#i just seen a listing where ALL of the images of the inside of a house were AI generated

[dunmertwink]

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[occamstfs]

No Need to Apply

Here is my 1K special! Though admittedly it is nothing much out of the ordinary- Thanks to everyone who submitted prompts but especially the anonymous suggestion that spurred this transformation of a desperate twink into a cocky slob! -Occam

Brock really needed a lucky break. He had been staying with his ex since they ended it, but now that he��s sleeping with someone it’s clear that Brock needs to get his own place. Unfortunately the market is not being quite so accommodating to his urgent needs. Given that he is now to be living alone it’s evident he also needs the place on the cheap. He had been denied all reasonable accommodations that he could afford and was beginning to contemplate moving back in with his parents when he suddenly received an email from an apparent realtor he’d never met.

It was an invitation to an open house at some ritzy downtown apartment that he was sure was out of his price range. Rather than just tossing it to his spam folder though, he finds himself looking at the handful of images with a voracity, whether it’s simple curiosity or a fantasy to have such clearly luxurious housing Brock reads through the whole listing. Reaching the end of the invitation and looking at the specs he finds the rent impossibly labeled as just under half his monthly paycheck.

Nearly spitting up coffee all over himself in shock, Brock’s eyes flutter to find exactly when and where this open house was. Surely the demand for this place would box him out but god wouldn’t it be nice to just check it out and dream. He sends an RSVP and far too quickly the realtor, Lucas, thanks him for his prompt response, wishes him well, and signs off saying see you soon. Brock went about the rest of his day as normal, if not a little cheerier than he’s been for some time as he keeps finding his mind drift to that almost-too-perfect apartment’s view over the city.

Fortunately off from work the next day, Brock took the bus to the open house, stopping by his favorite cafe that just so happens to be nearby. He grabs a drink and finds himself preoccupied with thoughts of what a convenience, what a windfall, this break would be. He heads inside and takes the elevator up to the suite and hesitates before entering at the door. Odd that there is no one else here, he double checks the room and floor and puts his ear to the door to see if perhaps other visitors are inside already.

In his untrained attempt to eavesdrop he puts his weight squarely against the door, pushing it open and stumbling in, nearly spilling his coffee over the pristine floors as he crosses the threshold into the apartment. Light streams in through the blinds, only magnifying the manicured state of the spotless room around him. The floor is clean enough to see his reflection, mouth agape, staring at how impossibly clean the apartment is. The only record at all that the place had ever been lived in is the furniture that had clearly been procured by someone of great means, though one lacking any critical eye or desire for design. He sees framed posters of some real red flag movies near a large TV and some sports trophies lined on a shelf. Brock can’t help but wonder what could cause someone to leave such personal artifacts behind and feels a chill in the air. 

He wanders away from the entrance to stand at the large windows, his phone ringing as he takes in the view of his town. Answering without checking the ID he hears a man’s voice he doesn’t recognize. Though he knows this must be the mystery realtor on the line, “How do you like the place Brock?” he begins to reply before being cut off by Lucas, “Have you seen the view yet, it’s quite something else.” 

Brock feels something flicker through his mind as he gazes at the city blocks around him, below him. His eyes briefly catch on his reflection in the glass, though not long enough to see his eyelids droop slightly as he is able to reply, a tad slower than he usually likes to project, “uhh, yeah I know right, how could I not apply to live here? It’s almost too good to be true right?” There is another chill in the air and his body shivers before tensing up, shocking him back to reality and awareness to something strange afoot, “Excuse me actually, I’m so sorry, how did you get my phone number?”

Lucas clicks his tongue and speaks with an almost sickly sweet tone, “Now Brock come now, what can I do to get you to move in today?” Shaking his head in shock Brock is immediately, regardless of the clear sinister air to this man, he really cannot afford to pass up this chance. He clams up as he clambors to express interest, “No I uh! Of course I want the place, just send the lease over so I can read through it.” There is a real weight to Lucas’ words as Brock hears them, the cloying tone impressing itself on his mind, “Wonderful! That is all I needed to hear!”

It is suddenly dark in the apartment, but wasn’t he looking out the window? He can’t tell if his eyes are open or closed but he cannot see. Brock tries to move his head around to see, to feel anything, he strains his mind reaching for any muscle to flex, any tendon to pull, limbs to controt. He loses track of time and reality as he sits in the darkness, trying to grasp anything beyond his own consciousness, unable to affect anything. He feels his right hand move in a familiar way then he feels a warmth, almost a burning, completely engulfs it. He can almost see the shine of a smile, stark perfectly lined teeth that seem eerily inhuman and suddenly there is once more light. He gasps, coughs, and spits up over himself. Immediately grateful that he can feel anything at all. After feeling his body, and seeing the world almost entirely like it was before he lost consciousness, besides a copy of some contract with his name signed at the bottom.

He takes deep breaths feeling his lungs stretch and he starts to read whatever he has gotten himself into in that stupor. He reads the first few lines before he loses where he was on the page. Going again he finds his eyes suddenly dry, doing an uncharacteristically heavy blink that he can’t quite recall ever doing before and as he wonders this he again forgets his work on the contract. He slams his hand on the thigh in a rare show of aggression and gives it one last go. Brock makes even less progress this time as he is almost immediately overcome by a headache. As soon as he looks away from the sheet though, it disappears. 

Brock groans as he feels himself starting to lose control of his senses before he hears his stomach grumble, and he finds a purpose he can immediately resolve. He starts to the fridge, clearly something has happened, an episode or something, he can figure it out later, he just needs food in his stomach now. He doesn’t stop to realize that there should be no food in the fridge since no one’s been living there. Though he finds there is no need as in the fridge, under a note labeled: “To Help Moving In -Lucas,” Brock sees at least a week of prepped meals. The thought that this is bizarre beyond imagination, as well as the concern at his missing time, is immediately pushed from his mind as his stomach rumbles once more, his mouth watering as he sees his soon-to-be dinner.

Brock swiftly heats it up and begins to scarf it down, throwing something on the paying no mind or care to the thought that he’s using the account of whomever the previous tenant was. He quickly scans through seeing a handful of shows and movies that he wasn’t quite interested in before stumbling on a reality show he was watching with his Ex. He grimaces and almost loses his appetite as he thinks about his boyfriend for the first time in what feels like forever. He sets his meal down on the coffee table and crashes down onto the couch. He continues to stew in ire at his ex, palming his crotch as his feelings become more passionate. He rolls his eyes in irritation at himself and that jerk, he’s not going to masturbate to that asshole. 

He reclines in the couch and hears the sound of paper shifting in the cushions, pulling it out he finds a crusted magazine lodged in the couch. What can he do besides shout “what the fuck” and toss it across the room. How could they have possibly missed that in their cleaning? Brock’s eyes shift across the room suspiciously, though he notices nothing amiss as the room is illuminated by only the television. He looks at his hand that grabbed the porn and blushes, wanting to joke about the absurdity to calm himself down. Though his body makes its priorities known once more as his cock pulses and he looks past to see the magazine once more. He did want to masturbate to anyone besides his ex right? 

He shuffles to pick it up, the discomfort and anxiety from handling something covered in a total strangers cum only heightens his pleasure as he sits back down. He grimaces as he sees this is a real hetero-bullshit magazine, he quickly flips through to find something he can work with. His cock keeps demanding his attention as he flips through, almost impatiently pulsing as if to suggest he doesn’t need the magazine at all, just give it your attention. Though soon enough he finds an ad for some protein powder made to emasculate the reader into buying, that almost immediately helps him lose control. 

Soon after he once more fades from consciousness, his cum joining the plethora of other stains in the magazine as he tosses it behind the couch. He finds himself in a darkness that this time feels almost familiar and pleasurable. He once more feels his hand, this time though it is wet and warm. He feels it scratching in briefs that are too tight, through pubes that are too thick. He hears snoring breaking through the silence of his sleep, but that can’t be right? He would know if he snores, surely that fucker of a boyfriend would have complained. He feels his head grow warm as if he’s got a fever, though he knows it is a rage. He feels his hand feel even tighter in his briefs as his cock begins to grow in them. He continues to think of every slight his ex made, every shortcoming he was made needlessly aware of, and of how much better things are going to be now.

The heat shifts from his mind through his whole body and as light begins to break through the windows. That is not what wakes him up though, rather it is the heavy scent coming from his now sweat stained clothes. He rolls off the couch onto his face, quickly removing his hand from his briefs to catch himself, landing the stinking hand too close to his face to not smell just how loud his underwear smells. He feels his clothes sit weird on his body as he starts to rise, while his shirt just feels like it’s hanging weird, surely from the sweat, it is impossible to not see how strained his underwear is. He groans as he feels them pull strangely before he just discards them and makes his way to the bathroom. 

His eyes immediately latch onto his now exposed crotch, he does a double take as he notices that it seems distinctly larger. He also would have sworn that he shaved his pubes far more recently than it seems. He scratches through them, blushing as he sees dried cum flake off curls that are longer and thicker than he ever remembers them begin. Rather than hoping in the shower like any reasonable person would do he instead tosses on some boxers, not questioning why clothing that isn’t his would just be lying out, or why he would ever put them on. Instead choosing to focus on how right wearing them feels. He pulls them tight and turns wanting to see just how his ass and bulge fill them out, though is waylaid as his shirt blocks the view. 

He sneers as he takes off the sweat-stained shirt and tosses it to the floor, stretching high as his reeking body feels the air on his skin. He smiles in shock as he sees the body he has now exposed, he sees hair spreading across his stomach and torso and sweat dripping off of pits that were sure to stain every shirt he is to wear from now on. Beyond that he feels a body that is indisputably powerful, where there wasn’t even fat on his body before there was now muscle accompanied with weight in all the right places. His eyes then trail down to see the weightiest part of him by far as it bulges even lower in his boxers.

He feels an urge to move, to flex, to stretch, fill him as he hungrily takes in every new change in his body. His eyes trace their way past muscles contorting to land on his face, seeing a jaw that could certainly do with a shave. He sees his eager grin begin to turn into a cocky sneer as he begins to stretch once more, trying to will his torso even longer, trying to force his body even taller. His voice grows even deeper to his barely-aware ears as he closes his eyes to stretch, not seeing his throat force itself thicker and longer. There is once again a flicker in his mind as Brock is in darkness once more. Where there was once discomfort and fear there is now only hunger and an eagerness to grow even more.

He feels an itch burn across his body. He feels his hands dig deep into his pits scratching as hair grows thick enough to hold an odor that would never dissipate. He smells as even in this dreamstate he raises his hands to his nose to give them a post-scratch whiff. He feels the same itch cry out from his chest and pubes, from his lower back and his ass. He feels himself move his jaw as it squares up, a rumble in his throat as he feels his groans grow even deeper. He feels his mind thicken and slow as his muscles flex in his sleep. His arms do rep after unconscious rep as he feels biceps that should not be rub against a chest that has never been there before.

