#but baby did not treat Violet well

[stupidlybookish]

General Sorrengail: I didn’t raise you to be a traitor!

Violet: Funny, I didn’t realise you raised me at all.

[just-some-random-blogger]

The Salt In My Blood

You were the beloved Jewel of the Realm, the youngest Targaryen born to Alyssa and Baelon. Though your nature resembled more a lamb rather than a dragon, you posed a threat at court, for a single word out of your mouth inspired a thousand actions from The King and The Rogue Prince. Thus, your match with the Lord of the Iron Islands.

Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader x Dalton Greyjoy | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, targcest (sister!reader), reader has valyrian features (silver hair, violet eyes), power imbalance, graphic depictions of violence/assault/murder/death, canon divergence/inaccurate timelines, ye old misogyny, fuckedupedness of men, smut (dub con, loss of virginity, piv, biting, marking, breeding kink, corruption kink, baby trapping, cockwarming, cunnilingus), internet translated high valyrian, angst, social commentary, typos, etc.

A/N: !!mind the warnings!! This is really yucky because it is. all men do is hurt women. Also I did basic research for Dalton Greyjoy and just used him cuz I needed a character. idk what he's actually like and I'm 99% sure this timeline doesn't add up so, just roll w it ok? Ok. If my internet translated high valyrian sucks, well, it be like that. And surprise surprise i made another song for a fic because i should make use of my music degree while im jobless 💔 my heart goes out to @arabellasleopardcoat because her fic capital really poked my brain and got me fired up enough to write/create again, even if just for this fic. i love you.

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @delicious-xx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @thebullship @sa3losa @sloanexx @azperja @happilyhertale

Father, father, shining star, save my brother from the war. Mother, mother, hold me close. I fear brother won't come home. So, I pray, night and day, I do my duty here. Find me, oh [a] husband, so fierce with not a fear. Father, father hears my prayer. Mother, mother dries my tears. All my strife ends tonight for my husband's here.

"But what if someone sees," you whisper.

Daemon clutches your hand tighter as you hurry down the hall. He looks over to you, your expression matches your shaky voice.

Perhaps, had the conditions been different, he'd be softened by your words. The ferocity of his protectiveness would have made him stop in his footsteps and clutch your cheek. Perhaps he would have promised to safeguard you.

But these conditions did not elicit such urges from him. No. It stoked the fires bacchanal in his gut. The stolen taste of your honeyed lips in the garden was not enough.

Daemon finally brings his darling sister into his bedroom, and there, he answers you, "who would dare spy on the king's heir, the prince of the realm?"

Your breath quickens at the sound of your brother locking the door.

The prince of the realm stalks over to you, a dragon gazing upon a meek lamb.

Again, you whisper, "what if someone finds out?"

Daemon could growl. He almost did as he grabs your waist and sinks his head into the crook of your tender neck. You don't even react when he does this, save for your gasp.

Oh, how like you, how docile and doe-like, never one to raise your voice, or fight back, especially not with him.

"Let them find out, sister," he claws your clothing, "then they will not steal you from me."

You are so pliant as he squeezes you, so soft as he roughs you back to his bed. You let him handle you like he did your dolls growing up. He treated them with less than a quarter of the gentleness you would; they'd end up tattered and broken because of him by the end of your playing session, much to your heartbreak.

Though you cried about it, you never once held it against him, because each time, Daemon would wipe your tears and apologize. He liked breaking your dolls. He liked being your comfort.

He knew without a sliver of doubt you'd let him do the same to your body. You'd let him break you, then kiss the tears off your cheeks. You'd let him, for he was your star, and you were his doll.

Daemon presses you beneath him. He lays you down where he sleeps. He kisses you, the way he has sometimes imagined he would while touching himself, or while in the arms of another. His long, silver hair cascades down his shoulder, joining your long, silver hair that's spilled on his pillows.

For so long, he's denied himself of you, because you were too pure, too darling to be tainted.

You whimper as he pushes your skirts up, bunching them by your ribs.

But now, it's all different.

His mouth suckles its way to your neck.

"Daemon."

Now, it's not about denial. It's about what's right. It's about what you deserve.

"Daemon-" you whimper when he reaches into the waistband of your smallclothes, "-wait."

He breathes hotly against your jaw. He grabs your knees and parts them for himself.

You push his shoulders back, catching his attention. He is displeased, and not even your glassy eyes could quell it. He warns you with an annoyed sound.

You gulp but mutter anyway, "this is wrong."

"Wrong?!" snaps he.

You tense at his anger, yet even then, you caress his cheek gently, "I am to be married to Lord Dalton Greyjoy."

"And you would have me believe you want him?" Daemon quips, "that you do not want me?"

You push yourself up on your elbows. Tears begin to spill from the corner of your eyes, "Daem-"

"Why do you think I am doing this?" He pushes himself against your core.

You whimper at the contact. He is hard.

He grabs your wrists and pins them to your sides, "I do this for your sake, little girl. To save you from your prison."

You gulp and blink rapidly, your silver lashes lace with tears.

The slightest semblance of remorse flashes on your brother's face.

With your head lifted, you watch as Daemon brings his hands to your ankles instead. He rids you of your shoes and chucks them over his shoulder.

Slowly, he strips you naked until you are left in nothing but the jewelry and the stockings he bought you once before.

You cover your breasts, and he lets you while he kneads at your slightly parted thighs.

His eyes are glued on your womanhood, on the curls that don't see the light of day and the flesh that's never been touched by a man.

Daemon clenches his jaw as his fingers inspect the heat there. The two digits find molten wetness flooding your entrance. You make a breathless sound and squeeze your thighs, trying, with pointless effort, to stop him. His eyes flick to your face, the look of embarrassment, of shock, of pleasure visible to him. He debates forcing your legs.

He licks his you-coated fingers and tuts instead, "open."

You look at him, your Daemon, with a faint line between his brows. You close your mouth and lick your lips. Your hands find their way back to your breasts.

The sight is maddening, especially with how the jewel of your necklace looks between the squished mount of flesh.

"Open," he commands with less patience.

Daemon watches his darling princess part her legs for him. His trousers strain more than it did already.

He watches you closely and motions with a finger to your chest, "those too."

You do not immediately comply. In fact, you look at Daemon with pleading eyes. He raises his brows at your bratty demeanor, and shakes his head, "are you disobeying me?"

You see the threat in his eyes.

"Kessa nyke mazverdagon ao rūnagon aōha dīnagon?" Shall I make you remember your place?

You shake your head and pipe softly, "daor." No.

Finally, you reveal your breasts to him.

He smirks, "good girl."

Your brother kneads your delicate flesh and grinds his clothed groin against your weeping cunt. The sound you emit makes the feel of the clothes on his skin unbearable.

He grabs your hands and places them on his waistband. He looks down at you as he rids himself of his top. By the time his burning chest is free, you've gotten half the wits to undo his breeches.

His eyes don't leave you as he takes off his shoes.

You timidly pull his pants down, sitting up slightly as you do. You make a soft sound when his manhood flings free. Daemon shoves you back and does the rest himself.

"Daemon. I don't think-"

Your voice is crushed by the feel of his cock sliding into you. A rush of heat ripples through your body. He leans down and kisses your shoulder as you whine.

"Enough," he pants. He uses all his restraint not to fuck you dumb then and there. He grabs your thighs, pressing them into your chest. He can feel your tension. If he fucks you now, he could leave you unable to walk straight. But as sweet as that sounds, he doesn't actually want to hurt you, not that way.

Daemon sinks down to your jugular and kisses you there before he brings his hungry mouth to your breast. He sucks and nips, imagining it being heavy with milk for his babe, the babe he'd put into your belly.

The thought makes his moan and rut his hips.

You make a strained sound and your hands push at his arms. You call his name again, soft and shaky.

Daemon tries to ignore you, his palm coming to your lonely breast on the other side, but the persistent call of his name makes him sigh.

He lightly grazes your nipple before he releases your flesh. He trails kisses up your skin until he lands on your face, your face, which was now wet with salt.

"You need to relax. Mmm?" he coos, kissing your lips, "skoro syt gaomagon ao limagon? Hm?" Why do you cry?

You adjust beneath him, repositioning your thighs, digging your fingers into his nape. You whimper, "lēkia."

Daemon's belly burns. Look at you, crying for your older brother.

"Kessa, ñuha hāedar?" Yes, my little sister?

"Iksan zūgagon," you mutter, tears streaming down your temples. Your nails scratch up his scalp. I am afraid.

Daemon, selfish as he is, does not like the fact that leaves your lips. His brows furrow. He rubs your thighs in an attempt to comfort you. He kisses the corner of your lips, "hen lēkia?" Of your older brother?

You shake your head quickly, rubbing your thumb on his jaw.

His brows furrow tighter. His hold on your thigh tightens, "hen bona Āegenka Āzma?" Of that Iron Born?

You stay still. You take a moment before mumbling, "Viserys said I should marry him for my own good-"

"Fuck that cunt Viserys," he spits angrily.

Your lips quiver.

The anger in Daemon's chest dissipates as you rub the deep line between his brows. He props himself up, sinking a hand by the side of your head. He looks down at you.

"You cannot protect me forever," you whisper, finally relaxing beneath him.

Daemon watches as you lick your lips.

You gulp, "I am a Targaryen princess. I have duties to the realm, to my family."

"Your duty is with me," he grabs your hand, bringing it to his chest.

Your violet eyes sparkle as you examine his features. You tuck the long tresses that block his face behind his ear. Your belly ignites at the fierce beauty of your beloved brother.

"I burn for you," Daemon says, "I know that you burn for me."

"But Daemon-"

The gentle thrust of his hips stifle your words.

You whimper and instinctively mold your body against him. Your legs tighten around his torso as his thrusts grow more and more confident.

"Enough," Daemon repeats this time softer, head sinking back into the crook of your neck, "you have always belonged to me, and you know it."

Daemon kisses you, delighting in the gasp you give when he plays with your pearl. He muffles the sound of your mewls with his mouth.

"They insult us all by daring to mix dragon blood with fucking sea squid," he pants, "you were meant to carry my seed, be my bride."

You moan, feeling a foreign force in your belly.

"I will not let that sewer monster be the one to make you a woman," Daemon licks a stripe up your neck.

You tangle your fingers into the roots of his hair, "Daemon."

His nails scratch up your sides, "twas I that watched you blossom into womanhood, tis I that should be the one to take it."

Neither of you speak after he says this. You both simply whimper, wordlessly agreeing your bodies were made for each other.

The prince had not a single care in the world. He urges you to scream out to him with the flick of his pelvis. He didn't care if anyone could hear, neither did he care that anyone would see the viscious marks he was leaving all over your throat.

You were better than he had ever imagined, and he was determined to make you his. He was intent on emptying his stones, over and over again, until you could take no more, until you were too exhausted to leave, until your body had no other choice but to carry him a child.

And when he finally does spill into you, coming with a grunt and a soft, "you're mine," you, the virgin princess finally understand the fuss over sex, and reply to him with an, "I love you."

Daemon fucks you until his bed is soiled with a mix of your come. He fucks you until every minute movement from him makes you shiver and whine. He fucks you until your skin is marked with tender bites. He fucks you until you beg for respite, and then he keeps himself inside you after.

You were a worn little thing, and yet you managed the energy to still cling to him as you dozed off.

He kisses your temple and sleeps soundly, knowing he's done it, he's made his claim; you were his. That was irrefutable. Only a madman would deny him of you now. He basks in the pleasure of your body, and in the knowledge his baby sister so wholeheartedly trusted in him to let him do this.

One can only imagine, then, the mortified horror you felt when you were given to Lord Greyjoy anyway.

This was not part of the plan. You were meant to meet Daemon. He told you you were going to speak to the king together, and yet here your eldest brother was, ushering you towards your captor-husband to be.

"My princess," Dalton says, reaching a hand to you.

You stare at his glimmering eyes, finding nothing but malice and lust behind them. You turn to your brother for help. You do not want to touch this man.

Viserys offers you none and looks away. It hurts when he does so, especially since he does so with such apparent scorn. He smiles at Dalton, "greet your lord. You will soon be wed to him, sister."

You muster enough artificial interest to smile. Goosebumps form on your skin when he kisses the back of your hand.

He notices and chuckles, rubbing where he kissed, "such demureness. Do not be frightened of me, my dragon. I would not hurt such a pretty thing."

You clasp your hands together after he releases you.

"Not unless you ask," he adds, bursting into a laugh.

Neither you or Viserys return the amusement. In fact, the latter's face contorts at the distasteful joke. His nostrils flare, "you dare jest such uncouth things in front of your king?"

Dalton Greyjoy is unbothered, but stifles his laughter. He clears his throat and bows, "my apologies, my king. Tis the Ironborn in me. I cannot help my nature, much like you cannot help yours."

You feel light headed the entirety of this interaction. The room feels like it was closing in on you, and you kept glancing at the door, praying that your other brother free you from this torment.

He does not. He does not come. In fact, you do not see Daemon anywhere the entire day.

Dalton keeps you by his side, taking your arm in his as he makes you stroll him around the Red Keep. You do so, of course, no matter how strong the urge to run away and hide from him was. The entire time, Dalton recounts his stories of battle, his stories at sea, his stories of life. He's sincere enough, but you are not interested in the slightest.

"I think you'd enjoy the feel of sea salt against your skin, just as much you enjoy the whip of the clouds," he grins with genuine enthusiasm.

Any response you have is put out by his next words.

"I can introduce you to my salt-wives."

"Salt-wives?"

"Aye," he says proudly, "I'd say I have about twenty, but I cannot assure you its accuracy."

You are horrified. Finally, you have the gall to pull away, "what?"

Dalton chuckles, somehow amused, but his brows furrow, as if irritated, "we Ironborn keep salt wives in our ships, to give us comfort and warmth when the sea gets too rough. Is this princess so sheltered to not know this?"

You curdle when he reaches for your neck.

"You needn't be jealous. You'd be my one and only rock wife."

You scowl at his condescending tone, "I thought that was just a wives' tale."

He laughs. It is rich, amused, and foreboding. He shakes his head, "it's about as much of a wives' tale as your dragons are, princess."

Later that night, you weep at the king's feet, begging him not to marry you off to such a man.

Viserys does not hear it, and it is only then that Daemon finally appears.

When he does, it's as if the gods themselves breathed life into you. Quickly, you run into him and sob into his chest.

Daemon holds you tightly and glares at the king, "what have you done to her?"

Viserys scoffs. The dark room, illuminated only by the fireplace and a few lit candles, feels to him like it's darkened because of Daemon. He shifts where he sits, "I? I found her a husband."

Daemon's eye twitches, "you gave her to me! You said it just this morning."

You look up at Daemon, hopeful at the sound of his words.

"I said I would think about it once you report your patrol at the City Watch to me."

Daemon releases you to impose on his brother, "I kept your city clean from crimes and safe for the people."

"And where did you go after?" Viserys narrows his eyes.

You rub your arms as you watch your brothers argue.

Daemon does not respond.

Viserys turns to you, "tell your beloved sister where you went after your patrols."

Daemon does not move.

Your chest tightens at the silence, "... Daemon."

The said man opens his mouth, "I went to get a dri-"

"A whorehouse!" Viserys blurts, rising from his seat to glare at Daemon. He turns back to you, pushing past him, "I would know. I paid every whore in Fleabottom to seduce him."

Your heart leaps into your mouth, "w-what?"

Daemon is stunned.

"See now," Viserys is close enough to clutch your cheeks, "your beloved brother is a man like all the rest. No more is the dragon righteous than the kraken."

Your eyes begin to fog with tears. Your hands begin to tremble. Why was he doing this to you?

"Greyjoy is no less a dog than the rest of us. He at least, is honoring a tradition. Daemon honors only his cock."

You turn to Daemon, hoping to find this was not the case, but his expression says it all. You let a pained whimper, "you teach me so cruelly, brother."

"I teach you," he swipes your tears with his thumbs, "for your own good."

"You fucking--"

You scream in terror as Daemon lunges at Viserys. You reel back and watch as the two crash down to the floor, the younger of them finding the upper hand. They roughly struggle against each other.

You can no longer remain simply screaming when Daemon grabs Viserys by the collar and slams him repeatedly against the ground, especially not when Viserys claws at Daemon's face to get him off. You dash forward just as the guards order the prince to stop.

It only takes another scream from you, begging them to stop, for the kingsguards to burst into the room.

You grab Daemon's arm, and out of instinct, he swats you back, hand hitting your nose with rage powered force.

You shoot back into a kingsguard, feeling your face throb in pain. You swipe your philtrum and find red on your fingers.

It takes Viserys screaming your name for Daemon to stop and realize what he's done.

The impact of hitting the armored man makes your back twinge, but it does not hurt nearly as much as the back handed hit you received from your brother.

The kingsguard catches you and stands you upright. He quickly asks if you are alright, but doesn't wait for an answer because he's then shoving Daemon back, putting himself between him and you when he tries to come near.

Daemon glares in offence.

"Throw him in the fucking dungeon," Viserys spits out as he is helped up by another guard.

Daemon fights back, but is no match against three guards.

He screams your name as he is dragged off.

You clutch your face as he tells you he didn't mean to hit you. You face throbs as he tells you he loves you, and only you.

For once, you doubt his words.

Viserys comes to your side, placing a gentle hand in your shoulder. You watch as he commands a servant to get something for your injury.

He clutches your cheek that was struck and sighs, "if you wed the Red Kraken, you will strengthen our hold on the Iron Lands. Dalton Greyjoy is a formidable warrior. I couldn't think of a more capable man to safekeep the Jewel of the Realm."

As he stroked your hair, you realized that Viserys was right. It didn't matter who it was, all men were the same. When your septa warned you of men's depravity, you believed your brothers to be the exception. Now, you knew exactly why you were called-

"Little lamb," Viserys coos, "I only want what is best for all of us."

You were too naive to believe in good things.

And so you marry Dalton Greyjoy the next day.

The haste with which the wedding is prepared is to prevent you from changing your mind, you figured. That, and to keep Daemon in prison for the least amount of time.

Part of you wanted to visit him, but part of you wanted him to suffer. In the end, you realized you were too weak to behold your brother as a prisoner.

Daemon screams and bangs at his bars, demanding he be released. But the prison guards have handled worse and throw cold water at him to shut him up.

He knew by the time he was free, he would be too late to stop your marriage, but still, he meticulously planned what he would do the moment he was.

That night, after the wedding festivities were over, Dalton takes you to your room and makes you his wife.

"It's been a while since I've had a virgin," Dalton says, caressing your cheek, "don't worry, I will be gentle."

You want to scream, you want tofight him back, but you remember you're not a virgin, and fear paralyzes you. You mumble, "m-my dragon riding."

Dalton pushes back bour silver hair and kisses your shoulder.

You can't help but think of Daemon in this moment, but it makes you feel sick, and so you will him out of your head. You mumble again, "my dragon riding may taken my womanhood."

Dalton pulls away and stares at you for a moment.

"I- I was told as a child, it happened to many Targaryen princesses."

He pulls his hands, which were on your hips, away then shoves you down on your bed. He smirks as he undoes his clothing, "then I can be rough with you, aye?"

You quiver at his gaze.

He laughs, shaking his head, "didn't I say I would not hurt you? Unless under your request?"

You inch back as he crawls over. He grabs your ankle, then the other, causing you to panic. You instinctively kick him off, but instead of being deterred, he is excited.

"Sh, sh, sh," he hushes, "it will not be unpleasant, my dragon."

Your skin pricks with gooseflesh when he removes your shoes, your socks, then sneaks his hand up your skirt.

You whimper and turn away, finding you could no longer kick back when he seizes your knees.

"Please-"

"Shhh," he hushes, giving you the first solemn look he has this entire day he's been smug, "I've had much practice from my salt wives. You, my rock wife, will taste the fruits of my practice... as I taste you."

You gasp when he suddenly rips your underwear off.

"I swear to you, your body will enjoy it, even if your mind wants you to believe otherwise."

You muffle your mouth with your palm when you feel Dalton sink in between your thighs.

He was right.

The entire time he touches you, it feels like your skin was being scorched. Your heart was not in it, but your body twisted in pleasure. You hated that you longed for Daemon, even after the fact you were not enough for him; he was still the only one you, and this moment proved it.

You were brought to tears at how pathetic it was. Tears streamed as you reached your peak, one of the many you receive from your... husband.

He handled you with carnal instinct, just as Daemon did, but unlike him, Dalton did not kiss your tears. In fact, he did not kiss your face once. It is you that initiates such a thing, amidst the throes of your lewd pleasure. He grabs your jaw when your lips connect, and quickly releases his load into you after.

Your peak is cut short because he pulls out just when you reach it.

You watch as he rolls over and goes to sleep without another word.

The next morning, the servants call you Princess Greyjoy and it haunts you.

"No need to look so sullen, wife," you hear over your shoulder.

If the cold from the early morning wasn't enough to make you shiver, the kiss on your shoulder was.

The ship rocks as you tear your gaze away from King's Landing, King's Landing that looked so tiny now from where you stood. A sea of tears laid between you and the home that will never be yours again. You turn to Dalton. He leans his elbows on the edge of the ship and looks up at you, "we can do many things to liven your mood."

You watch him as he rubs your hips. Your stomach curdles but you manage to offer a smile, "I... am flattered, but I do not want to distract the captain of this ship."

Dalton chuckles and straightens up, "trust me. The crew would appreciate it if you did."

You squeak when he yanks you into him.

"Right boys?!" he calls loudly, "shall I make a salt wife out of my rock wife?!"

The crew cheers and it makes your skin burn in mortification.

The next thing you know, you are thrown over his shoulder. He slaps your ass and takes you to his quarters. The crew laughs as he does.

