#but i still firmly believe that he can fight if pressed

[unaarista]

[creganslover]

My King

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Velaryon! Wife! Reader

Requested?: No

Summary: You find your dear husband sulking in his study.

Word count: 1.2k

Warning/s: sad jace, passive agressive jace? lol, suggestive themes towards the end but no smut! no use of y/n

Note: just inspired by jace and baela's scene in s2ep8 hehe aka i just wanna give him a hug and kiss him all over is that too much to ask- likes, reblogs, and feedbacks are greatly appreciated ❣️

GIF is not mine, credits to the owner!

Tracing over the scripture on the tome, you shift yourself, crossing a leg over the other as your brain tries to consume the content within the pages, even if it was already deep within the night, the air seeping into your bones if it were not for the candles distanced around you. 

The candles flickered, casting a warm glow, the night air making you already feel the pull of exhaustion from today’s events, however one was keeping you from the graces of sleep.

You wondered where your husband was, Jace. 

You had been waiting for his return to your shared chambers, but recently, he looked occupied with trying to reign in his own mother as well as trying to be by her side, you could not blame him for the way he had been acting. You supported her cause, but you could see how it had been affecting Jacaerys lately. 

Huffing, you rubbed at your eyes, closing and pushing the book away as you stood, about to come looking for Jacaerys. 

It felt more often than not you had to fetch him from wherever he may be just to go and drag him to bed with you just so he could find sleep. 

Your feet led you downstairs, bunching your robes so you do not accidentally step and fall over these stone steps, though the thought made you almost laugh. Those thoughts are quickly forgotten when you spot Jacaerys down the open door of his study. 

Peeking in curiously, you saw him, elbow perched on his desk, side of his head propped against his fist as he was slowly turning the pages of a book with his other hand, his face pulled to a frown, brows knitted in thought. You might find it endearing if it wasn’t for the situation.

Poor boy doesn’t even register your presence as you slipped in, making it eventually known by speaking. 

“It does not befit a prince to pout.” You suddenly say, Jacaerys stilling for a moment, his heart spiking but eventually relaxing as his mind registers your voice, making him close his eyes shut and release a deep sigh. 

“I’m not pouting.” Came his reply. Leave it to your husband…

“What would you call it then, husband?” You voiced, shuffling the books on the chair behind him, placing it onto the desk before sitting beside him. “I’m reading, wife.” As if to send his point across, he turns a page in between his two fingers, but he does not even seem to be glancing at the sheet. 

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you sigh. “You’re angry.” 

That’s when Jace finally moves to face you. “Aren’t you?”

You look down for a moment to shrug, of course the idea was bizarre and clearly a blow to your family’s honor. “I don’t see what good it would do.” you reply, “They are an insult to us.” Jace murmured, looking ahead of him, jaw clenching. “To what makes us Targaryens.”

“If any common lout can ride a dragon, then–” You were quick to cut him off. “Yet that does not make me common. Or you.” You try to convince him, inching your chair closer to your betrothed. 

“You know what I am.” He responded, no, that’s not what you were going to have. “I do not care, Jace.” You firmly said, reaching for his hands underneath the desk as you looked at him while he maintained to avoid your gaze. 

Raising a hand of his enclasped in yours, you press your lips against the back of his hand, a show of affection. “You are the crown prince, the son of the rightful queen- and here you are sulking because you believe that if not for the dragon, or the trappings of your station- that you are nothing.”

Placing your hand still holding his on your lap, you couldn’t help but just want to drown out your husband’s thoughts and distress.

“Do you believe that you are the first noble heir who was not sired by his noble father?” Taking an inhale of breath, you added. “Such is the way of the world, Jace, and in resenting it you only diminish yourself.” 

Hoping it will come through to him as you stroke your thumb on his hand that was now on your leg, his palm resting on the flesh through your robes. 

He still doesn’t meet your gaze and it sends you frustrated, but you keep trying anyway. “Easy enough to say.” He replied, voice tinged with rancor. You see him swallow as he stares into the void of candles and books. “I’ve heard the whispers the whole of my life.”

Your face pulls to a sympathetic look, gaze momentarily flickering to the ground, cursing the accusations Jace had been succumbed to ever since in your youth. You squeezed his hand on your leg, your gaze holding onto him. “Then prove to them you are worthy, you are Jacaerys Velaryon, heir to the Iron Throne- no one would change that, unless you will not get up and take your place by your mother’s side.”

After what felt like an eternity, Jacaerys finally gave in and had looked at you, though still shying away as he leaned his head back, blinking away the moisture from his eyes. You sigh, squeezing his hand again.

You felt that silence was enough, letting your words sink into Jacaerys’ mind. “I’m sorry.” He said after a while, in which you shook your head. “There is no need to be sorry, Jace.” You reach up, cupping his face with your free hand as you slowly make him turn his head to face you, to look earnestly in your eyes. 

“I am with you, through your ups and downs.” You murmur, stroking your thumb across the apple of his cheek, “We’ll get through this together, we’ll end this war, see your mother to the throne.” You promised, leaning in to capture his lips to seal the vow. 

He reciprocates, squeezing your leg as his other hand found your arm, tracing up to cradle the back of your neck, pulling you closer. 

“What would I do without you?” He murmured against you, breaths mingling together in a dance as your lips brushed against the other.. 

“Perhaps still pouting and sulking, my king.” You teased, pulling back and getting up from your chair, sending Jace befuddled yet stimulated, you calling him king had seemed to fry every last thought he had before recovering.

A smirk came to his face, amused at your teasing as he also rushed to stand, lunging to try and capture you in his arms, but you had anticipated it as you easily slipped from his grasp, his troubles melting as the wax on the lit candles. 

“You tease me now, wife? How shall I punish you if I ever become king?” It sent your heart fluttering and your insides heating as Jace played along, making you continue your act, placing your hand above your chest in mock disbelief. It was a start, you would always want to see your husband in high spirits. 

“That is if you can catch me first, my king.” 

And with that you were off, stifled laughter down the hall, your robes bunched up in your hands as you ascended the stairs towards your shared chambers… with a fired up dragon hot on your trail.

[multific]

Bounded by Hope

Lucius Verus Aurelius x Reader

Summary: You catch Lucius's eye as he fights in the Colosseum, his strength and resolve captivating you. Later that night, you sneak into the arena, where he confesses. 

The roar of the Colosseum still echoed in your ears as you lingered near the edges of the great arena that evening. 

You swore you could still hear the people cheer. 

Lucius had fought with unmatched skill earlier that day, you watched him closely, but it was the moment his eyes briefly met yours that sent your heart racing. 

You weren’t supposed to be there, but you had to be there just to see him.

The poet Gladiator. 

That was something you wanted to see.

Now, with the moon high in the sky and the city around you settling into sleep, you found yourself sneaking through the shadows, your heart pounding with both fear and anticipation.

The Colosseum was large, its arches surrounded by darkness. 

It wasn’t hard to find the gate leading to the fighters’ quarters; your feet seemed to move as if they knew the path.

“Who goes there?” a voice called softly from within.

You froze, gripping the cold metal bars. 

Lucius’s figure emerged from the shadows, his tunic loose and his hair messy. 

He had been resting, but his eyes were sharp as they fell upon you.

“It’s... just me,” you whispered, your voice soft and gentle.

“My Lady, you shouldn’t be here,” he murmured, stepping closer to you as his expression softened.

“And yet, here I am,” you replied, your fingers tightened around the bars. “I wished to see you.”

He moved closer to you, his eyes studied yours, his hands brushing against the bars opposite yours. 

“Why? Surely you know this is dangerous.”

“I saw you today, fighting in the arena. You were incredible. But it wasn’t just your skill, no, it was your heart that captured me. I’ve never seen anyone like you.” you admitted. 

He chuckled though there was a hint of bitterness in it. 

“A gladiator doesn’t usually receive such praise from someone like you, My Lady.”

“Don’t call me that,” you said quickly. “Not tonight. I’m just a woman standing before you, nothing more.”

“And I am just a man who fights because he must,” he said quietly. “But today... when I saw you, I felt something I hadn’t in a long time. Hope.” He said and leaned closer, the bars the only thing separating you. 

“Hope for what?” you felt your heart pounding in your chest.

“For freedom. For a life beyond these walls,” he said, his voice growing stronger. “For a chance to hold onto what I’ve seen in you.”

“Do you truly believe you can win your freedom?”

“I have to,” he said firmly. “Not just for myself, but for you.”

“For me?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

“If I win, I will leave this place, and I will find you. I will make you mine, if you’ll have me.” He said, his hands gripping the bars tightly now. 

Tears welled in your eyes, you didn't even know each other. Yet a simple look was enough for you both.

“You don’t have to fight for me, Hanno,” you said softly. “I would wait for you, no matter how long.”

“Please, call me Lucius. I must fight,” he insisted. “I must earn the right to stand beside you. I must become a man you are worthy of.”

The intensity in his voice left you speechless. 

You reached through the bars, your fingers brushing against his cheek. 

He closed his eyes at your touch, leaning into it as though it were the first kind thing he’d felt in years.

“Then fight,” you whispered. “But promise me you’ll be careful. Promise me you’ll come back. Promise you will make me yours”

He opened his eyes, locking them with yours once more. 

“I swear it,” he said. “For you, I will do anything.”

In that moment, the world around you disappeared. All that existed was him, and the bond growing between you. 

Both of you leaned in and you pressed your lips to his through the cold metal bars, the kiss was brief but filled with everything you couldn’t say.

When you pulled away, his gaze burned into yours. 

“I will see you again,” he promised.

“And I will wait for you Lucius,” you replied. "I must go now." you said as he nodded and you left just as you came.

As you walked back into the night, his words replayed in your mind. 

His vow will stay with you until the moment you see him again. 

Gladiator II Collection

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou 

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief 

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen @mel-vaz @akamitrani

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[jymwahuwu]

*slides in with Capitano smut*

Darling insisting that they ride Capitano so he can be on the receiving end of pleasure this time. He finds it endearing so he obediently lies down and lets you straddle at him. At most, he will place his hands on your hips and tell you not to overestimate your strength.

But after several rounds…..oh no, it seems he was right. You’re out of energy, but you stubbornly continue because you know your husband isn’t fully satisfied yet.

That is when Capitano’s grip on your hips tightens. Your back hits the mattress and now he is the one looming over you. It’s only right that he reciprocate your efforts.

The next day, you can barely walk so Capitano will princess carry you everywhere until your body recovers <3

This is so cute and sweet 💕💕💕

I was so surprised that you showed up in my inbox. Thank you for the delicious thirst 😌🫶💖 I crave him 🌟🌟🌟

cw: penetrative sex, riding

Why does Capitano always take the initiative? You firmly believe that you can give him happiness and pleasure. You straddle him and clumsily take off his helmet and clothes (and fight against failure. It turns out his clothes are not as uncomplicated as you thought…). Capitano looks at you with all his attention, affectionately and intently. "Don't overestimate your strength, maybe you'll tire yourself out." His broad hands held your buttocks, enjoying your softness.

“I-I wouldn’t,” you responded stubbornly.

You gradually sit down. Tears gathered in your eyes as you were split open by his thick, wide size. Relax. Take a deep breath. Relax. Take a deep breath. Even though you were still shaking and whimpering on his cock, you had your hands on his shoulders, bouncing on his thighs. The pleasure takes you to the peak - no less than your usual doggy style and mating press.

"No, not so fast…please…" you moaned to yourself, but still reached your orgasm. Not once, but several times. Your husband hasn't been released yet in the meantime.

"…How many times?" He sighed. "Can you still stay sane?"

"I-I…" You stopped, panting as you sat on his cock.

In the next second, Capitano had already pushed your back against the mattress and pulled it out a little, and then pressed his pelvic bones towards you and pushed your butt against the quilt. The pulsing and pounding of hot warmth and the squeezing of sticky fluids. He must repay your sincerity.

The next day, the Fatui soldiers watched in confusion as Capitano carried you around while you shyly leaned on his chest, your limbs exhausted.

[familyvideostevie]

you have me, you have me only

joel miller x reader you get (minorly) injured on patrol. joel does his best to patch you up and not worry too much. | jackson!joel, hurt/comfort, wound-patching, some blood, a jesse cameo, joel being joel, all that good stuff. | 4.2k a/n: part of the just and just as verse. not too soft but not too angsty, either. just another day after the end of the world, you know? thank you @mrsmando for your eyes on this! <3

___

"Almost there," you mutter. "Fuck."

The icy winter wind dulls the stinging in your palms to a numbness. The leather gloves you've had for half a decade stay tucked in your pockets. You don't want to ruin their lining with dirt and blood.

"How's the head?" 

Jesse pulls up alongside you in a trot. The adrenaline from your patrol-gone-wrong pulses heavy at the top of your spine, your vision sharp and the whole world a little too loud around you as Jackson comes into view at the bottom of the hill. Your head, like the rest of you, throbs.

"I'll live."

He scoffs and his horse snorts as if agreeing with him. In truth, you're more pissed than injured, though it certainly looks like you lost a fight. Jesse's cheekbone will no doubt bloom purple tomorrow and his lip is still bleeding sluggishly. His jeans are splattered with gore, same as yours.

"Thanks for back there," he says.

You shrug and wince when it pulls at the skin of your side where you fell. 

"You, too," you tell him with a grimace. "That was quick thinking with the brick."

You like him -- he's good at his job and he's a good friend to Ellie. You know Tommy and Maria are not-so-subtly training him to run this place someday if he wants to. As a patrol partner, you can't ask for much better. He knows all the routes and he's a good shot and his mom knows everything there is to know about everyone in town and sometimes he passes tidbits on to you.

But knowing your shit doesn't mean a damn thing in this world, sometimes. You can still get ambushed by infected on patrol and it can still fuck up your day.

He waves you off. "I just can't believe an elk chose our station to fucking die in."

"Tommy is going to shit himself when you tell him," you laugh. It pulls at your ribs. God, is there any part of you that didn't take a beating?

"He'll just be pissed he wasn't here."

Your horses reach the bottom of the hill and Jesse hesitates, the green scrap of cloth in his hand. The red one indicating an injured party peeks out from his pocket.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the clinic?"

"I'm fine," you say firmly. "I can patch up at home."

He eyes the cut on your forehead and your scraped palms but caves under your glare and waves the green flag.

"Joel makes the same face," he mutters. "Ellie does, too. Freaky."

The gates open and you grunt when you get off your horse, palms back to stinging.

"Joel's two expressions are pissed and annoyed," you say. “Not hard to pick one up.” You press the back of your hand to your forehead and it comes back tacky with blood. "Fuck."

"I don't think you'll need a stitch." Jesse holds his hand out for your patrol rifle and pats the neck of your horse. "I'll debrief and get these guys settled. You go home."

Normally, you'd protest. But you really just want to take a hot shower and sleep for twelve hours, so you nod and shoulder your pack carefully.

