#i have to remember how to get to the fishing island too

[corneille-moisie]

i happened to beat dqb2 again, yesterday

i remembered the malroth fight being much more annoying than that 🤔 i guess if you keep circling him and keep shooting, he's not that much of a challenge, huh

anyway, back to building !!

[hauntingblue]

Sabaody time.... I am so fucking scared

FIRST OFF I KNOW THATS NOT WHAT HE SAID!!!!

Another one for the sanji faces hall of fame

Luffy should have stuck with the fritters.... I know the end of this........

More for the hall of faces (? Got confused)

OH FUCK HERE WE GO!!!!!!!!

AJDKAJSK TELL HIM USOPP!!!

AJDHAKSBIASNAOAJ!!!!!! COLD!!!!

Califa wearing jabra's shirt bc nami ripped all her clothes 💀💀 wild

Franky and usopp team up with the sunny

Usopp once again just telling the truth

Look at him... 🧍🏻‍♂️

Conqueror's haki tease..... yeah

This just..... yeah.......

GET A JOB!!! LEAVE THEM ALONE!!!

Is he clocking that sanji had to cross the red line so he sure as hell didn't do it with pirates bc he doesn't know how...... or am I reaching (yeah)

Incredible use of the gag here btw

Shakky.... my queen... why does rayleigh have a former amazon lily empress and kuja pirate hidden away in a nasty bar in sabaody.... how can he do that... girl.... that love sickness really got her bad... and the man is gay for a dead man. Damn. WAIT A FUCKING SECOND

SHAKKY WHAT IS GOING ON!!! WDYM HE HAS A GIRL!!! RAYLEIGH WHAT ARE YOU DOING???? open relationship???? What is their deal. I am so curious now ajdhajnsns

Luffy is looking at the camera (?) Like he is wondering what their deal is too... he gets me

Also am I crazy to think that killer would uave been related to the shandians just by the way he looks.... the pants like wiper wears and the long hair like kalgara... also introduced fighting urouge who is a skypiean.... do you see my vision.... maybe oda went naaah with this and that's why his design changed after the timeskip but here??? Idk

Look at this fucking loser..... AHDJAHSKA

I so want to know what is going to happen to kid because he has been doing terrible things to people but we never get into that... maybe shanks was the consequences.... but anyways he is right here lmao... "aren't we kinda cute killer??"

They want each other so bad.... "and he's got bad manners 😏😈"

AN OLD MAN WHO WHAT also haki introduction hello 👋🏻 so I was right about luffy and the bull ALSO CHAPTER 500!! CRAZY!!! ONLY 630 MORE TO GO

Sanji smoking three cigarettes akdjsisjl he is STRESSED

Nami once again not having enough money to save someone she cares about we should all kill ourselves

Hachi blaming himself for being a pirate when even nami is worried about him right now.... we need to kill the celestial dragons

The fucking cover for this volume..... do they know....

Look at these fucking freaks

Usopp landed butt first into the tenryuubito 💀💀💀 Here we fucking go...

[zorosangell]

I LOVE INN!!! I love devoted pathetic men! I need to see them during the time skip tho! What if during the two year training arc (idk who or what she trains under, you can make that up) she happens to stop by the same island zoro and mihawk where stopping by on their way back to Gloom island. It’s been well over a year since they’ve seen each other, and it’s been pure torture for them both (and also the inconvenience of zoro relearning how to properly shine his own swords and fold his laundry the special way he likes it). I’d like to see your take on this!

⛥ﾟ・。 bento

synopsis: part two of inn -- you and zoro have a heartfelt reunion on the sabaody archipelago... with the help of a kindly fisherman.

cw: fluffy fluff, comfort, zoro is DOWN BAD for reader, reader's a cutie, fools pining pretty much.

a/n: i love writing zoro like this

"Hey, gramps," Zoro started, yanking open the flap and entering Isamu's Fresh Fish tent, his eye snapping over to the old man hunched in the corner. "I'm lookin' to do some fishing."

Confused, Old Man Isamu halted his movement, looking up from his basket of lures to find the infamous, three-sword wielding pirate hunter.

Roronoa Zoro.

Of course, being a lonely old man who lived on the outskirts of Sabaody Archipelago, he had no idea who he was.

I mean, why would he need to know?

But even still, he couldn't help the shiver that rolled down his spine at the sight of the moss-head's scowl, its intensity sending a slight pang of fear through the man's old heart.

"No offense, young man, but I wouldn't exactly peg you as the fishing type..."

Zoro sighed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Normally, you'd be right... I'm supposed to be meeting some friends on this island, but they haven't made it yet, so I'm bored out of my skull."

Scratching the side of his face, he glanced out to sea, a certain sense of homesickness plaguing his chest.

"I used to have someone to do this for me... but she's not around right now. So I need something to keep me entertained while I wait."

It felt odd offering to do the fishing himself, as he could barely even remember the last time he picked up a fishing rod.

But the feeling was nothing new, as for the last two years the swordsman had been forced to take up the tasks that you had been so insistent on doing for him.

Fishing... Laundry... Shining his swords...

Even dressing his wounds, which, although Perona did for him, still didn't feel the same as when you did it.

It wasn't long before he realized how much he took you for granted, and how subpar his domestic skills were in comparison to yours.

He bristled, annoyed with the aching throb of his heart.

God, he felt pathetic...

A measly two years apart, and all of a sudden he was a ship without a rudder.

"So, you think you can help me out or not?" he asked, snapping himself out of his thoughts.

"Sure. I'll finish getting everything we need ready and then meet you on my boat right over there," Isamu nodded with a warm smile, standing to his full height and pointing toward a small fishing boat moored to the shore. "We'll have to wait a moment, though. A young woman is supposed to be joining me."

Zoro's brow raised, intrigued.

"Young woman?" he asked, expecting some elaboration.

"Why yes! She's been fishing with me for the past two days and is just such a sweetheart!" the old man gushed. "She went into town to go grab us some lunch before we left. Said something about picking up some polishing equipment, too."

That caught the swordsman's attention.

"Polishing equipment?"

"Yeah, for swords," Isamu nodded, leaning in a little closer to the swordsman and lowering his voice. "Between you and me... I think her boyfriend's a pirate. I always catch her lookin' out at the sea, like she's waitin' for something."

He gave Zoro a pat on the back with a small chuckle, a little sorry.

"It's a shame. If I hadn't known, I would've introduced you two. Y'look like her type."

Intrigued, Zoro looked down at himself, fighting off the thunder in his chest.

'Could it be...?'

"What'd she look like?" Zoro asked, straight to the point. "About this tall? (h/l), (h/c) hair? (s/c) skin? Nice (e/c) eyes? Pretty smile?"

Quickly, he shoved his hand into his robe, hurriedly rummaging around until his fingers locked on a piece of crumbled paper.

"Like this?" he asked, hopefully, pulling out your wanted poster and holding it up for the old man to see.

He'd managed to get his hands on it when he joined Mihawk on a grocery run and found it posted up on a fruit stall.

When no one was looking, he shoved it in his pocket, and kept it with him ever since.

Sure, it was a little stalker-ish, but when it came to you he didn't really care.

"Yes! That's her!" Isamu nodded, turning to the man. "She said she's been waiting for some friends to show, too!"

Instantly, the pieces clicked, the old man suddenly realizing your relationship with the swordsman.

He was he thing you were looking out to sea for.

With a knowing smirk, he gave Zoro a slight nudge, amused.

"Oh, ho ho! You must be the fella she's been searchin' for..." he grinned, almost as a congratulations. "You're a lucky guy! She reminds me of my Emi."

With a faint roll of his eyes, Zoro sighed, trying to muffle the burn of his cheeks by turning away.

That is... until a familiar voice cut through the air.

"Hey, watch it, asshole! That bento's for the old man!" you spat, the sound of a scuffle occurring in a nearby alleyway.

'(y/n)!'

An embarrassing amount of excitement soared through his chest, a certain glimmer returning to his eye at the sound of your voice.

Springing into action, he sprinted toward the noise, quickly drawing his sword.

Whoever was on the other side of the altercation wasn't going to be standing by the end of it.

"Wait, young man!"

But Isamu was too late, as the swordsman was already at the mouth of the alley.

Bring his feet to a screeching halt, Zoro lowered himself into an offensive stance, taking a gauge of the situation as he prepped his attack.

You were standing off with a large man, who was about five times your size, huge with muscles and practically cracked out on testosterone.

An opponent like him would've sent you running for the hills two years ago.

But you stared him down with conviction, a small smirk quirking on your lips.

And without warning, you broke into a sprint, charging the man head on.

You had to calculate this just right, or you were going to get squashed like a bug.

Zoro watched with surprise as you used your running start to slide between the thug's legs, nimbly scaling his body like a tree and swirling yourself around to pull him off balance.

"The hell?!"

He tried to grab at you, but your movements were too quick and it wasn't long before you were sat right on his shoulders, your thighs locking tightly around his neck.

"Gimme back the damn bento, you bastard!"

Effortlessly, you threw around your body weight, flipping both of you over and slamming his head into the ground, creating a small crater.

But you weren't done.

With a soft grunt, and a small jerk of your legs, you twisted his neck with a sickening crack—the action sending a warm tingle through Zoro's stomach.

He'd be a liar if he said he didn't find your demonstration incredibly hot.

You pulled yourself up off the ground with a chuckle, using your foot to poke the man, who was down for the count, before snatching the lunchbox back from his grasp.

"Have a nice nap," you wished, cheekily, pulling down your eyelid and sticking out your tongue.

But, when you turned your attention to the alley's exit, your eyes landed on a certain green-haired swordsman—the star of a multitude of different daydreams you'd enjoyed throughout your two years apart.

Time seemed to slow down as your eyes met, him having been staring at you since he entered the alley.

'Gods...'

He was huge, way more muscular than what he once was, and now donned a scar on his left eye, which was permanently shut.

His chest was exposed in his robe, showing off his big pecs, and his hair was still just as green and unruly as you remembered.

Lighting up like the world's brightest Christmas tree, you let out a loud, dramatic gasp, dropping the lunchbox in shock.

"Zoro!" you cheesed, completely forgetting about the bento as you rushed toward him.

"(y/n)! You made it!" Zoro broke into a wide grin, utterly relieved to see you were okay.

Launching yourself into his arms, you tackled him to the ground, pulling him into you as he let out a few laughs at your enthusiasm.

"Ah! Look at you! Those muscles! That hair! You look great! I missed you!" you squealed, ecstatic to see your favorite guy in the flesh.

Though, in your excitement, you had failed to realize you were suffocating the swordsman with your breasts.

"Mished you, twoo!" he nodded, muffled, frantically patting your back. "But yer killin' me!"

Finally noticing, you quickly pulled back, flashing him a sheepish smile.

Relieved, he took in an aggressive gasp, before turning to you with his grin once again.

"That was a new special move, huh? I've never seen you do something like that before!" he asked, eagerly.

"You noticed, eh?" you raised a brow. "Yeah, it's a maneuver my master taught me back on Kibi, a martial arts island."

A proud smirk rose to your lips, having waited to tell him of your success for so long.

"It was hard work... and I got knocked on my ass a bunch... but the monks at my temple managed to beat some kung fu techniques into me," you cheesed, cheekily. "I might not be on par with you yet... but it's only a matter of time."

His eyes found yours, and the way you were looking at him made his chest roar.

You were making it a bit hard for him to focus.

He was already holding himself back on a thread of sanity, and now he had to deal with the fact that you looked like a goddess in human form, and smelled of cocoa butter and vanilla.

Your curves were curvier, your hips were dippier, and you now had an unspoken confidence that could bring any man to his knees.

Literally and figuratively.

You had him like a hook on a line, only he didn't want to be set free.

You found his eyes, slightly confused, as his expression morphed into one you'd never seen.

"I. Love. You." he stated, firm and breathless.

Your eyes shot wide, a sharp tinge of red burning onto your cheeks.

The floodgates were opened.

There was no going back.

Without a moment's hesitation, he pressed his lips against yours, hard, unloading well over two years worth of pining.

You sank into it almost immediately, matching his fervor as you rested your hands on his chest, grabbing him by this robe and pulling him even closer.

The two of you moved together in perfect sync, fitting like puzzle pieces, as you kept up with his rhythm.

He grasped you by the small of your back, pressing you further into him and giving your hips a little squeeze, earning a quiet squeak.

Close wasn't close enough.

He wanted you even closer than that.

He wanted you so much, every part of him in contact with you was on fire.

But, alas, you two were human, and air would need eventually.

The two of you separated with a gasp, cheeks flushed and foreheads resting on each other.

"I don't think you have any idea how long I've been waiting to do that," he smirked, catching his breath.

You smiled, sliding your hands up from his chest to his shoulders.

"I think I do," you confessed, looking up at him with those sparkling, (e/c) eyes of yours.

'Fuuuuuuck...'

He leaned in closer, about to say something else when, of course, he was interrupted.

"Hate to break up a touchin' moment, kids..." Old Man Isamu chimed with a knowing smirk, the two of you snapping your heads up with surprise. "But might I suggest the inn across the street?"

You both separated, for real this time, and stood up, you straightening out the wrinkles in your clothes as you glanced at the building.

Without warning, Zoro scooped you up and tossed you over his shoulder, forcing you to yelp in surprise as he turned around to walk across the street.

"Zoro!"

"Thanks, old man!" Zoro waved with his free-hand, unable to fight the pep in his step as his grip tightened around your thighs.

He cracked a smile, glancing at you on his shoulder with an expression Isamu could only attribute to a man in love.

"Your bento's somewhere over there, sir!" you called, limp, and horribly embarrassed as your swordsman dragged you away. "I'm so sorry!"

"Don't worry, dear!" Isamu assured, waving back. "You kids be safe!"

It made his day to see two young people so utterly smitten with each other, as that seemed to be slowly becoming a rarity.

You both reminded him so much of how he and Emi used to be...

Even still, he couldn't help but dreamily sigh, watching as you two entered the inn, playfully bickering like an old, married couple.

'Ah, young love...'

[rhenuvee]

Playing Animal Crossing New Horizons with HSR Men

Warnings: ugly villager slander, established relationship (can be platonic or romantic)

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Argenti: Your fellow knight of beauty grows quite fond of the game, immediately finding the freedom of creativity in decoration endearing. He always gives you compliments on your OOTD, and takes screenshots whenever you design a new area on your island. Argenti gave himself the gardening job- spending his bells on red rose seeds. He gets proficient in following the flower guide, and is very proud of himself if he ever gets a golden rose on your island. He loves the villagers, finding them each very cute, and even beauty in the "ugly" villagers. "Did you see the villagers wearing the red rose on their head? I must say I am flattered they love it so much. Though, I am more happy that they appreciate the beauty of our island." He enjoys documenting the beautiful places in your island with photos <3

Aventurine: From the beginning he points out the fact that Tom Nook is a capitalist, which makes you roll your eyes thinking he thinks this game is silly. However, it is quite the opposite as it doesn't take him long to get out of his home loan debt and is somehow extremely lucky. It's unfair to you that he could just log in on any given day and have the best deal for turnips. However because you are his favourite he says he’s willing to buy you whatever you want, he guesses. He happens to be able to catch rare species like the Coelacanth, and it infuriates you but you really can't be if it's helping the museum. "445 bells per turnip, sounds like music to my ears~" "What's that? You want this violin? Well I guess I could spare you a few bells... is one million okay?"

Blade: Let's not kid ourselves here- it takes a lot of convincing and help from Silver Wolf to get him to even be in the presence of Animal Crossing. He says he would much rather stand and look at the wall (SW: "You already do that everyday"). Eventually he sits himself next to you, and listens to your giddy rambling about what to do in the game while he puts on a serious face not saying anything. After the preliminary tutorial/startup gameplay, he finally says, “…why is this rat harassing me for money.” However, the loans aren't the worst but the villagers chasing him down are. He purposely ignores them and grumbles when you tell him to answer ):/. He prefers to watch you play, but because he sees you smile and laugh at his sarcastic comments, he thinks it's not so bad.

Boothill: He's definitely down to try it out, but he ends up being a bit of a troll. He doesn't really mind cute/ugly villagers, until he judges them for what they say. “That’s right, (y/n) did catch all those fish.” “Did he just ask me if he could call me Muffin.” “WHAT DO YOU MEAN I GOTTA PAY ANOTHER LOAN?!!?” Yeah… he quickly feels the grindy-ness, complaining that Tom Nook was working him like a forkin’ dog. A little bit of comical rage, but he won’t lie he is enjoying it. He also asks if there are any guns and he is disappointed, so he opts for the net. He's a little rough and rowdy, but he does it in style. That being said, he 100% spends his extra bells on a cowboy outfit.

Dan Heng: He agrees instantly- aw :(. He knows you (and March) have been begging him to play. He’s is fairly good at it- gets out of the tent quickly, masters catching creatures, a nicely organized house… He’s quite resourceful too, chopping down trees and going to mystery islands to farm the heck out of it. The villagers love him, both of you often seeing them run to him with the little sparkly flowers. And even though he's normally serious, you can't help but fawn over how sweet he is with the villagers. "...She wants to call me Shmoopy, do I-" "YES." Villagers asking him to catch a fish? He's immediately on it. He remembers their names and treats them like real people :(

Dr. Ratio: "Is it educational?" Bro is such a nerd. You deadpan at him, and sass him for expecting this to be IXL or something. He is also one to get through the tutorial part easily. You expected him to be overly critical of the game, but he finds appreciation in the museum: both the creatures and the art. Is it a farfetched idea that I think he'd know how to tell the reals and fakes right off the bat? "Do you really think Da Vinci spilled coffee on his work?" At least it saves you the troubles of wasting your bells and getting a fake. I think your island would not be a mess, and would have at least a few statues (you know the ones) which add his touch to it.

Gallagher: Honestly he's happy as long as he gets a little area for himself. Kind of a wild card this one- somehow calm and chaotic at the same time, and it's puzzling because how is he doing such weird things with a straight face? Trolls the villagers quite a bit (he's lucky ACNH villagers are nice) by hitting them with a net (just once though) and giving them different catchphrases every time they ask. "Why is Bob saying 'spaghettini' at the end of his sentences?" "Um, because I thought it'd be funny? Also I'm kinda hungry so-" "Gallagher ):/" Despite the randomness, he is wholesome at times. He is also one to compliment your new outfit, and stargaze with you on the new area you decorated.

Gepard: He's busy so you weren't expecting too much from him, but he takes pride in having a well-rounded island. He gets so excited when he catches a new species that you don't have yet- what a cutie. Also goes full throttle when there's a bug-off or fishing tourney. Despite being a video game, I feel like there will be some way he messes up taking care of plants. The flowers overgrow, the turnips rot, and he doesn't understand why the trees aren't growing? But with some tips from you along with your island designing skills, your island rank moves up and he is BEAMING. "Zucker asked about you." "...he did?" "Mhm, he asked how you were doing, and said he saw you laying out pathways on the island."

Jing Yuan: He finds it so cute when you ask him to play. Lowkey like Blade where he likes watching your happy expressions when playing. He's happy that this game provides him a way to relax while not getting bored. Secretly an enjoyer of villager drama: "Wolfgang wants to apologize to Audie with this present. What happens if I don't deliver it?" "Again? Ah, just give it to her quickly." "...what if I don't." "...Jing Yuan." Oddly I feel like he'd enjoy the group stretching (what an old man), and encourages you to join. Like the "Dozing General" he is, there will be times when he's inactive and gets the bed head.

Luocha: You weren't expecting him to enjoy the game, but he's surprisingly willing to be resourceful. His storage is full of materials, which you scold him for because this is the reason for his empty undecorated house. But he always has things you need so you can't exactly complain. Also one to be pretty smart with managing bells and resources, able to maximize their worth. When the island gets visitors like Label or Flick, he has items ready. "Luocha... where did you get that coat?" "This? It's a designer piece, from Miss Label." I'd say he does have a sense of beauty in design, so thankfully your island is gorgeous.

Sampo: Sympathizes with Redd like a true scammer. "Aw look, he just needs a bit of money to get started... he even gave us a 'cousin's discount'." However, a rivalry starts with Redd when Sampo's first art piece turned out to be fake (scammer gets scammed moment). He asks if he can be the salesman that he's supposed to be. When villagers run up to him to offer bells for an item he has, he accepts thinking it'll get him a deal along the way. Unfortunately friendship gets you nowhere in terms of home loans. I'd say he's pretty good with the turnip stonks, so there's a balance. Also TRASH ISLAND. I'm sorry, but your man is a hoarder, "But what if I need this?" (Literally me.)

Welt: When you ask him to play he asks why the animals are crossing. He finds the style and characters are so cute, and he can see why you enjoy it. This is definitely a way he gets in touch with his "youthful" side. He loves the creative freedom in the game, even getting indecisive about how to design your island, and thinking of what outfit to wear. He once made a simple t-shirt for fun, but was surprised when he saw a villager wearing it. It'd be so cute and funny when he learns new emotes- and he just spams them with a straight face. Not gameplay related, but I feel like in his free time he'd draw you both in villager form <3.

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[katzenmas]

pt.2 to my "simon riley is down bad for Johnny's little princess"

they were on leave, johnny invited simon over to his place in inverness, promising to take him hiking and fishing. when simon knocked on the door it was you who opened it, a graceful smile and a hand on his shoulder as you ushered him inside.

walking up the stairs to the guest room he was staying in was painful, with how tight his pants got the second you touched him. you talked to him, asking him if it was his first time in scotland, what kind of food he liked, all simon could do was grunt and nod, not trusting his voice, the images running through his mind were diabolical.

third day of his stay simon was sure he'd died and gone to heaven. you pranced around the house wearing skin tight shorts and one of johnny's old shirts, your hair put up messily as you swayed to whatever music was playing on the telly. it was getting hard to conceal his boners, simon was about fifty percent sure johnny noticed how he would always excuse himself when you touched him.

on the fourth day simon was woken up by a conversation you were having with johnny.

" c'mon lass you were the one that wanted this remember? why you backin' out now? leaving the poor fella with blue balls are ya?" you two were in the kitchen, johnny's hands on your hips as he was grinding against your backside, crowding you to the island.

" i know love but he's too shy! maybe he isn't ready? nothing he's done makes me sure that he would comfortable with it?" simon continued creeping around in the hallway, listening to a conversation he was sure was about him.

" bonnie you cannae be that stupid, poor lad is about to walk into an early grave if ya give him another boner" that caused heat to crawl up simon's face, he stood in the doorway, watching how johnny slid his hand up your shirt and tugged on your nipple, eliciting a moan so heavenly from your mouth that simon was already half hard in his sweats.

johnny looked behind him and his eyes zeroed in on simon, a wicked smile flashing on his face. suddenly he turned you around, a debauched look on your face as he put one hand on your chin and forced eye contact between you and the lieutenant.

" what do you say lt? ready to make this wet dreams of your's a reality?"

thats how simon ended up kneeling near the bed where you were sprawled out, johnny holding your pussy lips open as he made simon watch how your wetness was seeping from your slit.

" go on lt, she don't bite" that was all that simon needed, his nose was pressed into your wetness before the words were fully out of johnny's mouth. a groan left his pretty lips as he tasted you for the first time.

one of johnny's hands left your body and found themselves fisted in simon's hair, guiding his face around your wet cunt, whispering instructions on how to make you feel good.

"you should see what she looks like as she cums lt, might make you cream in your pants the noises she makes" johnny's hand in simon's hair tightened as the latter pushed his tongue into you, another mewl escaping your lips at the action.

soon enough you were squirming on the bed, your hands clawing at simon's shoulders as your first orgasm of the night washed over you. johnny didn't let the lieutenant up for a breath, forcing him to lap at your clit as you were coming down the waves of euphoria.

with a crazed look johnny ripped simon's head away from your wetness and brought him in for a kiss, tasting your juices on his tongue. simon started humping the leg of the bed, becoming near overstimulated as the kiss from johnny tipped him over the edge and he came. shuddering, whining and ruining his sweatpants in the process.

you crawled up from your laying position and cooed at simon, softly running your hands through his hair as johnny maneuvered the bigger man onto the bed. short, labored breaths fell out of simon's mouth as you started pawing at his shirt, slowly raising it up and cupping his chest. your fingers grazing his nipples, making simon's hips buck off the bed.

