and he WILL do it again.)

The Portal Incident™ - rated: T - chapters: 1/1 - Trent/Ted; Press Room

It's a lovely day in the Richmond press room, and you are a horrible portal.

best seat in the office - rated: E - chapters: 6/6 + an additional snippet - Trent/Ted; Roy and Beard - note: some chapters lean more Smut, Angst, etc

Trent has many problems (chronically low self-esteem, deeply hopeless crush on co-worker, being helplessly attracted to said co-worker) and the bizarre lack of chairs ain't one. He can just sit on his desk—he's sat in stranger places. That is, until Ted somewhat jokingly offers his lap as a replacement. Trent immediately falls off the desk. For additional snippet: In which Ted just asked.

the two ring circus - rated: M - chapters: 1/1 - Trent/Ted; Diamond Dogs

[sent] – Lara, do you remember being lectured on the dangers of peer pressure? lara<3 – Aw has someone offered you a cigarette :) [sent] – a large swathe of richmond staff is trying to make me get nipple piercings :( lara<3 – trent what the fuck does that mean

snippets:

The Thumbs Up Saga - [part one] [part two] - Trent & OCs; ft Trent/Ted

of throuples and genders - Ted/Trent/Rebecca; ft Roy/Keeley/Jamie

Ted Kisses Trent In Front Of A Business Of Journalists For Probably Just Mischief Reasons - Trent/Ted

Trent's into how much of a bastard Ted is unfortunately - Pre Trent/Ted

Similar to that one: Trent's into Ted cursing (specifically in how much of a bastard he is about it) unfortunately - Pre Trent/Ted

☆ A weird alternate meeting/pre-canon meet-cute - [main] [additional snippet] - Trent/Ted; Beard [POV Outsider for second one]

Trent embarrasses himself in front of Michelle and it's cute - Ted/Trent; Michelle

☆ Ridiculous FMK Games - Diamond Dogs; ft Trent/Ted (could be interpreted as some combination of Ted/Trent/Roy/Beard if you want); also ft Colin

oops rebecca made them kiss - Trent/Ted; Rebecca [season one!]

Trent Crimm Is Fuckable! Everyone Agrees - Trent/Ted; Ensemble

Check time travel AUs section for those lol

smut fics (Rated E)

the best ones; primarily smut

☆☆ off the record - chapters: 1/1 - Trent/Ted

Intrepid reporter Trent Crimm earns his scoop.

☆☆ trick & treat - chapters: 1/1 - Trent/Ted

In which a relatively harmless prank causes everyone at the Richmond Halloween party to be somewhat transformed into their Halloween costume. The charm is supposed to be fun. And it is! Really, it is! It's just that it really is effected by your mindset and by what you like about the costume, and Trent is--well, Trent's leaving the party early. He swears he wasn't thinking about this when he chose his costume. It's just. He saw Ted's costume and a few fantasies may have gotten away from him a little. Which would have been harmless, had it not been for all this. OR: Some deeply, deeply silly and contrived Halloween smut. Read the tags for more details.

☆ snippet: embarrassing venom au - chapters: 1/1 - Trent/Ted

Uh oh sisters it's the deeply embarrassing CRACK VENOM AU NO ONE ASKED FOR!! Everyone clap and cheer Trent has an alien inside him if ya know what i m--

snippet: "desperation" + sub trent - chapters: 1/1 - Trent/Ted

diversity win! your journalist is now a sub [For the prompt "Desperation"]

a wonderful wreck - chapters: 1/1 - Trent/Ted

Ted, while tipsy as hell, realizes he's bisexual, has a drunken hookup with Trent Crimm, wakes up, and then is… weirdly chill about all of this, considering.

sweeter than heaven (hotter than hell) - chapters: 1/4 - Trent/Ted

Trent has a hard time letting go--at least, letting go completely. He learns a little at a time. Or: 3 times Trent is on top, one way or another, and 1 time he gets utterly railed.

other works:

snippet: coach sandwich - chapters: 1/1 - Trent/Ted/Beard - CRACK

Beard joins Ted and Trent for a threesome in the funniest, stupidest way possible.