You helplessly grunt when he drops you on his bed-- your shared bed. You silently peer up at him as he stares at you. You are relieved he paces across the room, towards his table. He grabs something and chucks it at you. You flinch but manage to catch it.

He sits on the table as you inspect the pouch. You open it, finding herbs inside.

"I heard you've been drinking that," he says.

You look up at him.

"Haven't you?" he asks.

You smell it and wretch. It smells exactly like-

"Moon tea," Dalton says, making your blood run cold, "for the bastard in your belly.*

You are frozen in your spot. Your stomach drops when he stands and walks over. He grabs your chin. It is not harsh, but it strikes fear in you anyway.

"I asked you a question, wife."

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

"HAVE YOU BEEN TAKING THE FUCKING TEA OR NOT?" he screams, grabbing your neck.

Your hands fly to his grip. Your fingers attempt to pry him away.

You wheeze when he squeezes you. Your flail your legs and try to kick him off. You can't. Just as your vision begins to go dark, he releases you. You fall onto the bed and frantically try to catch your breath. You cough and hear him smash things around the room.

And so you behold the man who said he would not hurt you unless you asked him, brutalize the furniture.

You think your chances are better in the sea rather than on this boat. You slowly maneuver towards the door while he is distracted. Just as you are about to sprint, he grabs you and throws you back down on his bed.

"You stupid slut!" he screams, "you think you can run?!

You try to scream for help, but the pain in your throat when you try to stops you. Not a second later, you scream anyway.

He slaps you across the face, promptly silencing you. The sting is ten times worse than what Daemon did.

"I was promised a Targaryen princess, not some whore of a dragon!" he screams, kicking the chair by his desk across the room.

You feel lightheaded. You see double.

He laughs angrily, shaking his head, "dragon riding, my arse."

Indistinguishable sounds leave your lips.

Your heart drops as he storms over.

"Who's the father of your bastard child?!"

"ANSWER ME!" he demands, grabbing your shoulders, dragging you to your feet. Your head recoils at the sheer force of it. You take a moment to steady your head.

Your eyes search Dalton's enraged features, hoping to chance upon a sliver of compassion... in vain. The sound that leaves your mouth is response to the bruising squeeze of your arms. You cannot help but whimper as tears stream down your cheeks, "you're hurting me."

He is further angered by this. He gives you a powerful shake. Your head lashes back again and you scream.

"Give me a name!" erupts the lord.

You no longer have it in you to hold your tongue, and so you confess, "Daemon!"

Dalton releases you. He is repulsed, "your brother?" He scoffs, "you revolting, little worm," he slaps you again, making you lose your balance.

Before you crash into anything, he grabs you and keeps you upright. You can feel your cheek and lips swell at his assault. You taste iron on your lips.

"And here they had me believing you were some meek lamb," he laughs dryly, brushing your hair back, "you're nothing but a whore, grown from perversion and abomination."

Your expression hardens. You glare at him and rebut, though your head was pounding, "and your sea rituals are more righteous than my family traditions?"

Without another word, Dalton shoves you back, propelling you into his desk. Your skull crashes against the edge with a horrendous thud.

You fall limp onto the floor. Dalton cares little if you were dead or unconscious. He walks out of the room right before he can witness the red staining your white hair.

Dalton is no fool. He knows better than to disfigure a Targaryen princess.

He walks towards the wheel of the ship and continues the course to what his crew believed to be a shortcut to home. In truth, he was bringing the ship to its doom, to face you with with a trail of the sea.

He would crash the ship into a chokehold of rocks, and if you survived, if he found your floating body, he would keep you, as you proved your resilience. But if you were swallowed into the depths, if he was unable to find you in the debris, he would praise the Drowned god for your riddance.

The same want with his crew.

Of course, there was a bit of this that felt like suicide, but he knew he was too vengeful to die, so he knew he had nothing to fear.

When the Greyjoy ship finally reached the rocky pass, Dalton was promptly warned of the danger by his lookout, who he obviously ignored.

He ordered to hoist the sails, and, blindly, the crew followed, even through apparent worry.

It didn't take very long after for the ship to crash into the cliffs.

The crew clamors. They scream and panic, turning to their captain that could not care less. He pretends to steer them to safety, but he actually slammed them further into their demise.

The deck begins to crumble. The mast snaps. The sails break off. Dalton calls to abandon ship.

The crew don't need any more convincing.

One by one, each man for their own, they try to escape with their life.

By the time Dalton jumps off the ship, the thing is half submerged in the water, crumbs of it on the side of a rock.

It was pure chaos.

Dalton swims far enough from the destruction, and knows his god smiled upon him and his decision when he sees a large wooden slab he can climb on.

He does just that and looks out to his crew, helping the ones that manage to swim over, commanding the others calling for help to simply swim or drown.

He looks around, trying to make out a body of a woman, a blob of a dress, a head of silver hair in the aftermath.

"My wife," he screams, "has anyone seen my wife?!"

He wasn't concerned, of course. He just wanted to know his fate as a husband, but this did make for a good alibi.

His surviving men look and swim around for you. They find no trance.

Dalton presses his lips, "little dragon couldn't fly away."

They take refuge on a cliff. Lord Greyjoy tells his crew not to bitch and panic because they will surely be found by a passing ship soon enough.

He had planned this shipwreck after all.

By the time Dalton and his remaining men were saved, a flash of red circled in the setting sky, hovering over the massive rock that held the shipwreck that bore the sigil of Greyjoy.

Caraxes screeches as his rider commands him to get closer to the scene. The dragon hesitates but eventually lands on the cliff. Waves crash upon the area, causing the beast to bleat when he is wet.

Daemon is frantic as he gazes upon the destruction. He is distressed unlike he's ever been. His voice is distinctly desperate and hysterical. He screams out your name, even though it was nothing against the roar of the splashing waves.

He heaves heavily as he erratically decides to dismount and jump into the water.

As he wades, he tries to convince himself that what he was doing was for naught-- perhaps you were not here to begin with. But the gut feeling was overwhelming; it was sickening.

He tries to believe that bottom feeder, Greyjoy, saved you before his ship crumbled. He tries to convince himself that cunt's lust for you was enough reason to keep you alive.

But he remembers the servant he threatened with a knife whilst demanding to know which route your ship would take. He thinks of how he almost shit himself while confesssing to Daemon that Greyjoy planned to pass through a rocky region as a shortcut. But Daemon's flown over that area, and knew it was out of the way to the Iron Islands.

After squeezing out what's left from that servant, Daemon's face falls when he mentions that rusted octopus had an argument with a servant girl that came to serve the princess a cup of tea.

Daemon was no fool. Dalton was a butish barbarian. If he found out you were drinking Moon Tea, he would do his worst on you for blemishing his pride.

And so he swam. Daemon swam, dove down, and searched for your body until he had to stop because Caraxes was getting restless. He commanded him to calm down, but he could only do it so many times until he, himself, was the same.

He eventually gets back on Caraxes. Daemon can't bring himself to leave just yet however, and finds himself praying to whatever god out there to return his love back to him.

Caraxes circles the area one last time before heading off. For some reason, Daemon feels the urge to check underneath a large slab of shattered wood. He commands his mount to lift it, and the dragon screeches as he does what he can with his hind legs.

The sound that leaves the prince's mouth is what could only be described as pure anguish.

A head of silver hair floats up and wafts in the water along with a tattered dress. Your body garnered a horrid tone of grey and you were missing your shoes.

Daemon cannot contain the tears that gush out of his eyes.

Caraxes carries your body in his claws all the way to the Keep.

The way in which he commands his ride to set your body down is frantic and incredibly detailed. Part of him realizes Caraxes probably recognized you, considering the way he laid on his belly and sniffed you as Daemon buckled to his knees and lamented over your frigid body.

He speaks to you in High Valyrian. His salty tears drip on your salt water drowned body. He promises he will never trick you, never argue with you, and never make you cry ever again if only you open your violet eyes.

He rocks back and forth with you in his arms, unsure which of you he was soothing by doing this.

He swears he will turn the sea red with blood and burn the whole Iron Islands to avenge you.

He is incredibly uncomfortable of the chill of your skin. He shakes his head, telling you dragons must not be kept cold. He kisses your face in an attempt to warm it up. He recounts a time where you accidentally spilled candle wax on him, burning his skin, and tells you that you still need to make up for your offence. He tells you he will forgive you if you simply hold him back.

Viserys had to account for three dragons by the time he found out what was happening, one was Daemon, whose grief morphed into murderous spite. He threatened to slay anyone who wanted to take you from him. Not again. Another was Caraxes, who refused to leave his heartbroken rider's side. The last was your dragon, who felt the loss of your connection, and went into a rabid state mourning.

It takes 5 people to secure your dragon in the pit, 5 people to subdue Caraxes, and 3 people to separate Daemon from your corpse.

The king takes a moment to clutch your hand. His face flinches. Where once your hand was so warm, no warmth now remained. He steps back and watches the maesters cover your body and take you away.

[marbl3z]

Okay but hear me out

Soft and intimate first time sex with Lyney

He has you on the bed, your back flush against the mattress and pillows

Hes going slow and deep with you, careful not to hurt or overwhelm you during both of your first times

Hes holding your hips with one hand while the other is lace with yours

And you're running your fingers through his hair telling him how good he's making you feel

Bassicly lyney would treat you like a princess during your first times 🥺

YES YES YES !! I AGREE YOU ARE SO CORRECT ANON !! RAAAHHH, PRAISE KINK! LYNEY,,, GAAH IMAGINE HOW SOFT HE WOULD BE WITH YOU LIKE HE'D MAKE YOU SO HAPPY AND FEEL SO LOVED,,

(I'm so sane for this man)

---

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ " I've got you, Darling.. "

CW ;; praise kink lyney, soft smut, petnames (darling, sweetheart, baby, my love, etc.), fem terms for reader (princess, reader has breasts, reader is afab), kissing/nibbling, a bit of foreplay for plot, you and lyney are both virgins, established relationship, no protection (pls wear protection!!) !!

This one might be really long I'm sorry for that!!

sobs in 4.5k words

18+, MDNI — IF YOU CONTINUE READING, THATS ON YOU!

You wrap your arms around your boyfriend's neck as he lifts you with ease. You hold yourself up with your legs on his hips, deepening the passionate kisses and swallowing all of his whines and gasps with every inch of your lips.

"You're so cute, Lyn," you mumble in-between the kisses, running your fingers through his— now, untied hair, the locks messy and curly.

He plops you onto the bed, his face flushed and his breathing uneven. "You look so pretty like this, my love." He whispers kissing your face.

"Mm.." you hum, he lays in-between your thighs, both of his arms at the sides of your head. "You did so good tonight, at the show. I'm so proud of you," you mumble, watching his body freeze and his ears flush red.

"R-Really?" He stammers, staring up at you with blush covering his entire face.

"Mhm, you did so so well." You coo, nuzzling your cheek against his.

"Ah..." he attempts to speak but if cut off by you catching his lips in a sweet kiss, before pulling away and kissing his chin, neck, and pressing a soft kiss on his adams apple.

"do you like it when I praise you?" You tease, running your hands through his blonde hair.

He can't seem to meet your eyes as if he was embarrassed to have his weakness exposed. You smile sweetly whispering sweet nothings in his ear before turning you both over so you're on his lap.

"Hey.. Lyney, uhm... do you think, we could try it tonight..?" You blush as you lean against his shoulder.

He thinks for a moment, brain still all fuzzy and warm from your teasing and praise a few seconds prior. "What do you— oh... you mean, like, trying.. it? Are you sure..?" He turns to face you, his cheeks flushed so red it could be mistaken for an apple.

"wait, you do know what I mean right? So we're on the same page..?" You ask, holding his hand. Your anxiety getting the better of you, and you give it a gentle squeeze.

"Darling.. do you want to make love?" He whispers, his violet eyes meeting your gentle ones. You can hear how nervous he is, how hard his heart is pounding.

You nod slowly, unsure how he would respond. If he said no, then you would never push the subject further. If he said yes... Heaven knows what could happen.

"I'm comfortable with it... Are you okay with it, my love?" He asked so sincerely, his voice filled with love.

"I'm okay with it, I just want you to be comfortable as well.." looking into his eyes and grasping his hand in your own.

"I trust you." He nudges his forehead against yours, feeling your heartbeat in your palm. Truth be told, he was nervous and almost scared. What if he didn't live to your expectations?

"I trust you too, Lyn." You press a sweet kiss onto his lips, your chest against his. He could've sworn his heart skipped a beat at that moment.

He wraps his arms around your hips and deepens the kiss. His tongue sliding against your bottom lip, you gasp and he takes that chance to enter your mouth. Your hands are at his face, your thumb rubbing his cheek and the other running through his hair. Lyney lifts you up and sets you down on the soft bed gently before continuing to kiss you. His hands at your hips, pulling you closer to him.

"Is it okay if I touch your skin..?" He gasps, in-between kisses. He can't seem to get enough, he patiently waits for your consent before continuing with anything.

"Yes," you nuzzle your face against his once more— like a cat. His hands slide under your shirt, the softness of your tummy against his calloused fingers is enough for his heart to explode.

"You're so beautiful, so pretty.." he whispers in your ear, kissing the shell ever so gently.

You gasp when you feel his hot breath against your ear, your heart pounds and you watch his every move. You meet his eyes as if he's asking for more consent, never wanting to overlook or overstep your boundaries. You give a soft nod as he lowers his face to your tummy, pressing gentle kisses to the skin, kissing up from your belly button to your abdomen before reaching up and kissing your lips.

"I'm sorry for asking so much.. is it safe for me to touch you? Further up..?" He asks, meeting your eyes again.

"It's okay, sweetheart.. don't apologize. Yes, it's safe..." you mumble as he cups your cheek with his hand and kisses your lips once more. He lowers his face and kisses up your abdomen to your chest, lifting your shirt higher. He makes sure that it's okay once again, looking for any sort of upset expressions or discomfort from you.

You run your hands through his hair, as if a way to melt away his anxieties and worries. You sit up and pull the shirt over your head, a bit with his help. He rests you back down to the soft mattress and pillows, your chest covered by your bra. You gulp nervously, worried that he would make fun of you, or judge you in some sort of way.

He takes a hold of your hand and presses a soft kiss on your palm. He smiles at you, "You're absolutely beautiful, honey. Please don't be afraid to tell me to stop, I want nothing more but for you to feel safe with me. Okay..?" He presses his nose against your own, as you nod slowly.

"I will, I'm.. just worried I won't be what you expected.." he hushes you with a kiss.

"Love, my sweet... and adorable Love." Lyney breathes against your lips, "you're so beautiful, so so pretty." He whispers, kissing you more. "My love, my Darling.. all mine,"

"I love you," you pull his face closer to yours.

His face alights with blush, holding your hip with one hand. He stares at you wide eyed, it wasn't the first time you have told him you loved him, of course. But Every time you did, he would be so stunned to respond it may take him a few minutes before he could squeak out a soft 'I love you too.' Before covering his face.

This time, his eyes only soften with adoration for you, and he leaned in. "I love you too," Lyney whispers, pressing his forehead against yours, he caresses your tummy and hips softly. Sitting up to slip off his own shirt, his heart skips as he feels a bit insecure.

Your hands find their way to his hips, partly exposed by his loose pants falling down a bit. You kiss the middle of his chest, rubbing your thumb against his skin lovingly. "Beautiful.." you whisper, nibbling his chest gently.

A wobbly whimper escapes his throat as you graze your teeth against his skin. He lowers his head, his eyes closed, his face flushed red— all because of you. You can practically hear his heart beating through his rib cage. Poor thing, probably has never had anything this intimate before. You cup his flushed cheek, pulling his face down to meet yours and you nibble his bottom lip gently.

A gasp emits from his throat, soft and breathy. He leans in to kiss you, his body seems to melt against your touches. "Such a good boy, all for me.." You mumble against his lips. You watch his expressions and how much your words affect him.

He whimpers, all of your sweet words go down directly to his cock. Strained against his boxers, leaking with precum. His breathing is uneven and his mind is fuzzy, he wants to go slow but you're making him insane.

You glance down and notice the tent in his pants, all of the sudden as if a switch went off, all of your teasing and confidence disappeared.

".. hey, um. Lyney?" You call, afraid to meet his eyes.

"mm?" He hums, his eyes fluttering open to meet your averted gaze. "..what's wrong?"

"will it— uhm. Will it hurt?" You mumble, your vague question has the gears in his brain turning. A soft gasp emits from the magician when he finally understands.

"Oh sweetheart... I don't think it'll hurt really bad, I'm not really sure what to expect. But if it hurts really bad just tell me to stop okay? Can you do that for me?" He brushes the hair out of your face, turning you to face him by your chin.

You nod, embarrassed slightly. "I will, I promise" you mumble, nuzzling his palm.

"Good girl" Lyney coos, "are you alright to continue?" He runs his hands through your hair, pressing soft kisses on your cheeks and forehead.

"Mhm."

"That's good, you're doing so well" he catches your lips in a sweet kiss.

He slides his hand over the soft plush of your tummy, kissing your neck and nibbling softly. Not enough to leave any marks, afraid to hurt you. You let out a soft moan when his teeth graze against that sensitive part of your neck. He pauses for a moment, tracing his steps and going back to that spot— watching intently of your reactions. He presses his lips onto it, you shiver. He makes a soft attempt to nibble it, you let out a soft whimper.

"Is it sensitive there?" He teases, smiling dearly.

"mhm,," you nod your head, your eyes meet his and you blush even more.

"So cute," is that he would've said, but instead he just went back to making you feel pleasant. Open mouthed kisses on your neck and collarbones.

He looks at the remaining fabric on your upper body, unsure how to go about asking if it's okay to take it off. You get the hint and sit up to unclip it, he's a bit worried if it's okay to help.

"Lyney, can you see where the clip is?" You lean forward, your fingers blindly attempting to find the clip in the back. Lyney pulls you closer with the small of your back, your body flush to his as he attempts to help you.

"I got it," he unclips your bra, watching as it falls down your arms and you place it off the bed somewhere. Your breathing is deep and you're slightly nervous. You lean back but attempt to cover your chest out of embarrassment. "Hey," he coos gently in your ear. "If it's too much we can stop, okay?" He rubs your hip gently.

"I'm just— I'm okay! No one has ever seen me like this... I'm not used to it. It's embarrassing.." you mumble, your palms cover your face.

"I understand, I think you're beautiful. So so pretty, your body is so pretty. So gorgeous, too" he whispers, moving your hands from your face. He kisses your lips soft and quick.

You look at the man in front of you, trying to build up the courage to remove your arms from your chest. There's no rush, he only wants you to feel safe and comfortable with everything he's doing. He doesn't push you, only pressing kisses on your tummy and neck. You take a deep breath and move your arms and pull his face towards your own again, kissing his lips. Lyney smiles at your kiss, his eyes traveling down your body, meeting your breasts. His eyes widen a bit, and his chest inflates and deflates more deeply.

"You're so beautiful, is it okay for me to touch you?" He meets your eyes, you look so divine underneath him. You nod your head gently, putting your arms at the sides of your head.

He kisses the middle of your chest, he slowly trails his hand up your abdomen and watches your face as he cups your right breast in his hand. Your eyes flutter as he runs his thumb over your sensitive nipple, a soft gasp emitting from you. A dull ache in-between your thighs as he continues to rub and squeeze the soft plush on your chest.

"So pretty.." he presses a kiss onto your breast, trailing around and keeping eye contact with you as he presses a kiss on your nipple.

You let out a moan as you squirm, the ache turns into throbbing. "Lyney.." you moan his name, he gives your nipple a gentle lick. You run your hands through his hair, your face flushed red and your chest heaving.

"Yes, my princess?" He backs away from your nipple, meet your sweet eyes.

"It feels really good there," you mumble, almost tripping over your words. He keeps this in mind as he continues to lick and kiss your chest. Gently pinching and rubbing your erect nipples with his lips and fingers.

One of his hands are rubbing your tummy and hips, while the other and his mouth are playing with your pretty tits. Your eyes flutter close with every sensation, your whimpers are soft and his hands are warm and gentle. You arch your back slightly as he puts the erect flesh in his mouth, it almost catches him off guard but he met your eyes and saw how blissful you looked. No one has ever touched you, not like this. It made his heart flutter as he thought about it, he was your first. As you are his first, first true love, first girlfriend, first kiss... you were all of his firsts.

You make a strange noise, an attempt to speak. He stops all of his movements and leans back up to you, "are you okay?" He asked, his tone filled with worry.

You nod, hugging him close to you. Your chest squished against his, he has to hold back a moan. "Lyney, I... I wanna take this to the next level," your sweet innocent eyes meet his violet ones. His eyes widen and his face flushed at the thought. The tent in his pants, twitching slightly.

"Are you sure?" His voice is deep and sweet, with the nod of your head he straddles your hips, starting at your lips, kissing your neck, the valley in-between your pretty tits, all the way down to your tummy. His eyes flicker up to yours when he reaches your navel, he presses a long kiss as if asking for permission.

"it's... it's okay" you whisper, your chest heaves with every action he does.

"So good for me," he mumbles hotly against your skin. Pulling your loose pants down slowly, he kisses your panty line, marking your hips with his mouth. Your body feels like it's on fire, he's so close to that spot. Aching so sweetly for him.

He lifts your hips as he pulls your pants below your hips, past your thighs, all of way off. You're basically nude, your only piece of clothing left is your underwear, snug to your skin.

He kisses your hips, his fingers tugging on the waistband, you buck your hips as a silent way of telling him "yes". He bites the band, pulling it down with his teeth, as if that wasn't the hottest thing he could have ever done. He meets your eyes as he slides it off your hips and helping you kick it off.