"such a good boy for us ain't he lass? look at him, all stupid in the head from eating your cunny and getting one kiss." johnny said as he crawled up onto the bed with you two, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he turned to his superior. "we ain't done here yet ghost".

your hands found simon's bulge and you started cupping him through his sweatpants. you let out a giggle as you felt his cock twitch at your touch. slowly you pushed your hand into his sweats and briefs, a small gasp leaving your mouth as you felt how big he was even half hard.

simon threw his head back and let out a deep groan the second your soft fingers touched him. his eyes trained on your lips as he leaned in to kiss you hungrily. it was messy and wet, with no real technique to it. simon just knew he needed to feel you.

"please love lemme put it in, please i'll make ya feel good" johnny chuckled at how the big bad scary ghost was asking his sweetheart to let him wet his dick.

"whaddya ken lassie? should we let him?" simon had tears brimming the corners of his eyes, johnny's taunting words and your touch being nearly enough to send him over the edge, the second you nodded simon was fumbling his pants down his legs.

both you and johnny stopped for a moment to admire just how thick and heavy simon's cock was. he was sliding it up and down your slit, small spurts of pre sliding from his tip and smearing all over your puffy lips and clit.

simon's hips stuttered the second his tip breached the entrance to your cunt. you were so warm, holding him there in a vice grip. johnny shushed you with placing kisses on your brow and the corner of your mouth, one of his hands coming down to play with your clit while you adjusted to the sheer size of simon's tip.

" look at him lassie, he's stretching you out so good" johnny groaned out and forced you to look down at where you and simon were connected. the lieutenant was shaking, it was taking everything in him not to just snap his hips into you and cum like a teenager.

" go on si, you can push in more" you whispered out and looked at him with so mich trust in your eyes that simon had to look away, suddenly feeling to exposed. instead he focused in sliding into you slowly, letting you get used to his size.

when he was fully sheathed in he started rocking his hips, slow and shallow at first, but speeding up as more noises started falling from your lips. he could hear johnny praising him, but simon couldn't make out the exact words, the ringing in his ears as your hot cunt swallowed him reverberated through his mind.

he pulled out, leaving only the tip in, just to piston into you. simon grabbed both yoir legs and threw your ankles over his shoulders, he hunched over you put you into a mating press.

" so. fucking. good. for. me. you take this cock like you were born for it" each word was in rhythm with his brutal strokes, the bed creaking under the force. johnny laughed and asked if simon was trying to fuck you inot the mattress.

the men both saw when your eyes rolled back and a dumb smile overtook your features. you fluttered around simon as he fucked you through your second orgasm of the night. johnny grunted and pushed his hand into his pants, pulling his angry, hard dick out and started lazily pumping it.

" go on then lt, gimme a show" a few more strokes and simon was pushing impossibly deep into you. the overstimulation causing you to sob as you felt his got seed shoot against your cervix.

he was shaking, his head was empty. simon rutted into you through his own overstimulation, riding out the last waves of his orgasm until it got painful. he slowly pulled out, watching his cum dribble out of your used cunt, and then collapsed onto the bed.

johnny patted his head and gave him a quick kiss. "good boy simon"

your boyfriend tutted as he watched the cum ooze out of you.

"not nice bonnie, simon here tried so hard to breed ya and you're lettin' it go to waste?" before you could even answer johnny pushed his cock into you, fucking simon's cum back into your hole.

simon watched the scene in front of him with hazy eyes, leaning over towards you at some point and sucking on your right nipple. your sweaty and spent body was so pliant for both men, you were like a little toy just for them to use and break.

" 's t' much johhny, cannae take it anymo'" your pleas were met with small, cruel laughs as johnny cooed at you and went faster.

simon found his hand creeping down to your cunt, his fingers skimming over your abused clit, making you sob louder.

with a final thrust johnny was growling as he pulled out and came onto simon's chest. little stray spurts landing on his chin. thats when you let out a scream and gushed.

johnny's blue eyes were dazed, watching your pussy gape around nothing, as your juices kept dribbling out.

"oh sweet girl, we made ya squirt" he said lovingly and placed a kiss on your forehead, momentarily leaving you and simon alone on the bed as he went to fetch a towel to clean both of you up.

you turned over to your side and wrapped your arms around simon's torso, your nose pressed in between his shoulder blades as your fingers traced faded scars on his hips.

johnny returned at some point, cleaned you up and laid behind you, his strong arms snaking around your waist and he pulled the covers over you three.

it was dead silent, you could hear johnny start to snore when simon spoke up.

" how long were you two planning this?" you giggled and pressed a kiss to his exposed back.

"johnny could hear you moan my name like a schoolboy every night. we made up our mind when you walked into the doors of the house. now sleep, you did so good today" simon nodded and closed his eyes, sleep overtaking his tired body.

-

WELL HERE YA HAVE IT! im so down bad for sub! simon getting doted on by dom! johnny and switch! reader.

@konigslittleliebling you wanted to be tagged in pt. 2 and i tried to deliver🫡

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Hi!

I love your writing and I have a small (really small more of a blurb) request for Jace, like a small scene between him and reader like we had last episode between him and Baela but I’d love to see how Jace feels about Harwin not just what he remembers of him but like what he feels about being a bastard and if he cares (or cared) for harwin, I’d love to see him trust the reader enough to really get into his feelings about being a bastard bc that’s definitely something that really affects him but it’s never vocalized yk? And I’d love to see the reader comfort him and tell him that harwin absolutely loved them BC HE LOVED THEM SO MUCH 😭😭😭

Thank u sm!!!

Request: Jace and Dornish reader talking about fathers and her asking about Ser Harwin like Baela did.

Warnings: mention of character death (past),

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

A letter came by raven from your father. It was a long way from Dorne, you didn’t receive them often. You thought it would brighten your day after the horrifying news and accusations about your Queen that came from King’s Landing, but instead it made you sad. To see his handwriting, to hear the words in his voice — in your head. 

You missed him — and your mother. 

Dragonstone was your home now. It was Jacaerys’ inheritance as heir. It’s where you would raise your children and spend your life until it would be his turn to take the Iron Throne. 

The sound of waves crashing against the rocks brought you to the beach. You sat on the sand, watching the waves ride up the shore. It was the only part of the island that connected to Dorne. You missed swimming in the gardens, the feeling of the warm sun on your skin, the fruits that grew. 

‘’You missed supper,’’ the voice of Jacaerys informed, coming from behind you. 

‘’I wasn’t hungry.’’ 

You heard his footsteps on the damp sand, accompanied by the sound of his sword rubbing against his breeches as he walked. 

‘’I don’t think anyone was, really. Too many empty seats.’’ He dropped down onto the sand beside you, and nudged your shoulder. ‘’Have you seen any whales?’’ 

You turned and gave Jacaerys a look. ‘’Whales?’’ you repeated. ‘’There is no whales here.’’ 

He laughed, well aware and only jesting. His jests usually made you smile, but a sad pout was etched on your face. ‘’What’s on your mind?’’ he asked, placing a hand on your knee. 

‘’I received a letter from my father.’’

‘’Your father?’’ Jacaerys’ smile dropped slightly, now replaced by a concerned look. ‘’Is everything alright?’’  

You gave him a small nod. ‘’Yes. All is well. I just…miss him dearly.’’ 

A quietness fell between you. The salt-laden breeze rustled through your hair as you fought the tears brimming your eyes. 

‘’What do you remember of your father?’’ you asked, breaking the silence.

‘’He taught us to catch fish. And sing sailor shanties,’’ Jacaerys said, a grin tugging at his lips and his eyes brightening with fond recollections.

You chuckled, the sound mingling with the rhythm of the waves.

‘’He had a weakness for cake,’’ he added. 

‘’And…Ser Harwin Strong?’’

Although you agreed to turn a blind eye, you knew the truth of Jacaerys’s true parentage. He bore the name ‘Velaryon’, but there was no Velaryon blood in him. 

Jacaerys stiffened at the mention of Ser Harwin, having not heard his name in so long. His mother never spoke of him after they returned from Laena’s funeral.  

‘’He was gentle. And fierce,’’ he finally said, his eyes meeting yours. There was a veil of sadness in them, missing the man who left too soon. ‘’They called him ‘Breakbones’.’’

You laughed softly, and Jacaerys mirrored you. It felt good to talk about Ser Harwin. 

‘’He loved us,’’ Jacaerys continued, his voice quieter, almost unsure. ‘’I think.’’ 

‘’Of course he did,’’ you quickly reassured, covering his hand on your knee with yours. ‘’When did you suspect he was your father?’’ 

‘’A part of me always knew he was our father,’’ he admitted, his eyes distant as he recalled his memories. ‘’He was always looking out for Luke and I in the training yard, and making sure we would behave around Mother. He taught me how to hold a sword, how to strike my opponent.’’ 

He paused, a particular moment sparking his mind. 

‘’One day, he defended me in the training yard during an unfair match: me against Aegon. Aegon was taking his anger out on me and playing foul while Ser Criston turned a blind eye. Ser Harwin noticed Aegon’s tactics and pulled me aside to give me advice, but Aegon was older and stronger. He kicked me to the ground and angrily swung his wooden sword at me. Ser Harwin intervened, taking Aegon away from me.’’

‘’He was protecting you.’’

Jacaerys nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He remembered the fight against Criston Cole that followed. The fight that got Ser Harwin dismissed from the City Watch and sent to Harrenhal. He also remembered the horrible news he woke up to days later: Lord Lyonel Strong and his son, Ser Harwin Strong, had died in a fire.  

Being from Dorne, you had never met Ser Hawrin, but he sounded like he was a good man, a devoted father. 

‘’What did he look like?’’ 

‘’He was tall with broad shoulders. He was the strongest man in the Seven Kingdoms,’’ he said, his voice tinged with pride. ‘’He had dark curls and eyes—’’

‘’Like you,’’ you interjected with a soft smile. 

The dark curls that framed his face were the first thing you noticed when he stepped down his dragon in Dorne. As he got closer, his eyes caught yours and his stern face lit up, mesmerized by your Dornish beauty. Before he spoke a word to your father, you were already scheming your way into his heart — and breeches.

Jacaerys smiled, a faint reflection of his father in his expression. ‘’Like me.’’

‘’He would be proud of you. Of the kind and honorable man you’ve become.’’ 

Your words made his cheeks flush, the color deepening as you reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. He was so beautiful. Your hand lingered on his cheek, your thumb gently caressing his lightly freckled skin. 

He drew in a breath and looked down. ‘’I miss him.’’

—

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[miirohs]

a little sugar and spice [v.s.s]

pairing: OPLA!Sanji Vinsmoke x Fem!Reader wc: 0.7k cw: n/a an: *in dj kahled voice* another one- also i started reading the manga! this was lowkey inspired by this one reel i saw in a series called cheese church- chessus bless guys!

"Finally awake?"

Sanji stood there, towel thrown over his shoulder as he mixed something, pausing for a moment to look at you.

There was a brief silence, in which you coughed, trying to fish a response out.

"Did i fall asleep here again?" You groaned, the sticky feeling of the leather ever present as you pulled yourself up sluggishly.

"You did, i'm not complaining. I got a lot-" He pointed to the chopped vegetables sitting to the side, "-of meal prepping done. It's just as quick as i remember it being."

"Speaking of which, when did i fall asleep? The last thing i remember was coming in here for something," You muttered, trying to recall any more you could.

"Nothing much. You came in here for a glass of water, and eventually you fell asleep on the couch," He said, smiling widely, "you tried to help me with the pastries i was making too, but you kept messing with the batter."

You shrugged, getting up and stretching.

"You want something to eat?" He asked, wiping his hands on the towel, "You haven't had anything since yesterday." Before you could protest, he gave you a pointed look, "And don't you try to protest love. As i recall, you drank the entire bar dry last night and started professing your love for m-"

"Shut up," You flushed, mouth opening and closing as he gave you a victorious smirk.

"Still, you know i'm not wrong." "Why you.... you know what? I'm not sure you'd be able to make what i want," You said, sticking your tongue out at him, "i'm very choosy about what i eat."

He gave you a deadpan look, rolling his eyes, "What? Fancying yourself a picky eater today love? I assure you, i can make anything you can imagine."

You thought long and hard, biting your lip before it hit you.

"I want a grilled cheese."

"A grilled cheese?" He let out a little laugh, putting down his knife, "Are you sure thats all?"

"Yes. That's all i want. A grilled cheese," You said, slamming your hands down on table, eyeing him up and down. "If you don't make it, you're not man enough-"

"Challenge accepted," He said, quickly putting away his other tools, "I'm assuming you know where the cheese is. Go get it-"

"Already on it," You said plainly, opening up the cabinet. Among various bottles and boxes, there sat a wrapped block in the back, wrapped with twine.

"Found something!" You pulled it out, coughing as he took it from your hands. Unwrapping it, he whistled, showing the block of cheese to you.

"Mold. I wonder how long it's been back there." He said, and you groaned, seatings yourself on the island in front of him. "Aw bummer, what are you gonna do now?"

Sanji chuckled, placing the block on the counter, "You know we never waste any food love, so now we just salvage it as best we can."

Within minutes, the sizzling of the bread filled the kitchen, and the aroma of melting butter and toasting bread wafted through the air. Sanji's concentration was evident as he flipped the sandwich with precision, ensuring it was golden brown on both sides.

As you reached for the cheese, he swat your hand away, shooing you off the counter.

"Sit down, you need to be more patient cause perfection doesn't rush itself." You huffed, sitting back down at the island, tracing the pattern of the counter.

The sound of ceramics being placed on the counter made you look up, grilled cheese and a mini green cake looking right at you.

"There you go, love. One grilled cheese, as you asked!"

"Mmm, this is amazing, Sanji," you exclaimed, stuffing the food in your mouth, "You really outdid yourself with this one."

Sanji's seemed satisfied as he watched you enjoy the sandwich, retreating to get something from the back.

"I'm glad you like it, love. By the way-" He returned, smaller plate in hand, "- i have something for you to try."

You didn't respond, looking at the mini cake he handed you.

"I'm guessing you're wondering what that is?" He said, and you nodded.

"It's a mini matcha cheesecake. You should try it," He urged you, and you obliged, taking a bite.

"Hmm. It's good..." You replied, wrinkling your nose.

"You're not telling me something," He said,

You glanced at Sanji, "Well, it's good, but it's missing something."

Sanji arched an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Missing something, you say? What could possibly be missing?"

"Sugar," You replied.

Sanji's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Sugar? You think my cheesecake needs more sugar?"

You nodded, a playful glint in your eye. "Definitely. It's got that nice matcha bitterness, but it needs a little sweetness to balance it out."

Sanji gave you a smile, clearly enjoying the banter. "Sugar would throw off the delicate flavor balance, but let's see if I can meet your sugar quota."

With a flourish, he reached for a small jar of powdered sugar and lightly dusted the cheesecake with it. "Now, give it another try," Sanji said, pushing the plate back to you.

You took another bite. "Mmm, that's much better," you declared with a satisfied smile.

"I guess i just didn't use as much sugar as i usually would, since you're so sweet."

"Don't forget i've got a bit of spice in me too," You rolled your eyes, leaning in closer.

"Indeed," He muttered, sealing the distance between the both of you, kisses tasting with the faintest hint of some kind of sweetness unknown to you.

"Hey Sanji I thought i smelled something really good cooking and- Oh!" You both tore away from each other, Luffy watching you as Zoro stood behind him, annoyance scribbled all over his features.

"First thing i see this morning-"

You hopped off the counter, blowing Sanji a kiss as you ran from the kitchen. Your departure was followed by an angry rupture and laughter, resounding loudly through the halls.

"Wait- You idiot why would you do that?!"

"Well i wasn't the one initiating PDA this early in the morning!"

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Capital (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: You think you married the plainest woman on earth, and you look away for one second and suddenly she is not. Typical. At least, for Daemon.

Warnings: Mature language, sexual thoughts, canon typical violence.

Requested: Yes! But since I am particular about my aesthetic, I didn't answer there. Jealousy + arranged marriage. Brought to you by the seven deadly sins.

Gluttony /ˈɡlʌtəni/

​the habit of eating and drinking too much.

Claw Island is as good as getting vanished from the court. You know it. Your Lord husband knows it. Even the tenants know it. Why else would the King order your marriage to Daemon Targaryen?

It was not as much of a punishment as the King had hoped. The Celtigars are a prestigious family, one of the few left with Valyrian blood. While not ones to flaunt their riches or seek for great power, you led a luxurious lifestyle.

The finest wines. Myrish rugs. The newest books. And of course, the riches from the surrounding sea. Beautiful pearls, a fleet that, while small, sailed with speed. The best foods.

The small island was your perfect little world, sequestered away from the troubles of the mainland. What else could a person long for, when they lived in a paradise? Claw Island had it all. Miles and miles of tempestuous sea, soft sands and gorgeous wildlife not seen anywhere else. Humble, but good people. Natural riches enough to last a lifetime.

But as of late, your breathtaking lands did nothing to bring you peace. Sometimes, in truth, as you walked along the shoreline, you wished for a tremendous sea wave to swallow you whole.

It would be better than this. Among the crabs, the sea life and wreckage of old ships, you would feel at ease. At home, even. And finally, finally untroubled. But things were not as you wanted them to be. With your Lord Father at court, someone had to mind the island. And no one knew the lands as you did.

You shuddered to think of something happening to you. In that case, the island, and its people, would go to your husband. Considering how much he hated it here, Prince Daemon would make a poor ruler.

You glare. He glares right back. Remembering your manners, you serve him a cut of spider crab seared in butter. The meal is rich and decadent, a show of the best Claw Island has to offer.

“Crab, Lady Wife?” Daemon raises both eyebrows. “Again?”

“What else does the Prince wish to eat?” You do your best effort at keeping your tone even. You try hard to not raise your voice at him, remembering the rumors about what happened to his last wife. So far, it seems to be working. Despite being older than you, the man behaves as a child. You have found he benefits from being managed as one, too.

Ever since you got married, he has been desperately trying to rile you up. The Prince always seemed to deflate when you refused to engage. He was clearly itching for a fight, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“You seem too willing to indulge in cannibalism for my tastes.” Daemon, in what he surely believed to be the absolute demonstration of cutting wit, smirks. You smile at him, sedate. You have heard enough remarks about crabs to last a lifetime. “It’s worrying.”

You could answer him. Perhaps make a mockery of his inability to perform in bed and the behavior of the female praying mantis. You do not. Instead, you force yourself to give him a tight smile.

“Don’t worry. I will ask the servants to bring you fish.” You took your napkin out of your lap and placed it on the table. Dutifully, you rang the bell to call for a servant.

“Again?” Daemon complained, sounding much like a petulant child. You smiled and went back to your seat. Your crab was getting cold, and it would most likely be by the time your husband’s fish was served. But good manners dictated you could not start eating without him. You resigned yourself to another night of eating a cold dinner.

“You should write to the King, my Prince. I would serve you venison, were it not for the fact that your dragon has nearly extincted the population here.” While you were by no means poor, feeding a dragon was an expense you didn’t care for, especially one so picky as Daemon’s was showing to be.

While a dragon was a marvelous creature, and having one guarding your lands was a great perk, it was also hard. Caraxes ate the same as five grown men in a day, if not more. He didn’t eat just anything you served him, either. Much like his owner, he was picky. He had come with dragon keepers, and needed to be built a shelter.

You had hoped that his serpentine appearance would mean that he would eat a lot in one sitting, then hibernate, but no such luck. Your island couldn’t keep up, no matter how hard you tried. Animals didn’t reproduce at the pace required.

“Of course, my Lady. Of course.” Daemon says, in a dismissive tone. It’s then, when a servant comes in with his fish.

Your crab is cold. Again. Daemon is not pleased with the fish, but seems wary of extending dinner even more. For once, he doesn’t complain.

Dinner is eaten silently. In your head, you make plans for tomorrow's meals. Perhaps oysters, served cold, will withstand the wait better. You finish dinner and settle down to read some before bed.

When the time comes for it, you close your book. Daemon departs with a cold kiss to your cheek. You go to your bed, just as cold and empty as the kiss was, and fall asleep.

It’s around the witch's hour when he comes back to you, getting into the bed next to you. He stinks of cheap perfumes and oils. As he pulls you closer, to be able to hide his face on your neck, you can feel the smell of sex and alcohol induced sweat. It comes from the clothes Daemon hasn’t even bothered to shed before getting in bed with you.

You don’t like him drunk. He gets sloppy. You do better when he hides his indiscretions, the proofs of your failure as a woman. As a wife. He seeks his pleasure from other bodies, never yours. With you, he is unable to perform to completion.

Perhaps the same happens to him with others, on nights like these. That thought soothes you, and it’s the only reason why you allow Daemon to seek comfort in your arms. Sometimes, he has nightmares. It’s expected then, too, that you are the one to soothe him back to sleep.

Shifting in his grip, you rub his back, gently. You card your other hand through the matted strands of blonde hair, as a mother would do to his child. In many ways, you guess he is one. You pity him, your husband. A man with a void so deep, not even all the vices in the world could fill it.

You are unable to fall back asleep. You lay there for hours, staring at the ceiling. When you hear the rooster’s first crow, you roll out of bed. Sleep is not coming for you. Daemon, unperturbed in his slumber, only sprawls more. You tuck him in.

When you get to your vanity, you catch the servants leaving the correspondence for the day on it. She giggles when you point at the bed and the mess of clothes, gesturing for silence. It makes you feel better, that they think your husband comes from the pleasure houses straight into your arms for more than just cuddles.

One of the letters catches your eye. It’s written in the strange alphabet used for High Valyrian, bearing both the royal seal and the King’s name. You don’t mean to pry. In fact, you open it because you are worried your husband has upset his brother even more.

Marriage is like being tied to a ship. When the tides are good and the ship strong, you soar above the sea. But no one wants to be tied to a sinking ship. It’s that fear what leads you to heating a knife on your candle’s flame and lifting the seal.

You read as you brush your hair, unrushed. You know Daemon won’t be awake for at least six more hours. But the more you advance, skipping polite greeting, the more your stomach sinks, and you jump from sentence to sentence.

“And while I understand your dislike of Claw Island, it is a less harsh punishment than you deserve. Much you complained of wanting a Valyrian bride, and now the opportunity presents itself, ripe for the taking. Yet, you do not seem keen on it. Is it, again, the lack of a throne you find off-putting? Perhaps, the lack of a child bride you can manipulate? Your Lady Wife might not have purple eyes or silver hair, as you mention, but she is a maiden in the bloom of youth. Tales of her beauty have graced the court, shared among the eager mouths of her family and previous suitors. Both Lord Velaryon and Lord Mooton agree that the woman is a delight, well-mannered and easy on the eyes. She has impeccable breeding and education. I will not grant you the annulment. I will not allow you to go back to your whore.”

There is a coppery taste in your mouth. Blood, you realize. From biting your tongue so hard to avoid letting out a scream of rage. It feels like being stabbed, countless times. In your back, and in your heart. Betrayal and deep, hurtful sorrow.

What have you done to deserve this? To be blindsided so? You have stood firm through all the humiliations your husband puts you through. Never once reproaching the way he goes out after dinner and does not come back until sunrise. Never complaining of his audacity to search comfort in your arms when he is drunk and stinking of whores. Never once raising your voice at the insults to your people, your home, your family.

But for Daemon Targaryen, it wasn’t enough. You would never be enough. Childishly, when you had first heard of your betrothal to him, you had hoped for companionship, if not love. At least, you thought, you would have a friend. But you hadn’t been enough of a woman to keep him in your bed, you had not been enough of the blood of Old Valyria for him to give you children, and you had not been enough for him to stay married to you.

