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sparkle-fiend · 2 years

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Eddie is six years old, the first time he hears the voice.

It wakes him with a jolt – sends him tearing through the house, searching under every bed and behind every door for the boy he hears calling his name.

Mama finally stops him. “Sweetheart, what did you lose this time?” (Eddie is always losing things.) She looks impatient, standing with a laundry basket balanced on one cocked hip, curly hair spilling out of the messy bun on top of her head.

“I heard somebody saying my name! I gotta find him, I think he’s hiding.”

Mama’s whole attitude changes, all at once. She sets the laundry aside and drops to her knees in front of him, squeezing his little hands between her own. “Oh baby. That voice means you’ve got a soulmate!”

She smiles bright as the suncatcher hanging in the window, and presses sloppy kisses all over his face until he screams with laughter, squirming to get away.

“My lucky, special boy!”

Eddie’s never been lucky before. It’s exciting.

———

In school, they learn all about soulmates. About how rare they are. Uncle Wayne is the only other person Eddie knows that has one.

When he found out about Uncle Wayne’s soulmate, Eddie was so excited – bubbling full of questions, like a bottle of fizzy pop. But whenever he tried to talk about it, his dad got real mad.

“You keep your mouth shut about soulmates,” he said. “Don’t talk about that shit in front of your uncle.”

It’s hard. Eddie starts staying over at Uncle Wayne’s trailer more and more when Mama gets sick. And Eddie’s never been good at following rules; especially when he’s curious about something.

“Uncle Wayne?” Eddie finally asks one day. “Where’s your soulmate? How come I’ve never seen her?” You have met her right? is what Eddie’s really asking. He can’t imagine waiting until he’s as old as Uncle Wayne to find his soulmate.

His uncle goes sort of brittle, tensing up like every joint is made of glass. His lips press together behind his beard, and his denim blue eyes go shiny and wet – like he’s trying not to cry.

If Eddie could take the question back, he would. Suck it right back into his mouth, like the smoke from his uncle’s cigarettes. This is why you gotta listen better baby – that’s what his Mama would probably say.

“My Lorretta died a few years ago. Before you were born.”

Eddie never considered that. In all the movies, soulmates die together. The thought of it leaves a queasy feeling squirming through his stomach.

“I still hear her though,” Uncle Wayne says, with a terribly soft look in his eyes. “Still hear her singing our song.”

“Like a memory?” Eddie whispers.

His uncle shakes his head. “Time don’t matter for soulmates – no more than distance. I can hear her still, across the years.”

Like a ghost, his uncle doesn’t say. A ghost that will haunt him forever. None of the dry textbooks in school ever mentioned that part.

It starts to worry Eddie. As he gets older, his soulmate’s voice starts to get clearer. He always hears the same thing – a desperate, grown-up voice screaming at him to “Run Eddie! RUN!!!”

It must be from the future. But his soulmate sounds so scared. What could possibly happen, to make his soulmate sound like that?

Eddie starts to listen to music more. Loud, heavy stuff to drown out the frightened voice.

Late at night, he curls up under the covers and softly sings his Mama’s favorite song – hoping that somewhere, somewhen, his soulmate will hear him.

That it might help, the way it helps Eddie when Mama sings him to sleep.

———

Eddie is twelve years old, the first time he really listens to the voice.

Mama's been dead two years, and his dad keeps pulling riskier and riskier jobs. Tonight, he's decided to try and break into the pawn shop on Fifth street.

Eddie is the lookout, stationed on the opposite corner with a pistol weighing heavy in the pocket of his coat (just in case, Ed).

He doesn't want to be here. He tried to argue with his dad. Said, "I've got a test tomorrow. I've got homework and..." and I hate this life. (He doesn't say that part.) I don't want to steal cars or break into buildings or mug people. I don't want to be like you.

His dad just gripped him by the arm hard enough to bruise, and said, "You like to eat, dont'cha? Well, lookouts get to eat. Lazy little shits don't."

So Eddie is standing on a street corner in the middle of the night, watching his dad furtively attempt to pick the lock on the front door of the pawn shop, when a cop car slows down at the end of the street.

Fear floods his bloodstream so fast it leaves him dizzy. The cop has clearly noticed something. Eddie can see the shadowed figure inside the car reach for his radio.

Eddie has two choices.

He could pull the pistol out of his pocket and fire a few shots down the street, forcing the cop to take cover long enough for his dad to get away (which is what his dad would expect him to do). Or he could...

"Run!"

The sudden loud voice, echoing between his ears and behind his eyes and inside his heart, startles him into flinching.

"Run Eddie, RUN!!!" His body obeys before his brain has a chance to process the words. He's halfway down the street when the siren shrieks to life.

Later, as he sits in the backseat of the social worker's car on the way to his Uncle Wayne, he can't quite believe he did it. He bailed on his dad - left him to get arrested and go to prison. This is Frank Munson's third strike; he'll go away for life this time.

I'm such a coward, Eddie thinks numbly. Such a chicken piece of shit. He digs his ragged nails into the soft flesh of his palms, squeezing hard enough to draw blood.

As if he'd spoken aloud, a soft voice responds, "You're not a coward. You're one of the bravest people I've ever known. Running isn't always a bad thing, okay? Sometimes it's just the smart thing to do."

His soulmate sounds so fierce, so certain. Eddie blinks hard against the hot burn of tears. The smart thing to do.

———

Eddie holds onto those words, like magic talismans. They provide comfort, not just in the immediate days after his dad's arrest, but other times too. Every time he runs away from a bully or a cop or a deal gone bad, Eddie thinks to himself - I'm not a coward. I'm just smart.

It works... until the night he stumbles out of his uncle's trailer, leaving Chrissy Cunningham's broken body on the living room floor. He's so terrified he doesn't have time to think, not until after he's ditched his van and taken shelter in Rick's boathouse. As he leans against the splintered wall and catches his breath, it hits him.

I left her there. What if she was still alive? (She wasn't. She couldn't have been. Not after... not after that.) He grabs fistfuls of hair and tugs until his scalp aches. Wracks his brain trying to figure out what happened, what he could have done to stop it.

He's never felt so ashamed before, not even when his dad was cursing and screaming and calling him a coward through the thick glass of the visitation window.

His soulmate's words whisper in his ears, "...sometimes it's just the smart thing to do," and Eddie pounds on his skull with his fists to drown the voice out. "Not this time," he snarls. I should have done something. I should have tried to save her.

He doesn’t feel smart this time. He feels like a cowardly piece of shit.

His soulmate’s voice falls silent.

Through all the craziness to follow – finding out that monsters are real, running for his life from an angry mob, fighting alongside Steve Harrington in an evil Upside Down version of Hawkins – Eddie doesn’t hear his soulmate again.

Not until he’s staring up at Dustin Henderson, realizing that he can’t run away again. As he hesitates at the bottom of the rope, Dustin calls out nervously, “Eddie, what are you doing?”

“I’m buying more time,” he says. He ignores Dustin’s screams as he cuts the rope and slides the mattress out of the way – making sure the kid can’t follow him.

And then he hears his soulmate say, “Wait, wait a second. Eddie?! Is that you?”

Eddie is twenty years old, the first time he recognizes his soulmates voice.

He pauses at the door of the trailer and squeezes his eyes shut tight. “Hey Stevie.”

“Holy shit, it’s you,” Steve whispers in awe.

It’s the first time they’ve been able to speak to each other like this, responding in real-time. Eddie wishes it could have happened in different circumstances.

“I’m so sorry Steve.”

“Eddie? What are you doing?” Steve sounds alarmed.

Eddie doesn’t answer. He slams his way out of the barricaded trailer and grabs one of the discarded bikes, hoping to lead the swarm of bats away as far as possible.

He makes it halfway across the trailer park before one of the bats knocks him off the bike. He grunts and rolls, gaining his feet quickly. Chest heaving, charged with adrenalin – Eddie hesitates. He could keep running… or he could stand his ground and fight.

Maybe Steve can hear the hitch in his breath in that moment, because the other boy seems to have worked out what’s going on, even from miles away. Steve screams, “No!!! Run Eddie, RUN!!!!”

It’s like the night his dad got arrested. Eddie doesn’t even have time to think - his body reacts to that voice and he runs, worn Reeboks slapping the pavement.

(In another world, Eddie would have turned to face the swarm. In another world, Eddie would have died.)

He’s fast. He’s always been fast. He buys himself a few precious moments, before the bats drag him to the ground. They start to rip through his clothes, through his flesh, and he tries to hold back his screams – he doesn’t want Steve to hear this…

Those extra seconds save his life. It’s bad - but not as bad as it could have been. The bats start to drop from the sky, writhing and shrieking; they’re dying, although Eddie has no idea why. Hopefully, it means Steve and the girls were successful.

He struggles to sit up just as Dustin reaches him, crying and frantic. “Eddie!! Oh my god, are you okay? Jesus, there’s so much blood…” the kid moans.

“Yeah, yep. I’m good,” Eddie pants through gritted teeth. “Help me up okay?”

Dustin insists on binding the worst of his wounds first, using strips of fabric torn from the ghillie suit. The pain makes Eddie want to scream all over again, but he allows it. It is an awful lot of blood.

They lean against each other and limp back to the trailer, where Dustin knots t-shirts and jeans and flannel shirts into the remnants of their rope until it’s long enough to reach the other side again.

Eddie manages to haul himself up the rope and through the gate – and that’s where his strength runs out. The pain of landing on the thin mattress knocks him right out.

———

When Eddie wakes up, he’s in a hospital bed.

Holy shit I’m alive, he thinks. He honestly wasn’t sure he would make it.

He moves gingerly, testing each limb, turning his head against the stinging pull of a bandage along the edge of his jaw.

The room isn’t empty; Eddie apparently has a roommate. He clears his throat and the person in the other bed stirs, turning to look at him.

It’s Steve.

His soulmate.

Eddie feels a funny little swoop of exhilaration in his stomach. “Hey Stevie.”

Steve’s face goes soft at first, like he’s experiencing the same fizzy warmth that Eddie is feeling. Then he blinks, and his brows draw down into a scowl. “What the hell was that, huh? What happened to ‘I’m no hero’?”

Oops.

Eddie tries to make light of the situation. “Maybe I wanted to try it out,” he says flippantly. “Not too sure it suits me though. Think I might stick to being a coward from now on – it’s a lot less painful.”

Steve doesn’t smile. He fixes Eddie with a serious look, hazel eyes blazing in the sallow light of the hospital room. “You listen to me Eddie Munson. You're not a coward. You're one of the bravest people I've ever known. Running isn't always a bad thing, okay? Sometimes it's just the smart thing to do."

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat. Those words – once a gift from the future, now an echo of the past. He never should have ignored them. “Maybe you’re right.”

Steve’s mouth is already open to continue the argument. “I…” he stops, clearly caught off-guard, face scrunched in adorable confusion. “Yeah. Yeah, I am right.”

Steve runs a faintly trembling hand through his hair. The angry expression melts into something gentler, almost unbearably soft. “I’m glad you listened to me in the end, at least.”

Eddie shifts his weight, pressing his cheek into the scratchy hospital pillow so he can keep his eyes on Steve.

He’s so beautiful. Even bloody and bruised, with dirt still smudged along his hairline and dark circles under his eyes – he’s the most beautiful boy Eddie has ever seen. And Eddie almost gave this up – if he’d died in the Upside Down, he would have left Steve alone, with only the echo of Eddie’s voice left to haunt him.

“Yeah,” Eddie says hoarsely, “me too.”

He still feels guilty over Chrissy’s death - he probably always will. But he’s coming to realize that proving himself a hero wouldn’t have been worth the pain his death would have caused.

Eddie’s got a second chance… and he plans to make the most of it.

#steddie #soulmate au #steddie fic #my writing #steve harrington/eddie munson #this is…#I don’t know what this is #a mess maybe #trying to get back into the writing groove

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cobrakaisb · 4 months

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call me, beep me, if you want to reach me

summary: percy, annabeth, and grover have some great news about their quest, but something is off about their hypothesis

word count: 2.8k

featuring: reader and annabeth’s relationship, slightly steamy reader and luke scene, more percabeth crumbs, fluff and angst

author's note: IM BACKKKKK...this one took me forever, and i am so sorry about that! between finals, coming home from college, and just dealing with life in general it has been a real struggle BUT we are finally back on the luke train 🤩 and trust, these next few parts are about to get real...anyways, enjoy 💗

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you run to the top of the hill, calling out to the three kids before they can cross the protective barrier surrounding camp half-blood.

“i just wanted to wish you guys good luck before you leave, although i’m sure you won’t need it,” you explain, walking up to the trio.

annabeth smiles at you. there’s an excited gleam in her eyes, and you remember how she’s been waiting for this for years -- her chance at glory.

“thanks,” percy mumbles, not really knowing what to say.

“i just…be safe okay?” you whisper, hands gripping tightly at annabeth’s shoulders while you look directly at her.

she nods, “i will. i promise.”

you nod in agreement, lips pursed in a tight line as you struggle to keep your emotions at bay. over the course of your years at camp, the bond between you and annabeth has grown exponentially. you love her like a little sister, one you’d do anything to protect. it scares you to think about her, a twelve year old kid, in the real world with no one looking out for her this time.

she senses your anguish, and pulls you into a tight hug. you freeze at first, not used to the affection from her, but ultimately wrap your arms around her small frame. the two of you stand there for a minute, embracing each other, but break apart when luke calls out to you from the bottom of the hill.

“it’s time to go,” he yells, and you imagine his pointed look and crossed arms. luke was just as worried as you, but he found it necessary to hide those feelings, claiming it was best for annabeth’s sake. you disagreed.

you nod, stepping away from the kids, back towards the chaos of camp, “i’ll see you at the solstice.”

you watch, with your stomach in knots from nerves and a mouth full of anxiety, as the kids step past thalia’s tree and into the world of monsters.

that was almost four days ago, and still no word from the trio. percy, annabeth, and grover were on their quest to find and return zeus’s master bolt, but the radio silence worries you. while you didn’t expect them to call every day to say good night — they needed to save their dracmas — you at least expected some type of update by now. the lack thereof leaves a nervous feeling in your stomach; something isn’t right, you know it, but you can’t quite determine what.

“those are called feelings sweetie,” katrina replies when you explain your current predicament to her.

you suck your teeth at her words, shoving her shoulder as you mumble, “shut up.”

“i’m being serious! since when do you care about three twelve year olds? no scratch that, since when do you care about anybody?” she shouts, throwing her hands up.

you look down at your converse, arms crossing over your bent knees as you sit and look at the rippling water. i care about luke, you think, and all those kids who will never experience a true family thanks to our parents. i care about you, and our friendship. i care about grover, who’s too kind for his own good. the list goes on and on, but you don’t say any of those names out loud.

instead you respond with, “i care about annabeth.”

katrina openly scoffs at your words, leaning back on her palms. “oh please, i’m talking about that little blonde.”

you sigh, looking at her over your shoulder. her short hair rustles in the breeze, and the unruly curls from spending the day in the water makes her possess a childlike innocence. if you didn’t know katrina, you’d think she was a sweet girl who’d chew you out for swearing, but you do know her; she’s anything but, and the constant taunting and teasing proves that.

“there’s something different about percy,” you explain with a shrug.

“yeah, it’s called your need to play mommy,” she mumbles.

“oh shut up,” you gripe, getting up from your spot on the dock. you make sure to kick her calf, not too hard, on your way back to hera’s cabin.

“harder,” luke commands, despite the sweat dripping down both of their faces.

percy groans, throwing his head back in frustration. they’ve been going at it for hours, practicing various techniques and maneuvers with wooden swords. while percy’s claiming was still new, and his slaying of the minotaur with no experience was still the talk of the camp, it was obvious to everyone that he needed to train. there’s an impending war coming, and the blonde boy has found himself right in the middle of it.

but he doesn’t even know what it is, you think, stepping into the dirt of the practice arena.

“give him a break, luke. he needs some hydration,” you exclaim, holding up two refillable water bottles.

they’re dripping in condensation, the ice from the pavilion already melting in the sweltering heat courtesy of long island summers. luke grumbles something under his breath, probably about how he doesn’t need a break, but takes the bottle from you with a squeeze of your hip. he stays close to your side as he drinks the water, and instead of giving him your attention, you’re busy looking over percy.

“there’s a cut on your forehead,” you say, pushing back some of his curls to get a better look.

“yeah, your boyfriend nicked me,” he replies, gesturing to luke with his chin.

“it was an accident! how many times do i have to tell you?” luke defends.

“a lot more. i’m great at holding grudges,” percy announces, and you roll your eyes.

“and that’s why you’re becoming friendly with annabeth?” you tease.

luke raises his eyebrows at your statement, looking over at the smaller boy, whose cheeks are suddenly a very dark shade of red.

“that’s different,” he grumbles, pouring the remaining water on his head.

“uh huh, right. whatever floats your boat i guess,” you reply, patting his cheek in a motherly fashion. percy swerves with an eye roll fit for a teenager.

“anyways, i’ll let you guys get back to it,” you announce, turning to face luke.

you kiss his cheek, and his palm splays across your waist. he gives it a gentle squeeze, a small sign of affection in a hasty moment. you smile at him, leaning into his chest to whisper, “go easy on him.”

“he’s training with the best swordsman in camp, he knows what to expect,” luke replies, cocky as ever, as you pat his sweaty chest three times before walking away.

the training arena is packed when you arrive, brimming with younger kids and blaring noisy chatter. they’re all clad in some sort of battle armor: shields, bronze chest plates, and celestial bronze swords. it takes a minute for them to notice your presence, but when they do they part like the red sea. most of them have the sense to keep quiet, watching you with nervous eyes and wary glances, fueled by the words of their older siblings no doubt. others, the more gutsy of the bunch, have the courage to whisper the exact words they heard from their siblings, warning their friends about you and your anger. you, however, are focused on finding the tallest head amongst the group; the one housing messy, onyx curls.

“he’s up front, helping jimmy with his armor,” a young girl whispers shyly, drawing designs in the dirt with the tip of her sword.

you stop walking, turning to face her. she’s young, no older than eight, and you feel the edges of your hard exterior soften from the sight of her pigtails and pink twinkle toes. you smile softly at her, hoping that it doesn’t scare her off.

“thank you,” you say, “i love your shoes.” she smiles at your words, giggling quietly to herself as a small blush coats her cheeks.

just as she goes to answer, luke appears at your side with, who you can only assume, is jimmy. you smile softly at him, ready to explain why you’re here in the first place, but luke beats you to it:

“let me just give them some instructions, then we can talk, okay?” he whispers, his free hand taking its place on the small of your back.

you hum in agreement, watching fondly as he takes charge of the large group of young demigods. he instructs them to practice the methods he just demonstrated in pairs, explaining that he’ll be walking around to give feedback once he’s done talking to you. as the kids partner up, he leads you to the side of the arena, where he finally meets your gaze with a raised brow.