Finally he wakes one last time, his hand as it apparently always is, shoved in his pants, once more barely fitting despite wearing the spacier boxers. Brock blearily looks to see lines of takeout containers covering his coffee table. He scratches his beard using the hand from his crotch and he deeply inhales, two birds one stone after all. He sets out to get started with his day, tossing over in his head if he should masterbate again or not, a stain from a wet dream clearly showing through his boxers. Instead he throws Drake on his speakers and starts getting an early workout in, seeing to every part of his body getting a pump as he feels the hunger in his crotch grow only more urgent. 

Going about this workout Brock feels totally at home in this apartment. After all he’s lived here for? Uh? His mind empties as he looks around and sees weeks of piled up detritus and filth. He sees dirty clothes and cum stains on his couch. Looking past them there are his American Psycho and Fight Club posters, discarded underwear hanging off the latter, as well as the trophies he distinctly remembers winning back in college wrestling. He smirks and flexes tilting his head to sniff his pit. Beyond feeling at home in his apartment he also feels unequivocally at home in this, in his body, duh. He jumps to his feet with ease, his stomach rumbling as he once more goes to meet a basal need.

Throwing some of his favorite protein powder in a blender with some milk and eggs he hears his phone go off. There are a string of messages from some bitch asking him to come back and for the life in him Brock can’t remember who that little fucker is? Hearing his shake finish blending he stares at the profile picture of whoever this twink is as he starts to down it, wiping his lips on his sweaty arm as needed. The twink he doesn’t know calls him Brock and his eye twitches, ugh. Why is this dude calling him by his, uh? Is that his middle name? Or no he was Brock right?

He finishes the shake, tossing the blender onto the pile of dishes in the sink and his mind finds itself deeply conflicted. As ever though, his body is more than happy to assuage him, the phone vibrates once more and his cock begins to bring him clarity, demanding his attention once more. Brock’s a little bitch name. He smirks as he looks around at his sty of an apartment, not remembering how neat it once was. Peeking from under a particularly dirty dish there’s a contract that he remembers that he meant to have a look at. 

Bringing it to his face however he simply can’t find the motivation to even start. Why worry about this when he can masturbate, or fuck maybe he can get that whiny bitch to come over? His eyes trail to the end of the paper and see his signature, written clear as day “Adam.” He guffaws at this, god how stupid can you be, he basically forgot his own name after that twink called him uh, whatever that bitch name was. He feels his crotch grow tight again, that is kinda hot though? He moans to himself, pawing at his crotch and texts whoever this man is his address and to come ready to fuck. Adam feels no real attachment to whoever it is, nor should he, a hole is a hole after all. Saying that thought he can’t help but feel this hole is due to be taught a lesson.

If you enjoyed this I also recommend @fredwkong's The Voice in Your Head which explores a similar idea in quite a unique and captivating way!

[vaadazen-codes]

How To Get Started Making Visual Novels

Wanna make a visual novel? Or maybe you've seen games like Our Life, Blooming Panic, Doki Doki Literature Club, etc. and wanna make something like that? Good news, here's a very basic beginners guide on how to get started in renpy and what you need to know going in! Before you start, I highly recommend looking at my last post about writing a script for renpy just to make it easier on you!

LONG POST AHEAD

Obviously, our first step is downloading it from their website

thankfully, its right on the home page of their site. Follow basica program installation steps and run the program. I highly recommend pinning it to your task bar to make it easier to access.

From there, you're met with the renpy app, it's a little daunting at first but let's talk about what all these buttons are for.

Projects

This part is simple, it just lists the current projects in the chosen directory. You probably won't have any in there of your own. You should still see Tutorial and The Question!

Both of those default projects are super helpful in their own ways, i highly recommend testing out the tutorial and playing around with it just to get comfortable with some of the basics.

Create New Project

The first step to actually making your game into a game!

You'll be met with a prompt letting you know that the project is being made in English and that you can change it. You can click Continue.

From here, you'll be asked to input a project name! Put in your games title, or even a placeholder title since this Information can be changed later! (this is also the title the folder will be in your file browser, be sure to name it something you won't overlook)

Now we get to choose our resolution!

If you have no idea what to choose, go for 1920x1080! This is the standard size for most computer monitors and laptops, but it will still display with moderately decent quality on 4k monitors too!

You can choose 3840x2160 as well. This is 2x the measurements of the default, with the same ration. These dimensions are considered 4k. Keep in mind, your image files will be bigger and can cause the game to have a larger size to download.

Now we get to choose our color scheme!

Renpy has some simple default options with the 'light mode' colors being the bottom two rows, and the 'dark mode' colors being the toop two rows.

You can pick anything here, but I like to choose something that matches my projects vibes/colors better. Mostly because depending on how in depth you go with the ui, it minimizes the amount of changes I need to make later.

Click continue and give it a minute. Note: If it says "not responding" wait a moment without clicking anything. It can sometimes freeze briefly during the process.

Now we should be back at our home screen, with our new project showing. Let's talk about allll that stuff on the right now.

Open Directory

This just opens that particular folder in your local file explorer!

game - is all the game files, so your folders for images, audio, saves, and your game files like your script, screens, and more.

base - this is the folder that the game folder is inside of. You can also find the errors and log txt files in here.

images - takes you to your main images folder. This is where you wanna put all of your NON gui images, like your sprites, backgrounds, and CGs. You can create folders inside of this and still call them in the script later. EX: a folder for backgrounds , a folder for sprites for character a, a seperate folder for spirtes for character b, etc.

audio - Takes you to the default audio folder. This is empty, but you can put all your music and sound effects here!

gui - brings up the folder containing all of the default renpy gui. It's a good place to start/ reference for sizes if you want to hand draw your UI pieces like your text box!

Edit File

Simple enough, this is just where you can open your code files in whatever text/code editor you have installed.

Script.rpy - where all of your story and characters live. This is the file you'll spend most of your time in at first

Options.rpy - Contains mostly simple information, like project name and version. There aren't a ton of things in here you need to look at. There is also some lines of code that help 'archive' certain files by file type so that they can't be seen by players digging in code however. Fun if you want to hide some images in there for later or if you just dont want someone seeing how messy your files are. We've all been there

Gui.rpy - where all of the easy customization happens. Here you can change font colors, hover colors, fonts, font sizes, and then the alignment and placement of all of your text! Like your dialogue and names, the height of text buttons, etc. It more or less sets the defaults for a lot of these unless you choose to change them later.

Screens.rpy - undeniably my favorite, this is where all of the UI is laid out for the different screens in your game, like the main menu, game menu, quick menu, choice menu, etc. You can add custom screens too if you want, but I always make my own seperate file for these.

Open Project - this just opens all of those files at once in the code editor. Super handy if you make extra files like I do for certain things.

Actions

last but not least, our actions.

Navigate Script - This feature is underrated in my honest opinion, it's super handy for help debugging! In renpy you can comment with # before a line. However, if you do #TODO and type something after it, it saves it as a note! You can view these TODO's here as well as easily navigate to when certain screens are called, where different labels are (super great if your game is long, and more. It saves some scrolling.

Check Script (Lint) - also super duper handy for debugging some basic things. It also tells you your word count! But its handy for letting you know about some errors that might throw up. I like using it to look for sprites I may or may not have mispelled, because they show up in there too.

Change/Update GUI - Nifty, though once you start customizing GUI on your own, it isn't as useful. You can reset the project at any point and regenerate the image files here. This updates all those defaults we talked about earlier.

Delete Persistent - this just helps you delete any persistent data between play throughs on your end. I like to use it when making a lot of changes while testing the game, so that I can reboot the game fresh.

Force Recompile - Full disclosure, as many games as I've made and as long as I've been using Renpy, i have never used this feature. I searched to see what it does and this is the general consesus: Normally renpy tries to be smart about compiling code (creating .rpyc files) and only compiles .rpy files with changes. This is to speed up the process since compiling takes time. Sometimes you can make changes that renpy don't pick up on and therefore won't recompile. In these cases you can run force recompile to force it. Another solution (if you know what file is affected) is to delete that specific. rpyc file.

The rest of your options on this right hand side are how you make executable builds for your game that people can download to extract and play later!

Sorry gang! that was a whole lot of text obviously the last button "Launch Project" launches an uncompiled version of the project for you to play and test as you go! Hang in tight because my next post is about how to utilize github for renpy, so you can collaborate easier!

[songbirdmunson]

Dirty Little Rabbit

Perv!Eddie x Fem!Reader Smut

word-count: 992

a collab with @reidsbtch I love you mariah! 💜

a special thank you to @xxhellfirebunnyxx for coming up with the title for us, we love you dolly!

do not read if the following list triggers you, if we missed something please let us know! feedback is welcome!

warnings// cum eating, masturbation male & female, stalking, panty sniffing ((licking)), voyeurism.

Eddie knew you could be senseless sometimes, but he really expected you not to be this stupid. The sounds of your moans carried from your bedroom window, down to where he was currently hiding in the bushes surrounding your house. This was almost a nightly occurrence, Eddie waiting to catch a glimpse of you in your bedroom window, but tonight was far different. He hadn’t even seen you, but that didn’t matter in the slightest, not when your pretty moans, including ones of his name, were drifting through the quiet night and right to his ears.

All of the sanity he had left his body, as soon as a particularly high pitched ‘Eddie’ slipped from your soft lips. He wanted to see for himself, so regardless of having a boner that was pressing against his pants so hard it ached, he decided to climb the vine up the side of your house. His body was pressed uncomfortably up against it, causing his zipper to get caught on his erection, biting back a hiss he pulled himself up just a bit higher until he could see into your room.

It took him a while to climb up so he hadn’t realized that you had already finished, your frilly panties laying against the lush carpet in front of your bed. He laughs quietly, putting his foot up onto the edge of your window before he’s quietly slipping inside. “What a dumb little bunny you are.” He murmurs, listening to the sound of the water in your shower hitting against the wall. He slowly walks over to your panties, picking them up and trying his best not to moan as he holds them up to his nose, breathing in deeply. The scent of you drives him insane, his cock somehow getting even harder than it was moments before.

A quiet ‘fuck’ slips past his lips as he quickly makes work of undoing his belt, his eyes observing the pink panties gripped in his other fist. They were soaked, he needed to taste you and he couldn’t hold back anymore, quickly licking a fat stripe up the crotch, moaning obscenely, as he pulled his thick cock out of his pants. The tip is an angry sort of red, practically weeping with pre-cum, he goes to wrap his hand around himself but not before he hears your sweet voice over the sound of the running water. He clutches the frilly material in his fist as he makes his way over to the door.

Pressing his ear against the door as another slip of his name leaves your sweet lips. Eddie groans lowly, spitting in his palm and gliding it along his length before wrapping your panties around his cock. He leans himself against the bathroom door, his eyes slipping shut as he imagines himself in the shower with you. How the water would drip down the swell of your breasts, your head tossed back as he buried his face between your thighs. God how he wished he could taste you fully, feel your thighs tremble around his head as he pulls orgasm after orgasm out of you.