He took from you, and took from your island and from your family, and not once was he satisfied. Not once, he was sated. And now, Daemon has done the unspeakable. Not satisfied with making a mockery out of you, with his constant unfaithfulness, he seeks to ruin you further. It’s only King Viserys who protects you and your family from further embarrassment.

You have underestimated him, pitying him while he planned your demise. The ruin of your house. You have been sharing your bed with the enemy. The thought frightens you and fills you with anger at equal parts. What will happen, when the King dies and the awful Princess with whom your husband was so taken ascends? Will you be put to the sword, accused of an imaginary crime to get you out of the way? Treason, perhaps? Hands shaking in anger, you fold the letter and reseal it as carefully as you can.

That is the day you decide you will retreat into your shell, like any good crab. You will close yourself over, put up walls and keep him as far away as you can. And you will wait for the day to stab at his heels until his physique reflects exactly the useless kind of man he is inside.

One day, this man might kill you. You will have to make sure he does not get away with it.

Envy /ˈenvi/

​the feeling of wanting to be in the same situation as somebody else; the feeling of wanting something that somebody else has.

It’s not often you are summoned to the court. But your father is about to be named Keeper of the Keys, a prestigious position often held by members of your house before being promoted to Master of Coin. The implication is clear. Soon, another Celtigar will be handling the finances of the Kingdom. It’s a ploy, to intertwine you further with the Royal Family. As soon as King Viserys dies, it will be your father who serves on Princess Rhaenyra’s council.

Hence, the need for a celebration. Traveling from Claw Island to King’s Landing is exhausting, especially considering that you do the journey by ship while your husband does so in his dragon. He seems overjoyed about it, but you can only think of how much the separate travel is costing your purses.

Daemon arrives early, because of course he does. Meanwhile, you spend your time preparing to put on the play of your life. You must be the most dutiful wife in the Seven Kingdoms, or else he might find a reason to get rid of you. Setting apart your most fashionable dresses, preparing gifts for the King and Queen and otherwise looking radiant.

Knowing Daemon, he is already whispering poison in his brother’s ear. You need to dazzle the King and the whole court, convince them you are not only an adequate wife but a perfect one. No stain must be perceived in your reputation.

You arrive punctually, just in time to prepare for the feast. It’s inside the Hall where you meet Daemon, and greet him with a kiss on the cheek. Chaste, but affectionate, performed under the King’s approving look. You are radiant in your house’s colors, with subtle references to Targaryen’s ones.

The feast is torture. Viserys, Daemon and Rhaenyra are all seated at the same table. They get along wondrously, while you, Queen Alicent and Ser Laenor are ignored despite being next to them.

The only thing that calms your heart is watching your father, sitting at the table of the Master of Coin.

“My Queen.” You say to her, hoping to curry favor. The Gods knew you needed as many allies as you could. “I brought you this.”

You take out a beautifully engraved rendition of the Prayers Book. It’s a gorgeous edition, with a gold finish. You hope that at least, if she doesn’t like it, she would think it is a gift to the babe she carries. It’s a thoughtful gift, the kind of thing you excel at.

“Oh, Lady Targaryen!” The Queen says, and takes it, admiring it in the light. Fortunately, she seems truly charmed by it. “It is the most wonderful thing!”

“I have one myself.” You tell her, as if you had not purchased it for exactly this moment. “When I heard you were from Oldtown, I couldn’t think of a better thing to bring.”

“It’s lovely.” Alicent says, as your husbands ignore both of you. Viserys and Daemon are too busy having their fun to care about what women are doing. “Will you join me in prayer tomorrow?”

“I would be delighted to.” It’s the first genuine smile you wear since your arrival. And it’s the first time that someone from the royal family smiles back.

You do attempts towards Rhaenyra and Laenor. They both ignore you, and so, you decide to keep strictly to conversing with Alicent. You decide to leave Viserys out of it, despite your gratitude to him because you would rather not look like much of a sycophant.

Your happiness at finally making a friend between your in-laws makes you oblivious to Daemon’s silence. During the whole dinner, he barely taunts you. None of the crab-based insults he so favors are present, either. That should have warned you. If you have learned something about your husband is that there is never a time when he is quiet.

He bides his time. The desserts are already served when Daemon delivers his greatest insult up to date. Some couples are even swaying to the rhythm of the music already, no matter if the tables have yet to be cleared.

“I wish to dance, I think.” Daemon says, getting up from his seat. You start to get up too, knowing you cannot refuse him, but he turns towards Rhaenyra. “A dance, niece?”

Rhaenyra preens under the attention and takes his hand. For a second, you stay frozen, hand falling uselessly by your side just when you were about to reach for him. You feel like you are being stabbed. Again.

The humiliation is so great you wish for some great disaster, perhaps one of the couples bumping against a table and overturning it, just to get the attention away from you. Half the hall has now seen you get rejected by your husband. In a celebration meant to honor your father, nonetheless.

You struggle to keep your face emotionless, curved into a polite little smile. You have made a fool of yourself. Hot tears gather in your eyes, threatening to spill.

Noticing your despair, Alicent places a hand on your arm, softly.

“Thank you, Lady Targaryen.” She exclaims, loudly. “With the babe getting bigger and bigger every day, I find it harder to stand. You are very thoughtful.”

Her rescue, as she stands and walks down the dais, helps you save face. Your smile turns more genuine.

“It’s but good breeding, my Queen.” You answer, just as loud. “What kind of noble could see a Lady of your station and not aid her?”

Alicent smiles, and she cradles her stomach.

“Indeed. Only a savage, I would think.” Her glance at her own husband is unmistakable. But Viserys is too busy watching Rhaenyra and Daemon dance to help his pregnant wife. His eyes never leave his brother and daughter, his expression twisted into one of annoyance.

Alicent makes her way towards a table where a few knights sit. Most of them are from Oldtown, and you cannot help but smile at her doing the rounds her husband so neglects. But her rescue, and quick exit, leave you in an uncomfortable position. King Viserys and Ser Laenor are engaged in conversation, including you only when they remember your presence, which means once every half an hour.

Without Queen Alicent, you have no conversation partner. The only thing you can do is watch. Daemon twirls around the room as if he were not a married man, taking every eligible bachelorette in the room for at least one dance. He is enchanting, pulling blushes left and right. He dances twice with Rhaenyra and Laena Velaryon.

You play your part to perfection. Each time he glances your way, you give him an indulgent smile or a sweet tilt of your head. Even when he dances again with Rhaenyra, your expressions don't shift. Instead, you lift your cup to them and even find it in yourself to give a small clap.

It’s torture. It’s exhausting, having to play the devoted but never jealous wife, when he is doing his best to embarrass you. Finally, the King retires, but orders that the celebrations do not stop. You consider making your way towards your father, uncaring if leaving Laenor sitting on his own is rude.

Just as you are getting up, a knight, dressed in a fine green gambeson, steps in front of you. You look up at him, wondering what he could possibly want.

His voice is soft and eloquent, with the barest hint of an accent. His voice reminds you of someone, but you cannot quite place who.

“Lady Targaryen. You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you.” You answer him, politely. Is he about to ask you for a dance? Is this a ploy for your husband to embarrass you further?

The knight smiles. He is tall and slender, very different from your husband, yet handsome just the same.

“If I had a wife as pretty as you, she wouldn’t be sitting here.” He compliments, and startles a laugh out of you. It has been months since the last time a man complimented you so. Before marrying, you had quite the suitors, but no one dared practice courtly love with the Rogue Prince’s wife. And your husband never once spoke to you kindly.

It’s a thrill, to feel wanted and appreciated again. You love having his eyes on you. It fills you with a forgotten kind of confidence. As the daughter of the man whose star in court is rising, as a beautiful woman and as the wife of a Prince, you deserve to be admired. It’s not your fault your husband can’t see it, you are desirable. People should be currying for your favor. You shouldn’t be begging for the scraps of a man whose only interest is his niece.

“Would she be on the dance floor?” You tease the knight, falling back into the practiced flirtations that had made you so popular before. You feel like you are glowing again.

The knight shakes his head, a hint of mischief appearing in his brown eyes.

“I would forbid her from leaving my chambers.”

At that, you laugh again, blushing. Despite how charming he is, you are still a married woman. You cannot give anyone reason to suspect or judge you, else Daemon might have basis to rid himself of you.

“I am not your wife.” You say, politely. The knight gasps, as if wounded, making you laugh again. You do not realize someone is glaring daggers at you, entranced as you are by him. “But perhaps a dance might suffice?”

The knight gives you a cheeky grin. He takes your hand and pulls you to your feet, gently.

As he leads you towards the dance floor, you barely notice Daemon looking disgruntled on the edge of it. You look over and see Rhenyra dancing with some tall and broad knight. He is probably jealous of him.

“You must give me your favor, for tomorrow's tournament. We are, after all, celebrating your family.” The knight says, making you focus back on him. His eyes are brown and kind, so soft. They remind you of someone, but once again, you can’t tell who.

“Ah, I see you are a tough negotiator.” You tease, your tone turning slightly more girlish. This time, it is the knight who laughs.

“What can I say? It’s in my blood.” The man winks, as he starts to twirl you around.

“I think, my lord, you have yourself a deal.” You grin.

It’s only when a Hightower knight approaches the stands the next day and offers you his lanze, you realize the mistake you have made.

Wrath /ræθ/

​extreme anger.

Daemon can’t believe his ears. Out of nowhere, a sweet sound reaches him. It’s the sound of a Lady’s laughter, but something about it makes him turn his head.

Perhaps, the fact that the sound has managed to catch his attention at all, despite the loud music, chatter and other laughs. Perhaps it is that the sound is familiar to him. He doesn’t know what it is, but as the piece finishes, he steps aside and tries searching for the source.

It’s then he sees you. His wife. Glowing and laughing on that Hightower cunt’s arm. And no, it’s not Alicent he is referring to. Otto’s spawn seems to have a proclivity for you because this is the other one. The elder.

Gwayne. His hands all over you, a gentle touch to your lower back to guide you forward. And are your eyes brightening? For him? As you pass by Daemon, you barely spare him a glance. He manages to hear a piece of the conversation.

“Your favor, for tomorrow's tournament…” The man has the gall to ask, as if he could win you the flower crown! The nerve of that Hightower pup, to think himself able to win. It’s clear he doesn’t remember the last time he faced Daemon, and while he was already planning on entering, now he knows with absolute certainty he is competing. Gwayne Hightower seems to have forgotten his lesson. He needs to remember his place.

“… Tough negotiator…” Your cheerful voice answers. Probably telling him he has to win if you do so because you are Valyrian and proud like him. Surely, the idea of getting crowned Queen of Love and Beauty appeals to you. You want a flower crown? Daemon will get you the damn thing.

When he was no more than a boy, his father used to have a particularly overzealous hound. Daemon had taken great delight in setting him free just when ladies were visiting. The dog loved sniffing beneath the ladies' skirts and humping their legs. The whole scene often ended up with Daemon getting yelled at, either by the ladies or their husbands. Now, as he looked at the proverbial dog humping his wife, Daemon understood why the ladies' husbands were so enraged.

He should cut his hands. Hightowers. No sense of shame at all, with their whorish ways. They were all the same. There went Alicent, throwing herself at Viserys when poor Aemma was not even in her pyre. There went Gwayne Hightower, placing his paws all over you and trying to charm you when Daemon was still in the room.

Couldn’t he tell you are his? It’s not that Daemon likes you, but it’s an affront to his honor. You are the wife of a Prince. The mere fact that a measly knight thought he could compare it’s outrageous. And the fact that he dared touch you! The nerve!

It’s Daemon who shares your bed, back in Claw Island. It’s Daemon you hold during the night, who pays for your silly little dresses. It’s for him you have clearly gotten all pretty today. How dare he, that Hightower fool.

He can’t have you. Gwayne Hightower is not allowed to just swoop in and try to steal his woman. You are meant to sleep by his side, be his solace. You are not the kind of woman for whom a simple knight would be enough. Just like him, you love the lush life. Could Gwayne Hightower buy you a dress like that? Could he use a dragon to protect your little island?

Daemon clutches at his cup so hard, he thinks he might bend the metal. You are his bride. He is the only one allowed to have you. If he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to, but it doesn’t mean someone else can.

Rhaenyra approaches him again, no doubt wanting another dance. But not even her allure, which is usually so hypnotizing to him, manages to get him out of his bad mood. He hates when other people touch what is his.

Daemon decides to retire for the night, before she can reach him. He needs to think. How he longs for your shared rooms back at Claw Island. At least that way, he wouldn’t spend the night tossing and turning, wondering if the Hightower cunt escorted you back to your rooms, and if so, at which hour.

Strange, isn’t it? Such a small act can cause such a big shift in perspective. So many months, he had spent thinking of Claw Island a prison, longing to be able to come back to court. Now, he sees it as it was. A shell made to protect the most valuable pearl the sea had produced.

Had Daemon known men at court would try to steal his bride, he would have never authorized this trip. Your father could have been named Hand, but you would have never stepped foot outside your castle if Daemon had known. You would not be taken with Gwayne Hightower if he had a say in it.

He had a plan. The knight would make a fool out of himself. Daemon just had to encourage him in the right direction.

Daemon is up and about as soon as the sun is. He strolls towards the space prepared for the tournament, armor in hand. He changes slowly, giving plenty of time for Gwayne Hightower to arrive.

The foolish knight does. So do you, sitting next to your father in the stands, all pretty and glowy under the sun. You wear a red gown that compliments not only your skin tone, but pays homage to both of your houses. After all, both House Targaryen and Celtigar have red on their coats of arms. A clear show that you were meant to be his, and his alone. What would you even look like, if you were married to a Hightower fool? Red and green would look hideous in a dress.

As the highest-ranking competitor, Daemon gets to make the first challenge. To no one’s surprise, he picks Gwayne Hightower.

Daemon waits with bated breath, already seated on his horse. Does the man dare? Oh, he dares! The Hightower cunt gallops towards the stands. You don’t rise, looking towards the Hightower whore. It’s then he realizes you must be truly innocent. You are either doubting the boldness of the man or are not aware of his house, and do not recognize him under the armor.

But as Gwayne Hightower reaches the stand, Daemon close on his heels, he takes off his helmet. You gasp.

The Hightower whore makes a move as if to get up. Her brother’s voice cuts her off.

“I was hoping to get a sign of your favor, my Lady.” The man says to you, and your eyes widen. You stand, shakily. You look at Daemon, then at the cunt, then at him, then back at the cunt. Daemon arches an eyebrow, visor lifted. “For you have already struck me with your beauty, and the fact that you cannot be mine. Allow me the consolation of placing a crown of flowers upon you, and soothe my wounded heart.”

You gasp at the bold declaration. Daemon has to admit it, the cunt has some nerve. Not only has he praised you in ways that are too bold even for a couple courting, but he has slighted Daemon in front of the whole court. He has made explicit mention of your marriage to him.

Viserys eyes him warily. Daemon scoffs. The distrust is unnecessary. Why would he slaughter the Hightower now, when he has the chance to plummet him into the ground without consequences in just a few minutes? Besides, it would be in bad taste, slaughtering the brother of his sister-in-law.

Your father urges you forward, with a forced laugh. You grasp one of the favors from your box, which has only two, and place it upon the Hightower’s lanze. The pretty ribbons sway in the wind. White and red from House Celtigar proudly displayed.

Daemon clears his throat, and presents his own lanze.

“How touching.”

You ignore him, as Rhaenyra approaches. Surely thinking how he will want to wear her favor, after his rejection of last night. Curse him, Daemon thinks. He should have danced with you. If he had known that up jumped son of a rat was going to try his luck, you would have not left Daemon’s arms the whole night.

“Thank you, niece. But today I fancy wearing my wife’s favor. For it would be a shame for her to be lacking her crown once her champion undoubtedly disappoints.” He loudly declares, uncaring if his niece’s face falls. Rhaenyra will get over it. But this has turned into a manhood competition. He can’t let Gwayne Hightower, of all people, win.

“Can I do that?” Daemon hears you whisper towards Viserys and his whore. “Can I have two champions fighting each other?”

Viserys, as if this is the most fun he has had in a while, answers cheerfully.

“Of course, my dear girl.” It probably is the most fun he has had in a while. Really. It must be very amusing to him, after hearing Daemon complain about you for months. Who would have known he would have to fight some Hightower for your attention? Laughable, really. A Prince groveling. “Double the chances for you to get the flower crown, is it not?”

“Of course.” Your father jumps in, clearly trying to prevent a scandal. “Go on, love. Give the other one to your husband. If more are needed, we will get more ribbons.”

You approach Daemon, pretty little favor on your delicate hands. You smile at him, pleasantly. But this close, he can tell you are shaken by the power play happening right in front of your eyes.

Daemon lowers his lanze as you stretch to place your ribbons. You give him a confused and hurt look. He stretches closer.

“Save that one.” Daemon says, as he places a hand on your hair and pulls out the red ribbon that holds it back. “I’m your husband, I get some privileges.”

His gesture makes you laugh. Daemon feels on top of the world. He gives a superior glance to the Hightower cunt, as if saying: Look at me, I do not need half your effort and get double the results.

Daemon is not so deluded as to think the laugh is more than half nervousness and half playing the part of the dutiful wife you are, but to Daemon is still a win. He can see why the other lords want you. With your hair loose, smiling and with your skin glowing from the sun, you are actually quite pretty.

He ties the ribbon around the pommel of the lanze.

“A kiss, for good luck?” Daemon knows he is pushing, but cannot help but be smug. His pretty wife gave him her hair ribbon to tie around his chosen weapon, for all the court to see. Smugness radiates out of his pores.

Without any expectation, the sweet peck you give him is even more of a delight. Even more sweet is the disgruntled look on Gwayne Hightower's face.

Safe to say, the man gets unseated so fast, it has to be the quickest defeat ever registered. The crunch he makes as he falls from his horse it’s the most satisfying sound Daemon has ever heard. The crowd gasps and cheers. The man does not get up.

That will teach him, he decides. Gwayne Higtwoer will never again even look your way. Daemon turns his horse back around, ready to face his next opponent, but it’s stopped by the pages.

“Ser Gwayne Hightower has requested to continue with the sword.” At that, his blood boils. He nearly jumps off his horse, discarding the lanze and unsheathing Dark Sister.

“What will it be, boy? First blood?” He saunters towards the man, and the sight of him this close only serves to anger him more. He shares Otto’s slender build, tall and slight. In Hightower armor, he even looks like him. Daemon is going to enjoy this.

“Why stop there?” The knight asks, hatefully. “Until one of us yields.”

“As you wish.” Daemon charges, forgoing his shield. He is just too angered for politeness. This is not jousting anymore, it’s his hate for Higtowers, and the fact that this man has tried to take something that’s his. He should have never looked your way. Never. And if it’s up to Daemon, perhaps he will leave the arena without the ability to repeat the feat.

The fight is quick and dirty, but even when he has disarmed and cornered him, Gwayne Higtower refuses to yield.

“What are you..?” Daemon asks, utterly confused because the little savage is grabbing Dark Sister with gauntled hands and pulling.

“Just as marriage is not an excuse for not loving…” He grins, teeth bared in a feral little grin, and Daemon lets go of his sword in surprise at the boldness of the fool. “No weapon is no excuse for yielding.”

He loses it, then. Later, he will only remember red. Daemon throws himself at him and starts punching him, until the asshole goes limp on his arms and has to be pulled away from him.

Only the fact that the Hightower fought back is what allows him to keep participating in the tournament, instead of being exiled again. The split lip and bleeding eyebrow do serve to build a case in his favor.

He wins the tournament without any opposition. With bloody hands, he places the flower crown on your head. Your horrified look is not as satisfactory as he would have thought.

Pride /praɪd/

the feeling that you are better or more important than other people.

Daemon manages to get a hold of you before you vacate the stands. You are trying to avoid the crowds, waiting patiently in your seat. He doesn’t allow it, urging you towards his chambers with a firm grip on your wrist.

Some other ladies titter and giggle, pointing towards the two of you. No doubt, they think he is about to ravish you. They are not wrong.

It’s not often Daemon feels desire for you. In truth, while you have a pretty mouth and a soft body, you do little for him. But today, you are enchanting. The flower crown still sits atop of your windswept hair, making you look like a forest nymph. There are a few red stains along your temple, left there by Daemon’s hands when he placed the crown on top of your hair.

Never has there been a woman more deserving of the title of Queen of Love and Beauty. As you walk with him down the halls, he feels a smug sort of satisfaction. Here is the woman half the court wants, Daemon wants to scream. Here is my wife.

The feeling is not unfamiliar to him, but it is in relation to you. His possessive nature so far has only extended towards members of his house. The lust is new, too. Daemon has experimented it many times, but never towards whom he should.

As soon the door closes after you, he kisses you forcefully, only for you to shove him away.

“What are you doing?” You ask, as you spit out some of his blood. You are remarkably strong, having been able to push him while still in armor. But what shocks him the most is the fact that you did it at all. Months of marriage and you have done nothing but smile, regardless of what Daemon does.

“Shh, Lady Wife. Nothing unusual, I assure you.” He pulls you back in, kissing along your neck. This time, you push him even harder.

Daemon stumbles and blinks, hard. Are you rejecting him? He sits down on the bed and takes off his helmet. He has beaten the Hightower fool half to death and won you the silly flower crown. Why would you reject him?

“You prefer him, don't you?” That has to be the answer, surely. You must be having an affair with the cunt. Why else would you reject him? It’s not allowed. While Daemon is not particularly keen on forcing you, you are his wife. He has a right to your body, and you shouldn’t deny him. You know it. Never before have you refused him, due to the same reason. So this must be something else.

“What nonsense are you on, now?” You barely lift your eyes from your work, busy with pouring some water in a bowl and taking out clean linens. Efficiently, as if a seasoned healer, and not a soft lady from Claw Island, you rip them apart.

“Don’t play daft, wife.” Daemon reproaches, scowling. Your innocent act is starting to tire him. You can’t possibly believe him so dumb. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“If this is about Ser Gwayne…” You start and he feels the urge to scream. He can’t help but cut you off.

“Of course it is! Of course it is about that fucking Hightower.” Daemon’s voice goes high-pitched, imitating yours. “Ser, Ser.” He rolls his eyes. “How easily they hand titles now. Is every scum in this realm a knight?”

Your face doesn’t even twitch. That is one of the things about you that drive him to insanity. No matter what Daemon says, he never seems to get a reaction. It’s infuriating. You are all manners and dimples, even in the face of the most vile insults he throws your way. You either have no honor, letting him stomp all over you, or you think him right. Pathetic. Even the Bronze Bitch bit back.

His nostrils flare. Softly, you step between his parted legs and dab at the cut on his brow with a soaked linen. Ever dutiful.

“You do know adultery is a crime.” Daemon says, in a low, threatening tone. You give him a pleasant smile, squeezing water out of the cloth. It runs red and fast down your wrist.

“So is incest.” Your voice is far too cheerful for someone who just got accused of a crime that’s punishable by death if he so chooses. And not only that, but you have the nerve to threaten him.

“I am a Targaryen.” Daemon practically growls. You glare at him. He should be angry, but instead, his loins seem to heat up. Who can fault him? Any man would feel the urge to take you over and over, when faced with those eyes and those lashes.

Surely, after it, you would understand you were his and not Gwayne Hightower’s. It was not such an ambitious plan. Perhaps a lesser man would have trouble with it, but not Daemon. Give him ten minutes between your legs and you would be singing his praises.

“And I am a Celtigar.” His pause has allowed you enough time to form a retort. You press down on the cut on his brow with a viciousness that startles him. Daemon winces in pain. No getting distracted, he notes. Less you murder him when he is not paying attention. “To stifle the blood flow.” You explain, but Daemon can see the bloodlust in your eyes. You want him to hurt. The past few months have not gone in vain, it appears.

“Mine, you are mine.” He replies, gruffly.

You let go of the cloth, hands on your hips. Your mouth opens and closes, astonished.