"Make sure you tell Tommy about beating a stalker to death with a brick," you call over your shoulder. "He'll be impressed."

Jesse laughs.

Snow crunches under your boots on the way home. Fuck, you're exhausted. The adrenaline fades with each step and the aches become sharp pains. There aren't too many people out today on account of the cold but you nod and wave, ignoring the double takes at the blood on your clothes.

It'll be a pain in the ass if you can't patch the ruined knees of your jeans. Maybe you can convince Joel to carve something for the woman down the street who can sew better than anyone in town. Finding new pants is damn near impossible.

You’re practically dragging your feet by the time you reach your house. The mailbox labeled Miller, the wind chimes gently swaying on the porch, all of it puts you at ease. You made it home.

The porch steps groan as you climb them and the front door opens from the inside as you reach the top. Joel steps out, hand still on the knob when he looks up and sees you. His eyes widen.

He was on patrol today, too. You left at the same time but he had a shorter route and must have gotten back a while ago.

"Are you coming to meet me?" you say with a grin that's genuine despite the way your body pulses with pain. He does this sometimes -- milling around the gate, chatting with people on the wall as he waits for you to return. You never really feel like you're home until you see his face.

Joel does not smile back. His eyes rake over you the same way he surveys a room, cataloging all of the important things. The gash on your temple, the rips in your jeans, the way you're favoring your left side. The blood, too -- it's everywhere, you're sure. Palms, knees, collar. Jesse helped you wipe your face before you rode back so that you could see without blood in your eyes, but you must look pretty fucking rough.

"Jesus," he says. His hand twitches like he's going to reach for you. "You okay?"

"I'll be better when I'm not standing out in the cold."

His nostrils flare and he heads back into the house, you on his heels. You dump your pack and sit down heavily on the bench to take off your boots. Joel beats you to it, lowering to one knee with a slight groan, fingers working at your laces.

Normally he'd ask how patrol was, how Jesse did, if you saw anything interesting. Instead, his cheek twitches like he's clenching his jaw so hard it hurts. He unties your double knots with practiced ease and his silence fills the entryway of your house.

In another life, the sight of him on one knee would set your heart aflutter. As it is, you want to run a hand through his hair and smooth the worry lines on his forehead. You know him and this is how he handles it -- he chews on blame that doesn't belong on his shoulders until he can fix it.

"I'm fine," you say softly. You open and close your hands, resting them on your knees. You got most of the gravel out but there's dirt and god knows what else embedded in the tender flesh. Joel pulls off one boot with a firm hand on your calf and then the other before finally looking up at you.

"You wanna explain...this, then?"

His hand waves up in your general direction. There's no tremble in his palm but his brows are furrowed, his shoulders set in that way of his, like he's bracing for bad news. You have a rule about not lying to each other. So if you say you're fine, you're fine. Achey, bloody, and gross, sure. But you made it home in one piece and now you'll let him take care of you and he has to be okay with that.

But you don't mind reassuring him. He worries, and you know the feeling.

You shrug and fail to hide your wince. Joel wraps a hand around your ankle and squeezes lightly.

"I've had worse," you say. "I'll tell you about it if you patch me up."

He softens a little and sighs. It won't do anything to remind him that he can't go back in time and stop you from getting hurt. Joel knows he can't fix everything, can't keep everyone he loves away from harm, can't save the world. Won't, if it comes at the expense of the people in his heart.

But you can give him something to do -- a way to make it better. You could probably bandage your hands and your forehead and the rest on your own but it'll help him just as much as you if he does it.

Life in this world is a constant give and take. You have to be okay with some things, with cuts and bruises and ruined clothes if it means you survived. There's no safety, not anymore.

"Alright, c'mon," he says, standing with a groan. "Upstairs, 'fore you bleed on the furniture."

He holds out a hand for you to stand but you show him your mangled palm. Joel clicks his tongue and grips your forearm gently instead as you rise.

"Gotta clean that," he says.

"That's the plan." You leave your coat and pack behind in a heap and head for the stairs. "A hot shower sounds so fucking good right now."

Joel stops you with a hand on your elbow and you turn on the bottom step. He traces the cut on your forehead with light fingers and you try not to wince.

"Shower," he says.  "I'll patch you up after." His tone leaves no room for argument.

You ghost your fingertips along his jaw and smile at him.

"Yes sir, Mr. Miller, sir."

More tension melts from his shoulders and he rolls his eyes at you. You laugh all the way to the bathroom, even though it hurts a little.

It's been a while since one of you returned from patrol with any sort of injury. Winter means the hoards are sluggish and easy to track and tends to keep groups of people from coming to the valley and making trouble. Today was bad luck and could have been much worse.

You both know how quickly all of the good in your lives can be snatched away. Everyone does.

But you just can't dwell on it. Joel knows it, too, and letting him fuss over you in that way of his will remind him. You're home. You're okay.

You leave the bathroom door cracked as you shower under the gentle spray. Your various injuries sting but you manage to clean the scrapes on your knees and hands and wash the blood from your skin and hair, the water rusty brown as it swirls around the drain. 

Joel knocks when you're almost done and the hinges groan when he steps into the bathroom.

"Leavin' you clothes," he says, voice raised so you hear over the spray. "You okay?"

"Still alive," you call back. "Almost done."

The water starts to turn lukewarm so you switch off the stream and drag back the curtain. Joel is nowhere to be found but he's left you loose shorts so your knees are exposed and a big, faded graphic t-shirt that you brought home for him as a joke last year as well as fresh underwear and warm socks. You gently pat your skin dry with an old and scratchy towel and do your best with your hair before sliding them on. 

Joel knocks again and this time he has the bag with all of your first aid stuff in his hands. The steam from your shower rushes out into your bedroom and you shiver.

He jerks his chin at the counter. "Wanna get up there?"

You haul yourself up with a groan and he stands between your knees, arms crossed and head cocked.

"What're we dealin' with, here?"

You look down at your messy palms and rattle off what hurts.

"Cut on my forehead, bruised rib, probably, fucked up hands and knees, and..." You look up and find Joel running a hand down his face. "That's it."

"You sure?"

You glare at him. He glares back. His eyes drift to your forehead gash.

"Cut could use a stitch." 

He's still tense, you can tell, probably will be until he wakes up tomorrow and you're still next to him in bed. Until the wounds turn to scabs turn to scars. Maybe not even then.

"I think I've had enough cuts over the years to know what needs a stitch."

His eyebrows rise just a little bit, turning his expression from interrogative to exasperated, but he knows better than to tell you to do something when you’ve set your mind against it.

"They're offerin' medical degrees on the Creek Trails, now?"

"Joel."

He holds his hands up in surrender. "Fine," he says. "Let me feel your ribs."

You raise your arms a little and he slides his palms under your shirt and up your torso, pressing gently as he goes. Braless as you are, he brushes the underside of your breast, and your breath hitches. His eyes are soft with quiet amusement but he doesn't tease you.

"Your hands are warm," you murmur. He reaches the place on your side that took the brunt of the impact and you hiss.

"Sorry," he says. "Doin' real good. Deep breath for me." You obey and he withdraws, satisfied.

"Nothin' broken," he says.

"Told you."

He hums and pulls out the precious few disinfectant wipes from your first aid kid. You can get Joel to do a lot of things just by asking, but arguing with him about wasting supplies on you never works. He washes his hands in the sink and glares are you like he knows what you’re thinking.

"Forehead first, then hands, then knees," he says. "Okay?'

You nod, eyes fluttering shut. He grips your face with gentle fingertips to keep you still.

"How was your patrol?" you ask him.

He makes a noise low in his throat that's halfway to being a laugh.

"C'mon," he says. "You don't want to hear about mine. I know you're dyin' to tell me what happened."

The alcohol wipe stings as he swabs at your forehead and you tense. Joel's thumb rubs slow circles at the corner of your mouth and you press your knees into his hips.

Funny how you've had broken bones, been stabbed, shot, pretty much everything over the last twenty years but it's the small stuff that hurts the most. Stubbed toes, sliced fingers, alcohol wipes on shallow wounds. Some things just don't change.

"Okay," you say. "Well, you'll never believe it, but a damn elk decided to die in the station where the logbook is."

You tell him how you and Jesse rode up and saw the blood trail immediately and heard the moans and groans. You kept the horses on the other side of the fence and checked the first floor and the overlook, but the elk had weaseled its way under the collapsed staircase.

It smelled like death, rust and decay heavy in the air. The animal must have died just after the last patrol.

But it wasn't the problem. It was the group of Infected it attracted -- two runners and four stalkers. You have no idea where they came from but, since you were on patrol, the priority was eliminating them. The runners were easier, although one of them was responsible for the gash on your forehead when it managed to push you into the wall. You and Jesse cleared them quickly, one bullet each.

You thought you got all of the stalkers. One of them was munching on the carcass and went down fairly easily with your good aim. Jesse helped you clean your forehead so you both could clear the passage to get to the upper level and sign the logbook. The corpses went over the side of the station into the forest below. The Infected had eaten so much of the elk that it wasn't too heavy, though you both were sweating and dirty by the time you finished.

"Lemme guess," Joel says. You open your eyes as he carefully pulls the wound closed with two butterfly bandages before he gestures for your hand. He holds your wrist gently and tilts your palm side to side, looking for dirt. "There were infected inside the station, too."

"Look at you," you tease. His eyes flick to yours for just a second, intense as always. "It's like you were there."

"Smartass," he grumbles. The disinfectant stings on your palm, too, but you keep talking and keep your gaze on his face.

"Jesse climbed the rope up to the control room first but had to fend off a stalker at the top so he didn't see when another one grabbed my ankle and pulled me down mid-climb, which fucked my hands. The fall is how my rib got bruised and I tore up my knees fending it off."

Joel's cheek twitches. He wraps one of your palms in gauze and turns his attention to the other.

"Fuckin' hate those things."

"Me, too. When I got to the top, finally, Jesse was tugging a pipe from the head of a corpse. There was one more -- it jumped out of that supply room on the side, the one where Ellie found a bong, once, I think. I dodged it but my gun jammed and my hands were bleeding."

"Should've been wearing gloves."

You tap his leg with your foot and ignore him. Not taking your bait about the bong means he’s still pissed. "And then Jesse killed it with a brick."

"I taught him that," Joel grumbles.

He ties off your other palm and as soon as he's done you frame his face. Joel allows it, allows you to stare at him for a few seconds like you're memorizing him. You're telling the story like it was a fun adventure -- and it was. You're plenty capable and he knows it, too.

But you were scared. You don't tell him that right now, instead grounding yourself in the man in front of you. His hands are rough and dangerous to most, but tender and careful to you. The broad, firm line of his shoulders, always braced for the next hit.

The gash on the bridge of his nose, the lines at the corners of his eyes. His beard, greyer every year. You swipe your thumbs along his cheekbones and he sighs.

"Lucky me," you say softly.

You lean in to kiss him, just a light press of your lips to his. His wide palms rest on your bare thighs and he kisses back with a kind of desperate firmness, as if he's proving to himself that you're real. That you're here in front of him, under his hands, in his care.

Joel drags his lips along your cheek.

"Knees," he says.

He steps back and releases your thighs with a squeeze. He treats more of your torn skin, a frown back on his face.

"I do want to hear about your patrol, by the way."

He shrugs. "Not much to tell," he says. "Didn't even get to shoot anythin’.”

You swing your foot back and forth, tapping the side of his thigh with every pass.

"But you had the nice route," you whine. "Tell me what the lake looked like."

"Quit distracting me," he grumbles.

"Like you don't have the steadiest hands in all of Jackson," you say softly.

He snorts. "Are you flirtin' with me?"

"I'm always flirting with you, Joel Miller."

You lied to Jesse earlier -- Joel has hundreds of expressions. He just keeps most of them for you. For Ellie, and Tommy, too. You know every one of them by now.

The look on his face now says he's thinking about kissing you again, maybe just to shut you up.

You grin at him. "Tell me about your patrol, now, seriously. Unless talking and using your hands at the same time is too much for you."

He smirks back. "Think we both know that ain't true."

"Now who's flirting?"

Lazy heat curls in your belly but fatigue stops it from turning into anything. Joel must see that in your eyes because he simply taps your chin with a knuckle and starts talking.

You start to slump as his Texas drawl wraps around you. He tells you how the lake was still, how he and Astrid saw bear tracks but no bear. How he found a tape for Ellie that he's going to give her tomorrow, how he wore his gloves today like you've been telling him to.

Some people might say that Joel is a man of few words. You thought he was the quiet type when you first met him, another stoic survivor in a world that demands hardness of everyone. But not shy, never shy. Just...waiting. Watching.

He and Ellie can shoot the shit for hours -- a dynamic they've fallen back into easily enough since they started spending time together again. He's funny, he's clever, he's annoying as shit when he wants to be.

And Joel is quite the storyteller. If you had to guess you'd say it comes from having to entertain Tommy when they were kids, from getting Sarah into bed on his own over and over. Keeping Ellie occupied, keeping her talking when things were scary and hard and fucking awful.

It's just another way he takes care of people.

"Still with me?" he says. You realize your eyes have closed. When you open them you find Joel looking at you with tenderness and a spark of amusement. The tense line of his shoulders is nowhere to be seen. "All done. Tired?"

"And hungry."

He washes his hands and throws away the various wrappers and blood-stained wipes.

"Sure you're awake enough to eat?" he teases.

You roll your eyes at him. He laughs.

"Joel," you say, catching his elbow. "Thank you."

"C'mon, now."

He looks like he wants to argue with you for saying it but reaches for you instead. He traces the cut on your forehead just like he did at the bottom of the stairs, brow drawn again. You can't tell what he's thinking as he drags his thumb down and around your eye, cupping your cheek fully for just a breath before releasing you and stepping towards the door.

"I'll heat some soup."

Dinner is quick and quiet, your energy sapped from you to the point of exhaustion. Everything aches, despite Joel's thorough care. When he suggests turning in early you don't protest.

He takes longer than you to get ready for bed. You slide under the worn duvet and wait, trying very hard to keep your eyes open. Your bruised ribs throb in time with your heartbeat and when Joel finally turns off the light and gets in bed next to you in his threadbare sleep pants he practically hauls you into his embrace.

You go willingly, tangling your legs and laying your head on the juncture of his neck and shoulder. You press your palm to his chest, fingers threading in the coarse hair. His heart thuds and it grounds you.

"I didn't get any good gossip off Jesse," you whisper. "On account of the whole surprise-infected thing."

He yawns. "S'pose it's a good excuse."

"Can I tell you something else?" you whisper. "A secret?"

Joel hums, lips brushing your temple as his hand snakes up your sleep shirt to press against your lower back.

Even though you know each other down to the bones, some things remain inexplicable. Parts of your pasts that linger in the darkest parts of you, the parts that stay shrouded until the moments like this. You don't have to be brave in the quiet hours of the night, entwined with him as you are. It's the safest place you'll ever be. Safe enough that you can crack open and let Joel in, let those steady and worn hands keep you together.