☆ an odd sort of comfort - chapters: 1/1 - Trent/Ted - Kinda angsty/pensive but sweet

There's a fantasy Trent has that he tries not to touch. He fails.

oh, in the strangest dreams - chapters: 1/1 + additional Roy POV - Trent/Ted - CRACK

Ted and Trent are both feeling weird about all the extremely vivid sex dreams they keep having about each other, completely unaware of the fact they are, in fact, the same dreams. Shenanigans ensue.

some specific AUs/groups

time travel AU snippets:

s3 Roy & s1 Trent - Serious; Angst - Trent & Roy

s3 Roy & s3 Trent; ft Press Room - Crack/Humor - Trent & Roy

s3 counterparts confuse s1 counterparts - Ensemble (Trent, Ted, Beard, Roy, Rebecca); ft Trent/Ted

☆☆ superhero AU - Trent/Ted; ft Beard:

Main fic

Ted POV

just specifically ships other than Trent/Ted:

snippet: ROY IS NOT TRENT'S SUGAR DADDY SHUT THE FUCK UP - rated: E - chapters: 1/1 - Trent/Roy

"I can't believe Roy Kent is your sugar daddy," his ex-wife says, and he flings an aptly named throw pillow at her. Which she dodges with a cackle.

see aforementioned snippet: of throuples and genders - Ted/Trent/Rebecca (ft Jamie/Roy/Keeley)

basically crack wherein these two groups make jokes about gender among other things

also see aforementioned snippet: coach sandwich - Ted/Trent/Beard

Beard joins Ted and Trent for a threesome in the funniest, stupidest way possible.

☆ "caught in the middle" - rated: T - chapters: 1/1 - Ted/Trent/Beard

Uh oh, there's only one bed! Ft. Trent desperately needing a hug.

☆ "helpless in a game of kisses" - rated: M - chapters: 1/1 - Ted/Trent/Beard

Ted and Beard argue over who is a better kisser, as homies do. Trent is somehow made the referee. Surely this won't be weird at all. Or: How to break Trent Crimm's heart with seven simple kisses. And fix it with a few more.

primarily angst/more serious fics (generally happy endings)

☆☆ matters of the heart - rated: E - chapters: 2/2 (will be a series) - Trent & Everyone; Trent/Ted - somewhat angsty, character study

5 times someone had sex with Trent Crimm and it made him feel worse, and 1 time it actually felt good.

☆ lost sight of (who you are)- rated: T - chapters: 1/2 - will be Trent/Ted in ch 2 - somewhat angsty, character study. My first TL fic, written before s3

Trent Crimm, and becoming, and unbecoming, and becoming again. Or: Eventually, Trent writes a book. No, not that one.

☆ ink sunset - rated: T - chapters: 3/4 - Trent/Ted

Letters, unsent and sent, between Trent Crimm and Ted Lasso over the years.

☆☆ I WANTED TO BE LOVED SO DESPERATELY / THAT MY FINGERS SHOOK WITH IT - rated: T - chapters: 2/2 - Trent/Ted

Trent, and being sick, and being sick alone.

☆ make a mess of you - rated: T - chapters: 2/2 - Trent/Ted

Ted is drunk, and sad, and he really likes Trent Crimm. This cannot end well.

betrayal's sting / absolution's balm - rated: T - chapters: 1/1 - Ted & Everyone (Gen)

Five times Ted forgives someone… and one time he doesn't.

something to get off my chest - rated: T - chapters: 3/3 - Ted & Trent & Roy (Gen)

Three perspectives on the scene in the locker room.

to have hope - rated: T - chapters: 1/1 - Trent & Colin; Will (Gen)

Will overhears a conversation between Trent and Colin.

other fics

☆ moonlit - chapters: 1/1 - Trent/Ted

Trent wakes up snuggled close with one Ted Lasso. And immediately overthinks it.

two (not) pieces of shit - rated: T - chapters: 1/1 - Trent & Colin (Gen)

In many ways, Trent's sort of become a mentor to Colin. But Colin has some things to teach Trent, too.