“You don’t have any right to speak those words to me.” How he longs to grab you and show you exactly who is in charge. There you are, screaming! You! The woman who Daemon doubted knew how to make sounds louder than polite conversation. “Am I not the bride you never wanted? Your chain? Well then, sail free. Go!” You scream, and Daemon needs to pick his jaw off the floor because never has he seen you this angry.

Are you screaming at him? He feels the urge to pinch himself, to see if he is dreaming. But the way you are pointing your finger towards the door seems very real. Still a bit confused by the sudden personality change, Daemon does not obey.

It feels like a dream. Like stepping into a parallel world. The words that come out of his mouth are spoken by a stranger, and he can only watch as you turn more and more furious.

“No. Come here.” Daemon grabs at your gown, trying to pull you into him. He doesn’t really know what he is going to do if you budge. Place you in his lap and placate you with a kiss? He doesn’t get to find out. Grabbing you has clearly been the wrong move.

You slip out of his grip with a harsh jerk. Daemon is not as young as he used to be, but the sight makes his lust bubble up. You are alluring when angry, all passionate lines, and bloody temples. Valyrian, in a way you had never been before, with your darker coloring and soft manners. Yet, when mad? You are a conqueror goddess made flesh.

“No! I will not. I am not yours. We might be married but I will…” You stomp your foot at him, all angry little crab. For the first time, he sees fire in you.

Such a shame this is the moment you chose to grow a spine. He couldn’t understand where you had been all this time. So many months wasted with the meek little wife, when he could have had you instead.

Why had you decided to show you had a personality now, of all times? It was not fair, if it was for that Hightower cunt.

“Why Gwayne Hightower? Out of all the men on earth?” Daemon mutters, clearly not low enough because you answer him.

“This is not about Gwayne Hightower.” You glare, crown of flowers balancing precariously on top of your head. As you move, a few petals fall down. Angry little dryad that you are, you bat them away.

“If not, what is it about?”

“You!” You scream at him. It’s hateful, it's rage filled, it’s everything you are usually not. A true Valyrian goddess, letting mere mortals feel her might. Daemon would have enjoyed the display more if he wasn’t the mortal in question. “I forgot what it felt like to be wanted. To be looked at as someone who was desirable. Do you know how I have felt? Begging for scraps of attention, trying to make this work?”

“Wife…” He pleads because now there are tears in your eyes, and while Daemon doesn’t do begging, he doesn’t do comforting either.

“Do not call me that! Didn’t you petition for an annulment?” And how had you found out about that? While he had not been exactly secretive with his correspondence, he didn’t believe you to be proficient in High Valyrian. He has no time to ponder on it because you intend to go further. “Well, you are in luck! I will make my own request!”

“Viserys will not allow it.” Even if Daemon has to go beg him on his knees to not grant it, you are not annulling this marriage. Not when he is just starting to see the real you.

“Fine! Then I am going back to Claw Island. Stay here.” You scream, and you look so determined it scares him. For a second, he actually thinks you have the power to ban him from the island and force him to stay, giving you plenty of time to receive visitors. Male visitors, all surrounding you, courting you, as if he were already dead and not just exiled.

“Look. I’m sorry. Can we start over?” Daemon offers, in his most pleading tone. He has not apologized since… Gods. He barely remembers how to do it.

“You made me forget I deserved more than scraps.” You laugh at him, as his first apology to someone in more than ten years is the funniest joke existing. Then, enraged. “It will be a cold day in the Seven Hells, when I give you another chance.”

Hurt. He realizes, as you throw the flower crown at his feet and slam the door. Hurt. You are hurt, not angry. He has done the worst thing a man can do to a woman. Damage her pride.

Lust lʌst/

very strong sexual desire, especially when love is not involved.

Much to your dismay, every time you try to speak alone to the King, you are swiftly intercepted. If it’s not Corlys Velaryon asking you to help him pick a book in the library, it’s your Lord Father summoning you to his chambers. It seems like the whole palace is in it because even Princess Rhaenys asks you to stroll with her through the gardens when you lurk too close to Viserys’s chambers.

Daemon was smarter than you thought. He had taken to using your own weapons against you. The need to be polite kept you from rejecting all these new invitations, and so, you often ended up stuck an entire afternoon with nonsensical plans.

As time passes, your rage starts to subside. Much to your disgust, it morphs into shame. You cannot believe how you lost control in front of Daemon. Everything you have worked so hard on could vanish for a single afternoon pf foolishness.

You would rather not be his enemy. When the time comes for the two of you to go back to Claw Island, Gwayne Hightower is still bedridden, despite it already being days. Daemon is a dangerous man to cross.

Strangely enough, he doesn’t seem angry, or even resentful. In fact, your husband has never been more attentive. With the talent of existing just at the right moment, Daemon appears at your side each time there is a door to be opened or a chair to be pulled.

“No one has ever seen him like this.” Queen Alicent marvels, as he watches him go fetch you a blanket in case the room is too cold for your liking. “Whatever you did to him…”

“Nothing, I assure you.” You answer, sternly. You don’t want her getting funny ideas, like that you are dabbling in witchery or the Seven knows what. It’s not something you can afford. Already balancing on a tightrope after the fight, any accusation could be your ruin. You do not trust Daemon’s change of heart. He is probably just biding his time.

Noticing something is amiss, Daemon comes back with the blanket, wrapping it around you. Alicent falls quiet.

Daemon stares at you, his hands lingering on your back more than necessary. He seems to be taking you in. His eyes fixate on your bosom a tad too long before you realize what he is doing, and you cover yourself more with the blanket.

Your cheeks heat up. You cough. Alicent’s brows raise.

“You are so beautiful, wife.” Daemon says, a bit dumbly.

“And you are a fool.” Your response is heated, and stupid, too. But you feel too embarrassed to care. Alicent is still sitting there, with a scandalized look on her face. Anyone would be ashamed to be the object of such obvious ogling, much less when they have never been exposed to it.

You are unused to this side of your husband. At most, when trying to consummate, Daemon would glance at you with disdain and proclaim it was all your fault. His eyes would never watch the heaving of your chest as you breathed, or the sway of your skirts when you walked. Were you superstitious, you would have thought him a man possessed.

Daemon laughs, either at your comment or your expression. It’s good, you suppose. At least he has not taken offense. You would have thought he would be angered, never one to suffer affronts to his pride without reacting.

“Your fool.” He leans down and places a kiss on your forehead, before walking away.

You stare at him. Alicent stares at you. Neither says anything. You are not sure what to make of it. It’s strange. It’s him now, who serves you dinner. The choicest cuts of meat, the sweetest of wines and meads, never asking for anything in exchange.

He has gotten unusually affectionate. Or possessive. Whatever it’s going through his mind, you don’t know. Daemon has never been open about his thoughts and feelings with you, unless they stem from displeasure.

Perhaps it’s a burst of boastfulness. He flaunts you, a hand on your waist, lower arm, whatever he can get away with. He is suddenly interested in the dresses you wear, commenting on them and gifting you new ones just because he thinks they would suit you. You do not miss the fact that the dresses are always in his house’s colors or styles he personally favors, with intricate needlework and embroidery.

It’s interesting. Once again, his testing of boundaries seems to come back. His hands are always playing with the curls at the nape of your neck, or the folds of your skirt. You have even caught him toying with the buttons of your bodice. It borders on the inappropriate.

“You are pushing it.” You say to him when his hands curls around yours as you dance. He is supposed to keep his hand extended for this step. He doesn’t seem to care. The other guests give him amused looks. No one is about to chide a Prince for his lovesick behavior towards his wife. Especially in a goodbye feast for the couple.

In truth, you are starting to think most of the fathers at court are relieved. If the Rogue Prince is chasing after his wife, then he is not chasing their daughters.

“Holding your hand is pushing it?” Daemon holds your hand more securely, as he makes you spin. This is another new and unexpected development. Now, he only dances with you. No heated looks at Rhaenyra, no longing glances towards Laena. You are not sure how you feel about it.

“It is. You are inconveniencing everyone.” You say, as he spins you again with a flourish. Despite wanting so badly to keep being cross with him, you cannot help but laugh with childish delight. What girl doesn’t want to be twirled around and made to feel special? “You are supposed to exchange partners.”

The balance of the dance has been thrown off by his refusal to let go of you. Any time there needs to be a switch, the couples flounder around the two of you. It’s childish on his part, but he seems unwilling to let you dance with another man.

“Oh, you haven’t seen me pushing it yet.” Daemon laughs, and pulls you in until your body is flush against his. It’s improper and probably not allowed. Scandalous, even. Yet again, no one is about to say anything.

Much less you, suddenly realizing that being pressed so close to Daemon is quite enjoyable. He smells surprisingly clean this evening. No trace of alcohol on his skin, or other women’s perfumes. Instead, he smells of the soap he usually favors and some sort of aromatic oil.

“Will you push further, then?” You raise your brows. It’s sort of amusing that Daemon is trying so hard. You would have not taken him for the seducing type, not when he had been so keen on dissolving your marriage.

“I will.” Daemon leans in, to whisper in your ear. His voice is low, thick with desire. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “I want you. I burn for you. I need you in my bed, on top of me, under me, any way you will let me have you.”

You give a scandalized little gasp, softly hitting his shoulder. Daemon grins, pulling you in even more. The two of you are so close, you imagine you can feel his heart beating against yours.

“I’m not done.” He chuckles, leaning in to kiss your jaw. Daemon’s lips trail kisses towards your ear, teasingly blowing some air against it. “I want to spend the nights feasting between your thighs, on the valley of your breasts…”

“Stop it! We are in public.” You squeak, yet you look up at him like a flower searching for the sun. The attention he bestows on you is flattering, and you can't help but want to hear more.

“Do you want to hear a secret, wife? Every time you walk, I find myself lost in the sway of your hips. I want to drown on it. Drown on you. Until no trace of another remains, until the taste of your lips is the only thing I know.”

By this point, your skin feels so hot you worry you are about to combust. You gape at him. Not only has he dared to make a bold declaration, but he has done so in a room full of people.

You take a moment to gather yourself. Daemon could be bluffing for all you know, and so, you decide to match him. You brush your thumb against his cheekbone, feather-light.

“Then do it. No one is stopping you. Come to bed. Drown on me. Drink me, take me, ravish me.” You are trembling, and you only realize it when Daemon holds you tighter against him. You feel feverish, voice lowered to an urgent whisper. “Give me Valyrian sons, to hold my island when we are both gone.”

“No. No.” He says, against the curve of your neck, embraced much closer than the dance requires, making a spectacle. “I want them to have your smile and your eyes, and that infuriating curve of your shoulder. Give me daughters with your smart mouth, and your even temper. I want them to be proof of the love I had for you.”

You tremble more. Love. He really said… Oh, by the Seven.

“You are shaking.” Daemon kisses your brow. “Don’t. Unless it is from pleasure.”

Laughter rings in your ears. It's yours, but it feels foreign. You are too stunned to think clearly. Daemon tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Are you still there, Lady Wife?” He taps at your lower lip with his thumb. There is a teasing tilt to his smile, but his eyes are nervous. Vulnerable. Daemon was clearly not planning on confessing tonight. “Or have I broken you?”

“Prove it.” You say, still caught up on the love part. His declaration has sent your mind reeling, and shown you all of your latest interactions in a new light. You don’t know if Daemon knows what he is doing. He is a deeply passionate creature, much like his house’s sigil. Daemon doesn’t do infatuations, nor does he do dislikes. He loves or hates, and there is no in between.

“I will.” He promises, playing with a stray piece of hair that has fallen out of your up do. “Our whole lives. But perhaps I can start tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” You frown, puzzled. You even pull back from his embrace to be able to look at his face. What an odd thing to say. Despite it, you admire the utter shamelessness he has about it. Were it you the one accidentally confessing, you would be a bundle of nerves.

Daemon doesn’t even blush. Of course, there is the small fact that he believes himself to be the Seven’s gift to humankind. You suppose if you believed yourself to be irresistible, you wouldn’t be nervous either. Cockiness wasn’t something you thought did it for you, but it seemed like you were learning new things every day.

“You will see.” Daemon smiles. You let him keep his secret, figuring it can’t be anything that bad.

You discover what he means when you arrive at Claw Island. A dragon egg waits for you, the fireplace clearly modified in a hurry, judging by the new stones and bricks that were added to the hearth.

“Even if it never hatches, I want you to have it. For you are as Valyrian as we are, and I was a fool not to see it sooner. You are worthy. It should have been on your cradle as a child.”

Greed /ɡriːd/

​a strong desire for more wealth, possessions, power, etc. than a person needs.

The way his eyes trail after you now, it’s quite unfamiliar. Not lust, nor disdain. Something entirely new. Heavier.

Your afternoons have been filled with new entertainment. You coo at the egg, holding it over the fire. Sometimes, Daemon kneels beside you and helps you hold it, making a game of it. How long before either of you gets burned? How long can you endure, hands so close to the fire, before you are yelping and giving it to him?

When you think he is not looking, you speak to it in High Valyrian, whispering soft promises of how loved him or her will be once it hatches. There is no doubt in your mind it will. Perhaps not in weeks, or even months. Yet, your heart tells you there will be a dragon before your life ends.

Every night, you place the egg in the bed next to you. On your side, you curl around it, trying to share your warmth. Daemon reaches forward, sometimes. When he thinks you are asleep, his hand will curl over your waist and touch the egg, pressing it more against your stomach. You wonder what he means by it.

Does he know what he is doing? The low lullabies he half sings, half mutters under his breath indicate a yes. The way his lips curl into a soft smile against your nape show a longing that’s very much not subconscious.

Just as a pot of boiling water, the egg hatches a night no one it’s looking at it. Both Daemon and you are curled in a love seat, engrossed in a book. He is reading something about the doom of Valyria, your legs over his lap. You are submerged in a text about a man’s travels around the Free Cities.

One of his hands is wrapped around your ankle, in the sweetest of chains. Each time he flips a page, he will brush it with his thumb, softly. While not unwelcome, it’s strange. You are not used to being comforted in the same way you did for him during the first months of marriage. While Daemon doesn’t expect any kind of retribution, you find yourself granting it anyway.

The domesticity is quickly broken, however, when a strange noise fills the halls of your home. At first, you are unable to hear it through the background noise, but if you strain your ears, you can just make it out. It’s a shrill cross between a bird’s chirps and someone crying.

“Daemon?” You close your book and stare at him. Unable to help it, you get a little sidetracked, watching his face. His mouth is pursed in concentration, the candlelight giving his features a golden glow. Despite him being several years older than you, you cannot help but find him terribly handsome. Age has only turned him more distinguished. You betted he was dashing when younger, but unlike his brother, he has aged like a fine wine.

Sensing your eyes on him, he gives you a lazy smile.

“Little wife.” His voice comes out in a pleased rumble at having caught you looking. Your face heats up. Daemon's eyes shift from yours, to your mouth, then back to your eyes. You squirm under his gaze, trying to focus.

“Do you hear that?” You force yourself to utter.

“Hear what?” Daemon leans more towards you, his hand squeezing your knee. You give a small, delighted shiver. Good gods, what is it about him that gets you to turn into a puddle of want with the simplest touch?

“Some sort of animal crying.”

Daemon frowns. He tilts his head to the side, as if to listen better. You keep quiet, hoping to aid him. Then, his face breaks out in the biggest grin.

“It hatched! You amazing, wonderful woman.” He praises, pulling you into him. The hug is awkward, but it doesn’t last because you are too eager to see the baby dragon. Your dragon. You squirm out of his hold and rush out of the room, not even bothering to put on shoes, Daemon hot on your heels.

When you open the door to your chambers, you find the cutest thing ever. A baby dragon, slimy and confused, sits in the middle of his egg in the fireplace. It’s all big, dark eyes and long limbs, much like a baby horse. Unable to resist the temptation, you reach towards them.

“I do not…” Daemon tries to stop you, but the baby dragon climbs right up into your arms, curling close to your chest. Eager to touch it, you let it climb over your shoulder and nuzzle you, even if the sudden weight makes you stagger a little.

“That was really dangerous.” Your husband reprimands, trying to lift it away from you. The baby dragon snorts towards his direction, as if attempting to breathe fire. It only manages to give a cute little sneeze. Daemon glares.

“Aw, you are just like a baby.” You coo at the dragon, petting its head. Daemon looks even more disgruntled.

“Your dragon tried to burn me.” He complains.

“It’s a baby, husband. They don’t know any better.” You rub the scales on its back, soothingly. Unwilling to let go, you find yourself looking around your bedroom. “Let it stay here? Just for tonight.”

Daemon glares. You give him your biggest, most pleading eyes. He relents.

“Fine. But it’s not sleeping on the bed with us. And only for tonight.”

“Only for tonight.”

A month after, and the baby dragon is still sleeping in your bed. He has taken to laying between Daemon and you, leeching off your warmth. Daemon complains of having to sleep on the edge of the bed and his back being sore, but despite it, never once asks you to send the dragon outside with Caraxes.

The trouble starts, how not, with a trip to King’s Landing. This time, you ride with him, as a passenger to Caraxes, while the baby dragon follows. When Daemon lands, the dragon keepers fret around your baby, unsure of what to do with the unexpected visitor.

You command him to stay by your side, despite the protests of the dragon keepers. You are arguing and complaining and shielding your baby while Daemon only watches, amused.

Perhaps the commotion attracts more people, or someone calls for them, but you end up cornered as King Viserys makes his way to the dragon pit.

“What do we have here?” He asks, smiling at you. You give him a nervous look. Your dragon has gotten bigger, and so, you can not pick him up gracefully, but you usher him behind you regardless.

“Nothing, your grace.” You say, lacking your usual charm. You feel nervous about leaving the baby dragon on his own in the dragon pit. What if the other dragons don’t like him? What if he gets lonely?

With one hand, you reach for Daemon. His fingers meet yours halfway, squeezing reassuringly. More often than not, being a woman, your orders were not taken seriously. But if your husband gave an order, people would rush to obey. You hope he intercedes in your favor.

“Daemon, please.” You say, under your breath. “Don’t let them send him away. He will behave.”

“What do I gain, little wife?” He asks, interlocking your fingers together. Daemon gives his most charming grin to his brother, before pulling you into him. You go willingly, body lax and pliant for him. “A kiss, perhaps?”

“Please.” You turn to look at him, hoping to move him. This close, once again, you feel slightly distracted. Your husband smells so nice, and his hands feel so good around your waist, it’s no hardship at all. You press a kiss to his cheek.

“Must you always arrive with such a ruckus?” Viserys frowns. Daemon gives him a small smile.

“You know me.” Slowly, he starts to lead you towards the Red Keep, a hand placed protectively on your lower back. The message is clear. Daemon wants you to make your dragon follow you. You don’t even need to order it because your baby, smart as it is, is already following. The dragon keepers step back, muttering unhappily.

“Is it going inside?” Viserys point at your dragon. Foolishly, you had been hoping he didn’t notice, and so, your stomach drops. But Daemon doesn’t falter, strolling confidently inside as if he owned the place.

“He will behave. As long as no one touches her.” Normally, you despise when people talk about you as if you are not there. Currently, though, you can only feel relief that your dragon is not getting sent to sleep outside in the cold. He is just too little for it.

Viserys walks you towards his private dining room. A blonde child runs around, playing. The Princess and Ser Laenor are already there. And Alicent is even more heavily pregnant than before.

“How have you been?” You ask Alicent, sitting next to her. You half expect to be left out of the conversation as you were a few months before, and so, choose to sit next to someone who has been kind to you. The baby dragon hops on your lap when you take your seat.

Alicent looks absolutely horrified.

“Good enough.” She speaks, blinking slowly. It’s clear she cannot believe her eyes. She stares at the dragon in a mix of awe and fear.

“He is harmless.” You explain, petting it as if it were a small dog and not a baby dragon. “Do you want to pet him?”

Alicent reaches forward with a trembling hand. The dragon sniffs her, and curls to sleep again.

“… And I was thinking of changing the layout of the hall, to make sure he fits…” You hear Daemon complain, and your ears immediately perk up. Is he talking about your baby?

“So you keep it inside?” Viserys asks, sounding disbelieving.

“I have never seen such a close bond.” Daemon boasts. He sounds as if he is proud of you, you realize. It makes something warm flutter in your stomach. No longer are you the wife he never wanted and tried to get rid of. “Damn thing sleeps on the bed with us. It’s better trained than a dog, seriously. We should have given Celtigars dragons a long time away.”

“Why not leave it outside?” From where you are seated, you can’t see his face, but you imagine by his tone, Viserys is smiling.

“She will riot. She loves him as her own son.” Daemon explains. You keep your eyes trained on the nervous Alicent, who has managed to lay her hand on top of your dragon’s head. She looks about to bolt.

“Isn’t he the nicest thing?” You say to Alicent, excited. “He thinks I am his mom, or something. Isn’t it great?”

Alicent does not look as impressed as you hoped for, but she gives you a kind smile. She seems willing to tolerate your eccentricities if for the sake of not having to make conversation with Rhaenyra.

“Very nice.” She compliments. “Pretty colors. Prince Daemon was very kind, giving it to you.”

“He is.” You smile, softly. “Although he complains all the time.”

Alicent shrugs. This time, both of you tune in the conversation between Daemon and Viserys.

“Perhaps, as you build him something outside, you can distract her with an actual baby.” Viserys says. Alicent looks torn at the comment, and you can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed by the topic.

It’s not something you had thought about before. Well, you had. Never with him, though. As a girl, you dreamed of being a mother, and as a woman, Daemon and you had discussed the issue of heirs already. You had spoken about it during your last goodbye feast, in this same castle. But those words had been spoken in the height of passion, and neither of you had done anything about it.

“Trust me. Next time she holds a babe, it will be a proper human one.” Daemon says, and his hand finds yours over the table. You look up at him, meeting his purple eyes. He looks hungry. Starved, even.

You lower your eyes demurely. Viserys laughs. And Daemon, greedy as he is, lifts your hand to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

Sloth /sləʊθ/

the bad habit of being lazy and unwilling to work.

The light filters in through the open curtains, giving the room a soft glow. Daemon’s face scrunches up, bothered by the sunlight in his eyes. He has tried to convince you to sleep with them drawn, but you are unwilling. To you, the best way to wake up is slowly, with the sun. Or so you say. He is not very convinced.

Daemon stretches. You reach for him in your sleep. He gives himself a moment to savor it, the fact that he can finally pull you closer. The dragon is finally gone from his bed, although he is no way near distracting you with a babe.

Dragons are not pets. Daemon had been taught that since the cradle, even before he had a dragon of his own. Their control over them was only an illusion, and so, they should be trusted but feared. He had lived by that rule, never once questioning it. Until you.

Watching you raise yours as if it were your own child had proven interesting. You lacked his education about them, but you made up for it by sheer enthusiasm. The fact that your dragon had not bitten your hand off yet or burned you to a crisp could only mean two things: You were some sort of forest nymph, or they were mistaken about their approach to dragons. He knew which one he thought was true.

How much was nature, and how much was nurture in their relationship with dragons? Trying to answer that question would occupy his entire lifetime. Daemon hoped that watching you gave him some insight. Even if he ended up discovering you were a nymph in disguise or some sort of goddess of the hunt. He wouldn’t regret it, fascinating as you were.

No matter how much food for thought you gave him, Daemon had been enjoying the joys of marriage. Perhaps, a little too much. Seeing you with the baby dragon had awoken some unexpected feelings. Targaryens were dragons, after all. When the time came, you would make a good mother. Not only were your instincts well-developed, but you seemed to thrive on having something to nurture.

Ah, the joys of domesticity. Daemon loves that you trust him enough now to allow him to witness you at your most fragile. Asleep and wearing a soft white night shift, you are deliciously innocent. Giving, too. You do not complain when his hands find your hips or when he pulls you flush against him. Nor do you move away when his face hides in your lovely locks, mussed with sleep.

