#i have to keep this in mind when drawing them n the future

[downbad4sylus]

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

synopsis: You and Sylus visit a coffee shop and unexpectedly run into Doctor Zayne.

content: sylus x afab!reader; reader is MC; use of Y/N; pre-relationship; zayne cameo; just, so much fluff; mostly proofread

word count: ~2k

a/n: see guys, i’m capable of writing not-angst. also can you tell i have a headcanon about them holding hands while linked or what lol. anyway, i love exploring the dynamics of sylus with the other LIs, i have another one brewing ft. our resident doctor (NOT ANGST) and i’ll probably do some with the others in the future. if anyone has anything they want me try and write for them, please feel free to ask, im happy to do so :)

Dragging Sylus out in Linkon City during the day was never easy, but when a certain energy linkage was keeping you locked to each other’s sides and you just had to have your morning coffee, Sylus was a bit more agreeable.

So there you both stood, waiting in line to order. You’d developed a bit of a habit of holding hands as you’d long since grown used to the linkage binding your wrists. Sylus’s hand dwarfed yours, something that took time to get accustomed to, but now the feeling of his fingers laced with yours was a comfort, and admittedly something you often craved without the linkage.

“Will you let me pay for you this time?” you asked Sylus, peering up at him.

He breathed a low chuckle. “Don’t think so, sweetie,” he replied.

“You never let me pay for anything,” you grumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

You tugged Sylus along as you stepped up to the cashier. After placing both your orders (and begrudgingly allowing Sylus to pay), you waited off to the side for your names to be called.

“I’d like to go for a walk after this, if that’s okay,” you said to Sylus. It was overcast today, weather Sylus was more comfortable to be in during the day, you’d noticed.

“That’s fine,” Sylus said. “Where would you like to go?”

You beamed at him. “Actually, there’s a park not far from here, and since the leaves are starting to turn the scenery should be perfect for a—”

“Y/N?”

You whirled around at the sound of your name, spoken by an all too familiar voice.

“Zayne?”

Sure enough, there was your primary care physician, standing with his brow slightly furrowed and his gaze locked on yours and Sylus’s intertwined hands.

“I wasn’t expecting to run into you here,” you commented, drawing his attention from your hand to your eyes.

“This coffee shop isn’t far from the hospital, I stop here in the mornings quite often,” Zayne said. His hazel eyes flicked to Sylus. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Oh!” you exclaimed. “Right, Doctor Zayne this is Sy—uh, Skye, he’s…” you trailed off, panic seizing your mind as you fumbled for any explanation as to why you were here with Sylus, holding his hand, that wasn’t the actual truth.

“Her boyfriend,” Sylus lied smoothly, sticking out his unoccupied hand at Zayne. “It’s nice to finally meet you, doctor, Y/N’s told me a lot about you.”

You missed the nearly imperceptible flare of Zayne’s eyes at Sylus’s answer, too busy short circuiting over the fact that Sylus had just introduced himself as your boyfriend. When had you gone from “besties” to “boyfriend?”

“Nice to meet you too,” Zayne said politely, shaking Sylus’s hand. “Y/N, you never told me you were seeing someone.”

Sylus laughed. “We only just became official.”

You finally managed to regain your composure. “Right, and I haven’t been by for an appointment since then, otherwise I would’ve told you,” you said, bolstering the lie.

Zayne nodded, as if satisfied by your answers. “Well, then I suppose congratulations are in order.”

“Oh, Zayne please, that’s not necessary,” you insisted. A barista called for your orders, which Sylus grabbed and handed to you before taking his own. “Zayne, why don’t you come sit with us? Unless you have important doctor business to take care of.”

Zayne’s lips tilted ever so slightly at your teasing remark. “Sure, I have some time before I have to get back.”

Once Zayne received his coffee, the three of you found an unoccupied table and sat, with you and Sylus on one side, hands still clasped, and Zayne on the other.

“So, how long have you two been seeing each other?” Zayne asked with clinical precision, his stare just as sharp.

“Quite a few months now,” Sylus said. His bright red eyes focused on you. “Y/N practically fell on my doorstep, and I guess you could say the rest is history.”

You snorted, though your cheeks were as red as Sylus’s eyes. “That’s one way to describe it,” you muttered.

“What, sweetie? Would you explain it differently?” Sylus asked, raising a brow.

You shook your head. “No, yours was fine,” you quipped.

“How kind,” Sylus drawled.

You glanced at Zayne and found him watching the two of you with his head tilted. Mirth danced in his hazel eyes, as if observing the “happy couple” was amusing.

“How’s work been, Doctor Zayne?” you asked.

“Fine, the usual,” he answered. “And you? Any injuries you haven’t told me about either?”

“No,” you said firmly. “I’ve been very careful.”

Zayne’s lips curled. “I have a hard time believing that. Skye, has our Hunter been careful lately?”

Sylus’s fingers twitched around yours but his expression didn’t falter. “To everyone’s surprise, she has. No secret injuries to report.”

Zayne made a satisfied hum. “What do you do for work Skye?”

You stiffened. Nothing caused you more anxiety than when someone asked Sylus too many questions. He was a practiced smooth talker, able to craft a believable lie without a second thought, but you still couldn’t help worrying. The last thing you wanted was for him to be recognized, for him to be taken away from you.

Sylus rubbed his thumb along yours soothingly. “I own a few small businesses here and there,” he told the doctor.

“He runs a fruit stall!” you chimed in excitedly.

“That’s one of the few,” Sylus chuckled.

“I had some of his watermelon once at a work function he happened to be catering,” you continued. The very same work function Sylus had called you “besties.” Sylus really was your best friend though, you realized so suddenly your heart practically skipped a beat.

“Well, I’m glad that business is good then,” Zayne said.

You and Zayne then slipped into a casual conversation, catching up on the recent happenings in each other’s lives, while Sylus remained more of a quiet observer.

Actually, Sylus was debating on whether or not to kill (or seriously maim) your primary care physician.

Sylus would never admit to being jealous, but his chest tightened watching you speak to the doctor, hearing the way you laughed at his eerily similar dry humor. He knew you’d been childhood friends and had a long history, but it certainly didn’t help that the way Zayne looked at you was the exact same way Sylus looked at you. And he hadn’t missed the flash of longing in Zayne’s eyes when he’d first spotted your clasped hands at the counter. It was why Sylus had gone out of his way to introduce himself as your boyfriend, even if it meant speeding up his timeline with you a little.

However, Sylus couldn’t deny that Zayne’s role as your primary care physician was an important one, crucial even. He was a renowned cardiac surgeon and an expert in Protocore Syndrome, making him perhaps the only person equipped to help with your heart condition. So Sylus would let him live, because you would be upset with him if he didn’t, and because he was a valuable asset.

Finishing the last of his coffee, Zayne flipped his wrist, checking the time on his watch. “I’m afraid I have to get going now, my break is almost over,” he declared, rising from his seat. “It was nice meeting you Skye, and I’ll see you for your next check up soon, Y/N. No getting hurt in the meantime, okay?”

“Hey! I told you I was being careful!” you exclaimed.

Zayne gave Sylus a withering look. “It’s good to know there’s someone else who understands Y/N’s penchant for danger.”

Sylus recognized the comment for what it was, a white flag thrown at his feet.

Brow cocked and mouth tilted, Sylus picked it up. “Her recklessness knows no bounds.”

“Since when did this become a gang-up-on-Y/N session?” you questioned.

Both Zayne and Sylus chuckled.

“Thank you for the invitation,” Zayne said. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.”

“I’m sure,” Sylus replied.

“It was nice seeing you Doctor Zayne!” you called after him as he swiftly took his leave.

You and Sylus left shortly thereafter, going to the park you had mentioned to walk amongst the multicolored trees. The linkage dissipated on the way over, but Sylus never let go of your hand.

And now alone with him, your thoughts spiraled.

You couldn’t deny that you had feelings for him, you had for quite a while. You two had been spending a lot of time together recently, whether it was you frequenting Onychinus’s base and ruining your sleep schedule, or him staying over at your apartment and ruining his sleep schedule. But even so, you weren’t sure if Sylus felt the same about you, and now that he’d so casually introduced himself as your boyfriend, you didn’t know what to think.

“I think I see steam coming out of your ears, sweetie.”

You whipped your head toward him. “Why would you say that?”

He smirked. “You’re thinking very loudly. Tell me, what is it?”

It was hard to deny him when he spoke so softly, something he reserved for you and you alone.

“Why did you say you were my boyfriend?” you asked quietly, averting your gaze.

“Because it was easier than explaining our actual relationship,” Sylus said simply.

“And what, exactly, is our actual relationship?”

His brow quirked. “I was under the impression we were something far more than just boyfriend and girlfriend, unless I’ve misread the situation.”

You pulled him to a stop, gaping at him. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Of course I’m being serious, when have I ever not been?” Sylus tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Have I misread the situation, sweetie?”

It was rare to see Sylus nervous, if that was what you could call it.

You shook your head. “No, I just—I had no idea you felt that way.”

Sylus huffed. “Y/N, I told you that I adore you, that there is no love purer than mine, what else could I have meant by that?”

“I don’t know,” you murmured.

He brought your entwined hands up to his lips, kissing the back of yours. “Talk to me, kitten.”

“Are you saying you love me?” you blurted.

Sylus grinned. “I am,” he said.

“Then say it,” you demanded.

He tugged your hand and you fell into his chest. His free hand threaded into your hair and tilted your head up to look at him, into those mesmerizing red eyes.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said, his deep voice so tender it made your heart flutter.

“Sylus,” you breathed. You reached up and cupped his cheek, tears welling in your eyes. “I love you too.”

He huffed a disbelieving chuckle before pressing the most gentle kiss to your forehead. “We should’ve run into your doctor sooner,” he murmured against your skin.

You reared back, slapping his chest. “Don’t ruin our moment!”

Sylus only laughed in response.

Finally letting go of your hand, he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you impossibly closer. Your own arms twined around his neck, stretching on your tip toes to better maintain eye contact.

“So where does this leave us?” you asked.

Sylus shrugged a shoulder. “Where do you want it to leave us?”

You smiled. “Well, I guess you’re my boyfriend now, even though you never formally asked me to be your girlfriend.”

His lips twitched. “Would you like me to perform a grand gesture?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

“All right, kitten, then I hope you look forward to it.”

[basketball-lesbians]

Stiff

summary: Paige is insecure about the internet's assessment of her strap game, and Azzi helps her remember that she has nothing to worry about.

pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

contents: smut, fluff, pwp, strap use, oral sex, fingering (once again really its just smut i cannot lie... it gets lowkey disgustingly filthy in a few places. its sweet though, they're idiots in love!)

wordcount: 9076

a/n: Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait between freefall ch 1 and this upload- I got super busy between holidays and personal stuff going on, but I should be more consistent with uploads now. This fic was supposed to be shorter and... then it turned into 9k of filth. No questions at this time. Also, I had a few people ask, so I’m starting to do taglists- so do me a favor and if you’re interested in being included, just comment or message me and I’ll make sure to get you on there for future uploads. Thanks for reading and I hope y’all enjoy!

Theyre positioned on the couch of Paige's apartment in a way that's typical for them; Azzi sitting up with her legs out in front of her, crossed at the ankles while she reads- and Paige strewn out sideways across the other portion of the sectional, her head in Azzi's lap as she scrolls on her phone.

Azzi's right hand falls cyclically to play with the other girls hair in between flipping pages in an effort to keep her content while her focus is split between both her and her book.

Light streams through the window pleasantly, casting a golden glow on everything it touches, and the apartment is quiet- the other girls having gone out to a farmers market earlier in the day and leaving them alone together for the first time in what felt like weeks outside of spending the night in each others’ rooms.

The peaceful sunday afternoon silence they've struck up is rudely interrupted when Paige suddenly groans, rolling onto her side as she drops her phone away from herself like it just offended her, sending it bouncing onto the next couch cushion over. Azzi lets her book drop below her eyeline to look at the other girl, brows raised.

"Um... what was that about?" She asks tentatively, slow to engage for fear of further escalating her already always high energy and cementing the quiet moment they'd just been in as over.

Paige shifts closer to her, wrapping her arms around the younger girls’ waist and burying her face against her stomach, the loose blonde hair left out of her bun to frame her face tickling at the section of midriff exposed by the cropped camisole top the other girl wore under a grey sweat set.

Azzi sighs, setting her book down with the bookmark placed carefully to mark her place, bringing her hands to the girl in her lap fully- one moving to card through her hair and the other to rub her back.

"Hey. What's wrong, honey?" She asks gently, hands soothing in their slow motions. Paige nestles closer to her, holding her tight, her nose brushing the warm skin just above the waistband of Azzi's sweats. Azzi pretends the sensation doesn’t make her feel a little warmer.

"The internet, bro," The blonde finally grumbles, voice muffled where her face is pressed into her girlfriends' torso. Worry rises in Azzi's chest at that, her hands stilling.

"What? What happened?" She asks, pulling at Paige's shoulder to get her to sit up and talk to her. Paige frowns, wrinkling her nose as she obliges the prompt, rolling over to look up at the younger girls’ face from her lap.

Her expression is pathetic- eyebrows drawn together, blue eyes big and lips curled into a pout. Azzi can't help but chuckle at the sight, despite her mind drawing up worst case scenarios like it so often did. Paige groans at Azzi finding humor in the moment, drawing her arm over her face to hide herself in embarrassment.

Azzi smiles fully now, the silly nature of Paige's pouting easing the worry in the back of her mind. She takes in the half-obscured sight in her lap and lets it soothe her, appreciating every visible detail- the sharpness of her jaw, the length of her eyelashes as they rest against her cheeks, the prominence of her nose and cheekbones, the pretty shade of pink that adorns her soft lips.

"Babe, come on. What is it?" She asks, pulling gently at Paige's pale arm.

"You're gonna laugh," Paige whines, bringing her arm down from her face only to draw both of them up over her chest defensively, almost like a little kid would. Azzi rolls her eyes, a smile pulling at the corners of her lips.

"Oh my god, Paige. What is the matter?" She repeats, playful agitation biting at the corners of her tone despite the fact that her dimples give her underlying amusement away.

The older girl sighs dramatically from where she's set in Azzi's lap, waiting in silence for a five count before opening one eye to peep and see if Azzi is still looking, expectant for an explanation. She is. Paige sighs.

"They're sayin' I got stiff hips," She mutters, avoiding Azzi's gaze as the admission slips past her lips. Azzi’s eyes narrow as she furrows her eyebrows confusedly, having not heard her fully.

"They're saying what?" She asks, leaning closer slightly to be able to hear her better. Paige whines, shifting her posture antsily.

"Stiff hips, Az. They're sayin' I got stiff hips." She overenunciates, eyes becoming wide as she explains. Azzi holds her gaze, eyebrows high to match Paige's energy. She holds the expression for as long as she can before breaking, a laugh erupting out of her.

Paige groans yet again, rolling away from her girlfriend like she's trying to slink off the couch and into a puddle on the floor to avoid further embarrassment. Azzi reaches for her, stilling her progress with her hand around the other girls' wrist.

"Oh come on, you big baby," She chides, pulling her back into her lap, cradling her head as she shifts.

"Like they would know, anyway," She dismisses, hands coming up to grab her face, thumb brushing over the the hinge of her jaw as she presses a kiss to her forehead. Paige grins at that, sly and lopsided, holding Azzi's gaze like she's trying to be sure she heard it right.

"Aw, nah?" She smirks up at her, that stupid expression she reserved just for her girlfriend slowly spreading across her face.

Azzi hums. "Unless there's something you're not telling me," She teases, fingers toying with the collar of her crewneck, brushing her collarbones.

Paige smiles dopily, lifting her head and cupping the sides of Azzi's face, pulling her down gently just enough to connect their lips. It's slow and sweet and just a little bit wet, and Paige thinks about all the times they've kissed before and how it's never felt any less perfect than it did the first time.

Seven years later, and she still can't get over the feeling of how Azzi's lips feel against hers.

She shifts to sit up, the movement a little awkward on the way, and comes to settle upright next to the other girl, dominant hand settling just below her hairline on the back of her neck to ease her closer. She moans quietly into the kiss, unable to help herself, and then deepens it- leaning forward and pushing Azzi along with her, putting her on her back.

Azzi's hands meet over the back of the other girls’ neck as she settles over her, her hips snug against the younger girls' with their legs slotted between each other. Azzi bites gently at Paige's lip, and Paige has to choke back a groan as she gives into the chase, letting her tongue dart out to run along the other girls' bottom lip.

Azzi hums before slipping her tongue into her girlfriend's mouth, finding hers and running against it before sucking at it gently, drawing it out. Suddenly, they're pulling apart just enough for Paige to speak, still close enough that their lips to brush when she does.

"F'real though. Y'think I'm stiff?" She asks, her blue eyes full of conviction and concern as they meet Azzi’s once again. Now it’s Azzi’s turn to groan as she rolls her eyes beneath the blonde, much to Paige's dismay.

"Hey! I'm serious, dude," Paige pleads, looking at her girlfriend intently, impatiently awaiting a response. Azzi stays silent, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth as she tilts her head in consideration, hands still interlocked behind the other girls’ head.

"I mean..."

Paige whines, dropping her head to Azzi's chest. Although her intent was pure, she's pleased when her face nestles perfectly between the other girls' breasts, soft warm flesh surrounding her features. She could die here, she thinks.

"Oh come on, I was joking," Azzi says, trying to soften the blow. Her fingers run slowly along the back of her neck, wandering up to toy with the loose hair at the base of her bun.

"S'not funny," Paige defends weakly, speech muffled by the soft skin surrounding her face. Azzi watches her, evaluating for a moment, and then makes up her mind, narrowing her eyes and sucking her teeth as she does.

She sits up, climbing out from under Paige, and Paige looks at her incredulously, already primed to put on a dramatic show of great offense over the fact that the other girl would leave her from their comfortable position on the couch in such a vulnerable time.

She rises to her feet, turning as she outstretches her arm in front of her to hold her hand out, signalling for the other girl to grab it. Paige stares blankly from her place on the couch, unsure of what's happening.

"Come on," Azzi prompts, opening and closing her offered hand to add emphasis to her words. Paige's eyebrows furrow, her hair still tousled from their brief rendezvous seconds ago.

"Huh?" She replies, clueless, neck craning forward and one side of her lip curling as she asks to add emphasis.

Azzi sighs, stepping closer and taking both of Paige's hands into hers. She draws her upright into a sitting position, stepping into the space between where her feet are planted.

This close, Azzi can feel the blonde’s breath tickling at her stomach, her baggy sweatshirts’ zipper fixed low to allow her abs to still show- a decision she made deliberately when she’d put it on this morning.

Paige looks up at where her girlfriend stands above her and can’t help but think that it feels wrong to be in this position and not have her hands free to be able to wrap her arms around the other girl- to slip under her sweatshirt and feel her skin, to wander down and grab at her ass, to pull her into her lap.

"I said," She repeats, eyes locked to Paige's as she presses kisses over the other girls' knuckles, big brown eyes watching carefully with a glint of fire in them as she does it. The blonde holds her breath, lips slightly parted as her gaze drags from Azzi’s eyes to glance at the pink fullness of her lips and back.

"Come," Kiss. "Here," Kiss. "Then." Kiss.

Paige watches cautiously, a feeling that’s a healthy balance of being turned on and a little scared settling in her chest.

"I cant lie... I'm lost, what are we-" Azzi rolls her eyes again, dimples popping as she makes an exasperated face while stepping back, pulling as she goes to bring the taller girl up to stand.

"You're worried about having stiff hips, yeah?" She asks, her voice thick with a flirty tone that the blonde swears wasn’t there only a moment ago.

Paige stands slowly, letting herself be pulled, shrugging and then slowly nodding as she waits for a point to be made. Azzi comes in closer, leaning into Paige’s frame, dropping her hands so that one can settle over her hip, the other on her chest.

Suddenly the blonde is acutely aware of all of the places she can feel the other girl- not the least of which being her leg that brushes against her own as her foot settles between where her own are set, eliminating nearly every bubble of space between them. Paige’s breath feels thick as she breathes out, trying to resist the urge to swallow as she feels the warmth of the other girl braced against her.

"So why don't you come prove it to me that you don't?" Azzi challenges, voice sultry and sweet as she looks up at her, and Paige's jaw almost drops.

Azzi could hold her own, sure. Their little spats and back-and-forth nature were cornerstones of their entire relationship- always had been. They wouldn't be Paige and Azzi without the playful dynamic they always seemed to keep up.

But she was only bold to a point- usually, and for years now, there was a clear line they'd found, a place between gearing up to sex and actually getting there, where Paige had almost always just naturally taken over- at least to initiate things.

It wasn't always that way, per se, but it definitely was more often than not. Between that and the fact that Paige had basically been obsessed with her since she was 16, giving her anything she ever wanted at any indication she wanted it- in moments like these, Azzi had a way of catching her completely off guard.

"Wha- f'real?" Paige asks, frozen in place at the proposition. It was almost always Paige prompting, Paige setting the foundation, Paige leading- Azzi wasn't any less passionate about being intimate, she just liked to be led. And it worked well, because Paige liked to pull her along.

Azzi so openly putting it all on the table on a random Sunday afternoon, (and especially when she had been nose deep in a book less than 10 minutes before) was definitely not something Paige had really anticipated happening. Azzi quirks an eyebrow, digging her heels in.

"Unless you don't think you're up to the task?" She asks, voice donning a kind of feining innocence she only ever put on when she was being especially bratty.

Paige's face flushes at that, never one to give up a challenge- and she's on her feet, grabbing Azzi by the wrist and dragging her to her bedroom, determined to prove herself. Azzi giggles, pleased by the continuation of her perpetual ability to get what she wants from the blonde, and follows, only spurred on by her girlfriends' reaction.

Paige pushes the door closed behind them as soon as they enter the room and immediately grabs for the other girl, pulling her flush against herself by the waist. Azzi leans into the contact as their lips meet, hands coming up to settle on Paige’s chest as she deepens the kiss.

Azzi arches into the way the other girl is holding her, and Paige slips her hands up the back of her sweatshirt, any excuse to feel more of her. She steps them back towards the bed, slowing as she approaches to let Azzi get a feel for where the bed is before they go tumbling onto it.

They do, and Paige is quick to keep things progressing, catching herself with her hands to keep from falling over Azzi and then leaning back on her heels to pull her shirt over her head. Azzi's eyes track the movement carefully, watching her arms flex with the motion and dropping to look at her abs before darting back to her face when she realizes she's been caught.

Ordinarily, Paige would stop and tease, but today she's too eager. Instead, she reaches down, fingers grasping the zipper of Azzi’s sweatshirt, and drags it down, opening access to warm skin beneath it that’s been teasing her all day. She leans back in and nestles into the crook of Azzi's neck, dropping kisses against the soft warm skin there, their bare stomachs pressing against each other with the movement.

Azzi hums as her hands run up Paige’s back, keeping the other girl close and feeling the subtle flexing of the muscle there as she turns her head, kissing the side of Paige’s face where it’s nestled into her neck before pulling her back and recentering her above herself to reconnect their lips.

Paige shifts so one hand can come up between them to Azzi's stomach, pushing under her skin-tight tank top and bunching the small amount of fabric up onto her chest, revealing her abs and breasts. Azzi’s breath hitches at the motion, watching as her hands roam, admiring the contrast of the paleness of her skin against the deepness of her own, blood rushing to her head as she watches Paige go to work against her.

The blonde kisses down the younger girls’ neck and shoulders eagerly, nipping at her collarbones before making her way down to her chest and taking a pebbled nipple into her mouth. As she leans into her, the knee she has slotted between Azzi's legs pushes against her, giving her friction closer to where she wants it, making the other girls' breath catch.

She revels in the way she feels Azzi's breathing change underneath her, feels her start to squirm as she switches sides to show its twin the same affection before letting up in favor of progressing further down her body.

Her skin is warm and soft and smells like vanilla as she kisses down her stomach- it's more intoxicating than anything else Paige has ever felt in her life. She gets to her waistband and is about to pull her sweats down when Azzi taps her shoulder to get her attention.

She pauses, looking up at her with tented eyebrows as she hovers in place. "Hm?"

Once she stills, Azzi reaches down and grabs her face by the chin, eyes hooded. Paige wets her lips as she holds the eye contact, trying to steel herself and not let on the way her boxers are getting uncomfortably damp beneath her sweats.

"C'mere," She whispers, and Paige is immediately thanking god that her roommates aren't home as she climbs back up to oblige her girlfriends' request.

Their lips collide, and before she really knows what's happening, Azzi is pulling her close, locking her arms around her back before shifting hard to roll them both over and straddle her waist. Paige's mouth subconsciously falls open the slightest bit when she’s put on her back, and Azzi can't help but smirk.

She straightens her back and grabs at the bunched up fabric of her camisole that Paige had so impatiently pushed out of her way, pulling it up and arching her back as it goes to help it over her head.

Beneath her, Paige swallows and fixes her hands on her hips tightly, trying not to touch like a child watching a cake being frosted- watching desperately with a watering mouth as she takes in the scene unfolding in front of her. Everything about what she sees, she's absolutely obsessed with: her skin, her toned stomach, her perfect chest, her strong arms and shoulders, the beautiful way her dark curls cascade over her shoulders. She's perfect. So, so perfect.

"Fuck, Az," She mutters, eyes wandering over her frame. Azzi almost feels shy for a second with the way she's being looked at, but she manages to cut her thought process off.

After all, even with all the people in the world who said unhinged shit about her girlfriend online, she was the only one who got to sit half-naked in her lap whenever she wanted. Not a lot of reason to feel self conscious about that.

Azzi leans forward, hands grabbing the other girls’ to push them up and against the mattress for her own balance as she closes the gap between them to kiss Paige’s neck. The taller girls' legs naturally come up to settle with her feet flat against the bed, her thighs just behind Azzi's ass, keeping her close.

Azzi hums as she presses kisses up Paige's jaw, messy and warm and creating a feeling in Paige's gut that's very hard to ignore. The feeling of having her in her lap- breasts bare and pressing into her chest, ass pressing into her as she shifts- paired with the feeling of her full lips kissing their way across her neck and shoulders, curls tickling with the movement as they brush against her skin, is nearly enough to make her brain short circuit.

Having her hands pinned is torture- she's dying to be able to touch her. She pushes her hips forward, few other options available, and Azzi breathes in sharply at the contact, drawing back just barely to ground herself.

"Mmm, gotta be patient baby," She chides, renewing her efforts in the space between her girlfriend's neck and shoulder.

Paige groans. She wasn't used to not being able to pivot things where she wanted- to control the pace and the acceleration of things.

"Thought I was tryna show you sum," She argues, fighting hard to keep any trace of how pathetic she feels out of her voice when she says it. Azzi hums, nipping at her earlobe.

"Why don't you, then?" She counters, and Paige wastes no time in pushing up with both her hips and hands to roll Azzi back over, reclaiming her position above her.

They're both slightly out of breath once they resettle, and Paige supports herself over Azzi, holding the eye contact and letting their breath mix together in the minuscule amount of space between them.

Paige is acutely aware of the heat settling low in her belly at the way Azzi looks at her. Azzi, equally bothered, is trying hard not to squirm as she watches her girlfriend wet her lips, the veins in her hands and arms more prominent than usual after her display of strength to flip them back over.

"You gonna behave and lemme have my way w'you, babygirl? Or y’still need to get some energy out?" She asks pointedly, and a surge of pride goes through her when she sees the way a flush creeps across Azzi's face, no argument making it's way past her lips for once.

Balance restored.

Her big brown eyes peer up at her with the neediest expression she thinks she might have ever seen, and it doesn't take much convincing after that to hurry along, her point proven.

"A'ight then. I gotchu, mama," She says, pressing a single kiss to her neck before standing, letting her hands come to her hips as she surveys across her bedroom.

"Where'd that fuckin' thing end up, anyway?" She asks, and Azzi giggles from the bed, eyes lingering on her bare stomach as she turns her body, looking around the room.

"Closet, right? Had to move it when KK came in to play playstation?" She asks, and Paige turns to her, smiling.

"My girl’s so smart." She praises, reaching out to pat her leg as she walks past the bed to the closet. Azzi rolls her eyes, a small smile on her face as she tracks her with her eyes, biting at her finger as she watches her saunter over to open the closet door, sweats clinging low on her hips, boxer line peeking out just barely.

Paige stoops down to dig through a specific shoe box amongst the many that live in the small space. She knows she shouldn't be as turned on by the sight as she is, but there's just something about the way she looks, her legs spread and her arms settled on her knees as she balances on the pads of her feet while rummaging through the closet, searching.

It takes long enough for Paige to finally find it that by the time she's turning from the closet, victorious and holding the toy high above her head, she’s almost surprised to find that Azzi’s still looking at her. She lets the toy fall to her side as she comes to kneel on the edge of the bed in front of the other girl.

"Hey," She says, nudging Azzi's nose with her own, as she sets the strap and harness down above her head on the bed, out of sight. Azzi smiles at her, and for a moment, nobody else in the world exists, brown eyes meeting blue, their breath combining in the small space between them.