“what?” you ask, crossing your arms at his confused stare.

“you never come here while i’m teaching lessons,” he answers.

“well, maybe i’m starting to,” you reply.

luke scoffs at your words, “no shot. what’s really going on?”

“i could be!”

“but you’re not. you hate their judgy, beady, little eyes. so, what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours to make you seek me out while i’m in the middle of lessons?” he continues, his fingers playing with the waistband of your shorts.

you take a deep breath, meeting his chocolate brown eyes on the exhale, and state your concerns: “i’m worried. why haven’t we heard from them yet? it’s been days, and it’s not like annabeth to keep us completely in the dark.”

luke sighs at your words, “i’m sure they’re fine.”

you raise your eyebrows at his unexpected answer. this is luke, the same guy who refused to let you and annabeth out of his sight during capture the flag, talking? not a chance.

“so you’re not worried, at all?” you ask, searching for the true reason behind his lack of worry.

luke clenches his jaw at your words, looking away from you as he stares off into the distance. his eyebrows furrow, and you can see something flicker across his face. you don’t know what it is, but you know he’s battling something within himself.

“luke?” you ask softly, resting your hand on his bicep.

he shakes his head, a carefree smile taking over his face as he says, “it’s annabeth. she’s the smartest, most careful person i know. nothing’s wrong.”

you eye him warily, and nod your head slowly, “right. i guess i’m just overthinking.”

luke smiles, a teasing look in his eyes as he nudges your foot with his own. you look up at him, a breathy laugh escaping your lips as you meet his playful gaze.

“you always are,” he mumbles, followed by a loud laugh as you shove his shoulder.

he plants a quick kiss on your temple, hands rubbing up and down your sides before whispering, “i’ll stop by your cabin tonight. once they’re all tucked in.”

you hum in agreement, watching as he departs from your side and heads to the closest duo to provide feedback.

****

the door creaks open, and luke slips inside before the harpies register the noise. you’re already awake, patiently waiting for him on the singular cot in the cabin. the eternal flames of the fire pit burn brightly, leaving dangerous shadows on your face, illuminating the storm brewing inside.

“you’re late,” you quip, not even bothering to look up from your book.

you’re laying on your stomach, propped up on your forearms with a paperback book in your hands. you’re in your usual sleep attire, shorts and a tank top, and luke has to physically hold back a groan. he’s never wanted you so badly in his life, but instead of expressing that desire, he apologizes for his actions.

“some of the younger campers were arguing, you know i had to settle that,” he whispers, burying his face between your neck and left shoulder.

luke kisses your bare skin, slightly warmed from all the sun you’ve been getting recently. your head tilts, giving him access to more skin, and he doesn’t deny that. his lips move to your neck, leaving more than a few marks.

“careful. hera’s watching,” you tease, closing the cover of your book.

“let her,” he mumbles, practically moaning when you thread your fingers through his hair.

“oh you’d love that,” you taunt, tugging on his curls.

luke’s right arm wraps around your waist, flipping you onto your back, while his left pushes your book to the floor. your mouth falls open in shock, and you gasp quietly. he smirks at your expression, feeling satisfied to have you speechless. before you can ruin the moment, he captures your mouth with his.

the kiss is rough, all tongue and teeth. his left hand settles next to your head, while his right tugs your hips closer to his. your fingers are still lodged into his curls, and you use them to keep his face pressed against yours. he pulls back, gasping for air, but keeps his forehead planted against your skin. before he can reconnect your lips, you’re kissing all over his face.

“missed you,” you murmur in between kisses.

luke sighs, relaxing into your arms as the tension from camp counselor duties and other activities leaves his body. he knows eventually he’s going to have to tell you. he thinks it will be something like ripping off a band aid. but, for now, when he has you so eagerly in his arms, and he’s content with baring the brunt of the burden. besides, the kids aren’t even close to figuring out the truth, he’s sure of it.

****

“we know who stole the bolt,” percy announces, nothing but confidence in his voice.

luke falters, but only for a second, before asking, “how do you know?”

immediately, annabeth starts rambling. she mentions an encounter with ares, how he knows who the thief is, but was clearly covering for them. as she talks, luke realize that their suspicions are anything but correct, in fact, they’re so far into leftfield it’d be considered a homerun. yet, he runs with it, not willing to give himself up.

“so who would ares cover for?” annabeth finishes, waiting for luke to answer.

“his favorite daughter. clarisse is the lightning thief,” he answers, making sure to sound shocked by their groundbreaking discovery.

“chrion’s got to arrest her, find out what she knows. there’s more to this than just the bolt, something bigger,” percy explains.

luke and annabeth share a look of uncertainty, one that percy picks up on because he quickly adds, “don't ask me how i know, you’ve just got to trust me.”

as luke is about to assure the kids that he’ll get to it straight away, you walk into the office.

“talking to yourself again, castellan? i knew you were crazy but not this off the rocker,” you tease, stepping closer to his side.

as you approach, you see the faces of annabeth and percy in the mist. you smile at the sight of them. while they look tired, they seem pretty intact and much better off than you expected.

“how’s your quest going?” you ask, hoping to hear some positive news.

“not too bad. between ares, the chimera and medusa, i’d say we’re doing pretty good,” percy exclaims.

your eyes widen at his words, and you look to luke to see what his reaction is, but he’s not even looking at you. instead he’s watching the two demigods arguing about which monster occurred each day. he smirks at the sight of them, gently bumping his hip with yours before saying, “what is this?”

“what?” annabeth answers, confusion written all over her face.

“since when did you guys turn into an old married couple?” luke continues to tease, and you smile at the kids’ shocked faces. percy blushes at luke’s comment, and annabeth makes a point to avoid your gaze.

“not to change the subject, but we need your advice luke. we’re going to vegas and…” before percy can say another word, the iris message cuts out, the connective screen dissipating along with the rainbow that brought it here.

“well that was entertaining,” you joke, turning to face your boyfriend.

you expect him to laugh at your words, but his face is set into a hard line. his arms are crossed and jaw clenched as he stares at the spot where annabeth and percy’s faces were previously occupying. his thoughts are clearly running a mile a minute, and you step into his line of sight, calling out to him.

“they think they know who the lightning thief is,” he grumbles, gaze still distant and cold.

“what? who?” you ask, stepping closer to him. while it’s only the two of you in the room, you don’t want to risk anyone else hearing; this isn’t the sort of thing that should be spread around camp, even if you hate the majority of the people here.

“clarisse,” he starts, “but they’re wrong.”

“how do you know?” you ask, nothing but confusion plastered all over your face.

“because it’s actually me,” luke replies, finally meeting your gaze.

taglist: @percabethlvr @iwantahockeyhimbo @hottiewifeyyyy @loveryoushouldcomeoverr @maraschinocherry3 @used2beee @harrysnovia @cami-is-reading @mxtokko @cxcilla @obxstiles @dracoslovergirl @vanessa-rafesgirl @l1a-pjosversion

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan oneshot #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan series #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan angst #luke castellan pjo #pjo luke #all american bitch series #cobrakaisb writing

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marmixedwithabitofintellect · 1 year

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Long Live

Happy end of tour H! You deserve the break! I hope you enjoy the blurb so so much! Come talk to me about it! All my love, as always, for you

July 23, 2023

Harry. Reggio Emilia, Italy. 12:00 AM.

As soon as the lock opened and the door pushed open, I let out a breath of relief and turned to kiss the side of Pippa’s head, who had snuggled as soon as I lifted her from her car seat, Y/N was just behind me with JJ still in hers, while Rachel, our nanny, brought in the diaper bags and stroller.

We all stopped in the foyer and smiled, Y/N was the first to speak in a hushed tone, “Rachel thank you for everything, please go rest and tomorrow enjoy your day, we will probably stay in bed all day until the party”, she smiled, “Thank you, for everything, this has been an amazing journey and I am so excited for you guys”.

Harry and I smiled and squeezed her arm, we parked the stroller and grabbed the diaper bag and made our way up the stairs. Once in our bedroom I kissed Pippa’s head and laid her down, making sure she had her bunny and binky with her and put a blanket over her lower torso.

Y/N was pulling JJ out of her car seat and kissing her chubby cheeks, then whispered, “Hi bug, are you wanting to party with mum and dad?”, I smiled and walked to her and kissed her temple and reached for the baby while Y/N went to change her outfit.

I walked over to the makeshift changing table and started chatting with my baby, “Hi JJ, hi baby, did you enjoy the show? Did daddy sing good?”, she cooed a little and I finished changing her, picked her up and kissed her cheeks, which had increasingly grown in the last month.

Y/N walked out of the bathroom and smiled, she walked to us and kissed my back while I ran my hand down my back, “Do you want to take a shower and get ready for bed?”, I turned to look at her, “Can I feed her? if you need to I don’t mind but I would love to”, Y/N shook her head and smiled, “Absolutely baby, there’s a bottle in the insulation bag, I’ll pump no problem”.

I smiled at her and reached for the bottle, the settled in the bed and started feeding JJ, I still couldn’t believe she was here, and how much she looked like me and how much I loved her, Pip, and my lover. This last leg of tour had been a crazy ride, full of worry and a lot of tears from both grown-ups and infants alike.

But alas everything comes to an end, and now, I couldn’t wait to just watch my girls grow up. Once JJ finished feeding, I burped her and laid her down over my knees. I still remember how much I loved doing this with Pip, the moment where she was teeny and awake and also falling back asleep.

Y/N came back into the room and after finishing her night routine she sat down next to me, she kissed JJ’s cheeks and mine before speaking up, “What are you thinking about?”, I smiled and grabbed JJ’s hand, “About everything, I am grieving the end of tour, the life I led until now; but I am also excited about everything I am getting to do now, like bedtime routines, and reading a story to the girls, make dinner for you, just… just be us, “The Styles” you know?”

She smiled and nodded, “I know baby, it feels like forever when we talked about this and look at us now; two baby girls to kiss and cuddle all day long, and a whole lot of free time for us to enjoy, starting with our vacation here in Italy.”

I grinned and nodded, “I am so ready, we just have to wait about four days, and we will be just us four, the only thing I’ve been wanting for a while and then it is home to rest”, she sat up and gave me a teasing smile, “Oh didn’t I tell you? You have about ten or twelve IKEA boxes waiting for my handsome builder”.

I laughed a little then shushed JJ who was startled awake, Y/N made grabby hands for her and I kissed her cheeks before handing the baby to Y/N and going to the bathroom and doing my nighttime routine before settling back in bed with her, I pulled her into my arms and kissed all over her face before stopping just a little far from her lips and whispering, “Thank you, for being my muse, my love, my friend, my whole heart and whole life.”

She smiled and ran a hand down my cheek, “Thank you for letting me love you and give you everything, and I promise to continue to do so, for as long as you let me, wherever life takes us”, then pulled her in for a kiss I hoped showed all the love I had for her. I was excited, I was happy, I was content, and I hope for the life of me that this feeling never ends.

Taglist @adoredeanna @alienorknight @b-reads-things @be-with-me-so-happily @behindmygreyeyes @cherrylovesblog @karenarella22 @daphnesutton @dayxoxodreamer @dirtytissuebox @futuristicpalacegardenpsychic @goldenlouvr @groovychaosavenue @harrysficreblog @harryspirate @hoya122 @imaginesofdreams @i-got-the-cinema @infinitely-yellow @irelilien @itsgabbysblog @itsgigikay @itsmytimetoodream @jgoff717 @kathy522 @kaitieskidmore1 @last-saturday-night @michellekstyles @msolbesg @qualitygiantshoepsychic @sagcas-latte @seguin-styles1996 @shawnsblue @sunshinemoonsposts @tinydeskwriter @tinydestinybear @tpwkstyles1d @voosa @watercolorskyy @wherethehellhaveyoubeenharry

#harry styles x reader #harry imagine #harry styles imagine #dad harry styles imagine #dad!harry #the story of us #drabble

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menlove · 3 months

Note

Hey have you read any good McLennon fix-its

OH BOY HAVE I. i love mclennon fix-its they genuinely heal my soul & they're for sure my favorite i'm ngl. here we gooooo. just pulling from my bookmarks in no particular order...

favorites have a 💖 next to them!

blood on the tracks by mynamesbetty

gen-mature. 66k modern au, 11 part series, eventual fix-it. He was a grown man, a rock star, richer than Croesus, emotionally stable, and more than capable of handling a surprise visit from his ex-husband. Paul married John when he was eighteen and divorced him at twenty-nine. Two years later, John pays Paul a visit.

'til touchdown brings me round again to find by wardo_weditit

explicit. 12k. It was one thing when he was doing this for Elton—yeah, because of a bet, but mostly because Elton is his friend and he wants to support him. It was just a one-off thing that seemed like it could be fun, or cool, or maybe even memorable. But now, if Paul’s going to be there, it takes on a hell of a lot more meaning because that’s the way it goes, that’s what things with Paul always do. Or, Paul comes to see John's surprise appearance at Elton's show, and grand gestures abound.

here you come again by harmonising

mature. 16k. (take this one w a grain of salt i can't remember if it's a full fix it? but well. john's alive, so) 1982. John comes back to England. He and Paul spend a weekend together.

Grow Old With Me by inherownwrite 💖

explicit. 8k. Paul breaks his arm, and John panics.

and when broken bodies are washed ashore (who am i to ask for more) by wardo_wedidit 💖

mature. 39k. “Jesus, took you long enough,” John says, adjusting the duffle over his shoulder. “Thought I might be out here til morning at this rate.” For a second he wonders if he’s drunker than he thought, but no. As far as he can tell, it is still 1980, and he hasn’t seen or so much as spoken to John in ten years. Or, John comes to stay with Paul in Scotland to ride out the press storm of his divorce to Yoko, and Paul learns to stop running away.

i was a younger man then (now) (post hoc) by fingersfallingupwards 💖

mature. 27k. (i'm not kidding i think this one is my favorite ever mclennon fics. it's only 27k but it feels like an entire novel. this lives in my head rent free forever. this is my heartstopper or whatever the kids are saying) John’s twelve when a bloke appears from a flaming pie and says, “From this day forward you are Beatles with an ‘a.’” The bloke is Paul. Or: paul and john meet at all ages and eras and john is the time-traveler’s wife the way only john lennon can be

Stop all the clocks by javelinbk

mature. 30k. For the following kink meme prompt: ‘1967. After Brian dies, Paul decides not to go ahead with MMT, and takes John up to Scotland for a month instead.’ Also based on the following comment on said prompt: ‘pls someone let them fuck tenderly in 1967’

I Need My Love to Be Here by notgrungybitchin

explicit. 8k. After John gets his first panic attack in Hamburg, he starts to realize that Paul might be the only person who can bring him back to himself.

#i know theres a couple others but i cant find them rn rip #mclennon

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silentglassbreak · 7 months

Text

(photo cred to @lilyhella's post)

Fragmented

Noah Sebastian x OFC

Chapters are shorter because I want to get this story out faster. Just means more chapters than the original. The love I am getting from this story, and from Anonymous, has me absolutely dying. You all are the best. Thank you so much for taking the time to follow this! 🖤

Warnings: Desperate, sad, heartbroken smut.

+It goes without saying. This is a work of fiction. My words are mine. Plagiarism is a crime.

Taglist: @flowery-mess @lma1986 @myownthoughts12 @poisongirl616 @missduffsblog @reidsblessing @malerieee @jilliemiw86 @thisbicc

Also, @diabolicdiatonics, your kind words and feedback earned you a spot on the tag list. 😉

Part 5 - Blurry

‘Having your heart ripped out of your chest’ is a grotesque, yet extremely accurate metaphor to use when you’re dealing with heartbreak. The pain, the depression, the perspective it gives, I can imagine resembles that of someone tearing through your flesh, muscle, and bone, ripping your beating heart out, and throwing it on the floor like it means nothing.

Ironic, because I’d prefer that to what I was currently feeling.

Two days had gone by since Mileena ended us. Two slow, long, painful days. One of the best parts about being a parent, that no one forewarns you of, is that you don’t get to break down. Not when you have kids.

After that phone call, all I wanted was to crawl in a hole. If anything, just to keep myself from crawling into a bar or a bottle. I wanted to lay in bed and never wake up. Stay in the safe bubble of my room forever, where the pillows and sheets and blanket smelled like her.

Is that what I did? No. I promptly took my daughter home, and kept her for the following forty-eight hours.

She didn’t deserve to see the pain that this had caused, that I somehow managed to conjure. She deserved her Daddy’s full attention, and that is exactly what she got.

The first night was hard. I had to text Leena several times to ask questions. Had her bedtime changed? Why did she keep throwing her favorite stuffed lion out of the crib? Where was the rash cream? What the hell did ‘handle’ mean?!

Leena: We go to bed at 8:30 now.

Leena: She’ll do that over and over. She’s messing with you. She’ll stop after a few times.

Leena: Medicine cabinet, Addie’s bathroom, top shelf.

Leena: Angel. She misses the dog.

Her responses were robotic. Cold. No emotion at all.

After Addison finally fell asleep, I had no time to sulk. The tour exhaustion creeping in and the weight of the entire day pulled me into bed, narrowly managing to click the baby monitor on before I fell into a slumber. In my dreams, Mileena was with me, curling her arm around my waist like she did, pressing her ice cold feet to the back of my legs, and all was right with the world.

But that reprieve didn’t last nearly long enough, as Addison was awake, bright and early at 6:30AM, ready to eat and be changed.

How did Mileena do this for months alone? I was twelve hours in and felt like dying already.

That day, I called and begged for help, prompting Nick to come hang with Addison and I for most of the day. He also, thankfully, brought Angel to stay with us until Addison went back to Mileena.

We didn’t talk about it. I couldn’t. It felt too real already.

The day passed easier, but I still had to ask too many questions.

Me: She wont eat her puffs. Is there something else she eats now?

Leena: Cereal.

Me: What’s the wifi password?

Leena: Addison1031!

Me: What size diapers does she wear?

Leena: It’s on the front of the diaper.

By the final day, I had vowed not to ask any more questions. I was a father, a grown man, I could handle my own daughter. I could make decisions and figure out how to keep her happy and fed. I wasn’t an invalid.

So that’s exactly what I did. I didn’t ask a single question the entire day. Each time I managed to figure out what Addison needed or wanted, I cheered for myself, proud that I could manage.

But by midday, my phone had chimed on the counter while I fed Addie lunch.

Leena: Everything okay?

I scrunched my eyebrows.

Me: Yeah, why?

Leena: Haven’t heard from you all day.