Your expression is open and vulnerable in ways you are never when truly awake. Your eyes open just the tiniest sliver, before you hide your face on your pillow, rubbing against it like the sweetest kitten.

He adores you like this. Worships you, even. Obsessed with the curve of your hip, or the soft flesh above your womb. Daemon can’t help but rub it, hoping to manifest a child into existence without actually fucking you.

If he believed in such a thing, as so many fools in this realm did, Daemon would say this was the Seven Heavens. But he knew the truth. Just like you, who worshiped the Old Gods of Valyria, Daemon did too. How could he not when he had a tiny goddess sharing his bed?

Your nose scrunches up. You twitch. Worshiping a little nymph, now that was hard work. Especially when the nymph in question does her best to escape his personal worshiping time.

If Daemon could spend all day in bed, just like this, he would. He would trace your features with his mouth, peppering your face with soft kisses. He would feast on the soft curve of your neck, drink up all your sweet little noises. Trace a path down your soft limbs, draw nonsensical patterns on your stomach. But you are an energetic little thing, always jumping out of bed, no matter the pleasure he tempts you with.

Convincing you to stay is hard, but Daemon likes to think it’s an art he has perfected. It’s not a ritual, by any means. Each morning goes differently. Sometimes, you need to be kissed silly. Sometimes, you need to be gently worshiped and coaxed back to sleep. But his favorite mornings are the ones that go like this.

“I have to go check on the tenants, down by the shore. The rain season just started.” You complain, as he noses along your hairline. Suddenly, Daemon’s arms are empty. He opens his eyes to find you sitting up and pulling your robe over your night shift.

You look delectable in red. He should buy you more robes like that one. Especially because he is about to ruin it.

“Did you say at what hour you are going?” Daemon sits up as well, toying with the edge of your robe. You bat his hands away, playfully.

“No.” You are hurriedly standing up, perhaps knowing what comes next. Daemon grabs your robe, and pulls you back in, using all his strength.

No matter how much you try to keep your feet planted on the floor, you end up tumbling back into bed. You give a girlish shriek, a smile already forming on your face. You struggle, kicking the blankets off the bed.

“Come back here, you little minx.” He tugs you by the ankle, making you laugh. Your hair is sticking up in all directions and your chest heaves up and down with the exertion of putting up a fight.

Daemon secretly loves it. He would never tell you because you would be outraged, but he enjoys the idea of overpowering you. Perhaps, once you fully trust him, he could ask you to play like that. But for now, he takes what he can get.

“Or else what Lord husband?” You tease, still trying to escape him. More blankets and furs are sent flying off the bed. You give a mean little tug to his hair.

“That was it!” Daemon complains, and starts tickling you. The night shift rides tantalizingly up your hips, giving him an unintentional show. He feels his blood warming, arousal turning into a dull throb in his loins. Your legs kick wildly, you squirm on the bed, and your eyes fill with tears from laughing so much.

It’s only when your poor body can’t take it anymore, and you are crying from laughter that he stops. He thinks of how it would feel, to overwhelm you in a different context, make your body take and take until tears ran freely down your temples. A different sort of crown for his forest nymph, one made from her own silver tears. The visual is too much for him to take without giving himself away.

Daemon lies on top of you, smothering you with his weight. He licks a few stray drops of sweat from your neck, making you flay once again. There will be a day when play wrestling will turn into something much less sweet. That day, though, it’s not today.

“Get off!” You complain. “That’s disgusting.”

“I could eat you up.” He teases, nuzzling into your neck. It's the truth. Daemon loves the taste of your skin and your smell. If he thought he could get away with it, he would crawl between your thighs and feast on you. “You are delicious, wife.”

“Daemon.” You push lightly at him, trying to get up. Again. But your words lack their previous conviction. Daemon can tell he is getting to you. “It’s getting late.”

“The tenants can wait. Let us hide from the world a little longer.” He pleads, clinging to you. Under him, exhausted after the play wrestling, you go limp. He knows he has won then.

You spend the whole day in bed. The tenants end up being visited closer to sundown. Daemon does not regret it one bit.

[itsthecline]

WONDERING WHY

0.0 TWO HANGOUTS WORTH

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ after your parents requested you to bring a date to midsummers , you can only think of one boy you know enough to ask. none other than jj maybank.

word count 2k

warnings christian!reader , kook!reader , and like one (?) sexual innuendo

next chapter

a/n this is a new series i’ll be coming out with now that i’m back from my hiatus:) this is just the prologue before everything gets going , but there will also be little flashbacks thrown in here and there!!!

THE WRECK. a local establishment in the outer banks that was owned by mike and anna carrera right across from the island’s surf shop. the place everyone in kildare went for the best sea food one’s heart could dream up. it was also a regular hangout for kiara , mike and anna’s daughter , and her friends— the pogues.

you didn’t know all of them too well , growing up on figure eight rather the cut. you had kind of known sarah from school , but you really knew jj maybank. he was one of kiara’s friends— a reckless kleptomaniac that grew up only ever knowing petty crimes thanks to his jailbird of a father. it wasn’t entirely his fault he held the reputation he did— you saw that.

you had met a different jj however. you knew jackson jay maybank , the cute boy that came to church with his mom every sunday , the boy you would run around with outside the church after services whenever your moms got to talking. he was your first kiss , and first boyfriend too— in the third grade.

jj maybank was the reason you were even at the wreck. you were actively seeking him out , peering around the restaurant when you stepped inside. you were so distracted by finding him , you ran into someone , knocking them off balance and causing them to drop a tray of food.

“oh , my gosh! i’m so sorry!” you apologized , bending over to help the girl pick things off the ground. you looked up at her and immediately flushed in embarrassment. of course , you would run into jj’s friend. you had finally convinced yourself to just go ask jj what you wanted , and you mess it up before even getting the chance.

“it’s fine,” kiara assured you with a soft laugh , picking scraps of lettuce of the floor and tossing it back on the tray, “at least it wasn’t oysters,” she shivered , remembering a time that did happen.

you both finished cleaning up the mess the best you could before standing up. “gosh , i’m so sorry again , kiara,” you sighed , fishing your wallet from your purse, “let me pay for ‘em.”

“no , no! don’t worry about it,” she quickly replied , pushing your hand of cash back to you, “it was just for my friends. they’ll be happier with fries anyway,” she explained to you , setting the tray down, “were you coming here to get something to eat? i can ring you up.” she moved behind the counter , and you followed despite not coming here for the food. though , the way you could smell everything mike was whipping up in the back made you think twice about it.

“no , actually i was looking for jj?” you admitted , scanning the room again , missing the way kiara’s eyebrows shot up.

“oh?”

“yeah , i just have something i wanted to ask him,” you explained with a short , polite smile. you didn’t exactly want to tell kiara all about your plans , so you kept your words to a minimum.

“okay,” the girl nodded , dusting her hands off, “they’re all out back , so i can take you to them,” she smiled , intrigued enough to want to see how this would all pan out. you nodded , accepting the courtesy before following after her. she weaved through tables , waving at a couple of guests , before pushing out to the patio.

the music changed , switching from a smoother tune to a swingier set. it was obvious someone other than mike or anna had control of the radio. your guess was kiara or maybe sarah.

she rounded the corner , spotting her friends chatting animatedly about something that had happened earlier in their chaotic day. kiara whistled once , catching their attention. “jayj , this nice girl was wanting to talk to you about something,” she announced , pointing over her shoulder at you before sitting down next to cleo and taking a sip from her smoothie.

you awkwardly waved at everyone , grateful for sarah’s familiar smile. jj perked up , not expecting to see you standing there. gosh , he hadn’t seen you in maybe three years. you never frequented the same spots as him , and he obviously didn’t hangout where you did.

somehow you looked the same— minus the baby fat. and he could , quite accurately , guess two bra sizes more than the last time you’d been face to face. you had the same style as before. girlier than all heck and not daring to show off too much. today , you settled on a simple , white skirt and a top in the sweetest shade of yellow. jj couldn’t help the way his eyes dragged down your legs , only being able to see a little snippet of them above your kitten heels. you looked just as cute as the day he’d met you. adorable.

“y/n/n y/l/n , what can i do for ya?” he chirped , pushing himself up from the wooden picnic table and marching over to you.

your hands started sweating when you realized there would suddenly be an audience for this all. “um— may i speak to you in private? please?” you asked , gripping at your skirt to wipe the sweat from your palms. your eyes adverted back to his friends— the infamous treasure hunters.

they had always intimidated you. not that they did it on purpose. no , they were all very kind during your brief and few interactions. it was more of the fact that they had lived so much ; they were so much more than regular nineteen year olds on the island. far more than you.

jj looked over his shoulder , noticing all of his friends eagerly watching and waiting. “sure , angel , we can go talk,” he nodded , gesturing for you to turn. you did , feeling his hand ghost over the small of your back. he led you towards the parking lot , stopping once you hit the gravel. “so what’s up? haven’t seen you in awhile,” he spoke casually , twirling the toothpick in between his teeth.

“midsummers is in two weeks , and my father would really like if i brought a date,” you began , straightening your back to try and come off more confident than you were. something about jj always made you want to shrivel up and hide. it was probably that smirk he was giving you. “i don’t really talk to any boys at all , and so i was hoping maybe you come with me? seeing as we know each other?” you concluded on a more sour note. you hated hearing the way your voice went up at the ends of your statements , obliterating any chances you had at seeming collected. you stared at jj , wincing almost in preparation for his rejection. it wouldn’t be the worst thing if you couldn’t get a date for midsummers , but it would be the worst thing if jj maybank laughed in your face again after all these years.

and then he chuckled , and you wanted to run away and die. you knew you shouldn’t have come here. you knew it would be a no.

“yeah , i’ll do it,” he agreed , getting you to straighten your posture again, “but i’m gonna need somethin’ out of it , ya know?”

“really? yeah! i could , like , pay you. and i’d obviously handle all of the coordination things and such,” you rushed out , ecstatic he actually said yes. you had been so worried about rejection that you hadn’t actually prepared yourself for a positive outcome.

“i mean , yeah , money’s nice , angel,” jj nodded , leaning up against one of the patron’s cars, “what about a date?” he suggested after a few moments of making you wait.

“a date?” you choked out , taking the slightest step back. the rocks beneath your feet shifted , giving away the movement. “i don’t date,” you stated , knowing he knew that about you already. everyone on the island knew.

“what? not even for old time’s sake?” jj tried , flopping his arms to his sides, “i mean , technically we’re already dating,” he defended himself , moving his finger between the two of you, “never really broke up , so…”

“jj , i’m sure our relationship from the third grade has reached its statute of limitations by now,” you huffed , crossing your arms, “besides , you laughing in my face and then continuing to ignore my existence as soon as we got to high school made sure i got the message,” you added , sounding far brattier than you ever had before.

the blonde was taken aback , not expecting you to ever throw something in someone’s face. he didn’t even realize that was something you remembered could be thrown in his face. “yeah , that was mean,” he admitted, “but this date could clear things up. you deserve to get taken out. maybe you’ll let me see your wild side,” he winked , causing your face to crinkle up.

“you’re dirty minded,” you pouted , going to turn away and forget this altercation ever even happened.

“wait!” jj moved forward , grabbing your elbow to stop you from leaving, “i didn’t mean it like that.” you tilted your head , arms still crossed. “okay , maybe i did , but it was a joke!” jj laughed , taking hold of you by the arms and shaking you a little.

you bit back a smile and rolled your eyes. “i don’t date , jj. i just need a date. for midsummers,” you explained to him with a shrug.

it’s not that the idea of a date didn’t spark something alive inside of you. it was that it did. you didn’t want to reignite the flame you once held for jj so close to your heart. he was your first crush , and that meant something to you. even at the ripe age of eight years old. he was one of your first friends , and he left you behind. that wasn’t something easy to forget. you had healed from it , sure , but you knew yourself enough not to reopen the old wound.

“then let’s not call it a date,” jj decided with a firm nod, “we’ll… we’ll call it a hangout. you tag along with me for a day , get a taste of the pogue life. then i’ll go to the kookfest with ya.”

“a hangout?” you repeated suspiciously, “and what activities would this hangout include?”

jj let out a short breath of air , like he was coming up with the first thing that came to mind. “i don’t know? petty crime , doing drugs , drinking beers? driving on my sick bike all the while? that sound fun?”

you let out a laugh , covering your smile as you did. “sounds like an ideal hangout with the jj maybank,” you agreed with a nod.

“yeah? that’s only the first half of the day,” he continued , chuckling along with you. he could almost feel himself slipping back to a younger version of himself. back when you would hang out while your mom’s caught up after their weeks. with how his life panned out , it was easy to forget that you two had once been close friends. it felt like a life time ago. gosh , maybe even eight.

you took another step back , tapping jj’s chest with a smile. “you have yourself a deal , maybank. i’ll see you tomorrow,” you told him , digging out your keys. your bmw wasn’t waiting too far from you.

“tomorrow?” jj asked , not too sure what you could have planned with midsummers two weeks out. anything could happen in two weeks. “what rush are you in , princess?”

you stopped in your tracks , jaw agape. “jj! you don’t just put on a suit and go to midsummers. there’s things that need to be done! there’s fittings , and luncheons , and everything in between,” you explained , not completely shocked he didn’t know , but still annoyed you had to spell it out.

“wait , wait , wait—“ jj chuckled , shaking his head, “what-cheons?”

“oh , my goodness,” you sighed , pulling out your phone, “give me your number. i’ll text you everything that needs to happen in the next two weeks.”

jj took your phone , typing in his information. “i think i should be compensated with two hangouts then,” he bargained , shooting himself a text so he would have your number too.

“you are such a pain. fine,” you quickly agreed , taking back your phone, “ten a.m!” you pointed at him , moving to your car.

“jesus , woman! you’re killing me!” jj gasped , wiping a hand down his face like he was under serious duress.

“my house!” you added with a smile , getting in your car and starting her up. you waved at him through the mirror before driving away. maybe it was a good thing you convinced yourself to ask him. it’d be a nostalgic two weeks , but at least it would be fun. that much you knew.

pulling out the parking lot , you got a text message. you braked , checking to see if it was your mother , but instead saw a text from jj.

daddy j💦

see you tomorrow princess

[viisator]

Because I loved you. P.Sunghoon.

Pairings: Park Sunghoon X F!Reader

Genre: Phycological thriller, Tragedy, Romance.

Warning: Kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, Obsession.

Not Proofread

Description: Park Sunghoon has always loved you; for two years, he watched over you by your room's window, in school, in the neighbourhood, in the park, everywhere. Then, one day, you drop your wallet somewhere, and before you lose your mind, he comes to you with a smile, handing your lost wallet to you. Then that's when it all started, you talked, you became somewhat friends, then he invited you to his luxury yacht, then there was a storm, then you were stuck with him.

1st person's and 2nd's pov.

(This is inspired by Lucy Christopher's 'Stolen' novel.)

• • • • •

I remembered how I desperately tried to talk to you when they took me away. How I kept crying asking my mom to let me see you. But they all said the same things over and over again: You manipulated me. It was my survival instinct. I don't actually know what I'm saying. It's Stockholm Syndrome. I'm not thinking straight. I'm crazy. But you know what, Sunghoon? They're wrong. They just don't know. But I don't hate them, they just don't understand. But you know, right? That's not true; you didn't manipulate me, and I'm not crazy because I do love you. They just don't want to accept that.

They said you took me. I know that. You kidnapped me after making me believe a storm flipped your yacht and the waves took us to an island in nowhere. But it was so well prepared, and you didn't seem frightened or shocked we were stuck on an island in nowhere. When I asked you why you're not freaking out, you said it's best to stay calm in situations like this. Of course, it isn't true because you actually constructed that lie to make me trust you, huh? The thing is, I'm glad you did.

Then you taught me how to make a fishing rod, how to catch bait and how to make a fire. I remembered how you held my hand as you guided me to the shore, and we caught fish together. You even laughed when I fell into the water, and I hated how I loved your laugh then. Then I tried to escape and fight you. Do you remember? How did I kick you and punch you as I tried to get away? But the island is a small circle, I only run for a few minutes, and I'm back to you again; I cried so much I fell onto the sand, and you watched me with your sad eyes. You just crouched down in front of me as you watched me cry, whispering it's better this way, just you and me, and you didn't touch me, just muttered how you'd never hurt me.

"I never would've taken you here- never would've risked your life to drown on that storm. But I love you and- and your parents wouldn't approve of me..." You whispered as you drew patterns on the sand, but I knew you weren't looking at your lines on the sand because your eyes were sad watching me cry.

"You don't even accept me, but you will. I know you will. You'll accept this place too."

I just kept crying, crying and crying and crying, until I realized the sky was orange and pink, and you had already made the fire. It wasn't the last time I cried and tried to escape, but you always seemed to catch me, and at the same time, it felt like you were saving me.

I remembered the third time I tried to get away, when I dragged a long fallen tree to the shore while you slept, thinking it would serve me as a boat and take me to a wider land where I could go back and tell you to the police. I dragged the dried tree until it floated and the water reached my chest, I tried to climb the tree then. The tree wasn't thick nor wide, It was almost the size of my legs combined but my legs were still bigger, so when I hopped on it I flipped, I managed to hold my breath when I hit the water, but my head hit a rock too, so there's a momentary pause and I gasped and my lungs hurt and my ears ringing, but you lift me and dragged me to shore, to the sand and muttered how I shouldn't have tried to escape, then you made me puke the waters out with your index and middle fingers touching the inside of my throat and vomited, then you went to the trees and found herbs I cannot name and dressed the wound I didn't know existed on my head. I knew then that you did save me.

The second time I nearly died- minus the storm- was when I decided to die was better than being stuck on that island with my captor. You, Sunghoon.

You were out in the trees, in the woods. I stared blankly at the waves, listening to them splash. Then there was this magnet that pulled me closer to it, so I stood and followed the retreating waves, imagining my mom waiting for me with my new ironed school uniform after I woke up, my breakfast waiting on the dining table. I saw my dad sneaking behind my mom handing me twenty dollars because I aced my precalculus. I heard my sister singing with the karaoke, dedicating the song to her crush as she ranted about how she was stuck in her art class. I feel my brother's hug as he congratulates me on my new award. Then I saw you blur, shining with the sun, your image dancing with the water as I closed my eyes. Right then I thought I just died. But you woke me up again, resurrected me as I liked to call it.

I didn't try to escape after that.

When they took me away from you, I didn't close my eyes, I just cried and watched you the whole time they dragged us both away from each other, then you mouthed: It's okay. You're safe.

But the thing is, Sunghoon, I'm not. I don't think I am safe. You weren't there when they took me to a white room with nothing else. They asked me all these kinds of questions. I didn't know what to answer and just burst out crying, calling your name, then they took me to a different room, left me alone and then I slept. Very. Very long.

It was my mom's face the first thing I saw then I woke up. Not you. I was so used to seeing you first when the sun hit my face and I woke up. So I asked about you.

"Honey, it's okay, don't worry about him; he can't hurt you anymore." My mom was saying as she hiccuped all the words, my dad on her side rubbing his hand on her arm.

But they're wrong. You never hurt me. So I shook my head and told them the truth. They didn't believe me, they said you manipulated me. Which isn't the truth either.

Since then, I realized they already made up the truth they wanted to believe. When I told them my truth, they shook their heads and my parents cried more, saying what did that monster do to their daughter.

Then I realized I was in a hospital bed, my sister sitting by my side, pealing me a tangerine.

"He's not a monster," I said, anger in my shaky voice. She didn't say anything, just pealed more tangerine as she wiped her tears from time to time. Three months after that, I told her everything that happened between us and what you are, and she cried all the time, not saying anything just saying sorry she wasn't a good sister. I still don't know how is her apology connected to us, but I appreciated it nonetheless.

The thing is, they didn't know you saved me, they didn't know you cared for me. They didn't know how you taught me to open a coconut fresh from the tree and how you taught me how to catch a fish with the rod we both made.

You didn't look at me in the courtroom; I was so sad because that's the only moment I'm allowed to see you. Then you said your testimony, and it broke my heart because you're agreeing with them; you said their truth, not our truth. When they asked you if you've been stalking me for two years you said guilty. When they asked if you planned to take me away- kidnapped me, you said guilty. Then, when they asked if you lured me to get into your yacht, you said guilty. The thing is, you never lured me; I went willingly with you because you were supposed to show me something, right?

When it was my turn to speak, I told them our truth, my truth. I told them you're not a monster, you saved me, you didn't hurt me, you never touched me the way I didn't like, you never said anything to hurt me, and I saw everyone make a face; my mother shook her head and cried. When I looked at you, your eyes were pleading, as if to say, 'Please don't, it's for the best.' but how is it the best? We're so far from each other. But still, after all those things I said, they still took you away. I didn't feel like I won the trial because my lawyer kept saying I was in psychological confusion, and the judge believed it too, so they took me away.

Then therapy came, and my psychiatrist kept asking things that I hated answering because I just kept remembering how you let me go and pushed me away, despite you bringing me there on that small island with you.

"I really love music" My voice penetrated the sound of waves hitting the sand and rocks, I'm not looking at the constellation anymore, and I can feel you're not either because I feel your gaze on me, and it encouraged me to continue, knowing you're listening.

"I play the guitar sometimes. My dad bought it for me when I got a really good grade at school. I'm not exceptionally good, I'm not really good at strumming or plucking." I know my voice wasn't that loud because you leaned closer to hear me; I could almost feel your shoulder brush mine, but you still kept your distance; I kind of hoped you'd lean more, touch me, and cage me in your strong arms. But you didn't, so I go on.

"There's nothing to listen to here, unlike home, only the water," I said, looking at the calm sea dance in front of us.

"And insects." You said. I nod.

"And insects," I repeated.

"And you. And me."

"Yes, and us," I repeated again. I didn't have to glance at you to know you were frowning, not in confusion or anything, just looking at me as if you wanted to embrace me and mould me inside you until we were one.

I inhaled sharply, and the smell of the sea and sand entered my nostrils. I don't glance at you, I look at you fully, because somehow, I'm not afraid of you anymore, I'm not scared of the deepness and darkness obscure of your eyes, I feel like I want to drown in them at that moment, and I wished you'd never let me go. I feel my eyes burn somehow, maybe because of the sadness those intense eyes are looking at me with, or because I still really want to go back home, or maybe because I don't want to leave at all, I don't want to escape you. But I said it anyway.

"Would you take me there? At home?" I whispered. But you heard. You always heard. Then I feel my cheeks wet, then I see your hand hesitate to wipe my tears in my peripheral vision, as if afraid to touch me. But how could you? How could you hesitate to touch me when you've taken me, carried me to your little island over the sea, how come you never touched me?

I see the hurt in your eyes; you parted your lips then closed them again, and your frown slowly turned to something else, something trembling, but there's still the ceased in your brows as if you're physically hurting, and your eyes have tears on the corner. Unlike you, I didn't shy away when I reached out and ran my thumb across the edge of your eyes. You didn't flinch; you leaned more, and you looked more in pain as I leaned even closer, close enough to take your lips with my teeth, close enough to wrap all my being to your body. But you didn't lean anymore closer, so I had to do it, right? But why are you pushing me away?

"I can sing to you..." You whispered, your voice strained. You have your hands on my shoulders keeping distance between us, and I cry even more because of that, I don't know if you knew I was crying because you didn't want me close, or because you knew you'd still have to let me go even if I'm locking my arms around you. Why are you pushing me away? I thought you took me here because you want me, because it's only us in the world, that you saved me, that you love me?

"But if you really wanna go..." You said, now your tears are running down your cheeks too, I wipe them again.

"I know a boat- you can go." I didn't know if I let my sob out because I knew you'd never say those words, that you'd never let me leave even if I begged you to let me go, but I was wrong, very wrong, wasn't I? So I didn't say anything, I didn't say that that's not the right answer, that you shouldn't be letting me go, that you should be caging me even more, but I leaned to you, catching your lips with mine. I can still hear the waves muffled in the background, but it's only my sob and the beat of our hearts I can clearly hear.