"Hey, yourself," She returns, reaching above her head to grab for the toy. Paige chuckles, spreading her arms wide in a stretch as she stands back up. Azzi’s eyes trail over her figure, taking in the sight of her stance, the way her abs flexed with the movement.

"Was gonna ask if you changed your mind, you seemed like you were zonin' out over here," She jokes, and Azzi makes a face.

"Sounds to me like you're getting nervous," She taunts, bringing the contraption in front of her face to get a better look at it. Paige clicks her tongue, shaking her head.

"Whatever, bro," She dismisses, leaning in to press a kiss to Azzi's forehead, hand smoothing over her curls lovingly as she hovered there.

"You sure you still wanna?" She asks, softer now, and Azzi nods, her focus clearly elsewhere as she shifts the harness to one hand and reaches out to grab her by the hips to maneuver her closer.

"If I can remember how to get this to work," She jokes, and Paige smirks, going to grab it from her. “I got it.”Azzi pulls it away from her prying hands, scoffing at her lightly.

"You never even put it on in the first place, dummy. Take your pants off and c'mere, I can figure it out." Paige laughs at that, hands going to untie the drawstring that's tucked into her waistband.

"Yes ma'am," She replies, stepping out of her sweats and then bringing her boxers along with them not long after, dropping them to the floor in a way that's all too familiar for the younger girl- makes it a little bit harder to swallow, too.

Azzi beckons her forward, putting significant effort into focusing on what she’s doing and not getting distracted by the perfect shade of pink peeking out from her girlfriend’s mound- and reluctantly, Paige goes.

"Here, step into this," Azzi says, holding a portion of the harness open for her, her eyes lingering on her girlfriends' naked frame. Paige chuckles, putting a hand on Azzi's shoulder to stabilize herself as she does as she's told.

She didn't remember it feeling this awkward the last time. Then again, it had been a while since they'd used it last- they’d both been so busy that any time that they’d found as of late to love on each other was kept entirely to quick hands and eager mouths.

Azzi furrows her eyebrows as her fingers go to work, adjusting buckles and straightening straps. Paige watches her face intently, trying not to feel silly.

"Turn," The curly headed girl prompts, and Paige follows the instruction mindlessly, feeling slightly like a kid getting their winter coat put on by a parent before being allowed to go outside to play in the snow.

Azzi tugs a specific section and it finally tightens- a little too fast, pinching at Paige's skin as it comes flush with flesh. The blonde jumps, disregarding the adjustments happening as she shoves her fingers between the harness and her skin to create a protective barrier and sooth the sting.

"Ow, Azzi!" She protests, and Azzi's head snaps up to look at her, eyes full of sympathy. "I'm sorry, baby. It was an accident," She soothes, running her thumb over the area and leaning over to press a kiss to it.

With that, it's already forgotten, the harness finally settled snug to Paige’s hips. Paige nods, mostly to herself, pushing her fingers underneath the straps once more to adjust herself to be more comfortable- and then she’s coming around to the other side of the bed and grabbing Azzi by the tops of her thighs, pulling her to the edge of the bed with no warning, causing her to yelp in surprise.

“Whoa, what are y-“ Paige shushes her, sinking to her knees, and loops her fingers under Azzi’s sweats, pulling them over her hips in one swift movement. Azzi watches the rushed movement with eager eyes, swallowing thickly while picking up her hips to help her tug them down.

Paige stoops down, and Azzi’s heart flutters in her chest as she starts to litter kisses on the insides of her thighs. The blonde is slow and intentional with her movements, arms coming to rest on the outside of Azzi’s spread knees as she sucks a purple mark into the other girls’ skin, soothing it with a swipe of her tongue and a chaste kiss afterward.

She continues to drop kisses as she moves up her thigh til she reaches her center, playing close attention to the subtle changes in Azzi’s breathing as she goes, and then slows, pressing a kiss to her clit through the thin cotton. Azzi lets out a breathy little gasp at the contact, neck craning to get a better view.

Paige presses another kiss, more pressure behind it than the last one, and then slips a little lower, repeating the motion. When she does, she finds the most perfect surprise waiting for her- Azzi’s completely soaked through the pretty purple panties she’s wearing.

“Oh my god, Azzi Jazlyn,” She remarks, looking up at the other girl with an amused look painted across her face. Azzi blushes, really blushes, and hides her face in her arm, a pouty little noise of protest falling from her lips at being mocked.

“Is it that serious?” Paige asks, tone dripping with sarcastic concern, and Azzi reaches down with the hand that isn’t obscuring her face to shove at Paige’s arm. The blonde just grins, shaking her head as she leans back and hooks her fingers under the waistband of the dampened fabric.

“Just teasin’, mama,” She soothes, voice husky as Azzi picks up her hips again.

“Y’know I fuckin’ love that shit,” She mumbles- mostly to herself- and she tugs the article over the swell of the other girls’ ass, eyes widening when they bring a string of glistening slick with them as they come away from the younger girls’ cunt.

She can’t help the groan that falls past her lips as she tugs them the rest of the way down, watching in disbelief as the strand stretches and the breaks, dropping to stick to the younger girls’ upper thigh.

Azzi hisses at the cold sensation, her face burning with embarrassment, and Paige quickly discards the pair of underwear behind her before her hands find the other girls’ legs again and she leans in, licking the slick off the supple skin of her upper thigh like she’s been in the desert and its the first drop of water she’s seen in days.

Azzi’s eyes drift back in a mix of disbelief and pleasure, biting at her lip in an attempt to keep her composure as Paige kisses the same place messily, leaving it wet.

She continues her trail of kisses up her thighs, one hand absentmindedly wandering over to the junction of Azzi’s hip, stopping there with her fingers held out as if signaling for Azzi to meet it with her own. She interlocks her fingers with her girlfriends’, and Paige looks up at her, a slight smile on her face before craning her neck back down, eyes still locked with Azzi’s as she licks into her cunt.

Azzi lets her eyes fall shut at the first contact, letting herself focus on the warmth of Paige’s tongue and the slick of her spit mixing with her own arousal over her clit. When she opens them again, she sees blue eyes still on her from between her legs, holding her gaze, careful to watch for any indication to stop- even though they both know it won’t come.

Paige is slow, letting her tongue run over her girlfriends’ pussy deliberately, reveling in how wet she finds her, how good she tastes. She sucks her clit into her mouth gently, and Azzi winces above her, curls pressed into the pillow as she kicks her head back and arches into the contact.

She lets her tongue come to assist the suction, running it over the base of her clit while she suckles at the head of it gently, and then lets it go, coming off with a pop!, pink lips glistening as they come away wet.

She brings her head back slightly and blows gently, the cold air sending goosebumps forming under Azzi’s skin, and watches her reaction carefully as she licks over it again. Azzi feels the other girls’ eyes on her and bites at her bottom lip, bringing her free hand up to palm at her breast as she holds the eye contact, teasing from where she's laid out.

Paige blinks slowly as she watches, eyebrows raising slightly- just enough to be noticeable, and she’s thankful her mouth is occupied so she doesn’t say something stupid in her awed state.

How lucky could one person get?

Azzi’s painted fingers move deftly to roll her pebbled nipple between her pointer and thumb, squeezing the mound of flesh to her chest and then repeating the motion, never breaking the eye contact. Paige watches eagerly and lets her tongue to continue to work her, slow and sensual and utterly pussy drunk, and Azzi is buzzing knowing how well she’s captured the girl between her legs.

Paige lets her tongue slip lower, the younger girls’ taste getting stronger and sweeter as she teases at her entrance- and Azzi gasps at the sensation, her right hand abandoning its efforts over her chest to come down her bare torso and grab at Paige’s hair, tangling into blonde strands still held back loosely by a hairtie.

"Fuck, Paige," She curses, her hips canting up and just slightly off the bed, smearing her slick across Paige's chin and nose. She pauses, giving an apologetic look when she realizes she's made a mess of the bottom half of her girlfriends' face, but Paige only chuckles.

She lets go of the younger girls' hand where their fingers are intertwined over her hipbone to bring both arms around her legs and over her hips to hold her still, fixing her in place before refocusing her efforts. Azzi whimpers at the feeling of being held so firmly while Paige knelt between her legs and went to work like a woman starved- so safe and desired and spoiled all at once.

She watches the slight flex of the blonde’s biceps as she holds pulls her impossibly closer, sloppy with her ministrations over the other girls’ clit, her jaw working as she alternates the shapes being drawn over the swollen nub to tease the most perfect little moans from her lips. The younger girl lets her newly free hands come up, crossing over her face in an attempt to hide how desperate she feels.

Paige smirks as she delves lower again, pushing into her cunt with her tongue and watching her facial expressions from between her legs, growing wetter by the second seeing how worked up she could make the other girl. Azzi's mouth hangs open in a silent gasp in response to the intrusion, eyebrows drawn up and together.

Paige opens her mouth wider, giving herself the leverage to fuck her tongue into her deeper- and Azzi picks a leg up to put it over the blonde's shoulder, improving the angle. The movement only makes Paige double down on her efforts, drawing back slightly to pull her right arm from its place over her hip in favor of bringing it low between them to meet the glistening slick of her pussy.

She keeps her tongue sliding in and out of her entrance, bringing her left thumb down over her pelvis to run over her clit. She’s aided by the wetness that's making a mess of her cunt- slowly spreading to her thighs now, too. Azzi whimpers, and the Paige borderline growls at the sound, drinking in the control she has over the other girl and the sounds she’s pulling from her lips.

She runs her tongue flat against her, running from entrance to clit, lapping up the juices she’d pulled since pressing the muscle into her needy cunt. She sucks her clit into her mouth again, letting the fingers of her free hand trail lower, tantalizingly slow in their movements as they ran deliberately teasingly along her folds, feeling the slickness of her juices over soft skin.

She lets her middle finger slip deeper, probing against her entrance, and Azzi’s breath catches at the feeling, hips bucking up in a desperate attempt to fill the ache inside of her.

"Ohmygod- please," She babbles, and Paige lets off her clit so she can sooth her. "Shh- I know, I know. You're okay mama, I gotchu.” She drops an open-mouthed kiss to the swollen bud.

“Jus’ needa stretch you out and make sure you're ready for it baby. S'been a while, hm?” She coos, lips brushing against her cunt as she says it, and Azzi whines, angling her hips so she feels her deeper. Paige hums at the observation, taking in the sight of the younger girls’ pussy as she has her way with her- glistening with wetness and the perfect shade of swollen pink.

"So needy for me, huh, baby?" Azzi nods deliriously, desperate for more- and Paige laughs sympathetically at her. "A’ight, sweetheart," She whispers, slipping two long, slender fingers in and curling them as she slides knuckle deep in one flush movement.

She presses deep entirely too easily, fingers brushing against her sweet spot far before the other girl had anticipated they would work themselves that deep- and its all she can do to whine at the sensation, throaty and guttural.

“Feels good?” The blonde husks, as if she doesn’t already know the answer. Azzi groans, humming a sweet little 'mhm' in response and hoping it’s enough, because it’s all she can muster. Paige eases in and out of her slow, reveling in how wet her fingers come away each time she draws them out of her pussy.

“Fuuuck, baby,” She husks, in awe of how perfect this girl is- how wet she’s gotten, how good she’s taking her fingers, how pretty her pussy is. Azzi whimpers, her hips chasing her fingers every time she draws them out, little ah, ah, ahs falling past her lips every time her fingers brush against that spongy spot deep inside of her.

Paige groans as she fucks into her gummy walls, chasing the high brought on by the younger girl’s delicious little noises. She's successful, Azzi keening when she strokes particularly deep- arching her back off the mattress, her abs flexing with the effort. The blonde watches eagerly, eyes hooded and lips wet as she observes every filthy detail of the unholy ministrations she’s working against Azzi’s cunt.

"'S it that good, baby? You like it when I stretch you out and get you ready for my dick, sweet girl?" Paige coos, and Azzi's too far gone to even manage a response, nodding deliriously with thick eyelashes fluttering against her flushed cheeks as she just stares with a fucked out expression, breathy little noises spilling out of her with each curl of her girlfriends' long fingers against her inner walls.

Unable to resist the urge, she lets her tongue lash over her clit again, moving in fast flicks of motion that she has to put conscious effort into limiting the pressure of in order to prevent overstimulating the swollen nub that’s already flared an angry pink.

"P-please, P, need it," Azzi whines, and Paige looks up at her, undeniably pussy drunk. "Yeah? Tell me what you want, baby," She says, tone sultry and words slurring with lust in a way that was just for Azzi.

"More," Azzi whines, and Paige tuts at her.

"Nah- you know better. Ask me right," The older girl corrects before bringing her mouth back to her core. Azzi whimpers pathetically before taking a steadying breath, steeling herself.

“Please,” She chokes, desperate for more despite the fact that her eyes were already welling up with tears at the intensity of what the blonde was doing to her.

“Want it,” She breathes, voice breaking, and Paige lets her eyes fall shut for a brief moment so she can soak in the sound of her pleas. Her wrist works overtime to keep her fingers in motion inside of her, and her tongue swirls around her clit, soaking in the metallic taste of the puffy little button as she continues to tease at it.

“Need it- fuck, please? Want you to fill me up,” She begs, and Paige takes a deep breath from between her legs, nostrils flaring slightly as she attempts to ground herself while she kisses into the younger girls’ cunt sloppily, lips and chin covered in her arousal. It’s almost too good to bring her mouth away from.

“Okay, sweet girl,” She mutters before letting her tongue drag along her slit, the slickness making the motion easy.

“Gonna fuck you so good,” She promises, pressing a kiss to her clit before standing. She places one knee on the mattress, bringing her hand up to rub at the other girls' thigh affectionately.

"Scooch up, mama. Gimme some room to work here," She murmurs gently, and Azzi complies, her eyes never leaving the blonde's face, bringing her hands to the mattress and pushing herself back.

The blonde follows immediately, crawling toward her and dropping a kiss to the scar over her knee as she approaches before sitting up straight. She adjusts the width of her knees where they’re pressed into the bed as she settles into the best position she can manage, reaching down to grasp the base of the toy where it juts out into the small amount of space between them.

Azzi’s eyes watch carefully as she reaches out, running her pointer and middle fingers through her folds to gather wetness before spreading it over the toy. She watches Paige’s fingers as they run along the length of the toy, coating it in her slick, and swallows, suddenly starting to realize that the toy looked a little bit bigger than she had remembered it being.

To distract herself, she forces her eyes higher, takes in the sight of the girl between her legs- abs tight, pert breasts and puffy pink nipples on display, loose blonde hair framing her face and a concentrated look painted across her features that was absolutely entrancing.

Paige takes hold of the toy and shuffles closer until she can run the tip through her folds, and Azzi’s breath catches at the contact. The older girl wets her parted lips as she stares, revelling in the way the younger girls’ slick spreads along the silicon, allowing the shaft move easily up and down her slit from entrance to clit.

Azzi's breath is shaky beneath her, pretty brown eyes blown as she watches every movement eagerly. She lets the toy nudge against her entrance, admiring how her pussy clenches a kiss around the head at the intrusion, and Azzi whines up at her, expression pleading silently for her to progress- so she rocks forward, slow, eyes on the younger girls’ face to gauge off of.

A little gasp falls from Azzi’s mouth as her eyes fall shut, head pushing back against the pillows as she draws her bottom lip between her teeth. Paige’s tongue peeks out of her mouth, pressing against her bottom lip with the effort as she presses in further, torturously slow as she eases her hips flush with Azzi’s.

Azzi moans as she bottoms out, her fingers grabbing ahold of Paige’s arm where it’s braced against her leg to improve the angle.

She lets her hand linger there in a loose grip, holding on to her for the sake of touching her alone, watching the other girl admire her, feeling her muscles move beneath her skin with every motion. Paige’s hips rock back, eyes watching the toy slide out of her entrance before she eases forward again, starting to find a rhythm.

“Oh, fuck, that’s good,” Azzi slurs, drawing a smirk out of Paige.

“Yeah? You like that, mama?” She asks, voice low and raspy as she pumps in and out of her, eyes roaming over the other girls’ body hungrily. The younger girl nods, eyebrows drawn together and face tight as she concentrates on adjusting to the stretch, painted fingernails digging into Paige’s arm just barely as a whimper escapes past her lips.

Paige gambles a look down as her pace gradually picks up, and watches as the strap slides in and out of the girl above her in time with her strokes. She swallows hard, sucking in a steadying breath as she watches her pussy stretch around the toy, excess wetness accumulating in a thick ring around the base of the toy.

Eager to see more, she snakes her dominant hand between them, using her pointer finger and thumb to hold her lips apart so she can get a better look at the toy pumping in and out of her, pussy pulsing and stretching around the silicon cock. She presses her thumb to her clit, rubbing tight circles as she picks up her pace gradually.

“Fuck, mama- squeezin’ my dick so pretty w’that pussy. You like it when I stretch you out, baby?”

“Ohmygod, yes,” Azzi rushes out, barely coherent, and Paige watches as she takes it, moving with her to set the pace, hips chanting and abs tight.

“Yeah? Feels good, don't it princess? Y’feelin me deep?” Azzi hums out a pathetic little mhm, whimpering, and she can't help herself- she reaches out, running her hand up her stomach, squeezing at her tits when she gets to her chest, palming them and feeling the weight of them in her hand.

She groans, letting her head kick back. She could feel their combined wetness smearing all over her pelvis and the front of her thighs now, and the realization hits like a drug. Azzi’s hand comes to meet hers over her chest, not to stop anything she’s doing, just for the sake of being able to hold onto her- and Paige shifts, bringing one knee up to better her angle, pausing as she pivots, and then presses forward again.

Azzi groans at the new angle, her hips canting up to chase the motion and pushing Paige deeper, in turn drawing a whine from the blonde’s throat when the base of the toy pushes against her clit.

“Oh, fuck,” Azzi whimpers, spurred on by the knowledge of what fucking her like this is doing to the blonde. Obscene sounds fill the room- Azzi’s cunt squelching around the silicon cock, breathy moans falling from both of the pairs’ lips, the sound of their combined slick over the already prominent sound of skin meeting skin with each thrust from Paige.

It’s filthy, the way they’re rutting into each other, but god, did both of them need this.

Azzi arches her back, taking their joined hands and pushing them lower, and at first Paige isn’t sure what she’s doing, thinks maybe she’s ushering her to stimulate her clit again, but then she stops short, right above her pelvis. Her confusion quickly gives way to recognition, and she almost chokes when she feels it- she’s fucking up into the younger girl so deep that she can feel it perfectly just by having her hand braced over her stomach.

“Oh, baby- fuck,” Her hips stutter, overwhelmed between feeling how deep she’s fucking into Azzi and the sensation of the base of the strap rubbing against her clit. Azzi shifts, hooking her legs around her waist, and Paige leans further forward, bracing herself with her elbows against the mattress, body pressed to Azzi’s as she continues the snap of her hips.

Azzi’s moans are even clearer now- right there to lean over and swallow up with a kiss, so she does, connecting their lips as she rolls her hips fervently. It’s wet and messy and desperate, both of them moaning into it, and for a moment, the sheer desperation shared between the two of them is enough to carry it, both rutting into each other like it was their last moment on earth.

Azzi’s head kicks back when Paige draws in particularly hard, the blonde’s bottom lip dragging against the side of her face when she breaks away from the kiss to shift so suddenly. Her legs wrap around her tighter, arms slung around her back with one hand tangled into the bun barely still in place on her head and the other digging half-moons into her shoulder as she fucks her open.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod,” She babbles, and Paige curses under her breath, shifting her weight from one arm to the other to sustain the rocking of her hips.

She’s absolutely stoned on the sounds she’s drawing out of her lips- so committed to making her make more of them that the tiredness settling into her body is barely even noticeable. Azzi’s breaths get shallow and run together, little noises escaping her lips with every thrust, her hips and hands unable to stay still as she grasps for Paige like she’s not as close as physically possible already.

“Paige, I’m- oh fuck,” Her voice breaks, and the sheer amount of desperation in her tone is enough for Paige to be sure of what’s happening.

“Gonna cum for me, baby?” She asks, and Azzi just nods, incapable of mustering any response beyond that in a coherent manner. Paige nods, pressing a kiss to the side of Azzi’s face, and braces herself to shift her weight on one arm, letting the other reach between them and find her clit.

The angle’s awkward and she knows she wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long- but she also knows Azzi doesn’t need much more, just wants her to feel good as she goes over the edge.

“Show me, princess. Wanna see you cum on this dick, pretty girl,” She whispers, and Azzi whimpers, nails digging into her back as she arches her back, impossibly close. Paige’s heart is nearly beating through her chest, and she’s trying embarrassingly hard not to let on how she’s pretty sure she could cum, too, trying to focus on getting Azzi there.

“C’mon, mama. Doin’ so good, so pretty for me. Let me have it, sweet girl,” She coos. Azzi nods desperately, shaky breaths heaving from her lungs as she chases the edge.

"Don't stop, don't stop," She pleads, and Paige hums, acknowledging the request as she presses a kiss to her face again, back tense as her hips roll into her at a pace she has no earthly idea how she had possibly kept up this long aside from pure obsession and a desperation to make her girl feel good.

"Never, baby. I gotchu, you're okay. Let go for me," She urges, and Azzi purses her lips, eyes fluttering shut and dimples popping as she tips over the edge of her climax.

Her head pushes back against the pillow and her eyes eyes screw shut, legs tightening even further around Paige's waist. A guttural moan escapes from her throat and for once, she doesn't even care how loud she is.

Her breaths draw deeper as she shudders through the remainder of her orgasm, little spasms of pleasure washing over her body, and Paige nuzzles close, dropping soft kisses to her shoulders as she slows her efforts. Beneath her, Azzi finally relaxes, body slumping against the mattress and her head lolling to the side to rest against Paige's forearm where it's pressed into the mattress supporting her weight.

Her hand comes down and entangles with Paige’s where it’s working her clit slowly, wincing as she pulls it away. “Too much,” She whimpers, and Paige chuckles airily, nodding.

“Okay, babygirl,” She replies, keeping the younger girls’ fingers intertwined with her own as she rests her hand on her waist.

“You good if I pull out?” She asks, and Azzi nods slowly, a hint of hesitation in her eyes. “But… slow, okay?” She asks, voice small, and Paige swears she almost melts at the expression on her face.

“‘Course, baby. I’ll be gentle, I promise,” She assures, pressing a kiss to the shorter girls’ forehead before starting to ease the toy out.

“You okay?” She asks, giving the other girl a distraction as she works herself out from inside of her. Azzi nods, her fingers fidgeting lightly with Paige’s where their hands were intertwined.

“Yeah, I’m good,” She nods, her chest still heaving big breaths. She winces when Paige eases the toy the rest of the way out, but Paige is quick to soothe, pressing kisses to her shoulders as she leans further down.

"Good job, baby. Did so good f'me," She praises, and Azzi soaks it in. Paige sits up again, pulling at the buckles of the strap to try and get it to loosen enough to slide out of, and Azzi can’t help but giggle.

“Come here, dummy,” She teases, leaning forward to reach her. Paige obliges her request, picking up her hands so she has space to work, watching as she manages to release all the cinched down straps in the amount of time it had taken her to figure out which direction was tightening or loosening the device.

“I dunno how you do that, but you amaze me, f’real,” Paige mutters, a dopey grin on her face as she looks at the other girl, and Azzi rolls her eyes, a grin creeping across her face.

“You’re so dumb,” She dismisses, lovesick expression on her face despite her words as she pulled the excess of the straps taut, making it easier for Paige to slip out of them. She does, and once she pulls it off, she immediately discards the contraption onto the floor to deal with later.

Azzi chuckles at the thud it made against the ground, pulling Paige close, reveling in the feeling of the warmth of her skin against her own. She let her hands start to roam, fingers exploring expanses of soft skin that only she got to touch like this.

“You’re so perfect,” She whispers to the blonde, and Paige chuckles, a light flush spreading across her chest. Her hand settles on her waist, holding her close, while she lays on her back, one hand slung behind her head.

“You think so?” She asks, and Azzi nods, bringing her lips to drop kisses along her shoulders.

“Definitely,” She confirms, lips brushing against her collarbones. “Good strap game, too. I don’t think you have anything to worry about, after all,” She says, and Paige can’t help but laugh.

“Thank you, baby. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” The blonde replies, running her hand up Azzi’s bare waist affectionately.

“Mmm, I definitely did,” The younger girl whispers, her lips trailing up her neck, teasing a path to that one spot behind her ear that always seemed to drive her crazy.

“Now I think it’s my turn to make sure you enjoy yourself, hm?”

For once, Paige has no argument.

a/n: Thank you guys for reading and thank you again for your patience while I finished this, seriously! Comments and reposts are appreciated, remember to let me know if you'd like to be included in taglists in the future!

Disclaimer: Sorry for the robbery at the end, I really intended to include that scene but I was already at 9k words so I decided to just wrap it up. If y'all want a second part or smth, lmk!

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Can I make a very NSFW request? Severus x reader fem. Ever since Severus and Y/N had sex for the first time, Severus feels a lot of sexual desire, and he likes to have his girlfriend moaning for him all the free time they have.

"Are you tired, love? So soon? Don't worry, you stay in bed and enjoy while I work between your pretty legs"—Severus

Addicted to My Girl ~Severus Snape xFem Reader

Summary— Established Relationship, ever since Severus first heard Reader properly moan, he can’t get enough of her. He now lives to draw those sinful sounds from her. Smut ensues. Anon Response— Hi hi hi anon!! Thanks for the request! Yes, I absolutely would love to write this for you. Thank you for your detailed explanation. I sincerely hope you Enjoy this! ♥️

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Prompt— "Are you tired, love? So soon? Don't worry, you stay in bed and enjoy while I work between your pretty legs"

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!!, smut, fingering, sex, p in v, implied clit stimulation, overstimulation, light praise, pet names, voice/moan kink, honeymoon phase, established relationship, implied future smut, etc.

Enjoy (;

From the second that Severus had heard an unbridled moan erupt from your throat and vibrate through your entire body for the first time, the man was hooked. Owned. Addicted. Powerless. At your mercy.

You were spread out on top of his desk. Your legs wide and Severus planted in the middle of them. Clothes were discarded all across the room. It was heated and passionate. You had both finally snapped, not even making it to the bedroom.

Marks were littered across the neck and chest, but Severus’ tongue was not working away at something else. You gasped and your hand jumped into his head of hair, as the man’s tongue went feral on your cunt.

“OhhHhHh Sevvvvv—!!”

Before you could stop it, your sinfully loud moan tore through all the fibers of your being. Severus stopped at that, looking up at you dumbfounded.

Severus now spent all of his waking hours, that weren’t taken up by his classes, coaxing more heavenly sounds from your lips.

His sex drive, while he had always had one, had fucking skyrocketed since that first night, when you and Severus had first had sex. He couldn’t get you off his mind. Hell, he spent most of his time alone just getting himself off to the thought of you.

Severus stole you away every second he could get you. When you both had free blocks, the man was guaranteed to be teasing you or already in between your legs in some capacity.

Severus was extra lucky today, because it was Friday night, and neither of you had anything planned after your last class in the afternoon. So Severus thought you’d both skip the great hall dinner, after all, the man had the perfect dinner in front of him already…

It wasn’t even dark out yet, and Severus already had you in his lap as he sat in his office desk chair. The man’s fingers had simply slipped under your garments and past your knickers, sliding in and out of your cunt with ease. Your eyes rolled back as you held onto your man for dear life as he bounced you up and down on his fingers.

“S-sev… I’m going to… OhhHhH Sevvv…!” You moaned lewdly, nuzzling your face into the crook of Severus’ neck as you moaned out.

Severus eyes darkened further at your beautiful, addictive sounds.

“That’s it, my love… Cum on my fingers… Again…” Severus told you in his destructively low and sultry, sexy tone.

You held nothing back, crashing over the edge for the second time in the last 40 minutes, having already cum once in Severus’ lap from mere clit stimulation. You let out another sinful moan as you reached ecstasy, biting into your man’s neck to manage the overwhelming pleasure.

Severus fingered you through your high with ease, knowing just the right way to bring you down from your climax, while keeping you buzzing for more.

The man then gently removed his fingers from your dripping cunt, licking his digits clean, before he picked you up bridal style and carried you to your shared bedroom. He laid you on the bed, where you instinctively began to curl up with a yawn. But Severus chuckled, crawling up on top of you, beginning to remove his and your clothing. You giggled and let him help you with objection on your end.

“Are you tired, love? So soon? Don't worry, you stay in bed and enjoy while I work between your pretty legs” he cooed lustfully, coming up to your face and giving you a cheeky kiss on the lips, as he spread out your naked form across the bed.

You gasped as you felt Severus’ dick grinding against your dripping core. You immediately grabbed any and all of his exposed skin, pulling his body against yours and moaning once more.