This made me roll my eyes.

Me: I am an adult. I can handle an 18-month old.

Leena: Okay. Is 7 a good time to come by and get her?

My heart sunk, a regular feeling for me these days.

Me: Sure.

I pursed my lips, typing again.

Me: Are you sending someone else to come get her?

Leena: Do you want me to?

I thought about this. Did I want to see her? Feel the hurt even more than I already could? Have her so close that I could touch her, but not be allowed to? Rip that wound, that had only barely begun to scab, back open wide to bleed all over?

Me: No.

Yes. Yes I did.

I was frazzled, Addison in stage four meltdown mode. She was extra tired, having refused to go down for a nap today. It was 6PM, and I hadn’t had the opportunity to pick up the living room or kitchen yet like I planned, intending to not look like a total mess in front of Leena.

My sweats were covered in what could only be described as mystery goo, crusted and a foul color. Was it food? Crap? Boogers? What a time to be alive.

“Lady, I don’t know where your lion is!” I was currently ripping my living room apart, sweat coating my forehead and neck, while my daughter sat in her walker, screaming bloody murder for her toy over and over.

“Where did you put him, mama?!” The couch cushions were askew, the coffee table pushed off to the side, and all of the cabinets in the entertainment center wide open.

The constant screaming burned a hole in my brain. I stood up, and took a calculated breath before my head exploded. It hurt so God damn bad, and the ibuprofen was just not cutting it.

It was at that exact moment I saw a flash of yellow fuzz fly by my peripheral, and I whipped my head around to see Angel, lion between his teeth, standing at attention at the edge of the living room.

I let out all of the air in my lungs, nearly collapsing in relief when he trotted over to the baby, dropping the stuffed toy on her tray and licking away her drying tears.

My body fell back onto the remaining intact cushion, and I dropped my head into my hands.

Who was I kidding? I can’t do this.

Like some kind of cosmic joke, the doorbell rang just as the thought crossed my mind, and I heavily lifted myself up, stalking to the door.

I pulled it open, any stress and anxiety melting, and an overwhelming calm overtaking me. As it sunk in, the tinge of dread at the end kept me from smiling at the sight.

Mileena stood on the other side, black tank top cut low, jean’s hugging her hips, flip-flops showing off black painted toe nails. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun on top of her head where her sunglasses were perched.

“Hey.”

I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. I just wanted to fall, let her catch me. I wanted to break down like a small child, and cry. Listen to her tell me it was okay. She was done punishing me, and she would come home. That life would go back to the way it was supposed to. That she loved me, and forgave me, and that we’d never be apart again.

But I knew better.

“Hey. Come in.” I stood aside, letting her step inside, watching as her eyes surveyed the scene in front of her. She looked amused.

I began twirling around, putting cushions back and straightening the table. Picking up toys and tossing them in the bin, closing cabinets.

I looked back at her, frozen in the same spot, a grin on her face. My chest lurched for a second, until she lifted her finger and pointed behind me.

Confused, I looked back, seeing Addison now laying her head down atop her lion, eyes closed and snoozing comfortably. Still bent over, completely defeated, I fell back onto the floor, knees bent, and rested my arms on them, shaking my head and chest trembling with quiet laughter. Leena took a step into the living room, chuckling herself.

"Long day?"

I just looked at her, and shrugged. "Maybe a little."

Her eyes were sympathetic. Her smile was tight.

"Uhm," She shifted, and it was then I noticed the tote bag on her shoulder. "do you mind if I run upstairs for a minute? I just need to grab a few things."

I waved toward the staircase lazily. "Go for it. Looks worse up there though."

My tone was dismissive, which wasn't exactly on purpose, but I couldn't muster anything else in that moment. She just nodded, trotting up the steps. I just stared at Addie, breathing evenly, thinking about how simple life seemed when she was sleeping.

"Noah?" I looked up to see her, hanging slightly over the banister. "Have you seen my flat iron?"

"Under the bathroom sink."

She shook her head. "It's not."

I grunted, standing back up. "Angel." I snapped and grabbed his attention, pointing at Addison. He promptly jumped up from his bed in the corner of the room, and curled up in front of the walker, always keeping watch.

I jogged up the stairs, brushing past Mileena, making a conscious effort not to notice that she smelled like fresh soap. Recently showered.

I swung into the bathroom, bending down to look under the sink, and dug around the miscellaneous items that lived under there. I finally located it, beneath a stack of towels, and pulled it out. She was stood in the doorway to the bathroom, and I handed it to her, stopping just short of a foot in front of her.

She grabbed it gratefully. "Thanks."

Leena turned around and disappeared into the closet, coming back out with some clothes she had left, and other random items that I didn't take note of. I leaned against the frame of the bathroom door, just watching her move. It made it worse, seeing her empty her things out of the bedroom, but maybe it would help me accept the situation? I definitely didn't have the energy to fight.

She finally zipped the bag, and looked up at me. "I think that's good for now. I can always grab more when I drop her off again."

"Mm." Was all I could say.

She shrugged, and sat down on the bed, her large, deep brown eyes staring at me.

"Do you hate me?"

She's joking, right? She had to be.

"What?"

"You look like you hate me."

This made me laugh from somewhere deep in my chest, a twisted, sadistic cackle. "Wow."

She crinkled her nose. So fucking cute. "Wow, what?"

I grabbed the back of my neck and looked down at the floor, trying to find the strength.

"No, Mileena. I don't hate you." I pulled at the hairs that grew at the base of my skull, begging for a sensation other than this fucking misery. "Quite the opposite, actually."

Her face looked...sad. So fucking sad. I could relate.

"I hate this." I pointed to the bag next to her on the bed. "But not you."

Her hand tapped the mattress, beckoning me to sit. I knew I should give her a wide enough berth, fearing I may lose control at any given moment. I wasn't good at that in general, but around Mileena? Fucking hell.

I didn't budge.

She rolled her eyes. "Noah. Come sit with me."

Well, I mean, when she put it that way.

I walked over to the bed, and sat. I kept at least six inches of space between us, and looked at her.

Her eyes were shiny; wet. This was hard for her, and I knew that, but I couldn't see how she could be hurting as much as me.

I was worth losing. She wasn't.

"I just," Her voice was crackling, as if it was almost gone. "I miss you."

"You know how to fix that." My words were so matter-of-fact, and I knew it wasn't that easy, but I wanted it to be.

"I told you. I can't."

"Can't, or won't?"

She was just gazing at me. There was something behind her eyes, that I was sure she didn't want me to see, something vulnerable and broken. Her soul. It hurt.

Maybe that's why she grabbed me, wrapped her arms around me, and buried her head in my chest. It startled me, but my arms still circled her, and my chin came to rest on her head. Her body was trembling hard, soft cries coming out of her.

I pressed my lips in to the top of her head, my own tears beginning to spill over, soaking into her hair.

"It's alright, baby. I got you." I tried my damndest to keep my voice even, hugging her tighter the harder she sobbed.

"Noah, I love you so fucking much."

I began rocking us gently. "I love you too, Mileena. More than you could ever understand."

Her fingers were gripping the shirt on my back like her life depended on it. "I'm so fucking sorry. I'm so sorry."

Her words were so quiet that I almost missed them.

I pulled back, looking down at her reddened face. "Don't."

Her eyes widened, her lip shaking.

"Don't apologize."

I don't know why. I didn't even think. I just leaned down, and brushed a soft kiss against her lips, as if it was nothing. Like a reflex.

But when I tried to pull away, her hand had me, the back of my neck locked into place, and her mouth pressing against me hastily, as if she was starving. Like she would never get the chance again.

A spark ignited inside of me, a roaring fire building in my chest, and for the first time in days, I finally felt alive. The blood shooting through my veins was hot as sulfuric acid, needing to be put to use or it may burn through my skin.

Pressing my tongue into her mouth, she let a gasping moan come out of her mouth.

That was it. She was done for. Even if only in this moment, she was mine.

I dug my fingers into her waist, and flipped her around, pushing her back onto the bed, without disconnecting our lips. I sucked her bottom lip into my mouth, letting my teeth dig in hard enough to make her whimper.

Trailing wet kisses down the side of her neck, I let my left hand trail down the center of her body, and pop the button of her jeans open effortlessly, pulling the zipper down.

"Noah."

She was trying to get my attention, as if she didn't have every shred of my mind on her at all times. I didn't stop, my hand sliding down into the front of her jeans, fingers slipping into her panties.

"You tell me to stop, and it's done." I spoke against her neck, making her shiver.

I paused, waiting, but heard no sounds of protest. Just hot, ragged breathing.

Mercilessly, my hand slipped down between her lips, my index finger penetrating her smoothly, making her back arch clean off the bed.

"That's it, baby." I pressed my lips to her cheek, slipping my middle finger in, curling both digits to graze her sweet spot. "Just let it all go."

It was as if a rubber band snapped in her, her body loosening, relaxing beneath my touch. Her eyes had fluttered closed, her lashes dancing on her cheekbones. I watched her, mouth open, drinking in the sight of her coming undone. Her hips bucked, fucking herself harder on my hand.

Her hands pulled at my arm, grounding herself. "I'm going to fucking come." Her words were broken, fighting for breath.

"Yeah baby, come for me." I pressed against the soft spot inside of her, applying more steady pressure as I fingered her savagely.

I saw her eyes rolling back, and felt her spasm around my hand, a flood of moisture soaking her panties.

She reached her face up, connecting our lips again, and we laid there, making out for longer than necessary, arms and legs tangled together. How long we stayed like this, I just couldn't say. I would've stayed there forever if I could.

Eventually her hand snaked down to my sweats, palming the hard erection I had been trying to ignore. I grunted, pushing up into her hand. I would take any touch, any attention, from her.

"Noah?"

I pressed my forehead to hers, noses bumping as I continued to press light kisses on her lips. "Hmm?"

"I need you."

I am not one to deny someone their needs.

It took a fraction of a second before I had her jeans off, panties going along with, and was sliding my sweats down, letting my cock free. Her eyes stared at me, half-masked. Waiting.

I had no time to waste, for fear at any moment she may just disappear, so I lined myself up to her, and pressed in hard. She let out a noise that could only be described as guttural. I took a moment to adjust, trying not to explode right then and there. Once I had gotten a grip on myself, I began sliding slowly in and out of her.

Her hands grabbed me, fisting the hair on the back of my head, and pulled my face down to hers, locking us again in a warm, wet kiss. The emotion that poured between us was an ebb and flow of want and regret, not knowing what was coming after this was over.

Leena’s hips shifted to meet my thrusts, our bodies pressed together in a rhythmic dance. We parted to breathe, panting together, each growing closer to our respective climaxes.

“Noah,” She was staring up at me. “I love you.” She grit her teeth. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

I had to close my eyes, focusing on the feel of her around me, her pussy tighter and tighter with each thrust.

“Fuck, Mileena. I fucking love you.”

Her hands were now holding my shoulders, her face desperate. Her eyes begged me to come as I felt her begin to spasm again.

That’s all it took. I let go, the waves rushing over me all at once, my skin burning white hot.

We stared at each other for a long time, pain being shared between the small space of our bodies. It was almost suffocating, but I preferred it over feeling like I would never be here again. That single fact was enough to keep me locked onto her, silently begging her not to leave me.

However, she broke our connection, shifting underneath me, a sign that this was done. The moment had gone, and it was time to let reality back into the room.

Two weeks. Two weeks without my better half. The side of my soul that held anything good and sane. Two weeks I had felt like the shell of a human, a suit of skin hung over a skeleton like some kind of elaborate Halloween decoration. Two weeks I had felt like I was going to die at any given moment, or wished I would.

Somehow, I was still breathing.

Today was going to be different, though. I had received a call from Alec, our representative from Sumerian, saying that the meeting was set and we all needed to be there.

I anticipated this meeting every second since that moment in the hotel. It was finally time to make things right, to at least some degree. I was nothing if not ecstatic.

My truck parked neatly next to Jolly's Audi in the parking lot, I met the guys, who all stood outside the building, chatting.

"Afternoon, gents." The smile across my face nearly broke my jaw.

"Hey, he's alive!" Folio's arm came up to shove me, making me shove back playfully.

"Shut up, dude. I'm going through shit."

He responded with an eye roll. "Can't even check in, dick."

"Cut the man some slack, he's adjusting." Nick snickered.

"Yep. I'm adjusting." I laughed.

A woman, nearly as tall as me, clean-cut and wildly intimidating, opened the door to the building and addressed us.

"Guys? We're about to get started."

We all straightened up, walking into the office and following her to a conference room.

"Ah, guys!" Alec stood from the long meeting table, a warm smile on his face. He was dressed casually, jeans and a plain blue t-shirt, coming around to give each of us a hard hug. "Good to see you."

We all said our greetings before taking seats on the same side of the table as Alec. The woman, who I had not met yet, was sat on the other side, a folder in front of her and a pen in her hands.

"This is Elizabeth Jones, our attorney." She nodded.

"Wish we were meeting under better circumstances." We all nodded in approval. She sighed, looking at the time on her watch. "She should be here shortly."

My heart began thumping when I could hear the door handle turning, and the heavy wooden door swinging open. I leaned back in my seat, my hands folded over my stomach. I caught Alec's face, giving me a knowing glance to keep my mouth shut.

"Rachel. Come in."

Rachel walked in, dressed more professional than I think I had ever seen. She wore black slacks, a grey, sleeveless blouse, and her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. Her lipstick was bright red. Likely due to the demon living inside of her attempting to escape. I only allowed myself a fleeting glance before I stared down at the table.

"What can I do for you all?"

Elizabeth stood to greet her.

"Rachel, I'm Elizabeth, nice to meet you." Her smile was fake, snake-like. I loved it. Deception. Rachel's exact game being played against her.

The blonde sat directly across from me, and I could feel her eyes on me. I didn't even bother looking back at her. She didn't deserve that. Not from me.

"Rachel, we brought you here to discuss the events that took place in Manhattan, and San Diego." Alec's voice was calm.

I heard her sigh. "I assumed as much."

"Okay. Well," I looked over to see him gesturing with his hands. "you see, it's come to our attention that there is some hostile tension between you, and some of the members of the band."

I looked over to my brothers, noticing they all glared directly at her.

"Tension?" She scoffed. "You mean the way Noah nearly attacked me at the hotel?"

My jaw tightened. Shut up. Don't say a word.

"The story we heard had to do with you causing a scene in the hallway of the hotel, making advances toward Noah, and spreading some rather salacious rumors about him at a club in New York."

Her hand slapped down on the table, causing a loud, sharp sound to echo in the room. I didn't move an inch.

"That's bullshit! He came to my fucking room late at night, misconstrued me asking to hang out, and then nearly pounced on me three days later when his girlfriend fucking left him!"

Don't fucking speak, Noah. It's not fucking worth it.

My hands were nearly ripping the skin off each other, my nails digging in to keep from letting my rage spill over.

"Ms. Hollis," Elizabeth's voice came in, unnaturally soothing. "the details of the events are unimportant." She sent a stare at me, to which I did not return.

"So why am I here?" Rachel's voice was irritated. Yes, what an inconvenience this must be...for her.

"Due to the aforementioned tension, and lack of cohesion with this working relationship, we would like to make you an offer."

I finally snuck a glance at Rachel, who had an eyebrow raised at Elizabeth in apprehension.

"What kind of offer?"

Elizabeth slid the folder over to her, setting a manicured hand down on the table.

"Six months pay, up front. All vacation days paid out, and several letters of recommendation from Sumerian."

Her mouth fell open, and her eyes narrowed. "You're firing me?!"

She turned her attention back to Alec, her voice becoming shrill.

"It's a separation." Alec was cold.

Rachel stood up, shoving the folder back at Elizabeth.

"Oh fuck that, you can't fire me over this!"

"Again, this is not a termination, Rachel. It's an amicable separation."

Elizabeth, however, was met with the end of Rachel's pointer finger.

"How dare you!" She turned to us next, her lips sneer and teeth bared. "And you!" She looked directly at me. I challenged her gaze, and couldn't help but let slip the slightest smirk.

"Oh, you fucking bastards." She backed away from the table. "You'll be hearing from my fucking lawyer."

The last of her I saw was a flash of her hair before the door slammed shut.

"Guys?" Jolly looked at Alec and Elizabeth. "Do we need to be worried?"

Elizabeth just stood, sighing heavily.

"I hope not."

#noah sebastian #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens #fanfic #noah sebastian fic

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leviscxmkitten · 4 months

Text

⋆⭒˚.⋆ Sandbox Love [chapter 1] ⋆⭒˚.⋆

Summary:

"I'll come back for you." Levi had promised, with a pinky wrapped around her own, and then his lips pressed against hers in a hasty kiss. It wasn't their first but it was different, this time felt real.

His uncle pulled him away, and he was gone. The air was thick and heavy without him but his last words left her with a sliver of comfort, the feeling of his lips lingered like a second skin. The seemingly unfriendly little boy she had met and grown with, the first boy she loved - she watched him peddle away with misty eyes. That was her first heartbreak, the one she never saw coming.

He didn't keep his promise.

It's been 11 years since childhood best friends Levi and Azalea last saw each other. Now college students, what were the odds of them reuniting? Will old feelings bring them closer than before, or will it create a greater distance between them?

Cover art by Sumiensp on Twitter! 🤍

Childhood. The years of being young, wild, and carefree; years that are too few and far between. Seemingly endless summer days full of adventure, childish wonder, and friendships that are certain to last forever.

She still remembers the first day they met; their moms being friends from work, introduced them when he was seven and she was just six years old. He had big, unimpressed slate blue eyes and black hair, a carbon copy of his mother, Kuchel.

"What kind of name is Azalea? You're not a flower."

Those were the first words he had ever said to her, which had earned him an ear pull from his mom. It wasn't the best of first impressions, but they had become inseparable ever since. Countless days were spent exploring the woods, riding bikes, and playing pretend. He was a boy with perpetually scuffed knees and too much energy for his own good, and he was her best friend.

"Wait up Levi!" Azalea shouted, out of breath, trying to keep up with him as she ran through the woods.

"Try to keep up slow ass!" He'd shout back, seemingly unfazed by the difficult terrain. That's just how he was, always running, and god was he stupidly fast.

"You're so mean!" It was times like this when she wished the universe would do her a favor and make something — anything — slow him down. Somehow though, without fail, her feet would always betray her. "Levi! Ah!"

No matter the distance between them, it was as if Levi knew the moment Azalea was no longer keeping up, he'd always be right by her side again to help her. "Why are you so damn clumsy? Let me see."

He'd pull her up on her feet, clean off the dirt from her knees, and piggyback her to wherever she wanted. Sometimes it was the candy shop, other times it would be the ice cream shop; sweets were the only thing that made her feel better. Levi knew he babied her, and he knew that she knew he did too, but no matter what whenever she fell, he was there.