Even then he wouldn’t be fully satisfied, not until he saw your mascara running down your pretty face. Fucked silly and writhing beneath him as he fills you full of his cum. “That’s it bunny, such a good fucking girl.” Eddie whispers, pumping his cock faster in his fist as your sounds only get louder through the door. The sound of his name on your tongue was something he’d never get tired of hearing. Especially now that he knows what it sounds like when you moan it, all breathy and soft. But he’s a greedy boy, and he wants to hear you scream it.

Between the mental image of you sprawled beneath him and your moans floating through the door he is quickly spilling into your already soaked panties. Grunting as he fills the soft material with hot ropes of his cum, continuing to stroke himself until he’s too sensitive. His chest is heaving as he hears you finish with him, knowing he doesn’t have much time before you walk through that door. He tucks himself back into his jeans, carefully setting the now ruined pair of panties on your bed. He sees a pad and a pen, a smirk gracing his features as he quickly scrawls a message down in his messy font. Panic filling his chest as he hears the water in the bathroom shut off.

He rips off the piece of paper, leaving it next to your little gift before quickly leaving out the window. Opening the bathroom door a cloud of steam follows you, wet hair dripping onto your shoulders. You don’t notice the items on your bed, as you grab out an old t-shirt and a fresh pair of panties. Dropping your towel you don’t notice Eddie still attempting to climb down from your window, the sight of you fully naked making his cock twitch in his jeans once more. You finally turn to your bed once you slip the clothing on, a look of confusion crossing your features. Knowing damn well you left those panties on the ground.

The note then catches your attention, quickly picking it up as you instantly recognize the messy handwriting. Reading over the note makes heat pool in your middle once more, your eyes darting to the pair of panties and picking them up. A soft whimper escapes you as you realize what he’s just been doing. Touching himself in your bedroom, cumming into the panties you had already made a mess in. You can’t stop yourself from opening your mouth, eagerly sucking the cum soaked fabric between your lips. Desperate to taste him, just as he had tasted you.

you left a gift for me bunny, just wanted to return the favor… (;

ps. you really should keep your window shut, some sicko could just slip right in.

-eddie

[wandering-winchesters]

Every Embrace

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2,218

Summary: How sharing a bed with Dean Winchester started and where it is now.

Trigger Warnings: SPN level Violence, mostly fluff.

Requested: Yes, by Anonymous. “could you plzzzzzz make a fic where dean and Y/N share rooms or beds when on hunts and they aren’t dating but find comfort in cuddling and being near each other, especially dean. can he be the initiator and the sap for physical touch?”

A/N: Requests are open! Sorry for the lack of posts recently, life has been absolutely crazy! Hope to get back to posting regularly soon! <3 as always, please let me know what you think.

Masterlist

The first time we shared a bed was out of necessity. Dean had been driving for 10 hours straight, all of us were exhausted, sore and just tapped out for the day. The Wisconsin motel had come up suddenly, the last one for another hour. Dean had parked the impala and I had volunteered to be the one to go in and get us a room. Upon checking in, they informed me that they only had one room left, with two beds. I accepted and paid for the room, returning to the car. Intending to let Sam and Dean have the beds and I’d stay in the impala. The second I had suggested this to them it was shot down quickly. 

Dean had immediately objected, stating that he’d stay in the impala and I could have his bed. Internally, I knew that wouldn’t happen. I helped them bring the bags in, letting them get settled. Sam quickly fell asleep on his bed, his clothes a rumpled mess. Exhaustion evident by the deep sleep he had been swallowed up by. Dean had hopped in the shower, mumbling something about needing to wash off the rock salt from hunting ghosts earlier in the day. I changed into comfier clothes, grabbing a pillow off of Deans bed and the blanket that I keep in my duffle at all times and quietly closed the motel door behind me. 

I opened the back door to the impala and tossed my pillow in, spreading the blanket down over the seat before I had climbed in and shut the door behind me. I laid down, wrapped myself tight with the blanket I had brought and settled in as best I could in the cramped back seat. I had almost fallen asleep, when the door by my feet was yanked open. I yelled, fully prepared to kill whatever had decided to disturb my rest. I quickly backed off once I realized it was Dean. 

He asked what I was doing and why I was in the impala when I was supposed to take the bed. I explained that I knew he was sore and I wanted him to have the bed. He refused. After a couple minutes of arguing, he grabbed me by my ankles and pulled me towards the open door. Mumbling that we could share the bed, he wasn’t about to allow me to sleep in the car. I tried to put up a fight, but he silenced me with a look. An exhausted, pleading look. I caved, and followed him inside. He had silently crawled into the bed, his back to the middle. I had carefully settled in next to him, mirroring his position, our backs had been to one another. That was until a nightmare had woken me up, a gasp had left my lungs and I had sat straight up. Dean had immediately noticed and his hand grabbed onto my own. He pulled me down against him, silently embraced me and lulled me back to sleep. 

-

The second time was out of fear, Dean terrified to let me out of his reach for more than a second. We had unknowingly stumbled upon a hoard of demons, only making it out thanks to Sam and Deans quick thinking. I had frozen in place, fear overwhelmed my senses which allowed one of the demons to throw me head first down a set of stairs. I had blacked out, a concussion another injury to add to my long list of hunting ailments. I had awoken to Dean shaking my shoulders, his face swimming before my eyes like the image seen inside of a kaleidoscope. His words had been silent and they had fallen on deaf ears, a temporary loss of hearing plagued my senses, only to return a short time later. He had pulled me into his arms, cradled me close against him and rushed me out to the impala. His grasp on me firm, but gentle. Once we returned safely to the motel, he ignored my every protest and cleaned me up to his satisfaction. 

The cut on my forehead and my splitting headache the only proof of the internal injury that was my concussion. He shushed me as he applied the bandage to my forehead, his eyes scanned my own for any hint of pain that he had not addressed. Once he was satisfied, he helped me down off the counter. A heavy silence had fallen between us, I was exhausted and simply didn’t have the energy for the argument that I was sure was going to follow. It didn’t however, he simply hugged me. His arms tight around my waist, his chin rested against the crown of my head. His breathing was escalated, sharp and had the edge of panic. I hugged him back, allowing his touch to calm me. I only let go when he pulled away, I had believed that was the last of it for the night. 

I bid him goodnight and began to head for the motel door. He stopped me with his words, insisting that it wasn’t a good idea for me to go sleep in a room by myself, the concussion reason enough for me to stay in there with him and Sam. I had hesitated, not wanting an argument, but also afraid of getting to used to the comfort that sharing a bed with him provided. We still hadn’t spoken about the first time it had happened, the way that we had woken up in the others arms. Once we had both woken up, we were quick to roll apart, making excuses for our unconscious behavior. 

The pleading look on Dean’s face was enough to convince me to stay that night. So for the second time, we climbed into the same bed. I faced the outside of the bed, my back to Dean’s. Yet this time, it didn’t last more than thirty seconds. He had immediately pulled me back against him, his arm wrapped snuggly around my waist. His chest pressed to my back, his chin cradled my the curve of my shoulder up to my neck. I couldn’t tell which one of us needed it more in that moment, his touch eased my pain. Little did I know, I eased his pain too. His was mental, mine was physical. We had both fallen asleep embracing the other, lulled into peaceful dreams by the other person. 

-

I can’t tell you when the third time turned to the fourth, the fourth to the fifth ,or the fifth to the sixth. It was a natural progression, as easy as breathing. A fresh breath of air on a foggy morning, easy and clear. Refreshing. The situations varied, but one thing never changed. Dean was always the one to initiate the physical contact. 

We no longer looked for multiple rooms at motels, the bed in the bunker that I had claimed began to go unused. Our need for the other person became so great that we could no longer ignore it. It was platonic, comforting and necessary for survival. The unknown ache that had settled over my should was slowly being eased. The need for another person, physical touch and emotional comfort had finally been fulfilled in a way that I never saw coming. If you had told me years ago when I stumbled upon the Winchester brothers that I would seek comfort in the eldest, I would have laughed in your face and called you crazy. However, now that I am here, shrouded in the safety that was Dean, I couldn’t help but smile to myself. The darkness of the room normally would have been anxiety causing, the nightlight that remained plugged in to the outlet of my room in the bunker is no longer necessary. 

I no longer fear that monsters that might be lurking on the edge of the darkness, I no longer fear the darkness within my own head. All of these have been driven far away from my every thought, all of that due to the man who’s arms I am wrapped in at this very moment. It had changed from the inability to sleep when we shared a bed, due to anxiety over waking him up or the fear of letting him in, to the inability to sleep without him next to me. I craved his touch and that scared me more than I thought physically possible.

“Whatcha reading, Y/N?” Dean asks, his bare feet silent as he enters the room. I glance up from the book I was scanning, my eyes darting over the low hanging sweatpants adorning his hips, his bare chest and shoulders only covered by the fabric of his unbuttoned flannel before locking with his own. I hum, considering my next words carefully. While I had been sitting with this book for the last hour, I had not been reading. I had been thinking, over analyzing every time we had shared a bed or grown closer over the last few months. The emotional connection that I had with the green eyed Winchester standing in front of me, something I never could have predicted.  “I, Uh-couldn’t really tell you,” I laugh, snapping the book shut and setting it on the table next to me. “Was thinking more than reading I guess.” I shrug my shoulders and try to brush off the look that he is giving me. One eyebrow raised, his lip caught between his teeth in the way that I know means he is debating on whether to tease me or let it go. He chooses the latter, remaining silent, but sitting down next to me on the couch. He nods and hands me a beer, that he had already taken the cap off of. Another thing that he had started doing for me, without my asking. It was little things like this that had caused me to question exactly what was going on between us, the silent things that he had started doing for me. 

“What had you so lost in thought?” He asks, his hand pulling my legs across his lap. He rubs his fingers gently into the muscle of my calf, working out a knot that I didn’t know was there until his firm touch brushed against it. I shrug again, taking a sip of my beer in order to delay my response a bit longer. He had been so touchy recently, not that I minded. It was there, a need for physical affection, I had buried it long ago. Yet the second his body brushed my own, it was roaring like a lion. Needy and vocal, rearing to be released from the internal cage I had locked it in so long ago. 

“You.” I mutter, the word leaving my mouth before I can even think to stop it. A flush washes over my face, my cheeks turning red. I can feel deans eyes on me, but I refuse to meet his gaze. I am paying close attention to a slight imperfection in the glass of the beer bottle. 

“What about me?” He asks, his hand squeezing my thigh gently. I hesitate, wondering if I really want to vocalize my next thought. 

“About how you’ve been so affectionate recently, I don’t mind it at all. I love it. But it confuses me, we haven’t talked about it. And I just, it leaves me to wonder, you know?” I say, the last words leaving my mouth an almost silent whisper. 