“Tsk tsk tsk, not so fast, my love… Want a proper taste of you first…” Severus hummed, getting off of you to your dismay, and lowering himself down the bed so that his mouth was level with the cunt.

Your hand found purchase again in his hair as the man’s mouth began to devour your precious pussy. His tongue glided in and out of your core with ease, lapping up all your juices and using his own spit as even more lubricant. You threw your head back and let out a groan, as his tongue worked your centre.

“F-fuck Sevvviiiii—” you choked out, pulling tightly on his hair, as Severus buried his face in your cunt and pressed his nose against your clit while his mouth continued to work its wonders on your cunt.

Severus groaned in delight at your sounds, struggling with the urge to take you right there. But he took a deep breath and simply fucked you harder, knowing the wait would be well worth it. His tone continued to swirl its way through your folds, alternating between stimulating your clit and your entrance. And as soon as you tugged at his locks hard enough a gave him a desperate mewl of need, his tongue sunk into your core.

“Christ Severus Yesssssss…!!” You moaned, your back arching and toes curling into his touch.

The man worked you up with precise skill, having paid intense attention to exactly what made your eyes roll back. The pad of his thumb began to roll your clit, making your knees wobble and pulling another string of whimper and groans from your lips. By the time you reached your third edge, you were a begging mess.

“Please please Sevvv Oh God please—!”

Severus happily hummed into your cunt, “Cum for me, my Darling…”

Your third orgasm rocked over you like a fucking tsunami, feeling like every single one of your nerves were on fire as a hot, white pleasure took over your entire body. You sparked underneath your man’s hold, but he never relented, continuing to tongue fuck you through your high.

By the end of your climax, your vision was a little blurry and you were shaking.

“Still want more…?” Severus’ voice gently asked, as he came up from in between your thighs.

“Mhmmmmm yessss, give it to me Sev…” you mumbled, with a drunken nod.