"I was scared today," you say into his neck. "When the stalker dragged me off the rope. I panicked, I --"

You don't tell him how your initial thought when you hit the ground was of him, how you closed your eyes tight and thought of your name from his mouth, of his smile when you come through the door. The stalker had its bony fingers digging into your ankle and you wondered if you'd ever feel Joel's hands on you again.

Death will come for you sooner or later and when it does it'll be Joel's face that you hold in your mind before it all ends.

But today, you kicked death until its stupid fucking mushroom skull caved in.

Joel presses his lips to your temple. You can feel his heart beating faster, as fast as yours. It's the only thing that betrays his own fear.

Wounds in this life often go deeper than the skin. When Joel comes home with bloody knuckles and shuttered eyes it's one thing to stop the bleeding, to bandage him and get him to eat something. It's another to hold him, to coax out the story, the fear. To follow him downstairs when he has a nightmare, to look for him in every room. It's all part of what you do as partners, as lovers, as people in this world. You take care of each other.

Neither of you can fix a lot of things. But you can ensure the scars heal into something light, something you can barely see.

You can hold each other in the dark.

"Scared me, too," he rasps. A secret for a secret. "Lotta damn blood."

You kiss the underside of his jaw. "Can't get rid of me that easy."

Joel pulls you closer, somehow, mindful of your side.

"Rest, now," he says. "You ain’t goin' anywhere."

It's a command, a promise. You hum your agreement and let sleep drag you under.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[no-144444]

losing battle- l.stroll

Day 10 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

summary: it's a marriage of convenience that's becoming pretty inconvenient when you start falling for your best friend.

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Lance Stroll was 2 things, powerful, and a mess. His driving was messy, his bedroom was messy, his house was messy, his relationship was messy, but most of all, his entire life was messy. After a very public split with the woman he’d been dating for literal years, he fell deeper and deeper into racing, somehow cleaning up his act and not acting like a paid seat driver. He was good. The car was good. Podiums were a regular thing for both him and Fernando. Wins were becoming a regular thing for Fernando, and Lance had a few more under his belt. Not only that, but they were finally fighting for the championships, and Fernandio had won his third last season, it was Lance’s turn now, and he was making the most of it. Everything was great. 

The only issue? Lance was now boring in the media’s eyes. He had no scandals, no girlfriend, no family drama (well…?), nothing. He was a perfectly polite, perfectly fine, all-round good person. That wasn’t enough for the press. Every race, the same questions got asked; “are you dating anyone?” “who’s the special lady in your life?” “are you hiding a wife from us?”

He wanted it to stop. That’s where you came in. His sweet, kind, best friend since childhood. You’d been to races over the years, you’d been seen with him, you were gorgeous, the fans loved you, most importantly, Lance loved you, as a friend anyway. 

“So I have to marry you?” You gawked at Lance as he set the contracts out in front of you. “And then we act like a couple until…?” “Until the press gets off my back and I can say we amicably divorced and stayed friends,” he explained. 

“And this is a good idea because…?”

“It’s been 4 years since me and ‘she-who-must-not-be-named’ broke up, people wouldn’t just believe me and you got together like 3 years ago and we’re still just ‘together’-”

“And why not?” you questioned.

“I honestly don’t know these were just the points my dad wrote out for me to say,” he shrugged. “Please help me out?”

You sighed, how bad could it be?. “Fine, but you owe me.”

“Excellent!” Lawrence beamed, startling the both of you. “Now, we should talk about certain things- children?”

“No way,” you answered firmly. “No way,” he answered firmly. 

You both burst into fits of laughter and Lawerence ended up leaving, knowing there was no stopping you two. Well, you were a wife now, and a WAG.

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lancestroll

liked by pierregasly, logansargeant, and 3,837,231 others

lancestroll happy anniversary baby :)

comments

fernandoalonso: my favourites!

user45: he kept this REAL quiet

user33: what. the. fuck.

alexandriastleux: can't wait to meet her!

user42: MY CHANCE IS GONE? -> user99: girl what chance he's a billionaire.

georgerussell: I WASN'T INVITED? -> lancestroll: no one was lol. just family -> georgerussell: I CAN BE FAMILY

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It could be very bad. Very, very bad. 

By age 25, you would’ve thought that you’d gotten over your childhood crush on Lance, but no. It was rampant every time he so much as looked in your direction. He was sweet, kind, funny, and so nice. He made an effort to include you in things, invited you to galas and dinners with the team, he’d lean over and kiss you randomly, take your hand, smile at you, kiss you before he got in the car, wink at you from the podium, kiss you when he got out of the car.

He was fucking perfect, for no fucking reason. 

You sat beside Lawrence as he chatted about the race, Canada, Lance’s home race. You listened attentively and didn’t notice Lance coming up behind you, and your brain short-circuited  when he kissed you on the head and wrapped his arms around you, making your eyes widen and your skin heat. It was always like this, any time he touched you, you felt it. Everywhere. 

Lawrence laughed. “You don’t have to pretend here, there’s no cameras.”

Lance’s hands fell away and you immediately missed them. He sat down beside you on the couch and smiled at you, whispering a ‘hello’. 

“Sometimes I think you two aren’t even acting. You’d think you were really in love,” Lawrence chuckled. 

“Alright dad,” Lance scoffed. “What were you two talking about before?”

“Just Canada in general, chatting about the house and stuff,” you shrugged. You and Lance had just bought your first house together and were finally moving in after months of it being renovated. Being ‘married’ to Lance was easy, simple, nice even. It was literally living with your best friend, which worked well for the two of you. 

“Where are we going tonight if you win?” Lawrenece asked, a sly smirk on his face.

“Out,” Lance shrugged with a grin. 

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He’d done it. He’d won his fucking home race. You celebrated with him at the parc fermé and cheered as he stood on the podium, proudly singing along to his national anthem. He’d won.

Once his media duties were done and he was showered and not smelling like champagne, out on the town you went. Clubs, pubs, bars, it didn’t matter, the night flew away from you as the drinks flowed and the energy buzzed. 

It was in some random club where Landio had befriended the DJ when Lance bumped into you again. 

“Hi!” he shouted over the music, clearly drunk. 

“Hi,” you smiled back, a little bit more sober. 

“You look beautiful tonight, y-you look beautiful every night,” he smiled. 

Your heart swelled. “Oh yeah? Even when I have my snoring tape on?” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips. “Even then.” 

Suddenly you were very sober, and you had to get out of there. You couldn’t just be fake anymore, it wouldn’t work. You loved him, as much as you didn’t want to admit it, you loved him. “I-I’m going to go-”

“Don’t run away from me,” he pleaded. “I want to talk about it- about us.”

“In the middle of the dance floor in a club?” you questioned. “Come with me.”

He nodded and grabbed your hand, leading the way to the exit. Your heart was pounding. Maybe he’d found someone else? Maybe he was done with you? Maybe he hated you? Maybe-

“I love you,” he rushed out. “I love our life together, I love waking up to you, I love eating breakfast, and lunch, and dinner with you. I love cooking with you, I love movie nights with you, I love talking to you, I love being with you. I love kissing you and holding your hand, and being able to touch you whenever I want to. I fucking hate the fact that this all started with something fake, and it makes me feel like shit that our ‘wedding’ was the both of us signing a sheet of paper, but I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

You stopped moving, stopped thinking, stopped breathing. This wasn’t real, this was your mind playing tricks on you, this was a joke, this wasn’t- 

“Please respond,” he begged. 

“I love you too,” you instinctively said. “I love all those things too.”

His worried face broke into a soft smile, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours. 

Well, so much for fake.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

fic-tober masterlist

taglist: @anotherapollokid @theseerbetweenus @simbaaas-stuff @5sospenguinqueen @yootvi

[star-har]

nightmares

| satoru gojo x reader | fluff |

gojo is dreaming - at least he thinks he is. it all feels too real; the weight of your collapsing body in his arms as you cripple to the floor; the warm gush of blood leaking from your side, staining gojo's skin like a nightmare; the sound of your heart coming to a dull throb where he presses his fingers to your pulse.

"stay with me, baby," he whispers into your hair, dragging your nearly limp body down where you're concealed from prying, dangerous eyes.

"you can do it, stay with me."

"is everything okay?" you barely manage to speak around the knot in your throat, clutching onto gojo's shirt like a lifeline.

the sheen in your eyes tells gojo you already know what's happening. knows your heart hasn't stopped because of gojo's lips on your skin. but you remain in denial, searching gojo's gaze for confirmation that you'll be okay.

"you're okay," gojo mutters immediately, quick to comfort the frantic look crossing your face as you turn to look at your bleeding side. "fuck— you're okay." he's not sure who he's talking too; the raging voice in his head or the love of his life draining away without him.

he tries to hold them in— the tears. digs his teeth hard into the inside of his cheek to drive the burn behind his eyes elsewhere- anywhere. but god is it difficult to maintain his composure, with you like this.

"i'm not going to die, right?" you whisper the words, tone desperate and hopeless, silently urging gojo to meet your stare.

"no- no." he says the words firmly, as if the mere thought of you living today will manifest this reality to diverge it's path. but even then, gojo can only hold in so much. "fuck, no baby. you're going to be just fine— just hold on. nanami will be here soon, just please—"

the first tear falls when gojo meets your stare, defeated and utterly devastated to find the previous presence of fear and despair vanquish from your eyes.

instead, gojo finds understanding. understanding as you come to terms with what's happening, come to terms that this will likely be the last time you'll ever see your husband's face again because nanami is still fighting the special grade, hands full. he won't be able to help.

and gojo hates it. he loathes it. how you've accepted your fate before gojo can even comprehend what's at hand- your beautiful life.

"stop— stop looking at me like that. please." he begs, turning to bury his face into your neck. he doesn't want you to see him cry, not now- not when this may be your last... "stay with me. please. don't leave me, baby. you're all I have left."

he chants the words like a mantra, urging the universe to hear his pleas, begging to the gods he'd never cared for to save the one person who made his life worth living.

it's hopeless, he knows this. but he can't help it.

"it's okay, "toru," you whisper with a smile, a hand sliding in his hair to urge him to meet your gaze.

"everything's going to be fine. don't worry."

he believes you. every single limb in his body does. you could tell him the world was ending and he wouldn't hesitate a second before shipping you off of earth. you could tell him that he was dying and he'd spend the last few expecting minutes kissing you for however much time he could.

it's only natural his body responds this way— because you're you.

but fuck— it hurts. hurts because everything in him is screaming it won't be okay, but he can't show you that.

not when you were always being okay for him.

so he only holds you close, peppering kisses into your hair before your heart manages to wring its last few beats.

ーーー

gojo snaps awake with a gasp, throwing himself abruptly out of bed as he clutches his sweat-drenched shirt, fisting the fabric to his chest as he attempts to calm his racing heart.

a dream— that's all it was. right?

he reaches for you across the bed, seeking the warmth of your body and the steady thrum of your heart— only to be met with cold.

your side of the bed is empty, sheets ruffled - cold.

"baby?" he climbs out of bed, being met with utter silence.

he stands there for a moment, clutching his fists by his side, silently urging for any sign of you to present itself - a floorboard creak, the soft hum to a song as you prepare tea, your cat's paws scratching the floor as it follows you aimlessly in your wake.

nothing. not a sound.

usually, gojo likes the quiet. likes warming up with you on the couch as he dozes off with you reading on his chest, likes brushing your hair as you sleep soundly - that's the only quiet he can stand.

his heart crashes to a halt, a ringing sound reverberating through his ears, growing louder with each repetition. the walls seem to squeeze him in, trapping him inside.

it had felt so real, his supposed dream, that he begins second guessing himself. he's always confused dream with reality, once waking up from one with your baby sleeping in his arms to find with a break of his heart she had never existed. it felt so real, so gutting- like now.

it was a dream— it had to be. it was. because fuck

-

"toru?"

your voice — that's you.

his gaze flies from his shaking hands to find you at the doorway, frowning up at him, your cat purring soundly in your arms, asleep.

gojo acts quickly. in two, long strides, he's got you in his arms, tucking your frame into his chest and away from the rest of this cruel, undeserving world.

"satoru?" your voice drips in worry, your cat clambering away from your embrace before you return his hug with your own desperation to learn the reason behind your husband's abrupt reaction. "what's wrong, love?"

gojo shakes his head slightly against your neck, finding the consistent beat of your heart against his chest like an angel's melody to his soul.

"just stay-" his voice shakes, wrapping you too him impossibly closer, heart to heart. "don't you ever leave, y/n."

you realise quickly what's happened- gojo knows this because of how you're hand has fallen beneath his shirt, gliding your smooth palm along his back in comforting circles, smoothing fingers over the scars that lay there.

he knows you, more than he ever could anyone else. knows the slightest shift in your voice means you're upset, knows when you walk slower it's because you haven't slept.

knows when you come to trace his scars, it's because you want to ground him. want to show that you're real— you're here and you're not leaving.

"I'm here, 'toru," you whisper into his shirt, placing a kiss where your mouth meets his shoulder. "i'm never leaving. never."

he hums a weak mhm into your body. "promise?"

"oh, baby," you whisper. "of course. you could never make me leave. love you too much too do that. promise."

he believes it. every limb in his body does. it's only natural.

after all— you're the one truth that gojo finds won't ever fail him.

[azmaranadir]

MY MEN LIKES-

NSFW 18+ WINDBREAKER

To smack my ass till it's red.

-> If Vinny loves your ass, he might die from seeing his handprint imprinted on it. It's not intended as harm; he doesn't do it to inflict pain or punishment. For him, it's likely a form of self-gratification. He tests the limits, gauging how many smacks your skin can endure before mirroring the same red hue as his hair and eyes. At times, he even enjoys lightly scratching it, allowing his nails to graze over your skin as you straddle him, gripping it firmly with his entire hand, occasionally resulting in small droplets of blood. He is not a fan of missionary or mating press. He likes to have you either on top of him or taking you from behind, so he can have full access to smack it, till it's red.

"One day i will tattoo that handprint on the skin..."

To be the one who pierced my nipples.

-> Woonin is a bit of a troublemaker; there's no denying that. So, when he casually approaches you one day expressing his desire to see your nipples adorned with silver piercings, you can't help but hesitate. It sounds like a mischievous child asking for something from Santa Claus. However, as the idea lingers in your mind, Woonin appears with a piercing set, ready to be the one to execute the plan. It remains a mystery how he obtained the equipment or acquired the skills for proper piercing, but you should have anticipated that any semblance of professionalism would disappear the moment he insisted on being the piercer. After all, who combines sex with piercing the client's nipples?

"hold your breasts still love, they are jiggling to much."

To hold my mouth to keep me quiet.