“Wonder what, sweetheart?” He asks, his tone flirtatious and cocky. It’s only then that I look up and I’m greeted by a grin plastered across his lips. He’s enjoying this. He’s enjoying my hesitation and embarrassment. I smack his arm playfully, my eyebrows tugging together in a look that tells him to knock it off. 

“Okay, okay.” He says, his hands raised in mock surrender. “Wonder, what Y/N?” He asks again, his tone returning to seriousness. 

“What does this mean De?” I sigh, resting my head against my hand and staring back at him. He turns to face me, his hands resting on each of my thighs. I can see that he’s choosing his next words carefully which causes anxiety to bubble up within me. 

“It doesn’t have to mean anything, everyone needs physical touch. It’s part of being human.” He says and my heart falls. The hope that had been building within me for something more with him quickly crumbles. 

“Or, if you wanted it to mean more than just friendly affection, that would be okay too.” My eyes snap back to his once more, confusion flashing over my features. He smiles softly at me, his eyes searching my own for an answer. My voice is lost to me, so I nod. The only response necessary to communicate how I felt at that moment. 

Even though we hadn’t labeled the things we both felt for the other, it was no longer a concern at that moment. Every embrace was enough to keep the other going. For now, being wrapped up in his arms and listening to his soft snores every night would be all that I need. Maybe one day that could change and we could delve deeper into the feelings that we shared. But for now, sharing a bed would be enough. 

tag list: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester

[hongjoongtime117]

Sleepovers and Stars

Parings: Hongjoong/Reader

Genre: SMUT (MDNI 18+)

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: unprotected sex (wrap it up IRL PLEASSSSEEEE!), oral (M/F receiving), use of pet names, bulge kink, temperature play, talks of taking virginity, sorry I’m bad with warnings, as always, let me know if something needs tagged!

Author’s Notes: thank you @thejaistisjaisting for help with the texts!

Tag list: @arki-sha @cptnhngjng @klllerwaifu @youaremystar1024 @jintastic-yuyu @alliecoady98 @bigbabygremlin @ghostlovesworld @kihyuns-military-wife

It’s been two days since your night with the three boys. Your phone buzzes with an incoming call. You quickly swipe to answer it when you read the name that pops up. 

“Hey, Yeobo. Are you free tonight?” Hongjoong asks, knowing that you’re off tonight because he’s been in kahoots with Wooyoung all day.

“I’m always free for you,” you say, your tone playful.

He chuckles at your response and asks if you’ve eaten yet. You inform him that you’ve had your head buried in a work project and hadn’t even thought about food yet.

“Good, I’m picking you up in twenty. Can’t wait to see you.”

“Me either, I’ve missed you! Hey, have you seen Woo at all today?” You realized you hadn’t heard his loud, cackling laugh all day. It’s been a little too quiet around the apartment.

“Can’t say I have! Shouldn’t you know where he is? He is your roommate,” Hongjoong says, not an ounce of seriousness.

“It’s not like I’ve got him on a leash or something, Joong,” you say through your giggles. 

“I mean, it could be arranged. I’m sure he’d love that.”

“KIM HONGJOONG! Now I won’t be able to get that image out of my head, thank you!” you exclaim.

“Glad I could be of service! Now get ready. I’m leaving the studio now. See you soon, Yeobo.”

And with that, you rush to get ready. You throw on a matching red and lacy bra and panty set, a black skirt that hugs your hips just right, and a low cut red corset top. You put on light makeup and quickly style your hair. 

As you sit on the couch to lace up your Doc Marten’s, there’s a knock at the door. 

“Hey, Sannie. Can you grab that? It’s Joong,” you yell down the hallway. 

San steps out of his room in nothing but sweatpants, hanging low on his waist. “Jesus, put the tiddies away!” 

“Oh, shut up. You know you like the view. And so does Joong,” he says as he opens the door for him. Hongjoong heard the banter through the door and immediately looks him up and down and places his hands on his pecs. “See, told ya.”

“They’re not at nice as Y/N’s but doesn’t mean I still don’t want to touch them,” he shrugs as he drops his hands. He steps inside and shuts the door behind him. 

You stand up to go join him by the door. He pulls you into a tight hug, buries his face into your neck, and deeply inhales. “So pretty. You ready, baby?” he murmurs into your skin.

“Mmmhmm! Let’s go!” excitement in your voice.

“Take good care of our girl, Joongie!” San shouts as you two head out the door.

The two of you take the elevator down to the parking garage and Hongjoong opens the passenger door for you and you hop inside. He looks damn good in his black leather jacket, v neck t shirt and ripped jeans as he heads to the drivers side. The bad boy look on him has your wetness pooling in your panties already.

He slides into the driver’s side and starts the car. The engine purrs to life and he places an arm behind your headrest to peer behind him and check for other cars before he effortlessly backs out of the parking space.

“So what’s the plan for tonight, Jagi?” curiosity vibrating in your voice.

“That’s for me to know, and you to find out,” he says, giving a little half smirk.

The short ride is filled with Hongjoong showing you a song he’s currently working on. You feel flustered because Hongjoong doesn’t just share his work with anyone. He only shares it with people whose opinions he values. 

“This is amazing, Joong!” You see the blush begin to creep up on his cheeks at the positive feedback. 

“I-it’s still a work in progress,” he stammers, taken aback by your reception of his rough drafts.

“And yet, if you hadn’t told me, I never would have known. You’re crazy talented. Don’t ever think otherwise.” 

“Thank you, Yeobo, that really means a lot. Seriously!” he says shyly as he places a hand gently on your bare thigh, the touch spreading goosebumps over your skin.

The car pulls into the parking lot of an extremely tall building. “This is us,” he says with a smile as he pulls into a parking space. You look up and admire the fancy looking building.  

“Where are we?” you ask with wonder in your voice.

“My place!” Hongjoong turns off the ignition and hops out to head to your side and open your door, offering his hand. You take it as you step out. When you’re fully out of the car, he laces your fingers together as you walk to the doors of the building. 

He scans his key card to enter the building and leads you to a set of elevators. You both make your way into the elevator and he punches the “11” button, the top floor. He pulls out his phone to send a quick text to someone, and then pockets it again. “I tried to make this night really special for you, so I hope I did well,” he says, rubbing his neck nervously and breaking the comfortable silence.

“Spending time with you is special enough, Joong,” you say, placing a quick peck to his pouting lips. “I’ve never seen you this nervous before, it’s kind of adorable.” 

“Aishhh, stop it,” he giggles, poking your side. “I just wanted to show you that there’s another side to me other than the one that wants you permanently attached to my dick.” 

You cackle at his words. “Did you ever hear me complaining, Jagiya?” you say in your fit of laughter. Just then the elevator jolts to a halt, letting you know you’ve reached your designated floor. 

“No, but… I just want you to know that I want more than just that,” the pout in his tone is evident as he leads the way to his apartment. 

You chuckle and shake your head as you nudge him with your hip. “I never once thought any different.” 

You finally reach his apartment. Apartment 1117. Both of you toeing off your shoes, your nose is hit with an amazing smell, and you hear clattering coming from the kitchen. You raise an eyebrow as Hongjoong leads you to the table set for two. Warm candlelight, creating a romantic ambiance. The table is filled with a plethora of banchan, and a dish 

you would recognize anywhere, set at either end of the cozy table. Wooyoung’s spam gochujang jigae. 

Hongjoong pulls out the chair for you and prompts you to sit. As he takes his own spot at the other side of the table, Wooyoung comes sauntering out from the kitchen, two glasses of wine in hand. 

“So this is where you’ve been all day, you sneaky shit!” You point an accusatory finger at Wooyoung.

“Heh, caught me!”

He walks over to Hongjoong and sets down the glass of wine and leans in to place an unhurried kiss to his lips. “Thank you for everything today, Youngie,” Hongjoong says gratefully to Wooyoung. 

“Anything for you, Joongie. And Y/N, of course.” 

He then walks over to you and repeats his actions, kissing you just a little longer. “I would love to stay and play, Angel, but Joongie wants you all to himself tonight. But I’ll see you sooner than you know.” He tilts your chin up and winks at you before planting another quick kiss to your lips. 

“Thank you for this amazing looking dinner, Woo.”

“Yah, it’s nothing! Eat before it gets cold!” he scolds you and Hongjoong. “I’ll see you both soon.” And with that, he makes his way to the front door to take his leave. 

You and Hongjoong share a laugh as you begin digging into the spread that Wooyoung has prepared for you. Conversation flows easily between the two of you.

A ding comes from both of your phones. 

You shoot back a text, assuming the unsaved numbers are the others you’ve yet to meet. 

You eye Hongjoong across the table as he responds in the text thread, consisting of nine. Five of those numbers unknown to you.

“They want you to guess who is who in the group chat,” Hongjoong explains with a light chuckle.

“And how would I even begin to know that!” You shake your head with a smile on your face at the boy’s goofy antics.

“Well, it seems Mingi was kind enough to give you the first one free,” Hongjoong says, now shaking with laughter. You store in Mingi’s number, leaving you with four of the members to now figure out. 

Hongjoong gives you a devious smirk from across the table as he sends the text into the group chat.

Your cheeks flush at their texts and your brain starts putting pieces together. The only ones who have heard you besides the three you’ve already fucked were Mingi, Yunho, and Yeosang. Mingi is already saved in your contacts now, so the two previous texts are definitely Yeosang and Yunho. Now to figure out which is which. Then you remember Mingi quickly hanging up, because he was dealing with a horny Yeosang.

The group chat winding down, and you and Hongjoong having finished your wonderful dinner together, he clears his throat. “I, uh… have another surprise for you.”

Eyebrows raised in suspicion, you rest your chin on your hand, waiting for him to further explain. “And what’s that, Jagiya?”

“Let me get this cleaned up, and I’ll show you.” You offer to help clean up the remnants of dinner but he objects. “You don’t lift a pretty little finger in my presence, understood?” he says as he places a light kiss to your temple. You give him a half smile and a nod. You aimlessly scroll through social media while you wait for Hongjoong to finish cleaning up.

When he finishes, he walks over to you, holding his hand out for you to take. He leads you to a sliding door you hadn’t noticed before. He slides it open and you both step out onto the spacious balcony. 

“While it’s beautiful here, I’ve got something even better.” He guides you to an easily overlooked set of iron stairs. He lets you lead the way (definitely not to stare at your ass). 

When you reach the top of the stairs, you realize you’re now on the rooftop of Hongjoong’s building. There’s a checkered blanket laid out, with a bottle of champagne on ice, and a variety of other treats for the two of you to share. He anxiously takes your hand and pulls you with him to settle onto the blanket. 

You look up at the millions of stars that are visible in the perfectly clear skies. “It’s so beautiful out here, Joongie,” and he can see the twinkle of the stars reflected in your eyes as he looks over to admire you. 