With a smirk, Severus lined himself up with your dripping heat. You held onto the man in a vice grip as he sunk down into you. And the man nearly came right there from the sinful moan that spilled from your lips… Bloody Hell, he would be chasing those pretty noises of yours for the rest to his life.

~~~

Severus Snape Masterlist

[pascaloverx]

STARVE

Summary: You lost your husband some time ago while he served as a gladiator for Emperors Geta and Caracalla. General Acacius saved you from becoming an object of pleasure for the emperors. Since then, he has taken you as his mistress. In your free time, you became a disciple of Ravi, the healer, dedicating yourself to tending to wounded gladiators. All seemed to be in perfect harmony until Hanno, a gladiator driven by a thirst for vengeance, crossed your path.

Author's Note: And the gods said: Starve will be a multi-chapter fanfiction (I hope readers will follow it all the way through). Without further ado, the characters belong to Ridley Scott's Gladiator II universe, though there will be significant deviations from the film. Historical accuracy regarding life in the Roman Empire may not always be strictly observed, so I hope you can overlook that. Yes, this story revolves around a love triangle, but I will strive to satisfy everyone. This fanfiction will include adult content, violence, and potentially coarse language. Enjoy!

one three

TWO

Days, perhaps more, have passed. You and Hanno have been meeting in secret, seizing moments when there was no sign of General Acacius. All that you were permitted to know was that he was recovering in the company of his beloved wife, Lucilla, who made it clear she wanted no trace of your presence near her husband. The absence of Acacius weighed upon you more than you cared to admit. To be denied access to him felt akin to holding your breath for far too long. Yet, your clandestine encounters with Hanno had proven to be a welcome distraction, enough to keep your mind from lingering too deeply on what you could not change.

"Your gladiator is requesting your care, Y/N. And while we are on the subject, your encounters under the pretext of physical care will soon spark rumors," Ravi remarks as he steps into the chamber where he keeps his healing tools. "General Acacius will be the first to rage if he learns of your escapades. Should Emperors Geta and Caracalla grow suspicious, they may presume you are seeking a new lover. Not to mention the possibility of Macrinus taking offense at your growing closeness with his gladiator." You remain crouched, organizing a collection of herbs, a faint smile tugging at your lips. Hanno needs you—or rather, he has summoned you for yet another session of personal defense training.

"Ravi, believe me, I am well aware of the risks I take in daring to draw close to Hanno. Yet, I choose to take them—something no one of sound mind would do. General Acacius will not always be there to save me in the future. Lucilla has made her stance on my involvement with him abundantly clear. You do not see him here, concerned for me, do you? Precisely for that reason, I must think of the future." You speak as you search for the garment General Acacius once left at your disposal, should you ever need to fight.

"Since you are so determined to take such risks, be cautious. The guards will bring Hanno to be treated, and you will have only that time to practice—whatever it is you two practice," Ravi warns, much as he does each time you and Hanno meet, repeating the same cautions.

"I shall change my attire. If you would, dear friend, make Hanno comfortable until I return," you say, rising and moving toward the exit of the space where you and Ravi have tended to countless gladiators. "If all goes well today, I shall be one step closer to becoming more than a healer or a lover. I shall be the closest thing to a warrior I can aspire to be." Ravi nods, though a hint of worry lingers in his expression. He is the closest thing to an ally you have.

Time rushes by when one is on the brink of doing something forbidden, but you no longer concern yourself with the consequences. You are resolute to take control of your destiny, even if that control is but a sliver. Once dressed, you secure the dagger Acacius once gifted you in a hidden compartment of your attire. It is your small but vital secret, and you are steadily improving in its use.

With purpose in your stride, you make your way swiftly to where Hanno is awaiting you. When you arrive, his eyes brighten at the sight of you. "I see your delay is justified; you look prepared for battle. Let us see if you can land a blow," Hanno says, advancing toward you with a predatory gait meant to intimidate.

You meet his gaze with an unflinching smile. "Save your words for when we’re truly facing off, gladiator," you reply, following him to the familiar training grounds. It is the very arena where countless gladiators sharpen their skills, preparing for the moment they will stand before the emperors in the grand coliseum.

As soon as you step into the center of the training grounds, Hanno strikes without warning. His sword arcs toward you, narrowly missing as you instinctively step back. At the start of this combat practice, both of you wield swords, though your grasp on its use remains novice.

"Have you lost your sanity, Hanno? I wasn’t ready," you exclaim, fixing him with a glare of irritation. He advances on you again, silent and relentless, as if transformed into a stranger intent on attack. His gaze is unwavering, his resolve sharp.

"When you’re defending yourself, no one will wait for you to be ready, nor will they show you mercy. I want you to see me as you would see any foe who dares strike at you," Hanno declares, his sword slashing toward you again. You react, relying on your defensive maneuvers, retreating step by step until a strategy for counterattack begins to form in your mind.

"I’m not so sure; you seem to be enjoying this far too much," you retort, timing your movements before landing your first offensive strike. It catches him off guard, a flicker of surprise flashing across his face. The gap between you narrows, charged with the thrill of the fight and something deeper, more electrifying.

"I am enjoying it just as much as you enjoy patching me up with that brute strength of yours, healer. Now, focus," Hanno says, parrying your blow with unnerving precision. It’s like a dance—each movement perfectly countering the other. You attack; he defends. He strikes; you block. The rhythm between you is almost hypnotic, an eerie harmony born of tension and skill. But then, in a risky maneuver, Hanno manages to disarm you. Your sword flies from your grasp, landing far out of reach. Now standing mere steps apart, your eyes meet, both of you breathing heavily. It feels like the end for you, so why not take a chance?

With a surge of reckless determination, you rush toward him, channeling all your strength into an attempt to topple him. In your mind, it isn’t Hanno you’re facing—it’s an enemy, someone who would do you harm. Your unexpected move catches him off guard, and he falls to the ground. By sheer luck or fate, his sword slips from his grip as well. Now, you find yourself on top of him, both of you unarmed. The air between you is charged, your breaths mingling as silence envelops the space.

"It seems I have bested the great gladiator of Macrinus," you say, pressing your body lightly against his, a triumphant smile on your lips. Hanno smirks, his hands firmly gripping your waist as he swiftly reverses your positions, pinning you beneath him with effortless strength.

"Do not be deceived, healer," he murmurs, his piercing gaze locking with yours. But you are not so easily subdued. With a practiced movement, you draw the hidden dagger from your vestments and press it against his neck, the blade gleaming in the dim light. "Your presumption is touching, gladiator," you retort, your tone both teasing and sharp.

"What will you do next, healer?" Hanno asks, his breath warm against your face. The tension between you ignites instantly, palpable and undeniable. Before you can respond, he pulls your face closer to his, his lips capturing yours with a fervent intensity, as though he means to consume you entirely. At first, you almost resist Hanno’s kiss—it feels forbidden, a boundary you should not cross. Since your husband’s passing, Acacius was the only man you had kissed. Yet, as Hanno’s tongue ventures into your mouth, you find yourself surrendering, the kiss quickly becoming mutual.

In truth, Hanno is devouring you, but you refuse to let him take the upper hand so easily. You tug at his hair with force, pulling him closer, demanding his full attention. The kiss deepens, its intensity increasing to the point of no return. You want him to feel your hunger, to know that you wish to consume him just as much. For all its forbidden allure, you crave this moment—not because of duty or obligation, but because you want it. You want to know what it feels like to kiss someone you shouldn't, to rebel against every expectation tethering you. Your husband was not forced upon you, but your marriage had been a safeguard. Becoming Acacius’ lover served a similar purpose. But with Hanno, nothing feels safe. And perhaps that is why you let this moment unfold. There is no security here, no veil of protection. If you and Hanno are caught, Acacius could kill him, both the Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla could execute you, and the repercussions would be endless. Yet, none of that matters as your lips clash with his in this reckless, intoxicating dance of defiance.

The kiss is all-consuming, so intense that, for a moment, it steals your breath. You pause, pulling away to recover the air you desperately need. Yet Hanno seems unsatisfied, his eyes locked on you with an intensity that threatens to unravel your resolve.

His hand cups your face, fingers tracing over every detail as if committing you to memory. When his thumb brushes over your lips, he murmurs softly, "Your lips remind me of hers, my beautiful Arishat." Reality strikes like a sharp blade. He is with you, yet his mind lingers on his late wife. The weight of that truth is unbearable. As he leans forward, seeking your lips once more, you push him away, creating the distance you now desperately need.

"I will not be her replacement," you think, your resolve firm. "Nor Lucilla’s substitute." Avoiding his gaze, your shame and frustration burn within you. Rising quickly, you make your way toward your quarters. You and Ravi must always be prepared to tend to the wounded, so your rooms are close to where the gladiators train and where Ravi keeps his healing tools.

"Healer," Hanno calls out behind you, his voice firm yet laced with something softer. He follows after you, refusing to let the moment end so abruptly.

"Gladiator," you say, turning to face Hanno. Your body nearly collides with his, but you take a step back, halting the chase that had ensued. "Our training is done. I think it would be wise for us to part ways now, so as not to confuse..." You pause, searching for the right word to define what you might be confusing, only for Hanno to step abruptly closer, almost closing the space entirely.

"I am not confused about anything, healer," he says, his tone firm yet sincere. "I was lost momentarily in a memory, but I assure you, I knew exactly who I was kissing." He takes another step forward, his presence overwhelming.

"The act itself is already a problem, gladiator," you reply, struggling to maintain composure under his intense gaze. "We should not have kissed." Before he can respond, both of you hear footsteps approaching. In an instant, Hanno’s hand moves to your waist, pulling you behind him as though to shield you from whatever danger may come. Ravi appears, nearly running toward you, his face etched with worry.

"General Acacius has been seen heading this way," Ravi announces, his voice hurried and panicked. "The guards are murmuring that he’s coming to see you, Y/N. I suggest we get Hanno out of here immediately, and you prepare yourself to receive him."

The mention of Acacius sends a cold dread through you. Him encountering Hanno now would spell disaster. "Tell the guards who brought Hanno to retrieve him from here," you instruct, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside. "Hanno and I will change out of these combat garments, and I’ll distract Acacius while the guards take Hanno back to his cell. Ravi, I’ll need your speed."

Without hesitation, Ravi nods and rushes off to summon the guards. You, in turn, push Hanno toward a secluded area where he can change out of his training gear. "Change in there and wait for me," you instruct firmly. Noticing the swords in his hands, you swiftly take them from him despite his protests. With no time to spare, you carry the weapons back to your quarters while Hanno remains in the area where you and Ravi usually tend to injured gladiators. In the quiet urgency of your chambers, you hastily change your attire, your mind racing with the precariousness of the situation. Hanno waits silently, the gravity of the moment clear to both of you.

"Do you fear what might happen should General Acacius discover your association with the gladiator who recently sought his life?" Hanno asks as you enter the room where he waits patiently to be taken back to his cell.

"I do not fear for myself," you reply, adjusting your tunic with calm precision. "I fear that if you and he meet, there will be unnecessary bloodshed. As I’ve told you before, if you wish to kill him, do so in a duel—before the people of Rome. Sate the appetite of Emperors Geta and Caracalla as they watch you strike at each other in a frenzied battle for glory in the name of the gods."

Hanno listens intently, his expression thoughtful as he steps closer. Without a word, he helps you smooth the folds of your tunic, his touch deliberate yet gentle. "Will you tell him of our association, then?" he asks, finishing his adjustments and letting his hand linger briefly as it grazes your cheek.

"What is there to tell?" you counter, meeting his gaze with resolve. "Our association is no one’s concern." A smile spreads across Hanno’s face, slow and satisfied, as if your answer pleased him greatly.

Moments later, Ravi appears, his expression tense. "The guards are near," he informs, his tone clipped. His gaze shifts between you and Hanno, briefly noting the closeness between you, though he chooses to remain silent. With a small nod, Ravi turns to Hanno, gesturing for him to follow. Hanno casts you a lingering look before allowing Ravi to lead him toward the guards, leaving you behind with the weight of the encounter still pressing on your chest.

You wait patiently for General Acacius to arrive, though his delay stretches longer than anticipated. The thought suddenly strikes you—he might already be in your quarters, as he has been on previous occasions.

"Would you care to explain," his voice calls out, smooth and laced with quiet reproach, "what reasons led my beloved healer, whom I hold in such high regard, to abandon me to the care of Ravi instead of tending to me herself?" Turning toward the source, you find him stepping into view, pulling back the mantle that had concealed his face and form. His approach is measured, deliberate, and his gaze briefly flickers to the swords you had left behind without considering they might draw his notice.

"You should have sought explanations from your wife, General Acacius," you reply, your tone calm but firm, though the effort to keep it so is greater than it seems. "It was she who instructed me, in the presence of the guards no less, to withdraw from tending to your care." His footsteps pause near the swords, his attention drawn to their gleaming edges. The air between you grows heavier as his eyes shift back to yours, narrowing slightly as he regards you. You remain steadfast, though the distance you keep from him feels tenuous, as if he could close it with the simplest of steps.

"I was not informed of such a decision; I would never have allowed my care to pass from your hands to another's," General Acacius speaks softly, his tone a mixture of calm and yearning as he moves toward you with deliberate caution, yet there is a palpable hunger in his eyes.

"General, whether you authorized it or not is irrelevant," you reply, holding your ground though the weight of his presence begins to press upon you. "Lucilla no longer wishes for us to remain close. Surely, you remember that when all this began, you told me that if your wife were ever to object to our association, even if it was merely for appearances, it would end."

Your words are firm, yet the truth they carry sinks heavily into your own heart. You know now, with certainty, that the chapter of your life entwined with Acacius is nearing its inevitable conclusion.

"Those words were spoken before we became what we are today," Acacius responds, his voice steady yet filled with a quiet intensity. "Surely you know I have no intention of abandoning you." He steps closer, his gaze unwavering, his nearness suffocating in its allure.

"Do not worry for me. Your pity is no longer necessary, Acacius," you say, though the ache in your chest betrays the pain these words bring. Deep down, you have long feared that what he felt for you stemmed from nothing but pity.

"I have never pitied you," he murmurs, his voice low and filled with conviction. "Perhaps I felt empathy for your pain in the beginning, but after that—everything was real. Your presence makes me a better man." His hand reaches up to touch your face, tenderly tracing its contours as if to soften your resolve. He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, an intimate gesture meant to draw you back to him, to coax you into his embrace once more.

"You owe your loyalty to your wife, not to me," you say, your voice faltering slightly under the weight of his gaze and the warmth of his touch. "We must no longer allow ourselves to feel anything beyond what is proper, Acacius." Even as you speak, your resolve weakens beneath his touch, his words a balm and a temptation all at once. He seems heedless of your protest, intent only on closing the distance between you.

"Lucilla has my loyalty, but you... you have my protection. I will not leave you unguarded," Acacius says, his lips almost brushing against yours, his voice weighted with emotion.

"Then you should know that my loyalty is no longer yours exclusively," you reply, steadying yourself as you deliver the words. You feel the sharp recoil in Acacius as he steps back, his expression hardening, though disbelief flickers in his eyes.

"I am involved with another," you continue, forcing the lie to your lips with a strength you did not know you possessed. "It may mean that I will no longer require your protection in the future." Your words are a dagger you wield with precision, for you know that to continue as his lover would jeopardize his marriage—a risk you cannot allow, no matter the desires that linger within you.

"Who would dare attempt to claim you, knowing that you are mine?" General Acacius demands, his voice edged with irritation that betrays a rare crack in his calm demeanor. His gaze narrows, his presence no less imposing, but the fury brewing beneath his words sends a shiver through you. You realize the fire you have kindled within him may burn brighter than you anticipated.

"Someone who does not fear the wrath of General Acacius," you say, your voice steady despite the undeniable pull of his proximity. You desire him, undeniably so, but you know you must not have him.

"It is clear that our involvement must end—now. Before it concludes in disaster," you declare, watching as Acacius processes your words, his gaze shadowed with an intensity that seems both pained and unyielding.

"Then let it be clear to you," Acacius responds, his tone laced with an unwavering authority, though no threat lies in his words. "Whoever dares to encroach upon what is mine will meet the edge of my sword without delay. Our bond will not be severed while either of us draws breath, Y/N. Keep that in mind." His declaration is resolute, not spoken as a plea but as a statement of his immutable commitment to you. It leaves you breathless, the weight of his words pressing against the fortress of your resolve.

"You cannot protect me forever, Acacius. Just as I cannot heal you forever," you murmur, stepping closer, your desperation palpable as though silently begging him to release you—to let you go before you both reach a precipice from which there is no return.

"Mea domina," he whispers reverently, stepping closer and pulling down the fabric covering your shoulder with deliberate care. His lips press softly against the exposed skin, lingering as if to seal a silent vow. The tenderness in his touch conveys more devotion than desire, a gesture that leaves you caught between longing and regret.

"I would die if necessary, but I will not abandon those I hold in the highest esteem. You and Lucilla are my priorities, and I will relinquish neither of you. If you place so much faith in this new interest of yours, let him come to me bearing a sword, and he shall find his end," he declares, his voice unwavering and resolute, his words resonating like a solemn oath.

Acacius lifts his hand to gently cradle your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as his lips trace a path of soft kisses along your temple, down to the curve of your jaw, and finally your forehead. His lips linger as if memorizing each contour of your face, avoiding your mouth deliberately—a clear boundary, or perhaps his way of expressing silent reproach for the words you have spoken. The kisses feel like a claim, yet also a farewell—his way of both cherishing and punishing, of reminding you of his commitment while withholding the one intimacy he knows you yearn for. The intensity in his gaze as he pulls back speaks volumes, as though he is willing you to see the depths of his resolve. "At times, it feels as though battle is all you truly understand, Acacius," you say, holding his gaze with a penetrating look, as if unraveling the depths of his thoughts.

"I am a man of honor," he replies, his tone firm yet measured. "I will not seek out the man who dares to involve himself with you, but neither will I stand idle should he attempt to take what is rightfully mine." His presence remains close, commanding and resolute, as though he seeks to claim not just the space but the moment itself. With deliberate care, Acacius reaches out, his hand brushing your face in a touch that is at once gentle and laden with unspoken meaning. It lingers, as if he wishes to commit every contour of your features to memory.

Without another word, he steps back, retreating from your chambers with the disciplined stride of a general accustomed to carrying the weight of empires. His departure leaves the room heavy with unresolved tension, the air thick with the echoes of what cannot be spoken. Alone, you are left to ponder the tangled web of emotions and loyalties binding you to both Acacius and Hanno. The weight of your entanglement bears down upon you, as inevitable as the arena’s call to blood and glory.

[bbybluemochi]

can you drop sinner’s lore or just more information about this oc?👀 you probably already wrote about this somewhere, but I can't find it(

No, I haven't posted much about her story (or any OC story) anywhere. With my original characters I tend to take a very relaxed approach; they're something I draw for fun, and their stories/personalities are revealed to me slowly, almost as if I'm getting to know them rather than creating them. That's why their story is subject to constant change, and I'm reluctant to post about them outside of my irl circle, because what if I change my mind about something, yk?

I recently found these two moodboards I made a long time ago of Sinner and Frankie from my Band AU, so I'm leaving them here! (more about sinner below↴)

For Sinner in particular, I was heavily inspired by 80s music (glam rock, hair metal, heavy metal, etc.). Each of my fictional band members is based on different musical genres, depending on what kind of music I'm obsessed with at the time. The 5 band members are at different stages of the design process (Frankie, Sinner, and the drummer (who doesn't have a name yet!) are the ones I finished; the leader and singer are still in the works).

It's taking me a while because I want to give them all a personal/distinctive aesthetic, but also keep their designs somewhat consistent - I want them to look like they could be in a band together (and in the same decade!) while being inspired by different eras and genres ranging from 70s rock to 90s britpop, and it's hard! That's why it's taking me so long to finish the whole band.

Sinner in particular has become my muse, the character I draw when I'm feeling burntout or just want to doodle. My friends and I always joke that she has orange cat energy (chaotic, not the brightest person in the room, but we love her for it). She loves dad jokes, beer, her bandmates, the rock n roll lifestyle, the road. She has a reputation for being a “player,” spending every night with a different girl (something that will make her entire relationship with Frankie a mess, as no one expects her to catch feelings or commit to a serious relationship). Big heart, laid back attitude, a thirst for adventure. Terrific guitar playing skills. Lives for the music!!!!

I love her so much and I feel like I’m doing her a disservice by describing her this way, because there’s so much more to her personality, but I wouldn’t know where to start! I’ve spent so much time thinking about her and imagining different scenarios with her and the rest of the band that summing up her entire personality in one post seems impossible! Maybe I’ll do an OC Q&A in the future so you can ask her directly :D

(re: the moodboards. I want to clarify that the musicians featured on the moodboards are there for aesthetic inspiration, and my characters are in no way inspired by their personalities or personal lives! I don't condone anything a man from the 80s has ever done/, and neither do I share their political views. Just wanted to say that before anyone takes it the wrong way! I'm just stealing their gender bc 80s men fashion is so lesbian coded to me.)

[mofongomuncher]

𝘼 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙧

POV: Telling Ekko you’re pregnant

Im gonna be posting a bunch of lil Ekko oneshots on Wattpad, I feel like this man doesn’t get enough stories and it irkssss me sm. So if you’d like to read more the link is at the end!!

I'm not all that good at writing, I’m also doing this for fun so please go easy on me. I'm hoping to get better as I keep writing. But I still hope you guys enjoy it!! :3

.

The Firelight base, hidden among the green thick fogs of Zaun, was Ekko's haven. A quiet—peaceful place from the chaos of the Undercity.

His little room at the top of his tree was where he could think, when the weight of leadership felt too heavy—he could sit, take a moment for himself for a little bit.

His room was filled with unfinished projects, blueprints and tools scattered all across his workbench, The lanterns and candles cast a soft, wam glow over the space, giving it a calming, almost ethereal atmosphere.

But tonight...tonight felt different.

Tonight, there was something heavy in the air.

Y/N sat on the edge of his bed, She had something she needed to say. Something that had been on her mind for days now. But the thought of how Ekko would react to it made her heart race like hell.

Ekko was seated at his workbench, tinkering with a device, his brows furrowed in concentration. When Y/N finally spoke, her voice barely rose above a whisper, it stopped him cold.

"Ekko," she began, and when he turned, the look on his face shifted. His precious brown eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, she saw his guard come down, just a fraction.

He stood, his usual cool confidence flickering for just an instant. "What's up doll? You've been acting different... is something wrong?"

Y/N hesitated.

Fuck This wasn't easy.

How do you tell someone you love so much that their life is about to change forever?

But she couldn't keep it to herself anymore.

"Ekko...I'm pregnant."

Ekko froze. His expression was unreadable for a second before his eyes narrowed, brows drawing together. His mind that was always fast, was now working overtime, processing what the hell she just said.

For a second, the silence felt like a punch to the gut, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on both of them.

"You're... pregnant?" He repeated, his voice low, almost to himself, like he wasn't sure whether to believe it or not. He just stood there, trying to find something to say but was unable to form the words just yet.

Y/N nodded, swallowing hard.

"I found out a little while ago. I just didn't know how to tell you. Hell, I didn't even know how to process it myself."

Ekko rubbed his forehead, He was silent for a moment longer before he spoke, his voice rougher than usual, but it was tinged with concern. "I... I'm not sure what to do with this Y/N...Fuck...I didn't even expect to see this coming.."

Y/N's heart clenched at the uncertainty in his voice. She had been afraid of this, of him not knowing how to react.

she took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady. "I didn't expect this either. I'm scared too Ekko. But I don't—I can't to do this alone. I need you."

Ekko didn't move right away, his gaze still locked on her. His hands fidgeted with a loose gear on the workbench, his mind was clearly in a battle between his responsibilities and the unexpected future baby unfolding in front of him.

"Damn..." he muttered, shaking his head, his usual confident demeanor cracked for a moment.

"...I—I don't even know what kind of father I'd be. I barely have time to think straight with everything that's going on lately." His voice softened, but it was raw, honest—Ekko was always the kind of person who wasn't afraid to show what he was feeling around me, even if it made him vulnerable.

"But I'm not gonna back down from it..."                   "Not from you."

Y/N felt the tension in her chest start to melt away as he spoke.

She stepped closer, her eyes softening, the relief obvious in her expression.

Ekko's eyes softened as he took a step closer, his hand gently cupping her face. "Whatever happens next, we'll figure it out..Like we always do." His smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

He leaned in a little closer, their foreheads brushing together. He seemed to take a moment to just soak it all in, before speaking again, softer this time.

"I love you Y/N."

Y/N's smile softened, feeling her heart swell. But before she could say anything, Ekko's voice had that hint of excitement. "And I'm gonna love our baby too. I'll teach 'em alll the important stuff."

He leaned back a bit, his eyes sparkling with affection. "Can you imagine? A little mini us running around just causing all the trouble, and I'm the one trying to keep it all together while you just—well, you'll be egging 'em on won't you?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a playful grin. "Oh absolutely! That little ball of happiness is gonna have all of your genius and a whole lot of my sass... We'll have a little firecracker on our hands."

Ekko's grin grew, the playful energy between them settling into something warm and steady. "They'll be perfect." He stepped in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, then slowly brushing his lips against hers in a gentle, lingering kiss.

When they pulled away, he smiled, his hand gently resting on her cheek. "And if they're half as amazing as you, we'll be just fine."

Y/N's heart fluttered, her smile growing as she met his eyes. "I love you Ekko."

"I love you too Y/N"

[spdrwdw]

Pairing: 1042 Miguel X f!reader Warnings: 18+ (Minors DNI) fluff, smut, food play (Is that a term?), Miguel has a weird kink ( it is still kinktober, after all), oral-m/f receiving, slight breeding kink, unprotected intercourse, no use of y/n Summary: Miguel seems to have a sweet tooth. Not only for the birthday cake you are making for Gabriella's birthday, but also for you. Word Count: 2018 A/N: Thank you to @phoenixflower468 who requested some earth 1042 Miguel content! I will continue working on my other requests. Thank you to those who submitted requests to help my writer's block! ALSO; if you'd like to be tagged for my future fics, please let me know! No translations at the end. I figured most of Miguel fic readers already know some of the Spanish pet names and phrases used by now, lmao Check out more of my work on my Masterlist

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Tomorrow was Gabriella’s birthday and you were scrambling getting the cake finished. It was already eleven at night and you were covered in flour and frosting. Or was it icing? You could never tell them apart. Anyway, you were decorating the cake when you heard footsteps coming down from the stairs. 

You quickly paused what you were doing, trying to hear the footsteps. They were too heavy to be Gabriella’s. Miguel was coming downstairs to check on your progress. 

“Miguel. Mi amor, I thought you were sleeping already,” You spoke softly as he made his way into the kitchen, taking a seat on the stool across from you. 

“I miss you,” he pouted. God. He was too adorable. He was six foot nine of pure muscle and dad bod and yet he was the most adorable thing in the world. Besides Gabriella, of course. 

“Lo siento, Miguel. I’m just trying to get this cake finished,” You apologized as you went back to work. Thankfully, those baking lessons you took back in college were finally paying off. The cake didn’t look half bad at all. 

“Why are you making a cake rather than just buying one?” He asked as he took a bit of leftover frosting..or was it icing..and licked it from his finger. You couldn’t help but to bite your lip at the sight. The simplest things this man did made you go feral. It just wasn’t fair.  

He noticed your expression and smirked. Oh, he was such a bastard! 

“What?” You asked, narrowing your eyes at him. 

He simply contained the smirk on his face and grabbed more of the frosting onto his finger and opened his mouth, tongue sticking out slightly before slipping his finger in, letting out a moan. 

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to keep your composure. 

“I still need that, you know?”

Miguel chuckled and shrugged. “You know how I get around sweets, querida. I have such a sweet tooth.”

You simply gave him a look before grabbing your things and went back to decorating the cake. 

“Yes well, that sweet tooth of yours is going to have to hold off until tomorrow, Miguel. I can’t have you messing this up,” you grumbled, trying to concentrate on your work. You were almost done. 

As you tried to concentrate on drawing up some flowers, you could feel Miguel’s strong arms wrapping around your waist, his chin resting against your shoulder as he watched you work. 

“You’re doing amazing,” he complimented, placing a kiss on your cheek. You knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to get you distracted. 

“Thank you, mi amor,” you hummed, trying to not let him get to you. At least, not until you were finished with Gabri’s cake. 

Surprisingly, he was actually behaving, watching you in admiration as you finished up the cake for your daughter. 

“Looks perfect,” he hummed as you nodded your head in approval, marveling at your work.

“It does, doesn’t it?” You smiled, glancing over at him before pecking his cheek. 

“Mind putting it in the fridge while I clean up?”

Miguel nodded his head and did as he was told before an idea popped into his head and he glanced over at you. 

“Take the frosting upstairs with you,” he said, causing you to raise a brow. 

“What? Why?” You asked as you continued to clean the kitchen island.

“I want to try something,” he stated. 

“Try what?” You pressed, curious as to why Miguel wanted to take the leftover frosting upstairs.

“Just..I’ll show you when we get up there. Come on, mi vida. It’s getting late.”

—-

“What on earth? Miguel!” You gasped as you now laid completely naked in bed, with your hands tied above your head. It was to prevent you from stopping Miguel and his shenanigans. 

Miguel shushed you as he squirted some frosting out of the piping bag and onto the bottom of your navel, leading a trail all the way down to your pubic bone. 

“I told you I had a sweet tooth, mi vida,” he chuckled before he began licking the frosting off of you. 

Your body twitched a bit and you tried to fight back a moan. You had to keep quiet. You didn’t want Gabriella to wake up. 

“And you thought this would be a good way to ease your sweet tooth?” You questioned as Miguel began to coat your breasts with the frosting before taking a breast into his mouth, licking and sucking off the sweetness, swirling his tongue around your nipple and tugging at it before doing the same with the other breast. You couldn’t conceal your moans any longer. 

“M-Miguel..please..” you breathed. 

“Hmm? Please what?” Miguel asked, a smirk on his lips.

“You’re making me all sticky,” you pouted. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll wash it off of you later,” he continued to smirk before taking hold of your chin and ordered you to open your mouth. You did as he said, and he squeezed some frosting into your mouth, keeping it along your tongue before he kissed you, slipping his tongue into your mouth to catch the sweetness. 

“Mmm, tastes so much better coming from the pretty mouth of yours,” he moaned, licking his lips.

“Alright well, don’t be greedy. Let me in on some of that, too,” you stated. 

Miguel chuckled and freed your hands before he began to take off his own clothes. Geez, how did you get so lucky to have a man like him as your husband and father of your child? 

Miguel then laid down on the bed as you straddled his waist and saw him open his mouth, tongue hanging out as he waited for you to squirt some frosting onto his tongue. You did just that, shaking your head before leaning down and kissed him hard, all teeth and tongue as you tasted the sweetness in his mouth. 

In no time at all, you were both sticky and smelling sweet. The piping bag was now discarded somewhere on the bed, and you were now sitting on his face. Honestly, it was the best seat in the house, if you had anything to say about it. 

Miguel was eating you out as if your pussy was the sweetest thing on earth. Tongue slobbering over your folds, teeth nipping at your clit, and long fingers curled into you, hitting you at just the right spot, making you see stars. You couldn’t help but to grind against his face. Miguel could take it, though. He was sturdy. 

You tried to cover your mouth to muffle your moans, your other hand stroking his meaty cock. You could feel the veins twitching as your wedding band rubbed against them. Leaning over, you finally took him into your mouth, slowly, of course. You could feel his moan vibrating through you as he continued to eat your pussy, causing you to moan out around his cock in response. After taking in as much of Miguel’s cock as you could, you began bobbing your head, the tip hitting the back of your throat every time. 

It wasn’t long until you felt him twitching in your mouth, and you doubled down on your efforts, pumping him with one hand, and gripping his balls with the other as you continued bobbing your head. 

You felt his tongue assaulting your pussy, running through your bundle of nerves while his fingers curled up and rubbed against that spot that made you see stars. 

In no time at all, you were orgasming into each other’s mouths, and you didn’t dare to waste a single drop of him. 

Before you could even blink, Miguel picked you up and flipped you over, pinning you down onto the bed, lining himself between you and rammed his cock into your soaked pussy. 

“Oh! Miguel!” You gasped as he pounded into you. The wet, sticky sounds of skin hitting against skin bounced off the walls, filled with the harmony of yours’ and Miguel’s moans. 

“You feel so good, mi amor. So fucking good,” Miguel groaned through gritted teeth. 

“Kinda makes me wanna put another baby in you. Think that’d be okay?” He grunted. The thought of filling you up and getting you pregnant with another baby made his cock twitch inside of you. 

Eh, the conversation of having another child did come up every now and then, and..yeah, why not? Gabriella deserved a sibling. 

“M-Miguel..” You breathed, your mind going fuzzy as you tilted your head back against the pillows. 

“Qué pasa, amor?” He cooed once he leaned over and pecked you on the cheek, his pace still brutal. You were so close to your orgasm, you gritted your teeth.

“Can’t handle my cock? Hmm? Is my pretty wife gonna cum?” He continued to coo, pivoting his hips against you in a more snapping manner. 

“Cum over my cock, mi amor.”

And you did. Because when he commands you to do something such as this, you do it, gladly. 

“That’a girl,” Miguel groaned, his thrusts getting sloppy as he reached his limit and came, coating your walls with his seed, filling you up just how you loved it. 

Once he was finished, Miguel slowly pulled out of you and laid on top of you, however, didn’t put all his weight on you cuz, the man is huge.