You pull me closer. At last. You hold my waist very gently, you run your hands on my hair and hold my head as I push myself onto you further, opening my mouth for you to kiss me more, to feel me more so you wouldn't have to send me away, even though I was the one who asked you to.

I don't want to say anymore after that, but of course, I could never forget; it was the most precious memory of us, but I don't want anyone to know it's only for us, and they will be checking my letter before they send it to you. My mom didn't want this to be sent to you, because it's only part of my therapy Dr. Clarington told me to do, but I insisted I want you to read it too, and mom will be checking it first before you can read it. I hope you know I love you, even though right now all the people in here say I'm only manipulated, that it was my survival instinct to be attached to you and I don't know anymore, I just want you to know I always dream of what happened that night, between us, and the other days and night before when I fought like an animal and drowned in the sea only to be resurrected by you. When you told me you took me because you love me. I could never forget it.

[suugarbabe]

[Chapter 7]

Word count: 5.4k

Warnings: SMUT, dom!reader, sub!mattheo, male!masterbation, 18+ content below the cut, MDNI!!

Warmth. That’s what you felt pressed against your back and across your middle as you slowly started to blink your eyes awake. You were confused at first, thinking maybe you were dreaming the sensations that you felt, but looking down at your waist and seeing the tattooed hand that was splayed across your stomach confirmed: Mattheo had stayed through the night. You stretched your arms out in front of you, stretching out your muscles from sleep and the other previous nights activity.

Mattheo must have thought you were trying to get up from the action, his arm that was wrapped around you instinctively pulling you closer to his chest. His face burrowed into your neck, breath fanning against your skin as his breathing stayed even. You allowed him to embrace you a little longer, getting lost in your thoughts, thinking about what everything in the last 12 hours meant. Were you and Mattheo together now, like officially together? Would he tell the others? Were you even allowed to talk about it? You tried your best to fall back asleep, if only until Mattheo woke up, but your mind wasn’t slowing down.

Reluctantly peeling his arm from you slowly, you slipped from the bed, putting on your slippers and heading down to the kitchen. You knew Gimball would make your morning tea for you if you asked, he often makes it for you before you even wake up, but he must have known not to do that this morning. You also didn’t have a house elf at your old place, and you liked the routine of doing some things for yourself still.

As if he expected the change in routine, you walked into the kitchen to see Gimball working on breakfast, but your favorite mug and tea bag sitting on the counter while a kettle was on the stove. “How did you know I’d be down here, Gimball?” You questioned the small elf playfully. Without ceasing his movements he replied to your question, “Gimball knows many things Miss Birdie, especially that Master Mattheo does not like to be disturbed in the mornings.” You smiled at this, cheeks tinting the slight pink at the realization that Gimball knew Mattheo was in your room. Ripping open the teabag and placing it in your mug, you tied the string to the handle before walking over to the whistling kettle.

“You’ve known Mattheo a long time, hmm?” You asked it as if you hadn’t seen into Mattheo’s memories, wanting to see what the elf might say. With a snap of his fingers an array of plates and kitchenware appeared on the large center island, “Gimball has been with the Riddle family for three generations, he remembers Master Mattheo’s birth, taught him his schooling. Master Mattheo is a good man, good man Miss Birdie.” You hummed in acknowledgement, smiling as you poured the hot water into your mug, “Was he good in school?”

You were just fishing for any knowledge about him now, anything you knew he probably wouldn’t tell you, at least not right now. Gimball nodded as he set up all the breakfast food and teas for everyone, “Oh yes, Master Mattheo is very smart, very smart indeed. Very observant, but I’m sure Miss Birdie has already come to knowledge of that.” You huffed out a laugh, nodding your head, “Oh yeah, almost too observant for his own good if you ask me.” Gimball let himself smile at your statement, something you didn’t see him do often. With another snap of his fingers, the food arrangement disappeared from the center island. You knew it was now on the large dinning room table, awaiting everyone in the house as they individually made their way down.

Gimball looked at you again, “Master cares very deeply about Miss Birdie.” You nodded your head, “I know Gimball, he really looks at us like a family. It’s a nice feeling.” Gimball shook his head, waving his small finger in the air, “No, Miss Birdie misunderstands Gimball. His care for her is different than the others. Master Mattheo is not always good with his words. Sometimes he cannot express how he feels properly. Master was not allowed to say his feelings when he was little.”

You opened your mouth to ask him to explain further, to tell you what he meant by his last few statements but the opening of the kitchen door caught your attention. You turned at the intrusion, only to see Mattheo standing in the doorway, now completely clothed for the day in a pair of black slacks and a white button up rolled to the elbows, displaying the veins and tattoos that decorated his forearms. You were clearly gawking and if Mattheo noticed (which he probably did) he was polite this morning and chose not to acknowledge the fact.

“What’re you doing in here?” was his question instead. You turned back around, only to see Gimball had apparated away. Turning back to Mattheo you held your mug up to your lips, taking a small sip, “Tea.” He quirked an eyebrow, “You know Gimball would’ve made that for you.” You nodded, “I know, but I like to do it myself sometimes.” Mattheo held the door open for you to exit, following close behind you as you did so. “You left me this morning, woke up to an empty bed and pillows that smelled like you,” he whispered in your ear, giving your hip a light squeeze. You smirked at this, not being able to help your quip back, “Mmm, what a bummer of a feeling. Thankfully I was still in the house and you didn’t wake up like that only to find me gone for days on end.”

Mattheo’s eyebrows shot up, his tongue running along the inside of his cheek as he suppressed a smirk. “We’ve got an attitude this morning I see,” he spoke as he sat down next to you at the table. You shook your head, “I would never get an attitude with you, Mattheo.” He huffed out a small laugh then, pilling food onto his plate and choosing not to respond. Soon the others started to trail in, thankfully most of them still in their sleepwear making you not feel like the only one.

Once finished with breakfast Mattheo placed a small kiss on your temple, stating he needed to go to the club early to take care of a few things before the night started. He took Pansy and Draco with him, leaving you at the table with Blaise, Theo and Enzo. The three wore devious smirks, Enzo’s eyes down at his plate avoiding yours. Theo, however, had no shame, pointing his fork at you while he talked, “So, sorella, have a good night?” You glared at him, “Fine, thanks.” Theo gave you a knowing look, “Enjoy it with anyone else?”

This question caused Enzo to choke slightly on his sip of orange juice, the other two men not holding back their laughter. “Serves your right, Enzo,” you stated harshly. The lanky man held up his arms, “Hey, I never said anything!” You rolled your eyes, “But you were smirking like you thought you knew something and obviously agree with Teddy.” Blaise tapped his fork on his glass, grabbing everyone’s attention, “Alright alright, lets stop teasing the poor girl. If anything did happen, which were not saying it did,-”

“or didn’t!” Theo pointed out. Blaise nodded, “Or didn’t,” you rolled your eyes, “can we all just agree that tonight is going to be interesting as hell. Well for us,” he gestured between himself and Theo and Enzo, “maybe not for you, Birdie.” You furrowed your brows in confusion, not understanding the implications of his statement. “Why is tonight going to be interesting for everyone but me, Blaise? What’s happening?” Theo couldn’t stop himself from laughing, clutching his stomach and rearing back in his seat. Enzo gave you a sad smile, “Because there’s a new dancer coming tonight. The one you covered for quit and Pansy said the new one is coming for her first shift this evening.”

You shrugged your shoulders, stuffing another piece of fruit in your mouth, “Okay, so? I don’t care about that. I only danced that one time because Mattheo said I couldn’t. I like bartending with you Enzo. Why would a new dancer make me upset?” Theo leaned both elbows on the table, clasping his hands in front of him as his tilted his head to the side, “Because this girl is proper fit, like, thank you fucking Salazar fit.” You rolled your eyes, “Again…so? All the dancers are fit, Teddy. You’re just a horndog.” Blaise jumped in, “Mattheo used to have a reputation…with dancers.” You stiffened slightly, but waved your hand telling him to continue, “It’s stopped since you came around, for some reason,” he raised his eyebrows slightly, “Everyone’s just curious to see how it will go.”

You placed your fork on your place, dabbing your lips with the napkin from your lap before standing, “Mattheo’s a big boy. I don’t control him, he can do what he wants. Like I said, there’s nothing going on between us, I’m just like the rest of you guys to him.” Theo snorted at this, while Enzo groaned. Blaise just shrugged his shoulders, “Whatever you say, Birdie. Just know if you feel like fighting, I’m on your side.” You couldn’t help but laugh at everyone’s dramatic reactions, “Thank you, Blaise, but I’m sure that wont be necessary. Everything’s going to be fine.”

And it appeared so for the first few hours you were at the club. You and Enzo worked together restocking the bar while Blaise and Theo sat on the stools, going over plans for different ‘business trips’ and other ordeals. You didn’t push it, but did try to sneak a glance or two at what they were working on. You had grown apparently too close to Theo those few days because he immediately caught you. Giving you a playful scolding for even trying.

Nothing seemed a bother until you went to put up two new bottles of rum and nearly slammed into the side of Enzo. “What are you-” you went to question but Enzo’s large hand palmed the top of your head like a basketball and turned it until your line of vision was the same as his. Immediately you felt like your body was on fire with rage.

Across the club Pansy was standing with Mattheo and a brunette woman. She was wearing what you would barely consider clothing in a skirt so short it was practically knickers and a top that was so small you figured there had to be a spell put on it for her breasts not to be spilling out. But that wasn’t even the bother as most of the dancers dressed in similar attire. What was bothering you was the way Mattheo was interacting with her.

It wasn’t like he was coming on to her, but it wasn’t like he was being her boss either. Though it was very apparent that she was coming on to him. Touching his arm, twirling her hair between her fingers, biting her lip. And Mattheo wasn’t helping, leaning slightly in to her touch, giving her a devilish grin. “What a fucking slag,” the words slipped from your mouth before you could stop them and Blaise nearly choked on his drink.

“Mattheo or Trixie?” Theo asked, knowing that using the girls name would probably instill more rage in you. Your eyebrows shot up, a scoff leaving your lips. Enzo groaned, “Oh c’mon, Nott. Don’t rile her up more.” You opened your mouth to respond but it only dropped further in shock when you saw Mattheo tuck a stray hair behind Trixie’s ear. The three boys followed your gaze, all beginning to mumble amongst themselves about how everything was going to play out.

Jealousy is a sexy look on you, Princess, Mattheo’s voice rang between your ears as your eyes snapped to meet his. The fucker had the audacity to smirk at you before giving his attention back to the girl. You slammed a glass down on the counter, not breaking it but definitely causing a sound loud enough for all eyes to turn to you. “Oi, watch it, Birdie. Do you have any idea how much those glasses cost?” You hadn’t noticed Draco walk up to the bar before your actions, too focused on the growing grin Mattheo wore at your increased rage.

Then an idea popped into your head, a definitive way to get back at Mattheo being a right prick. You walked from behind the bar, coming now to stand in front of Draco who only eyed you suspiciously. “Hi Dray,” your voice sickly sweet, “Have any dinner plans?” Draco looked to the other three boys, obviously asking for an explanation of your question. Theo rolled his eyes but Blaise only chucked, “She’s plotting something to get back at Riddle. Seems like your her pawn, Malfoy.”

Draco raised his eyebrows as he looked down at you, “This true, Darling? You trying to use me to get back at cousin? What’d he do- ohh, I see now.” Draco glanced over top of you at Mattheo still talking with Trixie, his focus slightly less strict now that he noticed you grab hold of Draco’s bicep. Meeting your eyes again Draco shrugged, “You know what, fuck it. Matt’s been a dick to me lately, serves him right.”

You sealed happily, clasping your hands together, “Seriously? Oh, Merlin, thank you so much!” You wrapped your arms around Draco’s middle, smushing your face into his upper abdomen. “Easy, there. Don’t want him to kill me before we get to the main event,” Draco joked. You pulled back, smile still evident. Enzo just shook his head, “You sure bout this, Angel?”

Nodding, you walked back round the bar, “Oh I’m sure. Wanna go around 9, Dray? There’s no way he’d leave in the middle of busy hours. You can handle the bar yourself tonight, right Enzie?” You turned to your friend with pleading eyes. Enzo nodded, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine. I’ll make Pansy help if needed.” You hugged Enzo now, who let out a low chuckle and patted your back.

“I’ll leave a dress for you in the dancers changing room, you’ll get dressed here and I’ll make sure he sees you before we leave,” Draco was looking down at his phone as he spoke. You nodded, “Okay, sounds good.” He sent you a wink before walking back towards the office. You looked at the clock, noting you had four hours to get through before you could implement your plan.

Those hours seemed to drag, Enzo constantly reminding you to not watch the clock and just work. When you saw it was 8:30 you gave Enzo’s arm a light squeeze to let him know you were going to get ready. In the changing rooms you saw a garment bag with your name etched on it. Always showing off money, huh, Draco, you thought in your head. Unzipping the bag your face was graced with a smirk. Inside hung a velvet ruched bodycon minidress in a deep emerald green. The chest a sweetheart neckline with a slightly deeper plunge.

Slipping it on you were delighted with the outcome. The dress contouring every curve of your body, hiding the insecure bits and accentuating your assets. Doing your hair in loose waves and applying some light makeup, you slipped on the black heels Draco had included and walked out of the changing room, nearly running into the one person you’d hoped would see you.

Grabbing hold of your waist, Mattheo eyed you questioningly, “Where do you think you’re going?” You rolled your eyes, which only irritated him further, “Don’t worry boss, I’m not dancing. I’m just going to dinner.” This didn’t make Mattheo stop worrying, if anything he worried further. “Dinner? With fucking who?”

“With me, cousin,” Draco walked into the hall, clad in a pair of sleek black trousers and a black button up, “My, my, you look ravishing, darling.” You peeled Mattheo’s hands from your hips, turning to the blonde boy now, “Thank you, Dray. You ready?” Draco nodded, holding out his arm for you to take. You looped your arm in his, glancing over to Mattheo once more to see his face in a deep scowl, jaw clenched. You smirked, flashing him a wink. Jealousy looks sexy on you, Matty, you thought to him just as Draco apparated to the restaurant.

As expected, dinner was wonderfully expensive and posh. Draco surprisingly keeping conversation with you quite well. You even complimented him on it, “I didn’t think I’d ever see this side of you Draco. It’s…nice.” Draco snorted slightly, “Figured I’d give an effort since you’re going to be my family one day.” You smiled, “Awh, aren’t we already family Dray? All playing house in that big manor?” Draco shook his head, smirking now, “I meant with what’s going on between you and cousin.”

You rolled your eyes, “Why does everyone keep saying shit like that? I’m sure he doesn’t treat me any differently than any of the other girls he’s shagged.” Draco’s grin grew two sizes, “So you guys have fucked? More than once or…?” You glared at him, “You’re insufferable.” The blonde just smiled more, “You know I’ve known him my whole life, seen him with a lot of girls, and I mean a lot of girls-” You cut him off quickly, “Thank you Draco, move on please.” He snickered lightly, “I’m just saying, I’ve never seen him act like he does with any other girl he’s been around except you. He’s kind of always seen women as a means to an end, like they’re just there for him when he wants them to be, then he can throw them away when he doesn’t.”

A frown painted your face, not wanting to see Mattheo in that kind of light, but knowing Draco was likely telling the truth. Draco continued, “He’s protective over you, not like he is with the rest of us. It’s like…possessive. Obsessed. He used to be really off the wall wild with every trip we made with the business, but now he’s doing more strategic planning, like he doesn’t want anyone to get in to much danger, like he has something to look forward to when he gets back.”

Your chest warmed with this new information, “You’re really close with him.” Draco nodded, “We were best mates growing up. Mum’s are sisters, but his was always off with his dad, you know him,” you nodded with a grimace, “so he would stay with my family a lot. Even had his own room at mine. I know we call each other cousin but he was practically a brother to me growing up, until I went away to school. His dad didn’t let him go to Hogwarts, wanting to train him like some sort of secret weapon for the war.” You nodded your head, remembering the memories you intruded on with Mattheo.

“He used to beg me to teach him everything I learned during summer Holiday. He caught on so fast too. Used to keep my old textbooks and practice with Gimball while I was away. When the war came he was really conflicted. Hell, we all were. I’m surprised you even came to the club after everything that happened. Didn’t you know…about us?” His question caught you a little off guard. Sure, you had known of Draco in school, he made it practically hard for someone not to know him. And you knew slightly of the others, just that they were similar to Draco, purebloods with family members that were devoted Dark Lord followers, but it had been a few years, everyone kind of grew up, looked a little different. Everyone but Draco, sticking still to his signature looks.

You shrugged, “I knew of the club, knew it was wizard ran, but I didn’t know by who. I definitely didn’t know you guys worked there. Had no real clue about Mattheo at all until Pansy told me. Voldemort definitely kept that secret well.” Draco nodded. You looked up from your plate now, meeting his eyes, “If Mattheo really saw me in the way you imply he does, why was he flirting with a dancer earlier today.” Draco’s lip twitched like he was holding back a smile, “Sometimes old habits die hard. Sometimes we get scared of the feelings we have because they happen so deeply, like nothing we’ve ever had before. And sometimes, when we’re especially stubborn, we just need someone to put us in our place. Take charge, so to speak, to prove to us that they reciprocate what we’re feeling, even to the deepest of depths.”

You quirked an eyebrow at his words, questioning if you were really understanding what he was saying. Draco sighed slightly, “I know Mattheo. I’ve seen him in many stages of life, many emotions, good and bad. He’s never allowed himself to feel as deeply about a person as he does for you because he knows once he starts falling, he’s never going to stop. If you feel the same, you have to show him. If you want what he wants, prove it to him. But you have to play his game. Don’t be a pawn, be a gamekeeper. Show him who’s boss, I’m sure he’s tired of the title.”

Draco paid the bill before taking you both back to the manor. Like a gentleman he walked you to the steps leading up to the rooms. “Thank you for tonight, Draco. It was lovely.” Draco smiled down at you, placing a friendly hand on your shoulder. He leaned in close, giving you a peck on your cheek and whispering in your ear, “Anytime darling.” He gave you a curt wink before walking toward his office on the main floor. You turned round, heading up the steps and walking into your room.

He had probably hoped to startle you, but you had almost expected him to be there waiting for you. “Have fun tonight, Princess? Fuck my cousin? Was he good?” You huffed a laugh, taking off your jewelry and setting it atop your dresser before turning to face him. “Don’t be brash, Mattheo,” you looked him over, sitting in the chair in the corner of the room. His hair was disshelved like he’d been running his hands through it. Which he had been while waiting for you and Draco to come home. The thoughts in his mind spinning wildly about what could have happened.

You walked towards him across the room, him standing to meet you when you pushed him back down, crawling into his lap. “Draco and I just had dinner,” your fingers started to delicately undo the buttons of his shirt, all the way down before pushing it off his shoulders, “just like I said before we left.” He grunted, unconvinced, his hands going to your waist but you pushed them off, “I didn’t say you could touch me.” He tilted his head slightly, looking at you with a sly grin. You reached between your bodies, unbuttoning his trousers and sliding down the zipper.

You stood up then, Mattheo going to follow once more but you tsked at him, “Sit and take off your pants, briefs too,” you leaned down and whispered in his ear, “I want to see all of you, Matty. Can you do that? Can you be my good boy.” Mattheo felt his cock twitch at your words, at your directions. He wasn’t sure what was happening but he knew he wanted to find out. You walked back towards the bed, just a few feet away, slipping your dress off your shoulders to reveal your bare breasts and black thong to the man across from you.

Mattheo couldn’t help but groan at the site, his cock standing at attention as you slid your panties down your legs before you climbed onto the foot of the bed and turning to face him, legs spread open wide so he got a full view of your glistening cunt. Mattheo groaned at the sight. “You can touch yourself, Matty. Go on,” you encouraged and he followed directions, instantly grabbing hold of his thick cock and pumping himself, “Show me what you wish you were doing to me,” you let your hands cup your breasts, squeezing them lightly causing Mattheo to groan at the view, his eyes rolling, “because tonight you don’t get to touch me at all.”

His eyes shot open then, hand stilling on his length. You pouted at him, mocking his frown, “Don’t stop now, baby. I was enjoying the view.” You lightly slid your hand up the insides of your thighs, giving yourself goosebumps. Mattheo watched with hungry eyes as you took two fingers and glided them through your folds, coating your fingers in your slick before rubbing your clit lightly. “Keep touching yourself, baby, let me see you,” you started applying more pressure on your bundle of nerves, slight whimpers leaving your mouth as Mattheo started slowly guiding his hand up and down his length once more.

When you slid two fingers inside of yourself, eliciting a gasp from your lips you didn’t miss Mattheo’s low, “Fucking hell”, glancing a look at his desperate eyes. Pumping your fingers you couldn’t help but tease him more, “You’re being such a good boy for me, Matty. Oh, fuck, my fingers stretch me so good, but not as good as when I’m stretched around you, Oh, god, Mattheo.” Hearing his name fall from your lips while he watched you pleasure yourself was his idea of torture. Your hips bucked against your hand, your clit hitting your palm with every grind and building the familiar heat in the pit of your stomach, “Fuck, Matty, I wish I was about to come on your cock, but you just had to misbehave this afternoon, didn’t you?”

His nostrils flared at your words, speech stuttering as his thumb swiped over his slit, eyes glued to your fingers pumping in and out of your cunt, “I-I’m sorry, Princess. I didn’t-”

“Shut up,” you moaned out, looking up to see himself pumping his cock faster. You could tell he was close by the amount of precum leaking from his tip. “Stop touching yourself,” you commanded. Mattheo groaned, but listened to instructions. When you saw he had stopped your bucked your hips faster, chasing your high until you were tumbling over the edge into your orgasm, “Fuck, oh fuck, yes.” Mattheo’s dick twitched at the sight of you coming undone, your thighs quaking, clamping shut on your hand as you rode out your high, still pumping your fingers in and out of yourself before you slowed down, catching your breath and making eye contact with him.

You slid your fingers from your cunt, your juices glistening to where Mattheo could see it across the room. “Come taste, baby,” you held your fingers out for him. Mattheo clambered over quickly, immediately latching his lips to your fingers, tongue swirling around your digits to get every last drop. His lips left your fingers with a pop, hands going to grab your thighs to spread them back open for himself. You slapped his hands away, scooting yourself backwards until you reached the head of the bed, leaning against the pillows.

You spread your legs wide, patting the space between them. “C’mere, Matty. Come sit right here, back to me.” Mattheo crawled over to you, lips quickly attaching to yours in a feverish kiss. His palm against your cheek and fingers splayed on the back of your neck holding you steady as his tongue explored your mouth, groaning at the taste of you still on his tongue. With all the mental strength you could muster you push him away, slapping his face lightly.

Immediately Mattheo started apologizing, “I’m so sorry, Princess, I couldn’t, fuck, I just couldn’t help myself.” You shook your head at his ramblings, making a spinning motion with your finger indicating to him to turn around and get in the position you instructed him to be in before. Mattheo turned around, lying against your chest. You delicately ran your nails along his thighs, his cock twitching at the action. “I was going to let you cum, maybe even help you, but you broke a rule.”

You grabbed Mattheo’s hand, guiding it back toward his aching cock. As he stroked himself again you ran your nails lightly up his sides, his muscles twitching in your wake. You continued to talk to him, tease him and get him further to the edge, “Last night you were so good to me, making me feel so full.” Mattheo let out a low groan as you trailed kisses along the side of his neck, his strokes becoming quicker, “Love it when you grip my thighs, spreading them open as you sink your big cock into my tight little cunt.”

Mattheo let out a shuddered breath as his thumb swiped over his tip. You grab his wrist then, stopping his movements. He let slip a pathetic whimper, begging you for release, “Fuck, please, Princess, I need to cum so bad.” His chest was heaving, head resting back against your shoulder. You ran your fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp, “Do you deserve that, Matty? Do you deserve to cum after blatantly flirting with that fucking slag right in front of me, hmm?” Mattheo groaned, “Fucks sake, I said I was sorry, you went out with c-cousin I should be p-punishing you.”