"so fuckin' gorgeous..." he curses under his breath as he stares at your now nude body underneath him.

Your clit throbs as you close your thighs, embarrassment creeping up your skin. You feel fuzzy and warm all over, Lyney treats you so well.

"Sweet girl, I know.. it's embarrassing, do you want to continue?" He kisses you out of your thoughts, a soft 'yes' with a gentle nod is all that can emit from you. "You sure?" He asked again, rubbing his thumb on your hip.

You nod, meeting his eyes once again. He smiles gently as he takes his own pants off, leaving him in only his boxers. The tent much more noticeable, the fabric has a wet spot on it— but he doesn't pay it any mind, you're more important to him. Your pleasure and how good you're feeling is all he cares about.

he brushes his cheek against your thigh, pulling them apart. Your sex is wet, bright red, and your pretty clit is all swollen. You could've sworn he nearly moaned when he looked at your body completely. This time he doesn't say anything, his mouth agape— his breathing faint but heavy. His eyes flick to yours as if asking if he can touch you there. You nod shaky, opening your legs even more. Your clit throbs as he blows on to it, your body covered in goosebumps and your voice hitched.

He leans down and presses a soft kiss onto your navel, his thumb faintly rubbing your exposed clit. You let out a long moan, your eyes flutter almost completely closed. He smiles at your reactions, pulling your hips closer to him, he kisses down your hips to your thighs, licking a stripe from your upper thigh to your lower thigh. Surprising you with a kiss on your clit, a whimper escapes your throat.

"keep making those pretty noises for me, princess." He makes eye contact with you as he lowers his face to your pussy. Putting your clit in his mouth, flicking his tongue back and forth. Your hips buck and twitch and your hands go to your chest, you twist and rub your nipples as you moan and whimper his name.

he presses the pad of his finger against your entrance, awaiting your response. you nod your head with tears prickling your eyes, this is unlike any other feeling. not even the times when you touched yourself late at night to the thought of Lyney could compare to this feeling. he hums against your clit, and your hands fly to his hair, pushing him deeper- a gasp emits from his lips, and vibrates against your clit.

"Lyney, oh god..," you meet his wide eye expression, your hands buried in his blond hair. tugging gently on his scalp, he moans- he sounds so sweet muffled against your sex.

He presses his fingers against your entrance, one finger at a time to stretch you out. with how wet you are, he thinks it'll be easy to slip in and fill you up with his cock. your pleasure filled expressions and your whimpering and moans drive him to make you feel so good that you'll think of him for the next couple days. he pushes his finger inside of you, a grunt escapes his throat as he feels how tight you are, it goes directly to his cock. he looks up at you, your expression is needy and your eyes are on him, you are his audience and he'll put on the best performance he can for you.

he intertwines his free hand with yours, his tongue lapping all of your wetness. his finger thrusting in and out of you, soon enough he adds a second one and hears those delightful moans from your throat. you squeeze his hand and whimper his name so sweetly.

"L-Lyney,, it's so good.. you're doing so good.." you whimper, throwing your head back as he scissors his fingers in and out of your pussy.

he leans back, your wetness on his chin. "Yeah? My sweet love, you're doing so well for me." he coos, rubbing his thumb over your hand comfortingly.

you whimper as he speeds up, you feel that warmth pool in your tummy. you squeeze his hand and your body trembles, he smiles as he goes back down and licks your clit long and slow. he curls his fingers inside and he hits your sweet spot so lovingly, making your body wash over with pleasure and warmth, you let out a soft moan of his name.

"Is that it?" he whispers, doing it again and watching your reactions. sure enough, you start trembling even more, whimpering and whining praises.

he continues to suckle your clit and finger you, wanting you to cum first before anything. You're so close to your release, "Lyney.. ah, mm.., 'm so close," you mumble in-between gasps and moans.

"Good, let it come sweetheart, go on... cum for me-" as if he had you under his spell, your hips bucked into his mouth cutting him off. Your orgasm rocking your body deliciously. He helps you ride it out, kissing and licking your folds and clit.

He pulls his fingers away, almost tempted to lick them clean. He cups your cheek and kisses you sweetly. "You did so good, such a good girl..." he whispers against your lips. You chase after his lips when he pulls away, using his free hand to brush your wet hair away from your face. His gaze softens at your flushed, sweaty face. "You're all mine," he whispers, smiling.

You nod your head, still dazed from your nerve-rocking orgasm. You look at him, Lyney, your sweet magician. You press your lips against his forehead, "Your turn, right?" You whisper, referring to his— rather painful boner.

His eyes widen, he stammers for a moment. "Uh, well... I'm alright.. I promise, you look so sleepy and I don't want to make you overworked..." you kiss his lips gently.

"If you're comfortable going all the way, then I have no objections." You rub your cheek against his.

"Are you sure? A hundred percent sure?"

"Yes, my love."

He takes a deep breath, kissing your lips. Lifting your body up and positioning himself in-between your thighs. He holds one of your hands holding it close to his chest. He takes another deep breath, sitting up and putting a "show" on for you. Pulling his boxers past his hips, and sliding them off his thighs. Your eyes widen as his cock springs out from the tight fabric. Pressing against his tummy, his precum sticking and gushing out from his tip. He lets out a soft moan as he kicks the boxers off.

"d-dont stare.." he stutters, embarrassed... his breathing deep and heavy.

"s-sorry.. I'm just,— you're so pretty." You sit up, cupping his cheek; he leans into your touch, his heart fluttering against his ribcage like a butterfly.

He wraps his hand around his shaft, giving himself a few pumps. His eyes flutter close and he lets out soft moans, you're almost mesmerized at his actions.

"I.. I love you," he moans, his body flushed and his eyes meeting yours as he leans over you, and his arms at the sides of your head. His blunt tip brooding against your wet entrance.

your heart flutters when you hear those three sweet words escape his mouth. Wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him gently as one of his hands pull your thigh up to his hip.

"Can I go in?" He whispers, rubbing his tip against your clit.

You nod your head, whimpering as he circles your clit with his cock. a slight ting of anxiety in your chest as you watch him push his tip inside�� it hurts.

"L-Lyney..!" you whine, holding onto him. tears prick your eyes as he kisses your face, hushing your whines.

"I know i know, shhh.. it'll feel good in a second, i'll go so slow for you." he coos, running his hands through your messy bed head.

he holds your hip, gently guiding himself inside of you. His tip making it past the tight muscle and inside of your gummy walls. he lets out a strangled moan, leaning down and giving you open mouthed kisses. he rubs your chest and tummy as he pushes inside, filling you up to the brim. he stays as still as he can, kissing and whispering sweet nothings into your ears.

"you okay..?" he caresses your ear, gently twirling the hair behind it.

"m..mhm, you can move" you slide your hands over his shoulders, kissing him.

he kisses your lips, moving your thigh to his hips, you wrap your legs around him. one hand holding yours, and the other on your hip. he pulls out gently, only his tip remained inside of you. he softly thrusts his hips, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix. Lyney moans your name, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"F-Fuck, you're so tight.." he whimpers.

"it feels so good, aah.." you gasp and whine, pulling his hair gently with every thrust.

"I love you- i-,.. aah., i love you so much," Lyney whines and moans- muffled by the pillows next to your head.

"i love you too, L-Lyney," his pace starts to falter, becoming erractic, he feels himself getting closer to cumming.

"oh, oh... baby- i'm, aah. im so close." he whimpers kissing your neck, squeezing your hand in his.

you feel the warmth of that coil indicating how close you are to your own release, "Oh- me too, Lyneyy.." you whine holding onto him as he goes faster in making love to you.

"where- where do you want me to finish?" he moans, holding your face.

"u-um, i- i dont know.," your mind is going blank from the pleasure, "do it on my stomach.. or face- fuuck i dont know,," you moan his cock hitting your sweet spot.

he holds back his moans, biting his lip so hard it nearly draws blood. caring about you reaching your release than himself, he reaches down and rubs your clit in tight circles, his hand twitching occasionally at the over stimulation and edging himself. your moans echo the walls of your room and you arch your back as you finally cum all over his cock, your breathing is erratic and your body is so sore as his hips shake and twitch before he pulls out and pumps his cock a few times before finishing all over your stomach.

"ah,," he gasps out, laying on top of you. "you were so good for me.. i'm- aah..," he huffs in and out.

"you made me feel so good, Lyn" you whisper in his ear, giggling lazily as his ears become red.

You smile and run your fingers through his hair lovingly before he sits up and smiles at the beautiful mess you have become underneath him. "I'll go turn on the bath for us, yeah?" He asked pressing his lips to you so lovingly before exiting the room to start the bath.

You smile, nuzzing your head into the soft pillows. He truly stole your heart, yet again. How did you ever manage to become so lucky?

Lyney comes back into the room, picking you up like a bride and setting you in the bathtub filled with warm water. Gently washing you and kissing every inch of your face and neck in the process.

"hey,"

"hm?" He hums, scratching your scalp gently.

"you're amazing," you look up and kiss his chin gently, completely relaxing against your boyfriend.

---

IM FINALLY DONE,, OH. OH MY GOD. IM. AAAHHH IT TOOK ME A FULL DAY TO MAKE THIS,,, I LOVE IT AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT ANON

[danikamariewrites]

Ok so this but with rhysand and Azriel ddlg relationship like ong the size difference

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTLFC2m3s/

I can just imagine reader just like grabbing their hand like their thumb and dragging them to like different shops whenever they go out shopping or whenever they like go out in general that’s how Reader holds her hands so she doesn’t get lost because she’s short and they don’t want her to get lost Them always like picking her up and manhandling her because she’s so tiny like omg the height difference so hot 🥵

I could also see them being so overprotective over tiny reader and them teasing her calling her tiny tinny

Hold My Hand

Rhysriel x reader

A/n: i want azriel to tease me about being tiny so bad and I just want to hold both of their hands ughhh

Warnings: throuple, ddlg relationship, reader gives Az & Rhysie a scare, mentions of kidnapping

Rhys and Azriel had been putting off on taking you shopping for days now. They were either busy or a court emergency had come up. It was time to put your foot down.

Marching into Rhysand’s office you approached the situation with calm and cool head. Yelling at your mates would get you nothing but a rough punishment for yelling. So you bat your eye lashes, play with your fingers and put on your sweetest voice to get what you want.

Rhys and Az look at you with sweet smiles, ecstatic to see their baby girl so early in the morning. “Good morning, darling,” Rhys coos at you. Standing from his desk Rhys makes his way over to you. You look up at him, giving him your sweetest smile. He brings his large hands up to cup your face. “Morning,” you chirp.

Rhys’s smile widens as he places a small kiss on your forehead. “What can Az and I do for you this morning baby girl?” Oh you had him wrapped around your finger. “You and Azzy promised to take me shopping, and well it’s been a few days since you said you would. Do you think we can go today, please daddy?”

You pout up at him to seal the deal. From the twinkle in his violet eyes you knew you won. As you got lost in Rhys’s eyes you didn’t notice Azriel come up to you two. He gently runs a scared hand through your hair, giving you a loving look. “Did you want to go now, princess?” You let out a small hum and nod your head enthusiastically. You grab their hands and pull them from Rhys’s office, yapping about what stores you want to go to.

Walking around the city Rhys and Azriel each have one of your hands in their large ones. Making sure you stay close to them. The only time your mates let go is if you’re in a shop, picking up something you want or stopping to snack. In their free hands, Rhys and Azriel carry all your shopping bags.

Walking by the front of the latest shop the window display of fashion imported from the Winter Court distracts you. Ice blue, snowy white, and diamonds sparkle on the luxurious coat and matching winter dress you must have.

A new thing caught your eye out on the street. The crowd seemed to part just for you to reveal your favorite seasonal treat! You thought the frozen treat cart would be gone by now that fall was approaching. This was the perfect addition to your day!

Without a word to the boys you dashed out of the store and across the street. Eyeing the menu you tapped your fingers together, lipping your lips in excitement.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later that Azriel realized you were gone. His shadows darting out to find you. Rhys was having one of the shopkeepers box up the dress and coat in the window.

Azriel grabbed Rhys’s arm roughly, his eyes wide with panic. “What?” Rhys asks softly, his eyes roaming around the store for you. When he noticed that you weren’t here panicking set in. Azriel could hear Rhys’s heart rate pick up.

The two of them dashed around the store looking for you. With no sight of you they split up going to the shops next door.

Meeting back in the first shop and finding each other unsuccessful fear and anger set in. What if you were taken? Who would dare take you, the mate of a High Lord and the Nigh Court Spymaster?

The shopkeeper that was helping Rhys earlier timidly made her way over. Tapping Rhys on the shoulder he whips around. The poor girl jumps at the sudden movement. Not backing down she points out the window, “Is that who you’re looking for?”

A deep sigh leaves both males as their shoulders relax at the sight of you. Collecting the shopping bags they rush out to you.

Wrapped up in your conversation with the vendor you didn’t notice your mates behind you. Rhys cleared his throat causing you to jump. You turn, smiling up at your mates. “Rhys, Az look! The frozen treat cart is still out!” They raise their eyebrows at you, giving you a look that says ‘what have we told you about running off?’

You suck in your lips, eyes going wide. “I gotta go, I’ll see you later Harold.” You wave at him cheerily as Rhys grabs your hand pulling you away.

“I’m sorry,” you squeak out, clinging to your mates as you finish your treat. “I just got so excited daddy.” Az stops, holding your chin in his hand. “I won’t lie princess you scared us. Just remember to slow down and tell us next time, yeah.” You nod at him batting your eyelashes lovingly. Az leans down to steal a quick kiss from you.

“Now, is there anywhere else you would like to go?” You tap a finger against your chin, scrunching your nose in thought. You let out a hum, “Nah, I just wanna go home. I’m absolutely exhausted.” You exaggerate making your mates laugh.

“Come here, darling.” Rhys reaches out for you, letting you jump on his back. The whole way home you rested your head against Rhys’s shoulder so you could still see Azriel. Rhys would occasionally rub soothing circles on your thighs. By the time your home your eyes are half closed. Rhys lays you on the couch tucking you in with your favorite blanket.

They both kiss you on the head before starting to walk away. Your hand quickly reaches out for Azriel’s. Tugging on his fingers he looks down at you with a small smile. “What’s up princess?” “Will you stay for a bit?”

“Of course, my love.”

[flawdchaos]

Pinky Promises

Robert Rosenthal x Reader

Word Count - 1840

- this is a part 2/continuation of Spilled Drinks that was requested by anon.

Ever since the night Y/N had literally ran into Rosie at the bar she couldn’t seem to rid herself of a small smile, no matter what she did. When the girls made it back to their barracks that night, the ambushing of questions went on for well over an hour and even into the next morning.

“You have to talk to him again, Y/N. We both saw the way he looked at you when you were dancing.” Violet declared as she pinned her hair back under the white cap the Red Cross was gracious enough to bless them with. “You know Violet is right, Y/N. He’s already dreaming of a house back in the states and curly headed babies running around.”

“Hazel!” Y/N stopped midway through her dress buttons to lightly smack her friend on the arm, cheeks burning bright red. “I just met the man and for all we know, he doesn’t care and will never speak to me again.” Reaching down to grab her work satchel packed full of supplies.

“Well Y/N if that was the case I don’t believe Mr. Rosenthal would be waiting outside for you, would he?” Violet taunted, Y/N’s head snapping up to meet her friend's gaze. Violet stood peering out the window, fingers holding the blinds open enough to see outside. Hurriedly, Y/N rushed over the window trying her best to not trip over her own feet.

Sure enough there stood Robert Rosenthal - hands shoved in his pockets gaze searching the area around him.

“Go get him, tiger!” Hazel bent forward, laughing.

There truly was not much left in this world that could phase Y/N. She had seen it all in the cruel reality that was war. Men she had grown close to over the span of their visits to the nurses stations would come back battered and broken, some beyond repair - and despite all of what she saw, she was always able to ground herself. She had to. But now, she felt like a young school girl again. Her body was littered with anxiety - sweaty palms, shaking hands, and a racing heart. Why?

All because Robert Rosenthal was standing outside of the nursing barracks.

The squeaking of the barrack front door brought her back down to reality for a moment before the brightness of the sun had her quickly shielding her eyes.

“Rosie, is that you?” she more than obviously knew the answer but she still could not convince herself that it really was him.

“Uh, yeah”, he let out an awkward chuckle “I wanted to stop by this morning and see how things were going. Maybe walk you to the nurses station since I’m heading in that direction.” he was rambling. She stood, head cocked up to him, eyes squinting still from the sun. “I mean, unless, that makes you uh - uncomfortable.”

“I’d love the company. The commute can get a bit lonely.” that same small smile making its way back onto her face. Rosie extended his hand for Y/N to lead the way and with one quick glance back inside she saw her friends staring out at her, smiles plastered on each of their faces.

“What is on your itinerary, today?” Robert finally spoke up.

“The usual. Work until roughly 1900, probably later since there is a mission today and hope to make it back to the barracks in time to do some reading before I get up and do it all again tomorrow.” Y/N paused, kicking a few pebbles along the path before she continued. “How is the day looking for you?”

“Nothing too crazy but I am going up today.” he said nonchalantly, stopping Y/N in her place.

“You’re flying today?” she almost felt like throwing up. Maybe it was selfishness or chosen ignorance but Y/N had grown to hope the war wouldn’t need Robert anymore. She hoped she could protect him from it but all she could do was treat the wounds he would inevitably bring back to her.

“Yeah, debriefing starts at 0730. I’m heading over there once we get you where you need to be.” Her anxiety ridden mind could not help but imagine this was Rosie’s goodbye to her.

Y/N stepped forward to Rosie, grabbing his hands in hers as she looked up to maintain eye contact.

“I know I am just a nurse and you can’t tell me what you're doing up there or where you’re going but you have to pinky promise me you’ll be safe.” Dropping his left hand, she stuck her pinky out expectantly.

“Cross my heart.” he said, as their pinkies connected tightly.

As they continued along their walk, conversation came easily. The pair were still strangers by most accounts and each of them hated it. Y/N wanted to know everything there was to know about Robert Rosenthal and she had made it her plan to figure it out. Stopping outside the nurses station, Rosie removed his hat and began anxiously squeezing it in his hands.

“Be safe up there, fly boy.” Y/N teased, attempting to keep the mood as lightened as she could.

“As long as you do the same down here.” Y/N nodded.

“This mission will be my 20th. I’ve got a two day pass calling my name once my feet hit the ground. Let me treat you to a real introduction and dinner.” Rosie spoke quickly, nerves taking over the brunette.

“I would love that, Mr. Rosenthal.” rising on her tiptoes to plant a quick kiss against his cheek. “You know where I'll be when you get back.” With that, Y/N took a step back and hurried inside to her awaiting duties.

There wasn’t any other time that Y/N had remembered the clock dragging by so slowly. The seconds ticking by was beginning to drive her up the wall and she had to busy herself with random duties. It was while she was restocking the gauze that she heard the all too familiar rumble of the engines overhead. She couldn’t make it to the window to count the returning planes but she hoped, with all her being, every single one of them returned. Hazel’s blonde curls popped around the closet corner, an all too familiar sign that the once quiet med bay was about to pure, unadulterated chaos.

“We’ve got boys already headed our way.” Hazel spoke softly, as if she tried to lessen the blow.

“How bad?” Y/N asked but was only met with a small head shake from the blonde - it was never a good sign.

When Y/N finally saw Robert Rosenthal, he appeared in the med bay doors adorning some cuts and scrapes across his face.

“I told you I would make it back, pretty lady. My leave starts at 0700 sharp. Let’s go to London.”

It was pure luck that her days off coincided with Rosie’s rendezvous and that Helen and Violet were great at covering for their friend. The train ride was where Y/N finally got to the bottom of who Robert Rosenthal truly was. Shortly after taking their seats, Y/N couldn’t help but start to prod.

“Alright, tell me everything Mr. Rosenthal. Give me all the dirty details.”, her cheeks flushed bright red ,”uh- not like that i mean tell me - uh - tell me something no one else knows about you or something.” She could have thrown herself off of the moving train at that point but Rosie just flashed her a smile and started speaking.

“Robert Rosenthal, from Brooklyn, New York. I was working in law before all this mess. I loved it. Graduated top of my class actually. But after Pearl Harbor, I couldn’t keep sitting on my ass while my country needed me so - I enlisted.”

“No secret wife or kids back at home?” Y/N poked.

“No ma’am. It’s just me. And - uh - as far as something no one on this side of the world knows about me - I was the captain for my college’s baseball team. I was trying to be the next DiMaggio.” a small chuckle escaping him as he finished his sentence. “Now what about you?” he asked, softly bumping his shoulder up against the girls.

“Nothing too crazy for me. I always loved helping folks, I was told my whole life I was meant to be a nurse. Once we started fighting this fight I knew I had to volunteer - sorta like you I guess. I’m not dropping bombs or toting a gun but knowing I patch you all up before you get back in the saddle is enough for me.” she sighed, turning up to glance at Rosie.

“And no secret husband out at war or kids back at home?” Rosie mimicked her early question. Y/N snorted, shaking her head. “God no, Robert. Where I’m from I don’t turn heads.” He took a moment to look at her, maintaining eye contact before he took his large hand and grasped over hers before pulling them on to his lap.

“Well Y/N Y/L/N you turned mine - and maybe after we get all this nonsense settled with the bad guys, I can give you a tour of Brooklyn. I know just the place that I’d love to take you dancing.”

“I’m most certainly holding you to it but for now, let’s explore London.” raising her free hand to the platform approaching quickly.

“Yes ma’am. How would you feel about a picnic?”

“That sounds absolutely lovely.”