☆☆ being right - rated: T - chapters: 1/1 - Pre Trent/Ted - episode tag

Trent's opinion of Ted Lasso goes from utterly dismal, to slowly wearing down into something generally negative but with an edge of reluctantly impressed, to, abruptly, turning on a dime, something glowing.

off the handle - rated: T - chapters: 3/3 - Trent/Ted

Ted lets himself be angry, kisses the man of his dreams, accidentally makes said man of his dreams cry, acquires a boyfriend, and smashes some shit with Trent Crimm in a parking lot at 3 am. Not in that order. No one ask where Coach Beard got those mugs. (The man of his dreams, the acquired boyfriend, and Trent Crimm all happen to be the same person. This is a surprise to no one but Ted and Trent Crimm himself.)

creme, dough, and other jars - rated: T - chapters: 1/1 - pre Trent/Ted - primarily humor

Ted receives an unexpected voice message from one Trent Crimm. At 3 am. About a jar of marshmallow crème.

linger - rated: G - chapters: 1/1 - Trent/Ted; Rebecca

Rebecca comes to see why Ted hasn't gotten off the team bus yet.

some small comfort - rated: T - chapters: 1/1 - Trent/Ted

Trent finds Ted having a panic attack in the coaches' office.

☆ wayward thoughts - rated: G - chapters: 1/1 - Trent & Ted (Gen, but could be pre Trent/Ted)

Ted reads Trent's article, and lets his thoughts wander.

the dregs at the bottom of the glass - rated: T - chapters: 1/1 - Pre Trent/Ted (could be interpreted as Gen)

Trent tells Ted a story. Or: Trent, throughout his life, has realized over and over again that his parents actually Weren't Great, Actually. This is one of those times.

snippets:

truth liquor/confession - Trent & Press Room; mentioned Trent/Ted

Trent crushing his own recorder - Trent & Colin/Richmond Players (Gen)

Touch-starved Jamie - Gen; mention of past Keeley/Jamie - one of my few (only??) non Trent fics lol

Trent & Jamie talk about shitty dads - Gen

Michelle briefly meets Trent - Michelle & Trent, Michelle & Ted, ft eventual Trent/Ted

the fox & the wolf (Trent telling a fairy tale) - Trent & Roy & Colin; ft implied unrequited Trent/Ted

☆ the prince and the wyrm - (Trent telling a fairy tale but in a wildly different way to the last one) - Trent/Ted

☆ brief selkie snippet - implied Trent/Ted

snippet from a rom-com AU - Trent/Ted; Press Room

three voicemails/POV outsider - Trent/Ted; Lloyd the journo

high noon over richmond - Pre Trent/Ted; ft Beard

☆☆ second impressions (Ted's POV on Trent very early on in canon) - Gen, pre Trent/Ted)

☆☆ biting is a love language - Trent & Everyone; Trent/Ted

not the most romantic first "i love you" but very funny - Trent/Ted

mixed signals - Trent/Ted

They're both in need of a hug - Trent/Ted

Yet another silly Bantr reveal sort of fic - Trent/Ted (currently all text, should be expanded on)

some sneak peaks at wips i'm working on now (UNPOSTED and UNFINISHED, hence no links):

A Deeply Unfortunate Pre-Canon Roy/Trent Hookup

a very bizarre and somewhat smutty tedependent au involving a temple and some surprisingly sad shenanigans

Uh Oh It's The Ted/Trent/Roy/Beard Fic (Extremely E-Rated)

a terrifying mermaid-adjacent tedependent au

a cinderella-esque tedependent fic

a knight and wizard tedependent au

roytrent: romcommunism gone wrong au

Mistletoe Kiss (yeah this one's late)

Rebecca and Keeley Play Matchmaker For Trent and Ted. Oops

a crack addition to that superhero au

Most Of The Diamond Dogs Take Being Supportive Friends To A New Extreme

roytrent ensues. keeley gets to watch. everyone is pleased

one day i'll finish the fic about the other reporters drunkenly daring trent to seduce ted. one day

and MORE.

[genmaichafan]

FREN! IT’S BEEN A WHILE SINCE WE’VE TALKED!