Miguel rested his head over your shoulder as you both caught your breath. Your arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer before kissing his cheek. You just loved him so much. He was a great husband, and a wonderful father. The best person you could ever imagine having as your life partner. 

“You alright?” He then asked, a cheeky smile on his face as he gently rubbed your back. 

“I’m fine, Miguel,” You giggled softly before kissing him sweetly just as you heard something coming from the hallway. Your eyes suddenly went wide. 

Gabriella.

The bedroom door opened as you both scrambled to get your naked bodies under the covers. 

Gabriella slowly stepped in, rubbing her sleepy little eyes as she held her stuffed bunny in one hand. 

“Mamá? Papá?” She muttered. 

“¿Qué pasa, mija?” Miguel asked softly as Gabriella stepped further inside. 

“I can’t sleep,” she said, looking up at the both of you. 

“Oh, Gabri. Do you want to sleep here with us?” You asked her, and she quickly nodded her head. 

“Okay, go grab your blankie and your pillow.”

She then smiled and nodded her head before walking out of the room, and you and Miguel both bolted to the dresser and closet to grab some clothes and a quick change of sheets. 

As you fixed up the bed, Miguel as in the bathroom getting himself cleaned up, and then you stepped into the bathroom to do the same just as Gabriella came back in, holding her bunny, blankie and pillow. She climbed onto the clean bed just as you both made your way back out of the bathroom. Miguel closed the door and turned off the lights and joined you two, wrapping his arms around Gabriella. 

“Feel better, mija?” You asked with a smile and Gabriella nodded her head, grinning.

“Yeah! I kept hearing these weird sounds and I couldn’t sleep,” she said, causing you and Miguel to look at each other with slight embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, Gabri. Hopefully you won’t hear them again,” you told her, gently stroking her hair as she snuggled up against you. You noticed Miguel pouting over at you, to which you rolled your eyes and smirked at him.

“Let’s get some sleep. It’s your big day tomorrow,” you reminded her, kissing her cheeks as she giggled, nodding her head. 

“Good night, ladies,” Miguel said, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you and Gabriella closer to him, having your daughter sandwiched in the middle; which she loved. 

“Night night, papà,” Gabriella giggled. 

“Goodnight, Miguel,” you smiled over at him and leaned over to give him a goodnight kiss, still being able to taste the frosting on his lips. 

Perhaps you had a bit of a sweet tooth as well. 

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Tags: @migueloharastruelove, @camzzn

[rosesareredrosa]

One More Chance

Mattheo Riddle x fem reader

Summary: Y/n stumbles upon Mattheo while going to the library after they broke up but Mattheo wants One More Chance in their relationship

w/c: 832

The dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts were quiet, the echo of footsteps bouncing off the ancient stone walls as Y/N made her way towards the library. The evening was drawing in, the golden light from the setting sun filtering through the narrow windows and casting long shadows. She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, more out of habit than need—after all, it was late autumn, and the chill had only just started to creep in.

As she turned the corner, she nearly bumped into someone. Y/N took a step back, her breath catching when she recognized who it was.

"Mattheo," she greeted, her voice coming out steadier than she felt. She hadn't expected to run into him, not here, not now. Her pulse quickened, memories she had tried so hard to bury threatening to resurface.

Mattheo Riddle stood there, hands shoved into the pockets of his robe, his dark eyes watching her intently. There was a glimmer of something—mischief, perhaps?—that danced behind his gaze, something that had always drawn her in. His tousled curls and easy smirk were as infuriatingly attractive as ever.

"Y/N," he replied, his voice smooth, carrying a hint of surprise that he didn't bother to mask. "Fancy running into you here."

She stiffened slightly, unwilling to let herself be swayed by the familiar charm in his tone. She had built walls around her heart since they had parted ways, and she wasn't about to let him chip away at them again.

"I was just heading to the library," she said coolly, sidestepping him. "Excuse me."

But Mattheo moved too, blocking her path. "In a hurry?"

Y/N sighed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "What do you want, Mattheo?"

He tilted his head, studying her as if trying to unravel a mystery. "I just wanted to talk."

"We have nothing to talk about," she retorted, keeping her tone brisk, despite the way her heart thudded in her chest.

"Is that so?" Mattheo mused, not moving an inch. "You don't still have feelings for me, do you?"

The question caught her off guard. Heat rose to her cheeks, but she forced herself to meet his gaze with a sharp glare. "Oh, why would I? We broke it off for a reason, didn't we?"

Mattheo's smirk faltered, replaced by a more serious expression. His eyes softened slightly, and for a moment, the bravado dropped. "We did. But it doesn't mean it was easy. Or that it didn't matter."

Y/N felt her resolve wavering, memories of late-night conversations, shared secrets, and stolen kisses flooding her mind. She had convinced herself that ending things was for the best, that they were too different, that he was too reckless and she too cautious. But the truth was that she had never really let go of him.

She shook her head, determined to keep her emotions in check. "It doesn't matter anymore, Mattheo. We made our choices."

He sighed, his posture relaxing as he leaned back against the wall. "Maybe. But I can't help but wonder…if we made the right ones."

Her heart clenched at his words, but she forced herself to stay firm. "You can't change the past."

"Maybe not," he conceded, "but the future? That's still up for grabs."

Y/N bit her lip, torn between the desire to walk away and the pull of what could be. The chemistry between them had always been undeniable, a spark that never quite fizzled out, even after they parted ways.

"Why are you saying this now?" she asked, her voice softer, almost vulnerable. "What's changed?"

Mattheo looked at her with a seriousness she hadn't seen before. "I realized that letting you go was a mistake. I've been thinking about it a lot, and I can't shake the feeling that we gave up too easily."

She stared at him, unsure of what to say. Part of her had hoped he would say something like this, while the other part was terrified of reopening old wounds. "Mattheo…"

He stepped closer, his voice low, earnest. "I'm not asking for everything to go back to the way it was. But I am asking for a second chance. To see if we can figure this out, together."

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she looked up into his eyes. She saw sincerity there, a glimmer of the boy she had fallen for mixed with the man he was becoming. The future was uncertain, but as she stood there, she realized that maybe, just maybe, it was worth taking the risk.

"Alright," she whispered, barely believing her own words. "One more chance."

A slow, genuine smile spread across Mattheo's face, one that made her heart skip a beat. "One more chance," he echoed, his voice filled with promise.

And as they stood there, in the quiet corridor of Hogwarts, it felt like the beginning of something new—something that had been left unfinished, but was now ready to be written.

[vaokses]

A ghost to its haunt (Pirtir, Ch.2)

Series Masterlist

<< Previous Chapter

Pairing: Aegon x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: You set off ahead of your family towards King's Landing, attempting to escape the restlessness that overtook you as the day your betrothal is to be announced draws nearer. You find yourself a witness to what has become of the people you once knew as the King summons you all for dinner.

Word Count: 6.2k 

Warnings: Topic of arranged/forced marriage. Viserys is a terrible father, but you knew that already. Helaena is a dragonrider and has a close bond with Dreamfyre, the show can fuck right off.

A/N: Very little of Aegon here, I'm sorry. I promise next chapter will be more exciting. I hope you enjoy!

Title is from a diary entry by Virginia Woolf, "I come home - and I have a feeling returning like a ghost to its haunt."

Your hand caresses bronze scales as you come to stand on solid ground, and you find yourself fighting the instinct to command Vermithor to take you to the skies again as you face the awaiting party. 

You had hoped that if you were to arrive days before you were set to do so with the rest of your family, they wouldn’t have enough time to make a spectacle out of your arrival. 

Then again, a century-old dragon is perhaps not the best means of transport if you intend to catch them off guard. 

And so there they stand, the Lord Hand, his daughter the Queen, and the three of her children that still live in King’s Landing. 

You aren’t sure what it is you were expecting, but it certainly was not this. You seem to remember them wrong. All of them. 

The spirited even if demure Queen of your memories, of angry eyes and fingers gripping a knife and demanding retribution; has left in her place a shadow of herself, a woman of tired eyes that offers an almost sorrowful smile as she greets you. The anger though, the anger remains. 

The boy you last saw fighting back tears and putting on a brave face as the maesters treated his wound, stands tall as a man of his own right, wound hidden away behind an eyepatch and any of the humanity of your youth absent in his piecing stare. 

Aegon is no less a stranger. Though a mask of him remains, much like the casts of corpses the families of Old Valyria used to make to keep in their homes, the boy you knew once, capricious and uncaring about the legacy or future of any of it; seems to have died since you last saw him, leaving behind something you don’t entirely recognize. Gone is the heedlessness and imprudence of your shared youth, leaving in place something like wariness, like resignation. 

He seemed more spirited, livelier, when you were younger. You suppose you didn’t see then that he has his mother’s eyes -the anger, yes, but also the sorrow-, you didn’t notice then that he too shares in what seems a trait of his family of being uneasy in their own skin.

Your eyes meet, and though you find yourself with so much to say, you were taught better than to speak your mind, you know better by now than to let your heart get ahead of yourself. And neither the reproaches of it being his fault that you are to once again lose your home, nor anything else, something perhaps more foolish and far more careless, leave your lips.

Aegon looks back at you, eyes slightly wide in uncertainty and something else, something like expectation, and though for a moment you think he is to say something, lips parted forming for a moment in what you swear is the beginning of your name; he adjusts in his place, and looks away from you.

Finally, in a sea of strangers, there is a familiar face. Helaena looks familiar, feels familiar. Big eyes are fixed on you, though when your own gaze finds hers, she looks away. A smile, kind and warm and exactly as you remember, curves at her lips, and it gives you the impulse -the courage, the strength- you needed to approach them. 

The pleasantries leave your lips with ease after you exchange your greetings, “Such a welcome was not necessary, though I am grateful for your kindness.” 

“What was possible considering the…short notice of your arrival. It is essential for the people of King’s Landing to see you are welcome here, Princess.” The Hand states, each word chosen carefully. They can’t afford for the people and the Great Houses to think you a hostage, is what he means. 

It is Aemond who steps forward then, before you can even utter an answer, hands joined behind his back, head held high even if for a moment it faintly bows in greeting. It seems he gauges you for a moment, as who plans his next step on a board game, eye narrowing before he adds,  

“So as not to let them confuse your standing with your brothers’.” 

You swear you can hear Otto Hightower heave a sigh at his grandson’s words. 

Resigned, but with practiced familiarity after over a year spent in hostile territory, you fix your stance and return his words in kind. 

“Surely my brothers are as welcome here as I am.” 

“Hm. It just happens it is not a fair comparison, between my…dear nephews and you.” 

You are as much of a bastard as your brothers, and you are certain he knows, for his mother is no idiot, and must have put together the coincidence of your conception happening during Daemon’s short stay in King’s Landing after your mother and Laenor’s wedding. And anything Alicent knows, she feeds to her sons, or so has Lady Mysaria warned you. 

You would rather believe it is the slights your brothers committed against him, and the fraught nature of their relations, what leads him to see them as lesser than you, and not the thinness of their blood. You’d rather deal with vindictiveness than hypocrisy. 

“In your eyes, and the eyes of your family, perhaps,” You remind him. “Not the eyes of the people of the Seven Kingdoms. That I can assure you.” 

And it is no lie. You didn’t spend twenty months in foreign lands and sleeping in unfamiliar beds, drinking watered-down wine and eating overcooked duck, for your brothers’ legitimacy to be as challenged as it was before. 

“It was not the people of the Seven Kingdoms who built this dynasty, niece. Our family did.” He argues, now in your native Valyrian. It pulls at an old part of your heart when Aemond speaks confidently High Valyrian, it makes proud the girl that would let the candles burn until they died out sitting by him and practicing the intricacies of your native tongue.  

There’s a hint of a smile playing at your lips, for at his threat that it is the will and power of the men of your bloodline that can set the future of the inheritance, yours or your brothers’, you can answer with a threat of your own, 

“No, dragons did.” 

As if another part of this conversation, as if to serve as a reminder, Vermithor rumbles a low call, diverting your uncle’s attention to him. A clipped little hm leaves Aemond’s lips as he gazes upon the Bronze Fury, for the first time since you last saw each other in Driftmark years ago. 

You feel the slow breath of warm air leaving the old dragon’s nose, it warms your hands, carefully joined behind your back. From the corner of your eye, you see Helaena’s smile at the sight of him, so alike the smile you saw brightening her face the few times you took to the skies together in your youth. 

You know, though you dread to, that you are to command Vermithor to leave you behind, to occupy his place in the Dragonpit, but you hesitate. 

You first stepped into the Dragonpit many years ago, long before you claimed Vermithor, to meet Dreamfyre, and then Sunfyre, which Aegon insisted you did after hearing his sister had taken you to see her own dragon. You were but children, and the Pit seemed another world entirely, cavernous and strong and other, but now you look upon them and see nothing but stone, carved by men, for men, to soothe themselves thinking they control fire made flesh. 

You say nothing, instead turning around and looking into familiar bronze eyes. Vermithor’s answering rumble for a moment seems to imitate the shrill song Silverwing often directs at their eggs, and without another wasted moment he takes to the skies and towards the outskirts of the city, away from the Pit and towards the Kingswood. 

“Dreamfyre knows he is here. She has missed them,” Helaena mutters quietly, watching him fly away and shifting in her place, as if the she-dragon’s restlessness is her own. “They were one, once. They should have remained so.” 

You hum in agreement, watching the bronze dragon force the clouds to part for him.  

“Much like you and I, they were side by side almost since they hatched, no?” 

You turn to her with a smile, but the sharp gaze of the Queen keeps you from saying anything else or from deviating your attention from her. 

“Princess. You flew here.” Queen Alicent points out, something like accusation lacing her tone. 

You refuse to let your smile falter as you look upon the Queen and answer, “Any journey is made more entertaining, not to mention shorter, on dragonback, Your Grace.” 

“Eager, then?” 

“Restless.” 

“Ah,” She nods, dark eyes trailing over your body from head to toe. “Must be why you come dressed for battle, then.” 

You wear nothing too different from what any dragonrider would, and of course in your mother’s colors, but you won’t deny the dark chainmail over your sleeves, or the metal corset clinging to the red and black fabric, though subtle, are meant to resemble armor. It was a gift from your half-sister, readied for when your tour had meant to include King’s Landing. 

“Dressed for a long flight, nothing more. I’m sure any of your children, all experienced dragonriders, would understand.” You answer, ready to force them into the conversation in order to avoid an ambush. 

“A dress does make flying uncomfortable,” Helaena provides, as kind as you remember. Her gaze flickers to you, and she murmurs, so quietly it is almost silent, “A cloak for war, lies for battle.” 

___ 

Merely an hour after your arrival -barely giving you any time to reach the Keep in the carriage, much less settle in what you are told are to be your apartments-they send your handmaidens a message, instructing them to ready you for dinner, for the King is awake and well, and wishes to welcome you as the pain from his illness prevented him from doing this morning. 

The two handmaidens assigned to you -as yours must be somewhere in Blackwater Bay by now, making the trip here with the rest of your family- busy themselves without even a prompt from you, one tending to you in your bath and the other setting to straightening and readying the dress you brought with you on Vermithor’s saddle, along with a few other essentials.  

You count on your family to bring what else you might need, along with the rest of your clothes and jewels, with them when they arrive on their boats. It is a practiced routine by now, after so long travelling on Vermithor, to take with you only what is most important while a day or two later the rest of the servants bring the rest. 

“Is this…common? For my grandsire to attend dinner with all of them?” You ask one of the handmaidens as she brushes a conditioning cream onto your hair. 

You do not care about the routines in the Keep, that isn’t why you are asking. You want to know the kind of women they have assigned to serve you, as you did whenever you traveled ahead of your own handmaidens during your tour. 

“As any family meets as one for supper, Princess, so does the King’s.” 

These girls are terrible liars. 

You are surprised to find Princess Helaena waiting outside your apartments when you are leaving them to join supper. She stands tall, expression carefully void of any tells, and greets you with a murmur of your name. 

Not your title, not niece, your name. Strange, that you cannot recall the last time your name was preferred, or the last time it was not uttered as a call to heel. 

You accept her strange offer and let her walk you to the dining room, handmaidens and Kingsguards in tow. 

“You are wearing red.” 

“It is our family’s color. We are blood and fire.” 

“Mother never makes me wear green.” She comments instead of offering an answer, and it is only at her words that you notice this morning, while her brothers wore dark green -almost black, but you know better-, and her mother vibrant emerald, she wore a soft blue dress with silver details. 

“This dress is beautiful, Helaena.” You tell her, admiring the greys and blues of its silk, the various designs embroidered in its sleeves. 

She lifts a loose sleeve to show you. Your eyes trail over ling insects of many legs and of odd antennas, before stopping to linger on a spider of red and black.  

“I made these.” 

“Oh, they are quite impressive,” You admit, reaching for her sleeve but stopping yourself a moment before when the Princess stiffens up at the threat of contact. Lifting your gaze, you await permission, or an explanation perhaps, but Helaena merely looks away. Even if a tad thrown off balance by her reaction, you grant her distance and continue, “Are these…real creatures? I have seen nothing like them before.” 

“I copy them from drawings, or descriptions. Grandsire gifts me books that the maesters write about the animals and insects they find in their travels,” She tells you, and for a moment you are sitting with her on the stone steps of Driftmark’s castle on that last night, that last reunion, watching the spider crawling over your hands as she tells you about its origins, about the strings her grandfather pulled to gift her this creature, both of you unaware that your brothers were fighting in the tunnels below. The memory, the unexpected nostalgia that comes with it, catch you off guard long enough that the conversation dies out. After a few beats of silence, your aunt offers, “I’ll teach you, if you want.” 

“Oh.” 

“To embroider. Not spin.” 

“I-I would love to learn, I-…” 

“He is my brother,” She interrupts you, big eyes unwavering in their intensity. She speaks with certainty, with purpose, as if these scattered sentences hold just one meaning, “Despite the rest, b-before the rest. He is my brother.” 

“I was sent here as a bride, not an assassin. Is this a warning?” You try to jest, but she loses none of the intensity, none of the…anger. 

“Yes.” Helaena promises, surprising even herself at the statement, it seems. 

Seeming to hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to do or how to move, she finally decides to stride into the dining room that awaits you, leaving you behind. 

___ 

Your mother was right. By the Gods, you hate to admit it, but your mother was right. You should have never ridden ahead of them.  

The painfully small gathering has arranged you all around a small table, sitting you by the King’s side with Helaena at your other side, while your uncles and the Lord Hand sit across from you in the small table. 

Granted, in your travels you scarcely found yourself dining with a family lacking tension, it is almost a condition of noble blood to hate those you share it with, but there is something else to whatever haunts the family that resides in the Keep. Errant, a thought crosses your mind, a gratefulness to your mother to have taken you from here if this was to be the outcome for you as well. 

There lingers a lifelessness that reminds you of the marble model your grandsire keeps of Old Valyria, that makes you think of them all as beasts desperately trapped in the brittle stiffness of marble figurines. 

The Queen sits as tightly coiled as a spring, jarring tiny movements, almost spasms, as she as she takes her seat next to the King; though her eyes, big and anxious, trail over you all, jumping from person to person like an anxious deer’s. Yet, neither she nor anyone else comments on any of this strangeness. Perhaps this is what is normal for her, for them. 

Helaena has made it her mission to fold her napkin into some form or another, hunched over the table to focus on her task, and refuses to deviate her attention from it; while Aegon seems to have made his mission to discover how quickly he can sight the bottom of his cup, and appears to be making faster progress to his goal with each refill from the servants. 

And Aemond is making quick progress to losing his other eye, by your hand this time, if he doesn’t cease in repeating this maddening little trick with his knife. He throws it a tiny distance so it embeds on the table, then pulls it out. Repeats this once more. Then spins the round-handled knife on his finger, one, two, three times. Back to the table, and the cycle starts again. Thud, thud, swish, swish, swish.  

“I hear you came here on your dragon. How was your journey here, Princess?” Otto Hightower asks, and whether he intended to or not he has thrown you a rope to pull yourself out of the waters. After more than a year of travel and ceaseless talks with nobles, of endless dinners and constant lies and embellishments, an exchange like this is as natural to you as it is for Daemon to wield Dark Sister. 

Thud, thud, swish, swish, swish. 

“Quite wet, I’m afraid, my Lord Hand,” You answer, accepting a small pork tart a servant offers you. Nodding your thanks, you continue, “Vermithor enjoys the rain, and cares not for my opinion on it. If he sees a storm nearby, he’ll take us to fly right through it.” 

Thud, thud, swish, swish, swish. By all the Gods, what use have Lord Confessors for instruments of torture when Aemond and his Gods-damned knife trick exist? 

“I told you before, my girl,” King Viserys muses with a wry chuckle. “The idea that we control them is…is an illusion.” 

“We control them no more than we control our own children,” You tell your grandsire, agreeable smile, as is expected, on your lips. “Or our parents.” 

He seems to gather a deeper meaning from your words, and where you merely meant to compare the veteran dragon that claimed you as his rider and your parents’ own protectiveness, your grandsire takes it as a reproach of sorts, based on his downturned mouth, on his furrowed brow. 

“I…I know you must still resent my decisions. I myself have come to regret them, with the years,” You are certain your confusion must be clear in your face, but he pushes forward with a grimace of pain as he leans closer. “But you are mine own, Rhaenyra. In my eyes, know that none of them could even compare, you must kn-…” 

Queen Alicent interrupts him with a quiet whisper of his name and her hand resting on his shoulder, but you hear the unspoken words as if a dragon had roared them, as does everyone in the room, you are certain.  

You venture to look to your right and find Helaena hunched over the table, both elbows resting besides her plate, and fiddling with her napkin, still attempting to fold it into some shape or another, and unaware of or unwilling to react to her father’s words. But you notice the way she has made herself smaller, the way her shoulders are hunched up almost to her ears, and you feel your heart break a little. 

Prince Aemond is still relentlessly toying with the knife, but where the movements were practiced now they have a certain jitteriness to them, as if the repetitive motions are no longer the result of idleness, but of restlessness. It reminds you of the anxious flicks of Vermithor’s tail when he grows agitated. 

The only one immobile is Aegon. 

He is as still as a stone statue, arms extended and gripping the edges of the table as if catching himself from standing up -from fleeing? Or fighting?-. His eyes -by the Gods, he truly has his mother’s eyes-, wide in shock and shame and something older than himself, remain trained on the table before him. 

A breath, stuttered and shallow, and his gaze lifts to his father. Pain, disgust, and somewhere in them you could swear there is also rage. You’ve seen trapped wolves with that look, you’ve seen cornered snakes with that look. 

“Rhaenyra isn’t here, my love,” Alicent tells the King, “She will join us in a day’s time, to announce her daughter’s betrothal to Aegon. Remember?” 

At the reminder, as quick as a soldier standing to attention, as instinctively as if a command had been issued, Aegon’s eyes flicker to you, only to find you already looking at him. The minuscule smile he offers you is one of lips pressed into a thin line, it is bitter, it is defiant in the face of humiliation, and it is terribly sad. 

Cravenly, foolishly, you find yourself looking away. You turn to the King instead. 

“Yes, of…of course,” There’s clarity in Viserys’ eyes and his mind for a moment before the pain or the remedy for it seems to dull it once more. “Forgive me, child. You do look a mirror of your mother.” 

Your smile is a grimace but still sweet enough for your grandsire to answer with one in kind, but you find yourself stuck with no path forward, with no idea on what to make of this. What you know for certain however, is that you will forbid your handmaidens from ever again braiding your hair in the same manner your mother wears it. 

“When she came of age, I was drowning in an ever-growing sea of letters and gifts, proposals and requests for her hand,” He reminisces, nostalgia as intoxicating to his senses as the strongest of wines. “I’m sure it was no different when you did.” 

By the Gods, you want this conversation to be over, you have wanted for few things more fervently than an end to this uncomfortable and dreadful affair. 

Stiffly, carelessly, you answer, “I wouldn’t know, I refused to hear of it.” 

“Ah.” The King concedes, leaning back, disappointment and something impossibly close to grief clouding his gaze.  

With a deep breath, through gritted teeth, you force yourself to add, “W-Which she tells me she often also did, when she was my age.” 

“She resisted my every attempt to find her a match, as I’m sure she has told you,” He says, not wasting a moment to return to the bittersweet draw of memories. He lifts his cane to aim the ivory dragon your way with a smile on his lips that almost makes him have the healthier and rounder face of the grandsire you remember from your youth. Almost. “And I hear you resisted as well, and set off in your tour to make your own choice. You inherited her beauty and her temperament.” 

But you didn’t inherit her temperament, and you don’t look like her. And though you love her, you aren’t like her, in your faults and in your virtues. 

You understand, however, that it is yet another mask, another face. Some will wish to see your mother’s daughter and nothing more, and so you know that if you aim to win -and you do- that is the face you ought to show. 

“I can only hope, grandsire.” 

“It does warm this old man’s heart to know you walk willingly into this union, child,” Willingly? Your nails dig like claws onto your thighs, and from the corner of your eye you notice Helaena stop in her folding of the damn napkin and turn her gaze to you. “Despite the sacrifice it demands from you, despite the kind of man you must marry.” 

He hasn’t said his son’s name. Hasn’t even looked at him since dinner started. 

Now that you think about it, you doubt he has looked upon any of his children at all tonight. 

And he hasn’t looked at you, not really. Not without seeing the face of the daughter he lost, the daughter he failed. 

And though you ache to tell the King that were the odds to be even slightly more in your favor you would feed Aegon to Vermithor without hesitation, not in virtue of who he is but instead who he must become; and though you know what you must answer with is gratefulness for the recognition of your sacrifice, agreeable demeanor and a sweet smile; it is an old instinct, older than the one learned during your family’s self-imposed exile to Dragonstone, what decides your next words. 

“It is no sacrifice,” You tell him, lie coming naturally to you, a skill in no small part Aegon helped you develop, with all the times in your youth that you lied to cover for him. “As you might remember, we were quite close, all of us. I am glad to return here, and I could ask for no better match.” 

He knows you are lying. He is old and dying but he knows you are lying. 

At least your grandsire remains as you remember him, and will take the comfort of an empty lie over the difficult reality of truth. He smiles, a sentencing. 

“That is good to hear, sweet girl. It gives me hope that our House will remain united, able to withstand what tribulations are to come.” 

“As it should. Only a dragon can kill another. Our House is invulnerable as long as it remains one,” You agree, as is expected, as is demanded. It is unbefitting, untoward, unthinkable, to have you admit you have often thought about it all burning, breaking, crumbling. To admit you have often wished for it. “I am honored to do as expected from me, and uphold the family, the crown.” 

“You possess an admirable sense of duty, of sacrifice, Princess,” The Queen compliments, to which you know you must answer with a smile. Elbows leaning on the table, Alicent rests her chin on the back of her joined hands and asks, “Did you inherit that from your mother also?” 

The smile, as false as a vow made in wine, falls from your lips instantly. 

The Hand clears his throat, straightening in his chair, and at her direct attack there is not the calculating, almost proud look in his eye that was there the night she wielded a knife against your mother. He looks tired, disappointed and irked, but mostly tired. The look in his eyes reminds you of the Dragonkeepers in charge of herding the hatchlings. 

“We will cease with these…these quarrels at once. Otherwise, our dinners, and our lives, will feel entirely too long,” It steals the ground from under your feet, the breath from your lungs, to hear him say such a thing. A lifetime. “Prince Daeron sent word that you were able to meet with him in Oldtown during your travels, Princess.” 

Once again, The Hand saves you all, and thankfully diverts your attention from your own spiraling thoughts. 

“Yes, my Lord. He and Ser Gwayne were kind enough to take me on a few outings and show me around. As beautiful a city as I ever saw.” You tell him, and though the answer is practiced and instinctual, it is no lie. The most innocuous street a thousand years old, every stone that makes up its castle witness to a hundred battles. 

“It is a wonder.” Otto agrees. 

You should bite your tongue, until it bleeds if you must, you know you should. But you didn’t inherit your mother’s temperament, and you want to remind them. Foolishly, recklessly, you want to remind them that you do not run when cornered. 

So you add, “One must thank the Gods that your ancestor had the good sense to bend the knee to Aegon the Conqueror. It would have been a shame for such a wonder, such a House, to burn.” 

“How fortunate the Hightowers are, then,” Aemond drums a short little beat with his fingers on the table, drawing the attention to himself. “That of the dragons capable of such destruction, only Vhagar remains.” 

“Yes, marvelous creature that she is. Yet long past her prime,” You retort. “In all her might, Vhagar is a relic of days sadly gone from us.” 

“Hm.” Another drum of his fingers on the table, and though he is still a stranger, you notice the clear tell of anger on him, a twitch on his lip, the slightest widening of his eye. You’ve seen Dragonkeepers with decades of experience burned to ash for the simple mistake of not heeding the creature’s warnings. 

You will gain nothing from antagonizing him, and while you may amuse yourself by prodding to see what it is that makes him tick, you are aware Aemond remains a weapon you ought to be careful not to see turned at you. 

In your months travelling through Westeros, entertaining conversations with Lords and Ladies from the most brilliant to the dullest, from the most hostile to the meekest, you have learned almost everyone has exposed nerves. Most are aware of them, and attempt to guard them, as you yourself have attempted to guard your own over the years. 

Others, in arrogance or desperation, find themselves unable to. And while your grandsire’s need for peace -perhaps not peace, but merely the absence of conflict, not an extinguished forest fire, but a land devoid of air, where not even embers might linger alive- was something you expected would be easy to learn was his weakness, you are surprised by how swiftly you understand pride is Aemond’s. 

“I have not seen you ride her in years, I fear neither my memories nor the stories I have heard must do either of you justice now, after so long bonded,” You admit, false sweetness twining with honest admiration. “Once I am settled here, would you take me to see her, uncle? We could fly together.” 

You would think a praise as plain as those extended to some Lord or another during your travels, a request as simple as this, would not so easily disarm him, but it seems to. 

A twitch of his mouth, as if he stops himself from giving a quicker answer, and Aemond leans back in his seat. A retreat.  

Another drum of his fingers on the table, but there’s a nervousness to the movement now, and you fight for control to keep the smug smile off your lips. 

“Of course, Princess.” 

You bow your head and mutter a quick kirimvose, and catch yourself slipping, offering an honest smile. A part of you, still the child that would linger long after the candles had started to die out practicing Valyrian with a book recounting the Conquest, is still filled with awe at the mere thought of Visenya’s dragon. 

And the part of you that felt her blood sing when Daemon made you take flight with him on Caraxes and Vermithor and taught you all he could of how to lead a dragon during war, during a true dance, wants more than little else for a chance to prove yourself against the Queen of All Dragons and her rider. 

“A most excellent suggestion, sweet girl,” The King praises. “Two of the oldest living dragons, the two branches of our House, flying as one again. It will remind the Realm we stand as one.” 

Must everything be for the good of the Realm, to send a message? Must everything be for appearances’ sake? You merely wanted Aemond and his hoary dragon to be reminded you and the Bronze Fury remain faster, better. 

Reminding yourself to play, and desperate to close any openings these people might find, you search for a shield. 

“I have dearly missed the musicians from King’s Landing. Many fond memories of my youth involve their melodies,” You announce, entirely more chipper than you have ever been naturally. Turning to the King, you prompt, “If you please, grandsire?” 

He acquiesces, and orders the music start with a slight cough at the end of his words. He reaches with a clammy, cold hand and squeezes your fingers once before letting go. 

Strangely, perhaps in the most bizarre interaction you’ve had since arriving, you find the Lord Hand regard you quietly and offer you a nod when your eyes meet, as if approving.  

With your future betrothed seemingly intent on ignoring you and Aemond back to his maddening little game with his knife -it is strange, that even in such distinct actions and attitudes, the brothers remind you in the same way of the lions the Lannisters of Casterly Rock presented to you when you arrived, and the incessant circles the poor beasts would pace, forsaking food and water to keep up the mad repetition their time in captivity had impressed in them-; you find yourself with no remaining choice but to bother sweet Helaena. 

“Are dinners in the Keep usually…like this?” 

Like a castle a stone away from crumbling to dust, like a barrel leaking oil next to an open flame. Like an open wound, dug into by uncaring, rotten fingers. 

“No. The pain makes father sleep a lot, so he doesn’t join us. Grandsire is always too busy to attend,” She tells you, intent on achieving on the folded napkin the perfect angle for what you know is a dragon. “And usually no one talks to me.” 

“Oh.” 

She taps the dragon’s snout once, twice, to further correct its position. Looks at it for a few beats of silence, studying it. 

“I hope that changes with you here again. I haven’t had a sister before.” 

Though her wording is strange, it is no different from the way the girl you remember from your childhood used to speak. You allow yourself a smile, honest for once, “Neither have I.” 

“You have Baela and Rhaena,” She argues without thinking, before her eyes widen and rise to meet yours. “I’m sorry.” 

“No use in lying to you, is there?” 

She breathes a warm little laugh, but ducks her head, even as she admits, “Everyone still tries.” 

“I can assure you it is not meant as a personal offense, Helaena,” You promise her, “To many it becomes an instinct. It is no longer a choice they can make.” 

Her brow twitches, as if something bothers her, and she does a miniscule shake of her head as if to rid it of something. Instead of sharing thoughts you are certain are itching to be voiced, Helaena presents the napkin dragon to you. 

You take it with careful hands, and bow your head with murmured, yet heartfelt, thanks. 

___ 

Dismissed from what you are certain has been the longest dinner of your entire existence, you walk with Helaena to your room, your handmaidens having gone ahead of you to ready each of your rooms. 

In your hand the cloth dragon is carefully cradled, and you muse aloud about where it is you will place it. 

“Rhaenyra taught me to make these. I used to make them daily for father, for him to put next to his marble ones,” Helaena reminisces, “He discarded every one of them. Aemond found them one day, tried to hide them so I wouldn’t know.” 

“I take it he didn’t succeed.” 

“My brothers are terrible at hiding things, both of them.” 

“I know, and so are mine. Remember when Aegon and Jace agreed to steal Sunfyre and Vermax from the Pits to have them race? Days before they were giddy, couldn’t for the lives of them hide they were up to something.” 

“You cursed at them in Valyrian and in Common when you found out what they were planning.” 

And yet you still went with them, as did Helaena. Even Aemond, grumbling the whole way, joined you and watched the dragons fly overhead with you all.