“Mmm, I didn’t even know this existed for quite some time after I moved here.”

“You had this amazing view and had no idea!?” you exclaim.

“No,” he shakes his head and looks to the stars. “It wasn’t until after Hwa and I had a disagreement and he disappeared. I couldn’t find him anywhere. I was heading out to the balcony to get some fresh air when I noticed the sliding door had already been cracked open. I looked everywhere out there and still no sign of him. That’s when I finally noticed the set of stairs, tucked back, almost out of sight. I rushed up the stairs, hoping it would lead me to where he was. I found him here, taking in the view, much like you are now. Except under a bit of a different circumstance.” You can see the way his eyes shimmer with unshed tears, recalling the events.

“What happened, Joongie?” you ask tentatively. He’s silent for a bit. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

He lets out a soft sigh and pops open the champagne, pouring each of you a glass. “No, I feel like it’s important for you to know. Seonghwa has given me every single part of himself freely. One thing in particular, without my knowledge. I was upset that he kept a very important piece of information from me. He took away my ability to choose if what happened was something I wanted.” 

You took one of his hands in yours while his other brought the glass to his lips to sip at the champagne. You rub your thumb in comforting circles against his inked knuckles. “You don’t have to continue, Joong.” 

“I just…” The unshed tears begin to fall. “I love him so much and I wish he had trusted me enough to tell me. To know that it would never change my feelings for him.” 

You turn more towards him and wipe the salty tears from his flushed face. “I can see your pain, Jagiya. What didn’t he tell you?” 

“I took his virginity, Y/N.”

You just stare at him for a moment, wide eyed, unsure of what to say. “I could absolutely understand why that would upset you. You love Seonghwa?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“I do. With my entire being. Just as much as I…” He stops from finishing his sentence. He’s not sure if you're ready for him to fully admit his true feelings for you. He’s not sure if he’s ready. He doesn’t want to scare you off. He doesn’t want a repeat of when he attempted to tell Seonghwa about his feelings. After their disagreement on the rooftop, Seonghwa refused to hear his words, ghosted him, and then returned as if nothing had happened. 

“Just as much as what, Jagiya?” 

He shakes his head and waves to dismiss the discussion. “Ah, nothing, nothing. Enough sad shit for tonight. I got you alone to spend quality time with you.” 

He puts his glass down, removes yours from your hand and sets them out of reach. He then pulls you onto his lap and peppers your neck with soft, intimate kisses. His hands travel under your skirt and kneads the soft flesh of your ass. He removes a single hand to pluck a grape from the tray of snacks, and settles it between his flashy, perfect set of teeth. He nudges his head upwards, signaling you take it with your own. Your take in between your own teeth, realizing it’s frozen. 

“You and I? We’re gonna pass this back and forth with our mouths, until it’s no longer frozen.” The eye contact he keeps with you makes you shiver. “The first one to realize it’s no longer frozen and eats it, earns a prize. You ready, baby?” You give him a small nod.

He takes his time coaxing the frozen grape from your mouth, ensuring to let his pierced tongue explore the inside of your warm, wet mouth. Once he finally has the grape in his own, you take twice as long with him, earning you a small moan. 

This continues between the two of you, unhurried, until Hongjoong finally notices the cold has dissipated from the grape and he takes it into his mouth once again and eats it. “Looks like I win, Yeobo,” a mischievous glint showing in his eyes. 

You rest your forehead against his, lips centimeters apart. “So what would you like to claim as your prize, Jagi?” you whisper as you grind down on his very noticeable bulge. 

“There’s something I’ve been dying for you to do to me. And I’m pretty sure you’ve been dying to do it as well. So I took the liberty of getting rid of the barriers that have prevented that from happening so far.” He slides you off of your comfortable position on his lap and kneels to hastily undo his pants. He kicks them off to the side, leaving him in only his boxers, and settles back down on the blanket, sitting back and resting on his forearms. “Go ahead, my pretty girl. Come get it,” he says with a quick nod to his clothed dick.

You pull down his boxers just enough to let his cock spring free and the first thing that draws your attention, besides his flushed, red, leaking tip, is the absence of metal. He removed all of his piercings, specifically to allow you to be able to deep throat him the way you’ve been wanting to. 

“Is this a prize for me, or for you?” the words a jumbled mess against the saliva pooling in your mouth at the sight of Hongjoong’s long, thick cock. 

“Maybe a bit of both,” he chuckles at your eagerness. 

You grip him in your hand and give him a few strokes to slick him up with the precum already oozing out. You place a ghost of a kiss on his tip and he shivers. A small whine escapes from Hongjoong’s lips. “S-stop teasing baby, please.”

You slowly crawl up his body to come face to face with him, push him onto his back all the way, and place a single finger on his pouty lips. “Shhh, let me take my time and savor this.” His breath hitches as he gives you a single nod.

At a painstakingly slow pace, you work your way down his inked body. Marking his neck, then his collar bones. You stop at his hardened nipples and latch your mouth onto one, using your tongue to play around with the barbell. This makes Hongjoong hiss in a breath and you give a satisfied smirk against his skin. You make sure each nipple is thoroughly abused from your mouth before you move on. You sloppily kiss your way down to the “CAPTAIN” tattoo. You remember how much he loved when San traced it with his tongue, so you do the same, except you draw it out much longer. You want Hongjoong needy underneath you. 

And needy he gets. His hand comes to rest gently in your hair and his breathing starts coming out in heavy pants. His head is tilted back and eyes closed, focusing on not cumming untouched. Waiting for your mouth to finally take his cock. His moans are high pitched and getting more and more frequent. As the final tease before giving him what he (and you) truly wants, you mark up his soft inner thighs, and you can feel them trembling under your teeth. You eventually make it to his angry, throbbing cock, and messily kick the bulging veins. Another desperate whimper leaves his lips.

While his attention isn’t currently focused directly on you, you quietly grab an ice cube from the bucket the champagne has sat in to chill. You pop it into your mouth before wrapping your lips around his perfect, pretty cock, jewelry or not. The contrast of temperature around his dick makes undecipherable noises fall from his lips, and quickly sit himself up on his forearms to get his bearings. He tries not to buck his hips up as he peers down at you through his long, fluffy eyelashes, and he looks so fucked out already. You can tell he’s been thinking about having you like this for ages. 

He watches you work him as his breaths shorten into quick bursts. You use your tongue to work the ice cube around his dick, and you can feel him twitch in your mouth. “Take it all, baby. I know you can. I’ve watched you take pretty Woo,” he purrs as he pets your hair. 

As the ice melts and creates a pool in your mouth you take a slow, steadying breath before you take his entire length in one go, his thick cock stretching your mouth in the most delicious way. A long, loud moan bubbles up from his chest. Your nose pressed against him, you run your tongue on the underside of his hot, pulsing cock. You noisily swallow around him and that is almost his undoing. 

“My pretty, pretty girl. You keep doing that, and my cum is going right down your throat,” he manages to get out in between his whimpers and moans. You take that as a challenge. You take one of his hands and rest it on your throat. At first, he thinks you want him to choke you, but then another realization hits him. He can feel himself down your throat.

His eyes widened in astonishment, he murmurs, “Fuuuuck, it’s like you were made just for me.” You make him feel you swallow down his cock, and he keeps his promise of cumming right down your throat with the most pornographic moan. You do your best to swallow it all, but some escapes the corners of your mouth. You pull off of him with a wet pop, and sit back on your heels, mouth open and tongue out to show him you took all of his seed. He swipes the bit that has made its way to the corners of your mouth and you greedily suck it off of his fingers. 

“You’re such a good fucking girl. I must have been a damn good person in my past life to deserve you,” he rambles as he comes down from his high. “Now it’s time to let me worship you.” He tips you back gently and hovers over you, riding himself completely of his boxers in the process, so he’s now fully bare over your still clothed body.

“Joongie, you don’t have to. I enjoyed doing that for you because I wanted to, not because I expected anything in return.”

“Yeobo, the only thing I love more than having my dick down your throat is my face buried in your delectable, wet pussy. I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. Now please lose some layers, you’re a bit overdressed for the occasion,” his cocky little smirk pulling at the edges of his mouth. 

He takes his time uncovering every inch of skin, the moment feeling very intimate. He drinks in your naked form before he does one of his favorite things to claim you, and darkens the fading marks across your skin. He litters hot, soft kisses across every bit of exposed flesh, savoring the feel of you on his lips. He plays your trick on you and snags an ice cube. Instead of placing it into his mouth, he alternates between rubbing it on your nipples and immediately blowing his warm breath onto them until they’re hardened into stiff peaks, and you’re gasping underneath him, until the ice has almost completely melted. 

He takes another piece of ice, this time taking the frozen cube into his mouth between his teeth and blazes a trail of mixing sensations, warm and cold, down your body, causing goosebumps to erupt in its path. He leisurely makes his way down to your thighs, kissing the ice against the softness of them. Once he’s had enough of teasing you and that cube has disappeared, his fun really begins. He dips his hand back into the ice bucket, retrieving two more. “I hope you’re prepared for what I have in store for you, pretty girl,” his voice husky. Your breath hitched at his words, never knowing what master plan Hongjoong will come up with.

He takes one ice cube and lightly grazes your swollen, dripping cunt before prodding at your entrance with it and without warning, uses two delicate fingers to nuzzle it deep inside you. You let out a sharp gasp, the cold sending a thrill through your body. “Fuuuck, Hongjoong!” you moan out as your back arches prettily for him.

He watches your fucked out expressions as he fingers the second piece inside next to the first. “I made sure to find the biggest pieces of ice, because my face is staying buried between your legs until they’re melted. And who knows? Maybe I’ll even forget they’re there.” 

“Jesus Christ, Joong. You can’t just say shit like that,” you whisper between pants. 

“Mmm? Why’s that?”

“I’m gonna fucking cum before you even get your mouth on me, that’s why,” your voice coming out whiny and desperate.

“Guess I better put my mouth to better use then, hmm?”

His metal clad tongue, cool from the ice, lands on your clit, and you scramble to find purchase in his soft locks. He suctions his lips around your sensitive bundle of nerves, making sure to be extra loud about it, so you know how much he’s enjoying himself. You tug on his hair, earning you a moan from him that vibrates through your pussy, and tightening the already wound up knot in your stomach. He shoves his tongue in your gushing hole, no doubt to check on the ice, while also savoring the juices he’s coaxed out of you. 

“Not even close. Can you hold out for me, baby? If you cum before the ice melts, I’m still not stopping until it does.” Hongjoong looks so incredibly pussy drunk, looking up at you through hooded eyes, pupils dilated. 

“I-I’ll try, Joongie.”

“That’s my good girl,” he growls lowly as he returns to his feast.

Right as he resumes his pussy eating mission, his phone rings. 

My Star

He stops, and you let out a frustrated sigh.