Rosie stood up as soon as the train hissed to a stop, busying himself with gathering the overnight bags each of them had packed. He stubbornly insisted on carrying both to the hotel around the corner. Y/N knew they would have to enter as colleagues and nothing more, separating as they went to their respective rooms to drop off their bags before meeting again in the hallway.

“Let’s go find sandwiches.” he spoke quietly and Y/N nodded, falling in line behind him as they walked past the lobby and out to the streets. For the first time Y/N really took in the size of the city around her and she couldn’t even help that her jaw was almost to the floor. The Germans had done their share of damage but it didn’t lessen the experience for her at all.

“What is it, Y/N?” Rosie questioned, taking a step towards her.

“I’ve never seen a city like this before. This is just - wow.” Rosie broke out into an ear-to-ear grin. “It is awesome but wait until I take you to Brooklyn. We’ll catch the train to New York City and I’ll make sure you take the ferry to see the Statue of Liberty.”

“You promise?” Y/N broke from her trance to look up as Rosie smiled and turned to her fully, sticking out her left hand.

“I pinky promise.” he said, watching as Y/N connected their hands tightly. “You better believe it. I haven’t broken a promise yet.”

AUTHORS NOTE - hi friends, i hope everyone enjoyed this little part two to spilled drinks. there may be a part 3 to this little series if it’s wanted. please feel free to give me feedback or more requests as my inbox as open. i’m still new to this so i appreciate anything :)

[hocuspocusbabyy]

I’m sorry but just IMAGINE Eloise and Cressida as parents?!

Cressida would 100% be a full blown PTA mum, planning all the best events for her children’s school.

Eloise would inevitably be dragged along to help decorate and somehow end up agreeing the directing the school play - because she’s read the book a MILLION times! And “Couldn’t possibly let them butcher it.”

They’d have two daughters and a son. Aged, 5, 3 and 6 months. Lunet, Maeve and Benedict Jr.

Eloise would try sneaking treats that Cressida had baked for a fundraiser. Getting caught with frosting on her mouth, she swears blind to her wife she a no idea where it came from.

Cressida baking special cookies just for Eloise to eat! 😭

Eloise would read to the children every night, Cressida insisting she’s just there to tuck them in but ultimately sat across the bottom of the bed to listen too.

Cressida will often insist Eloise continues reading despite the fact the kids are already asleep, and they will have to reread that chapter again the next evening!

Uncle Benedict would love taking care of the children so their mothers may enjoy a walk or weekend alone 🥹 “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! Though I suppose that doesn’t leave a lot.”

Uncle Colin and Aunt Pen would already arrive with an array of wonderful gifts. Eloise has a shelf of trinkets, many from Cressida and her family. Stemming from rocks, sea shells and pressed flowers to tiny figurines and bottles of sand from Colin’s travels.

Eloise secretly adores that Cressida insists on hanging Benedict’s painting’s in their home.

Eloise will often return home to Cressida and Violet sharing tea in the garden - Violet cannot go more than a few days without visiting her grandchildren.

Aunt Daphne and Cressida would take great pride in buying the children the cutest shoes and outfits - much to Eloise’s dismay when she finds her youngest in a ‘hideous’ bonnet. “Well what has she got this monstrosity on her head for? Oh my sweet girl don’t worry mummy will protect you from the taffeta.”

Eloise often getting emotional when spending time alone with her wife and children, free of any distractions. Forgoing her book to simple watch Cressida and their toddler play in the grass with wooden blocks.

Cressida tired at the breakfast table a child on either knee, as Elouise and their eldest read the newspaper out loud. Gently kissing their temples and stirring her tea.

Eloise and Cressida often indulging in a sneaky cigarette together at the end of a long week. Hidden out on the balcony to their room - their children fast asleep in the next room. Often shushing one another when their giggling threatens to wake them.

Eloise nearly having a ‘heart attack’ seeing her child on a horse for the first time, insisting her wife is insane and she’d prefer both ‘her girls’ back on the ground.

Cressida being the good cop, Eloise bad cop in many matters. I truly believe Cressida would be the biggest softy towards their children.

Eloise helping the children with their school work, whilst Cressida knits across the room (Cressida is utterly no help academically.)

Violet often insisting on taking the children for the evening because her home is simply ‘too big’ and Cressida and Eloise are ‘still young’.

Cressida and Eloise often opting to enjoy their meals in the form of picnic. Packing up the children to spend the evening down by the river.

Cressida rolling up her sleeves and teaching the children to skim stones.

Eloise sat waiting to aid them all in drying off when they’re done. The baby resting upon her chest.

Eloise often scolding Cressida more than the children, her wife simply brushing her off with terms of endearment or a kiss.

Cressida taking birthdays very seriously, waking up early to decorate the house. They keep Violets birthday hat tradition well alive. Eloise made her one their first birthday spent together and she still has it. Violet cried when they did the same for her.

The entire family often visit for long weekends and dinners - Eloise and Cressida opted to live in the country where there is more privacy and space for them.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Walls Are Crumbling: Part 2

Fandom: Bridgerton

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: You and Benedict announce your engagement to the rest of the Bridgerton family. They're ecstatic for you, as Benedict told you they'd be. But you still can't help but feel guilty for bringing Benedict into your mess.

A/N: oh no. i guess im gonna turn this into a mini series...

Part 1

Everyone in the sitting room cheers after you and Benedict announce your engagement. Anthony and Kate give the pair of you soft smiles and knowing looks. Of course Anthony told his wife. He could never hide anything from her.

"Well, I must say this isn't too much of a surprise," Violet Bridgerton stands from her spot and walks towards you, "We all had a feeling this was going to happen eventually."

You smile at the woman you saw as another mother, "Trust me, Violet, I'm just as surprised as you are."

Benedict gives you a nudge, silently telling you to shush. He then speaks up, "Yes, it seemed that both of us had been harboring feelings for each other for a long time. Didn't see a reason as to why we needed to prolong marriage. Therefore, in month's time, we seek to marry."

Eloise grimaces, "But that's so soon."

Benedict's hand intertwines in yours, "Well, Eloise, I've waited too long to have Y/N as mine, so the sooner we wed, the better."

"But not too soon," you pointedly say, "which is why we decided in month's time," you add, just in case someone else suggests you two marry today, like Anthony did last night.

"Did you tell your mother already, Y/N, dear?" Violet asks curiously.

You nod, "Yes, and it went as you'd expect it to."

The dowager viscountess gives you a tight lip look. She wasn't fond of your mother and how she treats you. She especially doesn't like how she viewed your friendship with Benedict as a waste.

"Second sons have nothing to offer," she's said often.

Kate approaches you, arm looping through yours, "Sorry, brother-in-law, may I steal her for a moment?"

Benedict cocks a brow at you, silently asking if you'll be okay. You nod, "I'll be back," you let go of his hand and follow Kate, whom is guiding you outside of the sitting room and into the hall. There, she asks you to tell her everything, since Anthony only gave her bits and pieces.

While you and the Viscountess talk, Anthony joins his younger brother, "Do you really think you should do this?"

Benedict looks at his brother with annoyance on his face, "If I don't, she'd be left off to her own. I can't let that happen, especially with a child on the way."

"A child that isn't even yours, brother."

He shakes his head and shrugs, "I don't care. I will love them as my own. They are part Y/N, so surely, I'd love them." He then scowls, "Lord Mattias is a coward for this."

"I'd argue that you're just as cowardly," Anthony murmurs, a hint of a smirk on his lips, "Marrying the woman you love and yet not even telling her how you feel."

Benedict scoffs, "As if I should be taking advice from you on how to handle love," he cocks a brow at his older brother, knowing the debacle between him, Kate, and Edwina.

Anthony's jaw clenches and he doesn't say another word, which leaves Benedict to chuckle. He pats his brother on the shoulder, "I'll tell her...eventually. Things are going to be chaotic for her already. I don't want to cause her any more stress. It'll be bad for her and the baby."

Anthony hums and walks away from Benedict, deciding to stand beside Colin, whom is sitting on chaise lounge chair.

__________________________

1 Month Later

You managed to have wedding dress made fairly quickly. Well, Lady Danbury definitely put in a good word for you that helped speed up the process. Your wedding, albeit not ideal, was still perfect. Although your words of love to Benedict during the ceremony were....not completely true, you still found yourself tearing up when Benedict repeated his vows to you. You thought marrying your closest friend would be weird, but throughout the duration of the month leading up to the wedding, it became less of that and more comforting.

Time and time again did Benedict reassure he wasn't going to leave you behind for the wolves, that he'd be there for you and for the baby. That you'd be well taken care of.

Post-wedding, the dinner was a bit overwhelming. So many people were congratulating you, echoing the same words everyone else had "We all knew this would happen eventually". But what exactly did that mean? Sure, a few years ago, you harbored feelings for Benedict, but did everyone see it? Benedict couldn't have seen it too, right?

"Y/N?" he squeezes your hand and you didn't even realize he was holding it.

You look up from your plate, "Hm? Sorry."

"Are you alright?"

"I-I think I'd like some air," you whisper back to him.

"Would you like me to come with you?"

You're hesitant to say yes, but your head moves before your mouth does. You're nodding and Benedict is immediately on his feet and excuses the both of you. Everyone watches the two of you exit the dining room, the chatter continues as you leave.

Benedict silently follows you to the tree that has the swings you two used to play on when you were young. once sat on one of the swings, your hand immediately going to your belly. You've been doing that a lot in these past weeks, just not in front of others beside Anthony and Benedict.

"Is something wrong?" he nods to your hand on your belly.

You shake your head, "Not with the baby, no. But I just-" you let out another deep breath, "This is all so much. I-I-" your eyes are tearing up, "I don't like that I've brought you into my mess."

Benedict kneels before you and grabs your hands into his, "Y/N, listen to me, you did not force me to do this. I offered to marry you because I care about you and I'd hate for anything bad to happen to you. You are my dearest friend. I won't let anything bad happen to you. Ever. Do you understand me?" thumbs away your tears as you nod, "Good." He stands up and kisses your head, "Do you want to go back?"

"Can we stay here for a little longer?"

"Whatever my wife wants."

"I have to get used to hearing that," you mumble as you start to slowly move yourself back and forth on the swing.

Benedict watches you with soft eyes, eventually moving himself on the swing.

[fayes-fics]

Moments: Sweet and Spice

Moments Masterpost

Pairing: Benedict Bridgeton x fem!reader

Summary: One-shot set in the Moments universe. Benedict introduces his new baby daughter Isobel to his family (aka the sweet), and he and his wife flirt (aka the spice).

Artwork credit: @margowritesthings

Warnings: not much... a few suggestive lines of dialogue but otherwise all fluff.

Word Count: 1.5k

Author’s Note: Unbetaed. This is an Anon request fill (ask HERE) about Benedict introducing his baby daughter to his family, that I thought would fit well in the Moments universe. Enjoy! <3

As you pull up outside Aubrey Hall, James is sleeping in Benedict’s lap, and baby Isobel is asleep in your arms, the gentle rocking motion of the carriage soporific. It’s been a long journey from Wiltshire to Kent, and it is now early evening in late summer, dusk beginning to settle in.

“I don’t want to wake him,” Benedict murmurs, gently petting his six-year-old son's hair. 

“It is late,” you point out softly. “If you can lift him without waking him, perhaps we can get both our children to our guest rooms undisturbed?”

“Darling, I do so love your optimism,” he chuckles. “You do know everyone will be clambering to meet our new arrival, especially my mother,” he points out as little Isobel moves slightly in her sleep. 

“Can it not wait until morning? Surely they are all busy with evening pastimes, perhaps a spirited round of bridge?” You shrug.

Just then, Violet appears on the front steps, the sound of your approach obviously alerting the household to your arrival. 

The jerk of the carriage halting awakens James with a start, and Isobel's eyes fly open, large and concerned.

“So much for that plan,” your tone is sardonic as you brush your daughter's cheek reassuringly with your finger. She calms instantly. 

“Look at my mother,” Benedict says, briefly waving through the window. “She is practically beside herself to meet the next of her grandchildren.”

She does indeed look ebullient, rocking on her heels.

A few moments later, as the footmen open your carriage, James, as he did eight months earlier at your Christmas visit, leaps out and runs to his grandmother for a hug. She obliges, but as she does so, you can see her attention is on you, craning her neck to catch sight of Isobel.

Benedict assists you out of the carriage with a steady hand and then looks briefly confused as you hand him Isobel. 

“Go introduce your daughter to all of her family,” you smile, giving him a peck on the cheek. “I will ensure James does not feel left out.” 

The look he shoots you is pure devotion. 

“You can thank me later if you like,” you whisper cheekily with a wink, unable to resist flirting with your handsome husband; something about the sight of him holding your daughter so very stirring. 

His mouth falls open even as his pupils dilate rapidly. “You say such things before our daughter’s very ears?!” he gasps in mock indignation.

“Oh please, as if that is not the entire reason she exists,” you volley back, twisting your mouth into an amused pout as you walk, shoulders touching, towards the house.

“This conversation is not over, my dear…” he warns in a low tone that makes a tiny thrill zip down your spine just before you pull up in front of Violet with warm smiles.

“Mother,” Benedict beams with pride, “meet Isobel Violet Bridgerton.”

Violet’s hand flies to her mouth, and her eyes are immediately glassy. 

She kisses Benedict’s cheek and then looks down at the bundle in his arms, just three months old.

“Oh! She is the most beautiful creature!” She enthuses, “may I?” She gestures to take Isobel and Benedict’s hands her over.

“Hello, my lovely.” Violet coos, all of her attention on the babe as she walks indoors.

James patiently stands aside, and you crouch next to him, producing a bonbon from a sachet in your reticule.

“This is because you are such a wonderful big brother, James,” you smile as his face lights up.

“Thank you, Mummy!” He gratefully takes the treat and your hand as you enter the house.

There is a rapturous greeting as you walk into the drawing room, where the extended family is all gathered.

As you take a seat with James and wrap your arm around him, you watch as Benedict retrieves his daughter from his mother and stands in the middle of the room, holding her proudly in front of his siblings and their families. 

“This is my sweet, sweet baby girl, Isobel,” he announces to all but looking down devotedly at her as he says it, running a finger down one of her apple cheeks.

Again, he positively beams with pride as each person showers compliments and congratulations. You are so happy he gets to have this moment that he missed with his son. Your hand flexes on James' shoulder as you think it.

“What a darling!” Kate exclaims as she and Anthony move in first to take a closer look. 

“Congratulations, brother,” Anthony nods. “Mark my words, you shall never sleep another night of your life peacefully now you have a daughter,” he adds dryly as Kate swats his arm.

“Pay him no mind,” she breezes, “Isobel will be no trouble.”

“It’s the suitors I’m more concerned about,” Anthony responds, looking over at his own daughter, barely five, as Kate rolls her eyes at the absurdity of his concerns running at least ten years ahead of time.

“She is as beautiful as her mother, so I suppose I should ensure I stay fighting fit for when that time comes,” Benedict responds lightly, looking over to you.

“Do you not wish to join Benedict, my dear?” Violet asks as she takes a seat opposite you.

You cut your eyes pointedly to James, and she nods her understanding. Being the mother of eight, she is more than aware of the juggling act of ensuring older siblings do not feel left out with a new arrival.

“This is his first… baby girl,” you say pointedly, knowing she understands why you chose that phrasing with James present. “He deserves the spotlight.”

She clasps her hand over her heart, and her eyes are filled with emotion. “I could not ask for a more wonderful daughter-in-law or match for my son,” she affirms, reaching out and grasping your hand briefly.

“Thank you, Violet,” you demure, as both of your eyes cut back to that very man, now standing with arguably his favourite sibling.

“You made a good one there, brother,” Eloise concedes, “as in a girl who does not look at all like you, a man.”

He pulls his trademark face at Eloise, making her grin a satisfied smirk. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” you pipe up from across the room, “those are Benedict’s eyes, not mine.”

Initially, when she was born, Isobel’s eyes were like yours, but, as sometimes happens with babies, her eyes changed over the intervening weeks. Now it’s Benedict’s eyes that stare up at you every time she suckles from your body. The very same as it was with James.

Eloise seems to lean in and confirms your diagnosis with a conciliatory nod towards you.

“Ah, well, better luck next time,” she jests and returns to her book, even though you can tell she is secretly proud of her older brother.

Isobel is as good as gold as she is passed around the other family members, Simon and Daphne, Colin and Penelope, and even Francesca and Michael, whom you have only met briefly. 

By the time Hyacinth and Gregory bound over, Isobel is starting to fuss, and with a kiss to James’ hair and a murmur that you will be right back, you get up and join your husband, taking Isobel from him and soothing her with a rocking motion.

“I believe someone may be hungry and overtired and getting a touch fussy,” you pronounce.

“Yes, but enough about your husband, what of baby Isobel?” Penelope barbs and everyone laughs loudly; another new Brigderton wife who is more than up to the task of holding their own.

To keep up with the fun, you touch Benedict’s forehead as if taking his temperature. “There there, you are just fine, my darling. Be a good boy for your family,” you joke as they laugh harder.

He leans in. “I’ll be a good boy if you give me that thank you you promised me,”  he murmurs in your ear, their laughter drowning out the dusky words.

And just like that, your body flushes warm, and you stare at him enrapt, wanting nothing more than to be alone with him, even as your baby girl fusses in your arms.

“Good Christ. Get a room, you two,” Anthony grouses, but it’s entirely without heat, knowing the passion runs just as deep in his marriage, even with three children now.

“We would love to, brother,” Benedict quips. “Perhaps now would be a good time for you to appoint us a room?”

“Your belongings have already been taken there from your carriage,” Anthony replies smugly. “Third door on your left up the grand staircase. Your children have the adjoining nursery with your nanny, who is already there, as I understand.”

“Thank you, Anthony,” you nod, then turn your attention to your husband. “Stay here with your family; I will feed Isobel and put James to bed,” you smile at him.

“I will be there, anon,” he promises, kissing Isobel on the head and then dropping a kiss on your temple. “And I hope you are very naked when I arrive, darling,” he adds, sotto voce.

Some Moments are very auspicious indeed.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @Mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky

[sad-scarred-sassy]

“Do you love him?” The question would play in her mind while holding her husband’s hand.

“Do you love him?” It would plague her thoughts while weakly smiling at him when he “gifted” her yet another piece of land she had no use for.

“Do you love him?” She would ask herself while making love to him, mumbling his name in the throes of passion.

“Do you love him?” When she would catch him picking up their baby, smiling down at him.

“Do you love him?” When crimes against females in the Hewn City escalated to inconceivable heights, and she begged him to let her try to help until he finally gave in.

“Do you love him?” When he yet again disrespected her sisters, and she had to try to talk some sense into him.

“Do you love him?” When she caught herself getting swayed by his words again.

Do you love him?

________________

“I went to Spring” She blurted out in the middle of their quiet dinner.

Rhys’ temper was usually controlled and calculated. Usually.

He dropped the silver fork onto the plate and the sound echoed through the empty halls of their home, violently breaking the sepulchral silence of their too big of a mansion. Even bigger and lonelier now that Elain had left.

His violet eyes studied her, other than the small tick on his perfect eyebrows, his face gave nothing away.

He picked up his glass of wine and looked at it before taking a sip. Feyre had decided to tell him, not because she felt guilty, even though she did, but because she wanted things to be better. She was tired of living a half life, she was tired of hearing the same old thing.

“All I do is for you and our son”

“I already told you why I made the decisions I made, do you think I’m a monster? Is that it?”

“What else do I have to give so that you finally see all I do is because I love you?”

She realized with no little amount of dread, that if she wanted him to finally speak frankly to her, then she would also have to do that. She would tell him, show him through her mind if she had to, but for the love of all that was right, she needed him to talk to her like she was a person, like he actually respected her.

She placed her fork and knife on the table, raised her napkin to her mouth, then took her glass of wine, one of the best wines in the Night Court, and drank. All the while Rhys’ eyes were fixed on her, no words coming from him still.

“Well?” He finally asked. “What could you possibly have to do in the Spring Court, may I ask?”

“I went to see Tamlin” She said as a matter of fact.

Rhys gave a short laugh, his eyes roving her face like a cat fixed on its prey. “Is this a pattern for you, Feyre darling? Did my time with you run out so you need to go back to the spare? Send me a raven when his time is up again so I can pick you up” He threw the napkin he had on his lap and stood up from the table, death and shadows emanating from him, engulfing him as he began to leave.

“I did not go there for that” She stood as well. He swirled and began striding towards her.

“Oh really?”

“Yes. I went there because I needed answers. Answers you were not giving me” She stood tall as he reached her, cold darkness engulfing her, daring her to succumb to him. She refused.

“How cute. Did you get your blessed answers from the Spring imbecile? Did he satisfy you, my love?” His eyes were vicious, almost feral. She had seen Rhys mad before, but never like this.

“He was honest with me” She said, not flinching at his dark energy.

“Oh?” He cocked his head, eyes digging into hers. “Is that a way of suggesting I haven’t been?” Already she felt the strain of trying to read him, the mental labour of having to analyze everything he said, to be on the lookout for hidden ways he could be trying to sway her.

“You know you haven’t Rhys” She fisted her hands, nails digging into the pads of her palm painfully. “Stop treating me like I’m stupid” She felt her jaw tremble slightly.

“When have I treated you like that, Feyre?” He snapped. “When I made you High Lady?” A sneer appeared on his face. “When I trusted you with the wellbeing of my court?”

“You’re doing it again!” She raged. “Stop shoving that on my face. I did not ask to be High Lady! I did not ask for any of this!”

“Oh but you did. You begged me to save you, you were so grateful when I did, you thrived in your power. Now you resent me for giving you what you asked for?”

“You- you made me want these things” She said more weakly. She had thought about this, why did it sound stupid coming out of her mouth now?