Foolishly, you find that you remember that day fondly, even though Jace refused to talk to you for a week after finding out you had bet on Sunfyre winning. 

Instead of admitting that memories of a shared youth linger fresher in your mind, closer to your heart, that you would like, you argue,  

“It was an objectively stupid idea. If our mothers had found out they would have had their hides. And ours.” 

“They found out.” 

“They did?” Your smile falters. Even to this day Jace boasts about the time he stole his own dragon from the Pits. “My mother never said anything.” 

“Mine did. She-…” She stops, startles at a thud from within your room as the servants move about. She shakes her head again, though you gather it is memories and not something relating to her dreams that she aims to clear from her head now. “They found out.” 

“I’ll be sure to tell that to my brother, he still believes himself some masterful thief for pulling it off.” You tell her, attempting to bring levity back into the conversation. It feels like yet another mask, for no one’s benefit, and you aren’t sure what to make of both the realization that you wear it even now, and the fact that you refuse to drop it.  

You both come to a stop in the door to your apartments -what used to be your mother’s apartments, instead of the rooms you occupied when you were last here-, and Helaena speaks again, 

“You couldn’t know, but I…I…” Her hands spasm, open and close, one, two times. Like dying spiders. “You hurt me, by leaving.” 

“I never meant to.” 

“I know. You didn’t have a choice,” She concedes, but the stiffness remains. Helaena lifts her head a little higher, hands joined together before her. “It doesn’t change that it hurt, however.” 

“I…” 

“Goodnight.” 

She bows her head as a goodbye and doesn’t wait for an answer before she takes her leave. 

Thank you for reading! Some chapters of this series will skip in time a bit, so if there's anything that wasn't clear or that you'd like to know about the time in between, or any skipped scenes, or stuff from the past, feel free to ask!

Taglist: @21-princess

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[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Summary: Thanksgiving brings back memories of happier times, and all you want is to recreate the past. But when those plans go awry, Eddie--and Harris, of course--are there to help you look forward to the future.

Warnings: mentions of Eddie's parents, brief familial conflict, Reader's grandma has dementia, most of this chapter is fluffy tbh

WC: 6.8k

Chapter 8/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @vexed-n-hexed Divider credit to @saradika

Thanksgiving, 1975

The sound of the kitchen timer beeping draws nine-year-old Eddie Munson’s attention from the television set. The local news network had been replaying the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on a loop. It was now the third time that Eddie had watched Santa Claus make his way into Herald Square in a comically oversized sleigh, but he couldn’t get enough of it. The colorful balloons that hovered over the crowd, the marching bands playing in perfect unison, the feeling of excitement in the air—it was palpable all the way from his new home in Hawkins, Indiana. 

“Dinner’s ready,” Wayne announces, grabbing the worn mitt off of the counter and pulling two TV dinners from the oven. “‘S not much, but at least we got turkey and mashed potatoes,” he bashfully adds. 

Eddie nods, trying to walk without taking his eyes off of the screen. 

Wayne’s bushy brows pinch together as he watches his nephew. “You always get this into the parade?” he asks. 

“Never seen it before,” Eddie says softly. His parents had had a TV for a couple of years until they’d pawned it, but he doesn’t recall ever watching a parade. “Pretty cool.”

“We can keep it on while we eat, if ya want,” Wayne tells him, smiling when he sees the boy’s face light up. He places the plastic trays on the snack table and heads back to grab forks. “Ya got a favorite balloon? I’m partial to Snoopy, if y’ask me.”

Eddie nods, still transfixed on the TV. “Yeah, Snoopy’s good. I like him.” He takes the utensil from Wayne’s outstretched hand, absentmindedly dipping it in the congealed mashed potatoes. He pauses for a beat before bringing it to his lips. “Do I have to go back?”

“Hm?” Wayne mumbles, too focused on his own food to fully hear him. 

“Do I have to go back with them when they get out?” Eddie repeats, keeping his voice low and training his gaze on the floor. “‘Cause I like it better here. With you. ‘S nice and quiet.”

There’s a lurch in Wayne’s chest at Eddie’s request. “Technically, I only have ya till your folks are sprung,” he admits, scratching a nail against the table, “but I can talk to a lawyer or somethin’ about keeping you here longer. Only if you want,” he adds. 

“I wanna stay here,” Eddie confirms, spearing a pale turkey slice and popping it in his mouth without any attempt to cut it. “If it’s okay with you. I can sleep on the cot an’ you can take your bed back.”

Wayne shakes his head. “Room’s yours, Ed.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t wanna promise you that the courts will agree to it, but I’m gonna try my damndest to keep you safe.” And it’s true. He’ll work double overtime at the plant if it’ll cover legal fees. When the social worker dropped Eddie off last week, Wayne had no idea how either of them would adjust. But aside from a few growing pains—like having to shave his nephew’s head when they’d discovered he’d had lice—things seemed to be alright. 

“I, um, I wrote something at school yesterday,” Eddie pipes up, traipsing to his backpack and pulling out a sheet of paper. In his sloppy, boyish handwriting is written:

I am thankful for my Uncle Wayne because he takes care of me. He’s really nice and he works hard and he doesn’t mind that I listen to loud music. He also lets me feed my dinner scraps to the stray dogs in his trailer park. My Uncle Wayne is the best. I hope he’s thankful for me, too. 

Wayne feels his throat constrict, and he clears it before Eddie can catch on. “‘Course I’m thankful for ya, Ed,” he manages. He reaches out to put his hand on his nephew’s back, flinching when the boy jerks away nervously. Eddie’s reflex to defend himself rather than embrace touch stirs up a reserved anger Wayne didn’t know he had, and he wills himself to simmer down before his nephew can sense it, lest he think he’s angry at him.  

He slowly brings his hand to the couch cushion, careful not to make too much noise. We’ll get there, he thinks as the parade starts up for a fourth time. We’ll get there. 

Thanksgiving, 1978

Ten years old is a strange age. 

Too old to play with the little kids, but too young to hang around the teenagers or adults. You’re just kind of…there, like a piece of furniture that everyone absently walks around. This hiss of beer cans opening is barely audible over the men shouting at the football game on TV. You don’t know who’s playing, and you don’t really care, but it’s the only place you feel like you’ll be out of the way. Taking a seat on the floor, you remain there generally unnoticed until one of your uncles calls out your name.

“Couldja get me a refill?” Uncle Tim slurs, shaking his empty can of Bud Light to emphasize his request. Before you can respond, he throws a, “thanks, kid” and goes back to yelling at the football players.

It’s not like they can hear you through the screen, you snidely think, but you keep your comment to yourself as you pad into the kitchen. A collection of spices tickles your nose, the mixture of cloves and garlic and thyme and rosemary warming the room. You rummage through the refrigerator until you feel someone bump up against you.

“What are you doing in there?” Your aunt asks, disapproval carving her already sharp features. Her gaze drops to the can in your hand. “Seriously? Trying to sneak beer right in front of us?” she scoffs. 

Grandma quickly becomes aware of the commotion, and she wipes her hand on her sunny yellow apron as she assesses the situation. “Everything okay?” Her soft eyes are concerned, not accusing, and you feel your anxiety slowly dissipating.

“I caught her trying to steal some beer,” your aunt reports proudly, as though she’s caught some serial offender, and you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Not even a teenager yet and already getting into this kind of trouble.” She shakes her head with a tsk. 

“No, I wasn’t,” you insist, setting your jaw in defiance. “Uncle Tim asked me to get some more for him. That’s all.”

“Tim!” Grandma calls out, tone thick with irritation. “Get over here!”

 Uncle Tim trudges out to the kitchen, head already hung low in anticipation of the tongue-lashing he’s about to receive. He may be a grown man, but his mother can easily put him in his place.

Grandma folds her arms across her chest. “Why are you having your niece fetch your drinks like a barmaid? Your legs broken or something?”

“No,” he mumbles, taking the beer from your hand and haphazardly tossing a “sorry” in your direction before returning to the game.

“C’mere,” Grandma beckons you, crooking her finger to join her at the counter. She’s got a bowl of Granny Smith apples, half of them peeled, their green skins piling on the cutting board in front of her. She hands you the peeler, picking up a sharp knife and cutting a peeled apple lengthwise and cubing each slice. “Help me out. It goes a lot faster when there’s two of us. And it’ll keep you out of trouble,” she adds with a wink.

You grab an unpeeled apple from the pile and drag the tool down its curve, repeating the motion until the inner fruit is exposed before starting on the next one. You and Grandma work in tandem; you peel and she chops in a comfortable silence. As you’re finishing up the last of the bunch, she leans over and whispers in your ear, “Don’t tell anyone, but you’re the best helper I’ve ever had.” She starts placing the cubed pieces into a pot, shaking the cinnamon container over it until she takes a satisfied step back, no measuring spoon required. “Mix it together for me?” 

You nod eagerly and pluck the wooden spoon from the canister behind the sink, dunking it into the pot and stirring until the apples are fully coated in cinnamon. “That good?” you ask, giving another stir for good measure.

“Perfect.” Grandma smiles, covering the mixture with water and setting it on an empty burner, twisting the knob until the coil turns red. “Once it softens up, you can mash it. Give these old arms a break,” she teases gently.

“You’re not old!” you protest, and she smacks a kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you, kiddo,” she murmurs, voice muffled against your scalp. “To the moon and back.”

You wrap your arms around her waist and squeeze her tight. “I love you, too. To the moon and back.”

Thanksgiving, 1996

“Daddy, look! It’s Santa!” Harris points at the TV excitedly, bouncing up and down on the couch. He kicks his feet and squeals. “He’s gonna come to our house, right? An’ bring me presents?”

Eddie chuckles as he spreads mayonnaise on white bread, layering thin turkey slices on top. Three sandwiches for three Munsons. “I dunno, Har-Bear; have you been good this year?” 

Harris scrunches up his face in contemplation. “Um, I think so,” he answers honestly. “I can’t remember.”

“Hey, Wayne?” Eddie calls out as his uncle walks out of the bathroom. “Has Harris been good this year? I feel like he’s been a bit…mischievous.”

Wayne shakes his head. “My angel of a grandson? He’s never caused mischief a day in his little life!” He sits down next to Harris, letting out a small grunt as his bottom hits the sofa cushion. 

“Yeah! I never cause mischief a day in my little life!” Harris echoes confidently. He turns to his grandfather. “Grampa, what is Santa gonna bring you for Christmas?”

“A toupée,” Eddie says from the tiny kitchen, piling their plates with potato chips. Normally, he’d make sure there was a fruit or vegetable on there, but it’s a holiday. 

Wayne has to hold his tongue in front of the impressionable young boy, though he shoots Eddie an inconspicuous middle finger when he’s setting the plates on the coffee table. 

The three Munsons tuck into their sandwiches and crunch on the chips. This is how Thanksgiving has been since Eddie moved back with Harris: watching the parade followed by an early lunch so Wayne could pick up a shift at the plant. He always insisted on it, saying that the holiday pay helps offset the cost of Christmas presents. It was quiet, but nice, and Eddie couldn’t ask for anything else.

“Y’know,” Wayne says to Harris with a mouthful of sandwich, “the first time your Daddy watched the parade was with me. And now, we got to watch it with you.” He bumps his arm against Harris’s, making the boy giggle. 

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie muses, chomping on a potato chip thoughtfully as the memories flood back in. “Forgot about that. Is Snoopy still your favorite, Old Man?” 

Wayne considers this. “Hmm. Who’s our favorite balloon this year, Har?”

“Clifford!” Harris answers without missing a beat, kicking his little legs in excitement. Eddie should’ve known; the boy was damn near obsessed with dogs.

Once we can afford a house with a yard, I’m getting you that puppy, Har-Bear, he thinks, though he doesn’t dare make the promise aloud.

“Then that’s mine, too.” Wayne brushes the crumbs off of his lap, calloused hands scratching the worn denim of his jeans. There’s a twinkle in his eye as he adds, “I wonder what Ms. Sweetheart’s favorite balloon is.” He acts like he’s speaking to Harris, but Eddie knows it was aimed at him.

Harris claps his hands together gleefully. “I know! Let’s call her!” He turns to Eddie with the sweetest puppy-dog eyes the man has ever seen, lower lip jutted out exaggeratedly in the most precious pout. “Please, Daddy? Pleasepleasepleaseplease–”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie says with a laugh, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Once you finish up lunch, we can call her.” Harris opens his mouth to protest that he wants to call right now, but Eddie cuts him off before he can start. “Ah ah; no whining, or we won’t call.”

Harris harrumphs but ultimately complies, taking another bite of his food. Wayne gives Eddie a small thumbs-up, and he preens slightly at the acknowledgment of his parenting win. They didn’t happen very often, and they rarely happened when someone was around to witness them. He takes a long gulp of water; as soon as he does, his son lifts his own cup to his lips and takes a sip. Another reminder that he’s watching, even subconsciously, wanting to be just like his dad.

For a split second, Eddie allows himself to believe that that might not be a bad thing.

“‘M done!” Harris chirps; sure enough, his plate is clean, save for the bread crusts. He squirms a bit in his seat, a gesture that Eddie has come to learn means only one thing.

“Go pee while I find her number,” Eddie tells him, purposely omitting the fact that he’s already committed those seven digits to memory. In case of an emergency, he thinks, and I don’t have the slip of paper on me.

Wayne can sense that his nephew isn’t being completely truthful; as soon as Harris closes the bathroom door behind him, he starts in with a shit-eating grin.

“Y’don’t need to find her number, do ya?”

Eddie flicks off an imaginary speck of dust on his shirts. “Knock it off, Wayne.” But he doesn’t move from his spot on the couch, further affirming his uncle’s point.

“Look, Ed,” Wayne exhales, adopting a more serious tone. “You clearly like this girl. I mean, all Harris did was say her name and you smiled–don’t give me that look,” he chastises lightly when Eddie rolls his eyes. “I know you two didn’t exactly get off on the right foot, but all that seems to be in the past now, right?”

“Guess so,” Eddie mumbles. “But not hating me doesn’t mean she’s into me. Maybe she’s only being nice to me because of Harris.”

The older Munson pauses, scratching at the stubble on his cheeks; his reflex when he’s deep in thought. “One date,” he challenges, holding up his forefinger to emphasize his point. “Ask her on one date, and see where it goes.”

“Fine,” Eddie relents, the nerves already churning in his stomach. You’d just found this good rhythm together, and he was going to risk messing it up. Again. “I’ll ask her. But on one condition.”

“Whas’ that?”

“Don’t say anything to Harris.” He crosses his arms over his chest when Wayne chuckles. “‘M serious, Wayne. I don’t want him getting his hopes up. For Chrissakes, I gave her a tape and the kid had us getting married.”

“Fair enough,” Wayne agrees, clamping his mouth shut when he sees the little boy enter the room. “You wash your hands?”

“Yep!”

“With soap?” he presses, narrowing his eyes.

Harris heaves an impatient sigh. “Yes! Can we call now?”

Both Wayne and Harris keep their eyes glued to Eddie as he punches in the numbers. When it starts ringing, he holds out the receiver to his son. “Say hi and your name when she picks up,” he reminds him, grateful for the opportunity to collect himself before asking you on a date. He takes a deep breath, shoving his hands in his pockets and gnawing on his lower lip so forcefully that he swears it might bleed.

You got this, Munson. The worst she can say is no.

But that’s not quite true, is it? The worst you can do is laugh in his face, leaving him a rejected mess. Scratch that–the worst you could do is accept the date, have him fall head over heels in love with you, then leave him in the dust to pick up the pieces while you move on with someone better. 

Maybe you won’t pick up the phone. Maybe he’ll have more time to–

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart! It’s me, Harris!”

It was a small thing. Miniscule, even. Just your meager attempt at reclaiming part of the past that had been lost to time and disease. A simple family recipe, apples boiled and mashed into a sauce that you’d hoped even vaguely resembled the way Grandma made it. A tiny cut on your fingertip serves as a battle wound from peeling, the sweet aroma of cinnamon still lingering in the kitchen.

You try to convince yourself that it isn’t a big deal. It’s just applesauce. But the thought falls flat as you stare into the trash can. You can still see all of your work literally tossed away through the tears that blur your vision.

You’d left the room for two minutes, two goddamn minutes, and when you came back, the plastic pink bowl that held the applesauce was nowhere to be found. You could’ve sworn you left it on the counter, but maybe you’d already put it away? A quick scan of the refrigerator gave you nothing but a chill. Where the hell did it go? Were you losing your mind?

A rogue apple peel had fallen to the floor, and you scooped it up, flustered at how you could have misplaced an entire bowl of applesauce. Sure, it wasn’t as much as when you and Grandma made it for the whole family, but it was still a decent amount. Your foot presses the pedal that lifts the bin’s lid, and that’s when you see it.

“Grandma?” you choke out, looking over to where she’s sitting on the couch. She doesn’t respond, and you raise your voice a bit to grab her attention. “Grandma, why did you throw out the applesauce?”

Her empty gaze briefly flits over to where you’re standing, not even registering the burgeoning frustration and sadness coursing through your veins. “Wasn’t me,” she says flatly, scratching at the side of her nose with a jagged nail. Before dementia, her nails were always painted bright hues of red or blue; now, it was difficult enough to get her to leave the house for essential doctor’s appointments. You weren’t going to put up a fight trying to get her to the salon.

You know you should just close the lid and walk away instead of torturing yourself by continuing to look, but your feet are glued to the linoleum floor. A cold drop of something lands on your toes, and that’s when you realize that you’re crying. Crying over goddamn applesauce.

All you wanted was some semblance of normalcy, something reminiscent of life before Grandma got sick and your family still felt whole. But what you got was a thickening realization that you can’t relive the past, no matter how hard you try.

The ringing phone startles you from your wallowing. You have half a mind to ignore it, but you know that Grandma will just grumble about how she hates the sound of it, so you pick up the receiver and answer with a shaky, “H-Hello?”

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart! It’s me, Harris!” A little voice chirps through the other end. You can hear Eddie mumbling something, though you can’t quite make out what he’s saying. “Happy Thanksgiving! What’s your favorite balloon?” There’s more hushed speaking from Eddie, and Harris huffs out, “Daddy, stop! I know what to say!” 

“My favorite balloon from the parade?” you ask, biting back a giggle. 

“Mhm! I like Clifford,” he tells you.

You’d kept the parade on in the background, catching glimpses of it every now and again. Shit, what balloons did you see? “Clifford’s a good one,” you agree, “but I think the Rocky and Bullwinkle one was my favorite.”

Harris laughs so loudly that you have to pull the phone from your ear. “The squirrel and the moose?” he guffaws. “Ms. Sweetheart, that’s so silly!” You’re about to ask him how his holiday is going when he says, “Hold on, my daddy wants to talk to you.”

Your heart skips a beat at the prospect of talking to Eddie, and you wipe the tears from your wet cheeks as though he’ll be able to see them through the phone.

“Hey, Happy Thanksgiving!” he says. Something resembling trepidation tinges his tone, though you’re not sure why. Could he still be anxious to approach you after he confided in you at the parent-teacher conference? After he’d watched you panic when Grandma locked herself in her room?

You swallow, trying to choke down the sadness rising within you. “Yeah, y-you, too.” Despite your best efforts, your voice breaks on the last word, and you hope Eddie doesn’t catch it.

But of course he does.

“You okay?” he asks with a nervous chuckle. “‘Cause it kinda sounds like you’re crying.”

“‘M fine. Just, um, chopping onions,” you lie, hoping you’ve done a convincing job.

“For the…applesauce you’re making?” Eddie sees right through you; you’d forgotten that you’d told him and Harris about your plan during your weekly post-tutoring dinner last night. “Not gonna lie, that sounds even nastier than olives on pizza.”

You manage a laugh, but it’s disfigured by the catch in your throat. “The applesauce was a bust, unfortunately,” you admit. “I left the kitchen for a second and Grandma chucked it in the trash.”

“All of it?” he asks incredulously, letting out a deep exhale when you confirm that she did, in fact, throw out the entire bowl. “Jesus H. I’m so sorry. Is that what’s got you upset?”

“Mhm. I know it’s stupid, ‘s just applesauce, but–”

“‘S not stupid,” Eddie interrupts softly, and you twist the phone cord around your pointer finger with the sudden drop of his tone. “I know you were really looking forward to it.” He pauses, and you wonder for a moment if the line’s gone dead before he says, “We’re coming over. Me and Harris. Be there in twenty; fifteen, if I don’t have to argue with him about wearing a jacket.”

Before you can protest, he really does hang up. You look down at the baggy sweats and college t-shirt you’re wearing; you weren’t expecting any guests today, let alone the Munson boys. You should probably throw on some actual pants, and a bit of mascara couldn’t hurt, either.

You find a pair of jeans that aren’t buried under a mountain of laundry and tug them over your thighs before quickly swiping some makeup on your face. It’s enough to mask your exhaustion while still looking natural.

It dawns on you that you’re not quite sure why you suddenly care so much about your appearance. Harris couldn’t care less, and Eddie…well, even if Eddie did care, why would that matter to you? He’s your tutee’s parent; a new friend at most. On more than one occasion, you’ve answered the door to Jess with a wicked case of bedhead. Why does Eddie Munson of all people make you feel the need to look halfway decent?

When the buzzer sounds, you nearly jump out of your own skin. “It’s us,” Eddie says into the speaker; the smoothness of his voice has your stomach in knots. “And we come bearing gifts. Well, one gift, I guess.”

“Fuck off,” Grandma mumbles from the couch, cranking up the TV volume to an ungodly loud level. One of the Law & Order detectives says–no, screams–something about a murder, and you quickly reach for the remote and click the power button.

“We have company,” you tell her, and she just grunts in response. Hopefully her mood will change in the minute it will take Eddie and Harris to get to your apartment. You can hear them down the hallway, so you open the door just as they’re about to knock.

Eddie takes a step back in surprise. “You psychic or somethin’?” he laughs, looking down at his son and giving him a small nudge. “Go ahead, you can give it to her.”

Your gaze drops to the curly-haired boy standing by his father’s side. He’s holding a brightly colored package of off-brand Oreos, which he brings closer to his chest, pressing it tightly against his zippered sweatshirt. “It’s s’posed to be a surprise,” he reminds Eddie, wide-eyed with genuine concern.

“Only until we got here,” Eddie says gently, soft brown eyes encouraging Harris to hand you the cookies. He brings his attention back to you. “I know it’s not the same as making applesauce with your grandma, but I’ve never been sad eating an Oreo. An oatmeal raisin cookie, maybe. But not an Oreo.”

Now it’s your turn to smile. “You may be onto something here, Munson.” You take the package from Harris and guide the two of them to the kitchen, calling out to Grandma as you pass by. “Grandma, Eddie and Harris are here, and they brought cookies, if you wanna join us.” Her non-response is familiar at this point; the sting is much easier to brush off than it was a few short months ago. But you still feel it.

Even though Grandma isn’t at the table, Harris still climbs onto his dad’s lap. “Daddy, can I have one?” he asks, resting his dimpled chin on his palms as he glances upwards.

“Gotta ask Ms. Sweetheart,” Eddie shrugs, tickling Harris’s ribs and loudly whispering, “and ask her if your poor, hungry dad can have one, too. She can’t say no to you.”

You open the package and shake your head at his antics, sliding out the flimsy tray and offering it to them. “Of course you can have one, Harris,” you say, tone saccharine sweet. His chubby fingers darting out and snatching up a cookie before you even finish your sentence. “But I don’t know about your dad. Do you think he should get one?”

“C’mon, Har,” Eddie urges him, “us men gotta stick together. All for one and one for all, right?” He flexes his bicep; it’s an attempt to emphasize the manliness that supposedly bonds him and Harris, but the gesture has your breath catching in your throat. You sputter and cough embarrassingly, excusing yourself to pour a glass of water. 

“Anyone else want?” you manage once you can speak again, holding up the ceramic pitcher. 

Eddie nods, lifting Harris from his lap and placing him on the nearest empty chair. “Here, let me help you.” He stands up and calls out over his shoulder, “Grandma, how about some water?”

You’re about to tell him not to worry about it, but to your surprise, she nods. “Ya.”

“So, four waters,” Eddie reports, taking the pitcher and refilling your glass. 

You grab another just like it from the cabinet before taking two blue disposable ones, plopping a bendy straw in each. “Grandma, um, she needs stuff that isn’t breakable,” you explain lamely. “And the other plastic one is for Harris.”

Eddie grins. “Thought it was for me. Y’know, always making a mess.”

“Ah, but only of your life,” you tease. “You’re pretty good with basic human functions.” Your face burns at what you’ve potentially implied, but Eddie isn’t fazed. 

“Y’know what? I’m gonna take my cookies back!” he pouts, crossing his arms over his chest in mock-indignance. A piece of curly hair sticks to his lower lip with his sudden movement, and you brush it away with your thumb before you can stop yourself. 

The crinkling of the fake-Oreo package draws both of your gazes, with Eddie poised to tell Harris that he’s only allowed one more. But to your surprise—and perhaps Eddie’s, too—Harris isn’t the one rifling through the tray. Grandma’s taken a seat next to the boy, handing him a cookie before taking her own. She just nibbles on it in silence, but it’s the most present she’s been in days. 

“Y’like Oreos, Grandma?” Eddie asks, pouring water into the two plastic glasses and carrying one in each ringed hand. He places them on the table, and Grandma brings the straw to her lips as she nods again. He pauses for a moment, lips tucked into his mouth as he ponders something. “What kind of music does she listen to?” he asks you. 

“She has a record collection over in the living room,” you tell him, pointing to the low bookshelf near the door, “but we haven’t played any in awhile. She’s kinda…weird with noises.”

He considers this, walking over to the records and thumbing through them until he finds one that he recognizes. “Could I put this one on?” He holds up the battered copy of Frank Sinatra’s It Might As Well Be Swing. “I’ll take it off if she gets upset. I just wanna try something.” He carefully slides the record from its sleeve, lifting the player’s needle and placing it on the space for the first track. 

There’s a soft static as the record starts to spin, and Ol’ Blue Eyes croons: 

Fly me to the moon

Let me play among the stars

Let me see what spring is like

On a-Jupiter and Mars

Eddie joins in with the next part. His voice still carries its signature rasp, but it’s noticeably smoother, warmer than the night he’d dedicated the Def Leppard song to you. 

In other words, hold my hand

In other words, baby, kiss me

His eyes remain trained on the record player, but you swear you can feel the lyrics drifting towards you. The melody wraps around you like a hug, and you momentarily lose yourself in a musical embrace. 

Another voice, low and timid, chimes in. You have to stifle a gasp when you realize that it’s Grandma, her lips curling into the smallest of smiles–the most joy she’s shown in a long while–as she half-sings the words. 

Fill my heart with song

And let me sing for ever more

You are all I long for

All I worship and adore

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, and before you can exhale the third syllable, the world shifts back to normal. Grandma goes back to mindlessly munching on her cookie as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. You turn to Eddie. “What was that?”

He shrugs, suddenly feeling shy. “I read somewhere that music can, like, bring back some memories. Not permanently or anything, but I figured it was worth a shot.”

You can’t stop yourself from flinging your arms around Eddie’s neck, nearly knocking him over in the process. He pauses before he returns the gesture, pulling you tightly into him. One hand is on the small of your back; the other gently rests on the back of your head, allowing you to rest your forehead on his chest. Your tears flow freely, leaving tiny wet spots on his shirt. He doesn’t let go until you start to pull back. 

“Thank you,” you whisper; when he pinches his brows in confusion, you elaborate. “You gave me back a little piece of who she was before…” you trail off, swiping at your cheeks messily. “Just…thank you.”

Eddie nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. His eyes are practically glued to your lips; this time, when his fingers brush against your palm, he hooks his pinky with yours. “‘Course,” he murmurs.

You’re not sure how long the two of you remain linked like this, joined hands swaying ever-so-slightly as Fly Me to the Moon fades out to I Wish You Love. It’s somewhere between ten seconds and ten years, because time seemingly slows to a halt. 

You might stay with pinkies hooked forever if Harris doesn’t bolt from his chair, hugging your waist and looking up at you with concern. 

“Ms. Sweetheart?” he asks. His wide, misty eyes indicate that he’s absorbed some of the emotion in the room, though he may not even be aware of this. “Why are you sad?” His chubby fingers grab onto the fabric of your pants.

You choke out a tearful laugh as you crouch down to meet him at his level. “I’m not sad…well, I’m sad and happy at the same time,” you try to explain, shaking your head when you realize you’re only adding to his puzzlement. “Grown-up feelings are weird sometimes, Har. But your hugs definitely help.”

With that, he squeezes you tighter, and you glance at Eddie with a full heart. He takes a step forward, scooping up Harris. You worry that you’ve crossed a line, that you’ve shown too much of your vulnerability to a four-year-old, but your fears are subdued when Eddie extends one arm and brings you back to both him and his son. Something brushes against your scalp, and you realize that he’s pressing a light kiss to the top of your head. 

Harris squirms, and when Eddie puts him down, he runs over to the TV set. “Can I watch something?” It’s clear that the moment has passed, and Eddie throws you an apologetic shrug as he waits for your response.

“Sure,” you say, trying to pepper cheerfulness into your voice. It’s easier now that the wave of loneliness has passed, taking with it some of the mourning you’d clung to earlier today. You click on the TV and flip through channels until a familiar cartoon appears on the screen. “I think we’re just in time to watch A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving!” you exclaim, and Harris mirrors your enthusiasm by flinging himself onto the couch, making his dad cringe.

“Careful, little dude,” Eddie says, clicking off the record player and gently placing the vinyl back in its sleeve. “You just got that cast off a few days ago. Don’t need you to break another bone.” Certainly don’t need another hospital bill, he thinks bitterly. He takes the spot next to Harris, silently begging you to join them. 

You turn to the kitchen table and put a hand on Grandma’s shoulder. “You wanna watch Charlie Brown with us?” But she rejects your invitation with a simple shake of her head, mumbling something about being tired and padding into her room. 

You take the empty space to Harris’s left so that the boy is sandwiched between you and his father. He’s a small kid, but it seems like there’s an entire ocean separating you and Eddie. 

“Why’s Lucy so mean?” Harris asks no one in particular. “She’s always yelling. Like Ms. Marion.” You have to stifle a giggle at that observation, and when you allow yourself a glance, you see that Eddie’s doing the same. 

The first half of the movie is filled with Harris’s constant commentary; he speaks more than all of the cartoon characters combined. But he tires out eventually, though in typical four-year-old fashion, he denies his sleepiness even as he’s yawning. He fights it pretty well, you’ve got to give him credit where it’s due, but eventually, the exhaustion takes over and he lays his head on your arm. His curls tickle your elbow, and you gingerly reposition him so he’s tucked up against your side. 

“You can move him over, if you get uncomfortable or somethin’. Kid sleeps like a rock. Except, y’know, when I need him to sleep.” Eddie snickers as Harris lets out the softest, tiniest snore. 

You return the laughter and shake your head. “Nah, I’m good,” you reassure him, smiling at the ruddy cheek pressed against you. “Don’t tell my other students, but Harris is the cutest kid ever.”

Eddie shrugs, but you can tell that the compliment tickles him. “Well, it makes sense, since his dad is a total stud.” He waggles his eyebrows before turning his attention back to Charlie and Lucy. You’re not quite sure how to respond to that; if you play it off as a joke, you risk hurting his feelings. If you tell him the truth–

“D’you like coffee?”

His sudden, seemingly arbitrary question snaps you from your indecision. “I teach four-year-olds,” you reply lightheartedly, hoping he can’t sense your mind continuing to linger on his stud comment. “I practically have coffee running through my veins. What about you?”

“I have a four-year-old, so, same.” He clears his throat, seemingly double-checking that his son is still sound asleep. His leg is bouncing up and down, and he nearly has to press on his knee to get it to stop. “Um, Harris is going to a birthday party next Saturday morning if you wanted to get some with me? Get some coffee, I mean.” He silently chastises himself, wondering if he’d ever been suave around women or if it had just been the unearned confidence of a young man in his early twenties convincing him that he had. 

“Like...like a date?” Fuck, do you sound too eager? “Because if you feel like you owe me a date after…after our night at the bar, you don’t have to. I forgave you after you gave me those M&Ms, remember?”

“Yeah…wait, no. Hold on.” Eddie holds up his pointer finger as he collects his thoughts. He could deny that it’s a date altogether and throw out some bullshit lie about it just being something between friends. But he promised Wayne, promised himself that he’d give this a shot.  “Yes, I’m asking you on a date. No, it’s not because I feel like I owe you one–although I definitely do,” he adds with a goofy grin that sends flutters to your stomach. “It’s because, fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you, and how happy you make me–and Harris, too–and how I get kinda nervous around you, which makes no sense because you’re, like, the nicest fuckin’ person ever. Oh my God, why can’t I stop talking?”

“Eddie.” The way you say his name is like a song he could replay forever. “I’d really like to get coffee with you. I just need to see if someone can watch Grandma…maybe Jess,” you surmise, biting back the fact that you’ll have to withhold your date’s name, lest she subject you to a lecture about sleeping with the enemy.

Eddie nods, swiping the tip of his tongue over his lower lip and smiling. “I can pick you up at noon? If Jess can watch Grandma, of course.”

“Noon works.” You want to kiss him right then and there; if Harris wasn’t nestled in the middle of you both, you might not hold back. “I can let you know on Wednesday when we have dinner together.”

Eddie’s not sure he can wait that long for an answer. What if you’re just buying time to get out of it? What if you’re only being nice to him because you’re afraid that he’ll get angry again and reignite the bitter feud you’d been locked in just a month ago? He swallows the insecurities, gaze flickering to your eyes.

And maybe it’s because you can sense his unease and self-doubt, or maybe it’s because you genuinely want to–Eddie doesn’t know for sure–but he feels you lace your fingers with his, resting your joined hands on his thigh. He shifts his grasp to weave them tighter together, learning back into the couch and allowing his body to relax. His shoulders let go of tension he hadn’t realized he was holding on to, and a contented sigh slips from his lips.

It’s you, him, and Harris. Sitting on the sofa and watching a holiday movie. An unconventional little family, but a family all the same. Eddie swears that he could stay like this forever, a thought that almost has him bursting out in laughter. The same man who had concocted an elaborate method to keep women around without actually committing to them was now reveling in domestic bliss. 

When the movie ends and Harris begins to rouse, Eddie begrudgingly stands with an exaggerated groan. “These old bones, y’know,” he laments with a mischievous click of his tongue. “Everything starts fallin’ apart when you turn thirty.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, lifting Harris onto his hip and rubbing his back to help him fall back to sleep. “I know.” He grabs his keys from the shelf near the door as you walk them out. And before he can wimp out, he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead in a gentle kiss, stubble scratching against your skin. His hands are trembling when he pulls away.

“You’re the best,” he repeats the same statement he’d made on parent-teacher conference night. It’s even more true now than it was then. “We’ll see you on Wednesday for pizza?” And an answer, hopefully a ‘yes.’ “Wednesday,” you echo, still processing the fact that, for the second time today, Eddie Munson’s lips have been on you.

--

@kelsiegrin @lma1986 @munsonology @stuckontheceiling @avobabe87 @eddapwinchester @peachysink @browneyes8288 @jeremyspoke-inclasstoday

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@quentinswife @eddiesguitarskills @momowhoo @jasminelafleur @mmunson86 @mcueveryday

[lydscare]

hiya, i hope you're having a lovely day! this is my first time ever requesting on tumblr so hopefully i can articulate this well enough! ^^

i saw your requests for wicked were open and i was wondering if i could rq some headcanons/scenarios for what some of the characters (the choice is yours!) would be like if they were jealous... (i am a sucker for this trope unfortunately ESPECIALLY if it's pre-relationship with all the yearning before a confession </3 but that's just me yapping!)

wicked characters jealousy hcs  

| warnings/notes: none, probably badly written but oh well 🧍

a/n: sorry this took me so long to write, laziness has been a bother. also, do NOT worry anon, i am also a sucker for this trope 😌 i hope i did it justice. these could be read with broadway or movie version in mind