He stuttered over his words as you raked your nails up his thighs again, massaging just near where he wanted your touch but not giving in. “We just had dinner, just talked. If you thought it was anything more you would’ve hurt him by now.” You released his wrist, allowing him to pleasure himself once more. “Go on, baby,” you wrapped one arm around his shoulders, the other grabbing hold of his hair, pulling his head back with force. “Tell me who you’re thinking about when you touch yourself, is it her or is it me?”

Mattheo let out a guttural moan, “Fuck, Princess, it’s you. O-only you.” You started kissing up his neck again, biting the taught skin before licking to soothe it, making sure to leave a few marks. “Every time I think of you, fuck, and now I have the image of your tight little cunt stretching around my cock so perfectly. I never want anything else, oh gods.” You could tell he was close now, hips bucking into his hand. You brought your lips close to his ear, breath ghosting over his skin, “Cum for me, baby. Be a good boy.”

At your command a deep grunt left his throat, hot ropes of white shooting from his tip and on to the duvet in front of him. Coming down from his high he relaxed into you further, chest heaving as his breathing slowly evened out. You ran your fingers through his hair, kissing his temple. “Fucking Salazar’s sake, Princess, you trying to kill me now, hmm?” You smiled into his skin, “You did this to yourself, sir.”

He smiled lightly, “I said I’m sorry, Princess. Merlin, if I'd known this is what would happen from some simple flirting I would’ve never started.” He turned round, resting his head on your chest now. You hummed lightly, “I think you more than liked what just happened.” Mattheo pinched the side of your bum lightly, causing you to squeal. He turned his head, resting his chin atop your chest before leaning up slightly and catching your lips in a chaste kiss one, two, three times before laying his head back down.

You stayed like that for a moment before he broke the silence, “The boys say I’m growing attached to you.” You smiled slightly, hands running through his messy curls, “Do you agree with them?” He nodded, “Scares me how much I care about you, Birdie.” You frowned slightly, though he couldn’t see it, “Why does it scare you?” His eyes fluttered shut, you playing with his hair soothing him. He slid his hands beneath the underside of your shoulders, holding you as close as possible, “Means I’ve got something to lose.”

[babyangelsky]

I know we're all still sweating over the first half of this episode (or I am at least) but since I'm feeling chatty today, I really wanna talk about Mut and Tongrak's conversation at the restaurant and how much I loved it. There are so many little moments that deserve appreciation and recognition.

This is the first one. When the auntie comes over to sing Mut's praises, he doesn't look at her or at Tongrak, he just ducks his head. From what she says, we can gather that this isn't the first time he's brushed off compliments so it isn't that he's not used to praise. I think there's a little more to it.

And look at Tongrak's expression after the auntie leaves.

And the way he looks at Mut afterward. There's fondness there. There's respect and admiration. We've had small moments before this where the way Tongrak looks at Mut changes but this feels like the first time he really sees him. He's getting a clearer picture of who Mut is and what he means to the people in the village.

And it's because of that that he looks genuinely surprised and a little shocked when Mut reveals that his father kicked him out at 15. You can almost hear him asking himself, "how could anyone ever do that to this man?"

Mut talks about how he went to live with his aunt and started supporting himself relatively casually but there's a faraway look in his eyes when Tongrak asks why he doesn't go home.

And he looks down because despite his tone, it hurts to remember why he can't go home. It makes him sad to remember why he considers the fishing boat only his father's instead of theirs, as a family.

There's a defiance in his expression when he says that his father never takes back what he says and neither does he, and there was something about this specific wording and look that made me think that the reason his father kicked him out has to do with him being queer.

I have not read the novel (nor am I asking for spoilers) so I could be very wrong but this moment just read so queer to me. It unfortunately wouldn't be unheard of for a parent to kick out their queer child and for that child to cut ties with them because of it.

The shift in expression when Mut asks Tongrak if he thinks he's pitiful is so tiny but it's so significant. It's like he's daring Tongrak to pity him and resigned to it simultaneously, like pity is a foregone conclusion. It tells me that Mut is used to being pitied. He says himself moments before this that Tongrak could ask anyone on the island for his story so I'm sure there's no shortage of people who do pity him.

Maybe that's why he reacts the way he does when the auntie praises him. Maybe for him it's rare to be praised for his successes without having it be qualified or run through the filter of his personal history.

Even before Tongrak said a word in response, I knew what his answer was going to be. There's sympathy (and maybe even some empathy) in his expression. There's a sort of...I don't know how to describe it. Defiant kinship? that says, "why would I pity you?"

He shakes his head and gives a firm, decisive no. He doesn't pity Mut. He may not say it, but his face says that he's very quickly growing to admire and respect the person Mut has made of himself.

Of course he doesn't pity Mut. And hearing it makes Mut smile. A true, genuine smile that reaches his sparkly eyes and softens just a little bit when he says thank you.

This conversation felt like such a big shift for them. I have no doubt they're going to continue to bicker and annoy each other and piss each other off but from here on I think and hope there's going to be an undercurrent of understanding to it.

Tongrak is open to learning more about Mut and although Tongrak isn't willing to reveal too much of himself yet, the desire to learn more is there on Mut's part, too. He's not gonna push though. He accepts Tongrak's answer of why he became a writer being only for the fun of it.

And he does what no one else has before and praises Tongrak for it.

Which Tongrak was not expecting at all because why would he when no one has ever complimented him before? For Mut to be the first means a lot, and so does the fact that Tongrak compliments him right back.

Because I really do think that his compliment is coming from a place not only of respect, but from solidarity as well. We know that Tongrak doesn't want the people in the village to think badly of Mut for being affectionate with a man in public, and that moment also read very queer to me.

Queer people are like magnets and, in my experience at least, not only are we drawn to each other, we look out for each other. Tongrak doesn't give a damn what people think or say about him both because he's secure in who he is and because he's only a tourist, but Mut lives there. Despite his snark and snippiness, I don't think he wants Mut to have a hard time existing in his home.

Anyway! Those are just my few cents for this episode. This scene really stuck out to me and I wanted to talk about it because the whole time I was just:

Fort and Peat did some beautifully subtle acting and I didn't want it to get lost in the horny shuffle.

[eupheme]

— cabin down below

dieter bravo x actress!f!reader

rated e - 1.8k

tags: cabining, co-stars-with-benefits, mentions of alcohol, references to sex and horror films, implied paparazzi trying to catch them together, oral sex

ahh nervous to post this (first time writing for him!) but excited about this gorgeous moodboard I recieved for Summer Lovin’ 24! 🏕️💖 thanks so much for hosting @pedgito, @amanitacowboy, and @chaotic-mystery!

Dieter really can talk you into anything.

The official table read is on Monday, scenes due to start shooting soon after. You really shouldn’t be thirty miles out of town right now - leaving the comforts of your apartment and the air conditioning of the limo, to hike another mile into the forest.

But you’ll trade the luxury for a chance to spend time with him. An old spot, he said. His dad’s cousin’s place, bought it off him when they needed the money. Been in the family for years.

“You gotta immerse yourself,” Dieter had told you, his arms spreading wide, “What better place to practice lines than here?”

It’s your first time in a movie with him. You’re not sure if he’s really a method actor. Equally not sure that it’s needed for a movie called Campground Carnage II - or if the city just seemed a little too loud, a little too busy.

Deep down, you hope it might just be an excuse to get you alone.

You'd be pretty alright with that.

It’s been hard to sneak around Los Angeles. There’s cameras everywhere. An obsession with one Dieter Bravo - the current hottest, most eccentric star.

You’d met before his last big break. Reading lines for Covert Affairs, but they had passed over the mutual chemistry for an actress with a little more weight to her name.

He had gotten the part, and you had gotten his number. Two desperate hookups when you both ended up in Vegas at the same time.

Only to come back together a year later.

“Long Island,” He had smiled, when he saw you, “Good to see you again.”

You had been surprised he remembered you, much less the drink he had bought. Enough alcohol in both your systems that you would’ve forgiven him if he had.

Not that you would have, though. Not with that mouth of his.

Something that you’re thinking about now, as the trees clear. The cabin tucked between them - a peeking sliver of a river cutting through the terrain behind it.

A cozy little thing, not much bigger than the apartment you’re missing. Built with thick wooden logs, two tidy windows out front, the checkered curtain pulled shut.

The key ring twirls on his finger, as Dieter moves ahead to unlock the door.

You can’t help appreciating the view, as he does. This ‘camping’ look suits him. It’s almost enough to make you a little jealous of his ability to look good in anything and everything he throws on.

A tight black tee, the hat that’s pulled down over his messy curls. Featuring an embroidered trout, with “fish want me, women fear me” scripted above and below that he found at a garage sale. Patterned crocs with matching shorts that only reach mid-thigh.

And you're at least 45-percent sure the fanny pack around his waist is filled with condoms and KitKats.

It’s been hard to keep your mind off him, on the drive over. Battering his wandering hands away, with the driver only a few feet from you. Still shy, both enthralled and not used to his open affection.

Trying to concentrate on the script. Preparing to run lines, just in case his suggestion for this weekend wasn’t some kind of euphemism.

But you kept going back to a particular scene. The two counselors - that’s you and him - sneaking off to one of the cabins in the campground.

A steamy encounter involving both the top and bottom of a bunk bed, and a lot of Bravo on his knees. Anything to showcase his physique, you’re already picturing how they’ll stage it with the female gaze in mind.

Bare back, you’re guessing. A hint of ass, but still tasteful.

The scene a fake-out - featuring a jump scare, with the shadow of a person passing by the windows behind you. Tapping into that classic trope - first to fuck, first to die.

Which might be true - if it was his first movie.

He doesn’t actually make it to the end, though. Dieter’s demise coming from a staged accident in the fishing lake, just as the movie lulls into a sense of safely. One final blow before the big reveal.

You know people will be pissed about that. As a fan of the series, even you are a little.

But the thought of having a scene with him - there is a flicker of excitement, that dulled heat in your belly - even though you know that logically, it will all be purely professional.

It’s still fun to imagine.

The door cracks open, but there’s something else with the sound. You frown, your head whipping towards the woods behind you. Searching for the source of the noise, one that sounded a little too familiar.

“Did I just hear a camera click?”

“Nah,” Dieter shrugs, “There’s no way they know about this place.”

"Yeah,” You hum, giving another glance. There’s nothing but the rustle of trees, the rush of the water. A self-conscious laugh, as you head inside, “Maybe I’m immersing myself too much.”

“No hauntings or serial killers here, sweetheart.” He smiles, “But if you’re scared I have a few ideas to get your mind off things…”

The door clicks shut behind him.

Your eyebrow arches, “Oh yeah? Like what?”

Dieter pretends to think, as he advances on you. Hands reaching out to trace up your sides, pulling you flush against him.

“Can think of a scene I’d like to start with,” He husks, eyes darkening, “There’s no bunk bed here, but I think we can make do.

Hunger flares in you, now that you're alone. Your eyes dip to the curl of his mouth, no more than a breath before you’re pressing your lips to his. A rough moan as his hands slide up your back, his tongue already brushing across your lower lip.

Tasting sweet when they part for him, your own moan swallowed as you lose your grip on your bag, letting it tumble to the floor.

It’s always so easy to get lost in him. If you’re not careful, you might just get swept away.

“You don’t want to see what the directors have in mind?” You tease, when you pull back for a breath, “Hold off on that scene until later?”

“No can do.” Dieter groans, as he pulls you back to him, “Not with you looking like this.”

You can’t help the smile, as you start the stumbling journey through the main room, wandering hands and the press of mouths.

His hand grasping your ass as your fingers slip under his shirt - the other reaching for the door he has you backed up against. A creaking swing, as it opens.

Dieter’s hands are at your hips, as soon as the back of your knees hit the bed.

“Let me taste you, baby.” It’s mumbled against your lips. His fingers dipping beneath your waistband. A nail tracing the edge of your underwear, raising goosebumps, “Been thinking about it all day.”

You remember this from before. How focused he gets. Willing to beg, shameless, if there’s something he wants.

And you’re always willing to give.

The bed is soft - covered in worn buffalo-checkered sheets - as you let yourself be lowered onto it. His hands catch your ankles, tugging you down until your legs drape off the edge.

Spread wide, so he can fit between them as he kneels. Batting your hand away as you go to push down your shorts.

“I wanna do it.” He hums. His own shorts already pulled tight, a hand coming to palm himself in anticipation.

Your hips lift for him. Nails bite into skin, grasping fabric and pulling down both layers. Easing them around the bulk of your gym shoes so his palms can press into your thighs, spreading them even wider.

A rough noise, when he sees you.

“You been thinking about this too, babe?” He coos, a thumb pressing against your slit. Rolling against the wet gleam of your center, as it betrays your desire.

You huff, the muscles in your legs flexing. Breath held as your eyes flit up to his, waiting. Watching, as he sucks your slick from his skin with a groan.

“Bet you were. Saw you eye-fucking me in the limo, all while telling me to keep my hands to myself.”

"I-I," You try to answer. To protest - to say you weren't - but his palms are smoothing up your skins. Distracting, as he slowly moves.

Those eyes focused on yours as his head tips. An open-mouthed kiss to your knee, then thigh. Moving up, as your heart races.

Inner thigh, now.

"Dee," There's a buck of your hips, with your whine, “Don’t tease.”

It’s futile, you’re certain. Unable to take what you dish out. But perhaps he’s been pushed too far as well.

“Tell me you need it.” His pupils are blown-wide, drunken already.

It’s easy to answer.

“Please. I need you.”

The next kiss is right against your slit. Messy, as his mouth covers you. Your fingers twisting in the blanket, as your knees press against his shoulders.

He’s too good. Teasing with the wet brush of his tongue. The slow creep of his fingers, the tip of one pressing against your entrance - only to withdraw just as you clench down.

Again, and then again. Slowly sinking into you, one knuckle at a time. Working you open, until you’re stretched wide around three of them - too full to form words.

“Don’t need direction for this,” His eyes flip to yours, a dimpled smile as his fingers sink deep and then curl, “Do I, baby?”

He does it again, as your answer pitches high. Your hips bucking into his touch as his tongue licks at you again. Timing it so that the point of his tongue teases your clit, each time his fingers rub against the spongey spot inside you.

He’s going to make you come. You’re too wound up, too needy for him.

“Fuck, Dieter.” You keen - your leg hooking over his shoulder, “Oh fuck, keep doing that-“

“That’s it baby,” He grins, “Improvise for me.”

It makes you laugh, which has him groaning as you tighten around his fingers. His left hand dropping to push down the waistband of his shorts. Fingers pulling from you only long enough to smear your arousal on his cock, to pump his fist until he’s covered.

It’s then that you think you hear it again. Just as his tongue slips inside you. Another mechanical sound from outside, just barely audible through the wooden walls.

“Dee,” You moan, fingers twisting in his hair. Either to pull him closer or push him away, you’re not sure, “I d-definitely heard-”

“Can’t see in here.” It’s mumbled out, gasped between your thighs.

He’s seen to that, at least. The blinds thick, the bedroom tucked away.

A grin, as his tongue flattens - licking from hole to clit, “Wasn’t planning on leaving, anyways.”

You trust him, knowing he wouldn't leave you vulnerable. The sound in your throat is muffled as your teeth clench, “But they-, what if they hear us?”

It’s only now that his head lifts, those dark eyes blown wide. Paired with a lazy smile, his lips shining as they stretch wide.

A soft croon.

“Then I guess you’d better be quiet.”

Your laugh turns into a soft groan, at the flick of his tongue. Self-conscious perhaps, but not wholly and entirely deterred by the thought of an audience.

Not when you’re with him.

“Keep that up,” You manage - as something molten floods through your belly, “And you might have to help a girl out.”

His weight presses into you as he moves up - heated, bare skin as he settles between your thighs. Dieter’s nose skimming your throat, as his hand slips between your thighs.

Just before his mouth presses to yours, swallowing you moan.

“That, baby… I can do.”

just wanted to try something fun 🏕️ thank you so much for reading! and thanks again for this awesome event!

[jellyfishrnice]

Yandere! Rich Suitor

(part 2!)

When you arrived at the remote island your parents had sent you off to you expected nothing out of the ordinary.

You and Andrew would spend a month or two there at some expensive resort or already owned house of either of your parents, you'd squabble with him from whatever topic came up in your conversations, and then you'd part ways at the end of the trip with no differing thoughts of each other. Same as always.

Oh how wrong you were.

-

"Y'know, you have pretty eyes."

You stared at Andrews light eyelashes with his hazel, almost green eyes. You never looked too hard but the purple ambient light of the bar you two were in only added to his features.

You were both drunk out of your minds and the bar was only 15 minutes to close, around 3 am if you had to guess.

"I could say the same to you," Andrew slurred while holding an empty glass of whatever liquor he had just finished off. He rested his head on the wooden bar and stared at the empty glass, then back to your face that was propped on your hand.

Bam!

You didn't even notice your face planting onto the counter, the sound didn't even faze Andrew who stared at your hair.

He reached out to touch it.

Surprisingly, you didn't flinch. Normally when you both were sober, maybe it was the liquor that stopped you from slapping his hand away but touching each other was deemed one of the most horrible acts to commit, but right now all he wished was to be closer to you.

He played with the loose strand of hair and you turned your head to face him.

With how close your faces were to each other, you were surprised how long you two had gone without arguing with each other.

"Can we go home," you mumbled while staring into Andrews glazed over eyes.

He nodded and slowly sat up straight, letting go of the small strand of hair.

You both stumbled out of the bar, with him fishing for a cellphone in your purse while you leaned on him for any type of support.

You managed to pick your head up and look at his flushed face. The neon glow of the bar lights illuminated his blond hair and the way his pretty eyes starred off into nothing was way more enticing than it should be. You stared long and hard for what seemed like forever.

Then you did something you never ever thought possible.

"Andrew."

"Yes?" Andrew replied while looking down at your (for once) soft gaze.

You grabbed his face with both your hands and planted your lips onto his. His lips were soft but slightly chapped, and he tasted like vodka and something else you couldn't put your finger on.

You still don't know why you did it, but all you remember after that was blacking out and waking up in the resorts bed the next morning, with a pounding headache and a sore neck.

-

"You're not leaving."

You had never been scared of Andrew per say. Yeah you've been angered by him, very annoyed recently and at worst wanting to rid him of this Earth.

But never scared, it made sense to not be scared in your childhood and early teenage years, and maybe it was pushing it when he started to put in muscle and grow taller; but you never had a reason to fear him.

Until now at least.

'Stay calm stay calm stay calm'

You repeated the phrase in your mind until you could find the words to hopefully get Andrew to stop acting insane.

"Andrew, look, I know what happened between us last night was weird but I'm sorry I wasn't trying to lead you on, but please just stop."

"Just stay here for a while, I know I haven't been exactly pleasant towards you, but please give me a chance," he muttered into your shoulder while softly playing with a strand of your hair.

You took in a deep breath to try and stop yourself from clawing his face off.

That would only make things worse considering he could easily overpower you, you shuddered at the thought of him going even further than he already had.

"Okay, I'll stay-just- please back away for a minute," you exhaled and let your hand leave the door knob despite every part of your body wanting to yank on it until it broke off or the door opened. Andrew seemed to relax a tiny bit at your words before slowly letting his arms unwrap themselves around you and instead back away. You didn't know if you could outrun him, but it wasn't worth a shot considering the nearest sign of civilization was about a 30-minute drive.

You exhaled a small sigh and dropped your bag from your shoulder onto the floor, and you turned around to face Andrew who was still relatively close but now you at least had a couple inches of personal space. He looked almost as much of a hungover mess as you, with his blonde hair hanging messily over his shoulders and face and slight bags under his eyes that you had previously never seen him with. But he had an odd look in his eyes that made you even more uneasy than you already were.

"Listen, Andrew, I'm sorry that I kissed you last night, I was drunk and I was stupid- I'm just- can we please forget about this?" You pleaded while brushing a hand through your hair. Andrew stood there for a moment, seemingly trying to figure out how to put together the words he wanted to say.

"Did you know, " he started, pausing to swallow the saliva that had been building up in his mouth, "I have never kissed someone before last night?"

Your eyes widened while trying to figure out how Andrew of all people hadn't even kissed someone! He was handsome, rich, and unfairly charismatic when he wanted to be. Before you could say something, Andrew held up his hand to signal to wait.

"I just never saw the appeal I guess, until last night that is," he said while trying not to hold eye contact with you for too long or he fears he might explode from shear embarrassment.

"But with you, it's as though," he paused again to gather his words and look down at his hands, "you awoke something in me that I didn't even know was there." His shy demeanor, despite his intimidating size, reminded you of a schoolboy confessing his long time crush to the girl he liked. It would have been cute if he hadn't practically forced you to stay in the beach house.

"I- and now that I felt whatever that was, I want to feel that again." He looked back up at your face, your pretty eyes and soft lips,he didn't know how he missed your beauty after all these years of being around you; but now he so desperately wanted to cradle it in his hands and-

"What?!" You shouted, interrupting his train of thought. Your fear from earlier seemed to have disappeared or at least been overcome by pure annoyance.

"So you're telling me," you took a breath to try and calm yourself, "that just 'cause I kissed you one time, that automatically your entire life of hating me just- poofed it's way out of existence?!"

"I-" Andrew tried to speak, but you quickly cut him off, you were borderline shouting but were trying your best not to completely explode from anger.

"So your entire reason for not hating me anymore is because I got your dick hard?!"

"No that's not it at all-"

"Go find someone else for you to explore your newfound 'feelings' with, I'm not gonna be your experiment just 'cause you've never gotten your dick wet before!"

You sighed and let go of the large breath you were holding and rubbed your eyes to try and figure out what to do with Andrew. Maybe you could set him up with one of your other friends who longed for a hot sugar daddy or something.

Walking past Andrew and back into the kitchen to hopefully find some aspirin or something to cure your now worse headache.

Andrew stared at the floor in front of him, in alm his life he had only cried once. When his dad stained his new tie that he had gotten as a gift from his grandma, other than that it had never happened; it was pretty much not even an option for him. But now he feels the unfamiliar feeling of his throat tightening and his eyes welling up with tears.

You saw him just standing there, and for a moment, you felt bad for him. Then you remembered how he had pinned you to the door, and it quickly disappeared. Swallowing the pills with a glass of leftover orange juice, you walked back to him where he was standing in the middle of the living room and awkwardly patted hid back.

"Look Andrew, I know it's hard when you discover romance or whatever," you sighed while rolling your eyes, " but the only reason you think you like me is because you've never given anyone else a shot, I can set you up with one of my friends even." You tried to lighten up the mood. Some of your friends might be into the whole toxic, pinning someone to a door thing.

Andrew was quiet for a moment before looking at you with red eyes and sighing. You were relieved that he had finally come to his senses, soon enough you two could put this whole thing behind yall and continue hating and at best tolerating each other.

"Have you... been with others?" Andrew asked quietly while tucking a stray hair behind his ear. You hesitated before replying.

"I mean- yeah; most people our age have had sex-" before you can even finish your sentence Andrew quickly traps your fave between his large hands and smashes his lips onto your.

Your eyes widened and you imminently tried to get him off of you, but your shoves against his broad chest didn't even register in his mind.

His inexperience shined through as his teeth cracked against yours and how he tried to immidelty shove his tongue in your mouth, but it didn't seem to bother him at all with how he let out small whimpers, trying to push his body as close to yours as possible.

He lowered his hands from your face and around your waist to haul you off the floor and onto the nearby couch, hovering over you but still putting enough weight to stop you from moving.

When he finally pulled away, you tried to scream something to try and get through to him, but one of his large hands covered your mouth, and he looked at you with pure want in his eyes.

"I can -" he tried to catch his breath, his second kiss with you leaving him breathless and red in the face. He gulped before speaking, "if you did it with others, you can do it with me," he let out a shaky breath before quickly shedding his shirt.