“I did no such thing” He lowered his voice. “You’re not stupid, Feyre. You know I did no such thing” He ran his hands through his short hair.

“Why did you go to him?” He looked at her now, devastation in his eyes. She felt the unstoppable urge to reassure him, to promise him it wasn’t what he thought it was. Something in her gut stopped her.

“I just needed to hear him out” She conceded.

“Why?” He asked again. “Is this life not enough for you?” He craddled her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. She saw her mate, the sadness and despair in his eyes, but somehow something was missing. “Am I not enough? Are we not enough?” He looked up for a second, towards the baby sleeping in his room.

“Why didn’t you give me the choice, Rhys?” She felt the tears forming around her eyes.

“I always gave you-“

“You didn’t tell me I would die” She choked.

He let go of her and turned to pinch the bridge of his nose. “This again, Feyre. We already discussed this to exhaustion”

“You never told me the truth” She was full on crying, arms around herself, shaking.

“What truth? What truth do you want? Huh?” He turned to her again. “Do you think I wanted you dead?”

“You wanted the child more than anything” She said. “I could have shifted but you didn’t give me the choice!”

“If you are not remembering correctly, I would have died with you! How would I want that?”

“It isn’t beyond you to put yourself at risk over your own objectives” She snapped. Something in his eyes shifted.

“Is that what you think of me?” He frowned, looking at her like she was a monster he had never noticed before. “Is that why you ran away to Spring in the middle of the night the first chance you had?”

His eyes were set on her, knowing.

That was it, in his eyes she had seen his sadness, his anger, his despair. Only one thing had been missing—surprise, shock. Looking at him then, the realization hit her like a slap in the face.

“You knew” She said softly, almost to herself. There was a flicker in his star flecked eyes. “You knew” she repeated, more strongly.

And just like that, Rhys’ whole expression changed in a second, a cold gaze falling on its place, one she had only seen directed at members of the Court of Nightmares, the one he had called his mask. She felt a chill run up her spine.

“I did” He admitted.

“H-how?” She stuttered.

“Azriel followed you that night, to his cottage” He glanced at his arm, picking at a speck of dust on his otherwise impeccable suit. “I had him watch you, since you weren’t trusting me inside your mind anymore”

She was so shocked she couldn’t even cry anymore. She only stared at him, agape.

He sighed. “You wanted me to speak frankly, didn’t you?”

“Why didn’t you do anything?” She found herself asking.

“There was nothing to be done, my darling” He frowned his brows slightly. “All you needed was a bit more work to distract you from your escapades, since our own child wouldn’t do it”

Another blow to her world. “The Hewn City crimes” She snapped her eyes back towards him in disgust.

“Now before you jump to conclusions, no, I didn’t somehow orchestrate the crimes just for my lovely wife to have something to fixate on instead of galavanting in an enemy court with her ex” He looked down his nose at her. He smiled at her, a demonic smile. “The crimes are a natural occurrence I just made you aware of them”

She searched his face, but could not find the male she thought she loved anywhere.

“Who are you?” She croaked.

“I’m your mate, I’m your equal”

“We are nothing alike” Her fists trembled.

“Oh, but we are, Feyre darling” He placed his finger on her chin and lifted her face. “Go, run to your ruined golden prince, tell him all the oh-so-awful things your evil mate has ever done to you, then come back to me and keep on enjoying the grand life I gave you”

“I will leave you” Her voice cracked.

“Be my guest” He said, a cold energy emanated from him, blasting the door of the mansion open. Her breath trembled.

He stared at her, waiting. Waiting for something they both knew would not come.

“You won’t” He said so softly, so confidently. “Stop deluding yourself thinking you had no part in the consequences of your life. You chose me” He said sharply, his cold breath hitting her face harshly. “You knew who I was, you always knew. You love me. I gave you everything” His fingers dug onto her chin, violet eyes still pinned on hers, as if trying to get inside her mind and control her thoughts. She wondered now if he had ever dared to do that.

With a sickening, oily feeling, she realized he was right. He had given her everything, while destroying everything she had been, reducing her to this adherence to his life, his world.

“Do you love me?” She asked him at last, silent tears streaming down her face.

His face was impassive for a moment, staring at her. He breathed a soft laugh through his nose.

“Did you ask him the same question?” He let go of her face.

“Answer me”

“He probably said he does, didn’t he?” He laughed humorlessly. “Of course that pathetic fuck would still be crawling for you, even after you dragged him through the mud”

“Answer the fucking question Rhys!” She felt the fire inside of her roar, the flames on the candles and chimneys lifting as she shouted at him.

“Of course I love you, is it not fucking obvious, Feyre?” He roared back. “You wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t!”

The room was quiet except for their raging breaths. Rhysand had finally showed her what he truly was, she had wanted him to, so why did she feel even more trapped and lonely than before?

“You’re right I won’t leave you” She swiped her wet cheeks, in an attempt to regain the last scraps of dignity she had left. “I won’t ever leave you” She slumped her shoulders.

“No, you won’t” He said, sounding defeated as well.

She left him standing there that night, feeling how her whole world crumbled beneath her feet. She spent the next weeks crying herself to sleep, until she didn’t have any more crying inside of her. She let him hold her still, even if part of her could not stand it, she needed the comfort.

So she stayed, and she faced her reality, and she accepted it. Accepted him and his cruel love. He was right, they were mates, they were equal, even if she didn’t feel it most of the time. It was all she had left, even if a small part of her still wanted her to fight, to riot. She focused on the good.

On the feel of his hand when she held it.

On the heat of his touch when he pleasured her.

On the work that he had allowed her to lose herself in.

On the sound of her baby’s laugh when he held him.

On the warmth of the family she had chosen.

She told herself it was enough until it was.

She did not go to Spring again.

———————————-

Read the previous parts on AO3

[writtenfangirl]

The Light: Epilogue

I wanted to see if it was possible for me to write the sweetest, most tooth-rotting fic I could ever write and I did.

Also, can I just say, I genuinely love reading people’s comments and reblogs on my fics. I write my fics as a hobby and it honestly astounds me that there are people out there who enjoy reading the things I write. It’s a privilege, seriously.

Part 1

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a large fortune, must be in want of a wife. However—“

“That is how you truly know this novel is fiction,” Benedict remarked, interrupting Y/N as she read from the book. She was laying on his lap, her back against the grass as the tree they leaned against shielded her eyes from the harsh rays of the sun. It was a beautiful day in the countryside, the breeze cool despite the heat of summer. Aubrey Hall sat below them, a towering figure despite their place on the crest of a hill. She could almost see the other Bridgertons out in the lawn, lazing about and spending the day together. Benedict had strictly forbade them from approaching them today and though she loved the other Bridgertons, the quiet was a welcome respite.

They’d taken a day together, just the two of them, after Y/N’s mother had written to her about her father’s current temperament. He still refuses to acknowledge Y/N’s existence after she refused to marry the Duke of Albany and chose to marry Benedict instead and Y/N’s father had told her mother that any child borne of their marriage will not be his grandchild. The letter had brought Y/N great pain and Benedict, in an effort to make Y/N feel better, had prepared a picnic for them and a whole day without responsibilities or talks of grandchildren and babies.

Because children was something at the forefront of every person’s mind when they came upon a childless wedded couple and Y/N’s and Benedict’s lack of a child had begun to worry Violet, especially as they had been married for a year. Despite repeatedly telling Violet not to worry too much about it as they were both very young and wanted to spend the early days of their marriage child-free, she did worry.

Y/N loved the Bridgertons like they were her own family but she missed the time she spent alone with her husband. Hence, Benedict’s idea of a picnic, just the two of them.

“And why is that?” She asked as she brought the book down and quirked a brow.

“I have met a great many men who have large fortunes, most of whom do not wish to marry.”

“What an astute observation, my love.“

“Do you mean to treat me with sarcasm, Mrs. Bridgerton?” Benedict’s brow was raised high but there was no denying the amused grin pulling at his lips.

“I treat you only with the best of my affections.” But her teasing smirk betrayed her true intentions. “Now, am I allowed to continue my reading or do you intend to interrupt me once again?”

Benedict leaned his head back, before tapping a finger against his chin. “Hmm. As much as I enjoy the sound of your voice, I do believe there are other activities better suited to it than reading. Although, if I were to interrupt you again, what, perhaps, would be the consequences of such an action?”

“Separate bedrooms.” Y/N’s grin could only be called devilish. She knew how much Benedict detested sleeping in separate rooms. They tried it the first two nights of their marriage before he declared that such an action was more akin to torture than rest. Ever since then, they occupied a single bedroom and it will remain that way until one of them perishes.

“What a grave consequence to such a small infraction. Very well then, my love. Continue your reading. I’d hate to have to learn to tolerate separate bedrooms.” Benedict’s face scrunched up in distaste.

“If we manage to read through the first three chapters, I will sit for you for an hour.”

Benedict’s face lightened, an almost giddy expression on his face. “Really?”

Y/N nodded, a smile gracing her lips. He’d been begging her for the past three days to once again sit for a painting as he thought the backdrop of Aubrey Hall would be beautiful, and though Y/N loved Benedict, sitting for a painting was always painful for her back. It took almost all of her concentration to sit still for the hours necessary to complete the painting and by the end of it, Y/N needed a very long and warm bath.

“Why you always choose me to be your subject is beyond me,” she said with a sniffle, “especially since my face now stands in the National Art Museum because of you. Is one painting of me not enough?”

“You have a very beautiful face. It should be shared with all of England.”

“You know how I hate myself in paintings.”

“How unfortunate for you to have married an artist enraptured by your looks.” This time, it was Benedict who’d let sarcasm run his tone, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

“I adore art and so a painter for a husband was the natural choice. I simply do not like myself in paintings. I love your landscapes and your portraits of others but not of me.”

Benedict frowned, a serious tone creeping on his voice. “You, my love, are a thing of beauty. The paintings I make of you will always be my favorite. When I one day perish, it is my fervent hope that my paintings of you will be the ones that live on. That it is my paintings of you that the art students of tomorrow will study, that they may learn how passion and love can heighten the beauty of one’s art. Anyone can paint a sunset or draw a landscape but no one else can paint my wife but me.”

She will never ever be used to Benedict’s sudden declarations of love. She had married an artist, that much was true but sometimes, she imagined Benedict could be a poet with the way he articulated his love for her.

“You are incorrigible, Benedict Bridgerton.” But her words couldn’t hide the rising blush of her cheeks nor could it hide the bashful smile creeping at her lips.

“For you, my love? Always.” Benedict said with that crooked grin before bending down and placing a soft kiss on her forehead. “Now make haste and finish your chapters before the sun disappears on us. When I paint you, I want it captured by the light. Such beauty should never be kept in the dark.”

She didn’t pretend to act irate anymore. Instead she kept reading until she ended at chapter three. And when she was done, the sun was still high in the sky yet her husband’s face had turned contemplative.

“I have finished. Shell we go inside that you may now paint?”

But Benedict only frowned, his dark brows meeting together at the center of his face, his bottom lip pushed into a pout.

“Whatever is the matter, my love? The sun is still high in the sky and you still have time to paint. And as I don’t expect you to finish your painting all too soon, you can expect me to sit for you tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that one as well until your painting is complete.”

He smiled at her, the little grin she loved so much. “Sorry, my love, my mind wandered but not towards the painting.”

Now it was her turn to frown. “Speak of what ails you, Mr. Bridgerton, that I may find its remedy.”

“I was only thinking—“

“Oh, did it hurt terribly? There, there, my love. Let me kiss your head to make it better,” Y/N teased as she reached for Benedict’s forehead in an attempt to soothe it. If there was one way to ease the mind of any Bridgerton, it was through humor.

Benedict rolled his eyes but he still had that smile on his face. “Stop it. I am being serious.” But he bowed nonetheless, pressing a kiss on his wife’s hands.

“Alright then, go on. What were you thinking of?”

“In all the years humans have existed, there have been hundreds upon thousands of ways we have told each other how much we love one another. Shakespeare measured his love with sonnets while Bach composed music and Da Vinci made art.”

Y/N frowned once again. “Where are you going with this?”

“I make my art as a form of telling you how much I love you but I realize now that, it is not enough.”

“Darling—“

“Art is not a good enough medium nor is poetry or music. There are not enough words or notes or paint in this world that could show, truly, how much I love you. I do not think I love any differently than Shakespeare or Bach or Da Vinci but I do think you make all the difference in the world. If they loved you too, they would have struggled just as much as I do.”

Y/N was at a loss for words. Her heart soared, giddiness spreading all across her body.

She and Benedict had only been married for a year. A full year of bliss and happiness. She’d heard it said by other ladies that marriages normally went stale after six months and she herself had seen how little regard her parents had for each other. In fact, her own mother refused to speak to her father when he refused to come to Y/N’s wedding with Benedict after Y/N refused to be wed to the Duke of Albany. And even now, after a year, he refused to speak to her.

She knew she was lucky. She married the man she loved, a man who loved her just as much as she loved him. It was a fate most women of the ton could only dream of yet to her, it was reality.

“Benedict, I don’t even know what to say,” Y/N said, her voice filled with the same amount of love as her husband’s declaration.

“Say nothing. I can read your eyes clearly enough,” Benedict said with a smile before he leaned down and planted another kiss, this time on her lips.

His lips were soft like butter and tasted like summer, like the sweetness of the cool breeze and the light of the sun. He tasted like home.

There were still many things wrong in Y/N’s world.

Her father had still disowned her and they hadn’t spoken since she last saw him that fateful day in the drawing room at Aubrey Hall. There was still the manner of Violet Bridgerton probing for a grandchild. But she knew one thing and that thing brought her peace like no other. Everything could go wrong in this world but so long as Benedict Bridgerton was at her side, then everything would be all right.

[kittyamore0]

Slashers with a Vampire S/O:

[PART II]

CW: Biting, marking, breaking of skin, blood, slightly dom, immortal, GN! reader, blood kink and drinking blood

LITTLE NOTE I: Im in a slightly good mood and i wanted to write another character even though they aren't a slasher, but as a bonus!

LITTLE NOTE II: I've been up since 3AM working on this and then other things. Its currently 9AM and im having crucial back pain

BONUS: extra character

EXTRA CHARACTER: Violet Harmon

MAIN CHARACTERS: Stu Macher + Billy Loomis, Carrie White, Freddy Kruger, Tate Langdon, Bubba sawyer, GENRE: Headcanons

Fandom: Horror

STU MACHER + BILLY LOOMIS

Stu wouldn't believe you at first.

Billy tends to stalk you from time to time, so i think he would know

You also know that your loving, killer boyfriend stalks you

So you also know that he knew.

"Uh, Sweetie, you do realize its not Halloween yet, right?"

You scoffed and flashed your fangs at Stu and Billy

"Might be fake-"

"Bitch, please!"

Stu playfully rolled his eyes and smiled

Suddenly, you ran past him

But way too quickly

"Wait-- What the fuck?--"

Billy just snickered at him

"What are you laughing about?"

Stu narrowed his eyes

"Ive been knowing, you fuck-rag."

Stu did in fact realize you were not lying.

"And you didn't tell me?!"

"They just did,"

"You--"

"Enough."

Stu kept whining the whole week after that

He would ask stupid questions

Like Tif, he would watch Vamp movies with you

He will let you bite him just to feel how it feels

Sometimes it'll go well with Stu, sometimes it wont...

He needs like 20 years to recover from that bite

And other times, he feels like hes floating

"I feel high! Is this what you felt when they bit you, Bil?"

"No, i felt horny."

...

"Wait, wha--"

Now, with Billy

He loved it when you bit him

He has a major blood kink

You marking him, blood seeping down his neck as you drink from him.

He also loves looking into your crimson eyes

He thinks your eyes are really pretty, but he wont admit that

Maybe if you manage to bribe him

He does know that he can actually die if he lets you drink as much blood, so it only happens once awhile

He will bring you back some victims as ghostface though!

Be prepared for loving phone calls from your loving boyfriends telling you how much people they've killed

CARRIE WHITE

She did believe you, but it took her some time to process stuff

I mean, she's got powers. Why wouldn't she believe you?

She sometimes thinks about how her mom would react

Her mom would be absolutely pissed

But she doesn't care

she's not letting you go anytime soon

And she doesn't plan too

You don't drink from her because her body is already fragile enough

She never brought up that idea either

I mean, she has thought about it, but she knows that you would refuse instantly due to both her physical and mental health

She would let you drink from her, if it meant saving you in some kind of way

She doesn't ask too many questions about it and treats you like any normal person, but with extra and special attention since you're her S/O!

When shes upset, her powers get out of control and she has flung knives at you...maybe more than one.

But she really didn't mean to!

She can't control it!

She freaks out when one of the knives at you, dropping her upset mood

Then you have to reassure her that you're immortal, so it wont affect you as much

"Carrie, sweetie, im okay--"

"I-it wa-was in your th-throat!"

"Again, not like im dying--"

She was so upset the first time it happened

She tried running away and locking herself inside her room, but you were much stronger than her, so you held her close until she was calm

"Shh...its okay, its okay."

"i--im-im sorry, im sorry..."

Poor baby :(

But you will pamper her after shes calm down

:)

FREDDY KRUGER

Hes gonna believe you, since you know, hes a dead, burned, sleep demon--

But he wants proof

Crimson eyes or bright changing eye colors? check.

Sharp fangs that can hide themselves? Check.

Blood lust?

You tried biting him the first time you guys met and he caught you eating more than one person in your dreams.

So yea, Check.

He makes dirty jokes about your powers

Speed?

He'll say something along the lines of..."Well, lets see your pace in the bedroom--"

You start fist fighting him every time he does say something like that

But sometimes you'll play along with his little flirting game

And the second you do, theres a thick lump in those worn out pants of his

The next thing you know, you wake up naked

Oh, and because of that supernatural crazy stuff,

You find a way to see the demon through the day instead of night now!

Through spells though

But as long as you're seeing him!

TATE LANGDON

Hes known way before you've met him, and thats because hes known you longer than you've known he existed

When he did reveal himself, like his true self, which is being dead, you realized about him knowing about your little secret

And the other ghost in the house

yay.

I mean, you were planning to tell your boyfriend Tate that you were a Vamp, but he knew

So that spares you the explanation and proving

You were just glad he knew

Tate, i feel like when he tells you that he knows, he'll compliment you.

How he loved the way your eyes would change color

How he loved your powers

And how he loved you, most of all, all of you.

All the confessing would definitely lead to a passion make out, and maybe even further

And dont tell me 'no'. This shit would be like a telenovela, but it got to the part that they are confessing

And im listening to 'or nah' by The Weeknd right now, it's a sign.

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

He would treat you like his normal S/O, not caring about the fact you are a human-blood-drinking creature.

He would suggest you be a vampire for Halloween, since you know, you're already one...

"Haha, so funny. I'm not gonna wear those weird human versions of vampire cloaks!"

"C'mon, it'll be funny!"

"Okay, how about this; You wear those ghost costumes, the ones where theres just holes where the eyes are and ill dress in one of those weird vampire cloaks."

"No, not in a million years!"

"It's either we wait a million years then, or you wont ever get to see me in that vampire cloak~"

"Okay, you win!"

"So, deal then?"

"Deal."

Whenever you have your blood lust, he'll offer up his cold flesh for you to bite through and let his bitter sweet blood soak out

But in the end, you can't.

Dead blood in fact makes Vampires very ill

And though it saddens him that he cant help you, he'll understand.

He wont let you drink his blood.

No matter how much pain you're in.

He can't risk putting you in even more pain

So he mostly goes invisible when you have your blood lust

And he waits in the corner of your room for you to come back from hunting your meal

Calm cuddles after your blood lust while listening to Nirvana

He absolutely loves that you are immortal

You can stay with him, forever.

Forever and ever. With him, and only him.

VIOLET HARMON -- THE BONUS

Violet has also known, like Tate because she has been watching you.

You also knew she was a ghost in the house from the day she came up to you

How? When words about the infamous 'murder house' were being spread, so did the word Violet

And you might of seen a picture or two of her when people would talk about the murder house

She kinda has no choice either

She also was really interested in you when you moved into the house

She was obviously shocked when she found out you were a vampire

She did not expect that at all

I mean, she grew up knowing that vampires didn't exist

And yet, here you are

before you guys started dating she was the classic-

sorta stare and not talk

Only because you're a vampire and she doesn't wanna trigger anything--

Okay...shes was nervous.

She has a literal crush on a hot vampire who is living in the house she died in!

okay, the 'died in' part is uh, just not needed

And she did really want to talk to you, she just needed a push

Tate.

"Okay, Vi, you got this..."

She took a deep breath

"shit, never mind. i don't got this--"

"You do."

She yelped when the familiar voice had appeared from behind her.

"Tate...?"

"yea, sorry. I just wanted to say that, uh, you should go for it. Its now or never. They might be a inmortal , but they wont stay here for long without, um, value? So, uh, go for it."

He flashes Violet a small smile before walking way

"Thanks..." She mumbled and continued to stare at your figure

fuck it.

"Uh, h-hi,"

Her heart felt like it was about to pop tf out her chest

Wait, it dont beat no more.

But still felt like it

You felt like you were trippin'

Are you actually talking to a cute, dead girl right now?

Yes. Yes you were.

"Hi, Violet."

She froze up.

How the hell.

Did one of the ghosts tell you?

What.

"How did you--"

"Oh, it was easy. A lot of people talk about this house, and you."

oh, right.

Well, shit.

"What, cat got your tongue?"

Yes.

"N--no, im fine--"

You just chuckled at her

Why in the hell were you so calm???

"Do you wanna talk a little? im sure you didn't call me just to call me."

"Yes! i mean--sure!"

You guys hung out the rest of the night and it was amazing.