“Goddammit, Hwa. Awful timing. Baby, will you answer? He’s just going to keep calling if his call goes unanswered.”

Hongjoong returns to lapping at your dripping folds as you swipe to answer Seonghwa’s call. The minute he realizes his call has been answered, without waiting for a hello, he’s whining into the phone, upset about a missing LEGO piece. 

“Joongie, I just had it and I can’t find it anywhere!” and you can hear the pout through the phone. 

“H-Hwa? J-Joong’s a little b-busy right now…” you barely manage to reply through ragged breaths. Seonghwa goes silent on the other end for a beat longer than necessary. 

“Oh is he?” curiosity with a hint of something else hidden in his voice. “And what exactly is keeping him busy, Y/N?” At that moment Hongjoong slithers his tongue inside your hole, and you moan loudly into Seonghwa’s ear. 

“Hmm, that answers my question. You’re what he’s busy with. Do me a favor, precious Bunny, and turn this into a FaceTime call for me?” If the phone had been on speaker, and Hongjoong had heard the request, and he wasn’t so pussy drunk to be able to comprehend anything other than devouring you, he absolutely would have protested. But the sweet taste of you overcame anything else in Hongjoong’s brain. 

You start the FaceTime call with Seonghwa and at first he isn’t within view of his own camera. He instructs you to place the phone to the side of your head, and angled so he can have a clear view of Hongjoong submerged between your thighs, and if you turn your head to the side, your face from the pleasure Hongjoong is giving you. 

Your focus returns to the man tongue fucking your pussy relentlessly, that is, until you’re reminded you have an audience as a voice lilts out from Hongjoong’s phone. 

“Oh, my sweet little Joongie. Are you enjoying Y/N’s delicious little pussy?”

Hongjoong’s eyes go wide as he detaches himself from you to look in the direction of the voice, his face dripping with your juices. His eyes land on Seonghwa’s staring at him through the screen with admiration and a gleam of something else he can’t quite decipher. Hongjoong’s brain can’t even form words, instead giving Seonghwa a nod. It’s at that moment you decided to turn your attention to Hongjoong’s phone screen with a huff, again being denied your orgasm. Only to be looking at one of the most gorgeous men you’ve ever seen. Long, silky raven hair falling to his shoulders and strands framing his beautiful face perfectly. His long tongue darts out to lick his full lips. 

“Thank you, Hwa, for ruining my orgasm a second time,” you say, a bit harsher than you meant for it to come out. 

“Oh, don’t worry, Bunny. Our Joongie is going to make it up to you, aren’t you, love?” 

Hongjoong’s brain still swimming, again all he can manage is a nod. 

“Good boy,” Seonghwa praises. “Go on, give Y/N what she wants, baby.” 

Hongjoong needs no further instruction to return to your glistening folds and double his efforts in making you cum on his face. Except this time, his eyes are trained on Seonghwa as he eats you like his final meal.

“That’s a good Joongie, making sure our Y/N is taken care of. You listen so well,” Seonghwa purrs. 

You tilt your head back as the coil winds tighter yet again. “S-so close, Joongie,” moans and whimpers falling from your lips.

“Look at me, Bunny. I want to see you as you come undone on our Joongie’s tongue.”  

You focus on the screen, on Seonghwa’s gorgeous face, before a well intentioned nibble on your clit makes your eyes roll back and your mouth parts in a silent scream, as you squirt and soak Hongjoong and the blanket beneath you. 

“Oh, you listen well, too. I’m gonna have fun with you, little Bunny,” a dark expression taking over Seonghwa’s face. 

Hongjoong continues to lap up the proof of his efforts until you push him away from the overstimulation. As you both catch you breath, Hongjoong’s fuzzy brain finally comes back online.

“I lied. The ice melted a long time ago,” a goofy grin playing on his face. 

“Enjoy yourself, my love?” Seonghwa asks Hongjoong, now that he can get an actual answer from the younger. 

“Mmm. You’ll enjoy her too, Hwa,” he responds as he lays his head on your still quickly rising and falling stomach. 

“Oh, I don’t doubt that for a second. Thank you both for indulging me. You both look so pretty all fucked out. See you both soon.” He shoots the pair of you a wink before ending the call. 

“Come on, I'll clean this up later, let’s go relax in the bath.” You both dress in bare necessities to make your way back inside.

While heading up the stairs, you receive a text message. Not from the group. But from just Hwa.

Once inside, he leads you to the bedroom and gently orders you to relax while he draws a bath. Once the tub is almost filled, he heads back to the room and slings you over his shoulder and carries you effortlessly into the bathroom. You giggle the whole way, enjoying this less serious, more intimate side of Hongjoong. 

He lowers himself into the water, offering you a hand to climb in with him. “Come on in, the water’s fine,” he laughs. You hop in and he pulls you close to him, and he revels in the closeness you two share. He’s uncharacteristically silent, so you try and prod him a little to find out why.

“Jagi, something on your mind? You’re quiet, and it’s kinda weirding me out a bit,” you joke.

“Mmm, yeah. I just… Hwa was very… different tonight. The praise. It’s not like him. At least not with me. It really threw me off.”

“What do you mean? What is he usually like?” you question.

“I can’t tell you that,” he chuckles. “I can’t reveal his secrets! Just know that the dynamic between me and Hwa is different than he is with the other boys. So he caught me completely off guard. Not that I didn’t like it. It was just… strange.” 

“Aww, you liked being called a good boy while drowning, did you?” you tease as you play with his hands comfortably resting in your own. 

“Mhmm, I did.” He lazily kisses your neck, your shoulders, your cheeks. He begins dozing off a bit and you nudge him.

“Let’s go lay down, Jagiya. You’ve had an eventful night.” 

You both dry off and throw on something comfy and slide under the welcoming sheets. Before your eyes become too heavy, a series of texts come through, lighting up the otherwise dark room. 

“Joong, explain yourself!” 

Half asleep, he murmurs out a ‘what’.

“The hell did Woo just sent a message to the group chat saying ‘See you bitches tomorrow’?” 

“See, what had happened was… I may have made some plans for you to meet all of the boys tomorrow. So rest up, you’ve got a big day ahead of you tomorrow.” He pecks your cheek before sleep takes him. 

[novaursa]

The Price of Fire (7)

- Summary: In the shadows of the Red Keep, the daughter of the Mad King, Princess Y/N Targaryen, finds herself caught between duty, love, and survival. As her father’s madness deepens and political intrigue swirls, she seeks solace in a forbidden romance with her sworn protector, Ser Arthur Dayne. With King Aerys plotting to use her as a pawn and her brother Rhaegar maneuvering to shield her from their father’s grasp, Y/N must navigate a web of deceit and desire. As tensions rise, secrets ignite into fierce passion and dangerous alliances, where the wrong move could mean the end of them all.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Arthur Dayne

- Note: For all the parts of this story, or if you want to read more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (Aerys is warning on his own)

- Word count: 9 000+

- Previous part: 6

- Next part: 8

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @lightdragonrayne @onlyrealjoy @hajmola-vs-aamchaska

The walls of the Red Keep seem to close in around you as the hours slip away, each moment thick with the weight of unspoken fears and the ever-present shadow of your father’s madness. Two weeks have passed since the last incident in the throne room, but the dread in your stomach has only grown, an ever-tightening knot that never truly loosens.

It’s late afternoon when you hear the muffled sound of voices just outside your chamber door. Your hand tightens around the edge of the table you’re seated at, the delicate embroidery in your hands forgotten. A soft knock echoes through the room, and you turn your gaze toward the door just as it creaks open.

Ser Arthur steps inside first, his expression as stony as ever, but there’s a tension in his eyes you’ve come to recognize—a flicker of concern that tells you something is wrong. Close behind him is Ser Barristan Selmy, and though the older knight tries to mask it, his unease is plain to see. The lines on his face seem deeper, his usual calm demeanor strained.

“My lady,” Barristan begins, his voice gentler than usual, though there’s a tremor in it that sets your nerves alight. “The king has… summoned you. He demands your presence in the throne room.”

Arthur’s jaw tightens, his hand subtly moving toward the hilt of the Morning as if the very idea of taking you before Aerys is a threat he must ward against. “For what purpose, Ser Barristan?” Arthur’s tone is low, barely restrained, as he steps slightly in front of you, his protective instincts overriding decorum. “What does the king want with her this time?”

Barristan looks away briefly, his shoulders heavy with the burden of orders he clearly wishes he didn’t have to give. “It is not our place to question the king, Ser Arthur,” he replies, though there’s a note of regret in his voice. “But I have heard enough to know it involves the pyromancers… and those cursed eggs again.”

A chill runs down your spine at the mention of the pyromancers, and your mind races, conjuring images of flames, stone-cold eggs, and your father’s fevered eyes. You’ve seen this before, yet something in Barristan’s tone, the dread lingering beneath his words, tells you that this time is different. Worse.

Arthur turns to you, his eyes locking with yours, a silent exchange passing between you. He doesn’t need to speak for you to understand what he’s feeling—helplessness, anger, and a desperation to protect you from whatever fresh horror awaits. But the reality of your situation crashes down on you both. He cannot defy the king’s orders, and neither can you.

“Let’s get this over with,” you whisper, though your voice wavers despite your best efforts to remain calm.

Barristan nods solemnly, stepping aside as Arthur offers you his arm. You take it, drawing strength from his silent presence, even as your heart thuds heavily in your chest. The walk to the throne room feels longer than usual, the silence broken only by the heavy tread of boots on stone. Every step is a reminder of the peril you’re walking into, each corner turned bringing you closer to a chamber that has become a place of nightmares.

As you near the entrance, you hear the murmur of gathered courtiers, the swell of whispers rising and falling like a tide. The massive doors swing open, revealing a room packed with nobles and courtiers, their faces a mixture of curiosity and fear. You catch sight of familiar faces—Tywin Lannister standing with his cold, calculating expression, Cersei beside him with a faint smile playing on her lips as her eyes flit toward you. Pycelle’s rotund form looms near the back, stroking his beard thoughtfully. Varys stands close to the edge of the crowd, his expression unreadable, a ghost of a smile curling his lips as he watches you enter. The Kingsguard stand in rigid formation around the room, their armor gleaming, but it’s Arthur’s presence by your side that keeps you from trembling.

Your gaze is drawn toward the center of the room, and your blood turns to ice. The dragon eggs—those ancient stones that have long lost their warmth—are placed in the same brazier as before. But now, close to the brazier, there are men—three of them—chained to iron posts driven deep into the stone floor. Their eyes are wide with terror, the chains rattling as they struggle against their bonds, their cries muffled by the gags forced into their mouths.

It’s only then that you fully realize what’s happening—what your father intends. Sacrifice. A twisted attempt to give life to the dead eggs through the deaths of these poor souls. The pyromancers stand at the ready, holding jars of wildfire, the sickly green substance gleaming ominously in the torchlight.