reader is written as gender neutral / masterlist

boq 

when boq sees anyone begin to start a conversation with you in any romantic sense, he is immediately THERE, like, he’s standing between you and your admirer like he's’ your own (little) bodyguard 

he furthers this stereotype by making all conversations that you have with an admirer stay strictly professional

he won’t admit that he’s jealous that someone's attention is fully on you and that they sort of have your attention as well (he definitely is)

people who boq defends you from feel like he’s going to bite off their ankles if they misstep and ask you just about anything too personal 

boq in general just prefers it when the person that he’s crushing on has his undivided attention, so he hates anything that draws your attention away from him

you always have his attention. why can’t he always have yours? 

he’s the type to secretly gossip about a person who has shown interest in you to you 

he cups his mouth with his hand and he has to get up on his tippy toes in order to reach you, while he’s glaring daggers at the person who was just talking to you

“y/n.. you know that they sneak out of class all the time, right?” 

“they hate munchkins!! you wouldn’t possibly go out with them because of their bad beliefs… would you?” 

honestly, if you push his buttons and tease him while he’s acting all jelly you could get him to stutter and turn red 

“why so defensive boq? scared of a little competition?” 

“competition why i- um, bcjhhsgcjh, n-no? w-who said we were in a competition, mmm NOT ME! that’s who!”

needless to say, jealous boq is adorable

but also kinda annoying, but in a cute way so you let it slide

elphaba

elphaba experiences a silently fuming type of jealousy

with some hidden quips and insults sprinkled in 

she will unabashedly glare daggers at any person she finds out had any interest at you

due to her reputation of being an evil witch, she also enjoys scaring away any suitors of yours

(it’s super easy for her and is honestly very entertaining to watch) 

she keeps tabs on every single person who has shown interest in you

like EVERY single one

it doesn't matter if a student only glanced at you once in life sciences class, she is holding that information in the back of her head for future use

she lowkey kinda stalks anyone who’s interested in you?!?!?! (hear me out don’t hear me out)

she wants to know about the people who are desperate for your attention, so she finds out about all of their flaws

why you ask? well to warn you about them of course 

“sure they’re cute, but have you heard about their hygiene habits?”

“oh, she asked you out huh? well, before you accept her invitation i should warn you, she’s dated half of the school by now.”

“yeah, but i heard that he snores so LOUDLY. you do not want or need to sleep next to that, y/n.” 

yeah, some of the information is so weirdly specific that you’re often shocked by each revelation she tells you

if you asked her how she got all this info, well.. she is upfront about her behavior 🤷

“elphie, how did you know any of this to begin with?”

“...”

“elphie..”

“my info wasn’t illegally obtained sooo☝️”

“ELPHIE!!”

fiyero

at first fiyero wouldn’t be jealous at any admirer of yours (he is, he just doesn't admit it)

he would brush off anyone’s advances towards you as unimportant, despite the nagging voice in the back of his head

he thinks that any admirers that you have are below you and that you’re way out of everyone’s league, so he doesn't dwell too much on any student trying to flirt with you

he’s the winkie prince, he doesn't get jealous. if anything you should get jealous when he interacts with other people 

it’s only when one day you start to begin to show interest in a student that he knows secretly likes you that he starts to worry

anytime you brought up the student’s name fiyero would immediately direct your attention elsewhere or he would bring up something that didn’t have anything to do with the current conversation 

he’d get very grumpy when you start talking about them and would whine about how this person was stealing you away from him (in a platonic way, of course)

“don’t tell me that you’re going to leave me for THAT, y/n. yes, them. c’mon! you’ve already got a handsome prince’s attention, who else do you need?”

“them, really? with that hair?” 

“but they're so… loud.” 

“you’re loud..” 

“it’s charming!” 

when around you, he tries to play off all his jealousy in a joking, playful way despite quietly freaking out on the inside

he feels frustration and anger at a person for trying to “steal” you away from him

but he also feels worry, because now he’s just realized that there’s the possibility of you leaving him, and he was too much of a coward to tell you how he felt about you when he had the chance

like how dare someone look at you discreetly as if you’re a being from a whole other universe (fiyero does this), how dare they try to get all of your attention (he does this too), how dare they flirt with you relentlessly (yep. he also does this)

it isn't until you find that you aren’t actually as interested in the student as you thought before that fiyero relaxes again

but now, he’s always secretly on the lookout for anyone whose eyes linger on you for a bit longer than he sees decent 

if he notices any suitor begin to start to try to touch you, or try to get you alone

yeah, no! he’s seen those moves being used before and he KNOWS where they are going to lead (*coughs* he’s done them *coughs*) that is not going to slide

now when someone begins to pull moves on you, instead of just letting it happen he often walks over and immediately makes sure that you don’t give anyone too much time

he’ll interject himself into the conversation and will administer casual touches on you every now and then. tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, brushing his hand against your back or arm, things like that. things that scream to your suitor “back off, they’re already being pursued by mwah”

fiyero will casually put an arm around your shoulders as you talk to the person who is into you. he’ll keep eye contact with the student, running his thumb along your shoulder, almost taunting them 

it gets you really quiet and flustered and soon enough the student leaves you two alone

so yes, despite fiyero’s past beliefs about “playing it cool” about his jealousy, all it takes is for someone to actually catch your attention for him to flip out and become the most jealous (and even slightly insecure??) man who ever lived

g(a)linda

does not sugar coat her jealousy AT ALL

like- is super obvious about it

“oh dearest, i hope you aren’t taking any of those suitors of yours seriously. you just might begin to make ME jealous!” *releases a scary laugh and flips her hair*

when galinda is interested in someone she is very obvious about it, and honestly she’s not ashamed of it

most people would die to have galinda’s attention, so she assumes that you’ll feel the same

she sees it as almost marking her territory to others in a weird way

when people see that THE galinda upland of the upperuplands has her eyes set on someone, said people will back off

like fiyero, galinda tends to get very touchy when she’s jealous

she doesn't like when you’re attention is on someone else so she’ll do these weird things in order to get your focus back on her

her favorite tactic is to pretend to faint 

“oh, dear. y/n! it- it’s getting kind of warm right now isn’t it? oh- oh i think i’m gonna-“ *falls conveniently into you* 

so you have no choice but to drag galinda off somewhere to sit or lay down

as you drag her off, galinda is secretly looking over at the person who had been talking to you with the smuggest look on her face 

nessarose

nessa gets a bit grumpy and quiet when she gets jealous

she’s really bitter about your attention being on someone else (she’s quietly thinking about slamming their face into something)

at first when someone approaches you she tries to redirect your attention back to her 

if you still prioritize the person who approached you over her she’ll get very quiet and she’ll just slink off somewhere else, hoping that you’ll realize that she’s not with you anymore and go look for her

nessa can get insecure whenever she’s jealous so she’d prefer not to see you, the person that she has a huge crush on, causally interact with someone that she knows likes you

she almost blames you for having suitors?? 

she’ll give you the silent treatment after you’ve interacted with someone for what she believes to have been an indecently long time 

“nessa, c’mon. please talk to me..”

“...”

“ness, you’re being immature-”

“OH I’M SORRY! 🙄”

she gets very dramatic about it (drama queen nessarose is very much a thing)

like- you’re literally just talking to someone else, it’s not that deep 😭

she honestly just needs some reassurance that you still love her (platonically, for now) and that you still care for her and she’ll calm down (visibly)

but on the inside she’s trying to think of ways to make sure that your suitor won’t approach you again, at least while she’s around

[kingprinceleo]

Find my Aus sorted by category here: https://deviantart.com/kingprinceleo

Where to find me: Complete List

Ao3 (home to one [1] fic): https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kingprinceleo

Updates:

Vampire au is in overhaul progress ! Updated Masterpost (WIP) here

Ships present:

1000 Years Bound-None

Happy Auau- No active ships during the story but hints of Blazamy (married) and Knuxouge (flirting) from a hundreds of years ago. Sonic and Shadow have their typical weird tension with no clear definition as to what they are. (though i may draw non canon fluff art with them)

Fire n Water- None

Vampire Au- Sonadow (Eventual marriage + LOTS of non canon fluff), Blazamy, Knuxouge (flirting), Geraldoom

Desert Vampires Au- Wavouge (exes)

Tag method: Cw (blank)

General/Frequent Content Warnings for my art- Blood, injury, violence, horror themes, body horror, drowning, cannibalism (mostly depicting the urges, minimal straight up gore), gore (very rare, and never extreme)

1000 Years Bound Summary- 500 years into the future, Miles finds himself at the mysterious kingdom of Solar Sanctum, ruled by the long absent King Shadow. Shadow invites Miles to stay as a collaboration of great minds to try and solve the murky state their world has fallen into. It isnt long before Miles starts to realize Shadow is no longer the man he remembers, and starts to get tangled up in his web of madness.

Happy Auau Summary- An au of an au branching off the 1000 Years Bound timeline, or perhaps it's the original…

Sonic the Hedgehog, immortalized by extended use of the chaos emeralds, is alive and well 500 years into the future. His latest adventure leads him to taking down a tyrant king and he finds himself thrust into power when the people of the struggling kingdom declare him to be their next leader. Realizing he's absolutely boned, he calls upon his old friends for help.

Fire and Water Au Summary- Thousands of years ago, the Sol dimension and Mobius had become one planet after a catastrophic event caused by Solaris. After hundreds of years of research and splitting the beast into two halves, Iblis reeked havoc on the planet and threatened to destroy it once again.

Under a time limit and the constant threat of Solaris's return, a baby Sonic was chosen by the royal family to be the vessel to inhabit the flames of disaster.

Present day, Sonic and Blaze's parents have mysteriously passed away and Sonic's coronation is closing in. Desperate, he escapes the castle to pursue a life of freedom as a pirate.

Blaze, with no one left, sets out to retrieve him at any cost.

Vampire Au Summary- Angel Island is the only life Sonic has ever known. Being trapped within the permanent barrier encasing the 8 islands isnt quite his style, so finding a way to destroy it and explore the world below has been his goal for as long as he can remember. Hes got a number of other things keeping him occupied however, trying to prevent the Robotnik Family from taking over total control of the islands. 

When he isnt fighting them off, hes hanging out with his friends, living his best life being a vampire both day and night. When he wants to get everyone off his back, and feed from his favorite vampire hater, Shadow, he uses his magic staff to change his appearance into an alter ego, Hoax the "Tenrec."

Desert Vampire Au Hook- People are going missing in the desert...

[taintandviolent]

Harlem Nocturne ; Jimmy Darling x Reader

summary: When Elsa decides to host auditions for new acts, Jimmy Darling gets a front row seat to a free burlesque show.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 1.1K | female reader, burlesque/stripper reader, mentions of boners, teasing/flirting, no smut.

a/n: I was listening to spotify on shuffle and this idea absolutely VIOLATED my brain when the song Harlem Nocturne came on. besides, its' been a minute since I've written for my beloved boy. happy valentine's day! enjoy this short lil' somethin'!! banners by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

When Elsa had boldly told the troupe that she was going to be accepting auditions and wanted everyone to sit in on them, Jimmy Darling didn’t picture that he’d be front row for this. Not that he’s complaining. He isn’t. Not at all. His eyes are glued to you as you shimmy and float across the stage to the music that comes from the small record player in the corner. It's big band, and your movements are perfectly in sync with the instruments. Jimmy swallows, and reaches for the paper box of popcorn in his lap, taking a careful handful before bringing it to his mouth. He looks to his left to see Elsa with her arms crossed, languidly taking a draw of her cigarette. She seems pensive, but only because he knows her. Otherwise, her impassive face gives nothing away. His attention quickly returns to you, snapping back like a fresh rubber band. 

The sun is beating down on the fabric of the tent, warming it from the outside in. It’s warmed even further by all the bodies that now sit in front of you, watching your every move. Sweat dots your forehead, but you suspect that’s from the nerves. Maybe an unfortunate mixture of both. 

Despite wanting to focus on the handsome man in the front row, you smile and do your best to keep your attention on everyone in the crowd, even the women. Carefully angling your gloved hands to obscure your scantily-clad body, you flutter your fans in front of your body, dipping them down just enough to reveal a slice of bare collarbone, revealing that beneath those feathers, there was hardly anything. Bra straps were nowhere to be seen. 

In two sweeping motions, one arm after another, you bring the fans up above your head; the grand reveal. Your rhinestone-studded corset glitters in the modest show lights of the tent, all the little gems flickering like little stars. Even your nylons seem to shimmer – and Jimmy is starstruck. He feels heat blossoming in his crotch, and clears his throat. Next to him, Eve is watching, equally as interested, and she leans over, whispering. 

“This is really something, huh? She’s got talent.” 

“You can say that again.” 

You drop the fans beneath you, striding confidently towards the edge of the stage, with the gloved tip of your middle finger between your teeth. You yank once, twice, three times before the glove falls free, hanging lifelessly from your red-painted lips. You repeat the motion with your other hand, and toss it into the crowd. It lands on Jimmy’s leg, and he feels like he’s going to pass out. It’s still warm on his thigh. 

Your fingertips trail down the front of your body, raking over the rhinestones and the clasps. Quickly, you open the front of the corset, revealing all that delightful skin, and a pair of perfectly placed rhinestone pasties. The visual only lasts a second, and you shrug innocently at the man as if to coyly apologize. Jimmy’s fighting to keep his jaw off the floor, and he shifts awkwardly in the wooden chair, which creaks loudly in protest. His mind is whirring like a machine, well-oiled gears cranking with the thoughts of what’s in front of him. 

He swallows hard as you reveal your midsection to the crowd again, this time, opening it fully, exposing yourself to the troupe. As you dip down slightly, letting the corset drop to the floor, Jimmy leans forward and your eyes meet. You flash him a winning smile and a wink, straightening back up with a snap. Arms crossed above your head, you bump your hips to the left, then the right. 

Jimmy angles the popcorn box on his groin perfectly to hide his cock which is starting to swell within his dark jeans. His cheeks are flushed with embarrassment, but that doesn’t deter him from watching the rest of your act, which, from the looks of it, is drawing to a close.

As the music turns to static, you step to the front of the stage, waiting.

“Tell me, Mäuschen,” Elsa starts. “You think this… is worthy of my show? You’re taking your clothes off for the world to see.” 

With your chest heaving slightly, you clasp your hands in front of yourself and look out to the audience. You had all the confidence in the world a few moments ago, but now, standing nearly naked in front of these people, you feel like a fool. You frown slightly, but muster up the courage to respond to the heavily accented woman. “Fraulein Elsa,” you said, as you’d been instructed to do. “It’s an artform… it’s burlesque. It would bring in the crowds, that’s for sure!” 

She takes a long drag of her cigarette, blowing the smoke towards the stage. You withhold the urge to wave it away as the cloud travels in your direction. “This isn’t a peep show. It will only cheapen it. You may leave.”

The floor drops out from beneath you and takes your stomach with it. Hot tears of embarrassment prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them away. For a moment, you stand there, completely dejected. Before anyone can notice it, you pick yourself back up emotionally and nod once, dipping forward. 

“Th-thank you for your time.” You give a graceful bow before scurrying around the stage to collect your items and quickly make your way down the set of steps. You hear the woman shout for the next audition, and you round the corner, finding a secluded area of the tent to redo your corset. Disappointment bubbles in your stomach, and you fight off the burning desire to cry, to beg for her to reconsider. But, she was right. You weren’t like the other members of the show, you were just some broad taking her clothes off – it didn’t matter how pretty you were. Or weren’t. 

“I thought it was great. Your show, I mean.”

You jump slightly, freezing at the sound of someone’s voice. When you turn, you’re met with the guy from the front row. He’s holding your glove out to you, and looks sweeter than cherry pie, all brown eyes and soft smiles. You smile back at him, somewhat timidly, and take the glove, folding it up carefully with the other one and tossing them into the suitcase that you’ve brought. One of the caramel locks falls into his forehead as he nods, and he reaches up to push it back up with the rest of them. His fingers are long, and conjoined – something you’ve never seen before. You avert your eyes shyly, and finish doing up your corset.

“It’s a real shame she didn’t… I would’ve loved to have you.” 

He swallows hard. Another awkward moment fills the space between you two. “In the show. With us.” 

“Thanks,” you murmur quietly, as though you’re not to alert anyone that you’re talking. “It’s alright, you know. That’s show business.” 

Jimmy kicks at the dirt beneath his foot, and takes a step back. “I’m sure you get this all the time, with what you do n’ all, but I was wonderin’... maybe you’d like to get some food? There’s a diner real close and I – “ 

You cut him off with a nod. He lights up, in a different way than before, and you like that. Men always look at you a certain way, but the way he’s looking at you now sends a wave of joy through your core. 

“I’d love that.” 

[dorkyteenagedirtbag-ks]

Synopsis: Kaiser’s dream of glory comes true, but his victory feels hollow.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

The energy in the stadium was electric; people were crazy. The crowd was roaring for Kaiser. The lights shone bright, and the chants of his name echoed, everything felt surreal. Football was his life, his savior, his everything. But as he stood there, triumphant and soaked in sweat, a weight settled in his chest like never before.

The locker room was filled with excitement, but Kaiser sat quietly in a corner, a towel draped over his head, lost in thought. His mind was elsewhere.

It had been weeks since he'd last seen his lover, (Y/N).

(Y/N), a man who once was his silent shelter against the world's noise, his refuge. A touch from him, his smile, or even a look into his eyes were capable of drawing Kaiser from all turmoil within himself back into a tranquil lake. From the moment he began with nothing, the beginning, in itself-he'd seen him work so hard and struggle. And all through it, during every fall and after, even at moments when he'd wonder what everything was about, he'd have Y/N beside him.

But he wasn't here now.

The argument was still echoing in Kaiser's ears, louder than the cheers surrounding him. It had happened a week before the semifinals, a time when they should have been celebrating one of his biggest wins; instead, they were at each other's throats, saying words sharper than they wanted to.

"You're never here, Kaiser," Y/N had said shaking. "You keep talking of the future, about 'one day,' yet it's the same. Constantly football and always something big and more important than me. You just don't see me in that future you are talking of."

"That's not fair," Kaiser had snapped, on the defense. "You knew what this was about when you began dating me. This is my dream, (Y/N). You should get that. You more than anyone else should understand!"

"I get it!" Y/N had shouted, tears welled in his eyes. "But what about my dreams? What about us? What about my feelings? Are we just something you fit in in the cracks between the matches and training sessions?"

 

Kaiser had gone quiet, unable to answer.

"I can't keep doing this," he'd murmured, the anger sizzling out into exhaustion. "I can't keep being your second choice. I can't keep being the one you seek only when you're not shining on the field."

Kaiser wanted to say something-he really wanted to assure (Y/N) that things would be different, that things would change. But the words got caught in his throat, entangled in a truth he couldn't face. Football did come first. It had to. It was his dream, after all. A part of his everything.

(Y/N) had walked away that night, his absence louder than anything he could have said.

Now, sitting in the locker room, Kaiser felt that absence weighing down on him like a rock. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through the unanswered texts he had sent to him. Each one was a little more desperate than the last.

Please, talk to me.

I didn't mean for it to be like this.

I need you, (Y/N).

But (Y/N) didn't answer.

A hand clapped Kaiser on the shoulder, jerking him back to the present. It was Noel Noa. "Press is waiting for you, Kaiser."

Kaiser nodded slowly, still in a haze. Standing up and plastering on a smile that felt fake, he went to talk to them. Everything felt like a lie today.

The press conference was a blur as reporters bombarded him with questions about his goal, the team's strategy, and his future. Kaiser answered like a robot, his mind elsewhere, somewhere with Y/N.

Later, standing alone in the parking lot, the night was eerily quiet. It was almost like the world was taunting his loud mind. He made one last call. It rang endlessly, and just when Kaiser thought it would go to voicemail again, (Y/N) finally answered.

“Kaiser,” (Y/N)’s voice sounded tired and distant.

“I won,” Kaiser said, his voice shaky. “We’re heading to the finals.”

There was an uneasy silence that lasted for what felt like hours. "Congratulations" a soft reply was muttered by (Y/N).

Kaiser's eyes screwed shut because this pain he was feeling had very almost reached its maximum threshold. "I wish you were here."

"I cannot be," responded Y/N. "I can't keep looking at you when you're not even gazing at me."

Kaiser's throat lumped. "It's not like this; to me, you're everything."

"But not enough," he cut in. "Not enough to be first for you. Maybe we weren't meant to be after all."

Kaiser was wordless. "I hope you win," (Y/N) said with a soft tone, and the call ended.

The silence hung between them, heavy and final.

He was there for quite a while-the stadium sounds diminished, the ache in his chest not going away, reminding him of what he'd lost.

Kaiser lowered his phone, staring at the screen as if it could somehow bring back Y/N. But it didn't.

In the end, Kaiser had chosen football. And it had cost him the one thing he could never get back.

And maybe, maybe after all Y/N was a part of his everything, but it was too late.

- 𝐊𝐒

[writteninkat]

Corporate Heat | Endeavor x Reader

synopsis: Stern, commanding, and dominant— these are a few of the many characteristics of him that had you falling head over heels. Powerful, proud, and uncompromising are why you try your damnest to hide your desires. But when he makes the first move, you're unable to think of the consequences lying ahead in your future.

wc: 1.9k

warnings: smut(fingering, exhibition, unprotected sex, belittling, choking)

a/n: not proofread

navigation

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!" The announcer's voice echoes throughout the hall. "Welcome to an evening of unparalleled elegance and exclusivity, where the rarest treasures and finest luxuries await your discerning eye."

The velvet fabric over the soft foam dips from side to side as you squirm uncomfortably. The tangent you just went on about how your boss should act may actually be the worst decision you've ever made. Now, his gaze is costantly jumping from the announcer and back to you, lingering a bit longer on you.

A warm, calloused hand presses on your thigh exposde by the slit of your dress. Your squirming immediately comes to a hault, recognizing the owner of said hand.

"Stop moving. What's wrong?" Endeavor's voice rumbles softly beside you making your breathing stutter.

"Nothing- I just-" Fuck. "I'm not used to wearing stuff like this."

It's not a lie, you're always wearing your button-up blouse and pencil skirt whenever you're around your boss.

Endeavor turns his head at you, eyes directed right into yours. "You look beautiful." All the energy in your brain seems to have shifted to your heart as it beats rapidly against your rib cage. "So stop worrying about it."

Stop worrying? You bitch! Stop giving me a heartattck first!

"I don't feel beautiful."

Oh boohoo you stupid bitch! Cry me a river! The man just complimented you and now you're putting up a sad girl act?

Endeavor's eyes narrow into slits as you feel his hand slowly move towards your inner thigh. Your eyes widen, nails digging into the soft velvet cover of the couch.

"I've noticed a few things about you." He states, fingers brushing back and forth, teasing you.

"Y-Yeah? What things?" You wanna bang your head against the wall for stuttering.

"On your first day, you wore dress pants." His hand slowly inches down the side of your knee, before moving back up.

"Black ones. Then on your second day, you wore a pencil skirt." His thumb draws lazy circles against your skin.

Well yeah, I saw you on that first day and immediately wanted your attention. I didn't know how else to do it!

"And with every week that passed, your skirt grew smaller and smaller." His hand inches up your thigh, disappearing underneath your dress. "Until one day, it was so short that when you dropped a few documents I told you to take," Your core grows hotter and wetter with every inch his hand takes, pulsing and swelling at the fact that he's close- so close. "When you bent down to take them, I saw you wore yellow panties that day."

Your eyes widen as your lips part. He looked.

"And the next day, you wore blue ones." His fingers tease you as they ghost right infront of your cunt. He's not exactly touching it- his finger tips simply grazing every now and then.

"But I gotta say, I love the color you've got on tonight." With that, he presses his thumb against your soaked panties, moving up and down. You suck in a breath, your back arching as your nerves burn with ecstacy. "Red looks beautiful on you."

Your thighs shake as they close on each other, effectively trapping his hand between them. You look up at him, out of breath as you hips move slightly, having a mind of their own.

"You wanted me to see them, didn't you?" Despite being trapped, his thumb continues massaging your clit. Pleasure burns your skin as your hand flies to his- unsure whether it's to stop him or keep him there.

"Wanted me to see the different colors you craved to be ripped off of you?" Your fingers squeeze his meaty forearms as your teeth sink onto your bottom lip.

"You wanna act like a slut for me?" His question is followed by his other hand pulling your thigh towards him, showcasing the crimson lacy thong you have on tonight. "Then be a good one and keep your legs open."

Your body falls to the side, your elbow propping you up as your boss hooks his forearm under your thigh, keeping your clothed cunt free.

He climbs on top of you, hand pressed up against the couch's arm as he hooks your panties to the right. "Fucking Christ," He breathes, "You're soaked like the good whore you are."

He pushes a finger in, making your eyes roll back. His digit is thick and rough, the sensation causing goodebumps to scatter across your skin.

He slowly pumps his ring finger in and out of you as his thumb presses circles on your clit. Your brows furrow as your lips create an O.

Close, so fucking close!

Your hips begin moving once more, trying to match his pace.

A little more! Fuck!

"Eyes on me." He snaps you back into reality, the commanding tone of his voice forcing your eyes on his. His orb the color of sea captures you, pulling from reality. Right now, it's just the both of you floating through space. No responsibilities, no consequences.

Endeavor lowers his head, his lips pressing against your clothed breast before biting on the material, pulling your tube down. He flicks his pink tongue over the swollen bud of your nipple, a zing of surprise jolting down your spine as you tip over the edge, falling helplessly into the sea of your orgasm.

The hero presses his free palm over your mouth, effectively muffling your cries of pleasure until you finish, limbs twitching as a single tear drips from the corner of your eye. He moves towards your ear, hot breath fanning over the shell.

"Shut the fuck up or we'll get caught. I'm not done with you." He grits, sliding his hand from your mouth and on your neck, fingers tightening around your lifeline. One good squeeze and you're gone.

He roughly pulls his finger out of your soaking cunt, shoving it inside your mouth. "Taste yourself. Good?" His digit touches the back of your throat, making you choke.

His jaw ticks as his hold on your neck tightens. "What the fuck did I just say?"

You try your best to relax your throat, thinking about something else, anything else to take your mind off the digit you're swallowing.

Endeavor smirks, "That's my good slut."

He pulls his hand from your mouth, fiddling with his belt and pants. You look down, gasping when your gaze catches his member.

Fuck, that's huge.

I mean, he's already a tall and big man, but holy fuck!

Your eyes quickly return to his, brows furrowing in worry. "It- you won't fit!" You whisper, the hero chuckling at your distress.

"You're gonna have to make it fit, sweetheart."

Your brows knit in confusion this time. He takes you by surprise when he lifts you by the hold on your neck, sitting you on his lap.

"Ride me like a good whore." He commands.

You look down once again at his member standing straight between the both of you, questioning your actions.

Does it look mouthwatering? Yes.

Are you starting to regret this? Maybe- but you're leaning towards no.

Do you wanna stop? Absolutely not.

But will he fit?

You raise your hips, Endeavor taking your tit in his mouth, sucking on the sensitive bud.

I guess we'll see.

His bulbous head presses against your entrance and you can already tell this one's gonna hurt. Slowly, you lower yourself, taking deep breaths and focusing on the hero's tongue swirling around your nipple.

"Oh- fuck!" You gasp, begging your walls to make room for him. You lift yourself up a little, giving yourself room to breathe before resuming your journey down.

"Taking too damn long." He mutters, stunning you when he pushes your hips down. His cock fills you completely, making it difficult to breathe.

The hero doesn't give you time to voice out your reaction when his lips press against yours, his tongue pushing through them. You mewl and whimper against his hot mouth as he lifts you by your waist before slamming you back down.

"Fuck, you're a good cocksleeve. So fucking tight." He grits out, pressing wet, hot kisses all over your jaw and neck. He nibbles on a spot, his control on your body unrelenting.

Your head falls back the moment discomfort blends into pleasure, your hair falling back. You begin to ride your boss yourself when a rough hand squeezes your jaw forcefully, "I said to keep your eyes on me."

You nod, your hips moving at a faster pace. Your hands settle on his wide shoulders, allowing you a better balance. Your hips move back and forth, up and down, and in circles until you begin to feel your climax at your finger tips.

"Fuck yeah, let your tits bounce as you ride my cock." Endeavor breathes out, taking your nipple in his mouth, sucking on it harshly. Your teeth sink onto your bottom lip at the slight pain, your orgasm pushing closer to you with every sting you receive.

"Heavens," He prays, looking up at you. "Fuck, tell me your on birth control." You nod.

That does something to the hero. He curses roughly before pulling you on the couch, lying you on your back. He takes you by your thighs, lifting your lower body up his hips before fucking you with abandon.

"You're ruining every other pussy for me, baby." You gasp at his words, sinking your teeth on the back of your hand before it's being pushed away, replaced by his lips.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling the hero closer as he continues abusing your cunt. You pull your lips away from his, breathing on his ear. "I'm gonna cum!" You whisper.

"Milk my cock like the slut you are. Every drop is yours, baby." He chokes against your ear.

With one last pinch on your nipple, you sink your teeth onto the side of his neck, muffling your pleasurable moans. You hear him grunt before feeling his cock twitch inside you. Endeavor grabs a fistful of your tit, pushing his hips into you deeply and roughly one last time before the feeling of hot liquid poured into you forces a blindsiding orgasm out of you.

You back arches as your legs shake around his waist. You claw at his suit and your mind blanks from the overstimulation. With your breathing erratic, you ride out your deafening orgasm for a few moments, slowly returning to reality.

Out of breath and uncomfortably sweaty, you let go of Endeavor and fall back onto the couch. The hero's chest rises and falls just as rapidly as yours. He slowly pulls out, making your body flinch.

"Fuck, your pussy looks so pretty dripping with my cum." He exhales, making you turn to the side with your hand on your mouth. Your cheeks burn of embarrassment now that the euphoric feeling has subsided.

Endeavor pulls your panties back in place, along with your dress. You sit up, thanking him silently before attempting to stand.

"Where are you going?" He asks, hand circled around your wrist. You look at him in confusion, "I'm gonna go clean up."

Endeavor narrows his eyes before pulling you back to his side. "Be a good girl and keep my cum inside you. I'll give you a reward after."

Maybe you should listen to the logical part of your brain that's yelling at you to go make sure you don't end up with that 1% the birth control pills are failing at.

That part is always fighting for her dignity wherever your boss is concerned.

But you wanna be a good girl for him. The curiousity of whatever your reward is wins against logic. You nod your head, sitting back down properly as Endeavor grunts in approval.

[damn-stark]

Chapter 28 Let it be fear

Chapter 28 of Moonlight

A/N- :/

Warning- talks of pregnancy, ANGST, FLUFF, fluff, and more fluff, some violence, talks of blood, and SPOILERS!! FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- 491-515

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

There’s a certain beauty that blesses the Trident today as the chilling blue sky lets the cold sun shine over the thick green wilderness, but what is a rainless horizon compared to him?

There’s a serene silence that accompanies you as you overlook The Keep of House Frey from the top of a nearby hill, and in that silence, you’re captivated by the way the sun captures Cregan, and for a moment, like sunbeams breaking through a storm, there’s a warmth in his stormy eyes that melts away the threat he usually carries, providing a warmth only his grey eyes can offer; which is pretty fascinating considering grey is cold, hard, and dull, but those grey eyes of his have a way of being warm under the sun. They’re also mysterious and beautiful like steel against firelight. It’s your favorite color too, but only because he makes it captivating.

Alas, in all that admiration does he notice you? No, and it’s okay because you find your courage and motivation to keep going in his unawareness.

“The last destination,” you break the silence and as if taking one last breath of him you look away to follow his line of sight to the The Twins sitting below.

“You’ll gain their support just like you have gained all the rest,” he offers as a piece of reassurance, but this time it doesn’t ease your concern.

Cregan notices that the moment you don’t respond and only gets reassurance of that when he looks over at you and sees the storm of stress raging behind your eyes. “You will get their support one way or another,” he presses and gently cups your neck, causing you to quickly look away from the keep to meet his eyes that just reflect you this time.

“I burned Lady Frey and her army of men—”

“After they tried to take Harrenhal by force and captured you in the process,” he cuts you off to remind you of that detail. “They were okay with betraying the Queen to take control of the rubble of a useless castle. What you did was justifiable in a time of war. You did the right thing and if they don’t see it that way then we'll make them. Or you will,” he says with a lighthearted huff and proceeds to offer you an assuring smile as he drags his hand down your side to interlace his fingers with yours.

“You’re right,” you breathe out and find it again, just there in his eyes as your hands are interlinked, the bliss of home. However, as you’re in the depths of your comfort you find it in yourself to ask something that’s been gnawing at you. “And once we fight in this upcoming battle when we win, do you think that will be enough to return home? To my mother?”

Cregan blinks in confusion and you explain why you haven’t returned home or sent her a letter. “When I returned from Harrenhal after leaving my mother for months, she said to never leave her again. She found it in herself to forgive me for betraying her and siding with Aemond, but I left again. I left after she told me not to, so do you think gaining this support, building this reputation, and winning the battle will be enough for her to forgive me again? I let her down so many times I don’t know…if this is enough now.”

Cregan lets out a deep breath and his eyes drift to the side as the sound of incoming footsteps starts to ascend the hill, but he doesn’t pay them any mind, he leans his face forward and offers the best reassurance. “She’s your mother, would you forgive your children if you were in her position?”

You draw in a shaky breath and nod gently. “Of course, they’re my children, but…” you trail off and he fills your silence.

“She will forgive you. I can imagine there might have been tension before. This is all a tense situation, but you’re trying and fighting hard for her, she will recognize that and forgive you if she hasn’t already,” he offers you sweet words, making you nod gently in comprehension with no need to seek for more help. He fills your heart with the assurance you need to move on without hesitation or getting lost in the wilderness that are your thoughts.

So much so that you walk down the hill with your head held high and your mind clear because you know the Frey’s have this need to be resistant. They’re stubborn and proud, so you know that this meeting is not going to be as easy as the others were, there will be resistance and you prepare for that accordingly, making sure to have silver chains over your face that match the armor on your corset.

Never once do you falter in your step or the way you carry an intimidating stare behind those silver chains because you can see them the moment you walk into the great hall; you see them look for a fault in your step, a slight mistake, or an out of line hair to pick on and use against you and the people you’re with, but you don’t give them the satisfaction. With your blazing stare alone you challenge the young and great Lady Sabitha Frey, eldest daughter of Lord Frey, and Lady Frey who you killed at Harrenhal.