-> Jay is not one to appreciate loud noises, especially when he's focused on something important like studying or fucking you on his desk. His door is locked to, because he does not like to be interrupted while learning or fucking you. His room is typically quiet during these moments, and he makes sure to lock the door to avoid any interruptions. His mother, downstairs, likely believes that her son has given up on romantic life, unknown that exactly that was going on over her head. As Jay concentrates on hitting the right spot, he places his hand gently over your mouth, urging you to keep quiet so as not to attract any unwanted attention from his mother. Your legs wrapped around his waist, while you sat on your worksheets, that were drenched already. He would kiss your cheek and nuzzling into your neck. His lips then find their way to your ear, where he whispers to you with a sense of urgency.

"Psh, you got to be quiet, if my Mother comes here, we have to stop, and we have to do this all over again."

To fuck my after fights.

-> Joker exhibits a shameless nature, perhaps influenced by Woonin, and he doesn't hesitate to thrust into your cunt after a fight.His body, still sweaty and bearing bruises from the physical exchanges, presses into yours. Joker isn't fond of you witnessing his fights, but he loves seeing you after it, watching you whimper, moan, and shiver as he thrusts deeply. His fingers, accustomed to forming fists during battle, find a new purpose within the softness of your thighs. They grip onto the plushy flesh, pulling you closer to him with each powerful thrust. Watching you arch your back trying to stay quiet.

"Fuck the money, that's my price."

[celeryb1tch]

spencer reid x student!reader

18+! this post contains nsfw content

when spencer gets home from work he finds that you haven’t finished your essay, so he tries to ease your mind.

content: lots of pet names, fem!reader, you’re getting an arts degree lol, age gap but not too intense since this is early-ish seasons spencer, slight degradation at the end, reader orgasm, oral and fingering (r! receives), overstim, forced orgasm.

(i’m literally gay but i’ve been so delusional and in love with this fictional man lately i had to write something to get it out of my system!!!)

—

when your boyfriend came home from work, tie loose and satchel abandoned on the kitchen counter, you felt a wave of embarrassment flush you. you were still working on the same essay you had been last night; the one spencer made you promise you’d finish today.

“how is my pretty girl?” he asked, laying back beside you on the couch. when he leaned over to kiss you chastely, your stomach churned and you shut your laptop quickly.

you could feel hot tears start to pool in your eyes, biting back the sob you so desperately needed to get out. spencer took one look at your face and sighed, wrapping an arm around you.

“oh, baby. you didn’t finish it?”

“i tried!” you protested, your eyes squeezed shut to avoid seeing his disappointed face. “please don’t be mad at me.”

spencer’s gentle hand cupped your cheek, running his thumb across it lightly. “look at me, angel. i’m not mad.”

the floodgates opened when you finally dared to look at him, seeing his mouth pressed in a flattened line. tears streaked your face and it only added to the embarrassment. your boyfriend was a capable man, and here you were crying because you couldn’t finish a stupid essay before he got home from his 9-to-5.

he tried to hold you closer, but you struggled against him. you didn’t deserve his comfort or his sympathy. he settled for running his free hand through your hair soothingly. “hey, just talk to me. what went wrong, can i help?”

you shook your head, fighting through a hiccupped sob to answer. “i couldn’t find the last source i need. i was sifting through articles for like four hours, and i just gave up.”

ever the problem solver, spencer smiled down at you softly. “okay, let me take a look. you know i have fairly good research skills, they’re kinda required for my job.”

“you don’t get it!” you huffed, frustration evident in your voice. “you go to work all day and i can’t even find one source. one! i shouldn’t need your help for everything.”

recognition flashed in his eyes, and then he really pulled you in. it was useless to relent, you could feel the determination in his touch. he shushed you softly, one hand wrapped around you firmly while the other drew patterns on your back. when your breaths slowed and your sobs subsided, he pulled back to hold you at arms’ length. “baby, you are one of the smartest people i know.”

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, and spencer grabbed your chin to ensure you couldn’t look away.

“i wouldn’t lie. no one i know is as sensitive as you are, as empathetic and in touch with their emotions. that’s what makes you so good at this program. i certainly couldn’t complete your degree.”

and you knew how bad at concealing the truth your boyfriend was, so reluctantly you believed him. “thank you,” you just about whispered.

his eyes cast pure adoration on you, even as your tear-stained cheeks were red and raw. “your incredible brain is one of the reasons i fell in love with you. so if you can’t find anything, there must be a reason. could you please just let me take a look?”

spencer had indisputably won you over, one arm still holding you to his side as he opened your laptop on his own lap. you relaxed into him, head pressed to his chest where you could hear his heart beating perfectly. with a hum, he scanned your tabs in a matter of seconds, scrolling to the bottom of the search result page at a speed the computer could barely keep up with. “i know what it is, but you’re not going to be happy.”

lifting your head, you squinted at your boyfriend inquisitively.

“you were typing the date wrong, honey. the last two numbers were flipped.”

you felt that feeling of incapability rush through you again, your eyes stinging in preparation to cry. but spencer was right there to prevent you from shutting down, hand on your head passing slow strokes in comfort.

his lips hitched into a small sympathetic smile when he looked down at you. “my poor girl, worked yourself up so hard your brain stopped working. too much essay writing this week.”

and of course, he was right. you’d been running yourself ragged recently trying to keep up with deadlines, not to mention the extra work you’d taken on early to prevent overwhelm for finals. when you’d told him your plan, spencer had advised against it. he didn’t want you sacrificing your sanity now for a bit more time with your boyfriend in a few months. but never not supportive, he relented and instead helped you draft a schedule to complete everything.

you couldn’t feel too stupid with spencer’s sweet voice telling you that you weren’t. “it’s not even due until next week, remember? i just wanted you to finish it tonight so i could take you out to dinner,” he confided sheepishly. “you’ve been working so hard, i wanted to reward you.”

despite knowing it was physically impossible (as spencer reminded you often), you could feel your heart swell from the overwhelming love you felt for your boyfriend. you pecked kisses all over his face incessantly until he swatted you away, blushing crimson from the unexpected affection. “okay, where are we going?”

spencer hummed mischievously in faux thought, tucking your wild hairs back from your face. “you didn’t finish your essay, so i actually think it’s only fair to punish you. at least before i take you out anyway.”

a heat bloomed in you, both in your cheeks and between your legs. it was rare that your boyfriend was anything but tooth-achingly sweet with you, saving his more dominant side for certain circumstances. apparently this was one of them. “oh, really? how are you gonna punish me, sir?”

he pulled you into his lap, mouth finding your neck immediately. “if you’re going to be stupid, i might as well treat you like you are. i know how much you like it when i call you a dumb slut, despite the fact that we’re both aware of how intelligent you are.”

your core ached with need, fluttering at his words. “that’s kinda fucked up, huh? i shouldn’t want that.”

“actually, it’s fairly common, especially for women with a high amount of stress in their everyday lives. most people enjoy some form of degradation and or praise when having sex.”

“spencer,” you groaned. his beautiful brain always had to get in the way of the fun, not that you seriously minded.

he smiled, pressing his lips to yours again. “sorry, baby. yes, it makes you a very naughty girl.”

despite the pure love in his eyes and his touch, you felt a pang of arousal when he degraded you. it felt good to be demeaned by someone who thought so highly of you. so you let him pin you against the couch, clothes long forgotten, and relished in his nasty words as he sunk to his knees before you.

your laptop was somewhere on the ground, still open to that unfinished document. but it was the last thing on your mind when you felt spencer’s mouth trailing down your front. his fingers hooked your panties, pulling them down with a string of arousal attached. “fuck,” he grumbled. “you are a little slut, aren’t you?”

you struggled to respond as his fingers passed through your folds, thumb toying with your clit lightly. “mhm, yours.”

“that’s right, baby.” all of the showy dominance dropped for a second when he smiled up at you, that familiar twinkle of passion in his eyes. and then he ate you out.

all you could do was grip the bedsheets, small whines leaving you each time he ran his tongue roughly up your clit. he’d take a moment to kiss your inner thighs, slipping two fingers inside to hit that sweet spot when he wasn’t lavishing it with his mouth. it wasn’t long before you were on the edge, feeling the knot snap in your stomach. with a start, you gasped through your orgasm, spencer’s hand finding yours to soothingly stroke his thumb across your knuckles. but as your breaths slowed, he didn’t.

“spence, i’m done,” you panted, hand gripping his hair.

“no you’re not.”

with a roll of your eyes, you tried to pull your hips away to no avail. his fingers were still pumping into you at a relentless pace. his head raised to meet your eyes, slick across his lips. he looked wild like this, disheveled, so different from your normal boyfriend, who was almost too sweet for his own good. “i told you this was a punishment.”

even knelt between your legs, this spencer was in complete control. his gaze was locked on yours, watching every tiny movement when he skimmed his thumb across your clit again. your core reignited when you realized what was going on. he was going to force you to cum again.

“please, too much” you whined, free hand pushing the top of his head away in a superficial effort. you couldn’t think properly with the intensity of the overstimulation.

spencer licked his lips, voice gravelly in a tone it only reached when he was purely aroused. “you can take it, honey. i know you can be a good girl for me. don’t you wanna be good?”

you nodded silently. there wasn’t much you could do but let him fuck you stupid.

“that’s it. gonna make you dumb, yeah? i’m gonna fuck you until you can’t think.” his head dipped down, resuming his wet, sloppy kisses to your clit. and with the combined effects of his words and actions, you were cumming again quickly.

you were unabashedly moaning now, jaw slacked open and eyes screwed shut. you were far past the point of caring what you looked like to the man furiously devouring you between your legs. your hand gripped his tighter, feeling his fingers pound a bit harder in acknowledgment.

your second orgasm felt like being catapulted into the atmosphere. it was sharper, practically knocking the air from your lungs. it took you a few moments to stop panting.

spencer grinned up at you, a sight for sore eyes in your clouded vision. “thinking about anything, baby?” he asked. and when he only received a small shake of your head, “good.”

his mouth returned to your core, soft kitten licks causing you to twitch and wince away. he squeezed your hand firmly, giving you a stern look. “only cleaning you up this time, promise.”

once you weren’t dripping arousal down your thighs, spencer pulled you onto him when he sat back down on the couch. all you could focus on were his warm, strong hands tracing sequences on your skin. he loved to imagine binary code, mapping it out on you because he knew the motion calmed you down.

you were barely conscious, brain buzzing like tv static in the post-sex bliss. you heard spencer chuckle to himself before saying, “so i think we’re getting takeout.”

[lemonade4wanda]

Sleepless nights

Natasha Romanoff x reader

Minors dni!! Masterlist°•☆

Summary - you go on a routine mission which ends badly how will your girlfriend react

Warnings - gunshots, violence, bullet wounds, mention of stitches, likely medically incorrect, blood, hospital? Not proofread

word count - 1.5k

A/n - I dont know what happened while writing this its all a blackout. As always any feedback is rlly appreciated!!!

It was just supposed to be another simple routine mission. Over and done with in a matter of hours. But of course nothing was ever as easy as predicted.

It had all been going with relative ease until you and Clint were fighting off agents left and right. Something you were usually both good at. However where you'd found yourselves was very much enclosed meaning you couldn't run and you had no idea how many or where these agents were coming from. Your backs were against each other as you moved in circular motions around the room.

"You did this you know, everything was going just fine until you said 'wow this mission has been quite the breeze.'" You mimick Clints earlier words in a squeaky high pitched voice while taking out a couple agents. "Couldn't have just waited till we were on the quinjet could you?"

"Look I really thought it was over. At least I wasn't the one who knocked over the vase alerting everyone in the Tri-state area of our location." He pipes back as you both fall into the usual bickering banter you often did, squabbling like small children. You and Clint had always been close and worked well with each other despite the constant pecking at each other. You'd become even closer once you'd gotten together with his best friend Natasha. Well, after he stopped threatening you about breaking her heart that is.

"Okay well atleast I'm not stupid."

"Yeah real mature. What does that even mean?" He retorts back with a chuckle at how quickly you begin to lose an argument and just throw childish insults at him.

"I thought you'd be smart enough to understand a simple senten-.." You trail off as you see an agent aiming at Clint, one he hadn't noticed. Though you considered letting the agent hit him and getting to be considered the better fighter it wasn't worth letting your friend die just to one up him.

"Clint watch out." You yell frantically as you watch the agent take aim. Clint wasn't going to have time to move. You panicked and shoved him to the floor knocking him from the bullet.

You don't think much of it when you don't see the bullet land or even when you vision blurs. It's only you notice somethings up when you see a blood splattering on your hand. Instinctively you look for Clint worried something hit him but you find him staring right back at you. That's when you feel the searing pain from your hip. Placing a hand over it to find out what's wrong, you feel a cold and wet substance spilling from it.

Thats when everything starts spinning. Moving too quick but not fast enough at all. The pain feeling worse, like nothing you've ever felt before as the adrenaline wears off and the severity of the situation sets in.

"Y/n look at me." Clints voice is grounding and calm making you briefly feel better. "There's no agents left okay. We're going to walk together to the quinjet, don't rush yourself it's going to be okay." You nod along even though your unsure you'll be able to walk that far as your vision fades in and on like a flickering TV.

He moves over to you and presses your hand firmly over the wound. "Keep your hand there and apply as much pressure as you can." Despite the way you stumble around as you try to apply any pressure at all to the wound he still sounds calm like he believes you can do this.

His hand hooks around you helping hold you up as the two of you begin a slow walk back. Things aren't looking too bad at first I mean sure you can hardly see infront of you an everytime you open your mouth to speak the only thing that sounds is a groan of pain but your managing it, you feel yourself believe you'll be able to do this walk back.

That is all before you trip over a stone which sends you tumbling onto your front, directly where the bullet wound is is where you hit the hardest when you fall causing you to scream out in pain with a noise you never knew you'd make. Clint immediately tries to pull you back to your feet while telling you how close you are to getting home but it's no use as your body goes stiff, legs refusing to move.

"Natasha is gonna kill me." I mumble half heartedly as he holds me up and my vision fades for what I believe might be the final time.

"Not if she kills me first." He chuckles and that's the last thing you hear before everything goes black.

Two days. Two whole days they said you were out for. You missed two days. Two days where you didn't see Natasha but she saw you, she sat by you every minute she could and when she couldn't sit anymore she slept by you not leaving for a second. She wouldn't even leave your hospital room for food. Clint having to practically force food down her throat so she didn't end up in a hospital bed alongside you.

You blinked awake. You'd been awake about an hour prior but were too drugged up to process anything going on and had quickly fallen back into your slumber. This time you were much more determined to stay awake, that and your pain medication was wearing off and you could begin to feel a sharp pain replacing the previously dull one.

As you woke yourself up to the bright white fluorescent lights of the hospital, those lights which practically felt blinding. Giving you little time to adjust to being awake, Natasha started speaking.

"So what happened?" She sounded angry. A little rough maybe as the Russian tinged her accent slightly in a way you only heard few times. As you located where her voice had come from, a small chair just to the left of your bed. Now that you could see her she seemed more worn out or stressed out the angry. Dark circles lurked under her eyes as her forhead creased showing visible lines.