WHAT IF: Some rando has been trying to flirt with the reader. He seems to be ignoring how uncomfortable the reader is. This makes Donna incredibly jealous, as she doesn’t take kindly to creeps trying to steal away her girlfriend. As such, she TERRIFIES the creep and sweeps her gf home (lots of kisses and fluff ensue).

TY SM

Hello hello friend i have written it sorry i dont think its my best work and i kinda ignored the second half of the prompt because i uhh got lost in the sauce of an idea.

Anyways enjoy.

Donna x f!reader. modern au. sfw.

You had been at the coffee bar for a while now, Donna had just gone out to grab something quickly at the time being.

You loved this coffee shop.

the barista was friendly and always knew your favourite order. The seat you always wanted in the corner was often empty. And most of all it was quiet.

Something both Donna and you appreciated.

But today of all days there was a promotion going on for old brew that seemed to draw in people like crazy.

it was packed.

and worst of all there was this guy here. That seemed to be eying you up and down with a smirk, something in his eyes said he thought you were easy prey.

”donna please come back so we can leave” you whispered under your breath.

”talking to you self pretty lady?”

oh god he actually approached you.

”yeah i like talking to myself and the voices!” You tried to make him think you were mentally unwell so he would leave you alone.

”whoa. Spicy. I like that.”

you internally face palmed. This frat boy was not going to leave you any times soon.

“Yes I actually am waiting for my partner-“

”oh yeah? You guys open or something?”

you hadn’t noticed but donna had been back from whatever errand she had been doing and had heard the very last thing the creepy man said. She was seething beyond repair.

”no we aren’t open.”

”oh you're her partner?”

he eyed her up and down like he did you earlier.

Donna’s response to this was to start speaking tongues of obscure italian. literally cursing the man. Donna was not a witch but she was trying to cast imaginary spells.

to further sell her game she took out her large and intimidating garden pruning sheers and cut off a lock of his hair really quickly. Not before clutching and blowing the lock into his face further selling the gambit.

The gullible man's face was turning more and more pale and when the final move was cast his hands were shaking.

”w-witchcraft!!” He did not think twice about running away.

donna quickly walked up to you. Dropping the facade. Quickly taking up your hands into hers.

”are you okay mi amore?!”

”yes, thanks to you.” You smile was half amusement still remembering the display, and half adoration.

”im glad.” she brought her lips to your quickly, hoping to wipe the remainder of the man’s presence on your mind away.

”what were you going to get?”

”thats a secret. For now.”

”no fair you know i dont like secrets.”

”i know i know but im hoping youll be happy to see it.”

_____

“Are you sure we should go to our secret spot? It’s going to be super dark this time of night.”

”I promise it won't be that bad mi amore.”

Had it been anyone else you would have not believed them. You were heading to a secret alcove in the nearby park that Donna and your friends liked to hang out at but it didn't have much of a way of being illuminated in the dark, but you knew better.

”ok i trust you.”

Donna's response to this was to take your hand and begin racing towards the park pulling you along with her.

you two laughed along the whole way as if playing like children.

_____

When you arrived you didn't want to say it but youre were kinda right.

it was almost pitch black in the hide away and you couldn’t really see anything. Luckily; you could make out certain shapes enough to not fall or trip on anything. Not to mention you suddenly had no idea where Donna was.

”Donna?”

”right here mi amore” she was right behind you.

“What are we doing here today my love?”

”oh you'll see.”

Just like that the lights that had never been here before turned on. The alcove was beautifully decorated to yours and donnas personal tastes almost as if there was going to be a celebration of shorts set up with fairy lights set up with an extra table with Champaign.

before you could even ask what was going on, Donna got down on one knee.

your breath hitched.

”[y/n], will you marry me?”

Somehow you had managed to bring yourself to affirm that you would in-fact love to marry Donna through the shock.

“Yes! I would love to marry you!”

You two quickly brought each other's lips halfway to meet in the middle in union. savoring the moment between you two and the deep connection you shared. Donna smiled so widely when you finally parted that she had to cover her face a bit. A bad habit that she had not managed to nip that you found extremely cute.

”I love you donna.”

”and I love you more than you could ever know.”