“Thank you for allowing us in your home,” Addam is the one who breaks the tension first but can hardly gain any of the audience's attention. Lady Sabitha has her sharp eyes on him, but everyone else…they all have their eyes on you as if wanting to tear you apart, but also keep you at a distance fearing if they got too close they’d burn alive too, which means the message was sent.

“I have heard that a great army has been marching through the Riverlands,” Lady Sabitha speaks at last but she doesn’t offer any greetings, she’s blunt and cold. “I was beginning to wonder if we would be paid a visit or be left out.”

“The Riverlands are grand,” Addam says back. “And our task is significant, it’s taken us time, but we are here at last.”

“It was her!” A voice blurts, bringing a stunned silence and turning all of the attention to you standing at Addam’s side—“She was the killer! She burned Lady Serena and her men! She did it! She’s the Fire Demon!”

You tilt your nose to the air and can’t help but smirk in response, but that only lets Lady Sabitha find a reason to finally display her rage and grief because she doesn't care if she got interrupted and humiliated by some common warrior, she's looking for a single step out of line to be able to drive her focus to you and her rage.

“I know there’s unresolved tension,” Addam tries to diffuse the situation. “But right now is not the time—”

“You find this humorous?” Lady Sabitha cuts Addam off without a care. “Is my mother's death funny to you, Princess?” She throws out as she rises off her seat. “Then again what can I expect from someone who breaks enemy lines whenever she pleases? That treason may be pushed aside, but my mother's death will not go unpunished. Not here in my home and my lands,” she sneers and slowly begins to step forward.

“Punished?” She feign a laugh. “What would be my sentence?” You quip and raise your brows to press her. “I showed Lady Serena that there are consequences to her treason—”

“Treason?!” She spats and opens her mouth to continue, but Ser Cane cuts her off.

“You will not interrupt the princess whilst she’s speaking. This may be your house but she still is the heir and your princess,” he scolds her as he takes a big step forward to be a more menacing presence amongst Cregan also standing at your side.

“Sure,” Lady Sabitha mutters under her breath as she comes to a stop without coming too close to you. “As I was saying,” she continues louder even though it should have been you taking the spotlight, but regardless, you let her share her argument. “My mother committed no treason, Prince Jacaerys promised Harrenhal to us. She was only taking what was hers by right.”

You scoff and flash her an amused smile. “If she wanted to take it by right she should have said so,” you rebuttal. “But no, she did not. She knew I was there and took me captive to try and sell me to my mother or my husband. She was willing to change sides. She took me captive, that is treason,” you spat and take a step forward. “Or what you’re going to argue and say it didn’t go that way? Because it did, ask the man who just barged in.”

The attention turns to the man who had interrupted the meeting and he shrinks within himself but doesn’t dare leave. He averts his gaze and listens to Cregan interject. “Tell us if the Princess is right or if your lady is. Now.”

The man blinks nervously and quietly gives his response. “We had lost so much and the lady was grieving her husband, she wanted to find a point to her loss.”

You don’t respond with anything, you look at Lady Sabitha Frey with a pointed glare as you celebrate within.

However, in your silence, you did expect Lady Sabitha to start forming some kind of apology, but she remains at a standstill with her eyes downcasted.

“Bend the knee,” you sneer with your glare turning cold. “You were wrong, bend the knee and give us fighting men to add to our army so we can fight our war. And since you have heard so much about us I’m sure you know which war. Bend the knee.”

A tension grows tenfold in the great hall as Lady Sabitha remains standing because in doing so she causes her people filling this hall to remain resistant as well.

“Bend the knee to your princess and heir by orders of Queen Rhaenyra,” Ser Cane insists in a booming voice.

Yet without speaking Lady Sabitha looks you up and down with her lips curled in anger and remains defiant, and even then you still wait and wait, giving her the benefit of the doubt.

However, when you don’t hear a word or see her bend the knee you throw your hand back without saying a word. And without the need for instructions as if your minds are connected, Ser Cane pulls Blackfyre out of its sheath, filling the hall with the sharp ringing of metal scraping before the Valyrian steel blade glistens against the rays of the sun as the large sword is handed to you. Once you have it in your grasp you then step forward to be at the center of attention.

“I am your heir,” you say in a voice laced with deadly venom that brings chills to the audience without the need to yell to get your point or voice across. “I am your princess. I am the Blood Dragon, you will bend the knee, pledge fealty to Queen Rhaenyra first of her name, and me, her chosen heir.”

Lady Sabitha glances at your shining sword and then slowly meets your gaze without uttering a single word. She keeps quiet and her glare becomes challenging and conflicted.

“Unless you plan to switch loyalty,” you continue in the same venomous voice still missing volume. “If so, tell me right now by pulling out your sword or choosing your champion.”

Lady Sabitha Frey tilts her head and snaps her gaze to your belly. “And you will fight like that?” She points her eyes to your belly, making you scoff and flash her a smile that’s all too menacing.

“I won’t fight,” you clarify. “I could say I want a champion and all my men would volunteer. Even Lord Stark and Ser Addam would fight for me, but why waste their energy or risk their lives when I have my dragon as champion? Tell me Lady Frey can you, your people, and your castle stand against my dragon?” You finally start to raise your voice. “Or will you turn to ash just like your mother did?”

Gasps bounce around the room and the woman’s jaw clenches as her eyes turn even more fierce.

“Tell me!” You exclaim and then turn on your heels to point the tip of your sword at the audience remaining just as defiant as their Lady. “Tell me if any of you can stand against my dragon!”

As expected, silence, even from the brave lady.

“No?” you continue. “Well, I can. I am the Fire Demon! My flesh is fire made!” Your voice continues to boom out of frustration, and passion as well. “And,” you laugh and slowly lower the volume of your voice but never drop the venom behind it. “It will bring me great pleasure to watch you all burn and scream as your flesh melts off your bones. Just say the word.”

Lady Sabitha Frey looks around at all the frightened looks that the audience all share in her defiance. She looks and looks in hopes for something that can keep her own flame from being blown out, but that defiance once so vividly lit within her people is snuffed out by the great fire you are and she knows she’s lost. When she turns to look at you and meets your glowering glare, you further prove to her that you’re not one to bluff, so what other choice does she have?

Thus without uttering a single word, but with the intention clear in her eyes she drops her challenging glare and drops her head in defeat. The moment you see her head fall, to add more shame to her actions you get close to her and throw your hand out just below her eye line.

Now Lady Sabitha has no need for explanations, she knows what you mean and what you want, so what other choice does she have but to slowly bend down, grab the tip of your fingers, and push her lips forward to press a light feathered peck on your golden Targaryen sigil ring before she at last bends the knee, causing the once defiant audience to follow her suit and bend the knee.

Once you see the top of everyone’s heads you look down at her again between your lashes and shoot her smirk before you turn around dramatically and talk to her over your shoulder. “You will lend us the swords we came for, and in response to your treason, Harrenhal is no longer yours. You will keep your lands, your home, and your lives, I will make sure to let the Queen know of your loyalty and apology as well.” You share with a honey-laced tone that only shames them more. “Oh, and you will prepare your home to host your guests accordingly, I will be staying inside for the night. Pleasure doing business with you, House Frey.”

——

*LATER*

What is it about the day?

There was a sense of peace that filled the day as the sun reigned over the sky. Even after the complicated business with the Frey’s, the serenity stayed, but now even against the fiery sky cast over the land, the dragons are caught in a restless spell as if they were uncomfortable and needed to be somewhere but couldn’t quite find a way to leave. They’re just flying in circles, filling the fierce sky with their almost melancholy song.

Maybe they’re tired of being in the Riverlands? Astraea and Seasmoke do love the sea, you think to yourself as Addam walks in and joins you in the library.

“They’re acting odd don’t you think?” You ask him as you refer to your dragons. “They’ve been circling the sky and crying for a while now.”

Addam approaches you near the window that has the best view of the running river that The Twins stand over, and at the moment notices the way the setting sun in its red and orange reign catches you with its fierce hues, but never once makes you look threatening or as rageful. The red and orange hue makes you appear enchanting and otherworldly; everything a Valyrian princess should be under such a fierce horizon.

“I wish I could know,” he doesn’t offer any kind of solution. “Where’s your Lord Stark?”

You roll your eyes away from the window and glance down at the book you have been reading. “He’s busy answering correspondence from home,” you let Addam know regardless if he’s teasing you. “He is a busy man, you know? He doesn’t just spend time at my side. You just happen to catch him with me when you look for me, that’s all.”

“Okay, okay,” Addam brushes you off lightheartedly and then nudges your knee with his foot. “You changed, you look nice.”

You look at him with a smile. “Thank you,” you redirect before you start to grin with amusement. “Just so you remember I am meant to change about three to four times a day. There’s my morning gown, my lunch and afternoon gown, my dinner gown, and if I go out or have to attend a meeting or court I change for that.”

Addam snickers and hides his grin by looking out the window. “I remember,” he says in response. “It’s ridiculous and a waste if you ask me. I mean why not wear the same thing all day or twice?”

You scrunch your nose. “Twice?” You quip. “I have only worn my favorite and most expensive gowns more than once, and now that we’re out here I have no other option, but why would I wear things repeatedly?”

Addam scoffs and leans forward. “Because why waste your money on something so materialistic?” He retorts with a dry laugh. “And because why not use it more than once?”

You squint at him and shake your head. “Money is not a problem for me,” you explain as if it isn't an obvious fact about you. “I am a Velaryon, our family is the richest there is, why shouldn’t I spend my share? Besides, there’s so many beautiful fabrics and talented designers, I can’t resist it,” you muse. “And all the colors,” you swoon. “The embroidery? The gold, pearl, or silver linings? It’s all so beautiful!”

With nothing left to argue with in his defense, Addam leaves it be with a roll of his eyes, letting you finally find the time to share the news you have been holding in for what feels like months. “Can I tell you something?”

“You’re going to do it anyway,” he retorts and rests his head back against the wooden panel as he locks his eyes on you. “What?”

A giddy smile creeps on your lips as you lean forward and grab his hands before you share. “Cregan and I are betrothed.”

Addam blinks repeatedly and his eyebrows slowly begin to pinch together, but then from one moment to the next, he flashes you a smile and scoffs. “I should have seen that coming. When did he ask?”

“A couple of nights ago,” you share and lean back without being able to let your smile go. “The night we had our campfire.”

Addam hums and slowly passes you a quizzical look. “Has he asked your mother? Or Lord Corlys? That’s who he would need to ask, no? How does that work without your father or Daemon?”

You shoot him a pointed glare. “I am a grown woman already with child. I don’t belong to anyone for him to ask permission. If I was a maiden then yes, he would have to ask for my hand, but I’m a widow. It’s my choice now…However,” you do add and avert your gaze. “Since I’m heir he does need to tell my mother, the Queen, but she won’t protest.”

You turn your gaze back to him and sigh to release your excitement before you clasp your hands and start to nervously fiddle with your rings. “But that’s not the only reason I’m telling you,” you pause and let out another deep breath before you look at him with a softened gaze riddled with a fragile vulnerability that could break at any given second.

“Weddings under the Old Gods are different,” you continue to say a bit quieter now. “They’re done under a heart three and usually a father walks the bride to the groom, but…my father is gone and Jacaerys is gone. I could ask my grandfather, but…I wanted to ask if you could walk me down the aisle when the day comes?” You ask and blink nervously, with each blink filling your eyes with more and more tears whilst Addam’s breath hitches and his own face drops that taunting expression to instead display his disbelief.

“It's okay if you don’t want to,” you quickly assure him in his silence you can’t read. “I can ask Joffrey, I’m sure he’ll be delighted to take that role.” You share your alternative with a happy smile so he doesn’t feel bad.

However, after another second of silence passes he finally draws out a deep breath he had been holding in and nods gently before he voices his answer. “I would be honored to walk you down the aisle.”

You beam and then lean forward to grab his hands and give it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” you offer sweetly. “Now Cregan and I want to marry after the war is over so we don’t have that weighing down on us or potentially ruin the day, so there’s still time, but I wanted to ask you now.”

Addam lowers his head to hide his smile whilst he also interjects with a smug comment. “You also need time to have your gown made, don’t you? What will it be made out of?”

You giggle and as you part your lips to rebuttal with something witty a knock raps on the door, pulling your attention away from your conversation.

“Come,” you welcome the visitor and slowly pull away from Addam.

The door opens and Cregan walks in. You’re happy to see him, you greet him with a smile, but when he walks further inside with a scroll in his hand you notice the solemn look he carries. And he’s usually serious so his expression shouldn’t really concern you all that much, but there’s something about the solemn look that he carries now that makes the hairs on the back of your neck rise.

“Cregan,” you utter his name nervously and don’t move, hoping that if you stay in place whatever he has to say won't reach you.

“My princess,” he greets hesitantly and then greets Addam with a small nod. “Ser.”

You swallow back nervously and press your hands against the cushion to stand up, but he quickly shakes his head and retorts. “Why don’t you stay sitting.”

A shaky breath escapes you and you nod stiffly as you feel the goosebumps travel from the back of your neck down to the perimeters of your skin.

“What’s wrong?” You ask and his grey eyes leave you to drift to the scroll in his hand. You follow his line of gaze but then drift your eyes back to him in hopes that whatever it has to say isn’t as bad as you’re starting to assume.

“A raven just came,” Cregan finally shares and slowly drifts his gaze back to you. “From Kings Landing. It’s for you.”

You were starting to assume it was for you. You could read it off his face.

“I could paraphrase what it says. I think that would be better with the news it contains,” he says and only adds more fuel to the already worrisome fire, but you can’t have him summarize whatever news arrived for you or else you won’t believe it. You need to read every word yourself even though you’ll have a hard time believing it too.

“No, no. I want to read it. Let me read it,” you press him and stretch your hand out to reach for the scroll. However, Cregan hesitates and grabs the scroll with both hands to smooth out the parchment first before he leans forward and hands it to you.

“Thank you,” you whisper breathlessly and watch how the paper trembles in your hold as you already expect the worst news to be written on the parchment because what else would it be?

Life has been cruel. Why would it be nice now?

You shouldn’t even read it, you should leave the news unread because at least that way you’ll be oblivious to anything…but you also know you won’t rest easy if you don’t know, so after a deep breath you turn the parchment and read what was brought to you.

“To The Princess and Heir of Queen Rhaenyra,

I dislike having to send you this letter, but it has to be written so you may know.

I regret to inform you that as of last night, all the dragons that were kept in the Dragonpit have perished after an angry mob of smallfolk following some fake prophet called The Shepherd, raided the Dragonpit—“

Your breath hitches and you feel as if somebody had punched you in the stomach. The news that the power of your house, and the beautiful creatures that are like your soulmates have all perished at the hands of common folk filled with anger sinks your heart. It leaves you paralyzed in your seat, but you don’t cry. Not yet.

“—when the news broke of what was transcending the young Prince Joffrey left the Red Keep against the Queen’s wishes, mounted Syrax, and fell from the saddle whilst in the sky—”

A shaky breath escapes you and a heavy pressure falls on your chest, but you don’t cry. Not yet.

“—Syrax perished not much later after getting caught in the mob that killed the other dragons. And it seems that at the news of Dreamfyre’s unfortunate passing, Princess Helaena Targaryen flung herself from a window and fell to her death, enraging the crowds—“

More pressure falls on your chest, your bottom lip trembles and your eyes sting further as the tears building in your eyes pain them. However, you don’t cry. Not yet.

Cregan who was watching you read the letter expects you to weep. He keeps a close eye out, expecting you to fold over in heartache, but you remain poised and collected, almost like the agony is not as hurtful anymore.

“—and making the city fall. Amidst the chaos Queen Rhaenyra took Prince Aegon, Lord Aerion, the Queensguard, trusted knights, and her handmaidens, and escaped the city, leaving Lord Corlys in his imprisonment which he escaped. As to where she is we don’t know, but until your return with Ser Addam, it’s best she remains hiding. That’s why I write to you in hopes you can retaliate at once and take back the city. You are our only hope unless Prince Daeron marches here first.

Maester Orwyle.”

You watch the words on the parchment and go over the news in your head again and again, faster and faster every single time until you can’t process any more news and you’re sitting there baffled and without being able to utter a single word. Time is at a standstill, the once-warm room is freezing and your body is paralyzed.

Cregan and Addam call out your name ever so softly, fearing that you’ll break if they raise their voices, but you stay there stiffly, realizing that you have to mourn yet another beloved brother. You had five, now you’re left with a single one who barely knows your name.

The woman you loved like a sister, the woman you cherished and adored, the woman who was your dearest friend, the woman you grew up with is gone because she couldn’t bear any more grief. Your grandfather escaped a cell you didn’t know he was in. And your mother is on the run with your remaining brother and your son to escape the angry crowds who brought the city down with their rage which you assume is caused by the same things that were upsetting them when you were there; things your mother can’t control.

Everything you once knew is slipping from your grasp. You can see that clearly now—no, you’re admitting that to yourself now. The only thing you have left is a fragment of hope and it’s just your mother, your brother, and Aerion. They’re all you have left. They’re that last fragment of hope. Yet even if you still have them, even if they’re the last flicker of hope you’re holding onto, nothing stops that pressure once weighing your chest down from tearing you down because you still lost all the beautiful and cherished dragons that connected you to Old Valyria. You lost Helaena, your beloved and gentle aunt who was more like the sister you never got to have. And you lost your little brother Joffrey, a boy you held when he was only a few minutes old, a brother who was the reminder of your sweet childhood; the sweet and blissful life you had before you were ripped from your family. He was that last piece of your childhood and now he’s gone, taking that memory with him, and leaving nothing but this new version of you.

And yet you still don’t cry. Even with the two pairs of eyes that feel like a hundred people are waiting for you to break down, you still don’t cry. You do reflect the grief through your eyes, but you don’t weep, you don’t shed even a single tear. You let out a shaky breath and sit up straight with your head hanging low, but you don’t cry. You shake your head gently at the realization of the tragedy, but you don’t cry. You meet Cregan’s worried and pitiful gaze and remain collected. It takes a lot out of you to remain so strong, but you remember all you were taught and lift your head high and keep your chest out with your nose slowly starting to flare.

“Addam,” you break your silence, making the man’s shoulders jump and be even more attentive than he already was.

“I hope you’re ready,” you continue to mutter in a low and almost threatening voice. “We’re moving up our plans. We will attack Tumbleton right away.”

Addam shifts in his seat before he probes. “Why? What’s going on?”

You let out a deep huff and your drooped gaze slowly starts to harden, whilst your heart begins to pound in your chest as your blood starts pumping through your veins frantically.

“I want to catch them by surprise now,” you share in that same almost threatening way. It’s not threatening yet but it’s slowly building up to it. “I don’t want them to see us coming until the sky is falling down upon them so word is not passed to King’s Landing that we’re coming.”

Cregan and Addam share a worried look and you proceed to get up from your seat to look at them both between your lashes.

“We’re going to attack King’s Landing,” you proclaim, and with that threat, you completely abandon every desire to be loved and respected. If they want to fear you, you’ll give them a reason to really fear you. “They’re preaching that we’re a threat, a curse, and a menace,” you scoff and smirk menacingly. “So I will be just that. I will rain fire down upon them so they may see the curse they want me to be”

Neither man try to talk you down from the rage clearly now set upon you, they could try but what good would that do? So they do nothing but accept and welcome your rage.

“Come,” you direct at Cregan as you walk past him. “I’m going to tell the troops to get ready. We leave tonight.”

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

The sun is slowly lowering over the horizon, and with each passing second as the sun slowly leaves the sky darker and darker, making you grow more nervous as the fate of this battle is unknown. All that’s known is that only one side will win and depending on who comes out to fight another day, that person will determine the fate of this war and your mother's survival. With all the dragons dead and the others against her, she can only depend on Addam and you. If you lose tonight, she does too. So you can’t lose.

“You know,” Cregan interjects through the solemn silence that was blanketing you both, but in doing so he doesn’t pull your attention to him, you keep your eyes on the painted sky as if today will be the last time you ever see a sunset as beautiful as the one over your head.

“I wish you would wear more than just a chainmail gown,” he finally shares his complaints that have been nagging him since he saw you with the chainmail gown on you. “I would feel a lot better knowing you were heavily protected.”

You scoff and roll your eyes his way. “Do you want me to look like a cannonball with a full set of heavy armor?” You quip with a teasing smile. “Because that’s what I would look like.”

Cregan tries to muster a laugh but with his heavy worry dragging him down he can’t even muster the twitch of a smile. “At least you and the twins would be protected against anything that may come your way.”

You sigh deeply and drag yourself closer to him to grab his cold hands and cling onto them as you try and offer him some reassurance. “My Astraea will protect me from any incoming threat, and this chainmail gown is enough to block any attack. I’ll be fine, besides, I won’t stray too far from my dragon I…intend to keep my promise to Addam and Ser Cane,” you laugh stiffly. “No ground fighting if it’s not completely necessary.”

Cregan watches the way you caress his knuckles with your thumb as he tries not to argue against you, so you proceed to pull one hand away from his grasp and reach over to cup his jaw. “I won’t die tonight. I want to live. I have to live, so don’t worry about me, okay?”

Cregan’s dark eyebrows furrow and his eyes snap to you. “How could you tell me not to worry? About you of all people.”

The corner of your lips twitch to a smile as your heart is riddled with admiration. “Because my love, there beside all my grief and agony is a dream I want to see through. A dream that involves going back home with you. I thought about it…” you trail off to a whisper and drop the hand you have on his cheek to grab his hand once again.

“My mother has Aegon and Aerion, so hopefully by the time it comes to passing her crown down she’ll be old and wrinkly and the boys will be men, so they will be mature and ready to rule the kingdom she’ll leave behind,” you share words you never thought would come out of your mouth when you were younger, but now…what does Queen even mean without your brothers, Aemond, or anyone you used to know by your side?

It doesn’t mean anything. Not even a fraction of what it once meant to your beating heart and deepest desires. That’s why this new dream is easy to share because you’re certain it’s what you want.

“Because I don’t want any part of it,” you continue and he parts his lips in surprise. “I want to stay in Winterfell with you, with our family that we will have, and the people we will govern together. I don’t want to be Queen anymore, I want to be your princess until our last breath.”

Cregan shakes his head and reaches his hand over to cradle your face. “No, you can’t do that. Being Queen is all you wanted. You can’t just abandon that dream,” he tries to argue against the plans you murmur to him, but there’s nothing to argue about, you slept on it and pondered it long and hard so you’re certain abandoning your title as heir is what you desire the most.

“You’re wrong,” you argue and look at him with a softened gaze as you just admire him. “My dream is you now. You’re everything I want, so please don’t try and convince me any longer because my mind is made. Once this war is over I will take my children and pack all my life to leave with you. That’s why I’ll survive because I want to go home. Is that not nice?” You ask as your face contorts with heartache out of worry that he doesn’t like the sound of your new desires.

However, Cregan’s grip grows firmer against your cheeks and his hardened face twisted by surprise now softens and that smile that was once impossible slowly gets painted on his pale face. “Of course it’s nice. It’s great and I will do everything in my power to give you that beautiful dream, my darling love.”

You huff softly in relief and let him pull you closer to him so he can whisper against your lips.

“But tell me you’re certain. Tell me that your heart is set on this new dream of yours because I don’t want you abandoning something you always wanted out of fear or because of me.”

You grab into his wrists and nod gently. “I’m certain,” you affirm and kiss the heel of his palms. “I want to be wherever you are. I want to be home.”

The corner is his lips tug wider but that smile is quickly hidden as he presses his forehead against yours.

“I will always keep an eye out for you tonight,” he lets you know. “I will have your back from the ground, but if the battle gets too heavy you fly away, okay? Everyone will understand. You leave the fighting to Addam and us, okay? I know you’re angry, but my darling, you need to worry about your children, if not you, then worry about them.”

You swallow back nervously as you wish to protest, but in the state you’re in you really can’t fight like you used to, so you have to agree regardless.

“Okay,” you reassure him and gently stroke his wrist with your thumb before you steal a glance at his lips, and then look up into his grey eyes with a softened look full of awe before you lean in and steal a lingering kiss from his pink lips.

The kiss is not long, but it’s deep and full of passion. It’s full of longing and desire, and it reminds the both of you how much you really missed this form of intimacy. You missed being connected in such a sweet and passionate way that only you and him can ever understand. You missed the taste of each other, and getting lost in the wonders that kissing each other brings to your isolated world where only you and him exist.

However, once again it’s not long. Not as long as he would’ve wanted because you still feel odd kissing someone else after losing Aemond.

“And with this kiss my sweet Lord you have my favor in this upcoming battle,” you murmur against his lips, making him chuckle and then stroke your bottom lip with his thumb before he leans over and presses a peck on your lips.

“Gods I missed kissing you,” he flatters you and makes your face grow hot. “Once we marry I’ll never know that feeling ever again.”

You giggle and reach over to grab his face one more time before you pull away and pull a ring off from your finger; one your father had given you that carries this beautiful called The Gem of The Sea.

“This is my real favor,” you tell him and grab his hand to place the ring on his palm. “I want it back, okay? It’s really expensive and the gem is one of a kind.”

Cregan scoffs but he wraps his hand around the ring before he secures it in his pocket. “I’ll hang it around my chain later.”

You let out a deep breath and nod before you go still as you catch him sliding off a wolf brooch that was hooked to his cloak.

“And this is for you,” he lets you know and leans toward you to clip the brooch onto your fur cloak. “You’ll be a Stark soon, why not wear something that represents your new name?”

“And you?” You interject and offer him a giddy smile. “My betrothed?”

He huffs and drops his head to hide his smile. “Well yes because you’ll be all mine soon enough.” He says confidently as he meets your gaze with a smirk. “That’s why I will live, so you can at last be my wife.”

“I will be,” you whisper and glance at the wolf brooch to mutter, “now this will be like having you right beside me. Thank you. I’ll cherish it.”

“Good,” he says breathlessly before he lets out a deep breath and just takes you in for a lingering minute as the last rays of sun lose its grip on the earth and dance on your face.

He memorizes the color of your eyes, down to every small hue. He takes note of the form of your lips, of the curve of your cheeks, and the shape of your jaw as if he's afraid that if he doesn't take his time to mark every part of you in his memory he will forget the moment you were out of sight. He almost doesn’t want to keep his eyes off you, but once the sun is completely gone and the earth is completely cast in the darkness, you both stand up and walk away from your stolen moment to rejoin your army of men all ready to attack Tumbleton and the army of men occupying it to once and for all put an end to The Green army.

Yet how can you depart toward your dragon without offering them a few words of encouragement first? And once they see your presence upon that hill that overlooks them a wave of chills washes over them. Not because they fear you, but because they are filled with awe and respect at the sight of you in your glimmering black chainmail gown.

“I know,” you address the crowd as they go quiet upon the sight of your presence. “Today's attack came sooner than expected. We have been marching with little rest since we left the twins, but it’s not for nothing. Tonight we attack Tumbleton!” You proclaim and garner some murmurs. “Tonight we put an end to the Hightower army and the turncloaks that sit behind that wall! Us! Not just you, and not just me! All of us! You are the blood to my fire.”

“Yeah!” The men below bellow and throw their fists in the air.

“As you all know I am with child,” you continue. “But that won’t stop me, I will fight with you tonight upon my dragon. I will kill Prince Daeron Targaryen and his dragon tonight and be one step closer to ending the tyranny of his brother and faction!” You exclaim with a growl behind that threat. “Now I won’t lie, some of you won’t see daylight again. Some of you know that too, but your deaths won’t be in vain, you will bleed and die for your families, your homes, your lords! Your pride! And your Queen! Tonight we fight for her! We fight to win! We won’t lose tonight! We will win with fire and blood! Us! WE WILL WIN WITH WHATEVER IT TAKES! WITH FIRE AND BLOOD!”

“BLOOD DRAGON! BLOOD DRAGON!” All the men below implode into a cheer full of vigor, making chills crawl down your own spine as you watch them all pumped with adrenaline and ferocity.

“I’m going to join my squadron now,” Cregan interjects and snaps your attention to him, calming down your racing heart. “Be careful.”

You blink repeatedly before you rush to him to close the gap with an embrace. “Take care, okay? I can’t lose you too.”

Cregan hugs you back and presses a kiss on your head. “You won’t lose me.”

You let out a shaky breath and clutch onto him tighter. “Take care of Ser Cane for me, okay?”

He scoffs but nods to assure you. “I will…I love you.”

You smile softly and turn your head to press one last kiss on his cheek. “I love you too.”

You proceed to pull back and he cups your cheek one more time to linger in each other's presence for another moment before you both part ways, letting him join his men, and letting you join your dragon and Addam and his dragon.

“If things start to get too out of control you fly out there, okay?” Addam interjects the moment he sees you making your way to him. “And don’t be getting off your dragon for anything unless you really have to.”

Even though he’s scolding you, you still can’t help but flash him a giddy smile as he makes you feel such a warm feeling.

“I know, I know,” you roll out and meet him halfway. “You have told me multiple times. I will not involve myself in any heavy fighting, or fight on the ground. I know.”

Addam puts his hand on his hip and sighs. “Yes well, you like to be spontaneous and think about yourself.”

Your smile falls but you don’t get upset because no matter how harsh it is it’s true.

“Don’t think about yourself,” he presses and looks at you with concern. “Your son needs you and your mother needs you. Don’t let your anger consume you.”

You blink repeatedly as his words ache your heart.

“You be careful too,” you whisper to the ground. “I need you. And Alyn needs you.”

He scoffs and as you look up you see him nod softly. You proceed to reach over and grab his arm to gain his unwavering attention. “I love you, Addam. You are someone to me, and I wish we would have met sooner, but I am glad our paths crossed. You…saved me from drowning in my grief. Without you, I would have died in that lake waiting for a dead man to come back to life. I…wouldn’t be here if you weren’t in my life.”

Addam’s eyes fill to the brim with tears but only two single tears break out and roll down his cheeks.

“Thank you,” he whispers softly and offers you half a smile. “You know all my life I looked up at the world from the surface I was born in, it made me believe you were untouchable gods too high in the sky to care about anyone below you, but…when I too touched the clouds, when I met you…I see now that you are good. You have a good heart. You are a bit mad for liking the things you like, but you are like the sister I never had and I will always be thankful for that. I will always be thankful for you.”

Tears fill your eyes but you refuse to cry. You don't want to cry so you gnaw on your bottom lip and hold it all in.

“I love you too,” he redirects and closes the gap that was left between you to embrace you—“Be careful, okay?”

You nod as you hold onto him and whisper back. “I will. You be careful too.”

“I will,” he assures you before he pulls back and taps your chest with his fist, causing you to mirror his actions right back at him.

“I’ll see you up there,” you interject one more time, making him flash you a smile and offer you a nod before you both pull away from each other and mount your respected dragons.

“<Don’t worry girl,” you talk to Astraea as you click on your restraints—or as many as you can with your swollen belly in the way. “…today we won’t be the day we lose>.”

Astraea turns her head to look at you, making you offer her a gentle smile. “<Our fight won’t be over after this fight but we will be one step closer. You’ve been doing great>.”

Astraea growls and you can’t help but grin wider whilst you wrap your hands around the handles. When Astraea looks back at the dark sky you follow her line of gaze and take one last look at the serene night sky, taking note of the stars, and taking a deep breath of the brisk and clean air before you part your lips and mutter. “<Fly, Astraea.>”

Your she-dragon starts walking down slowly before she quickly picks up her pace, opens her giant purple wings, and then takes flight at the same time as Seasmoke, sending a signal to the army of men below to start running. Not marching, running.

You are so close to Tumbleton that you don’t want to risk being seen by any man. You want to stay under the cover of night and catch them by surprise so you rush, hitting the ground with thousands of claps of thunder as horses sprint through empty fields of grass.

The sky is silent, giving the illusion of a serene night, but looming threats cover the light of the stars and cast large shadows over the earth that fly past at an incredible speed.

A heightened rush of adrenaline connects you all as you get closer and closer to the grand battle, but nothing and you mean absolutely nothing matters but your anger. As if Daeron was solely at fault for all the pain you endured and everything that had happened all you can focus on is him and the rage that makes your blood and your heart thump violently.

You should keep your mind clear, you should fly into this war selflessly, after all, thousands of lives, and the lives of your mother, your son, and your brother depend on you to win this war, but there’s no fight with yourself when you choose to be selfish. You choose the blood-thirsty and raging anger. That’s all you hear. That’s all that fills you. It burns like the blasts of fire that rain down the moment you cross enemy lines and create chaos. And it’s all you see until there’s him; Daeron Targaryen standing in the midst of the army of his men.

His blond-silver hair stands out in between the storm of people all sent into a panic, and the wave of fires that wash over the army.

He stands there with his dark eyes on you and your raging dragon.

He stands there, Daeron Targaryen. He’s all you see and it makes your already heightened anger that more livid.

——

*A FEW YEARS AGO. KING’S LANDING*

The sun is high and beaming down fiercely. The breeze, when it does run, is hot, bringing with it waves of heat that run through your bodies and can’t cool down with any open window or fluttering fan, raising the already high tensions that are forever set between your families.

Yet no matter how high the tensions are, how many whispers are passed, and side glares are shot, none of that affects you, Jacaerys, Lucerys, Aegon, Helaena, Aemond, or Daeron.

Besides, today on the hottest day of summer is Daeron’s last day in the Red Keep. After today he will leave for Old Town until gods know when to become a ward…

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A/N- For story purposes Daeron was apart of everyone’s childhoods, he won’t be forgotten here!

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