She found out things about you

You found out things about her

A win-win!

She'd hate when you have your blood lust

Because 1. You're scary as hell

2. She hates seeing you in pain

3. There's no blood available for you in the house because its all dead blood, we dont want you to be sick

4. She hates waiting long for you to come home

Long naps with you after you got back from hunting

BUBBA SAWYER

You told Bubba from the start of the relationship!

I mean, why not tell your cannibal boyfriend that you, are in fact, a blood thirsty vampire

At first, he was confused

A vampire in texas...?

A real, REAL vampire.

Complusion to make him less confused

Oh, now he gets it!

Wonder why...

He'll still love you

Vampire or not

constant babbling about how he loves your crimson eyes

HATES it when you have your blood lust

He hates seeing you in pain

Tries feeding you his victims

Gets even more upset when you tell him you can't have dead blood

Hes on his way to find some more victims

You can count on him!

He'll come back with 2-5 victims

Maybe even more if there was some event going on nearby

He'll sit you on his lap and cuddle with you till' you feel better

He coos at you but you have absolutely no idea on what he's saying!

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖✶ ✦　　

[jokerislandgirl32]

Ziolet Songs: Day Four

October 4th - Sparks Fly

Get me with those green eyes, baby As the lights go down Gimme something that'll haunt me when you're not around 'Cause I see sparks fly, whenever you smile

My mind forgets to remind me you're a bad idea You touch me once and it's really something You find I'm even better than you imagined I would be I'm on my guard for the rest of the world But with you, I know it's no good And I could wait patiently But I really wish you would

Posting this a day late, but oh well!

Since yesterday was my birthday I decided to include a fic excerpt from one of Violet’s birthdays! It’s either her 19th or 20th birthday, I haven’t decided yet. But I hope you all enjoy it! Putting it below the cut due to length and mentions of alcohol consumption, a few crude comments, and references to a toxic relationship.

I had barely opened the menu when the sound of people singing happy birthday caught my attention. I looked into the restaurant, and saw the girl I was looking for: my Violet. 

Violet’s long hair was pulled back in a braid, and she was dressed in a simple off-the-shoulder, lilac sundress with a black apron around her waist. She smiled and blushed as her family and the patrons of the restaurant sang happy birthday to her.

The waitress in front of me huffed and rolled her eyes. I sensed she did not like Violet very much, and I was more than ready to get rid of her, “I know what I want,” I announced. 

She pulled out a notepad and looked at me expectantly, I fished out my wallet and produced a $20 bill, “I want the birthday girl to serve me, here’s something for your time.”

The girl’s brown eyes widened, and she stuffed the bill into her apron pocket, “of course, thank you, I’ll go get her!”

VvvvvvVvvvvvV

I was busy thanking everyone for the impromptu birthday song when Nicole ran up to me out of breath, “I’ve got a customer for you, he’s a very good tipper, he just gave me 20 dollars to seat him, and he requested you!”

Nicole usually did not speak to me because she claimed I’d stolen Travis from her, which was far from the truth. I figured she was setting me up for embarrassment, but part of me was hopeful that there really was a customer who wanted me to be their waitress. 

I smiled and said, “okay, here’s to hoping he tips me well too!”

“Yeah, you can treat yourself to a nice birthday present,” my cousin Paige winked at me, having overheard the conversation. 

“I guess,” I whispered, fixing my hair and going to the table where the gentleman was seated. 

When I arrived he sat holding the menu up, covering his face, “good evening sir, can I start you off with something to drink?”

He responded in a gruff, hateful sounding voice, “do you recommend anything? I usually prefer alcohol, but there’s none listed. What type of an island restaurant is this if you can’t get alcohol?”

I felt taken aback by his comment, “I apologize sir, but it is the preference of the owner of the restaurant to not serve alcohol.”

“Why’s that? Is she a prude?” He snickered and something about his voice was oddly familiar. I stood on my toes to peer over the menu covering his face, but he held it closer to him and raised it slightly.

I tried to bite my tongue, but it was no use, I would not stand for whoever this was insulting the aunt who had practically raised me, “Sir, I respectfully disagree with you, the owner is my aunt, and she prefers to host a restaurant where good food and fun can be had without the negative impacts that result from alcoholic consumption. If that is a problem with you, you can go to a neighboring restaurant or bar that does serve alcohol.”

“Ohhh, that’s a bold statement, but I should expect it coming from a sexy little minx such as yourself,” I could hear the laugh in his voice, and I’d had enough. It was one thing for Travis to make crude comments about me, but this man was a stranger, this was unexceptable. 

“Sir, I am sorry, but I do not appreciate your comments. They are making me very uncomfortable. If you cannot refrain from saying such things, I will have to ask you to leave.”

“Awww, come on, you can’t ask your friend to leave,” he pouted, lowering the menu enough for me to see jet black hair. 

The gears in my mind started turning, who did I know with black hair? And before I could stop myself, I asked, “who are you?”

The man lowered the menu and took off a pair of triangular sunglasses at the same time, his voice returning to normal, to a voice I'd wanted to hear for so long, “happy birthday, Vi.”

I felt a few tears fall from my eyes as I looked at his smiling face. I approached him and he stood up quickly, gathering me into a hug without me initiating it. I threw my arms around his neck as his head fell to the crook of my neck, “I’m so happy to see you, Zach,” I whispered.

[footprintsinthesxnd]

CONGRATS ON 1.5K JESS!!! 🥳🥳 i'm literally obsessed with the moodboard + drabble you did for eugene and violet....could we get josephine/nixon plus "It's okay. I couldn't sleep anyway" ?? moodboard or fic, whatever you're feeling :) <33

Thank you so much for your ask lovely. It’s been so long since I made anything for Josie and Lewis so this one was a real treat.

The night was still and quiet when Josie crept from her bed, making her way over to the small window in the hallway. She peaked through the tapped up panes, wishing she could have a clearer view of the nights sky. The moon shone brightly over the sleepy town of Aldbourne tonight. There was no movement outside meaning the streets were unusually quiet, not even one drunken paratrooper returning to his billet.

Tomorrow was supposed to be one of the happiest days of her life, and she truly couldn’t wait to become Mrs Nixon, but something kept her awake. It was a gnawing feeling in her stomach that just wouldn’t settle, and the more she thought about different scenarios of everything going wrong, the worse the feeling grew. Would Lewis really be at the alter tomorrow or would he have second thoughts? That was the worry that currently occupied her mind. Of course her friends had assured her that wouldn’t be the case, and Dick and Eugene were under strict instructions to have him at the church on time.

Josie sighed loudly, jumping at the light chuckle that came from behind her. She whipped around, tugging her dressing gown over herself quickly as she came face to face with the finger leaning against the door frame.

“Lewis, you scared me!” She scolded, raising her hand to her chest, feeling her heart beating rapidly from the sudden shock.

He smirked at her, sauntering over and placing his hands on her shoulders, “Sorry Josie,” he mumbled, placing a kiss to her cheek. “Can’t sleep?”

“No,” she shrugged sadly, “I have too much to think about.”

“Not having second thoughts I hope,” he laughed, but Josie could see the concern floating in his brown eyes, the soft crinkle on his forehead making her smile.

“Not at all. I just… well I’m just worried that everything won’t go to plan,” she admitted, biting her lip sheepishly. “I keep worrying that you’ll change your mind”.

Lewis smiled, brushing the loose strands of dark hair away from her face. “I could never change my mind, Josie. I love you and I can’t wait to marry you.”

He bent down to kiss her, savouring the soft feeling of her lips against his until she pulled away.

“You haven’t had a drink?” She asked, it felt strange to not have the familiar taste of VAT-69 on her lips after kissing Lewis.

“Not a drop, I want to make sure I was up bright and early in the morning ready for our big day. Thought I might even surprise Dick and get up before he does,” he chuckled, “Although that’s probably why I can’t fall asleep.”

Josie smiled up at him, cupping his stubbly cheek in her small hand, “It's okay. I couldn't sleep anyway either,” she assured him, pressing her lips to his once more. “And I don’t mind spending some quiet time together before the chaos of tomorrow.”

Lewis hummed in appreciation, wrapping his arms around her smaller frame and turning her so they could both face the window, looking out into the night. The sun would soon beginto rise over the tree line, bringing forth a new day, the biggest day of Josie’s life and she couldn’t wait. But in the cover of darkness she could relish in the comforting feeling of Lewis’ arms, his breath tickling her ear as he promised her that everything would be alright.

Tags: @georgieluz @mads-weasley @samwinchesterslostshoe @msmercury84 @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @xxluckystrike @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @hesbuckcompton-baby @ronsenthal @allthingsimagines @bucky32557038ww2 @hanniewinnix @inglourious-imagines @l13bg0tt @1waveshortofashipwreck @sweetxvanixlla

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Change | Changing | Changed?

Sooo Ive read Change like 10 times and though I love ALL your fics, that one gained a special place in my heart as soon as you posted it. I really vibe with Roman (maybe I am autistic…) and I love projecting onto him and watching him suffer. Anyway I was wondering if you feel like it or had any ideas, if we could get a third chapter? Maybe more about how the others react to finding out what Patton and Janus did to Roman, or more protective Ollie! <3 – stealing-babies

Had this concept idea hit me: Patton (as part of being Thomas’s emotions) is hypersensitive to the effects of the other sides's rooms + the imagination. No idea what one could do with that but thought it was neat enough to share. – ax3-e0ns

Have you seen the new incorrect quotes? I feel like there could be some Roman angst/hurt/comfort potential, either with Logan or Janus, what with the stress ball or the 4am chocolate pudding scene – anon

Hey, I was wondering if you’d be interested in writing a fic where Roman’s actually the one who finally snaps and goes off on everyone about he himself has been treated? I don’t see enough of the boy standing up for himself for a change. No worries if not! – anon

Read on Ao3 Part 1 Part 2

Warnings: panic attacks/dissociation

Pairings: none

Word Count: 7191

Roman is over the top, bombastic, and enthusiastic. He is prone to fits of passion and emotional outbursts. Such is the nature of Creativity. But the others...don't like that. They aren't exactly ambiguous about it either. Or, Roman struggles to walk the line between being himself and being something the others can tolerate. It gets far worse before it gets any better. Getting better takes...a long time

The deepness of the Imagination's oceans vary according to the demands of its various creatures. On this day, when Red Prince is too quiet and a little too sad, Oliver the Kraken decides that the ocean needs to be as vast and monstrous as it can be. He takes Red Prince in his arms, cradling him against his bulbous body to afford him protection within his aura from the crushing depths, swimming down, down, down, past the shoals of fish and pods of whales to the hidden tunnel near the base of the great cliffs. The water here is icy cold, lit only by the sparse bio-luminescence of the deep-sea folk, briefly illuminating the jagged rock walls and mountainous sea terrain. Oliver moves through as silently as a monolith of his size can, Red Prince held delicately in the safety of his grip. As they reach the end of the tunnel, it begins to curve upwards, a faint violet light coming from someplace above the surface of the water.

The Kraken breaches with a soft splash in the hidden cavern, lit by the glowing crystals growing along the walls and the ceiling. Red Prince lets out a breath, sagging in his grip, his tiny fingers stroking the bumps and scars along his skin. The cavern rings with the quiet music of water lapping against the crystals and the slight breeze that blows through their hollows, interrupted by the sloshing sounds of him swimming toward the island in the center of this sheltered cove. Small piles of glowstone highlight the soft white sand underneath flowering trees. The faint smell of them wakes Red Prince from the stupor he had been in since entering the Imagination, and he reaches for them as Oliver nears the island.

"Thank you for bringing me here," he mumbles as he's deposited on a patch of pale green grass.

Of course, Red Prince. You know that you will be safe here, whenever you want to be. He shifts his arms around to prop himself up a little. I will not let any harm come to you.

"I know." Still, Red Prince shuffles a little, tugging his limbs close to himself. "I just—I suppose it's stupid."

Nothing is stupid to me, Red Prince, not if it concerns your well-being.

"Are—you like spending time with Remus too, right?"

Oliver burbles quietly, the water frothing around his arms. Yes, Red Prince, I do. And despite that, I do not favor him anymore than you.

The hidden meaning seen, Red Prince's shoulders relax and a small smile comes to his face. Oliver reaches out to lay an arm within Red Prince's reach and his hand rests on it. Little birds twitter in the trees. The crystal song changes pitch.

You need not fear anything here, he says again, and you may stay as long as you like. She-Who-Tends-The-Clouds knows you are here as well, even though she cannot get here. Is there anything else I can do for you, in this moment?

"I—I don't know." He curls up a little tighter. "I'm just…I'm just really scared. And it feels like nothing I do even helps make it go away."

The water bubbles again as his arms churn. What does it feel like? Does it feel like the type of fear that Green Duke makes?

"Sort of? I just—I keep waking up sick to my stomach like something bad's going to happen, like, bad enough that I don't want to wake up anymore."

That is worrisome indeed. The arm wraps around him and tugs him slightly back toward the water. I regret that I cannot hold you the way you might desire.

"This is great, Ollie, you're…you're great." Red Prince now sits near one of the piles of glowstone, turning to rest his cheek upon it. "I think I'm…I think I'm tired."

The bone-weary ache of his words ring through the cavern. A few birds flutter down to perch on the rock, making soft chirps as they run their beaks through Red Prince's hair. Red Prince's smile brightens just a smidge.

"Thank you, little birds."

You know that we all would gladly give you whatever you need, Oliver says, there is nothing you could ask of us that we would not try to provide to you.

"I know."

Although none of us have arms that would embrace you, would you like to be held still?

"Yes, please."

It would be our pleasure.

It is not a simple thing for a Kraken to embrace Red Prince, but Red Prince is sad and upset and in need of comfort, and so he takes two arms and wraps them gently around Red Prince and the pile of glowstone. The pile is not the most forgiving of surfaces, but glowstone is warm to the touch and yields ever so slightly if pressed. Red Prince does not seem to mind, closing his eyes as a soft sigh leaves his lips. The birds perch on his head and shoulders. One of them settles into the crook of his neck, a wing brushing his cheek. He turns his head and his lips brush the tip of its beak. It chirps.

"Not the most fairytale of places," Red Prince mumbles, "but I do like this a lot."

We do specialize in the unconventional, Red Prince, and if I may speak for the birds, we all are quite happy to stay here for as long as you need.

The ocean is vast and hungry, monsters swim its depths and light vanishes from the waters far before it approaches the entrance to the hidden cavern. But here, in the quiet light of the crystal cave, Red Prince is safe for the moment and Oliver is content.

***

At the very tops of the mountains, high beyond the clouds, grow small trees no taller than a bush that could grow anywhere else. The trees have soft and warm bark from the sun's warmth, for there is little cover up there amongst the flat planes of rock and stone. She-Who-Tends-The-Clouds nests at the very peak, between the trees, sleeping in the light of the endless spinning galaxies of stars. The wind blows cold in the darkness of storms alone, where the clouds can rise high enough to block out the infinite skies. Otherwise, the sweet warm gusts of wind waft the secrets of the valleys up, up, where she may peruse them in comfort and safety.

It makes it far easier to rest easy when she has her charge nestled against her chest, humming a quiet song to keep her company.

I have missed your voice, Red Prince, she says gently, I cannot say I have heard it nearly enough in the recent times you have come.

"I haven't really felt like singing all that recently."

I know, says she, and leans down to nuzzle her snout against his chest, is there anything I can do?

"Just sitting here with you is nice. I haven't really had a lot of places that I feel safe enough to just exist in for a while."

The now familiar tingle of irritation flickers down her scales and she lays her head down next to him, watching him fiddle with a small amulet—from the kindly man who lives deep in the woods, no doubt, he had long ago taken a liking to Red Prince and provided him with many gifts and trinkets. She puffs a small smoke ring. What is this one for?

"He said it was to bring a sense of comfort to me." He runs his thumb over the engraving, the shape of a blooming flower worked beautifully into the metal. "I don't know if it was just supposed to be figuratively or if there's some magic in it, but…I like it."

It is a most thoughtful gift. Partway between sentiment and practicality, is it not?

Red Prince smiles. "Yes, it is."

Then it is perfect for one such as you. She nudges him with her snout to make him chuckle. Perhaps he has been refining his gift-giving for you intentionally.

"I didn't come here to be teased," he protests, but it is only lightly, and she relents as soon as she began, turning her head to rest once more towards the edge of the mountain to sniff the breeze. "I…I said thank-you, and that I'd be…interested to learn from him."

Her ears prick up slightly. Oh? I did not know you would be interested in such a craft.

"I'm trying new things."

It does not take a dragon of superior wit and mind to know that Red Prince has long be afraid of sharing new things with Those-Who-Do-Not-Shape, and as such, has even hesitated to try something in the safety of the Imagination. Her chest warms with contentment, a low and pleased rumble thrumming through the surrounding stone. Red Prince smiles. She turns once more to press her snout into Red Prince's stomach.

Words cannot express how pleased I am to hear that, Red Prince.

"Yeah," he says quietly, "I know. I…yeah."

The breezes forgotten for the moment, she sighs happily and lets Red Prince run the medallion across the ridges of her snout. I do not wish to push you, but I have questions if you would answer them.

"I trust you."

I will not abuse it, Red Prince, you have my word. She shifts her tail to curl it around him, adding another degree of safety even atop this mountain where none else would dare to tread. Does Green Duke still help you?

"Remus is great. He's—he's really helpful, he's—I wouldn't—I don't think I'd be able to do any of this without Remus."

What does he do to help, if you would tell me?

"He helps take the heat off me when I need it, or he's always there to help me escape if I need to. He also helps me explain what's going on with me or—or if I need to do things a different way than what they want."

I see. Are you…safe with him?

"I've never not been safe with Remus."

She lets out a quiet growl, not quite a reprimand, not quite not a reprimand. You were frightened when he came upon you on the grass, where The Deep One and I were tending to you.

"Yeah, but that wasn't—that wasn't really because of him, it was…I think it was…"

Even now, just speaking of it, Red Prince hunches in on himself, curling up in the lea of her. With another soft rumble, she moves them a little closer to one of the small trees, affording him something to clutch if he needs it. He rests his cheek against the warm soft bark, taking in the shade. She gives him the time he needs, but keeps up the gentle rumble of her breath to ground him.

"…I was scared of him being there because the others would—because I thought they would just immediately be mad at me, not because I thought Remus would hurt me."

And the others, do they still frighten you?

Red Prince lets out a long sigh, slumping against the tree and her chest in turn. He looks like the little child whose favorite toy has floated away in the river, and the old man who has seen a thousand thousand years and still must watch the sunrise.

"Yes," he says with that voice of infinite sadness, "every day."

I am sorry, Red Prince, that I cannot always protect you from the hurt they cause you.

"It's not your fault. I know…I know most of it's my fault."

No, she says firmly, raising her head up to look him in the eye, it is not your fault, Red Prince, you are scared and hurt, and that is not and never will be a burden that falls on your shoulders and your shoulders alone. You are scared, that is true, and you are hurt, that is true. But you have been taught to be scared and hurt, and you are far too gentle of a soul to have done that to yourself.

Red Prince sniffles and oh, her intention was not to make him cry, and so she leans forward to gently lick away his tears. He tucks the medallion into his pocket and hugs her back, the tears subsiding quickly as he falls into a doze against her heat.

You are welcome to come back here, Red Prince, whenever you need.

"Will you take care of me like this if I do?"

Yes, of course I will.

***

Patton sits next to him on the couch and Roman immediately tucks the medallion into his pocket on the far side of his leg. He can tell by the way Patton shifts that he notices it, but doesn't say anything. Remus comes over a moment later and sits on his other side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pressing a smacking kiss to his head.

"Hey, Roro."

"Hi."

"You doing okay today?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Across the room, Janus gives him a look but doesn't say anything. After another moment, he gets up and ruffles Remus's hair, kissing Roman's forehead. Roman tenses a little and Janus doesn't seem to take any offense, moving away and sitting next to Logan. "Well, shall we decide what movie we're watching tonight?"

"I'm partial to something along the lines of The Imitation Game," Logan says, looking up from his notebook, "but I am aware that we've been going with my choices quite a few times over these past few weeks."

"I'd be down with watching that," Virgil says, "but I think I'd rather—I mean if we're throwing out choices, I wanna put Pacific Rim out there."

"Ooh, I do like watching giant robots punch giant aliens." Remus nudges Roman. "What about you, Roro?"

"Um, I don't really have an opinion right now."

"Okay." Janus says quickly before anyone can say anything else, "that's fine, sweetie. What about something like one of the documentaries we've been working through?"

"That sounds great," Patton says, but Roman can tell he's still looking at him, "Roman, does that work for you?"

"Yeah, I like documentaries."

"Settled, then." Logan stands up and fetches his laptop, beginning to hook it up to the TV. "Roman, would you mind helping the—"

"Yep."

He doesn't give anyone the time to say anything else, immediately going over to Logan's side to fiddle with the cords and make sure everything's good. Behind him, he can feel the eyes creeping up his back and rounds his shoulders. Logan touches his back lightly in thanks as he finishes, quickly going back over to let Remus lie on top of him. Janus chuckles at the two of them even as Patton yelps, quickly getting up and going to sit by Virgil.

"Sweetie? Can I play with your hair?"

"Um, if you want to."

"Thank you." Gloved fingers begin to scritch lightly through his hair and he closes his eyes, letting Remus's weight sink him into the couch. The sensation is soft and makes his brain go a little fuzzy, and he thinks that maybe he'll fall asleep here, before the documentary starts…

"Is everything ready?"

Patton's voice wrenches him back to wakefulness and he knows that Virgil, Janus, and Remus can all sense it. Remus lets out a quiet growl, holding him a little tighter. Janus kisses his fingertips and ruffles his hair again. Roman keeps his eyes open for the rest of the documentary and there's a sickness curdling in his stomach that he can't quite shake.