The sight nearly takes your breath away, and you instinctively grip Arthur’s arm tighter. He stiffens beside you, and you feel his tension radiating through his body. But he doesn’t move—he can’t move. Not here, not with everyone watching. Not with the king present.

And then you see him—your father. King Aerys stands near the Iron Throne, a dark shadow in his black robes. His hair is wild, his eyes gleaming with a manic intensity that makes your stomach churn. Blood stains his hands and forearms—fresh cuts from the throne’s sharp blades, though he seems entirely unaware of the wounds. He grins as you enter, a grotesque display of teeth and madness.

“Ah, my daughter has arrived!” Aerys exclaims, his voice carrying through the room, drawing the attention of every soul present. “Come, come closer, my jewel. You must witness this grand spectacle, the rebirth of our house, the awakening of our dragons!”

The court falls into a tense silence, every eye turning to you, the weight of expectation pressing down like a suffocating shroud. You want to flee, to run as far as you can from this nightmare, but you force your feet to move forward, your steps steady even though each one feels like it could lead to your doom.

“Father…” You manage to keep your voice steady, though dread curls deep in your gut. “What are you doing?”

“Greatness, my child! Glory beyond imagining!” Aerys cries, spreading his arms wide as if to embrace the room. “The flames will rise, the blood will flow, and the dragons will awaken once more! It is the sacrifice of these pitiful souls that will bring our ancestors roaring back to life!”

Your heart pounds in your chest, every instinct screaming that you should turn and run. But you know that doing so would only seal the fates of those chained men—and perhaps your own. You glance at Arthur, whose expression is a mask of stone, but his eyes blaze with barely contained rage. Even Ser Barristan, who stands nearby, looks as though he might step forward to protest—but he, too, is bound by his duty.

Aerys’s eyes glint with madness as he steps closer to the brazier, the heat from the flames making his skin glisten with sweat. “Come, Y/N,” he beckons, his voice dipping into a sickly sweet tone. “Stand beside me and witness what it means to truly be a Targaryen. You, of all people, must see this. You are the blood of the dragon, and it is through your presence that the flames will be given purpose.”

Your blood runs cold as he gestures for you to come forward. The eyes of the court burn into you, waiting to see what you’ll do, what you’ll say. But your feet feel like they’re made of lead, refusing to obey the king’s summons, even as your mind races for some way out of this madness.

And in that moment, you realize there is no escape—not from this room, not from the twisted plans your father has laid out. The fate of those chained men, of the dead dragon eggs, of your family, all hinges on what happens next.

As your heart pounds in your chest, you take a step forward, toward your father, toward the pyromancers and their jars of wildfire, toward the nightmarish scene laid out before you.

And then, with every eye in the room fixed on you, Aerys’s voice cuts through the silence like a blade, his smile widening into something monstrous. “Come closer, daughter. The flames await.”

Your steps falter as you approach your father, the madness in his eyes more terrifying than the flames flickering in the braziers beside the dragon eggs. The heat of the room prickles your skin, but it’s the icy dread within you that leaves your hands trembling. Aerys’s grin widens as you draw closer, his bony fingers twitching in anticipation. The pyromancers stand ready, their faces half-shrouded by the hoods of their dark robes, holding vials of green wildfire that glimmer ominously.

Before you can brace yourself, your father’s hand shoots out, gripping your arm with surprising strength. You wince as his fingers dig into your flesh, dragging you forward until you’re nearly nose-to-nose with him. His breath is hot and sour against your face, his eyes alight with a manic glee that sends a shudder down your spine.

“Watch, daughter. Watch as the blood of the dragon rekindles the flames of old,” he hisses, his voice trembling with anticipation. Without warning, he pulls a dagger from his belt—its blade jagged and stained with old blood—and slashes it across your palm. The pain is sharp and sudden, tearing a cry from your lips as blood wells from the wound.

“Y/N!” Arthur’s voice rings out, laced with alarm. You glance over your shoulder, seeing him take a step forward, his hand halfway to his sword before Ser Barristan places a firm hand on his shoulder, holding him back. Barristan’s voice is grim as he says, “Stand down, Ser Arthur. These are the king’s orders.”

Arthur’s eyes blaze with barely contained fury, his jaw clenched so tightly you fear he might draw blood from his own lip. But his duty holds him in place, and you see the struggle tearing him apart inside. You want to reach out, to tell him it’s all right, but your father’s grip tightens, yanking your attention back to him.

Aerys’s own hand follows, the dagger slicing across his palm as well. His blood, dark and thin, mingles with yours as he drags you toward the brazier where the dragon eggs lie in their bed of embers. “This is what it means to be a Targaryen,” he whispers, his voice thick with twisted reverence. “Fire and blood, our birthright.”

You try to pull away, but his grip is iron. He forces your hand over the eggs, letting the crimson droplets of your blood, mixed with his, rain down upon the cold, lifeless shells. The sticky warmth of blood coats your fingers, and you can’t help the tremor that runs through you as he chants under his breath, words that sound more like a prayer to a forgotten god than anything else.

And then, as if satisfied with his grotesque ritual, Aerys shoves you to the side. You stumble, catching yourself on the edge of the brazier, the heat prickles your skin. “Set the flames ablaze!” Aerys orders, his voice rising to a frenzied pitch. “Burn them all—the eggs, the men! Let the fire consume them and bring forth our legacy!”

The pyromancers don’t hesitate. With a flick of their wrists, they hurl the jars of wildfire toward the brazier. The green liquid splashes across the eggs, igniting instantly in a blinding surge of flames that leap hungrily toward the chained men. Their muffled screams pierce the air as the fire takes hold, spreading along the iron chains and engulfing them in a hellish inferno. The stench of burning flesh fills the room, and the crackle of wildfire mixes with the sickening sound of flesh searing away.

You scramble to your feet, but before you can move away, your father grabs a fistful of your hair, jerking your head back as he forces you to watch. “Look, my daughter! Look at what power truly is!” His grip is painful, his voice dripping with a perverse kind of pride. He leans in close, his breath hot against your ear as he murmurs, “This is our destiny—to bathe the world in fire and see it reborn in blood.”

The horror of it twists your stomach into knots, bile rising in your throat as the flames roar higher, crackling and snapping like the jaws of some hungry beast. You can feel the heat singeing your skin, the acrid smoke stinging your eyes, but you can’t tear your gaze away. The sight is too horrifying—men writhing in agony as the wildfire consumes them, their screams growing faint as the fire reduces them to ash.

The court watches in stunned silence, a mixture of awe and revulsion etched on their faces. You catch a glimpse of Tywin Lannister’s cold, impassive gaze, and Cersei’s eyes wide with a twisted fascination. Varys’s smile is barely there, a ghostly curve of his lips as he watches from the shadows, while Pycelle again strokes his beard nervously, muttering to himself.

But above all, you sense Arthur’s eyes on you—filled with pain, helplessness, and a burning fury that is barely contained. He’s bound by duty, forced to stand and watch as you endure this nightmare, unable to do anything but clench his fists and wait for the madness to end.

Then, just as you think you cannot bear another moment of this torment, Rhaegar’s voice slices through the chaos, filled with fury. “Father! Stop this madness!”

The crowd parts as Rhaegar pushes through, his face a mask of rage and desperation. His violet eyes blaze as he strides toward the brazier, his hands clenched into fists. “What is this insanity? You’re sacrificing men—innocent men—for the sake of dead stones!”

Aerys’s eyes narrow, his grip tightening on your hair as he sneers at his son. “You speak of insanity, boy, but you have no vision! You think yourself wise, with your songs and your prophecies, but it is I who will restore the glory of our house! I am the king! I am the blood of the dragon!”

Rhaegar steps closer, his voice dropping to a deadly calm. “You are killing our people, our house, with your madness. Y/N is not your doll to use in these delusions, nor are those men your playthings to burn for your twisted pleasure!”

Aerys’s eyes flash with fury, and he releases your hair, turning to face Rhaegar fully. “You dare defy me? You dare to speak against your king? You would see our bloodline wither and die rather than embrace the fire that runs through our veins!”

“I would see us live!” Rhaegar snaps back, his voice cracking with emotion. “I would see us rise above this, not fall into ruin because of your obsession with dead dragons!”

The tension in the room is suffocating, every courtier holding their breath as father and son square off, the flames still roaring behind them. But before either can say another word, a loud crack echoes through the chamber, silencing everyone.

Your heart stops as you turn toward the brazier. The flames curl around the eggs, licking hungrily at the stone shells. And then you hear it—a screech, high-pitched and otherworldly, rising from the depths of the fire. The court gasps in unison as one of the eggs shifts, the stone splitting down the middle with a jagged crack.

For a heartbeat, everything is still, the only sound the crackling of the flames and the faint hiss of wildfire. And then, from within the shattered egg, a tiny, serpentine creature emerges—a dragon, no larger than a hound pup, with scales the color of midnight and eyes like molten gold. It lets out another screech, flapping its fragile wings as it takes its first breath in this world, born of fire and blood.

The room is deathly silent, every eye locked on the creature as it pulls itself free from the broken shell. Aerys’s eyes widen, tears glistening in them as he stares at the dragon with a mixture of awe and triumph. “It lives… it lives!” he breathes, his voice trembling with reverence. “The dragons have returned!”

But as the awe settles in, the horror of what was done to bring this moment to fruition lingers like a dark shadow over the court. The sacrifice of innocent men, the bloodshed, the madness—it all culminates in this fragile, fledgling creature that blinks in confusion, its tiny mouth snapping at the air.

And yet, as the silence stretches on, it becomes clear that the return of the dragon is not the victory Aerys had hoped for. The court watches in a mixture of horror and fascination, but beneath it all, there is a deeper, darker understanding—that this birth was a product of cruelty, not of destiny.

Aerys, however, seems blind to it all. He steps closer to the brazier, his voice rising with a manic glee. “This is only the beginning! The dragons will rise again, and our house will be reborn in fire and blood!”

But as you stand there, your heart still pounding in your chest, you realize that this is not the rebirth of your house—it is the beginning of its downfall. The dragon may have hatched, but it was born in a bed of madness, and the cost of its life was too high to ignore.

Rhaegar’s gaze meets yours, and you see the same understanding in his eyes. This moment, this creature, is not a triumph. It is a harbinger of the darkness that now looms over House Targaryen.

The throne room descends into chaos, the air thick with smoke, the acrid scent of burning flesh mingling with the eerie, screeching cries of the newborn dragon. The court is frozen in a mixture of horror and fascination, eyes wide as the tiny creature struggles to free itself from the remnants of its shell, its dark wings stretching out in a fragile, jerky motion. Its scales glisten with moisture, gleaming obsidian in the flickering firelight, its golden eyes wild and hungry as it snaps at the air, testing its newfound freedom.