"Uh.. didn't uhm.. Clint... tell you." You slowly mumble out as you try to push myself into a sitting position but before you can Natasha is up and pushing you back down to lie down.

"The doctor said you can't sit up yet or you'll move the stitches. And no he hasn't explained anything, so you better." She lays your head back on the pillow with such a contrasting softness to the way she's speaking which is almost as if she's interrogating you.

You roll your head over the side to face her as you recount what you remember from the mission. "So basically me and Clint, well especially me are kicking ass knocking these agents to the ground. But then one aims at Clint and I push him out the way and now we're here." You explain the best you can but it's just so difficult when your heads all fuzzy and until five minutes ago you were convinced you were dead. "I thought I was gonna die 'Tasha."

"You shouldn't put yourself at risk like that baby." She says while brushing stray hairs away from your face and back behind your ears. "Things could have been a lot worse.." her voice trails off all usual roughness gone as she appears as if she may break down crying at any second. "I could have lost you."

That's all it takes for you to start crying as hot tears stream your face making it hard to see anything. Seeing your deteriorating emotional state Natasha makes the descion to crawl into the bed next to you. "Oh hush now, it's alright. I was just worried about you lyubov." she coos while leaning over to kiss your dampened cheek.

"I know I know.. I'm just really sorry... I dont ever want to lose you Natasha." Your tears keep falling despite her soft, reassuring words.

"Y/n, I don't want to lose you either. Which is why I think it could be time we retired before either of us do. Of course it's up to you though, I won't pressure you."

It takes you a minute to process her words but when you do your glad for them. You'd been considering at least cutting down your workload recently but hadn't considered Natasha would be open to retirement at such a young age. You can feel your face break out into a small smile as she suggests it herself. Her own face is one of nervous apprehension as she chews on her lip.

"Yes. Please I want nothing more than to retire and with you." You reach in to kiss her face eagerly. Your lips smothering hers in an almost desperate fashion as if you were worried it could be your last.

"If this is what retirement is like I cant wait." She whispers as she pulls away from your lips, nipping them gently first. She cups your face in her hands before leaning back in.

[dancingdonatello]

Can i get a 2012 X Reader fanfic, Reader gets kidnapped by the Kraang and ALMOST gets mutated. Once Leo and his brothers rescues them Leo’s protective instincts go from 100 to 10000000000 and treats reader like they are glass that could shatter at any moment. But reader tries to reassure him that they are ok but he dosent buy it

2012 leo x reader

You don’t think he’s ever hugged you so tight.

You had hugged him a handful of times, to thank him, to say goodbye, but they had always been awkward. He always left a space between you two.

Now, you were pressed up agaisnt his plastron, every sharp angle digging into your skin. His fingers were pressing into you and his chin was firmly pressed against your head, as if he was trying to keep you from moving away.

“That was close!” You managed to twist your head just enough to see Mikey crouched down and staring at the broken mutagen canister that laid a few feet away from you. “What kind of mutant do ya think you would’ve been?”

“Mikey, maybe not now.”

Leo still hadn’t let you go. You sank into his embrace, cherishing it while it last. He’d go back to keeping his distance after this, you were sure. For now, you’d suck up all the affection you could get.

You had to fight with him to let you go home.

You curled up in your sheets, feeling horrible as the adrenaline finally left you. A good night’s sleep is what you needed.

Then your phone rang. You picked it up to turn the ringer off. You felt it buzz insistently. You rolled your eyes and answered the call.

“What.”

“Are you home?” Leo. You sighed, willing yourself not to get even more agitated with him. You couldn’t believe he argued with you for so long over you wanting to sleep in your own bed for the night instead of sleeping on their uncomfortable couch.

“Yeah.” You rolled over, tangling yourself up in the sheets. You laid the phone in front of you and closed your eyes. “Can’t you just make Donnie track my phone or something?”

“I did.”

“So you saw that I was home and decided to call me to ask if I was, why…?”

“Your location dot wasn’t moving.” Wow. How long had he stared at that to notice? You didn’t mind them checking your location every so often. You already shared your location with your human friends. But now you felt a little stalked.

“Leo.” You sighed and rubbed at your face. “I’m fine. I’m just in bed.”

“…Okay.” He sounded barely convinced. Why were you coping with this better than he was? You blindly batted at your phone, trying to hang up. Hopefully in the morning, he’d be a little calmer.

You woke up to an insistent tapping on your window. It better not be him. It better not be. You peeked an eye open. Leo was outside your window.

You rolled out of bed and trudged to your window, opening it up. He immediately let himself in, staring at you with a fake neutral expression.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

[auclairedetoru]

Hi! I saw your requests were open and I wanted to see if you could write something fluffy with Levi and a reader that’s shorter than him 🥺

Maybe something where he’s doting on them? I adore the idea of a cold Levi who’s soft for his partner and I’m part of the minority of people who is actually shorter than him lol. I see a lot of fics describing the reader as taller but not enough for the other shorties out here 🙂‍↕️

Finally. The end of the day.

Levi lets out a loud sigh as the door of his bedroom closes behind him. His head leans against it and his eyes close. After hours of training, meetings, monitoring, and doing a shit ton of paperwork, he's finally back to the comfort of his bedroom at exactly midnight.

He lifts his head back up and looks around the small space, an unfamiliar (to others at least) smile spreads on his face when his eyes land on the sleepy yet smiling person sitting on his bed.

“Welcome back home, Levi.”

God, their sweet voice makes him melt into a puddle every time. He can't believe he gets to call such a precious person his partner, he considers himself a very lucky man.

“I'm sorry I woke you up, my love.” he says gently as he takes off his jacket. They shake their head and watch him as he tries his best to take off the belts wrapped around his body as fast as possible, “it's okay, darling. I wasn't sleeping, you know I can't without you.”

Levi cups their face after he is done and leans down to press a soft kiss to their forehead. People would lose their mind if they saw the way he acts and talks to them, in fact, only the people he's closest to in the survey corps (which is very few) know about their relationship, it wouldn't even cross people's minds that the strong and stoic captain who doesn't care if he hurts anyone's feelings is dating the sweet and gentle nurse who once cried with a soldier while trying to stitch him up.

“Did you have a good day today? Any of those brats bothered you?” he caresses their soft cheeks with the pad of his thumbs, mesmerized by the way the light casts a warm glow on their face. They lean into his touch, their eyes closing in relaxation. “everything was okay. Jean and Eren even teamed up to help me carry the new supplies stock and put them on the high shelves for me.”

He chuckles softly and pulls away from them so he can quickly change into more comfortable clothes. He used to sleep in his uniform, belts and all, just in case something happens and he couldn't waste his time putting everything back on, most of the nights he didn't sleep to begin with, but ever since they started sharing the same bed, not only did he find himself falling asleep but he also invested in some soft night clothes so he can cuddle with them without any restrictions.

“Still refusing to use the stool I got you?” he smirks as he starts changing his clothes. They've been dating long enough for them to not care about being naked in front of the other.

“I don't need it! The boxes were just heavy!”

“Hmm, sure you don't,” he teases as he gets under the blanket on his side of the bed (which is obviously the one on the near the bedroom door) and pats his lap with two hands. They huff, followed by a small, almost inaudible "I'm not that short", yet they don't hesitate to straddle his thighs and nuzzle their face in his warm chest. He wraps his arms around their body and presses a kiss on top of their head.

“if you weren't so short you wouldn't be able to fit in my arms all snuggly,” he looks down at their face and smiles at the adorable sight of their cheek pressed firmly on his chest, probably so they're able to hear his heart beat, they told him before that it's their favourite sound, “look at you, you could fit in my pocket, I could take you everywhere with me.”

They look up at him with the sweetest look on their face, their pretty eyes soft and affectionate. He wishes he could freeze this moment and stay like this forever, no titans, no fighting, no heartbreak, just him relaxing with his beloved in his arms.

“Can I stay in your heart instead? I think I'll like it there more.”

Levi lets out a shaky sigh. He's not one to get emotional, he can't even remember the last time he cried because it's been so long, but at that moment he feels a tug at his heart strings and a lump form in his throat. He never thought he'd ever have someone who loves him unconditionally, who would stay up till the late hours waiting for him because they want him to be the last thing they see before they close their eyes, whose presence felt the closest to what he heard others describe as home, who looked past the walls he has up and saw someone worth all their patience.

“You know I can't have you stay anywhere else. I love you more than I've ever loved anything in my life.”

“More than tea?” they teasingly raise an eyebrow making him chuckle.

"Yes, my love. More than tea," he replies, gently brushing a strand of hair away from their eyes.

“More than cleaning?”

"now I don't know about that...”

“hey!”

Levi laughs loudly, a deep and hearty sound he never imagined would come from him before he met them. Their melodic giggles join his, filling the air with a positive energy he only experiences around them. At that moment, he feels his heart fill with a great amount of happiness, a feeling he always thought he didn't need, but now can never live without, and it makes him realise that he is now complete.

In the past, he thought that when he'd feel complete he would let go of everything, even life itself. But now, the thought of being separated from the love of his life terrifies him, and for the first time, he wants nothing more than to continue living and breathing, even if it means fighting those ugly monsters every single day.

Is life easy right now? No, Eren Jeager is still a big pain in his ass, and the whole situation with the titans keeps getting worse and worse, but now he gets to come home to moments like these, and they simply make everything better.

I lost the plot and didn't make this very focused on short!reader but it's there nonetheless! I love soft Levi who's a totally different person around his love 💕

[callsign-rogueone]

defective

Bodhi Durran x reader, Brennan Sorrengail & reader words: 1.7k 🏷️: did somebody say more chronically ill reader? with sweet baby Bodhi this time, and reader with a heart condition. negativity about illness / reader thinking they’re weak, others calling them weak / defective / etc., but not Bodhi or Brennan (they would never.) Brennan makes an appearance as an older brother figure, reader is referred to as she/her and a girl by members of the assembly but not by Bodhi. I think cuddling Bodhi would cure me of all my ills. I got the idea for this the other day when I went up stairs carrying a laundry basket and almost fainted. I would not make it up to the parapet, let alone be able to cross it lmao. anyway, here, have this. already plotting a part two of them reuniting after Resson 🥺

The assembly are too busy arguing to notice you standing in the doorway — arguing about you, you realize quickly.

“We can’t send her to her death.”

“We’ve been forced to send 15 to their potential deaths so far, with 92 more to go. Why is she any different from the rest?”

“You know damn well why, Ulices,” Brennan snaps. “Everyone else has a fighting chance, but there’s no way she’s going to survive the parapet, let alone the rest of the year.”

“There’s 250 steps up to the parapet. She won’t even make it to the top,” another voice adds.

“There’s still time to fix that. They don’t leave for another three months.”

“You can’t fix her,” Trissa says firmly. “No amount of  time in the gym will change the fact that she’s defective. She’ll never be able to do the things that the others can. She’s too weak.”

The word echoes in your ears. Defective. 

Your gaze falls to the empty chair — Xaden’s chair. What would he say if he was here? Would he let them call you weak? What would he say? Maybe it’s for the best that you don’t know. It would only hurt you to hear that the boy you’ve always idolized and regarded as an older brother call you weak and pathetic.

“So what would you have us do?” Felix asks.

“Either we send her with the rest, knowing her name will be at the top of the death roll on conscription day, and her blood will coat our hands forever, or we tell Navarre that she died, and keep her here. It should be believable enough that the weakling girl with the heart problem died young. It’s a miracle she hasn’t died already.”

Tears blur your vision, and you bring a hand up to swipe them away with your sleeve. The whisper of the fabric moving is enough to give you away; five heads turn toward the door, seeing you standing there.

Something compels you to run away — likely the fact that you’d been caught eavesdropping by the entire assembly. These meetings aren’t secret, but there’s an unwritten rule that the kids aren’t invited, especially if it isn’t a routine meeting.

Brennan calls your name, but you ignore him, moving faster, intent on getting back to the room you’ve been sleeping in and shutting the door in his face so you can cry alone in peace.

He catches up with you quickly, his strides longer and his movements faster. He lays a gentle hand on your arm. “Hey,” he coaxes. 

You stop and turn toward him, knowing that you can’t run again — he’s faster than you, and moving would also be a very bad idea right now; you feel like you’re going to fall over.

“I’m so sorry, kid.”

“Not your fault,” you rasp, fumbling for the wall and pressing your hand into it to support yourself. 

“Hold on to me,” he instructs. “Can I check your pulse?”

You nod, regretting the motion when it makes your head spin faster, and wrap your hand around his forearm, using him as an anchor to hold yourself up.

“Attagirl. Keep breathing.”

You work on deepening your breaths, filling your lungs all the way before you exhale, like he’d taught you last year.

Hot, frustrated tears slip down your cheeks. 

They’re right. You are defective. You can’t even run down a hallway without your body giving up on you. You wouldn’t be able to get up to the parapet, let alone cross it after that exertion — you can hardly stand right now. 

“Talk to me,” he asks after a moment. 

“I don’t want to go,” you say softly, “but to stay here, and let all my friends go where I can’t ever see them or help them, knowing they could die any day…”

“I know. I felt the same way when my sister started, but she’s a full fledged Captain now. Commands her own unit in Montserrat,” he says quietly, but it sounds like it pains him to say it — to tell you that she’s on the other side of the fight. “They’re all strong, they’ll make it through. And they’ll have each other to lean on.”

You nod again, and this time it doesn’t make you dizzy. “Yeah,” you say hollowly. “They’re strong.”

He immediately knows what you’re getting at. “Hey. I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t think you’re weak. I think you’re just at too much of a disadvantage to risk it. Your strengths lie elsewhere— not in the physical.”

“If only we could be scribes,” you sigh.

“If only,” he says softly. “My youngest sister is going to start in the scribe’s quadrant the year after this. She’s a lot like you, actually. She was born with an issue with her bones. She’s got a heart of gold, though. And she’s incredibly smart, like you. I think you’d get along well.”

“If it wasn’t for this, yeah,” you say quietly, looking down at your relic. 

He tries to hide his wince, but it doesn’t quite work. “I think she’d come around once she realized how great you are.”

“Whatever they decide, can you be the one to tell me? Alone?” you ask in a small voice. “I don’t want to see the looks on their faces. I know I’m an embarrassment to them, but I don’t want to be reminded of it.”

“You aren’t an embarrassment,” he chides softly. “But of course. I can tell you when they make their decision.”

“Thank you.”

He opens his arms to you. “C’mere, kid.” 

You step forward, letting him guide you into a gentle embrace. 

“I’m proud of you.”

“For what?” you ask into his shoulder.

“For surviving. For not giving up. For dealing with your symptoms every day and not letting it break you. For so many things. You’re amazing.”

“I don’t feel amazing.” 

“That’s okay. I hope you will someday, though.”

“Someday,” you agree softly.

“Alright. Let’s get you back to your room.”

You nod, keeping a hand on his arm while he walks with you. He’s slowed his steps to match yours, but he doesn’t show any sign of impatience.