Then there were the times when they'd sneak out at night and spend hours staring up at the sky or playing on the jungle gym — sometimes both. Levi had insomnia; his restlessness and boredom must've finally got the better of him that first time he showed up outside Azalea's window. It scared her so bad she nearly wet the bed, but from that point on it became a weekly event. He'd come equipped with blankets and an extra jacket, knowing she always got cold no matter the time of year, Levi always said she had 'shit for brains' for never dressing warmer but really she just preferred the way he embraced her.

Six years went by like this, at twelve and thirteen years old when boys and girls became too different to be friends, they remained the same, always at each other's side. She could have never imagined a day where he would no longer be there, until it happened.

It was a day just like any other, or so it had seemed. Azalea had been working on a friendship bracelet for months, even though she knew Levi would likely never wear it; she just wanted to give him something in return for all he's done for her. She could hear yelling from outside her house; looking out, she saw Levi frantically pedaling up her driveway on his bike, he jumped off, showing little regard for it, and then there were the rapid knocks on the front door. A tall man — his uncle, was running and shouting not too far behind.

Levi had nearly knocked her to the ground with the force of his body colliding into hers. His hold was desperate, his words rushed. Kuchel was sick, and they were moving away to live with his uncle so they could have help while she got better. It was the first time she could recall seeing him so afraid, the look in his eyes was evident enough for Azalea to know; he really was leaving.

"Wait — I have this," Azalea said through her tears, as she placed the little white and blue woven bracelet in his hand. His having a small bead tied at the end with the letter A, while hers had the letter L. "This way we'll always be close to each other."

His uncle pulled him away, and he was gone. The air was thick and heavy without him but his last words left her with a sliver of comfort, the feeling of his lips lingered like a second skin. The seemingly unfriendly little boy she had met and grown with, the first boy she loved — she watched him peddle away with misty eyes. That was her first heartbreak, the one she never saw coming.

He didn't keep his promise.

11 years later

"Is that everything?" Furlan says thoughtfully, his arm thrown across Azalea's shoulder.

"I think so." She sighs, and rests her head on his shoulder, looking around her now bare apartment room. This is happening; moving several hours away from friends and family to attend a new university. If she were to be honest, she's really not ready, but this change is necessary. "We should probably hit the road if we're gonna get there before midnight."

"No!" Isabel shouts, her arms wrapping around Azalea and Furlan's bodies. "I won't let you leave, you're staying here."

"It's just ten months, Iz, and I'll be back for spring break."

"Boo, I can't believe you're actually leaving me here to deal with him by myself." She groans and Azalea laughs at the offended look on his face.

"Rude as fuck of you to say that because this place would be a disaster if it weren't for me," Furlan says with an obvious look of disgust as he crosses his arms. "I have half the mind to find new roommates for the next year."

"Come on guys, you can keep it together while I'm gone." She laughs. "Now let's go, we have a nine hour drive ahead of us."

Azalea has never been one for change, it terrified her. For the past eleven years this is all she's known, Isabel, Furlan, her home town; she would miss them, but these extra credits weren't an opportunity that could be passed up.

Furlan was supportive, but he's always had that older brother role despite them being the same age. Isabel on the other hand; not so much. She can't be blamed though, ever since their little quartet became a trio Azalea knew Iz would be the one to take news like this the hardest.

With everything packed up, and the sun casting it's first hour of orange light; they pile into Furlans truck and begin the drive to Paradis.

Even with three pit stops along the way, the hours seemed to fly by. It was easy to keep her mind distracted, thinking about it as just another road trip with her friends — but as the GPS shows their arrival in 30 minutes, crossing over the bridge that officially places Azalea on Paradis; panic and awe begins to set in.

Being a college district the streets are bare of cars; students walking, jogging, and carrying groceries along the sidewalk, multilevel bars and restaurants doubling as apartment buildings. Coming from a suburban area Paradis appears almost otherworldly, not suburban in the slightest, small town vibes with the main highlight being the university.

"This is it?" Furlan asks.

"Rose apartments." Azalea exhales, and closes out of maps on her phone. "We're here."

Inside smells like a mixture of cleaning supplies, musty carpets, and remnants of various food spices the occupants use; the usual for any apartment building, though the complex itself looks well maintained. Not to mention there's an elevator, already a great improvement from the apartments at home, especially with her room being on the third floor.

"31...33...35C. This is me."

"Shit —" A girl curses from another door down, Azalea notices her struggling to grab her fallen keys, her arms full with grocery bags. "Fuck."

"Hey, let me help you." She jogs over, grabbing the keys off the floor, and offers a hand to take a grocery bag.

"You're a lifesaver, thank you." The girl sighs in relief, passing off a heavy bag, and unlocks her door with her now free hand. "Are you my new neighbor?"

"Yeah, we just drove down," Azalea motions toward her friends, who are awkwardly standing by the door and waving. "My friends, Furlan and Isabel are helping me move in, so I apologize if we're a little noisy tonight."

"Oh no worries, are you starting at the university on Monday?" She smiles brightly, her big blue eyes a stark contrast to the black bangs framing around her face.

"Yeah, I'm transferring from my hometown college —"

"She's leaving us behind!" Isabel shouts, cutting Azalea off, and making her neighbor giggle.

"Well, if you'd like, we can walk to campus and get coffee Monday morning, see if we have any classes or free periods together." She suggests and holds out her hand. "I'm Ilyana by the way."

"Azalea," She smiles, shaking her hand. "And yeah, I would love that."

"Cool, I'll come by again to get your number later. Thanks again for the help, neighbor!" Ilyana takes back her grocery bag, and pushes open her door with her foot, struggling to wave as she slips into her apartment.

"She seems cool." Isabel says once Azalea reaches the door, smiling to herself as she steps into her new apartment.

"Right? It is nice to already have made a friend here."

Furlan abruptly throws his arm over Azalea's shoulder, leaning almost all his weight against her and nearly knocking her over. "You know Iz, you can take my truck, I think I'm gonna transfer here too. Do you think she's single?"

"Like hell you are!" Isabel shrieks, her arms flailing around desperately in an attempt to hit him while he dodges.

"Alright, alright! You two are gonna get me evicted before I even get a single item in here, come on, we need to start bringing stuff up then we can order food."

It's nearly ten by the time everything is brought up into the apartment, and when they decide to order from the closest pizza joint. Then after two am when the essentials have all been unboxed and put together.

Furlan and Isabel are fast asleep bundled up on the loveseat, a rare sighting considering the two are almost always bickering. Azalea takes a mental image of her friends, tonight had felt like any other night all together in their apartment back home, but the knowledge that this would be their last night together for a while made falling asleep almost impossible.

Morning comes too soon; the sun an unwelcome reminder that the last shred of her home life would be driving miles away today, and it would officially be the last full day of summer.

"Do we really have to go?" Isabel wails, arms wrapped tightly around Azaleas waist. "We can just pack everything back up and go back home!"

"There will be nothing left to take home if you break her!" Furlan shouts while attempting to pull her off.

"Boy I sure am going to miss this," Azalea jokes, but it really starts to sink in, as chaotic as this all is; they're leaving and she's staying here. She hugs them both a little tighter. "Remember this is just see you later."

"Yeah, see you later." Isabel nods, quickly wiping at her eyes as she separates.

"We're just a call or text away if you need anything."

"Thanks dad." Azalea jokes, and they laugh, squeezing each other one last time. "See you later."

"See you later."

They leave, and Azalea takes in her new surroundings. Despite the multitude of boxes, bubble wrap littering the floor, and the lack of personal touch, it felt like home already. All the nerves and anxiety seemingly left out the door along with her friends. This is necessary, she concluded, maybe she'd finally find what was missing here.

#levi ackerman #levi x oc #levi x reader #levi x y/n #levi x you #levi ackerman fanfiction #attack on titan #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #shingeki no kyoujin levi #sandbox love

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yourlocalbadgerscales · 2 months

Text

That one Drarry scene in PoA…

The show must go on - Drarry microfic by @yourlocalbadgerscales

”Shut up, Malfoy.” Make me. Draco is immediately embarrassed by his own thoughts. Potter’s words ring in his ears and his heartbeat speeds up at the roughness of his voice.

Draco hates the way his own voice goes up an octave or so higher as he laughs mockingly, not sure to what exactly, and he’s looking around to see who’s with him. Of course Vince and Greg are, they’re too stupid to make their own decisions. Draco turns back to Potter, who’s staring at him intensely.

Draco gives Vince or Greg, he doesn’t know who, they’re both equally ugly, his school bag. He does not take his eyes off of Potter while he does.

It’s so quiet. All Draco hears is the way his heart is rushing blood through his body way too loudly. Will Potter hear? Is Draco’s face red? Better not be. Potter’s eyes are still locked on him.

Draco moves slowly, walks towards him and tries to act cool, but he can’t help but eye the other boy up and down and up again, a bit intimidated by the way Potter always manages to uphold his Potterish grace while he’s on his guard like now. He’s got that look of fiery, yet stone-cold fury in his eyes that he’s famous for, even though a bit less than that scar on his forehead. Draco can’t help but notice that his hair is longer, more messy than it was last year. Of course it isn’t news to him or to any of the lame girls who adore Harry that Potter came back to school looking more mature this year. He’s no longer the specky git he was when he was new to school, or when he was twelve. Okay, he is and will always be a git and he’s still fairly short and very thin, but he’s grown. His eyes seem to be more intense, his jet-black hair always looking like he’s just woken up. Or possibly like he’s just had a very passionate shag.

Do not think about that, Draco, do not think about shagging do not think about shagging-

Fuck, he’s staring. Draco flinches, and goes absolutely still. Potter is still looking at him, but now his lips, those full and slightly tinted lips, are curved in a little smile. A dimple appears in his cheek, oh so slightly, and fucking hell. Draco finds himself unable to breathe. He could inch closer, take one or two more steps, inhale Potter’s scent, tilt his head up by the chin and study those emerald eyes more carefully… he could do that…

But there’s people around, and it doesn’t matter that Draco could stand here forever and watch Potter smile at him, a smile that’s probably there to mock and embarrass… Draco can’t let his mask slip. Someone’s coughing awkwardly, leaves are crunching under another student’s shoe. Draco’s throat is dry, and it takes a few more seconds in awkward silence for him to gather his thoughts and get his voice back enough to exclaim “Dementor, dementor!” and watch as the words take effect. Potter, and countless others, spin around. Draco takes the chance to wipe away a drop of sweat above his eyebrow and let his gaze wander down, but his eyes snap back up as soon as Potter turns back.

He can’t let himself be this weak. He can’t, no matter how hot this new Harry Potter may be. No matter that the sun shining through the green leaves above them is igniting Harry’s glasses, his eyes, his hair, his jaw, his pale but healthy looking skin. He reminds himself that he’s Draco Malfoy, Malfoy, a Malfoy. Potter’s sworn enemy, a title and place in Harry’s life that he shares with the Dark Lord himself, which is satisfying but cruel and horrible too. He can’t let himself be weak. Harry Potter is forbidden territory. The show must go on.

Hiiiee <3 I wish I could post longer fics on some platform for y’all, but as it is now it’s not an option to do so. This has been on my mind for a while now, so here ya go! ^^ I’m thinking of doing the same kind of thing with another scene in PoA that in my opinion screams drarry… but let’s see. If I get 50 reblogs and 250 likes on this post, maybe I’ll consider 😉 Feel free to tag people who might be interested in my writing or just drarry in general, and reblog too! Maybe you’ll see more of my lame ass works in the future :D

#drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #PoA #harry potter and the prisoner of azkaban #harry potter 3 #*that* scene #ellastag #potterhead humour #harry x draco #draco x harry #potterhead #potterverse #hp #harry potter fandom #drarry fandom

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satancopilotsmytardis · 5 months

Note

77 wish fulfillment? curious how you interpret this one

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Shigadabi

Contents: Daddy kink, feminization, praise kink, oral sex, come swallowing, grinding.

I decided that 'wish fulfillment' means to write whatever kinks I was in the mood for at the time of writing lol

You can also read on AO3 right here!

Dabi is not going to pretend that he can't be a cantankerous bastard when he bothers to pay enough attention to the people around him to actually express his emotions. But he doesn't think that necessarily warrants the entire PLF running in the other direction when they see him in the halls outside of meetings. He's never even set anyone on fire here. But fucking whatever. Maybe he's extra cranky because Duster hasn't been home in a month. Maybe he's extra, extra cranky because he's going to be gone for another three. Whatever. It's his prerogative to be a dick as long as he's getting his work done.

But apparently someone said otherwise because when he walks into his and Shig's room, Tomura is inside, waiting for him.

"Dabi--"

He immediately sets a fire in his palm. "Not fucking funny Toga, knock it off."

"Not Toga, firefly." He says, eyeing the flames. "I set this up with Twice before I went into the tank."

Ugh. Dabi clicks his tongue. "Set what up?"

Despite the fire still being in his hand, Duster, or at least the double of him, still takes a step closer to him. When he doesn't get set on fire, he moves in close and catches him by his wrist, pulling his hand to the side gently to keep the flames away as his other hand cups the side of his face. "I was hoping that maybe you would be missing me by now?" He murmurs, and Dabi kind of still wants to light him on fire. He just also really wants to lean into his touch and turn into a puddle.

"I miss you. You're not real."

"The only thing about me that isn't real, is that if I get hurt, I'd leave you behind."

And Dabi's resolve crumbles like his lover has wrapped his hand around it. He douses the flames, and the next second has his hands in his hair, pulling him into a hard, needy kiss. Tomura kisses him back and it's the same way he always kisses him, deep, and passionate, and full of his love-- something Dabi had grown addicted to even before Duster had ever told him the words. He kisses him and Dabi's chest tightens with everything that he's been trying so, so hard to push away, to not let himself think over the past month. But it strangles him now, barely leaving him with enough breath to croak,

"I miss you," When they part.

Duster doesn't hesitate, pulling him in closer and holding him tight. "I miss you too. Having to leave you is the hardest thing I've had to do, firefly." He strokes his hair as Dabi clings to him, overwhelmed by how badly it has hurt to be alone when he's not. The rest of the League is around. He has plenty of work to do to keep busy. But not having Tomura here has left him feeling like someone shoved barbed wire into the hollow place that opened in his absence.

"How long--"

"As long as you need me, precious."

Forever then.

///

Tomura, the double of him, wasn't being hyperbolic. Though there is a condition. The double is only around when Dabi isn't working, and he never ventures outside of their room. In part it's to ensure that Twice doesn't have to worry about not having access to his full quirk 24/7, and in other part, it's because if he starts with a new double every day, Dabi can't build a divergent relationship with any one double from what he has with the real Tomura. The double, affectionately, considers himself a toy or a trophy husband, for the most part. He, for the eight to twelve hours he exists when Dabi tells Twice he wants him, exists solely to give him non-stop love and affection that Dabi would never admit to needing, but that everyone in a ten mile radius can see he fucking apparently needs at this point to function. He still tries not to have the double every day. He doesn't want things to feel different with his Tomura when he comes back. But he does break down and let himself have him around once a week. And doing that is enough to get him through another month of his lover being gone.

His lover, also, apparently knew that he wouldn't take as much time with the doubles as he was offered, and came up with a backup plan to ensure that Dabi is always spoiled. Every two or three days a new present shows up outside of their door. Sometimes it's something as small as a few packages of his favorite snacks, sometimes bath products so he can soak in their tub and de-stress. Sometimes it’s bigger things, a new e-reader, new clothes, new toys for him to enjoy by himself or with a double. They're surprises that leave him with the knowledge that his lover never stopped thinking of him even as he moved forward with his treatments. They're a constant promise that he isn't being ignored.

When Dabi has two days without anything to do, he barely has to glance at Twice before he gives him a thumbs up. He doesn't know if the other has told anyone else about this arrangement, but he hopes not. He finishes up what he's working on as Twice departs.

///

Tomura is waiting for him in their room when he gets back to it and Dabi immediately chucks his coat onto the back of a chair and goes over to the bed, where his lover is waiting, tapping away at one of his games.

"You're going to be furious if you beat that level that you've been working on while you're not even here." He mumbles, losing his boots too and then climbing into the bed. Tomura lets him worm his way closer and rest his head on his stomach.

"I thought of that, there's a separate save file for the doubles."

Dabi snorts slightly and cuddles up closer. He just wants to be close for a little while, and getting to hear his lover tapping away at his game is more relaxing than he ever thought it would be. But after another couple of minutes Tomura saves what he was doing and puts the console to the side. Then his hand goes to his hair and he strokes it, nails scratching across his scalp until Dabi is a completely blissed out puddle. They stay like that for a while, and Dabi considers going to sleep, just letting Duster hold him until he slips under, but... there's a low curl of heat that is simmering in his veins.

Dabi shifts a little, turning his face into Tomura's stomach and pressing a soft kiss to the muscles he can feel beneath his thin shirt. The hand stills in his hair but Dabi doesn't look up at him. Instead he presses another kiss a little lower as his hands shift to rub up his thighs. That makes Shig's go from petting to threading his fingers through his hair, tugging at the locks gently until Dabi has to look up at him. His eyes are already hot on him when he gets his attention, and that only makes Dabi's need spike more.

"Daddy," he pleads, the word barely loud enough to be heard. He... doesn't ask for this very often. It's something that can go sour in him at the drop of the hat if he doesn't initiate it, but sometimes... sometimes this feels so good. And after a long week, knowing there are more long weeks before Tomura is really, really back, he wants something that's going to put him so deep into his subspace that he won't even notice how much time has passed.

"Oh? Do you want to be Daddy's princess this weekend, sweetheart?"

He nods weakly, moaning softly as he feels Shig start to harden a little against where their bodies are pressed together. He always loves it when Dabi gives up control like this so completely. He won't have to make a single decision for the entire weekend. All he has to do is listen to Daddy and he'll be taken care of. Tomura is always trying to take care of him, but he really likes it when he's allowed to just melt away to nothing but his sub.

"Okay, baby girl." His hand strokes through his hair one more time before settling around the back of his neck. "You look so cute there, but you're always cuter with your mouth full, princess."

Everything else slips a little sideways, and Dabi feels like there's syrup slipping through his veins because his movements all feel slow as he gets his hands in Tomura's waistband and extracts his hardening cock from the fabric. His mouth waters immediately, his clit starting to blush too because Daddy always tastes so good and makes his mouth so full that his head ends up empty to make room for him. He stays on his stomach, and lowers his mouth over him, being messy as he tries to make him wet so that he can have him inside as soon as possible. Daddy chuckles at how eager he is, but doesn't make him stop, and before long, Dabi is moaning as he gets his head on his tongue.