"Hey," Remus whispers when the documentary is loud, "hey, Roro, just stay with me, okay? Just hang out."

"I'm trying."

"I know, and you're doing great. Hey, can you name all the colors on the screen right now?"

He turns his head and looks at the animals, the plants, the skies. "Brown…white…purple…green…blue…black, yellow, red, and pink."

"Hey, nice, good job." Remus nuzzles into his neck. "You're my favorite brother."

"I'm your only brother."

"So?" He nuzzles into him again and it tickles. "You giggling down there, Roro?"

Roman glimpses Logan glancing at them and braces himself to be scolded, but Logan only smiles fondly at them and shakes his head, looking back at the screen. Remus follows his gaze and huffs, flopping down like a cat and making a show of being comfortable while shielding Roman's head from everyone else.

"You're safe," he whispers into his ear, "you're safe, I've got you, nothing's gonna hurt you right now."

There's nothing like this in the Imagination, Roman knows, nothing like this comforting weight and warmth and safety that he can't really get from the dragon or Ollie or anything else. He curls into Remus and tries to lose himself in the documentary. It's interesting, something about how these animals have adapted to living in urban environments. But he sees a rat scurry through a dark, dank alleyway, and can't help but feel like he's recognizing something in himself.

***

"Remus," Logan calls, walking down the hall, "can I speak to you for a moment?"

"What's up, Lolo?"

"Can we…" He indicates Remus's door. "Would you mind if we spoke somewhere more private?"

Remus nods and opens his door, welcoming Logan inside. Logan fiddles with a notebook, turning pages back and forth. After a while, he sighs and looks up.

"I have a question about Roman, and I want you to know that I don't intend to cause him hurt by investigating this information."

Remus raises an eyebrow. "Well, this definitely doesn't make me incredibly inclined to help you."

"I don't think it's anything that you did, if that's any consolation."

"It's not, but proceed."

Logan sighs. "Can I have your word that you will not immediately attempt to cause me physical harm when I ask this question?"

"I will not immediately break your spine, no."

"Is that the best I'm going to get?" Remus grins a little two widely and he sighs again. "I suppose that's a yes. Very well: I am…concerned that something has happened between Patton, Janus, and Roman, and I don't know what to do."

Remus takes a deep breath and sits down, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What's he told you already?"

"Something stemmed from the incident between the three of them when Thomas was still uncomfortable with his homosexuality, but I don't know—"

"The 'incident,' is that what he called it?"

"…no, that's my word for it."

"'Cause it was a fucking incident, alright." He reaches out and grabs a squid ink sac. It bursts in his hand. "That was—shit, and you and Emo didn't learn about this until later, did you?"

"I was not aware of an incident until Roman told me about it recently."

Remus growls at him and he steps back with his hands raised. "You mean that Roman was physically locked out of the Imagination for months, and you guys didn't fucking notice?"

Logan's expression drops. The notebook clatters to the floor. "Roman was what?"

"How the fuck did you not know about it? The Imagination—shit, Lolo—"

"No, I knew that Roman didn't go into the Imagination for a while, but I didn't—I was not aware that it was because his entrance was prohibited. What—why—"

"Because Roman's existence hasn't actually been appreciated by everyone around here for a long time and things like stuff he needs to do to stay alive are viewed as privileges that can be revoked."

Guilt and regret tremble at the corners of Logan's mouth and he adjusts his glasses. "I know I have played no small part in this—"

"No shit."

"—but I didn't…Remus, you must understand, I never meant to…I had nothing to do with this. I didn't know. I wasn't—I don't—I wouldn't—Roman is Creativity, how would I—"

"I believe you," Remus says quietly, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder, "I know, Logan, I know."

Logan lets out a shuddering breath, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. "I apologize. I did not foresee myself becoming this upset."

"Yeah, I know."

"The…the incident, if I may still call it that—"

"That's fine, yeah."

"—would I be incorrect in assuming that it was not the only one of its kind?"

"Well, they never tried to banish Roman from the Imagination again, that's for fucking sure." Remus shakes his head. "God, I've never—I've never fucking seen Roman like that before and I never want to see him like that again. But yeah, Lolo, I don't—you're smart enough to know that Patton and Janus have been holding some sort of power over Roman for a long time."

"Yes."

"That's not an accident. Roman's really vulnerable to stuff like that—and you need to know that I'm telling you this because if this somehow gets back to them," he continues, tightening his grip on Logan's shoulder, "I'm going to know exactly where it came from."

"I won't betray your confidence."

"You'd better fucking not. Yeah, Roro's the Ego—he's fragile in ways that Patton and Janus can exploit. Uniquely exploit, because Patton can feel what's going on in the Imagination to a certain extent, and Janus…"

"Janus knows Roman," Logan says softly, "and that is perhaps all he needs."

"Yeah."

"You said Patton can feel what's going on in the Imagination?"

"Well, Thomathy isn't exactly unaffected by what happens in the Imagination, nor is he immune to what his Ego does to take care of him. So when Roro's trying to make himself feel better, Thomas can feel it, which means Patton can feel it."

"So Patton knows when Roman's trying to cheer himself up."

"Yeah."

"How…how is this a bad thing?"

"Well, if you have a conversation with someone and they immediately run to make themselves feel better…"

Logan's expression shutters and his jaw sets. He adjusts his tie and covers Remus's hand with his own. "I don't know what else I can do for Roman, especially since I have contributed to the pain he has felt, but if there is anything, please, tell me?"

Remus looks at him, eyes narrowing slightly. He seems to be content by what it is that he's found, however, and nods sagely with a seriousness that seems almost foreign to him. Logan nods back and picks up his notebook.

"Is there anything else that I should know?"

"Not right now, I don't think."

"Can I…is Roman in the Imagination right now?"

"Why?"

"I…wanted to tell him that I had an idea for another board game I think he and I could play together. You could play it with us too!" They start moving toward the doors. "It's a mystery horror themed thing—"

"Sold!"

"Remus, I didn't even explain what it—"

"You said 'mystery' and 'horror.' Lolo, I'm in already."

***

"I'm sorry, he did fucking what?"

Logan puts his hands on Roman's shoulders and a different shudder goes through him, one triggered by the dry warmth as opposed to the near flinch in response to Virgil's shout. He leans into the touch as much as he can.

Virgil, of course, senses his fear, and quiets immediately, slouching a little to make himself seem smaller. "Hey, I'm sorry, Princey, I didn't mean to shout."

"It's okay."

"It's not," Logan says softly, "and that's alright too."

"L's right." Virgil even goes so far as to ease himself into a seated position on the other side of the room. "I know how bad yelling can be for you, Princey. I'm—shit, I'm just really upset for you right now."

Roman peeks out at him under his hair, surprised to see a soft smile on Virgil's face. After a moment, he holds out a hand, and Virgil gets up and ambles over. He sits down next to the base of Roman's chair, tangling his fingers with his. He gives a few reassuring squeezes and Roman squeezes back.

"Can I—so obviously I'm gonna try not to shout again, but can Remus keep telling me about this incredibly fucked up thing that happened to you?"

Roman nods. Logan squeezes his shoulder. He drifts away again, for he has no need to relive this more than he already does, focusing on the comfort of Logan's touch and the way that Virgil squeezes his hands every once in a while. Remus's voice stays low and even, but there's an undercurrent of steel that doesn't quite vanish even when the words never raise louder than the low thud of the wind against the walls of the Imagination's cabin.

"—incey? Princey?" Roman blinks. Virgil looks up at him. There's a furrow between his brows but he makes an effort to smile. "Hey, there he is. I'm so fucking sorry, Princey, that's fucked up. That's really fucked up, and I'm sorry that I've—I'm sorry that I've ever had anything to do with making this worse. I don't really—I'm not great with words, but I—"

Roman squeezes his hand. "You didn't do it to me, I don't…I don't blame you for that."

"But I've been doing the same sort of shit. Hey, hey," and here his voice softens a little when Roman goes to protest, "I'm not trying to make you feel bad. I'm not trying to run my own fucking pity party over here, I just—fuck, Princey, you're owed so many fucking apologies about all this shit, okay?"

A lump suddenly appears in his throat. He swallows heavily.

"Oh, hey, hey, c'mere…" Warm arms wrap around him and he's leant back into a strong chest. "Hey, it's okay, you can cry, Princey, that's okay."

"Shh, little one," Logan murmurs when Roman starts to try to apologize, "you're safe here. You're doing very well."

There's a soft thwoop sound and he peeks out to see Remus has summoned a massive mattress on the floor of the cabin. The windows are open, the late-afternoon breeze blowing in with the soft sweet smell of grass and flowers. Virgil and Logan must've had some sort of silent conversation, for he's lifted up into two pairs of strong arms and laid down on the mattress. Remus tucks a blanket over them and then gleefully flops down, much to the surprise and chagrin of the other two.

"Hey!"

"Remus!"

"Cat pile time, everyone hush and cuddle Ro."

Roman chuckles, a little watery, but snuggles into the midst of the three of them. Logan sighs, far too fondly, and presses a kiss to his temple. Virgil scoots a little further away so none of them are at risk of losing circulation, still holding onto Roman's hand.

"I vote that we don't talk about this anymore for right now," Logan says quietly, "all in favor?"

"Me."

"Also me."

"Yeah," Roman mumbles, "can…can we just stay here for a while?"

"Of course, little one."

***

"Sweetie," he hears distantly, "sweetie, it's alright, it's just me, I'm not here to hurt you, can you open your eyes for me?"

Roman opens his eyes. He's lying on the floor in the hallway. It's dark. Someone is leaning over him.

"Sweetie," he hears again, "sweetie, can you say something?"

"J-Janus?"

"There you are, my sweet prince." Janus smiles and cups his face. "Can I help you sit up for me, sweetie? I don't think the hallway is very comfortable at this point at night. There's nothing wrong with sleeping on the floor, believe me, but I think a fine prince such as yourself would be better suited to your bed."

Roman blinks again. "I'm…on the floor?"

"Yes, sweetie, you're on the floor. Do you remember how you got here?"

"I was…I was in the kitchen."

"Yes, that's right. You were making chocolate pudding."

"Why was I making chocolate pudding?"

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I believe you said it was because you've lost all control."

"That does sound like me."

He chuckles. "Now, sweet prince, can we see if we can sit you up? Come, come, lean on me…that's it, there you are."

Roman blinks a few more times as he slowly lifts himself up, holding onto Janus's shoulders. Janus slips more of his arms around his waist to help him, murmuring more encouragement in his ear as he goes. He lets out a sigh of relief when he sits up, leaning now against the wall. Janus crouches there with him, tucking his hair back behind his ear.

"Janus?"

"Mm?"

"I'm sorry."

"Whatever for, sweet prince?"

"I was—I'm—I didn't mean to—"

"I'm not angry with you, sweet prince," Janus says gently, "I promise. I'm only worried—can we get you to bed?"

"I don't want to impose—"

"Sweetie, I'm not asking you because I have some obligation, I'm worried, and I want you to be safe in your bed so you can rest." He leans down and kisses his forehead and everything is fuzzy for Roman, and he doesn't know what to do, but warm touches are warm touches and he's always been weak to a soft voice with gentle words. "So?"

"…okay."

He leans against Janus's side as they move down the hallway, opening the door into Roman's room. He pulls back the covers and lies down, leaning to help tuck him under the sheets. "There you are, sweet prince, is that better?"

"Why…why're you only nice to me when there's no one else around?"

Something shutters across his expression before it settles on something terribly sad. "I don't know, sweetie. I'm—I'm trying to be better about it, but I seem to keep messing it up."

"I don't know what to believe anymore, Janus." His voice grows thick. "I don't know whether you're going to be nice to me or hurt me."

The bed dips as Janus sits down near his head, still carding his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry, Roman. I'm so, so sorry."

"You hurt me, Janus," and now he begins to sniffle, "you—you keep hurting me."

"I'm sorry, sweetie, I'm sorry."

Janus doesn't move away, not as Roman sniffles and sobs his way through saying how much pain Janus has caused him, not when he tells him how difficult it is to keep moving forward, not even when he says how scared he is right now, with his belly showing and Janus's teeth at his metaphorical throat. He just sits there, listening, pressing kisses to Roman's hands and cheeks.

***

"Patton?"

"What is it, Roman?"

"Shut up."

Virgil mutters oh, shit. Logan takes a deep breath. Janus's shoulders tense. Remus steps closer.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Roman says through gritted teeth, "shut up. You don't know what the hell you're talking about. You don't get to talk over me like that. You don't get to act like I'm just some good-for-nothing spoiled kid that doesn't know anything."

"Now, Roman—"

"No. I've had to sit here and have you talk at me for ages. You're gonna listen to me for once." His hands ball into fists. "You don't get to act like you're the one who's always going to be right. You don't get to do that, not to me. You don't get to act like I'm the one who always comes into this sort of thing with a preconceived notion of how it's going to go. I'm the one who's tried with you. I've tried so many times to just talk to you and you never listen to me."

"That's not—"

"It is. It is true, because every fucking time I have to walk away from those 'conversations' with bruises all over me because you can't be bothered to think about what your words do to me. Because they hurt, Patton, and you don't get to act like they don't. You don't get to act like you don't know what you're doing when you tell me I'm stupid or petty or a bully, you don't get to act like you're hurting me because you don't have a choice or that it's my fault I'm getting hurt."

Remus brushes against his arm. A silent keep going.

"You don't get to act like you don't know why I'm scared of talking to you sometimes, not when you've claimed the authority to remove my fucking coping mechanisms like they're some luxury that you think I don't deserve anymore. You don't get to hold that shit over my head like you have the right to it. No, I don't want to talk about this stuff with you. No, I don't feel safe to talk about with you, and no, I don't feel bad about saying any of that because it's true."

"Those are very hurtful things to say, Roman."

"It's hurtful to tell someone they're wrong when you haven't even taken the time to actually listen to them. It's hurtful to invite someone to a 'conversation' and then just lecture them the whole time. It's hurtful to hold someone's insecurity over their head for actual fucking years and use it whenever you want because it's a convenient way to make someone listen to you."

Patton just looks at him. Roman's breath suddenly catches in his throat. He's yelling at Patton. He's yelling at Patton.

"He's right, Patton," he hears Virgil say, "you're—I'm not gonna say the rest of us are blameless here, but you're really unfair to Roman sometimes and that's not cool."

"And now, how am I supposed to react to all of these accusations? Are you all going to gang up on me now?"

"We're not ganging up on you," Logan says, "the rest of us have barely said anything."

"But you're not disagreeing with Roman."

"No, we're not, because he's right." Remus squeezes Roman's shoulder. "And you know he's right."

"I don't think it's right that he's making me out to be this big bad guy who's trying to hurt him on purpose!"

"I don't think it's right to act like we don't know what they're talking about," Janus says softly, and Patton turns to look at him, "you know we've been unfair to Roman, Patton. We've been cruel to him, almost, and even if we didn't know the effects of what we did when we did them, I think we both know better now."

"Why are you looping me in with you?"

"Because the reason Roman was so receptive to praise and positive attention was because it was so foreign to him he didn't even think to question it," he says, voice a tad sharper now, "and there's really only one person who could've started such a thing."

Patton goes quiet for a long, long moment. Then he looks at Roman. Roman flinches just at that look.

"Roman? Is…are you…did I really make this a lot worse for you?"

Trap. This is a trap. This is a trap, this is a trap, this is a trap.

"You can tell me," Patton says, which doesn't make him think it's any less of a trap, but then Janus nods at him and he manages to swallow.

"Yeah," he mumbles, "yeah, it's—it's really bad, Patton."

Silence. Remus squeezes his shoulder tightly. There's a roar of blood in his ears. Distantly, he hears Virgil mumble something to Logan and Logan starts talking. They're all talking now, but Roman can't say a thing. He's so scared. He's so scared. He's going to pass out. He's going to throw up. He's going to have a sword thrust into his chest and split his ribs.

"Roman," he hears Remus say, cutting through the fog, "Roro, you did great. You did it, it's over now. If you need to run and hide, you can. We'll take care of it. It'll be okay."

He thinks more than says I can go?

"Yeah, Roro, you can go."

Roman's gone in the blink of an eye.

***

The forest is dark. There is no moon. The sky is black. The trees loom over the clearing. The wind is bitingly cold. The grass crunches and snaps. No living creature dares move.

Roman curls up on his knees in the middle of the clearing. The wind whips across his bare skin so harshly it feels like a blade. In the dark of the night, there is no refuge from the biting cold, no place where he could go and be free of the pain ravaging him inside and out. Breath shudders out of him in pitiful clouds of steam. He shakes and trembles.

The reverberations of the approaching footsteps are so powerful that he feels them deep in his chest.

With jerky movements, he looks up. It's difficult to tell at first what's different, just because the mass is so large it's hard to distinguish it from the surrounding sky, but as he moves, the faint silhouette of the wolf becomes discernible from the forest. Glowing eyes gleam down at him, light reflecting off of the fangs, as the enormous paws come to a stop right in front of him. His head bows, his snout lowering to breath warm air across Roman's frigid form.

The wolf, unlike the other creatures in the Imagination, does not speak. Not in the way that Oliver or She-Who-Tends-The-Clouds speaks. But he knows Roman, more perhaps than any aside from Remus, and so he needn't speak to be able to communicate. He leans down, taking Roman's limp form in between his giant teeth, beginning to carry him through the woods. His tongue presses against Roman's freezing arms, trying to convey some warmth back into him, but he is too massive and too focused on carrying him to safety to be able to do something more right now.

There is no fear sweeter than the kind that curls in Roman's stomach at this moment, for what could be more terrifying than the one that carries him in his jaws? They move through the dark forest, over fallen logs and past trickling streams, deeper still into a thicket where the warm air from the valleys below has created a dense fog. A few skittering noises as different small critters move away from the wolf's path. They reach the base of a cliff and he recognizes the entrance to the wolf's den.

He's carried into the den, laid down on soft moss next to a small fire. The warmth licks at his limbs as the wolf lies down with a growl, circling him with his bulk. Roman turns and snuggles into the soft fur of the wolf's belly, hearing another soft growl that sounds almost like a huff of endearment. The fire snaps and crackles, a soothing noise as the wolf's heart beats steadily against his side. He continues to let out low huffs and growls, reassuring Roman of his presence and safety in this moment.

The fear re-surges. He retches, clapping a hand over his mouth. He curls up tighter, as if he could squeeze it from himself. The wolf growls again, a little louder, and his tails flicks up to almost cover him as though it were a blanket. He knows it is ridiculous to be scared, here, between the paws of the wolf, but he is only small and cannot help it.

Another huff of breath and the snout pushes against him.

I know, he thinks, I know it's okay to be scared, but I—I—I—

The wolf rumbles again, tongue darting out to lightly lick his hand.

Can I just be scared? Is that okay?

Another rumble, and this time he feels the wolf shift slightly so he can curl better around him. He noses gently at Roman's head, lapping at his hand again, his tail lightly tickling under his chin. He closes his eyes and leans into the gentle attention, letting the wolf protect him. The sound of the fire soothes the frantic part of his hindbrain, the fur too tempting not to burrow into just a little. He's barely the size of a thorn in the wolf's side. The wolf rumbles, lying his head down and leaning it against him so he's pressed in on all sides.

The sickness recedes ever so slightly. Exhaustion quickly replaces it. The wolf breathes slowly. Roman turns his cheek to rest against the soft fur.

***

"I just don't understand!"

"You're hurt because Roman has expressed that you've hurt him."

"Well, yeah!"

"I don't think you get to be mad at him for that, Patton."

"I'm not mad, I'm just very disappointed that—"

"Okay, no, you don't get to do that either. That's not—Patton, the reason this got as bad as it did is because Roman doesn't feel like he can express that he's upset. At you or anyone else."

"But that's—how is that fair?"

"Okay, I think we're going in circles here—look, Pat-Pat, the point here is that Roro's upset—rightfully so, and he needs to time be upset about it now that he knows it's safe for him to be upset."

"It's always been safe for him to be upset!"

"No, Patton, it hasn't."

"Not when we've been jumping all over him for just expressing how he's feeling."

"He knows he can come and talk to me, he does! I don't understand why—"

"Patton, when was the last time Roman sought you out? To talk to you, or even just to hang out?"

"…"

"Patton?"

"…oh, no."

***

It takes a long time.

Roman spends a lot of time in the Imagination. Patton can feel it, can feel how hurt Roman is and how Thomas must be feeling by association. Everyone spends more time just…existing around each other without actually doing anything.

It takes a long, long time.

Fear never completely goes away, but it does become a little less omnipresent. Pain fades, or dulls, but the memory still causes flinches.

In time.

In time.

***

"Roman?"

"Hm?"

"Any ideas?"

Roman glances up at the others. They're all looking at him expectantly. Logan raises an eyebrow and gestures for him to go on.

A slow smile spreads across his face.

"Well, I did think of something."

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[warrior-cats-rewritten]

World building stuff Yay! Note that the only really sapient creatures in WCR are cats, humans, raccoons, wolves, and owls. Nothing else. Also, that the wildlife in WCR is going to be a mix of UK and Canadian wildlife.

Other Animals:

Possums: Not a threat, but also not really prey unless things are dire. Most common in Shadowclan territory but some have been known to end up in other areas. They are treated as caretakers of the land, eating crowfood and ticks. Basically, don't bully the janitors.

Foxes: Not that big but dangerous. They aren't sapient, but they are known to enjoy hunting purely for sport. Referencing but ultimately removing Midnight's line "all fox-talk is of kill". Their bites can easily get infected but they don't (usually) attack on site, only if a cat is stealing its "kill", if their babies are involved. Unfortunately, it is easy to set off a fox, and even a young one's bite is dangerous.