“Thank you,” you say softly.

“Of course, sweet girl. Get some rest. Bodhi should be back in a few hours.”

Your cheeks warm as you realize that Brennan knows about whatever you two have going on — you don’t call yourselves boyfriend and girlfriend, but you’re very close, and there’s definitely a spark there. 

He drops a kiss to the top of your head, waiting to make sure you’re safely inside your room before he heads back down the hall. 

———————

Bodhi shows up around sunset, his hair damp from the showers. He sits beside you on the edge of your bed, leaning back against the pillows. “Hi, lovie.”

“Hi.”

He tilts your chin up with a gentle movement of his knuckle, seeing the tears in your eyes. “Whoa, hey, what’s wrong?”

“I’m not going to Basgiath,” you admit quietly.

“What?”

“The assembly decided that I’m too weak to even make it up the stairs to the parapet,” you answer, your voice wavering. “They’re going to tell Navarre that I died, because of my heart problem.”

Why are you crying again? You went over all this with Brennan already and got it out of your system — but evidently not.

Bodhi looks conflicted. You watch the gears turn, and see him weigh the good and the bad. You won’t have to endure everything riders are put through, and the assembly is right, you wouldn’t survive it. But to stay here while everyone else risks their lives, with no way to communicate with them, would be crushing. And if you’re found out, Xaden’s life will end along with yours.

He gathers you up into his lap, holding you close. He smells good, clean — soap and the tiniest bit of cologne, something warm and woody. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

“I am too,” you sniff. “I wish I could be there with you, but…”

“It’s for the best,” he says gently. “I’d rather you be here, safe with Bren and the elders, than overworking yourself every day, and making things worse.”

“I know,” you whisper. “I still feel guilty about it, though.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s just how you were made. And you know it doesn’t change the way that any of us feel about you. We all love you so much, because you’re you, and you’re our friend.”

“Love you too,” you sniff. “M’ gonna miss you so much.”

“I know, sweetheart. I’m going to miss you too, every day. But I promise I’ll write — I know first years can’t send letters, but I’ll ask Xaden or Gare to send it for me. They’ll probably have to sign their names on it, and address it to someone else, but you’ll know it’s from me by the handwriting.”

That makes you feel a little better, but you’re still worried. “But when you graduate, and move across the continent…”

“Then I’ll come visit you here, as often as I can. Maybe I’ll be closeby. Or maybe Tyrrendor will be freed by then.”

“Maybe,” you sigh. 

“I don’t want you to think for even a second that this means I’m letting go of you,” he says firmly. “You’re stuck with me, even if we’re apart, okay?”

“Okay,” you say quietly. 

“Good. Now, I have had a very long day of having my ass kicked by Imogen, and I’d like to spend the rest of it laying here with my favorite person.”

You’re his favorite person? You must be looking at him in disbelief, because he laughs lightly, his chest shaking against yours. “Yes, you. I thought it was obvious. You’re the one I spend all my time with.”

“You’re my favorite person too,” you say softly. 

He smiles. “I’m glad we sorted that out. Get comfy.”

You scoot off of his lap, settling down on the mattress. He slots himself in beside you, letting you work your way under his arm to rest your head on his chest. He’s put on a considerable amount of muscle in the last few months, and it’s so nice to rest your body against his like this, a strong arm keeping you in place as he reaches toward the foot of the bed for a blanket to drape over the both of you. 

You hum sleepily, content to rest in the warmth of his body and the softness of the blanket.

“This good?”

“Perfect,” you murmur. 

“Perfect indeed,” he agrees softly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead and wrapping his fingers around your wrist, resting his thumb over your pulse point. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“G’night, Bo.”

[hazbinshusk]

day twelve of salem's unofficial attempt at kinktober:

keeping quiet/formalwear/semi-public sex (husk x reader)

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

“No, no, no, c’mon, baby, you gotta be quiet,” Husk reminds you, his voice a rough and urgent whisper in your ear. You whimper in response, teeth gritted tightly as he thrusts hard up into you again. He clamps a large, heavy paw over your mouth, growling low in your ear as you skin your teeth into his palm. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good…”

You whine into his palm, clutching at the silky fabric of his shirt. Husk has you pressed against the wall in the utility closest, your foot braced against the sink as he fucks himself into you roughly. The skirt of your dress is hiked unceremoniously up around your waist, the soft fabric tickling over your bare thighs. Husk has his other hand clutching hard at the curve of your ass, keeping your knee hooked over his hip and you firmly in place next to the industrial vacuum. Outside, you can hear the sounds of the Hotel’s grand re-opening in full swing; clinking glasses, upbeat jazz music, and happy chatter warring with Husk’s heavy breathing at the sound of flesh meeting fur.

“Can’t believe you talked me into this,” he mutters, half-delirious and desperate. Husk buries his face in your neck, teeth and lips teasing against the base of your throat. You tilt your head to the side, eager, any concern over marks he might leave washed away with the swipe of his rough tongue against your pulse point.

You push his hand away from your mouth, struggling to keep your volume low as Husk angles his hips in a way that makes your eyes roll back. “Didn’t… hear you putting, fuck… putting up much of a fight.”

He chuckles, the sound strung out with a groan as you grind your hips down against him. He brings his mouth to yours, kissing you with a desperate edge that makes your breathing hitch against his lips. “People are gonna start wonderin’ where their barkeep went.”

You shake your head, fumbling with his bowtie and buttons to bear his chest to your eager fingers. You card your fingers through the fur there, grinning proudly when you feel his chest begin to vibrate with a rusty purr. “Charlie said you could take a fifteen-minute break,” you point out breathlessly. “By my count, you’ve still got another six minutes.”

Husk groans, kissing you again as your cunt flexes around his cock. “I think you jus’ pulled that number outta your ass.”

“Maybe,” you admit, voice catching in another whine as the barbs of Husk’s cock graze wonderfully against a particularly sensitive spot inside you. “So, maybe you should hurry up.”

Husk chuckles into your throat, the sound turning to a moan as you reach up to rub your thumbs against the base of his ears. “Bossy.”

You moan, too loud, when Husk thrusts himself hard into you and touches the heel of his hand to your clit, clapping a hand over your mouth. Husk gives you a look that somehow manages to be both exasperated and smug, and he pulls his hand away and his hips slow.

“Nooo,” you beg, rolling your hips down against him plaintively. “Please, don’t stop, baby… Please, please, I’ll be quiet…”

Husk exhales unsteadily, raising an eyebrow pointedly as he pulls his tie free from his neck. He smirks as he winds it up into a ball. “Yes, you will, sweetness. Open up.”

A thrill churns through you as you open your mouth and Husk gags you with his bowtie. Pressing a teasing kiss to your cheek, Husk thrusts back up into you again, hard. “That’s my good girl. Now…” he lets his nose trail against your cheek, his lips finding the corner of your jaw. “…Where were we?”

Husk fucks you rough and hard, his hips snapping into yours. He grunts into the side of your throat, teeth grazing against your shoulder, leaving marks against your skin. His hand returns to your clit and you keen behind the gag, eyes rolling back. You ball a hand in the front of his shirt, the other clutching at the fur at the back of his head. Husk growls, curses gruffly as you jerk his head back so you can hear him moan.

Just because you had to be quiet, that didn’t mean you couldn’t make him loud.

Your eyes widen as Husk quickens his hand against your clit and you cum, reaching out blindly beside you to grasp at the wall. Your hand hits a broom handle and it clatters to the floor. Husk is too far gone to care, the claws still gripping at your ass digging so deep you’re sure you feel your skin break.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters into your neck as your breath catches in a hiss of pain behind the gag. Still, he’s fucking you so hard he’s not pulling back anymore, thrusting himself harder and deeper into you, hips flush against your thighs. “Fuck, I’m sorry, baby, fuck—”

Husk thrusts once more and freezes, letting out a choking, strangled groan as he cums inside you. You feel him shudder against you and he lets his head fall forward to rest against your chest. He chuckles deliriously, shaking his head against your sternum. “You’re a bad influence, doll.”

You pull the bow tie out of your mouth and giggle, petting his head slowly. Husk purrs quietly, raising his head to meet your eye. His pupils are blown wide, the golden rings of his irises barely there in the dim light. You can feel him softening inside you, feel your combined juices on your thighs. “Are you having regrets, minou?”

Husk kisses you gently, smoothing his hand carefully over the marks he’s left near the top of your thigh. “Never.”

[pit-and-the-pen]

Azriel NSFW alphabet

Literally just Azriel brain rot. Buckle in

NSFW below the cut (18+ minors don’t interact)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

I’m a firm believer that this man is the biggest cuddler after sex. He will fully wrap you in his arms and wings and just hold you close to him. He’ll give you sweet kisses on your forehead and the top of your head, humming as he does.

If anything is particularly rough (Which I am a firm believer in dom Azriel) he’ll draw you a bath and smooth out any sore muscles with his hands.

Basically this dude knows what it’s like to be left alone and would rather die than make you feel like that after being intimate

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On him, like any good Iilyrian baby, it’s his wings. Besides the normal ego the wings normally come with, he’s able to look at them and see all the good they’ve done. Proof of how far he’s come in life. He’d learn how to fly, become one of the top Iilyrian warriors and had an amazing family. Looking at his wings, the same wings he shares with his brothers, he can’t help but feel his pride stir.

On you, everyone always goes back and forth on boobs or ass but are missing the best option. Thighs. Azriel adores your thighs. Something about the soft feeling of them under his hands instantly comforts him. And not only in a sexual way (although he has pushed your thighs tighter around his head on multiple occasions) but comforting like a cat kneading on a blanket. He loves using them as a pillow, you playing with his hair as you talk about your different days or you both reading a book. He loves your thighs no matter the size, the stretch marks, he loves every inch of them

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

I feel like all the fae males cum a ton. Probably left over from centuries of breeding being the most important thing, but Azriel takes the cake. For sake of not having to find something to clean up the sheer amount, he’s almost always coming inside of you. And even then it’s still enough that it runs out of you, something that normally is enough to make you both want round two.

I also feel like if he’s in one of his more dominant moods that once he does cum inside you he’ll use his finger to push it back in, mouth parted as he sees just the sheer amount that pools onto the sheets

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

I feel like you and Azriel would be pretty open with each other. He doesn’t want to hide things from you and he wouldn’t want you too either

That being said, I do think he likes you being dominant more than he would ever let you know. The way the tone of your voice drops slightly, the way you tease him is enough to drive him crazy. You always seem to know when he needs it too. There's not one particular thing he could point out to say he loved but you doming him is something he enjoys a lot when it happens.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

This man is quiet but that doesn’t mean that he hasn’t had plenty of experience. I mean, look at this man. Tell me you wouldn’t have to fight off both males and females when the mating bond first snapped. This man fully knows what he’s doing and I firmly believe his spymaster skills make him perfect at learning exactly what you need to make you into a complete whining mess.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He loves when you ride him. Something about feeling your thighs spread out on top of him and having full access to your chest and throat just does something for him.

I also live and die by Azriel having a breeding kink so I think he would love having you in a mating press. Your legs perched up on his shoulders as he presses so deep into you you can’t do anything but scream his name. He would still be free to pepper kisses all over your neck and face and he can feel how deep his cum is pumped into you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

He is pretty serious overall. It’s that dom persona but sometimes when you try a new position or play and something twists the way it's not supposed to or your bodies just make the noises bodies do, you’re both laughing and giggling. On slower nights you two can make jokes but overall it’s pretty serious because the love you two have for each other runs so deeply.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I think he keeps it trimmed. He defo has a happy trail that you love to kiss down. But he doesn’t really care about what’s going on down there, especially when it comes to you. As long as he can get between your legs, he doesn’t care how much or how little hair you have. And I think his hair is a little lighter but not by much.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Azriel can be tooth rotting sweet when he wants to be. I’m talking rose petals and candles, full body massage. He would pull out all the stops when it comes to spoiling you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

When he’s away on missions he would try. Some errant thought of you would cross his mind and since he has a hard time sleeping on missions, he would try to rub one out but it never feels the same so he doesn’t really bother with it. He has you and you’re more than happy to help him whenever he has one of his random moments of need rushing through him.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Restrains- He loves holding your wrists down, whether it’s with his own hands wrapped around your wrists pinned above you heads, or his shadows holding down all of your limbs as he absolutely worships your body, something about seeing you desperately trying to reach out and touch him makes him go feral.

Wing Play- At first you both were very tentative for you to touch his wings. He’s so proud of them and despite the fact that you’re mates, it felt too intimate. But after much begging on his part, you finally did and gods. His usual perfect timing was fully broken the first time. He came in his pants like a teenager and spent the rest of the night absolutely worshiping you. From then on, if you ever wanted to have him on his knees, you would just run a nail softly along the membranes and he would be a whimpering mess for you.

Brat Tamer- This male would love it when you talk back to him. The way you would puff up your chest, staring up at him trying your best to be intimidating. He would just coo at you and whisper something about keeping up that attitude later in the bedroom. And of course the moment the door closed to your shared bedroom, you would be apologizing for your words. Maybe if he’s feeling nice, he’ll let you off but if he’s not. You would definitely be limping around the next day.

Breeding kink- He would love to fill you up. As much as he adores seeing his cum on various parts of your body. Theres nothing he loves more than seeing it drip out of you, fucking it back into you with his fingers or his tongue.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He prefers your bedroom truthfully. The two of you have made it so comfortable, bits and pieces of the both of you filled the space. The way your smell mixed with his lingers around puts him instantly at ease.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

For real, you could just look at this man and he would be hard as a rock. Seeing you sparing with Cassian would also be a sure fire way to get him going. Or if you are trying to get him really riled up, placing your hand on someones arm as you’re talking to them would have him literally picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder to remind you exactly who you belong to.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No temperature play of any kind, no ice or fire. Fire/wax for obvious reasons but cold/ ice because it reminds him of the winters at the war camp and those memories are not something he wants to imagine when he’s having sex.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

This man will eat you out like he has been stranded in the desert for a hundred years. He cannot get enough of you. He’ll hold down your hips, shadows holding your arms down. Absolute filthy noises would be spilling out of his mouth as he lapped you up. You would literally have to pull him away by his hair and his face would be covered in your arousal. He could go down on you for hours if you would let him and he would still probably whine as you pulled him away.