The angle isn't perfect for this and Dabi knows he won't be able to do as much as he normally does unless he shifts, but that doesn't matter because once he's in his mouth, Daddy takes over. He strokes his hair and gently coaxes Dabi lower and lower until he's stretching open his throat as much as he can. Daddy rolls his hips slowly, getting Dabi to bob his head in the same lazy rhythm, and Dabi just closes his eyes and lets himself feel good as Tomura fucks his throat more gently than he thinks anyone else has ever managed.

He's so far gone that he doesn't hear him give a warning, but Dabi doesn't care. He doesn't need one. Daddy can use him however he wants and he loves having his mouth full of his cum anyway. The taste of him overwhelms his senses and Dabi moans around him as he swallows and sucks to get every drop warming his stomach. But that just makes him notice how warm and tingly all of him has gotten as he weakly humps himself against the sheets with a whimper. His clit is blushing so much now, and his pants and underwear are definitely wet. Daddy takes his softening cock out of his mouth and Dabi whines, not wanting to be empty, and shoves three fingers between his teeth to stay a little more full.

Tomura chuckles softly. "My needy princess, come here, Daddy's going to help." Dabi reaches and Daddy makes him take his fingers out of his mouth, turning him so he's cozy between his legs and his back is resting against Daddy's chest. Then, he gives him his fingers to suck on instead, as his other hand reaches down to undo his belt. Dabi runs his tongue along Tomura's skin, moving it between his fingers, along every curve and bump of his knuckles. Other people are afraid of Daddy's hands, but he loves them. Daddy's never hurt him with his quirk unless he asked for it.

Not going to hurt him now as he reaches between his legs to his aching, leaking clit. Dabi moans loudly at the first light touch, only reaching inside enough to pull him out. But his fingers don't stay wrapped around him. No, he cups his hand over his pink clit so that he's held against his palm. Dabi waits, the edge of his pleasure right there, but he knows he has to behave.

"There, princess. Let Daddy feel you."

With his mouth full he can't thank him, but he thinks Daddy knows how grateful he is when he starts to rock and grind his clit into his palm. That friction makes his nerves sing and a blush go even hotter across his cheeks. Daddy doesn't wrap his fingers around him, doesn't stroke him, because little girls don't need that to make them feel good. They just need to grind their clit against something or have something filling their pussy to make them cum. He doesn't know how those thoughts, how being this for Tomura can be so humiliating and feel so good at the same time. He doesn't ever want to have to figure it out either. Not when he can just know that it's good enough that in a matter of just a few thrusts, he's gliding so much more easily against Daddy's palm because his clit is drooling constantly.

Dabi is drooling around his other fingers too, forgetting to swallow enough as he arches back, pushing his hips harder into the touch with muffled, needy moans. He clutches onto the sleeve of his lover's shirt, trying to get it harder than he can on his own, pulling at the fabric insistently, but that just earns him a chuckle and a kiss pressed to his temple.

"Just like this, princess. I know you can do it. I know how sensitive your pretty clit gets when you want to slip under for Daddy." He teases a little more, his middle finger pressing a little more deliberately between his piercings so that Dabi can feel every bump of the metal just beneath his skin as he moves a little faster. "You can do it, beautiful. You don't have to think about anything else while I'm here. I'll make sure that you have everything you need, baby girl. Just let go, firefly."

The sweet words pressed against his temple send him over the edge with just a few more twitchy, aborted thrusts, soaking Daddy's hand, and the mess immediately dripping onto his clothes. And Dabi manages to completely turn off his brain. His fog rolls in, dense and heavy, and all he can do is slump against Tomu and let him decide what needs to happen next.

Cuddles seem to be the first order of business. Daddy pulls him close and peppers his face with kisses, nuzzling against him and telling him how good he was, how pretty he is, how much he loves him. And Dabi soaks up the praise and affection like that alone could fill all of the broken places inside of him he keeps trying to shove embers in. but when Dabi starts to feel sticky and uncomfortable, he barely squirms before Tomura is shifting off of the bed and picking him up, carrying him towards their bathroom.

He takes care of him, of every fleeting need like he can read his mind, and Dabi floats. Tomura makes it so that he's not a lieutenant helping to command an army, he's not a ghost of vengeance come back to haunt his father, he's not alone again just waiting for the first person who's ever loved him to come back-- he's soft, and cherished, and safe. The double is real, and it's not, it's something like the plush moth on their bed that's there to help him cope, and he loves Tomura more than words can express knowing he has both to help take care of him while his lover is gone.

Thanks for reading! If you liked it consider leaving a comment!

#tanco speaks #ask #asks #shigadabi #my writing #mha fanfiction #fanfiction

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house-strong · 2 years

Text

— TWO BIRDS, one stone ʾ ⋆

summary ; requested by anon.

“Hello, could you write about Daemon x Fem! Reader? Could you base it on Two Birds by Regina Spektor? Daemon and the reader are friends and little by little they fall in love, but the reader has always been in delicate health and little by little he dies, but not before getting in a relationship with Daemon. I'm looking forward to reading something sad and sweet. Thanks 🥺”

pairing ; friends-to-lovers!daemon targaryen x frail!reader

notes ; i listened to the song while thinking about this imagine and omg?? the parallels,, the symbolism,, regina is a genius

two birds on a wire, one tries to fly away,

and the other watches him close, from that wire.

he says he wants to as well,

but he is a liar.

daemon targaryen has always been a man with a boys heart. eager to be on some new, wild adventure, to swing his sword and play at war to defend his family, or even explore the wonders of the great world. whatever it was, daemon made it known that he would accomplish those and so much more.

he often told you stories about what he had learned from brothel keepers, ship stewards, and merchant traders. he always said that he would keep you by his side forever, even going as far to even haunt you in what ever afterlife their was. you supposed, in his own way, it was a sweet gesture.

that was some twelve years ago when you were both children.

now, daemon was a grown man. battle-hardened and still eager to explore, he had always asked if you were interested still in exploring the world with him. now that he had his dragon mount caraxes, it would make traveling safer and shorter. you’ve always remain loyal and steadfast to him, offering him council when he complained about his older brother.

your answer had always been yes to his questions about traveling the world with him. with bright, eccentric ideas, you knew daemon was meant for something greater than being the commander of the city watch. yes, it was something to ease his mind and be his plaything for now, but you knew he would always get bored. perhaps you should’ve voiced your concern about leaving kings landing before you agreed to travel with him.

that was before a sickness like no other took hold of your body, leaving you weaker by the day.

i’ll believe it all,

there’s nothing i won’t understand,

i’ll believe it all,

i wont let go of your hand

“would you fly across the world with me, to the ends of the earth?” daemon asked you one night. this was after he had an argument with his brother of over his.. activities concerning the city watch and his rather boastful announcement of his nephews demise.

daemon was your bestfriend, so the next words that leave your mouth are out of pure love for him, “i would.”

this seems to quell the lingering ache in his heart as he leans forward and gently rests his forehead against your shoulder. you bring your arm up to comfort him, drawing lazy shapes into his clothing in attempt to help soothe him.

there’s a moment of silence that passes between you two. he pulls away only a fraction, his eyes searching yours. his are full of softness and devotion – one that he doesn’t share willingly to others. you smile and do your best to contain a cough. you raise a hand to cup his cheek, thumb gently caressing his skin.

in the smallest voice he could muster, he says, “i love you.”

two birds on a wire,

one says come on,

and the other says i’m tired,

“daemon,” you say in a voice that’s full of warning, “i’m tired.”

you’re breathless at this point. your lungs are screaming for proper air flow and your legs are starting to ache with a radiating pain.

he huffs, long legs easily carrying him up the steps of the tower, “we’re almost there, just a few more steps.”

you stop for a moment, hand flying towards the stone wall as your attempt to steady yourself and quell the fire that’s burning in your lungs. you take a few deep breaths, desperate to stop the burning sensation. you close your eyes and lean into the wall, taking a moment for yourself. it’s only then that daemon returns to you, his brows furrowed.

“are you alright?”

the energy of your youth was slowly dissipating and it was starting to become obvious to yourself and those around you. however, you’ve tried your best to conceal your predicament from daemon. the last thing you needed was a hellbent daemon trying to be desperate to find something, anything, that would help you.

there’s a shaky exhale that leaves you, “yeah– yes, i’m alright.”

he extends his hand out to you and your take it, allowing him to help guide you up the steps at a slower pace than what he was going before.”

“are you sure you’re alright?”

“yes, i am.”

the sky is overcast

and i’m sorry,

one more or one less

nobody’s worried

“let’s leave tonight,” daemon says one night while you’re sharing a bed. your head is on his chest, your hand splayed on his lower abdomen. you feel a pang in your chest, how much longer could you evade daemon and his suggestions?

you so desperately want to live this fairy tale life with him: explore the world, leave the safety of kings landing, and do whatever they want without the leave of a king. you wanted to share his excitement and thrill of being young and eager to learn new things. but alas, that was not the fate the seven had decided for you.

“daemon,” you say slowly, tilting your head slightly up to look at him through your lashes, “you said we’d stay for rhaenyra’s wedding.”

daemon tuts and begins playing with the sheets that covered his lower half, “i have no desire to be apart of that fest, no doubt it’s going to be dull.”

“she’s your niece, daemon.”

he looks down at you, eyes scanning your face, “i don’t care for her, i desire to be with you,” he turns his head away, “in essos.”

you bit your lip, gently nipping on the skin until it becomes warm and plump.

“i want to stay.”

daemon sighs, but after a moment, “alright.”

two birds of a feather, say that they’re always,

gonna stay together, but ones never goin’

to let go of that wire

daemon had spent days in your room when your sickness began to become more obvious, leaving you bedridden. he would bring things that he knew you would both enjoy, oftentimes that would valyrian books and scrolls that depicted the great age of valyria and it’s many successes. he’d recite these for you in both english and valyrian. there was something about the way his voice dropped an octave when speaking in his mother-tongue that you loved.

“how long until you’re feeling better?” he asks, the book he was reading becoming forgotten. he closes it and rests one of his hands on it as he turns his attention to you.

your move your head to better look at him, a shrug moving your shoulders slightly. even this small action is enough to cause pain, “the maester said–”

“forget about the bloody maester, what do you think?”

you blink at his interruption, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth and slowly gnawing on it. you hated this–the lying and going behind his back to find care from a maester without his knowledge. you hated the impending doom and you hated not knowing when your day would be your last.

but instead you smile, your hand twitching as you try to reach out for him, “soon, daemon. soon.”

he shifts the chair closer and takes your hand in his. he notes that it’s cold and lifeless compared to his warm hand. daemon tries to smile.

“good. i need you by my side when i do my travels.”

two birds on a wire

one tries to fly away

and the other..

daemon knows at this point and some part of him wants to believe that it’s not too late.

he’s the farthest thing from a pious man, but he had begged the gods of the old and new for more time to be shared with you. he told them that it was too much–that they were being greedy. but one can’t make demands of a god and expect a turn in a fate.

“we should have run away,” he says in a low voice. he’s by your bed, ears tuned in to sound of the low, shaky breaths that drew in and out your mouth. he’s afraid that if he speaks too high, you’ll break, and if he leaves the room, you’ll find peace without him by your side. “maybe we would have outrun your fate.”

the hand he’s holding twitches in his hold, something that makes him give a sad, lopsided smile. he’s surveying you now, eyes gently trailing over your pale body and the purple hue of your lips. your throat bobs up and down with struggled swallows and it’s the only sign of life on your otherwise still body.

“i’ll take you with me,” he continues, his thumb gently rubbing up and down your hand. “this won’t be the end for us.”

daemon feels a sense of regret fill every fiber of his being. he wants to travel back in time, rewind the clock, and berate at his younger self. he wants to tel his younger self to take what is his and maybe, just maybe, you two could’ve been happier earlier.

daemon feels the sadness beginning to well inside him as he hears you take a long inhale. he winces at the sound.

“it’s time to go, isn’t it?”

daemons feels your fingers squeeze his, the action barely noticeable but to him, to him it was everything.

“i’ll see you soon, my love.”

in between bleary blinks, daemon watches your chest rise and fall with a final breath.

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen fic #daemon targaryen #hotd fic #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #daemon targaryen reader insert #my writing

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bohemian-nights · 2 years

Text

Arlī(Anew) Chapter 9

Word Count: ~10,044

Rating: 18+

Warnings⚠️: Uncle/niece incest; violence; blood

Description: Envy is a disease that festers. Rotting the mind like a wound that was never tended to. Becoming gangrenous as it spreads throughout the body. Infecting each limb and tissue along the way until the body is overwhelmed. Succumbing to the sickness at long last.

AN: This story takes place from episode 5 onward. I’ve changed things up a bit but I’ve kept the timeline intact

The finale.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8

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131 AC- Kings Landing

War is inevitable. Peace does not last forever. It can not. The nature of man will not allow it. The very nature that brings about men’s volatility and propensity for violence. Conflicts always arise. Old grudges are hard to forget. The sins of past wrongs bubbling to the surface. Our emotions can not be so easily pushed to the side. They can only be repressed for so long before we must give in. The cost being too high to not do so.

Nothing in life is without its costs. We are in a constant battle of give and take. When we do not get what we want we become hungry. Greedy for what we feel is ours. Seeking glory and redemption no matter the cost or the burden. Seeking to protect what is rightfully ours. Though the matter of what is yours or mine is a subjective one. Entirely fueled by our boundless wants.

Envy is a disease that festers. Rotting the mind like a wound that was never tended to. Becoming gangrenous as it spreads throughout the body. Infecting each limb and tissue along the way until the body is overwhelmed. Succumbing to the sickness at long last.

Such is the case with war. Those who yearn for power claim it through less-than-honorable means. Harvesting the seeds of discontent that were planted eons ago. The starving man can not help but feast upon its ripe flesh. Curing its weary soul and broken body. What is honor compared to desire? For he is hungry and has long since been denied. Envy makes bastards of us all.

Were envy and greed the reason why it had all come to this? Peacetime at long last ending across the Seven Kingdoms in the wake of Viserys death. Petty grievances and blood feuds perhaps killed it. It had been a slow painful death as was the late kings, but he had found relief in his departure from this mortal plane. That would not be the case for the Kingdom he had left behind.

For the first time since the dreaded bloody reign of Maegor the Cruel war was on the horizon. There was no stopping the not-so-distant sound of swords being drawn, shields clashing upon the battle, of dragons roaring above them, firing down upon them. There was no stopping it all. Not unless something drastic were to happen, but the balance was rapidly tipping in favor of the Warrior. One could only accept their fate and pray to the Gods that they would be spared. War was what was coming for them all.

“We hold twelve full-grown dragons to Rhaenyra’s five.” Daemon's voice reigned around the small council chambers that were already beginning to take on the image of that of a war room.

While the lords and ladies of court celebrated Aegon II's crowning, the prodigal son succeeding his father upon the Iron Throne, his chief supporters were called to the small council's chambers. There was too much to be done to leave it for the morrow. Drinking and feasting would be postponed. Their guests could enjoy the merriment for now. There was too much at stake. Too much that could go wrong. Too much that had already done so.

The king himself had chosen to sit in on the council meeting. His presence at his council was a shock though not necessarily an unwelcome sight. Some measure of duty must have snapped into him from his crowning. The adoration of the people was more sobering than any tonic that Grand Maester Orwyle could concoct and give to Aegon. He was king now. For the first time in Naerys nephew's life, he had a true purpose.

All eyes were upon Daemon as he lectured the council. Even Ser Otto who listened to the Targaryen man with a clenched jaw, but otherwise he too let the Rogue Prince lead on. A certain stilted truce had been erected between the two men. A common goal did wonders for their ability to tolerate the other’s presence though both took to glaring at the other in scorn when his head was turned. It was hard to forget the history that stood between them. Naerys strongly suspected that if given the chance they would strangle each other.

Nonetheless, the Hand of the King had offered Daemon a position upon the small council. His pick between his old position of Master of coin or Master of ships. He could be by the king's side, but it was the wrong king.

He declined both. For accepting any post would mean leaving Dragonstone in the care of Daenys and Aemond for the foreseeable future. Their daughter was more than capable of ruling in his stead. She had been groomed as heir since she was four name days old and by all accounts had the makings of a thoughtful and firm steward.

However, baseless as it may be, Daemon did not fully trust their new good-son with the sole care of their daughter nor did he see him as deserving of the position. The boy had been corrupted by his grandsire. He was not to be trusted. Who knows what he might do if he was not there to watch over her. It was a matter that Naerys would put aside to deal with later. They had more pressing concerns to deal with.

Aegon’s crowning, though successful, had almost been overshadowed by Rhaenys and her dragon. Uninvited guests. Crashing through the Dragonpit with no care for the small folk or its other occupants. It was not them who she spared. No, it was the king himself this time. A warning. He would not be so lucky the next.

“My niece will want to claim Dragonstone for her own.” Naerys recalled how Daemon and Otto spoke with hushed voices earlier that day. The older man walked beside them as they made their way out of the now-ruined Dragonpit back to their wheelhouse. Her husband’s grip on her loosened somewhat, but he had not let her go.

Rhaenys' stunt had shocked him enough not to. He kept her arm and hand resting in his, rubbing circles into the back of her hand with the pad of his thumb. She had to confess, it had been a comfort.

The Rogue Prince had tried to grab ahold of Daenys as well, but the girl remained glued at her new husband's side. It was a battle he folded to Aemond with a clenched jaw. There was not much he could do on that front anymore. Their daughter was undoubtedly not just theirs anymore.

Daemon cast his violet gaze down at Naerys. Giving his niece-wife a small smirk as she had shifted where she stood. He knew exactly who would put it into Rhaenyra’s head to make way for Dragonstone. Sixteen years of marriage would tell him if nothing else. Ser Otto no doubt had his suspicions as did the rest of those present. It was more than obvious.

Naerys was the most likely person to aid in her aunt's ill-timed escape. She herself would not correct their assumption. The princess had intended on smuggling Rhaenys out of the Red Keep. Albeit under a different set of circumstances, but she was in part to blame for her flight. They all might have paid the consequences for her sentiments had not the elder princess exercised caution or her husband acted with haste.

Dragonstone had no dragonriders to speak of upon its shores then. They had an urgent need to remedy their seats' present circumstances. It would not do to let such an asset fall into the hands of Rhaenyra and her ilk. The small island presented too much of a temptation, a goldmine for her to turn a blind eye to.

“It is what I would do.” Rhaenyra would grieve for her father that could be sure. Her greatest supporter. The man who put her before all others was lost to his sick bed, but she could not grieve long. With Rhaenys flying for Hide Tide, they could be sure that the older princess would inform her that Dragonstone’s Lord and Lady were presently absent from their keep. “Naturally, she’ll try to install Jaecerys as Prince of Dragonstone.”