"A-andrew- listen- please- " he shut you up with another kiss, if you could even call the rough mouth full of tongue that, and slowly grinding against your thigh.

Your heart was beating so fast and you didn't notice the very noticeable bulge in his sweatpants. You thrashed and tried to get away from his grip but it only spurred him on more. He let out a patheic moan at the way you gripped the back of his hair and pulled hard, him pawing at your shirt, trying to get a taste of your soft, sweet-

He cried out when you bit his tongue, the taste of iron filling both of your mouths. He pulled away for a second, his hair sticking to his forward from the light sheen of sweat, his cheeks red and his eyes full of wonder from the pure pleasure of only humping against your soft thigh.

"You've known me your whole life, if you can have sex with someone you've only known for a few hours, you can definitely do it with me," he panted while humping your soft leg and referring to your many hook ups over the years. You felt like tearing his face off with the way he talked, like a teenage incel whose never even seen pussy. He sped up with his thrusts and laid his forehead in the crook of your neck, licking the sweat that had come from the heat.

Before you could speak, he interruptedyou with a loud breathy moan, his sweatpants now having stain and his cock growing softer against you.

For once, you couldn't say anything.

But soon you felt his cock hardening again and you knew it would be a while till you could escape, so you grit your teeth and just waited till he hopefully had his fill.

-

Hey yall sorry it took so long, I've been so busy with finals and stuff but here it is!! It's not proof read but I probably go back on it. Hope you enjoyed 🫶

Tag list! : @surprisemodafakas @kyoko-neko @kaeriustehe @kleoneli @purple-obsidian @strawberrie-me @lem-hhn

[lilbitdepressed27]

Tara Carpenter/Fem!Reader

Summary: Cast Away AU

Warnings: angst

WC: 4.0k

Author's Note: hope you guys enjoy

"Mmh."

The sensation of light kisses being placed on your neck was what brought you out of your slumber. Opening one of your eyes to see your beautiful girlfriend leaning over you.

"Tara. It's too early." You groaned into your pillow. A weight on your lower back. You didn't mind the sudden weight. 

"Come baby. Wake up. I want to spend some more time with you before you leave." Her lips were close to your ear. Her warm breath sending you chills throughout your body. The warmth of her body on your bare back. Kisses being placed on your shoulder. You could feel her smiling as she placed kisses on you.

The sound of the storm raging on pulled you out of your thoughts. The wind hollowing as you tried your best to stay dry. But it was no use. The deflated raft doing little to keep you dry. The dreading realization that you were stuck on this island by yourself setting in.

You never really thought how dark the open ocean was. That you could only see when the lighting strikes lit up the sky. It was terrifying. You were scared. Scared and alone.

*

You weren't sure how long it's been since the plane crashed. You and tried to keep track of the days. Tried to keep sane, to keep your hopes high. Hope that you'd be rescued. But it had been hard. By the time the first month passed. Your hopes had come crashing down.

A month into trying to survive on a deserted island. You had come to realize that you were the only one on the island. No signs of people or animals on the island. There wasn't even any birds on the island. Which scared a you quite a bit. You never would have thought or even imagined you'd be in a situation like this. Your mind going strong to the show named Lost.

You prayed to what ever higher power that, that wasn't the case.

Hunting for fish had been hard. You had experience finishing and you were good at it. But that had been with fishing equipment and here you didn't have any equipment. Making fishing harder. Using what you could find from wreckage of the plane that washed up in the beach. Some luggage, parts from the plane, using everything you could get your hands on to help you in any way.

All you wanted was to see your girlfriend again. Your friends. Your family.

*

"How about we just spend the day together by ourselves?" You asked as you watched your girlfriend get ready for the small party. Since you were leaving for Christmas break to visit family, your friends decided to throw you a party. Spending the Christmas break with your family overseas. You had asked if Tara wanted to go with you but her sister was coming home from college and she wanted to spend some time with her older sister. Which you understood. It wouldn't be long till you, Tara and your friends headed back to college as well.

"Come on. You know they wanna see you before you go." Tara turned away from the mirror after putting on her ear rings. A knowing smile on her face as she looked at you. "Plus, we will have plenty of time alone before you leave." Placing her hands on your upper thighs giving them a squeeze. That really made you want to ditch the party.

"Tease." You mumbled as she giggled and pulled away.

"Seriously let's go before we're late."

*

You were tired, cold. Catching fish had been hard but you had gotten good at it. You were able to use the the deflated raft to collect water when it rained. It had been a great help so far. Using the coconuts you found to fill them like water bottles.

It was hard, you had lost so much weight so fast. With coconut water, sometimes rain water, rarely the fish you caught. It was not enough. You were lucky none of the wounds you had caught any infection. Building a fire was a lot harder. Thankfully you remembered some of the tips from a YouTuber you watched. Making the fire took time and a whole lot patience.

You were sure you were going crazy. Talking to the picture of your girlfriend that had been in your pocket watch that had been safely in your pocket. "You wouldn't happen to have any matches, would you?" You had cursed your self, you were not going to lose your mind. You refused.

But it was so lonely. You weren't sure when you last spoke. It felt like months had passed since the plane crash.

How long were you really going to last?

*

You laid on your bed with Tara on your chest. Her hand playing with your own on your stomach. Your palm on hers. You had been focused on the movie when you heard her giggle, the giggle taking your attention away from the movie.

"What?"

"Your hands make mine look so tiny."

You looked at your joined hands, seeing the difference in size. You let out a small laugh before you interlocked her fingers with yours. Bringing her fist up to your lips.

"I love your hands. They're so soft and just perfect to hold." She mumbled into your cheek before placing a kiss on said cheek.

*

Your hands were rough now. All the hard work you had to do with your bare hands. Nothing about your hands were soft now.

You had found a cave, one where you had moved all your things to. It was a nice shelter from the rain and storm. The fire you made helped you stay warm in the cave. The walls of the cave were filled the drawings. Ranging from the plane and the map of the world. You had tried to figure out where were you. Then there were drawings of your family, friends. Tara.

You wondered what she was doing at this very moment. You wondered if she liked the Christmas present you got her. It was a beautiful gold necklace one with her initials and yours. In a way you both had thought of the same thing when it came down to getting each other a present.

You had hoped she liked the present, what you would given to see her reaction.

*

"I got you something."

You were at the airport waiting for your flight to be called. The two weeks would go by so slowly without Tara by your side. Your flight wouldn't be called till another thirty minutes. She was holding a small wrapped box.

You took the small box, thanking her with a kiss. "Thank you baby. My gift is under Sam's tree cause I knew you would open it as soon as I leave." You laughed as she pushed you away but she had laughed as well. Knowing you had a point.

"Come on open it. I wanna see your reaction." The excitement in her eyes was so strong and you just couldn't help your smile to grow. So with the same excitement you carefully unwrapped the box. Jaw dropping once you saw what was in the box.

A gold pocket watch. You had one but it had broken and it was unfixable. You took the pocket watch out of the box. Seeing the your initials and Tara's on the top of the lid. A now gentle smile when you saw a picture of the woman you love when you opened it. A picture of Tara was inside. She was in her light pink jacket, her hands in the pocket of the jacket, a dimpled smile on her face as her head was slightly tilted to the side. Posing for the picture that you had taken. It was your favorite picture, although you had loads of pictures of Tara. It was your locksreen.

"Do you like it? They asked me if I wanted to add a picture and well I thought you'd like one of me. If you don't-I love it Tara. Thank you." You leaned over pecking her lips. She was quick to pull you back in by cupping your cheeks.

"Flight 180 to San Juan Argentina is now boarding." The hold Tara had on you tightened. A part of you (a huge part) didn't want to go. Yes your family was taking a vacation to Argentina. And you would absolutely love to explore that beautiful place. But you wanted Tara by your side. You knew Tara had her own family here so she had stayed.

So with one last hug and kiss. That felt like it didn't last long enough. Tara had loosened her hold on you letting you board your flight.

*

It had been too long now. Three and half years. Three years since you last saw Tara. Three years since you last saw your family. Three years since the plane crashed. Three years since you've been alone. No one was going to find you. You had accepted that now.

You would have been in college now. Starting your fourth year. You had only been able to finish one semester. Every time you thought about all the what ifs, it really made you depressed.

"I have it down. If I'm right. The wind is pushing north. Which means if we get the raft we built in the water the wind can help it push through the wave break." You spoke to the picture on the pocket watch. The picture was now a bit more faded now. You tried your best to keep it safe and dry.

"I know, I know. Be careful. But I am not dying on this island. If I stay here and let this chance pass. I don't think I'll last much longer." You've spent the past few weeks building the raft. You had found a part of a porta potty wash up on to the shore. You knew it could hopefully help the raft move with the wind.

"Enough coconuts to last me long enough. Some empty ones to collect water when I'm out there."

You turned your gaze back to ocean. You were either going to die out in the ocean and be eaten by birds or drown to the bottom of the dark ocean. But you were sure, positive that you were not going to die on this island.

"I'm not dying here."

*

The older woman had been so, so in doubt. She was back home along with her kids and husband. The nauseating and heartbreaking news that she just received. It was hard to believe. Her heart telling her it wasn't true. Refusing to accept what the police told her. They only looked for two months.

You couldn't be gone. Not her little girl.

Upon arriving to her house, her eyes filled with more tears. Seeing your girlfriend and your friends. Their hopeful faces. The moment she stepped out of the car. She knew that they knew based off her expressions. The cry that Tara had let out was enough for her to burst into tears as well. Her own cry being muffled by her husband's chest as he tried his best to keep his own emotions under control.

You were gone.

And they didn't even have a body to bury.

*

"Hello am I speaking to Mrs.Y/LN?"

"Yes this is she. May I ask who's speaking?"

"Hello ma'am I'm Detective Chen, I'm here to tell you that we found your daughter. Y/n Y/ln."

*

For the first time in three and half years. You were freshly cleaned, the nice older nurse offered to cut your hair. And you were thankful for that. With you being so clean you saw scars and cuts you didn't even know you had. Bruises all over your body. Severally sun burnt. A part of you felt weak. Doctor said that was normal due to how long you went without any nutrients.

Now you were waiting. Waiting for your family to get there. You had been asleep for quite a while.

"Y/n?"

At the sound of your mother's voice you looked away from the wall you were staring blankly at. Your emotions finally bursting. Your arms reaching out for the woman that gave you birth. The woman who loved you unconditionally. Her own cry being let out as she rushed to your side.

"Oh my baby. My little girl." The warmth that she brought was one of the things that you missed. Soon your dad and older sister joined the hug. The three of them holding you tight.

*

The flight home was long. Your sister filling you in on what was happening. Since you technically were pronounced dead, Tara had moved away. Your sister telling you that along with your friend group they all moved to New York. They no longer lived in Woodsboro.

"Oh and Y/n. They don't know. We haven't really been in contact with them. Tara's also..." She wasn't sure if she should tell you. But she knew you deserved to know. "Tara's with some guy now. They started dating about a month ago now. I think. From what I've seen." She remembers seeing the post online. Mindy had shared a video and in the video Mindy had mentioned how Tara and a guy named Frankie were dating.

You sat back in your seat. Your shoulders slumping as you looked down at the pocket watch. The hope had you since you had been rescued had dwindled down. Tara moved on. She moved on from you.

*

You weren't sure what to do. It's only been three days since you got back. Spending the past days in bed. Your mom refusing to let you out of her sight. You didn't blame her. You missed being under her care. Your room had been just how you left it. The pictures of you and Tara still hanging on the wall. You couldn't bring yourself to call her.

If she moved on, did you really want to bug her. Ruin her chance to fall in love again. Could you let her go?

You had to. It wasn't you choice to make.

*

Walking in shoes had been such a small thing you had missed. Not worrying about stepping on something sharp or hard had been such wonderful thing. You had beg your mom to let you walk. Being cooped up in the house had become a bit much.

One of the first things your dad did when he brought you back was going to the town cemetery and having your tombstone removed. You still saw it though. It was weird to see.

Being back home has been something you had fantasized. Now be actually home felt so unreal. You were afraid that you'd wake up from this dream and be back on that island.

"Y/n?"

You turned your gaze from the pond. You had been walking for quite a while before stopping at the towns pond and setting on the bench. Staring blankly at the pond. Since coming back, a part of you still felt like it was on island. You felt off being back.

Standing there was a shocked Christina Carpenter. "Oh hello Ms.Carpenter." The older woman took you in. You looked different, your face skinner, bruises and cuts on your face. When she heard about how you were found in the ocean. She didn't believe it. She remembered how devastated her youngest daughter was. You had been pronounced dead after the search party gave up after two months of searching. But here you were.

Her heart breaking at the empty, broken look in your eyes. You looked so lost. A completely different person from what she had grown to love for her daughter. "You're alive."

"...yea. Uh how have you been Ms.Carpenter?" The older woman hadn't changed much in the past three years and a half.

"Does Tara know?" She ignored the question you asked. At the look of your guilt face looking down, she knew the answer. Feeling a bit angry at that, remembering how much Tara suffered when you went missing. How many asthma attacks Tara suffered, remembering all the times she had found Tara in the middle of those asthma attacks. She held off on reacting on that anger when she saw your eyes. The tears. The confusion, the heartache.

"No. I wanted to call her. But my sister said that she's with someone. I didn't want to...she's moved on Ms.Carpenter. I feel guilty about that if I call her I'll cause her pain, confusion or...I don't know. I don't know what to do." The tears finally escaped your eyes. The love you had for Tara had grown stronger and bigger while you were away. To be back and not have her by your side had you feeling just as lost as you felt on that island.

*

"Hey mom." Her two daughters walked through the door. One of her daughters being accompanied by a tall man. They were home for thanksgiving break.

"My girls." Pulling both of her girls into a hug. The pocket watch felt heavy in her pocket. You had been playing with the pocket watch through out the whole conversation she had with you two days ago. She had convinced you to lend her it, so she can get it fixed. She had seen your hesitation, before you gently placed it on her open palm.

"Who's this?" The young man moved from behind one of his daughters, his hand grazing against her daughter's hand.

"Hello Ms.Carpenter I'm Danny. Sam's boyfriend."

Feeling her shoulders lose their tension she smiled and shook the boys hand. She knew Danny. She had spoken with Sam about the boy that she's been dating for a few months now. It was only now that she actually met the boy in person. Looking back at Tara who looked better than before but she knew her daughter. Her dark brown eyes still held so much loss. Pain. Yearning.

"Tara's where's what's his face? That boy you're dating."

Tara shook her head with a small laugh. "Mom for the last time, I went on one date with him and that's it. I'm not dating him. So you don't have to remember his name. I don't like him, not even a little bit and I'm not ready for a relationship." Tara couldn't bare the thought of loving someone like she loved you. Her love was only for one person.

Mindy had told her that it wasn't healthy to hold on. That she was only hurting herself. She knew Mindy was only trying to be helpful but she couldn't move on. Not from you. You were-are her soulmate. Her one true love. She's never met someone who made her feel that you had. If it wasn't you, then it was no one. She only ever saw a future with you. She had planned a future with you.

There was no one else she wanted to be with. People can call in denial all they wanted. She didn't care.

"Girls. There's something I need to tell you." She had planned this conversation in her head. She even wrote some things down. But now her mind was blank at actually having this conversation with her girls.

The girls sat down as Danny offered to take their things to their room. With Sam's directions of where her room was at he left up stairs. So with out saying she held out her hand to Tara.

Tara confused stuck out her hand, her palm open, her throat hitch in her throat when she felt the familiar cold metal on her palm. Her eyes misting with tears when she saw the same pocket watch. The engravings of your initials and hers on the top of the lid. The gold was scratched and obviously damaged but it still opened. There was her picture. Faded.

"How. How did you get this?" She wanted to cry. But the spark of hope flamed brighter than it ever had the past three years and a half.

"Tara, a cargo ship found her somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. She's alive."

The words echoed in her head. The words she had dreamed of every single day to hear. She was finally hearing. But it didn't feel real. It felt like a dream. She didn't let her sister or her mother say anything else before she bolted out of the house. Ignoring the shouts of her mother and sister.

*

You had gotten out of the shower. Changing into some sweats and that hung loosely. You were still a bit too skinny. Your old clothes fitting you loose. Your sports bra was bought new. A size or two smaller than normal. Your cuts were a bit more healed. The scar you had on your palm was something you'll always remember. You had fading bruises. You were healing. Slowly but surely.

Stepping out of the bathroom connected to your at the same moment your room door was pushed open. Standing there was the woman that kept you alive. The woman that you dreamed of seeing every single day that you were on that island.

"Y/n?"

Her voice, it was like you were hearing it for the first time. She was beautiful as ever. Seeing her only few feet away from you.

"Tara."

It was all she needed to hear to cross the room. Crashing into you in a tight hug. Her grip hurt but you didn't care. Cause you hugged her just as tight as she cried into your chest. The ache, the emptiness you felt before it was forgotten the moment you had Tara in your arms. She refused to let you go. Refusing to unwrap her arms around your bare waist.

Her heart broke at how skinny you had become. She couldn't imagine what you weren't through. All the scars and bruises you had all over your body. She pulled away to look up at you. Your eyes were also wet from crying. But they held so much more. Her hand coming up to cup your cheek. You leaned into her palm eyes closing.

"I missed you so much."

"I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. I'm just so happy you're here now." Her hands never left your body. Although she was a bit peeved that no one told her the exact moment you were found. The question was, why didn't you call her.

By the way she was looking at you, you could guess what she was thinking. "It was three years, almost four. I wasn't sure if...if you know I didn't know if...I saw the post Mindy posted and I thought you were moving on. I didn't want to, I don't know bug you?" You finally pulled your gaze away from those brown eyes that read you so well. You now felt unworthy of Tara's love. You weren't the same and you for sure didn't look the same.

Tara watched the way you shrunk in on your self. She knew you too well. She knew you since you both were toddlers. When you wanted to cry, you would blink more than usual, you avoid eye contact. That time you fell off a roof and had a nasty scar on your leg, you had refused to wear any shorts. She later found out that it was cause you felt self conscious about the scar.

She watched as you pulled away from her and put on a shirt. "Y/n, I still love you. I loved you then and I love you now. Nothings changed. I'm not dating anyone. I haven't dated anyone since—Mindy is an idiot. You know that. The only person I've ever loved and still love is you." Her hand gripped yours. How she missed holding your hands.

With her other hand she gently took your chin and made you look at her. "I love you."

Her eyes held so much honestly and love. Making you want to cry, you wanted to know what you did to deserve someone like Tara. Her compassion, her love, her loyalty.

"I love you to."

The night was spent with you in Tara's arms. She had dreamed of you being in her arms, and now thankfully it had come true. You were back, you were back in her arms.

Safe and sound.

:)

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

simple math

cw. fem!reader, childhood friend au, pre-relationship, dawn island era (ace is a brat)

pairing. portgas d. ace x reader

synopsis. the math is simple: ace is cool, so you like him.

notes. oh the beauty of growing up on dawn island, running around mt. corvo. i love you, post-war asl brothers flashback arc. i'll have to rewatch you. again

"Hey, you," Ace's voice pulls you out of your thoughts. "What's your deal?"

When you turn to look at him, his characteristic frown is plastered across his face, glaring all the while. It's a strange circle of events, being here in this moment.

Just the other day, what would have been typical of your coming to Mt. Corvo was Ace ignoring you and Luffy for the better part of the day. That spliced with him Tarzan swinging across the trees to avoid you both following him to wherever it was he went all the time. If you really got lucky and it was too late to head back into town, you'd help yourself to staying over at Dadan's much to the bandit's dismay.

"Damn brats keep multiplying by the day," she'd growl, going back and forth between pulling her flame-colored hair and smoking another cigarette. "Go home! We're bandits, not a daycare!"

Still, the bandit and her clan were too nice to kick you out. So you'd remain the rest of night, talking and talking and talking until Ace would snap in irritation for you to shut up. After a few days, you'd actually go home for a few days to tell your grandfather of your most recent attempts at getting Luffy to befriend his angry companion.

Rinse, wash and repeat.

This is all new, however.

Luffy is snoring, belly round with fish and a dope smile on his face and Ace is there. So is another kid ー Sabo, Ace's best friend ー who decided the other day he'd be living at Dadan's from now on. Dadan relented and now all four of you are outside by a lake, no more chasing although a dash of mortal peril still remains considering how Luffy almost got eaten by a crocodile. Again.

Something changed the day you got up the mountain too late to join Luffy in his nth attempt in chasing Ace down. By the time he finally got back, he was battered and bruised. That was consistent. What wasn't consistent, however, were Ace and Sabo's accompaniment also looking as if they'd all come back from a great battle. According to Luffy, there had been.

Now the four of you were all together, a new standard. Grandpa's not gonna believe this! You can't help giggling, wondering how the old man will react. Ace's frown only deepens and you remember you still haven't said anything to answer his question. "Sorry," you say quickly, scratching the back of your head. "I was thinking about my grandpa. What do you mean?"

"It means what I said," Ace squints at you with suspicion. "What's with you? Him I get because he told me," Ace kicks a foot at Luffy's, the younger boy's sleep completely undisturbed. That kid could sleep through anything, you're absolutely positive. "Plus he lives here. I don't get you, though."

You blink, owlishly, not quite understanding what the boy wanted from you. "What don't you get?"

"Why you were chasing me all the time!" Ace snaps, looking much like Dadan with how he clutches his hair. "You don't shut up most of the time, but now you do?!"

Sabo sighs at the freckled boy's reaction, the brim of his top hat covering his eyes for a moment. "Ace," he sighs once more. Rowdy as the blond could be, he's easily the calmer of the two and is constantly donned in your favorite color. You like Sabo, you decide for the millionth time in the past few days.

"Don't you have a reason?!" the wavy-haired boy stares you in equal parts disbelief and distrust.

You cock your head, blinking curiously, "does there have to be?" You find the bony remains of the fish you'd eaten more interesting, continuing your efforts in collecting them. You are a simple child, it doesn't take much for you to be impressed or for someone to make you like them. You figured that's how it was for everybody until you met Ace. Apparently you were wrong.

You like Demarius, Stacey, Pierre and Lisa Lisa so you play with them even if all Demarius wants to play is marines.

You like the sea so you always jump in the water without a second's thought.

You like collecting bones, empty snail shells and whatever else you can get your hands on so you take them home.

It's never been your best subject but the math has always been simple. 'Live freely and happily', that's what your grandfather always told you to do. It's why he didn't mind what you did all day as long as you checked in once in a while. Not that it was necessary because he somehow always seemed to know what you were up to anyway.

As for Ace… you look the boy over with his warm, freckled skin and wild hair. You decide, for the nth time, that you like him. Even if he thinks you talk too much, Ace is probably ー no, no, definitely ー the coolest kid you know. "I like you, you're cool," you say at last and it's nothing for the rest of your words to flow like a river to the ocean. Excitedly, you look at Sabo paying Ace's look of surprise no mind, "you should have seen him before, Sabo," you drop your haul, trying your best to mime someone swinging through the trees. Considering he's known Ace a good five years longer than you, he likely has but you still go through with the motion. "He was like phyoo!"

With a laugh, Sabo nods. "I was the one who taught him that, for the record," he tells you smugly. "I told him about this story I read about a human raised by gorillas and Ace said he wanted to try it. I'm pretty good too."

Puffing your chest, you are happy to tell Sabo you know the story well. "I knew he was being like Tarzan!" You weren't nearly as good at the movement, considering your natural clumsiness. Ace somehow makes it look easy, though. "I'm not that good yet, but it's fine I'm good with-"

"You're such a weirdo," Ace pipes up suddenly and you look over at him. It isn't much of a difference but his brow isn't as furrowed and his shoulders aren't as tense. Maybe one day you'll be friends the way he is with Sabo, you hope so at least.

You wear the title with pride, "heck yeah I'm a weirdo!"

Sabo snickers and Ace pushes him half-heartedly. "Yeah, yeah," the de facto leader of this newly founded quartet grouched on.