That being said, this man does love a good blow job. I think he would have two moods. One where he’s just letting you explore, tongue lapping at him and he’d let you set your own pace. Just taking everything you would give him. Now. On nights where you have done nothing but tease him. Strap in because this man will (consensually) push you down to your knees with your hands tied behind you back and use your throat like it was a damn fleshlight. He would keep going until spit was trailing down your chin, eyes glassy with tears. When he finally did cum he would make you hold it on your tongue before telling you to swallow, sticking out your tongue afterwards to show him that you were a good girl and listened to him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

This man is the best of both worlds. Depending on both of your moods it can be soft and slow or wall shakingly rough. Sometimes he’ll being going slow and you’ll push his hips to make him pound into you and the little bit of control he’ll have snaps and before you know it, he’s flipping you over and fucking you hard enough to have you seeing stars. But on nights when both of you need to show your love to each other, he’s simply just grinding into you. Hitting that perfect spot inside of you and I love you’s are spilling past both of your lips unhurried.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He’s not totally against them. When the mating bond first snapped all you had to do was look at him the right way and he was taking you against the nearest surface. More than once during trips to the court of nightmares you two were found tucked away into corners, both in various states of undress. His shadows were particularly helpful during these moments because he could wrap you in them and make sure no one saw that the front of your dress was pulled down or how your skirt was hiked up to your waist. But for the most part, he likes taking his time with you. He wants the time to take you apart piece by piece and have you screaming and shaking beneath him.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

SJM told us this man was a freak and I firmly believe it. There’s very few things that he isn’t willing to try at least once. If he thinks it will make you happy then he’s game.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

This man could go all night if you would let him. Your stamina would give out long before he would. And he’s almost always making sure that you get off at least once but we all know there would be many many more before he would even think about his own release.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I have no idea what toys exist in this world but lets pretend the ones that exist in Crescent City are available. I think he would for sure have a vibrator. More than once he has had you tied up in your bed, vibrator strapped to your thigh and just stood at the other end of the room. You would be half delirious with the amount of orgasms the toy had pulled from you before he turned it off with a smirk at how totally fucked out you were.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

This man is the biggest tease. He knows how much you love his muscles so he would just walk around the house shirtless. Commenting on how your eyes followed him like he was a snack you wanted to devour. He would tease you for that glazed look in your eyes and how your pupils would dilate. If anyone was ever around when this happened you would blush as he slowly raised a hand to shut your slightly open jaw. Laughing softly as everyone else started to slowly leave the room because they knew what was about to happen.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Listen. For how quiet this man is around the inner circle, he would be moaning and panting into your ear. His dirty talk alone is enough to reduce you to a shaking mess. But when he’s pounding into you he’ll be cursing and roaring against you. More than once you’ve had someone pounding on the door because of how loud the two of you were being. He would only make it a point to be even louder when that did happen and when the two of you finally crawled out of your bedroom, the house would be empty.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Azriel was terrified the first time you two had sex. It’s no secret that he’s insecure when it comes to his hands and he was afraid that you would be wary to have him finger you but that fear was quickly dismissed when you begged for his fingers. Now whenever he seems to get too far into his head, all you have to do is slip one of his giant fingers into your mouth and he would snap out whatever funk he was in and he would go absolutely feral. You made the mistake of doing it at dinner with the rest of the inner circle once and everyone just stared at you two with wide eyes as Azriel just sat back further into his chair, legs spreading as he smirked with pure male satisfaction.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Our shadowslinger is hung. I think he’s at least 8 inches but he’s also thick. Like if you wrap your hand around him, your fingers just barely touch. The illyrian joke about wings is definitely true and he’s the biggest of the three males. The rest of the girls nearly fell out of their chairs when they held their hands out trying to get you to spill just how big he was. All three sisters and Mor are just sitting there like 🫸 🫷“What do you mean , keep going??? Girl are you okay???”

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Mother. This man’s sex drive is ridiculous. Despite having many partners over the years, there was a lot of time between then and he never let them be truly intimate, opting for quick fucks that were satisfying on the surface level for sure but he desperately yearned for real intimacy. So once he found you he couldn’t get enough of you and you him.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’ll always wait for you to fall asleep. And you normally fall asleep pretty quickly after he’s rung orgasm after orgasm out of you. Some nights we would just stare at you as you slept soundly besides him, wondering how he got so lucky to have you next to him.

[novaursa]

The Dragon's Right (7)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Pairing: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top and there is a link for a second list.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 5 500+

- Previous part: 6

- Next part: 8

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne

The warmth of Rhaenyra’s body pressed against yours was comforting as you lay together, her head nestled on your chest, the soft rise and fall of her breathing calming the air around you. The aftermath of your shared intimacy left a quiet stillness in the room, broken only by the crackling of the dying fire in the hearth. The closeness of the moment, the intimacy that came with it, made everything else in the world seem distant—unimportant, even.

You felt her fingertips tracing lazy circles over your chest, her delicate touch both soothing and grounding. She shifted slightly, propping herself up on one elbow to look at you, her violet eyes shimmering in the low light. There was an expression of contentment on her face, a smile tugging at her lips as she spoke.

“You should ask Father to betroth us,” she said softly, her voice filled with an earnest hopefulness.

The words, though spoken with affection, caused you to tense. It wasn’t that you hadn’t considered it—far from it. The thought had been lingering in your mind for days, growing stronger with every stolen moment you shared with her. But the reality of asking Viserys for such a thing was daunting. The weight of the crown, of duty, of tradition—it all loomed over you like a dark cloud.

You shifted slightly, staring up at the ceiling as you let out a quiet sigh. “Rhaenyra,” you began, hesitating as you tried to find the right words. “It’s not that simple. You know that.”

She frowned, her fingers stilling on your chest as she studied your face. “Why not? We’re Targaryens. This is our tradition—our right. Father understands that better than anyone.”

You exhaled slowly, your hand coming up to gently brush a strand of silver hair from her face. “I know he does,” you said quietly. “But convincing him… asking him to betroth us, it’s not a conversation I’ve been able to bring myself to have.”

Rhaenyra’s frown deepened, and she sat up further, her eyes narrowing slightly as she regarded you. “You’ve been planning to ask him, haven’t you? For days now, I can tell.”

You nodded, the truth settling between you both. “I have,” you admitted. “But I don’t know how to approach it. I don’t know what Father’s reaction will be, or if he’ll even consider it. And even if he does… there’s the council to think about.”

“The council?” she repeated, her tone incredulous. “What do they have to do with it? If we can convince Father, it won’t matter what the others think.”

You shook your head slowly, a deep furrow of thought etched into your brow. “You know as well as I do that the council will have their opinions. Otto Hightower, Corlys Velaryon… they’ll see us as a political tool to strengthen the realm through marriages to other noble houses. They won’t support this. We would likely find little, if any, allies among them.”

Rhaenyra’s expression hardened with determination as she moved to straddle your waist, her hands resting on your chest as she leaned over you. “Then let them object,” she said firmly, her voice soft but resolute. “If we convince Father that this is the best course for our House, that this will unite us as Targaryens, nothing they say will matter.”

You stared up at her, feeling the intensity of her words and the fire behind her conviction. She was as bold as ever, unwilling to let the opinions of others sway her from what she wanted. It was one of the many things you admired about her—her ability to forge her own path, to fight for what she believed in. And yet, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of the responsibility you both carried.

“We could speak to him together,” she continued, her fingers tracing absent patterns on your skin. “At the next council meeting. We could make him see that this is what’s best for our family, for the realm.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting her words sink in. The thought of standing before Viserys and the council, of confessing your feelings and making such a bold request, made your stomach tighten. But you couldn’t deny that she was right—if you were ever going to secure your future together, it had to be now, before the pressures of the court forced your father’s hand in another direction.

Finally, you opened your eyes and met her gaze. “Perhaps,” you said, your voice quieter now. “But it will take more than just convincing Father. The court will fight us on this.”

Rhaenyra leaned down, her lips brushing softly against yours in a kiss that was both tender and filled with unspoken promise. “Let them fight,” she whispered against your lips. “I won’t let them take you from me.”

You smiled faintly, your hand coming up to cup her cheek as you kissed her back. “You’re impossible,” you murmured, though there was no real bite to your words.

“I’m determined,” she corrected with a playful smirk, kissing you again before resting her head on your chest.

For a while, the two of you lay there in silence, the weight of your conversation hanging between you. The fire in the hearth had dimmed, and the night outside had deepened into quiet stillness. But as the moments passed, you felt the familiar pull of duty—an invisible force that always seemed to creep in, reminding you of the reality that awaited beyond these stolen hours.

Eventually, you sighed, gently shifting her off your chest as you sat up on the edge of the bed. “I need to go,” you said softly, your voice filled with regret. “It’s already late. If I’m not careful, someone might notice.”

Rhaenyra frowned, sitting up beside you and brushing her fingers over your arm. “Stay a little longer,” she urged, her voice almost pleading.

You shook your head, though it pained you to do so. “We can’t risk it. If anyone found out…”

She sighed, leaning her head against your shoulder. “I hate this,” she muttered. “Having to sneak around like we’re doing something wrong.”

“I know,” you whispered, your hand resting on hers. “But for now, it’s the only way.”

Reluctantly, you rose from the bed, pulling on your discarded clothes as Rhaenyra watched you, a mixture of frustration and affection in her eyes. Once you were dressed, you turned back to her, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to her lips.

“Soon,” you promised quietly. “We’ll talk to Father soon.”

She nodded, though there was still a hint of disappointment in her expression. “Be careful,” she whispered as you moved toward the door.

With one last glance at her, you slipped out of her chambers and into the darkened corridors of the Red Keep, your mind racing with the implications of what lay ahead. Convincing Viserys would be no easy task, and even if he agreed, the battle with the court would be just beginning.

But for Rhaenyra—for the connection you shared—you were willing to fight.

The small council meeting began as most did, with the familiar rustle of parchment and the murmur of voices discussing the state of the realm. Grand Maester Mellos, with his usual somber tone, noted progress in various parts of the kingdom—trade routes improving, taxes collected in good measure, and peace holding in key regions. Yet, even as Mellos spoke, there was an undeniable tension hanging in the air. The absence of Corlys Velaryon, who had left to join Daemon in the Stepstones, only added to the weight of the moment.

You sat among the gathered lords, your mind not on the realm but on the conversation you knew you would have to start. Across the room, Rhaenyra, in her role as cupbearer, stood silently, her eyes meeting yours for a brief moment. That brief glance was all it took to ground you. She, too, was waiting for what was about to unfold.

Clearing your throat, you turned toward your father, King Viserys, who had been listening to the updates with mild interest. The conversation in the room lulled as you spoke up, your voice calm but with an edge of determination.

"Father," you began, your tone steady though your heart was pounding. "I may have a proposition… regarding my choice for a wife."

Viserys’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, his gaze snapping to yours. The silence that followed stretched across the room, as though everyone had been holding their breath in anticipation of what you were about to say. Even the ever-watchful Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing in interest.

After a long pause, Viserys, recovering from the initial shock, nodded for you to continue. "Speak, my son."

You took a deep breath, your gaze flicking briefly to Rhaenyra before you continued. "Rhaenyra and I have been discussing this matter," you began carefully, "and we both feel that the best course for our House—Targaryen—would be to strengthen it from within."

A ripple of unease spread through the room. You could feel the tension rising as you pressed on, undeterred by the shifting glances and murmurs from the council members.

"We believe," you said slowly, deliberately, "that both of our betrothals should be handled at once. And that Rhaenyra… should be wed to me."

The silence that followed was suffocating, thick and heavy, as though the very air had been sucked out of the room. Every eye was on you, the weight of your words sinking into the minds of the men seated around the table. Otto’s fingers steepled before him, his sharp eyes betraying no emotion as he studied you closely. Tyland Lannister, ever the calculating politician, stiffened visibly, his lips pressed into a thin line.

But it was Viserys’s reaction you watched most carefully. You saw the shock ripple across his face, followed by a flicker of confusion, then—unexpectedly—a moment of quiet understanding. His gaze shifted from you to Rhaenyra, lingering between the two of you as though considering something he had long thought impossible. For a heartbeat, you believed that he might actually be weighing the possibility.

But before Viserys could speak, Otto leaned forward, his voice smooth yet filled with caution. "Your Grace, while I do not doubt the advantages such a union may hold for House Targaryen," he began, "it would not sit well with the realm. The very idea could alienate potential allies. And," he added, glancing around the table for support, "the Faith of the Seven may be… troubled by another incestuous marriage, even within your family’s ancient customs."

Viserys’s expression shifted slightly, his brow furrowing as he considered Otto’s words. You could see the conflict in your father’s eyes, the way he was caught between his own understanding of Targaryen tradition and the political realities Otto had laid before him.

Rhaenyra, however, was not one to remain silent. Her voice cut through the stillness, firm and unwavering. "Father," she said, stepping forward, her tone filled with determination. "This is our House. Our legacy. A marriage between my brother and me would strengthen our bloodline and ensure that House Targaryen remains united. Who better to rule together than the heirs of the dragon?"

But before her words could fully sink in, Tyland Lannister interjected with a sharp, disapproving tone. "Princess, while I understand the sentiment, this would also alienate several key Houses. The Lords of Westeros will not look favorably upon such a match, and we risk losing valuable alliances that could be critical in times of need."

Rhaenyra turned toward Tyland, her expression hardening, but before she could respond, the council’s murmur grew louder. Lyonel Strong remained silent, his face unreadable, though his eyes flicked between you, Rhaenyra, and Viserys, clearly weighing the consequences of either decision. Grand Maester Mellos, who had been quietly stunned by the proposal, appeared to still be gathering his thoughts, unable to formulate a proper response in the moment.

Viserys finally spoke, his voice tinged with weariness. "I understand both your sentiments, Y/N… Rhaenyra. I know this is something you both feel deeply. But," he hesitated, glancing at the other members of the council, "such a match would indeed cause a great deal of unrest among the lords of the realm. They would see it as—"

"A threat?" Rhaenyra interrupted, her frustration evident as she stepped forward. "Our bloodline has always been different. They’ve always whispered about us behind our backs, but we are Targaryens. Our strength comes from within."

Her voice echoed through the chamber, but the cold reality of the court and its politics hung heavily in the air. Viserys glanced at her, sorrow in his eyes, but before he could respond, Rhaenyra slammed the cup she had been holding down onto the table with a loud clatter.

"I see," she spat, her voice filled with both anger and disappointment. "The realm matters more than our family."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and strode out of the chamber, her footsteps echoing against the stone floor as she made her hasty exit. The tension in the room thickened, and the silence that followed was unbearable. 

Your gaze followed her, torn between your duties at the council and your instinct to go after her. But you knew you couldn’t simply leave. Not yet. Not with so much unresolved.

Viserys let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his temples in frustration. "We will speak of this later," he said quietly, his tone final, though the strain in his voice was unmistakable.

The council fell into an uneasy quiet, none daring to speak again on the matter as the weight of what had just been discussed lingered over the room like a storm waiting to break.

The dimly lit chambers of the Tower of the Hand had an oppressive air that matched the mood between father and daughter. Otto Hightower paced before the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back, his face set in a deep scowl. His movements were agitated, his mind clearly racing with thoughts of what had just transpired in the small council. Alicent stood near the window, her fingers nervously twisting the fabric of her gown as she watched him, the weight of her father’s discontent pressing heavily on her.