Driftmark was only a half-hour flight from Dragonstone. It did not take a military strategist to see that the Black Queen had a chance. A small window of opportunity that she would not be able to miss. Could not miss it. The island after all possessed an edge Rhaenyra desperately needed if she were to turn the odds in her favor.

Four unclaimed dragons called Dragonstone their home. Sheepstealer, Grey Ghost, Cannibal, and Vermithor. The first three were wild, having never been claimed by man, but the last, though not wild, had not been claimed for near on thirty years. For his last rider had been no other than Naerys' great grandsire, the Old King Jaehaerys.

Silverwing would often wander off to coil herself around Vermithor in his cavern beneath Dragonmont where he had taken up residence, but he was a fearsome thing. It would be a difficult endeavor to tame all the dragons wild and old alike though not impossible.

Riders would of course have to be procured. Dragonseeds were not so hard to find. One need only look for their silver heads, or their many shades of violet eyes, or both, upon the shores of Driftmark, Dragonstone, and the alleys of Kings Landing. The Targaryen’s had always been more than generous with their favors and amorous attention upon the small folk of the realm. It was a gift to bear the fruit of a God. Or as close to it as mortally possible.

The capture of Dragonstone could easily turn the tide of the war in Rhaenyra’s favor if she moved quickly. If she had enough sense and foresight to employ its treasures to their fullest extent. The Greens had precious little time before the Realms Delight would gather her strength and strike. They could not lose their advantage to the hands of the would-be queen and her allies.

The castle had been left in the care of Maester Orlys. The kindly old man was as loyal as they came. As were the rest of their household and islands’ occupants, including a small garrison numbering less than five hundred. Daemon had always inspired a certain level of loyalty in his men, from his time as lord commander of the city watch to now. Always rallying their spirits.

Their soldiers would defend the ancient Targaryen seat in their prince and princesses name, but what was their loyalty to the might of a dragon? Or better yet two full-grown dragons? The Blacks would take the island under threat of their queen's house words' reigning true.

Daenys volunteered to journey back to father's seat. She was to be Lady of Dragonstone after him. The island was her home. The young princess would not see it fall into her cousin turned half-good-sister's clutches. She had been born on its smoky shores and she would rule over them when the time came. Why should she not insure its safety?

Her father was needed in the capital and he would not want her mother out of his sight. The two rarely parted from each other. He would not wish for her to defend, but they did not have much choice. Aemond had his mission at Storm's End. As much as she loathed to be parted from her husband so soon after their nuptials, Daenys was well-equipped to handle the issue on her own.

Helaena, who had looked and sounded more than elated at the prospect, extended her own services. “Two dragons are better than one and Dreamfyre is swift as is Moondream.” Neither her good sister's parents nor her brother would allow Daenys to go by herself. The little queen would more than makeup for her brother’s temporary absence.

At any rate, the she-dragons, apart from Daeron's Tesserion, with rider and dragon alike gathering support in Oldtown, were the fastest dragons in their possession. Both were lithe nimble things that would take the new queen and her good-sister to Dragonstone before Rhaenys or Rhaenyra could rally their own dragons and ships to make way for the fortress.

Truth be told, Naerys thought that the young queen was a great deal overwhelmed with her newest occupation. Helaena had always been a girl who preferred the close intimacy and company of those she loved best. Not unlike her good-aunt.

Her ladies, her family, and her non-human companions shined brighter in her violet gaze than all the dazzle of court. She had never taken to the spotlight as her sister or even her now good sister had. The now queen would have made an excellent lord's wife. Somewhere in the Reach or the Westerlands mayhaps.

She would have done well to marry into her mother’s house. In the comfort and safety of Hightowers towering stonewalls. There was much entertainment and less idle tattling to be found outside the barrier erected by her crown. Alas fate had other plans for Helaena.

Although it was done with care, Aemond shot down his sister's assistance. “You are needed here sister. Kings Landing can not be left without its own protection.” In her own words, just as Dragonstone would be better off with two dragons instead of one so would the capital. “I shall journey with my wife.” The pale girl’s eyes lost some of their brilliance, but she conceded with a small nod of her silver head.

The one eyed prince would give Rhaenyra more of a pause than either Daenys or Helaena. She would hesitate to strike Dragonstone with her half brother and his dragon upon its shores. Slow and old Vhagar might be, but she had seen war. She was the largest dragon in the world and though her rider was untested in battle, he was a force to be reckoned upon dragonback with or without a sword in his hand.

Of course his business at Storms’ End could not be delayed. With Daeron away in Oldtown gathering the support of the Reach lords alongside their cousin Lord Ormund it fell down to him to insure an alliance with the Storm Lords. He was to propose a betrothal between one of Lord Borros’ daughters and his younger brother on his behalf.

Time could not be wasted on the onset of war. Aemond could only stay long enough to cement his wife’s position on Dragonstone before taking to the skies for the Baratheon seat. He would only be gone for a few hours, but that would be more than enough time for Rhaenyra to try something if she was alerted of his absence from his Daenys’ side. His wife would have her fathers guards, but Aemond, as men often want to mark their territory, wanted a man of his own with her.

The prince asked his grandsire for leave of Ser Criston. He was a valued friend and mentor. It was clear to all that he trusted the Dornish knight with his own life. He would be up to the task of guarding his little wife while both himself and her parents were away from Dragonstone. Should the need arise he would be able to whisk her away to safety.

A resounding no was the answer to his request. From his goodsire and grandsire and surprisingly Naerys. The first and viewed the knight with the utmost distrust. His wife was prone to agree with him. While she did not think she did not believe him to be a malevolent man as her husband would describe, she did not believe that he would do all in his power to defend her daughter if it came to it.

Thankfully, Ser Otto had need of him. As the new Lord Commander of Aegon’s Kingsguard Ser Criston could not leave the capital. Not while their new king's reign remained tested and the exact whereabouts and plots of their enemies were yet unknown. Aemond was given his uncle Ser Gwayne Hightower instead.

Though he was no Ser Criston he was a worthy and honorable knight. Unlike in the case of the Dornish knight, his regard for his nephew extended to Daenys. He viewed her as her mother’s daughter rather than her fathers. The issue was settled when no objection was given. While it pained him to admit to it, viewing him to be over familiar when it came to her, Naerys knew that her husband trusted him enough to see to their daughters welfare. For a short while at least, Ser Gwayne was safe from Daemon’s suspicion as long as he kept to his person and minded his post.

“Helaena mentioned a beast underneath the floorboards.” Daenys had leaned in to not so subtly whisper to her mother on the walk up the hill where Vhagar and Moondream rested. Apart from Naerys and her husband, who were to see the newlywed’s and the Hightower knight's departure, the rest of their party had gone back to the Red Keep.

The now queen in question had always been a unique child. Insects called to her more than people, even animals. Dragon dreams. A gift to some or rather a curse for others. She was a sweet girl, but it was clear that the Dreams had taken a toll on her.

Giving the appearance of a half-scattered mind. Daenys the Dreamer had been half made they say. Prone to getting lost within the rich fancifulness of her imagination rather than the solid reality that stood in front of her. Her imagination was what ultimately led to House Targaryen’s continued survival. Past the doom and beyond.

“Nyke gaomagon daor pendagon bona ao istan se cause hen skorion massitas? Muñnykeā. Nyke pāsagon ziry istan va moriot meant naejot massigon.” I do not think that you were the cause of what happened mother. I believe it was always meant to happen.

Naerys felt her face heat up as Aemond and Daemon guffawed at Daenys remark. Ser Gwanye could neither speak nor understand Valyrian, but he seemed to infer what had been said when he added his own chortles to the fray. Whatever doubt they had at her part to play in the incident vanquished. If both Daenys and Helaena could see what she had inadvertently caused, there could be no uncertainty.

“Do stop fussing kepa. You look so grim.” Daenys laughed lightly when her father placed a kiss into her curls after she had saddled her dragon. “My husband will see that I am comfortable before he leaves and he won’t be gone very long.” It went without saying that Ser Gwayne would deal with both Daemon and Aemond’s ire should anything happen to the young princess.

Daenys then went to place a kiss upon her mother's cheek as Naerys pulled her in for a hug. Letting out another round of laughter at her mother's tight grip. “Don’t fuse either. I shall see you both soon enough.” The newlyweds and Ser Gwayne, who climbed upon Vhagar’s back with some hesitation after his nephew, were off to Dragonstone.

With both Aemond and Daenys away securing Dragonstone and Storm’s End the present agenda rested on their strengths and allies in relation to Rhaenyra’s. The chief among them being their dragons.

The loss of Meleys was a greater inconvenience than her rider. There was always a danger that came with the opposition gaining an additional dragon, but they held both more dragons and dragonriders than Rhaenyra. They were at the advantage in the skies as Daemon had reminded the council, but he, and Aemond, would hesitate to send either herself or Daenys ride into war. In all likelihood they would not need to.

The Blacks' five dragonriders comprised mainly of the would-be queen's children. They all knew that Rhaenyra, like her uncle and second brother, would be reluctant to send any of her boys into battle unless need demanded it. Jacaerys and Lucerys, who while were more than adequate riders, were learning the commands and capabilities of their beasts as well as themselves. Joffrey's dragon was too small to be ridden into war. Rhaenys would no doubt hesitate to send her granddaughter the Lady Baela into battle as well.

Lady Rhaena had no dragon to speak of. Only three dragon eggs, given to her from one of Syraxes clutches that had all yet to hatch. Though the sweet young lady did pray to the Gods every night that she would be made a dragonrider as her mother the late Lady Laena had been. To join the fold beside her grandmother and elder twin. Naerys had heard that the youngest Lady Strong could seldom be parted with her eggs.

Dragons of course were not the only way to win a war. They were an advantage sure enough, but they were to be the last option on both sides. They brought more danger than they were worth many times over. For when dragons dance, the destruction can be endless.

It could not go without saying that the Rhaenys' escape had left them with little time to execute the Greens' more diplomatic plans. Plans which depended a great deal upon the older princess’s temporary captivity within her guest quarters. It was a setback, but not one that they would not be able to recover from.

Ser Otto had sent a raven to Driftmark for its maester. A man, who in addition to studying as a novice alongside Grand Maester Orwyle many ages past, was a great friend of Naerys' late uncle Ser Vaemond. So much so that he often sought his counsel ahead of that of his own brother. Of course, this tendency to seek guidance in the form of Hide Tide’s maester was helped by him being a blood relation to the Velaryon knight's now widowed lady wife.

When an acolyte takes his vows and forges his chain to become a maester, a degree of impartiality is expected to follow. One’s previous allegiances to their house, their name, and the lands from which they come from must fall to the wayside, but the call of blood is a hard bond to break. He had been shown to hold his lord's brother’s opinions and interests on matters relating to the Driftwood throne. The maester kept council and advised his sons in the wake of their father's untimely end.

Driftmarks maester would have alerted Ser Vaemond’s sons of recent events in the capital upon receiving the hands' letter. A king had been crowned. A king who was sympathetic to their woes. Knowing all too well of the plight of the rightful heir against that of their enemies.

Offering the hand of friendship if needs be. The need only to embrace said friendship and a hand would be lent to place one of Naerys' cousins upon their rightful throne. However, with Rhaenys traveling back to Driftmark they could no longer be so sure that their friends would be able to act on their good faith.

With good weather, the Queen Who Never Was could be back on Driftmarks shores by the day's end. Meleys was older now, but she rose to the task when needed. There could be no doubt that Rhaenys would alert Rhaenyra of the Greens' treachery and treason. Of the danger that would soon be upon her and her sons. Bringing her a worthy ally and a much-needed dragonrider. However, the situation at present was temperamental.

Naerys could not doubt that if she were to transport herself within High Tides' white stone walls she would find a den of discontent. Unease brewing from an unwelcome guest upon its shores. An interloper. Filling up every chamber within the castle. Waiting. Building up dread until the cup would overflow.

What was supposed to be a time of triumph had become a time of mourning for too many reasons to name. They had been made a fool. The sons of House Velaryon. The blood of the seahorse and old Valyria. The rightful heirs of their uncle’s throne. First Ser Vaemond and now they too were being pushed aside. Their pain was being paraded over by a feckless woman and her bastards.

If nothing else, the disquietude should unsettle the Black queen. She was an island surrounded by enemies. It did not occur to her that she had made a mistake coming to Driftmark. She had thought herself safe even with her sole advocate, the formidable Sea Snake lying in his sick bed. She had another that would scare off the monsters for her a thousand leagues away within the Red Keep, but he was dead now. Gone to the seven hells. If Rhaenys did not make it back to her husband's shores in time, Rhaenyra could find herself fighting her own battle within her chosen place of refuge.

A series of what-ifs had overtaken fate. Naerys cousins’ would not speak a word against Rhaenyra and her sons for fear of the king's might and reach, but their silence would only last for so long. They would not forget who made them so low. Never mind if it happened a day ago or ten years.

If Ser Otto’s letter was received before Rhaenys arrival it would only take to gag and bound the would-be queen and her sons. Delivering them to the Red Keep. To Aegon to do with as he pleased. All would be right with the world then. Driftmark returned to its proper heirs. If not, a fight would commence for another day.

“Our support lies heaviest in the south.” Ravens had been sent to houses small and great alike throughout the Seven Kingdoms but had yet to receive replies in mass. It was the early days yet. The lords of Westeros waited to see where the deck would land.

The Riverlands were divided at best. It had always been that way. The support of the Reach and the Westerlands were all but guaranteed. Aemond was dealing with the Stormlands. The North was unlikely to join their cause, but they were unlikely to be of much help to Rhaenyra either.

Winterfell and the lords of the North were a long way away from Driftmark much less Kings Landing and as the Starks' house words do so dutifully remind both friends and foes, winter is coming. With the heavy snows of winter, the journey south would be a long one. The fighting might be down before Lord Cregan Stark ever reached the neck. The Vale was without a doubt lost.

“Perhaps we might send the princess to parlay with Lady Arryn?” The new Master of Coin Ser Tyland suggested, but he backed into himself once Daemon began to glower at him from the opposite side of the small council table. “Or mayhaps a messenger or a raven might be better suited to offer terms of friendship.”

“Jeyne Arryn would sooner see the Prince of Dorne as king than Aegon.” Jeyne Arryn’s blood was Rhaenyra’s. Enmity remained well within the lady’s mind. Her opinion of Daemon remained sour. He was reason enough to side against the Greens. The Rogue Prince had twice done her kin over. Leaving Rhaenyra to fend for herself. Turning his back to her when she needed him most. The business of him marrying his daughter to the son of a traitor would further leave a foul taste in her mouth.

Lady Arryn neither trusted Ser Otto nor Alicent to keep her interests at heart. They had crowned an unworthy man, a usurper, all because he had the luck to be born with the right appendage betwixt his legs. She herself had to contend with countless attempts to unseat her as Lady of the Vale from her own less-than-worthy male relations. If they were to send an envoy it would be a wasted effort.

“We should send an envoy to Hide Tide.” Daemon turned to Ser Otto. “Before we do anything. We might be able to settle things peacefully.” Ser Otto held his tongue though he did narrow his eyes at the Targaryen man's suggestion. “She’s at a disadvantage.” War was a last resort or rather it should be, but for the Hand, Naerys had found that he believed war to be their only option. They were dealing with an unreasonable foe blinded by her emotions and entitlement.

“She has the support of House Velaryon and House Arryn at the least.” More houses were soon to follow. “She is not so weak.” Ser Otto said as his light eyes flitted to the map spread out in front of them. “The princess will not give in so easily.”

Rhaenyra was a proud woman. If she believed herself wrong or denied what was hers she would not give up. From where she stood, damn the laws of men and Gods alike. Her father had seen to such. The Iron Throne was hers. She would not turn her back upon it now. Or ever if she had the means to. She would fight. For as long as she could, but no one fights a war which they could not win.

“We still might reason with my aunt.” Rhaenyra had the support of House Velaryon, but without them, even with her four dragons, she would surely lose. No allies would come to her rescue if the Velaryon’s left her out to dry. Taking away her support would stop the chaos before it began. If they were to take away the Velaryon’s and their fleet, this war could be over by the end of the day.

Rhaenys did not want war herself. Not truly. Not a woman who had sacrificed her own crown near thirty years past to prevent one, but what could they offer her? She sided with Rhaenyra for her granddaughters. For their just due. Naerys did not doubt her aunt's words. Everything she did was for them. They could not offer her eldest granddaughter the crown, but perhaps they might offer Lady Baela Driftmark to rule over in her own right. By all the natural laws in the land, it should be hers.

“Rhaenys has made her decision.” The dowager queen kindly reminded her. Painfully so. The Dragonpit would take weeks to repair from her choice of action. Alicent gave her a soft smile and pulled her brown hand in her pale one before turning to face the rest of the council. “My good daughter has not. We might still reason with Rhaenyra. We offer her fair terms. Jaecerys will be the lord of Driftmark after Lord Corlys if he so wishes.”

It would anger Naerys' cousins, true enough. Though it was a necessary sacrifice for the time being. Surely a future betrothal could smooth things over when the time came to. War was too much of a burden to give into her cousin's demands as honorable as they may be.

“Lucerys a Lordship of his own. Joffrey may become Aegon’s cupbearer or Aemond’s squire at Dragonstone or your own Daemon.” Her husband snorted, throwing his violet gaze at the king's mother. However, he did not say anything against the proposal. Ser Otto looked as if he too wanted to object, but he once again stayed his tongue. The Hand of the King was increasingly becoming outnumbered.

“They all will be welcomed at court.” She gave a pointed look to her father who stiffened in his chair, “and they may keep their titles. On the condition that Rhaenyra journeys to Kings Landing, bends the knee, and swears loyalty to our king.” Alicent turned her eyes toward her son in acknowledgment. Aegon’s violet eyes seemed to liven at the image that his mother painted. “She is Viserys' eldest daughter. Not his son. It is time she recognizes that.” If Naerys' cousin were to give in she would stand as no threat. The once crown princess had bastards for heirs. She was a woman. She was not a threat.

Ser Otto conceded as did the rest of the council. The right course of action dictated it. Diplomacy demanded it. If there was any way to solve this matter civilly then by all means. The dragons may not dance yet. They must first exhaust all of their options before declaring war upon Rhaenyra and her allies. Only then if she rejected their offer of a truce. Their offer of kinship, would they have no choice, but to pursue less than peaceful measures.

It had been ten odd years since Naerys had last stepped foot onto Driftmarks shores. The castle remained unchanged. She wondered if it was even a possibility that it ever could. Some things were stuck within the ages. Remaining a static fixture in our memory. Hide Tide stood as a reminder of youth. An echo of a distant past. Of the joy and naivety she had in it.