Badgers: Still pretty big creatures because I cannot get over the thought/image of huge badgers, and still dangerous. Not always an attack on site situation, but they are extremely territorial. A single Badger chased by a herd of Boars is what happens during the horrible attack in Twilight.

Boars: Large, extremely dangerous, they will attack on site. Tigerclaw saved Darkpaw (Darkstripe) from a boar on their first day out of camp together. They can be hunted, but it is not common whatsoever. Cherryshine (Dustpelt and Ravenpaw's sister) managed to take down a boar during her apprenticeship, giving her a warrior name early. Violet Dawn is the beginning of Boar Hunting, and is often prayed to before a hunt.

Bears: More of a Lake threat than a Forest one, and they aren't common. They do not attack unless given reason too, and it is not a fight a cat can win. Best course of action is to run and keep running.

Wolves: Language barrier isn't great but cats are not on a wolf's menu. There is peace amongst the 2 species even though communication is hard. A group in the mountains gets along very well with The Tribe of Rushing Water, The Tribe of Snowy Peaks, and The Tribe of Hollow Valley, since they don't see the cats as a threat to them.

Mountain Lions: Under any normal circumstances, not dangerous. Sharptooth is not a natural creature, and certainly not normal circumstances!

Deer: Depends on what kind! Red deer are not to be messed with, they're too big. Fallow deer are hunted sometimes but need very strong cats to do so. Their pelts are dried in the sun and used in nests. These cats are smarter than Canon. (The Tribe/Tribes however do not usually hunt them unless it is absolutely necessary. They hunt other animals, Fallow deer belong to the Mountain Lions). Muntjac deer are VERY commonly hunted, especially by Windclan. Water deer are hunted rarely by Riverclan, and one is caught during the Beaver Patrol.

Raccoons: Not normally dangerous! Raccoons speak a little and can be chatted with, but their teeth are dangerously sharp and their bites can get infected fast. Packs of them can be persuaded into helping, which is what Darktail does to Skyclan with Sharpclaw's help.

Owls: Can be dangerous if small kittens are about, hence why most families will not go on camping trips until a kitten is 1.5 moons old. There is 0 communication between Owls and Cats, only Owls and Wolves. ;)

A desperately hungry owl is a much worse threat, they will attack a fully grown cat or steal prey. Ambermoon is a victim of an Owl attack, and while she did manage to bring it down and kill it, it left her with some scars on her back and shoulders.

[hiwofumi]

𝗦𝗢𝗠𝗘 𝗞𝗜𝗟𝗟𝗘𝗥 𝗤𝗨𝗘𝗘𝗡 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗔𝗥𝗘

You and Yoshida hit the road, headed toward a night you’ll never forget.

contains fem reader and hirofumi yoshida in an established relationship, fluff, smut, smoker reader, road trip, motel room, pool sex, and loss of virginity. 3,626 words. inspired by bleachers’ song, rollercoaster. here is an entire playlist.

hellooo, it’s been a while! this is my dreadfully late gift to @blueparadis for snow’s gift exchange. I decided to align it with valentine’s day as a nice treat, but it’s actually long overdue from the holidays (⁠´⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠.̫⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠`⁠) bella, thank you for being so, so patient with me, and happy valentine’s day, baby! and thank you to dear violet for beta reading this fic! 🖤

𝟭 ︱ 𝖶𝖤’𝖫𝖫 𝖡𝖤 𝖫𝖮𝖮𝖪𝖨𝖭𝖦 𝖥𝖮𝖱 𝖲𝖴𝖭𝖫𝖨𝖦𝖧𝖳, 𝖮𝖱 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖧𝖤𝖠𝖣𝖫𝖨𝖦𝖧𝖳𝖲

He’s overdosed with burning rubber, shifting cities, and a fine lady in his passenger seat.

Digits of varying uses illuminate the dashboard, the clock reading a little past twenty-two. Rush hour has long passed, and apart from the occasional truck or blinding headlights on the opposite side of the road, the expressway is desolate.

You’ve quieted too—Yoshida glances to see if you’ve fallen asleep. But you’re watching another worn out city pass from your open window, your hair restless in the wind.

He was the one who received a call from Public Safety that morning. Briefed on a feral devil playing havoc with the peace of a rural town, he reached frantically for the nearest pen and paper napkin and jotted away. The final question: “Are you willing to take the job?” And he responded, “I’ll let you know once I’ve talked to my buddy.”

(Private devil hunters didn’t have buddies. But youthful rebellion defied most things.)

“That’s sudden,” you said matter-of-factly on the other line, static singing in the background.

“It is,” he replied, eyeing the paper napkin scribbles in his hand as he held the phone. “We won’t be alone though—devil hunters from Public Safety will be coming too.”

“That serious, huh?” you leaned against the wall where your phone was attached. “Will we be driving there ourselves?”

“Yeah,” he answered. “It’s a twelve-hour drive. What do you think?”

“Half a day,” you said, tipping your head back in contemplation. “Have you ever driven that long?”

“Not at all,” he said. “And I don’t think Tako could take it. If we’re going, we’ll have to make a stopover at some point.”

He named his car Tako. Compact, secondhand, and certainly not up with the times—but Tako was “beautifully flawed, just like you,” in his exact words, and you grimaced with every reminder. You’d accepted your fate of third-wheeling him and his car, but jealousy lingered.

You emphasized your eye roll while he couldn’t see you. He seemed to care more about Tako’s well-being than his own.

“Hmm . . . did you say they needed us there tomorrow?” you said, preserving a casual tone to keep him oblivious.

“I did,” he took the bait.

“All right . . . if we take this job, we can leave this afternoon, then check in somewhere later at night.”

“Sounds good to me. We’ll continue our trip in the morning and arrive there by noon.”

“So it’s settled,” you affirmed. “We’re taking the job.”

“We are,” somehow, you could sense his smile growing on the other end. “What time do I pick you up?”

“Maybe at . . .” you glanced at the wall clock hanging above your fridge, “four.”

When he arrived at your block, you were standing on the pavement, clutching the strap of your duffel bag from your shoulder. You tossed your bag into the backseat and rode shotgun, chirping, “You ready, Hiro?”

Early into the ride, the fresh breeze rolled into your lungs, ejecting the smoke you’d put in them beforehand. The wind weaved with your hair, and the sun glimmered against your skin while it set. Amidst a red light, you faced him and asked, “What were you doing before you got the call?”

He was leaning against the steering wheel, watching the countdown before he looked at you. He smiled and answered, “I was thinking about you.”

Out of reflex, you chuckled airily and faced the other way. “Weirdo.”

The light flickered green as he yelped, “Ouch!”

When the sun sank, cars poured in. Entire roads were eager to go home while you were just leaving yours. You sat in traffic as your stomach gurgled, marking the first stage of your regret for the spontaneity of your travel.

“Got any food in here?” you asked, facing Yoshida’s direction for the umpteenth time after staring out into the dreadful sea of vehicles enveloping Tako.

“None,” he answered curtly. His right hand was holding the steering wheel—or rather, gripping it. He rubbed his mouth, now dropped to a frown instead of its bright state, before resting his arm on the window.

You sighed and faced your window again, your fist pressing your cheek. “I should’ve prepared some before we left.”

Yoshida responded with silence. He never relied on words when he was displeased, trusting the quiet to speak for him. Time continued to pass, but the traffic did not.

“I’m thirsty. Do you have any water?” you asked again later.

“I don’t,”

“Ugh,” you threw your head against the headrest. “When will this end?”

“I’m upset too,” he said calmly. “I gotta pee.”

“What if you peed outside?”

“And got myself arrested?”

You scanned the small space for something useful, finding an empty soda bottle in the pocket of your car door. “What about in this bottle?”

Yoshida scowled as you held it up to him. “Baby, please.”

Your body was in a state of drought and famine; nothing to come out of your mouth would be of any help.

Tako wriggled free of congestion thirty minutes after your exchange. Yoshida stepped on the gas pedal harder than usual, and you failed to resist screaming out of your window, “Finally!”

He parked at the first fast-food restaurant in sight. As you unbuckled your seatbelt, he turned the car off, yanked the key out, and hurried to leave. “Wait, what’s your—”

“I’ll have a burger,” he said before he slammed the door and bolted to the establishment where his savior awaited—the bathroom.

You ordered large burgers, fries, and orange juice in pairs. You moaned as soon as the flavor set in your mouth, barely chewing before you swallowed your first bite. He ate slowly in the driver’s seat, watching you with amusement. You devoted your attention to your meal and your meal only, but you fed him fries every so often.

“I’m packing us food next time,” you said before taking another mouthful of your sandwich.

“I’m using the bathroom before I hit the road,” he answered with full cheeks, licking the mayo off his fingers.

You continued your journey content and relieved at last. The night was getting quiet, but with your tanks refueled, it was your time to disrupt the peace.

The last set of songs on the radio station were ones you and Yoshida knew. Yoshida’s palms banged the steering wheel to the beat, and you tapped on your door from the outside as your arm hung from the window. You replaced lyrics you didn’t know with gibberish that made him giggle. You screamed the ones you knew together, pointing fingers at each other whenever the word “you” appeared within the lines. You sang your voice and heart out, and finally, you ran out of breath.

You panted with laughter as the radio announcer bid goodnight. And then you fell into silence, the kind that reassured you were both fulfilled.

A cigarette burns from your hand now. It’s been six hours since you departed, and it would take six more to arrive at your destination.

Yoshida reaches for your thigh and gently squeezes. “Should we call it a night?”

In his momentary glance at you, he spots hypnosis in your eyes, likely from watching the world go by through your window. “Yeah,” you say. “Let’s get some rest.”

Relief hits your numb butt once you step out of the car and into the open parking lot of a standard motel. The night is crisp and silent as you and Yoshida carry your bags separately and amble toward your temporary abode.

𝟮 ︱ 𝖬𝖮𝖱𝖳𝖠𝖫 𝖡𝖮𝖣𝖸; 𝖳𝖤𝖭𝖣𝖤𝖱 𝖲𝖮𝖴𝖫𝖲

You request a room with two beds only to learn after that it was futile.

The room leans on vintage wallpaper, clean white sheets, and warm light from the wall lamp between your beds. It’s as out of style as it could be, but it’ll do for the night.

Yoshida uses the bathroom after letting you go first. He comes out likening your current appearance: in fresh sleepwear and a small towel dabbing his wet face, his hand pushing his long fringe up.

You’ve cleared your bed of your things to sit on the edge and face his. He mirrors you, bouncing on the mattress when he plops down and opens his arms to you in invitation. You lurch forward willingly, and his arms lock over the small of your back. It occurs to you that your separate bed would be useless for the night.

With the lights off, you lie together. It’s as if any space where you don’t share one breath and heartbeat is senseless.

The outdoor light seeps through the curtains of your window, allowing the wall clock in front of your bed to reflect its numbers. It’s past midnight. His fingers thread through your hair. You shift your head closer to his chest, pushing your ear to hear the life inside, speaking in calm, steady tones.

You play with his hand, pressing your palms together, studying the lines etched and tracing them with a gentle finger. It tickles him, the faintest sensation left in the wake of your touch, and he indulges.

“Aren’t you sleepy?” you speak against the creases of his shirt, cheek pressed to the fabric.

“It wore off.” His arm folds under his head as he eyes the ceiling. “What about you?”

He seems to hold you tighter, lightly bracing your shoulders. His staying awake means you won’t be listening to his soft snores, or staring at his ajar mouth with quiet adoration.

“I dunno,” your arm rests across his stomach. “I’m never sleepy when we’re out of town.”

For a moment, he’s soundless, only the mild strokes of his palm up and down your shoulder. “That pool outside . . .”

He pointed it out earlier when you passed it on your way to the room. It was cyan in all its stillness, illuminating in the dark. You know what he’s hinting at.

“Won’t we get in trouble?” you ask, looking up to see his face, only to find his eyes veiled by an overgrown fringe.

But through the dark strands, you find mischief glinting back at you. And it tugs the ends of his mouth up as he entices, “Aren’t we used to that?”

𝟯 ︱ 𝖨 𝖥𝖤𝖤𝖫 𝖸𝖮𝖴𝖱 𝖤𝖭𝖤𝖱𝖦𝖸 𝖱𝖴𝖲𝖧𝖨𝖭𝖦 𝖳𝖧𝖱𝖮𝖴𝖦𝖧 𝖬𝖤

Only as you stand a few inches away from the pool do you remember that you’re on official business—not a vacation.

You didn’t pack any swimwear. So instead of taking a dip, you and Yoshida stand awkwardly hand-in-hand in your pajamas, wary faces reflecting in the water when you lean forward with caution.

“Do we just . . .” he starts, but never finishes. You glance at him, thinking how ironic it is that he’s apprehensive now when he had gotten the idea moments ago.

But you’d already taken the steps to arrive at this point. You got out of bed, stepped out into the studded, cool night, and strutted on the concrete leading to the pool. Why turn back now?

You drop his hand, failing to notice the confused look he gives you before you pull your shirt out of your head. You look at him once the shirt meets the ground; framed by his dark strands are two astounded eyes. You grin devilishly at him, thumbs sliding beneath the garter of your pajama pants.

Yoshida’s mouth hangs open at your overt choice of stripping. His eyes skim your back as you stray toward the pool, taking in the shade of your skin, the hook that keeps your bra in place, and the fabric that bends to the shape of your hips going downward. He flushes, urgently looking away.

“Hey,” you glance at him again, your feet submerged as you descend the steps of the pool, and lilt playfully, “Don’t back out now.”

Tiny smooth stones press against the soles of your feet. He shuts his near-dry mouth, then swallows. Your uncovered state is nothing he’d quite seen until this point. But it would be foolish to spend the rest of the night gawking in a moment dedicated to you and him.

The uncanny warmth of his body radiates as he peels his clothes off, t-shirt and sweatpants meeting your pajamas on the ground. He follows into the pool in a pair of loose boxer shorts.

Icy water engulfs your shoulders down. You shudder, wrapping your arms around yourself. “It’s fucking cold,”

Yoshida catches up with you soon, his arms sliding around your waist from behind. “Will this do?” he asks, holding you to his chest. His skin is damp but warm, and your head slots perfectly under his chin.

“That’s perfect, Hiro.” You tell him softly, settling into his frame. Your hands rest on his folded arms; your heels press against his feet. In that cozy stance, he proceeds to waddle.

You giggle as you sway together, the water sloshing. Soon, you break free of his grasp to splash him, and his arms cross over his face to defend himself before retaliating with bigger splashes. You chase after each other in the pool, noisy spurts from flailing arms on opposite ends. You don’t surrender until water enters your nose and mouth.

As you cough relentlessly, he approaches with wry laughter and asks, “Are you okay?”

He wishes he’d stayed far when you answer with the biggest splash of water shoved into his face. He backs away with his face in his hands, the ugly taste of pool water in his mouth, and the painful feeling of it in his nose. He coughs it out, just like you, but mixed with a sense of betrayal that soon translates into more eager playfulness.

He turns to you again and scoops you into his arms with a wide grin. “Should’ve seen that one coming,” he says as you giggle and try to wriggle free of his grasp, but to no avail. You give up and let him lift your feet off the pool floor, your arms wrapping around his neck.

His hair is soaked and flopping over his eyes, making it hard to see the affection held for you under it. You smooth it back with a gentle hand so you can admire him.

You often craved a clear view of his face—his hair usually concealed half of it. You wanted to see him, and you wanted to be seen by him. It had become a habit to push his hair back whenever you felt like it, and he’d always thought you never noticed how his heart fluttered over it.

But you always have. You feel it when your hand moves from the back of his head to the peak of his neck, where his drumming pulse resides. You see it in the expansion of his dark pupils while his glimmering gaze fixes on you.

His forehead is exposed, droplets dappling his cheeks from your childish frolic. His breath warms your face as you inch toward his lips. He welcomes your kiss with a knowing tilt of his head, a parted soft mouth, and a light squeeze of his arms around your body.

Yoshida numbs you from the rest of the world by filling all your senses, starting with the small noises of his moving kiss, progressing to the nudge of your back against tile and stone. A gasp enters his mouth after the impact, and he swallows willingly.

His warm lips brush your cheek, sliding down your jaw and lowering to your neck. He opens his lips to the curve that links your shoulder, hard teeth grazing your skin. It’s new, and it’s admittedly scary, but you tilt your head in flowering welcome.

“Is this all right, Hiro?” you ask softly, lacking breath. He leans back, leaving your skin cold to meet your shy gaze.

“If you’re not sure, we can stop.” His words reassure with sweet undertones. You realize from his calm that he’ll accept any direction this goes.

You’re in a pool of heat now. Your breath has strayed from its usual pattern, and you take pleasure in his keen grip. You’re passionately aware that under your skin is a beat attuned to his doing, his intimate intentions. You know it’s under his skin, too. With him infecting your every nerve and vein, you come to a decision.

“I want this,” you whisper, hand gliding over the back of his head. “Do you?”

Yoshida’s gaze glimmers with intent, struck by a wave of certainty. “I want you more than anything.”

You find confidence in confirming. You reach for the lock of your bra and unhook it, paying rapt attention to the growth of his eyes as they set on your naked chest. You toss the piece behind you to the elevated floor.

Flushed but resolute, he reaches forward and cups your breasts, cutting your breath midway. He massages the plush with firm but gentle hands, and a slow current of ecstasy cascades through your clenched body. He leans past your neck to take your nipple between his lips. Your mouth slacks in pleasure, echoing a shocked whine as you tip your head back.

His tongue’s motions jolt and relieve you at once, your chest lifting and falling against his face with urgency. Underwater, your pelvis aligns with his crotch. You press further into each other naturally, two sensitive parts rubbing in heated motions.

Yoshida’s eyes flutter up at you before he pulls back, the taste of your skin lingering on his tongue. He leans toward your ear and whispers, “You drive me insane,”

His fingers slide into your panties, and your back arches when he begins to stroke in the raw. A warmth scatters to your stomach, rising to your chest.

He leans back to heed the pleasured twist of your face. He drinks the pinch of your features, the rapid tumbles of your sounds. Livened, his two fingers ease into you carefully, but the pain of it only helps your cries.

“Should I stop?” his voice carries concern from the strain of your fingers digging into his back. Truthfully, he doesn’t want to. And you know this—you can tell from how his fingers continue to nudge their way in, stretching you further. You don’t want to, either.

“No,” you gasp out, indulging in his motions, “Don’t stop.”

He’s delighted, and it translates to the intensity of his fingers’ thrusts, so long and slender. His lips brush over your ear. “You take it so perfectly,”

As graceful as you are in absorbing the bliss of his advances, you still want more. “I want you, Hiro. I want to feel you.”

He’s been hard, clenching tight. A fever that burns even in water, spreading beneath his flushed skin. He tugs his boxers down, holding his length to your cunt after pushing your panties aside. He takes the need that’s been weighing on his stomach, and he slides himself in with a smooth stroke.

“Fuck,” he moans breathlessly, throbbing against the squeeze. “Oh, fuck. You feel so good.”

You clutch his back desperately, fingers digging into shoulder blades. “Hirofumi,” you shiver, cunt clenching around his girth. He rocks his hips in a steady rhythm that melts you from the inside and renders him weak.

He leans toward you as you wind each other tightly, his head dipping into the bend of your neck, scraping your skin with his teeth. You sense your blood concentrating on the chafed spot under his lips. His pace picks up, and your fist curls in his hair.

He lifts his head to admire you again. Your vision is in motion blur, coming from a light head that hasn’t gotten sleep, but your narrow gaze keeps the sight of him intact. Your fingers skim his parted mouth, brushing over the mole underneath it. Your rushed breaths fog the gap between your faces, but you look past this, leaning in for a sloppy kiss.

You take his taste into your mouth and lose yourself in the seconds, the rough scrub of your skin against the wall, and the mind-melting pure ecstasy. Your lips no longer push with his own, parting entirely to moan. “Ah,”

Your head falls back, reaching for the sight of twinkling stars. Right below, your body jerks with the repeated motions of his hips, and your cunt constricts around his length, urging him.

“Fuck,” he pulses on as you squeeze him, beating furiously amidst rapid movement until you loosen and he reaches his high. With a swift tug, white blends with the water of the pool.

The high subsides with heaving chests and hot faces. He lets your feet meet the floor slowly, running his palms up to your hips afterward. Your arms loosen around his nape but remain entwined, and you lean in to kiss warmly.

“Are you all right?” he asks gingerly, hazy eyes setting on you. He rubs your hips, squeezing with care.

“Yeah,” you breathe out. Tired, sore, but utterly content and comforted. “I’m perfect. What about you?”

“You are perfect,” he grins, barely apart from your face, making your chest bubble. “Geez. You’re too pretty.”

“Stop,” you giggle, hitting his back lightly. “Just answer my question.”

His smile softens, and his answer is earnest. “I feel great, honestly.”

“Yeah?” you ask, drawn by his gleeful demeanor.

“Yeah.” He answers, affection carved into his lingering gaze. “I’m in love.”

You laugh lightheartedly. “So am I. Deeply.”

Satisfaction blossoms in his chest, his smile bending toward a playful smirk. “Way into it?”

You nod, instantly giving yourself away. “Way into it. I think you’re perfect for me, Hiro.”

“Of course I am,” he leans in, bumping his forehead into yours. “No one else can have you but me.”

With a smile seemingly permanent, you kiss his lips. “There’s no one else I need.”

Your head rests on his shoulder as he carries you back to the room with reverent adoration. After a brief and shared shower, you dry yourselves, lie together, and fall asleep.

@tokyometronetwork