“I’ve just come from the council,” Otto said abruptly, his voice sharp. He stopped pacing and turned to face her, his eyes narrowing with displeasure. “Your prince, Y/N, has proposed to wed Rhaenyra.”

Alicent’s breath caught in her throat, her heart skipping a beat as the words hit her like a blow. “What?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her mind reeled, trying to comprehend what Otto had just said. The shock of it left her momentarily speechless, a flood of confusion and hurt surging through her.

“They’ve been planning it,” Otto continued, his tone dripping with frustration. “Behind everyone’s backs. He stood in front of the king and the entire council today and suggested that he and Rhaenyra should marry.”

Alicent felt her legs weaken, and she moved to sit down on a nearby chair, her body trembling with the weight of her emotions. “Rhaenyra… she wants to marry him?” she asked, her voice quivering. She struggled to make sense of the betrayal that now gnawed at her heart. She had always known how close Rhaenyra and her brother were, but this… this was something different. Something far deeper than she had ever imagined.

Her mind raced back to all the moments they had shared, the times when she had confided in Rhaenyra, thinking her friend supported her attempts to win [Your Name]’s favor. Now, it all seemed like a cruel joke, a façade that had hidden Rhaenyra’s true desires. The look on her friend’s face, the anger and possessiveness that had been masked as protectiveness—it all made sense now.

“She was never going to let anyone else have him,” Alicent murmured, her voice laced with disbelief as the realization sank in.

Otto’s eyes darkened with displeasure as he observed his daughter, his patience clearly wearing thin. “Of course not,” he said, his tone cutting. “And if you had done your job as I instructed, this wouldn’t have come to pass. You should have secured his attention, Alicent. You were meant to make him look to you, not to his sister.”

Alicent’s eyes filled with tears, her gaze falling to the floor as she struggled to hold back the wave of emotion rising within her. “I did everything you asked,” she said quietly, her voice trembling with sorrow. “I tried, Father. I really did. But he… he never looked at me that way. His mind was always elsewhere… always on her.”

Otto’s expression softened for a brief moment, but his frustration remained. He approached her slowly, his voice lowering as if to contain his anger. “There’s still time to salvage this,” he said, his tone taking on a more measured edge. “The king did not approve of their proposal outright. In fact, he voiced his concerns about such a match.”

Alicent looked up at her father, wiping a tear from her cheek. “What did he say?”

Otto sat down across from her, his sharp eyes meeting hers with intensity. “Viserys understands the political ramifications of such a union. He knows it would alienate potential allies, particularly among the great houses. And the Faith… they will not look kindly on another incestuous marriage, no matter how accepted it may have been in the past. He’s hesitant, and that is where our advantage lies.”

Alicent listened intently, though her heart still ached from the betrayal she felt—not just from Rhaenyra, but from the whole situation. She had believed, for so long, that there might be a chance for her to be with [Your Name]. But now, with this revelation, it seemed as though that chance was slipping away.

“We must make the king see the alternatives,” Otto continued, his voice becoming more calculated. “If we can show him that there are better options—alliances that would strengthen the crown rather than isolate it—then he may reconsider. And you, Alicent…” He leaned forward slightly, his gaze piercing. “You must continue to play your part.”

Alicent’s lip trembled as she lowered her head, her fingers twisting in her lap. “I don’t know what else I can do,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “He’s never looked at me the way he looks at her.”

Otto reached out, lifting her chin so that she was forced to meet his gaze. “You are the daughter of the Hand of the King,” he said firmly, his voice unwavering. “And you are beautiful, intelligent, and poised. You must not give up so easily. You need to show him that you are a better match, a more suitable wife. The court needs stability, and if Rhaenyra’s union with him is seen as a threat to the realm, you can be the solution.”

Alicent swallowed hard, her emotions still raw, but her father’s words began to sink in. She knew what was expected of her, and even though the pain of Rhaenyra’s betrayal cut deep, she couldn’t afford to let it show. If she wanted to secure her place at court, if she wanted to please her father and protect her own future, she would have to continue to play the game.

“There is still time,” Otto repeated, his voice softening just slightly. “But you must be strong, Alicent. Don’t let Rhaenyra’s actions push you out. If you want this, you will need to fight for it.”

Alicent nodded, her mind still swirling with conflicting emotions—hurt, betrayal, and a flicker of determination. She knew the road ahead would not be easy, but she couldn’t afford to falter now. Not when so much was at stake.

As her father stood and returned to his pacing, Alicent stared out the window, the light of the setting sun casting long shadows across the room. She understood now why Rhaenyra had been so protective, why she had reacted so strongly whenever another lady showed interest in her brother.

Rhaenyra had been protecting what was hers. And now, it was up to Alicent to decide whether she would let her friend take everything… or whether she would fight back.

The flames in the hearth crackled loudly, casting shadows that danced across the walls of the king’s chambers as Viserys sat slumped in his chair, a goblet of wine clutched tightly in his hand. His thoughts were heavy, weighed down by the events of the day. He had not expected the council meeting to unfold as it had, nor had he been prepared for the proposition that his son and daughter had laid before him. The idea of their union had struck him like a blow, shaking him to his core. 

He had seen the desperation in their eyes, the conviction in their voices, but the weight of his crown—of the realm—had forced him to think beyond the desires of his children. 

Just as he was about to take another sip of wine, the doors to his chambers burst open with a force that startled him. Rhaenyra stormed in, her face flushed with anger, her eyes burning with a fire that Viserys hadn’t seen in her for some time. She didn’t wait for an invitation or even pause to acknowledge the breach of decorum; she had come for a confrontation, and her fury was palpable.

���Father,” she hissed, her voice trembling with rage, “how could you dismiss us like that? Like we were nothing!”

Viserys set his goblet down, his brow furrowing as he straightened in his chair. “Rhaenyra,” he said wearily, “it’s not that simple. There are matters beyond what you and your brother want—”

“It is that simple!” she shot back, taking a step closer, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “You refuse to see it because you’re too busy being a slave to the council’s whims!”

Her words struck hard, and Viserys’s face hardened as he rose from his seat. “Enough,” he said, his voice sharp. “You will not speak to me like that. I am your father and your king.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed, her chest heaving with the weight of her emotions. “You’re my father,” she echoed bitterly, “but you’ve forgotten that in favor of listening to men like Otto Hightower and Tyland Lannister—men who care more about their own power than our family. You care more about what they think than about what I want, what we want.”

Viserys’s jaw tightened as he took a step forward, his eyes flashing with frustration. “You think this is about what they want?” he demanded, his voice rising. “You think I make my decisions based on the whims of my council? This is about the realm, Rhaenyra! The Targaryen name means something, and I have a duty to uphold the stability of the crown.”

“And I have a duty too, don’t I?” Rhaenyra spat, her voice trembling. “To be used as a pawn for political alliances? To marry someone you think is suitable for the realm, not someone I love?” Her voice broke slightly on the last word, and she clenched her fists tighter, as if trying to contain the flood of emotions coursing through her.

Viserys’s face softened for just a moment, but then he shook his head, steeling himself. “It’s not about love,” he said, his tone quieter but still firm. “It’s about what’s best for the realm. You and your brother both have responsibilities—"

“Responsibilities,” Rhaenyra interrupted, her voice rising again. “Is that all we are to you? Responsibilities? I thought we were your children.”

“You are my children,” Viserys snapped, his patience beginning to fray. “And because you are my children, I need you to understand that there are larger concerns at play. I cannot let you and Y/N act on a whim—”

“This isn’t a whim!” Rhaenyra yelled, stepping even closer, her eyes blazing with anger. “This is what we both want. Y/N wants it, I want it—this is not some foolish wish. We’re not children anymore, Father. We’ve made our decision.”

Viserys’s frustration boiled over, and he raised his voice to match hers. “You and your brother will do your duty to the realm,” he shouted, his face flushed with anger. “But not like this!”

Rhaenyra flinched at his outburst, her lips parting in shock, but she quickly recovered, her fury renewed. “Our duty? Is that all that matters to you? The realm, duty, alliances—what about us? What about our family? Don’t we matter at all?”

“Of course you matter,” Viserys shot back, his voice still raised. “But I am the king, and my first duty is to the realm. You and Y/N—you think this is about love, about what’s best for you, but it’s more than that. The Lords of Westeros will not accept this marriage. They will see it as a threat, and the Faith—” He stopped himself, running a hand over his face in frustration.

Rhaenyra took a step back, shaking her head, her expression one of deep hurt. “You’re afraid,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You’re afraid of what they’ll think. Of what they’ll say.”

“I am not afraid!” Viserys roared, his hand slamming down onto the table with a loud crack. “I am the king, and I must think of the future of the realm. You cannot simply marry your brother because it’s what you want.”

“It’s not just what I want,” Rhaenyra shot back, her voice hoarse with emotion. “It’s what’s best for House Targaryen. We are stronger together, and you know that. Our bloodline—our legacy—it’s worth preserving. Just as Jaehaerys and Alysanne did.”

Viserys turned away from her, his hand gripping the back of his chair as he took a deep breath. His voice was quieter now, but there was a deep sadness in it. “I know what Jaehaerys and Alysanne did, and what my mother and father did,” he said softly. “And I know the burden that comes with it. But we cannot go back to those times, Rhaenyra. The realm has changed. The Faith has changed. The lords have changed. They will not accept it, no matter how much you want it.”

Tears brimmed in Rhaenyra’s eyes, though she refused to let them fall. She stood there, her chest heaving, staring at the man before her who was both her father and her king, and yet felt like a stranger in that moment.

“I thought you would fight for us,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I thought you would understand.”

Viserys didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the floor, his shoulders slumped under the weight of his crown.

Without another word, Rhaenyra turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, her footsteps echoing loudly in the silence that followed. The door slammed behind her, leaving Viserys standing alone, his heart heavy with the knowledge that no matter what he did, he would never be able to satisfy both his children and the realm he ruled.

Alicent stood still for a moment in the hallway, her heart heavy after watching Rhaenyra pass by in a storm of anger and tears. Ser Criston Cole, loyal and vigilant, trailed behind the princess, his armor clinking softly with every step. Alicent’s chest tightened with concern. She could see the turmoil on Rhaenyra’s face but knew better than to approach her at that moment. Their friendship, once so simple and full of trust, had been shaken by too many unseen forces.

As Rhaenyra vanished from sight, Alicent spotted Ser Harwin Strong standing near the edge of the hall, his posture relaxed but attentive. She quickly made her way to him, hoping for some kind of clarity or direction.

"Ser Harwin," she called softly, her voice carrying a quiet urgency. "Have you seen the prince?"

Harwin offered her a polite bow, his expression respectful yet guarded. "Your Grace," he said in his deep, steady voice. "I believe the prince is on his way to the Dragonpit. If you make haste, you may catch him in the courtyard before he departs."

Nodding her thanks, Alicent quickly gathered her skirts and hurried down the corridor, her heart racing not just from her quickened pace but from the emotions swirling in her chest. She wasn’t entirely sure what she would say to Y/N, but she knew she needed to speak with him—if only to offer some comfort after the tension of the council meeting.

As she reached the courtyard, she saw you standing beside your horse, Stormwind. The large, powerful creature stood calmly as your young Tyrell squire, Trystan, adjusted the saddle straps and made sure everything was in place for your journey. The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow over the scene, making your dark riding leathers gleam. You wore finely crafted gear—deep brown leather with silver accents, designed for both protection and agility. A thick cloak, fur-lined for the cold, draped over your shoulders, secured with a dragon-shaped clasp at your throat. Every detail spoke of your status as the crown prince, yet there was something unmistakably worn about your attire—a testament to the battles you’d fought and the long flights on Silverwing.

As you prepared to mount Stormwind, you noticed Alicent approaching. You straightened, your expression shifting from focus to polite acknowledgment. Her steps were measured, but you could see the concern in her eyes. She offered you a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Lady Alicent,” you greeted her, your voice calm but formal. “What brings you here?”

Alicent slowed as she approached, her gaze flicking between you and Stormwind. “Your Grace,” she began, her voice soft, “I heard about what happened during the council meeting… and I wished to offer my sympathies.”

You felt your frown deepen slightly, the weight of the meeting still fresh in your mind. Though you had steeled yourself against the outcome, the sting of it remained. “Thank you,” you replied, though there was a hint of tension in your voice. “It was… a difficult conversation, but these things often are.”

Alicent nodded, her expression full of understanding. She stepped a little closer, her voice lowering as if she didn’t want anyone else to overhear. “I know how much this means to both you and Rhaenyra. It must be frustrating to have your wishes dismissed so easily.”

You glanced at her, studying her face for a moment. Her words were kind, but there was something else behind them—something more complex. You could see that she was trying to offer comfort, but it also felt as though she was searching for something in your response, a deeper understanding of where things stood.

“It is,” you said, keeping your tone measured. “But the realm requires more than just our desires. There are always… complications.”

A flicker of sympathy crossed her face, and she nodded again, her hands wringing together. “I understand that. Truly, I do. But it seems unfair, to deny something that could strengthen your House from within. I can only imagine how difficult this must be for you.”

You sighed softly, your gaze drifting toward Stormwind for a moment before returning to Alicent. “It is difficult, yes,” you admitted, though you kept your voice steady. “But we all have our duties, even if they conflict with what we want.”

For a brief moment, neither of you spoke. The courtyard felt strangely quiet despite the activity around you. Trystan finished securing the straps on your saddle, standing a respectful distance away as he waited for you to mount. Alicent’s eyes softened as she looked at you, her expression a mixture of sympathy and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“I hope you and Rhaenyra find the peace you seek,” she said softly, her voice carrying an earnest sincerity. “I truly do.”

You gave her a small, polite smile, though your mind was already drifting to the flight ahead. “Thank you, Lady Alicent,” you replied. “Your concern is appreciated.”

You turned your attention back to Stormwind, knowing it was time to leave. The Dragonpit awaited, and Silverwing’s company was the only solace you could count on at that moment. With a practiced motion, you mounted the horse, adjusting your grip on the reins as you settled into the saddle. Before you could spur the horse forward, you glanced down at Alicent one last time.

“Until we meet again,” you said, your tone still formal, though there was a touch of warmth in your farewell.

Alicent offered you a final nod, her hands clasped in front of her as she watched you prepare to depart. “Until then, Your Grace,” she replied, her voice soft but steady.

With a gentle nudge of your heels, Stormwind began to move forward, the sound of his hooves echoing through the courtyard. You cast one last glance back at Alicent before guiding your horse through the gates, your mind already turning to the sky, to the wind, and to Silverwing’s waiting presence.

As you rode off, leaving the keep behind, the weight of the day’s events settled over you once more. The tension with your father, the anguish in Rhaenyra’s eyes—all of it followed you like a shadow, even as you tried to shake it free with the promise of flight.

Behind you, Alicent remained standing in the courtyard, watching your retreating figure. Her heart felt heavy, a mix of sympathy and something more bitter twisting inside her. She had come to offer support, but now she felt more distant from both you and Rhaenyra than ever before.