The people, however, were a different story. Hide Tides' occupants were more changed than the castle in which they resided. Very much so. Seasons came and went and they were weathered by the passing storms of time. Weary from the days that stained and left their mark upon their skin and in their eyes. The hauntings of past lives and lost chances.

Rhaenys and to Naerys' shock her uncle Lord Corlys were waiting for them. Her mother's eldest brother's umber complexion looked dull in the dusk from his sickness. His neck had been wrapped in gauze. He should be resting, but the man had become especially obstinate in old age. No warm words of welcome were exchanged between the two factions upon the beach where they had landed Caraxes and Silverwing. The only greeting they received were weary looks. Her aunt would not fully meet her eye as she looked on ahead past them.

“Where is Princess Rhaenyra?” Ser Otto was the first to speak. His raspy voice sounded out over the crashing waves. Naerys and her uncle-husband were well suited to offer terms of alliance to Rhaenyra, but the older man had insisted upon journeying with them. His trust in Daemon was fickle at best and Naerys relationship with her cousin was less than idyllic. If they were to choose diplomacy, the occasion called for a steady hand to guide them which is what the Hightower man believed himself to be.

Lord Corlys lips parted in reply, but then there was no need to supply an answer. A roaring could be heard above them. Syrax’s. On top of the golden she-dragon sat Rhaenyra wearing her fathers crown.

Rhaenys was not the only one to have made a half-mad escape from the Red Keep during Aegon’s coronation. Ser Errk had turned his white cloak. At least in service of the new king. The last anyone had seen of him was brother seeing him off Blackwater Bay aboard a ship to Driftmark no doubt. To his queen. He had taken Viserys crown with him that now rested on top of the Black queen's white head. If Rhaenyra could not have the crown of the conqueror, her fathers would have to do.

“I wish to speak to my uncle.” Rhaenyra kept her eyes trained upon Daemon as she climbed off her dragon to face them. Only briefly strained her lilac gaze down at Naerys. She looked the part of queen. Had made her entrance as such, but she was ever herself. Queendom would only make her more so. “Alone.”

Daemon made to answer her. Something crude judging by the smirk upon his pale brow, but Naerys beat him to it. “Go with her kepus.” She met her cousin's narrowed stare with one of her own. A crown upon Rhaenyra’s head would not change her. Her father’s death would not bring her humility, but their was something upon her pallid visage that did show a chink in her queenly armor. She would not deny her closure. Let this be the last of it.

Daemon did not listen to his niece-wife. “My wife can wait in the hall dear niece.” He sneered at the realms delight as he grabbed Naerys small hand. Her husband pulled her along towards the castle without sparing the Black Queen a second glance. Rhaenyra fummed, but she held her head high when she saw her cousins’ dark amethyst eyes turning back to glimpse at her.

The rest of their party attempted to follow them, but guards blocked a positively vexed Ser Otto and his men from doing so. The Lord and Lady of Driftmark scampered off when they were back behind the safety of their stone walls.

They came to a standstill at the heavy oak doors leading to her uncle’s Great Hall. Her husband placed a kiss on her brown forehead smoothing back her silver coils before pushing her towards a bench outside of the hall. Her cousin took care to slam the door shut after Daemon went through.

Naerys did not know how long she remained sitting on that bench. Time seemed to become immaterial.There was nothing to mark it by. She did not worry herself with her thoughts. There wasn’t much Rhaenyra could do or say that would move her husband. There was no harm in leaving the two alone. Good may in fact come from it.

Her cousin cherished their uncle’s opinion above all. She was obsessed with it. If anyone could make her see sense it would be he. She heard no noises coming from behind those shut doors. Not until she heard a loud bang. Dread made her pull open the door. The scene she walked into was a half-surprise.

Daemon and Rhaenyra stood on opposite sides of the long table which occupied the center of the room. Much like a map of the Seven Kingdoms was spread out on top of it. Naerys' husband was leaning over a chair. Seemingly trying to control his breathing. Her cousin stood pacing around her side of the room. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Whatever queenly veneer she had slipped out from her.

“Leave us.” Rhaenyra turned her head to hiss at her. For a brief moment, Naerys was transported back sixteen years. Back to Dragonstones shores. A distant memory of her happening upon them when she went to fetch a book she left in the painted table’s chamber. She had told her the same then.

Naerys was frozen. Trapped in time. Mayhaps people change less than the chambers and halls in which they take up, but she wasn’t a girl anymore. She herself needed reminding of that. Her husband's voice snapped her back to the present.

“Do not listen to her little one.” Daemon breathed harder than he would have had he been sparing with his men around their training yard. He held out a white hand for her to take. His face had lost what little color it had. still leaning over the chair as he motioned her to him “Come here my sweet girl.” He kissed her forehead again before burying his face into the top of her coils when she had reached him. Drinking her in. He seemed to calm somewhat. “That’s a good girl.”

“Kepus.” Naerys tried to begin, but he only buried his head into her neck. The princess sighed as she brought a hand to run through his silver strands. Grazing the scars that ran down his neck. She would let herself bring him comfort once more. Questions on what had upset him could wait for when they were behind the safety of their own walls back at Dragonstone.

“Sweet kind Naerys, you’ve done everything that’s been expected of you.” Her face had turned sour. As if she had bitten into a lemon cake made without sugar. She spoke through clenched teeth. It was a wonder how they did not break from the strain. Her lips screwed up into a frown. “Everything apart from giving our uncle sons. I guess your womb is where it all comes to rot. You were never worthy of that.”

“You are a placeholder.” Rhaenyra continued on. Hurling half-truths in rapid succession. Her mask was put back into place. The appearance of ease. Of self-surety, but her eyes, the eyes always tell. Frustration. Neither darkness nor truth, but her displeasure was unrestrained. “That’s all you really are Naerys. My replacement. He couldn’t have me.” She would never let her forget that. My father wouldn’t allow it, so he took you.”

Why was she still here then? There was no need to have her still. If she had overstayed her welcome there was nothing tying him to her. Apart from what her dear cousin did not want to name. Daemon loved her. He was not an easy man, but she pleased him. She was sorry for it. Naerys pleased him beyond measure and that was what haunted the would-be queen. She made him happy as he did her. It was unexpected, but she would not feel ashamed for it.

“Rhaenyra, dear niece I couldn’t have your father.” Daemon let out a snigger that resounded around the room. No longer leaning upon Naerys to stand. while placing a hand to stroke down her arm. “We could have been each other’s everything had circumstances been different.”

Rhaenyra blanched at their uncle's words. Her thin mouth opened and closed like a gaping fish. “I even pictured Viserys in your place on occasion when we fucked. Naerys was the first time I hadn’t the need to.” Rhaenyra collapsed into a nearby chair. Naerys herself felt as if she too might collapse at her husband's admission had he not held her up rubbing circles into her back to calm her.

“You’ve bewitched him!” Naerys could not help but laugh at the utter ridiculousness of it. She had no tricks up her sleeve. No wiles which to capture him by. She had been a girl ten and five when she had married Daemon. Whatever she had done to make her husband care for her she had done unknowingly. One could not take what was freely given.

The anger came then in Rhaenyra’s pale glower. A frown dropped across her brow as her eyes darkened. A spark. Lit by scorn. By rejection. “Do not take it as a compliment dear cousin.” She spat the next words at her. Leaning over her chair to do so.

“I chose her.” He removed himself from his wife’s side to stride over to where Rhaenyra sat. “She does not know her power over me. She does not know she wields such a thing.” Rhaenyra sank further into her chair at her uncle's approaching form. She recalled the last time she had stoked his temper. Her dress's neckline covered the evidence of it. “Naerys did not climb into my bed in the middle of the night to seduce me away from you.” It had never been about her. “Have you actually ever loved anyone Rhaenyra?”

He came to a stop to bend down to meet her cousin's eye, but the woman avoided him. Taking to staring at Naerys instead, before Daemon yanked her head to face him. His eyes were grim. “I have already told you that if you had her you would understand. She’s given me more than I deserve.”

He reached out to take her wrist in his hold. Her cousin struggled against his strength, but he only tightened his grip. “She would have given me a son, but what good is a son without her?” Rhaenyra wasted no time in snatching away her hand when Daemon released his grasp. “I admit I am a selfish man, but I would do everything for her.”

“Nyke sorry ziry gaomagon ao.” I am sorry he used you. Naerys spoke out. Having to take a breath to steady herself. Both sets of pale violet eyes turned to face her. “Nyke sorry syt bona.” I am sorry for that. Her cousin was a victim in her own way. That could not be denied. Her husband had greatly misused Rhaenyra. He had used and discarded her when he had seen fit. More than either suspected. She knew her uncle. He would never apologize for it.

“Yn nyke emagon dōrī ōdrikagon ao.” But I have never hurt you. She had not made him do the things he had. Daemon was his own person and he had chosen to bend to her. He chose her own on his own violation. He had strung her cousin along, but Naerys was not the cause of it. The Rogue Prince had started his games long before her husband had set his gaze upon her.

“Nyke emagon dōrī jeldan ao ōdrikagon.” I have never wished you harm. Despite everything she had done to her to the ones she loved, Naerys could only feel pity for her rather than true contempt. Tried as she might to rid herself of the sentiment she could not hate her. To do that would mean she resented her. Rhaenyra had nothing of value that she wanted except for her surrender.

“Ziry does daor emagon naejot mōris bisa ñuhoso.” It does not have to end this way. Honey words. The call to kinship. The Lady of Dragonstone could not forget why they were here in the first place. Peace. It was for peace. It was up to the would-be-queen. They could avoid the destruction of their house. If she bent the knee to Aegon and gave up her claim to the Seven Kingdoms. She could live a life here among House Velaryon. Make her court there or wherever she wished. “Ao kostagon sagon dāez Rhaenyra.” You may be free Rhaenyra.

For all her posturing, Rhaenyra was not a warrior queen. She rode a dragon, but she was no Visenya. She was not even Queen Rhaena. She was a princess of leisure. Preferring the comforts of court and its admirer’s than the endless toil of battle. She was not a political woman either. She was no more suited for war than she was to sit upon the Iron Throne after she waged it and paid the price in blood she did not have.

Rhaenyra glared at her. A shadow blotted her face. She sensed her pity and she did not want it. Pride. It would keep her cousin from doing what was right. Her conceit would not fall today. It would be her undoing.

“You are considerate to try little one, but Rhaenyra is just as mad as her father.” Daemon removed himself from looming over the Black Queen, sauntering over back to Naerys. “Believing in dreams.” Letting out a chortle at her cousin's sullen expression. “Even if that prophecy my brother obsessed over is true, we are all the conqueror’s blood. It could mean any one of us. In case you have forgotten, my wife has given me a child. My blood, my grandson shall sit upon the Iron Throne.”

He grabbed her hand before Naerys could process the meaning of her uncle's words. So much had been said she felt as if she was being thrown from one revelation to the next. Barely keeping a hold onto her head. “If all you wish is to talk of is riddles, then there is nothing left to discuss.”

Daemon gestured to the Dark Sister at his side.“I could end it all here. I’d be doing the realm a favor but for the love I bore your father. I spare you this kindness. Let it be my last.” He left the chamber doors wide open as they made their exit. Storming out the castle at double the rate which they had entered into the halls of High Tide.

“You shall do as you please Lord Hand.” Daemon snarled as they passed Ser Otto. He had been proven right. The Hightower man’s eyes gleamed beneath his solemn face as he gave the signal to his men to move out. Naerys' husband helped her onto Silverwing before mounting Caraxes who was just as tempestuous as he rider. They took flight for their smoky shores without another word exchanged.

Dragonstone was quiet when they arrived back. Their welcoming party consisted of Maester Orlys and a couple of servants. The genial old maester informed them that Aemond had not yet returned back from Storms End. Daenys had retired to their new apartments in the Sea Dragon Tower far enough away from her parents in the Stone Drum.

That did not stop Daemon from ordering a servant to fetch Aemond as soon as he arrived so that he may enlighten him of the outcome of his mission. “It can wait kepus.” Naerys uncle’s mood remained foul, but that did not mean that he needed to bother the boy. It would be well past a decent hour whenever he and Vhagar landed. Whatever business he had with their good son could wait until the morrow.

Both he and their daughter deserved the night to themselves. He did not argue with her, but being reminded of their daughter's recent nuptials seemed to set him off further. Leading him to march up to their chambers while whispering curses under his breath.

Naerys could recollect that Daemon had kept her in their bed for a week after they had wed. He had not even loved her then. Of course love had very little to do with attraction. “I believe I have broken you.” He had laughed then when she frowned in confusion as she pulled slightly off his chest after their lovemaking.

She had been mostly frightened of him and the emotions he invoked in her. Emotions he likely shared. “Issa iā sȳz run dōna riña.” It is a good thing, sweet girl. He pulled her back down to lay her on top of him, lining her heat up again with his hardening member. Bringing the back of his rough hand up to caress her face. “Pāsan emā pryjatan nyke tolī.” I believe you have broken me too.

Naerys called for a bath to be brought for their chambers. It had been a long day. The first of many to come. They could worry about what would happen in the coming weeks tomorrow. For now, they needed to rest. They would be no good in the agitated state they were in.

The steaming water calmed their nerves. They sat in quiet contemplation. Daemon had taken to pulling her onto his lap after they had finished bathing the grime of the day off of each other. Resting his chin on top of her head. Stroking a warm hand up and down her bare arm while the other took her hand in his to play with her fingers. Naerys closed her eyes daydreaming of a not-so-distant future.

“It shall be nice to have children running around here again.” Daemon hummed in reply kissing her forehead. Naerys recalled that even in the darkest days when she was laid up in bed the little patter of Daenys feet and her laughter bouncing off their walls had been the most blessed sounds she heard. It had kept her sane in spite of her failures. “Future kings I suppose.” She would not pressure him for an explanation, it would come naturally.

“Aegon is not worthy to sit upon the throne.” Her husband looked at her as if it was obvious as she turned her gaze up to him. He was right about Aegon himself, but their nephew's line did not end with himself.

“Aegon has sons.” Jaehaerys and Maelor. Sweet little cherubs. They held their mothers' temperament rather than the impudence of their father. With the proper training, Jaehaerys could be an honorable heir. “Our nephew is healthy.” Their king was a lustful drunkard, but he otherwise was in perfect health.

“Men die every day as do children, especially in war.” Daemon breathed into the shell of his niece-wife’s ear. “In any case, they would need a regency.” It would never come to that. They both knew it. The lords of Westeros would rather seat a grown man upon the throne than boys even in peacetime. It was why during the Great Council Ser Laenor was passed over in favor of Viserys claim. “We would need a strong king to lead us.”

Aemond. He was next in line and conveniently married to their daughter. An overstep that Ser Otto and Alicent had missed in their haste to secure Dragonstone for themselves. An advantageous position for an ambitious man. For a second son.

“As well as a strong Hand to lead our king.” Her husband let out a chortle at her musings. Aemond no more liked his new good father than Daemon liked his good-son, but he was not too fond of his grandsire either.

Daenys would no doubt convince her husband who was besotted with his little wife that her father would make an excellent hand should it come to it. Naerys did not wish for her daughter to find herself in the precarious position of queendom, but our fate is rarely within our control. The Gods have the final say.

“Viserys was a weak man little one.” He sighed into her hair. “I will not let my affection for him blind me to his faults.” More than brotherly love by his own admittance. Or rather more than brotherly worship. It had been an obsession. “He is the reason why we find ourselves in this mess. My brother was never meant to sit upon that damned throne. He let vipers rule his court for him.” Daemon would not allow the same mistake to happen twice.

“From my blood come the prince that was promised, and his will be the song of ice and fire.” The riddle. The one that had caused her husband to spiral before she arrived. Daemon let out a snort. “The conqueror’s blood. My brother thought it referred to his line as does Rhaenyra.” Presumptuous given that neither he nor Rhaenyra were the only ones with the blood of the man who united the Seven Kingdoms running through his veins. The folly of their house. A lack of hubris. “It could just as easily be ours.” Their blood upon the Iron Throne. A call to right the past wrongs. The idea was too great to ignore.

“Ziry dōrī ivestretan issa.” He never told me. Daemon took to gazing at the flames from their chamber’s fire. Its light cast shadows across his pale face. He squeezed her hand. Bringing it to his lips to place a kiss upon the back of it absentmindedly. Giving her a half smile. “Hae baseless hae ziry istan ziry dōrī ivestretan issa se nyke istan zȳhon dārilaros.” As baseless as it was. He never told me and I was his heir. Dreams were not always so baseless. Naerys wondered if her uncle truly believed his own words. Surely he could not. His face was too troubled for him to believe it was pure conjecture.

A knock sounded at the door. Daemon barked at the poor soul on the other side of their door to bother them in the morrow, but the interruption came with urgency. Aemond had arrived back worse for wear. Rambling. His Hightower uncle Ser Gwayne had been the one to greet him. Whatever condition the young Targaryen Prince returned in had stoked his uncles’ distaste. The two quickly found themselves in a shouting match within the Painted Tables Chamber.

Daenys was called for and she had tried her best to diffuse the situation, but she could not make sense of it and had descended into her own mutterings. They did not need to be told twice when their daughter was in great distress. Daemon Hastily jumped from the bath helping his wife dress before grabbing Dark Sister. The two bound for their map rooms chambers across the Stone Drum that remained eerily muted.

The reason for Ser Gwayne's repulsion and their daughter's distress was apparent to the naked eye when they entered the chamber. “What have you done boy?” Aemond was soaked to the bone. Half drowned was more like it. Drenched by rain from the Stormlands and something darker. Crimson specks scattered across his face and into his long silver strands. He paced the room running his hands down his face while his young wife was comforted by her lady’s maid. Ser Gwayne stood.

“I was owed an eye.” His expression, red with irritation and rage, was as wild as the rest of him. Turning to face his good-fathers assessment. Rancor had clouded his judgment. The fury of a vengeful God. Or rather a young man who thought himself such. “The debt has been paid nuncle.” At the cost of their lives.

“Lucerys was there.” Ser Gwayne supplied with his hand still furiously rubbing his temples. Bringing up the other to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Delivering a message from his mother. He had left. The boy had left, but he chased him down.”

“I was owed an eye!” Aemond repeated. Daenys tried to go to him, but her mother held her back. Pulling her daughter's head to her side. Petting her silver strands like she did to soothe her as a girl. The young princess had worked herself into a frenzy. “I had every right—”

“Were you owed his life as well?” Naerys' husband met the younger man’s wroth with his own cold fury. The boy backed down some. Glancing at Dark Sister strapped to his good-fathers person. Aemond played the part of a God Daemon was every bit a malevolent Valyrian God of old.

“Aemond did what he thought was necessary kepa.” Only Daenys came to her husband’s aid. Breaking free of her mother's hold. The young girl put her hand in his. Her honey face was pale and her violet eyes were red-rimmed. The first blush of a new bride was gone.

Aemond had the veracious nature of a man of his house. Feed by the fire of youth. He did not know how to control his temper. Rash anger rather than reason Daenys had gotten her first taste of the violent passions that a man such as her husband possessed. A Targaryen man in his prime. Naerys herself had married one. He had mellowed over the years, but sleeping dragons do not lie dormant forever.

“He was her son.” Aemond went rigid at Naerys' chiding. Not expecting his good-mother's reprimand. It was as if his mother was in the room with him and not in her chambers in the Hands Tower oblivious to what he had done. “Rhaenyra would gladly die for any of her children.” Her cousin was many things, but she was a mother above all else. Naerys knew what a mother's love could do.

“As would I! As would your mother!” He was a boy beyond his depth. He was not a mother. He did not understand the depth of that bond. To carry and give birth to a child only to have him snatched away from you. He could not know. His half-sister would repay them in kind ten times over.

“A son for a son. That is what she will want. Do you have any idea of what you have done you half-blind fool?” It was Naerys who had to rest her hand upon her husband to calm him. To stop him from throttling their good-son. “Aōha mandia jāhor emagon aōha bartos valonqar!” Your sister will have your head boy! The Lady of Dragonstone thanked the Gods Daemon had the good sense not to reach for Dark Sister.

Understanding that her new husband provoked her father's ire and that nothing good could come from staying in his company, Daenys dragged Aemond to their apartments. Putting some distance between the two Targaryen men was for the best. Ser Gwayne rushed from the chamber to the rookery to inform his father and sister of the events that had unfolded tonight.

Rhaenyra would not stop until she had her fill. Her feast upon their innards. Until they felt as she did. They would know her pain. A mother's broken heart. The sound of Valyrian steel slicing through bone and flesh alike played in Naerys head. Dragons flames. Burning everything in their path. Colliding with each other in a crimson blaze beneath ash and ruin. Only blood would pay for what was spilled today. The price of vengeance.

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#daemon targaryen x targaryen!oc #daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader #prince daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x black!oc #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targeryan #daemon #house of the dragon #hotd #houseofthedragon #daemon targeryen x reader #hotd fanfic #daemon targaryen fanfic #hotd fanfiction #lol the finale of part 1 #part 2 will come soon #bnhotdfic

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darklinsblog · 2 years

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Rainbow Baby | Sandman Imagine

Summary: After having gone through a miscarriage, you and your husband seem to be blessed by another pregnancy.

Pairing: Morpheus x Goddess! Reader

Requested: Yes

A few years had passed ever since your miscarriage… Being the Nordic Goddess of love and fertility the loss of your unborn child had brought up an immense heaviness to your heart.

Your husband, Morpheus had too mourned this loss alongside you, feeling helpless as he knew he couldn’t do anything to mend your broken heart.

Only time would be able to do that, so for years you went on with your lives the best you could taking care of the realm and your daughter, Isolde.

Isolde had grown quite beautifully, she now had the appearance of a twelve year old, your precious daughter was full of life, and kept you busy.

You hadn’t been feeling all too well these past weeks and the symptoms you were experiencing were similar to your other pregnancies, but rather than feeling excited you felt more on edge.

This time you were more cautious, first you decided to confirm your suspicions with the Fates, and after paying them a visit you were completely certain you were with child.

You came back to The Dreaming, ready to find your husband and tell him the news, as you went in your search you felt your excitement came rushing in. For the first time in forever, you allowed yourself to be a hopeful pregnant woman.

Lucienne had told you where to find your spouse and you were greeted by the sight of your husband laying on the green grass with your daughter on top, he seemed to be tickling her, and the little girl was squirming and giggling in her touch.

You went ahead and approached them, Isolde felt your presence and ran to you, leaving his father on the floor.

“Is, would you please go with Lu?”

“Oh… you want to have a grown up talk with dad” she said, her eyes glistening and you nodded, kissing her temple.

“You are the smartest girl, never lose that” it was the last thing you said before walking up to Morpheus who was placidly laying on the ground. He smiled widely at the sight of you.

“You alright?” You joked, stretching out your hand for him to stand

“I am” he said, finally standing with your help.

“I went with The Fates today” you explained, Morpheus looked at you confused.

“The Fates?” He asked, almost scared on asking the reason for your visit, he looked at you intently holding your waist “Has something been troubling you?”

“I needed clarification on a delicate matter, after all I didn’t want to break the news to you if my suspicions weren’t true” even when you spoke very calmly, your heart was beating loudly in your chest, your palms felt sweaty.

Morpheus held you tighter in anticipation, he was starting to connect the dots himself, but he wanted you to say it, he needed the words to come out of your mouth to make it real.

“We’re having a baby, again” the cosmos in his eyes seemed to become brighter, he embraced you fully, placing his hand on your head and lifting you up from the ground. You both loved your daughter beyond words, but you did have the hope of having another child, so at this moment, it felt like paradise.

“How long have you known this for?” He asked unable to contain his excitement, Dream was at the edge of tears.

“A few weeks, but I was so scared…” you confessed, his gaze softened as he leaned in to kiss your lips.

“Listen to me, I will be with you every step of the way and it’ll be alright. I promise you” at his heartwarming words, you broke into tears, and he held you as you cried.

Morpheus knew you needed to let out all of those emotions, he could even feel them himself, the grief of your child, the fear of history repeating itself but also the joy and hope this new pregnancy gave you.

The hope of the baby that would come after a miscarriage, your own little perfect rainbow baby.

#the sandman comics #sandman imagine #sandman netflix #dream of the endless #morpheus dream #sandman x reader #tom sturridge #sandman shitpost #morpheus sandman #sandman x you #sandman x y/n #morpheus imagines #Morpheus #tom sturridge x reader #dream of the endless x reader

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forasecondtherewedwon · 2 months

Text

The Ladies Whistledown - chapter thirteen

Pairing: Eloise x Penelope Rating: T Word Count: 2702

It was one of the pleasantest winters Eloise could remember since her father died. With Daphne, Simon, Augie, and the baby (an addition so new it made Kate seem as though she had been theirs forever) coming to stay, even the large Aubrey Hall felt full to bursting, and yet Eloise did not mind it. It was cheering to have everyone together, never mind if that made it difficult to find a quiet place to read, and their elbows all bumped at supper.

Only Francesca appeared to grown genuinely weary of them all, but that was mostly because of their noise; they were Bridgertons, and could not help it. Eloise would stifle her snort at finding her sister reading in the nursery while Daphne's children napped. Fran also bravely took to the outdoors, and Eloise joined her there. They tramped through snow that sparkled like the diamond their mother had already (tactlessly, if you asked Eloise) expressed hopes of Francesca being named next season. The air was lovely and brisk, and the snow that pillowed in the branches of their estate's now-bare woods reminded Eloise of ladies' skirts. It was a different world, through Francesca's eyes—pleasant, for a time. Before the pure silence her sister preferred could bore Eloise, the rest of their siblings would burst from the Hall to fling snow at one another, and Fran would retreat to help Daphne mind her bundled babies.

Kate and Anthony stayed on awhile after Christmas. Anthony called it being "stuck with" them, claiming there were many places he and his wife would rather have been, only the snow had altered their plans. This was a complaint absolutely no one believed—not least of which because Kate herself denied it. Eloise and Benedict took to teasing Anthony about his choice of words whenever possible. When Gregory did a recitation in Latin and Anthony looked so proud he might cry; when their cook prepared a show-stopping roast pheasant that Eloise's brothers themselves had brought down, placing it before Anthony at the table so he could carve into its glistening, golden skin; when Anthony held Daphne's baby and glanced over its head to make soft eye contact with his wife; Benedict and Eloise would cut into all these moments, remarking on what a shame it was that Anthony was stuck here, and what a dreadful time he appeared to be having.

Secretly, Eloise was delighted that marriage thus far appeared to be improving her eldest brother. She had rather feared that he would not be the same after, and that, in a way, they might lose him as they had once lost their father. What a relief that only positive changes had manifested. Naturally, she gave all the credit for this to Kate. Kate was a joy. She played games with relish, she was interested in whatever Eloise was reading, and she clapped loudly in the evenings when Daphne and Francesca performed duets at the pianoforte. Kate was more spontaneous than Francesca, less fussy than Daphne, and more thoughtful than Hyacinth. Perhaps the novelty of her newness helped, but Eloise immediately found her a most excellent sister, different from the others, but with quirks that were a perfect complement to their own. What drew Eloise's admiration most of all was Kate's vibrant personhood—in the sense that marriage had not transformed her into some shadowy extension of her husband. She was quite individual and independent. It made Eloise extraordinarily curious.

"I do not think your brother would recognize me any other way," Kate said with a laugh when Eloise (as always, clumsily) confessed her observations.

"Yes, but, you see, that is also all your success," Eloise insisted. "Anthony has altered his conceptions of marriage because of you. I do not think he could imagine a wife like you until he met you, and then there was you first, and the concept of a wife second."

"I defer to you, Eloise," Kate replied amiably, "who knew your brother before I could make such a study of him."

"You know what a prat he was, at least."

They shared a smile.

"Trust me, that is not all gone, or else how would I recognize him?" Kate joked.

Eloise made a sound of baffled wonderment and leaned back in her chair.

"Even your faults are hardly faults in one another's eyes."

"When you marry, you marry a whole person," Kate said sagely. "Or, at least, you hope to. Anthony and I have always been our complete selves with one another—for the worse at first, but very quickly for the better. A true partner cannot be merely someone's best parts. Not one person you ever truly love will be faultless, nor should you seem faultless to them."

Eloise reflected on this for several minutes while Kate sipped her tea. She was perfectly correct, of course, and her wisdom aligned well with what Eloise's mother had always attempted to impart about marriage and partnership. Coming from Kate, however, the information was easier to credit; where Eloise's memories of her mother and father were all blurred into romantic idyll by time and overwhelming love, Eloise was able to witness Kate and Anthony's courtship and marriage in the present. She knew what a short-tempered, short-sighted turnip her brother could be. If Kate could put up with that—and not only put up with it, but accept and, indeed, cherish it as part of Anthony's larger complexity—her advice was surely worth its weight in gold.

Unbidden, she thought of Penelope. Kate had said her words applied to anyone a person might love, so Eloise knew that must include dear friends. It was entirely usual for Pen to come to her mind. Did not Kate's explanation describe them well? Had not they lately learned so much more of each other, more significant revelations than either might have thought possible after so long a friendship? And they loved one another still, proving Kate's point. Were one of them a man, it struck Eloise all of a sudden, they would really be quite well suited. As far as she could tell, there was not so terribly much (marriage aside) that separated her closeness with Pen from Kate's closeness with Anthony. The main thing was that Eloise was not as free to express her affection for Penelope.

It had never precisely occurred to her that she might want to express her affection in a way she hadn't before, such as by taking walks and trading books and penning editions of Whistledown. But there was the feeling Eloise had had when they had danced together at Lady Danbury's midwinter ball, holding each other by the waist, not just the hands. And there had been that same feeling when they had shared a cigarette in Eloise's bedchamber. What would Kate and Anthony have done in such moments, she wondered now? Their affection was so physical—a hand on a shoulder, a kiss in the garden—and carried off with such ease. What would it have been like, Eloise pondered with a racing heart, if instead of only thinking how her cigarette had looked between Pen's lips, she had plucked it out and put her own lips in its place?

She released a shuddering breath that flung her from her thoughts. Turning the sound into a cough, Eloise grabbed for her teacup and blamed a dry throat. This sere, wintery countryside, did not Kate know? It made one awfully thirsty.

The tea wetted her tongue, but was too hot to cool her thoughts. Eloise tried to tell herself that, for once, she needed to behave properly, to only make appropriate inquiries. Her foot bounced against the floor. Her mother would say she must not ask, she knew that for certain—but then, if her mother had ever provided her with the information she sought, Eloise would not need to ask.

It was the old curiosity, this area of ignorance which so many aspects of her life and work seemed destined to point back to. How had Marina come to be with child? What had to happen for Queen Charlotte to get her precious heir? What on earth was it about her brother that had assisted Kate in overcoming her initial repugnance for him? The thing between kissing and babies, the thing Pen and El’s constructed Lady W knew (according to Benedict) which they did not! Eloise took a quick breath to prepare to ask.

“Marital relations help, I suppose,” she blurted, leaning towards Kate and smiling grimly through her discomfort. “I mean, I don’t really know. My mother forbids the topic outright, and my brothers only make jokes they know I do not understand. Horrid creatures.”

During her babbling, Kate’s face had taken on an expression of surprise. Gradually, amusement was mixed in, to Eloise’s disappointment. She had not expected Kate to join her brothers in laughing at her.

“If your mother has forbidden the topic, then I should not speak of it,” Kate began.

Eloise sank back in her seat with a weary sigh.

“Of course,” Kate hedged with a sly look in her eye, “I have not always obeyed my own mother’s edicts. A young woman must be proper, yes, but in my opinion she must also be informed.”

This was stated with so much assurance that Eloise brightened instantly, rejoicing anew in Anthony’s choice of wife. Eloise’s hands balled into triumphant fists and she scrunched up her mouth to restrain the sort of victorious whoop which was only appropriate during a family-only croquet match. What a Kate! What a sister!

After a quick glance towards the doorway (thankfully empty), Kate asked, “From where are we starting? Tell me anything you know already.”

Eloise did. Kate listened attentively while Eloise shared the almost-nothing she knew and what felt like the very-little she had gleaned and guessed from activities such as reading and overhearing. Not once did Kate’s interested eyes narrow in judgement; there would have been a time when she had known as little as Eloise. Still, Eloise was glad to find her disclosure was met with understanding, not pity.

Eloise did not name a source for all of her guesswork. The truth was that some came from her own experience, and she could never divulge that. She could only say, I believe the kind of attraction that leads to marital relations is meant to feel something like… Or, If one were to spend much of one’s time with someone they cared for, there might be a deepening of existing feelings into feelings which were more…

She could not and did not say, I know the difference between friendship and attraction—though she did. After her revelation about the manner in which her and Penelope’s closeness might develop, Eloise had performed a swift consideration of whether this were how she would feel about any friendship. Perhaps it was all on her side, not about the other person at all. Maybe she was just… wretchedly unmarried. Maybe having a husband would erase this yearning for Penelope and she would no longer feel— No. Entirely ridiculous. Eloise would never believe a husband was the solution to anything. And a husband was definitely not a replacement for a Penelope.

If she had been correct the first time, that she was just feeling her friendships too intensely and confusing that natural affection for the greater intimacy which supposedly existed between husband and wife, well, that did not quite explain everything either. The friendship was far more recent, but she did not feel for Cressida what she felt for Penelope. Although she had been surprised by Cressida, was unexpectedly fond of Cressida, enjoyed enlivening conversation with Cressida, Eloise had never wanted to kiss Cressida. And she did want to kiss Penelope. She wanted to kiss Penelope more and more, the more she thought about it. So, really, she had to not think about it. At least while she spoke to Kate. It was imperative that Eloise devote her full attention to the conversation at hand. This might be her only opportunity to learn.

It proved to be fairly astonishing, the information Kate had to impart. Some of it seemed hardly credible—what went where?—except that Kate imparted each piece of knowledge with hushed urgency. She seemed quite determined to disclose as much as possible, lest they be interrupted. Eloise, in turn, did her best to absorb it all, though she did wish for paper and ink. Although, how mortifying if she were to include any of it in a letter to Penelope and that letter should fall into the wrong hands! Lady Featherington would undoubtedly march straight to Eloise’s mother, feeling rather superior over the Bridgerton girls being ever so improper compared to her own daughters. Even interception by Mrs. Varley would mean Eloise would never again be able to meet the eye of the Featherington housekeeper. The shame would be too great.

But why should she be ashamed!

As Kate spoke, describing bodily functions in blunt detail so there was no chance of Eloise being confused, Eloise wrestled with the competing impulses of shame and inquisitiveness. To be informed, she had always found, was to be powerful. And so, surely, making Eloise feel ashamed to know these things was another way in which her male-run society kept power out of her hands. They made her believe seeking knowledge was wicked, and was not that just the very oldest story in the book! Which book? The Bible, in fact!

Now, Eloise did not intend to rebel against god, but she did feel truly conflicted. Generally, knowledge had not made her feel discomfited in the past. The opposite. It must be that she simply required time to turn over this new information in her mind, to refigure some other assumptions and expectations around it. Kate did not seem ashamed. She was married, obviously, but Eloise thought that condition would not necessarily make it easy to accept that a man would be allowed to put that part of himself inside a woman’s body. Despite Kate’s matter-of-factness, Eloise shuddered with revulsion. This certainly did not seem like the logical endpoint to what she had felt for Penelope—first, because Eloise had never spent time in a man’s company and felt anything remotely like a desire for him to do that, and second, because Penelope could not do that to her. Nor could she do that to Penelope.

Eloise sagged down in her seat. Was that it then? Was there to be no grand act available to them? Were they unfortunates after all, doomed to an average happiness of lifelong friendship and companionship, promenades in the park and flutes of champagne? It did not sound so awful. Still, Eloise was disappointed. It felt a cruel waste that she—for all her aversion to marriage—might have a heart which quickened with desire when she could not act on it.

Tentatively, Eloise asked Kate, “But what if… what if there were not… a husband?”

Kate smiled knowingly. Eloise did not know what Kate knew, but tried to look as if she did. She made the face she did when attending lectures she only partially understood.

“If a woman is overcome by the feelings typically leading to or awakened during marital relations,” Kate said, “but she finds herself alone…”

Kate described what a woman alone might do, how she might relieve the urgency of the physical sensations which possessed her. Eloise had not meant to imply a partnerless scenario, but what Kate had assumed was simpler, she had to admit. Naturally, Kate, who loved and felt these sensations for her husband (internally, Eloise strove like never in her life to separate all of this from Anthony), would not think of two women. No one would. No one did. It was not how their society, nor any other Eloise knew of, worked. Nevertheless, Kate had taught her something of feminine pleasure. Eloise guessed that anything that might be done with oneself might be accomplished just as easily with another woman.

Contemplating this, Eloise sipped distractedly at her tea, until eventually, she raised it to her lips and realized she was attempting to drink from an empty cup.

#my writing #The Ladies Whistledown #Bridgerton #Bridgerton fic #peneloise #Penelope Featherington #Eloise Bridgerton #Penelope x Eloise #Kate Sharma #Kate Bridgerton

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