Rhaegar moves first, his instincts sharper than the shock that ripples through the crowd. His gaze locks onto you, and he pushes through the throng of courtiers, his face a mask of determination and fear. “Y/N!” he calls, his voice cutting through the clamor, desperation lacing every syllable. He can see the danger—you’re too close to the flames, too close to the madness that grips your father. 

At the same time, Arthur breaks from his position near the edge of the room, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword, ready to strike if needed. His eyes are locked on you, the woman he swore to protect, the woman he loves, as he weaves through the crowd, dodging courtiers and guards alike in his bid to reach you. His heart pounds in his chest, each beat echoing the urgency that drives him forward. 

But before either man can reach you, Aerys’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist in a bruising grip. His nails dig into your skin, drawing a wince from you as he drags you closer to him, closer to the hatching brazier where the dragon now writhes. The heat is unbearable, the stench nauseating, but Aerys is beyond reason, his eyes fixed on the creature with a sick, twisted adoration. 

“Father, stop!” You cry, struggling in his grip, but he only pulls you closer, his lips pulling back in a feral grin.

“You see, Y/N? You see what we are capable of when we embrace our destiny? The blood of the dragon flows strongest in you, in me! You will be the key to awakening them all!” His voice is frenzied, manic, and there is no sanity left in his eyes—only the feverish glow of a man consumed by his own delusions. He pulls you toward the dragon, shoving you so close that the heat scorches your skin, singeing the edges of your dress.

The little dragon screeches again, its head snapping in your direction as if sensing the fresh blood that still drips from your wounded hand. It lurches forward, its movements clumsy but quick, its tiny teeth bared in what could be either hunger or recognition.

“Let her go!” Rhaegar’s voice is a furious roar as he finally shoves his way through the crowd, his eyes blazing with both fury and terror. He strides toward Aerys, every muscle in his body coiled with the need to tear you from your father’s grasp. “You’ve done enough harm—let her go before someone gets killed!”

Aerys’s gaze snaps to Rhaegar, and for a brief moment, something like clarity flickers in his eyes, only to be extinguished by the wildfire of his madness. He tightens his hold on your wrist, yanking you closer to his side. “You dare command me?” he snarls, his voice rising in pitch, wild and venomous. “You, who would see our house fade into nothing, who would abandon the fire in our blood for weakness and sentimentality?”

Before Rhaegar can respond, Tywin Lannister steps forward, his voice cold and measured, but tinged with something that almost resembles concern. “Your Grace,” he begins, his tone calculated, yet edged with caution. “This is madness. We have seen the dragon hatch. It is a sign, yes, but your daughter’s life need not be risked further. This is enough.”

Aerys rounds on him, his face twisted in a snarl. “Enough?” he spits, his voice trembling with rage. “You presume to tell me what is enough? You, with your golden arrogance, your schemes to undermine my rule at every turn? You think I don’t see what you are, Tywin? You would have my daughter as a pawn in your little games, but she belongs to the fire! She belongs to me!”

Tywin’s expression darkens, but he holds his tongue, his calculating mind clearly weighing whether it is worth the risk to challenge the king further in this moment. For all his ambition, even Tywin Lannister knows there are limits when dealing with a madman armed with wildfire and delusions.

Meanwhile, Arthur has drawn closer, his hand still on the hilt of his sword as he positions himself just behind Rhaegar. His eyes are locked on Aerys, his body tensed, ready to strike should the king push you closer to danger. He knows he must tread carefully—one wrong move could lead to bloodshed, and you’re the one caught in the middle.

“Father, please,” you manage to say, your voice trembling as you try to keep calm. “You’ve already proven what you wanted. The dragon hatched. Let’s leave now, before more lives are lost.”

But Aerys doesn’t hear you—he’s too far gone, too enraptured by the flames and the cries of the newborn dragon. He grips your hair once more, pulling your head back and forcing you to look directly at the creature as it struggles to rise on shaky legs. “Look at it, Y/N! Look at what our blood has wrought! We are gods, you and I! We will bring forth fire and death to those who dare challenge us!”

The dragon screeches again, louder this time, its voice high and grating, a sound that sends shivers down your spine. It lunges toward you, its eyes gleaming with hunger, but the chains of the brazier keep it just out of reach, snapping its jaws inches away from your skin.

The tension in the room builds to a fever pitch, the courtiers frozen in place, unsure whether to flee or watch the nightmare unfold. The Kingsguard stand ready, their hands hovering near their swords, waiting for a signal that might never come.

Rhaegar’s patience snaps. He strides forward, grabbing Aerys by the arm and wrenching him away from you with a force that surprises even the king. “Enough!” he snarls, his face inches from Aerys’s, his eyes blazing with fury. “This madness ends now!”

For a moment, the two men stand locked in a furious standoff, father and son, both of them breathing hard, the flames flickering wildly around them. Aerys’s face contorts with rage, but there is a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes—a moment of doubt, as if he’s suddenly unsure whether the vision he clings to is real or merely another ghost conjured by his decaying mind.

The throne room vibrates with ominous intentions, the air crackling with the mingling scents of smoke, blood, and the wild, unnatural odor of newborn dragon flesh. Aerys and Rhaegar stand toe-to-toe, the firelight casting their faces in stark relief—father and son, both dragons, yet divided by madness and the darkness of their blood. Around them, courtiers stand frozen, watching the confrontation unfold with wide eyes, their breaths caught in their throats.

“Father, stop this insanity!” Rhaegar’s voice is sharp and commanding, resonating through the hall. His hand rests on the hilt of his sword, poised to draw it should the need arise. “These creatures are not the saviors of our house; they are born of blood and madness. You’re risking everything for a delusion!”

Aerys’s eyes gleam with unholy fervor, his face twisted with both rage and joy. “You dare call this a delusion? You, who have done nothing but hide behind books and songs while I’ve fought to reclaim our birthright?” Spittle flies from his lips as he raves, his grip tightening on the edge of the brazier as if he could will the second egg to crack open with sheer force. “The dragons are ours, Rhaegar—mine and Y/N’s! We will be the ones to bring them forth, to birth them anew in fire and blood!”

Before Rhaegar can respond, a screech pierces the air—the dragon, small but fierce, has freed itself from the brazier. Its obsidian scales gleam in the firelight as it stretches its wings, shaking off the ash and embers that cling to its skin. The creature is no longer the fragile thing it was moments ago; there is a dark, primal strength in the way it moves, in the way its golden eyes gleam as it surveys the room.

The courtiers gasp and stumble back, fear rippling through the gathered crowd. Even Tywin Lannister’s eyes narrow in wary calculation as he takes a measured step away from the creature, his face an unreadable mask.

The dragon’s gaze sweeps across the room—past Aerys, past Rhaegar—and locks onto you.

A chill runs down your spine as its eyes, molten gold and filled with an intelligence far beyond its size, bore into you. It slinks toward you, each step deliberate and cautious, its claws clicking softly against the stone floor. The court holds its collective breath, tension crackling like a drawn bowstring. Your heart pounds in your chest as the creature draws closer, but despite the terror seizing your limbs, you cannot move. 

The dragon pauses before you, its eyes narrowing as it tilts its head, studying you with unnerving curiosity. Then, in a moment that defies everything you’ve ever known, it lowers its head, bowing before you. You feel a strange, invisible thread tighten between you and the creature—a bond forged in the fire of its birth, one that hums with a power that is both terrifying and awe-inspiring. The dragon’s screech quiets into a low, rumbling purr as it settles at your feet, no longer a threat but a guardian, a companion bound to you by forces neither of you fully understand.

The silence in the room is deafening, every gaze fixed on you and the dragon, disbelief and awe mingling in equal measure. For a moment, the world stands still—until Aerys’s voice shatters the quiet, filled with triumphant exultation.

“Behold!” Aerys cries, his voice echoing through the chamber. “The dragon has chosen! It knows its true blood—it knows its mother!” He strides toward you, his eyes alight with a fervor that borders on madness. “Yes, my daughter, this creature is ours—ours! It is as if we have birthed it ourselves, our blood flowing in its veins! This is our child, a gift from the gods, a symbol of our power!”

Rhaegar’s face pales, horror flashing across his features as he watches the scene unfold. “Father, this is madness,” he whispers, disbelief lacing his voice. He moves quickly, stepping between you and Aerys, placing himself protectively at your side. “This creature is not your child—it’s a beast, born of fire and bloodshed. You cannot twist this into something pure when it was born of sacrifice and death.”

Aerys ignores him, his gaze locked on the dragon as he reaches out with trembling fingers. “It is ours, Rhaegar. Ours to command, ours to nurture. Y/N, do you not see it? This is our destiny, yours and mine, to rule with fire and blood.”

But you see the truth in Rhaegar’s eyes—the fear, the revulsion, and the deep sadness that comes with realizing how far gone your father truly is. You take a shaky breath, your voice trembling as you finally speak. “Father… this is not what I wanted. This is not the future I imagined.”

Before Aerys can respond, Rhaegar’s grip tightens on your arm, pulling you back as he speaks urgently. “Y/N, we’re leaving. Now.” His tone leaves no room for argument; it is a command, one born of desperation and love.

Aerys’s gaze snaps to Rhaegar, his expression twisting with fury. “You would take her from me? You, who knows nothing of the fire in our blood? She belongs here, with the dragon, with me!”

The dragon lets out a low growl, sensing the tension between its “mother” and the man who threatens her. But before it can act, a flash of white catches your eye—Arthur, his expression hard as steel, moving swiftly to stand beside Rhaegar.

“My prince,” Arthur says firmly, his eyes flicking between you and the dragon, “we need to go now.”

Aerys’s attention snaps to Arthur, a sneer curling his lips. “You think you can take her from me, Sword of the Morning? You are nothing but a servant—my servant! You would defy me?”

But Arthur stands his ground, his voice cold and steady. “I serve the realm, Your Grace. And I serve the prince and princess first.”

Before Aerys can react, Tywin Lannister steps forward, his face a mask of cold calculation back in place. “Your Grace,” he says, his voice laced with thinly veiled concern, “perhaps it would be wise to allow the prince and princess to depart. They are clearly distressed, and we wouldn’t want any further… incidents to occur.”

Aerys rounds on him, fury blazing in his eyes. “You dare condescend to me, Tywin? You think you can soothe me with your false concern? You—”

But Rhaegar doesn’t wait for the argument to escalate further. With a sharp tug, he pulls you toward the exit, his grip on your arm firm but gentle. “We’re leaving now, Y/N,” he whispers urgently. “We’ll figure out what to do, but we can’t stay here.”

The dragon screeches again, its eyes following you as you move, but it makes no move to attack. It remains crouched by the brazier, watching you leave with an almost mournful expression. You feel the bond tug at you, a strange ache in your chest as you walk away, but you force yourself to keep moving.

Arthur falls in step beside you, his presence a solid wall of protection as he shields you from the madness left behind. You glance back one last time, just in time to see Aerys reach out toward the dragon, his eyes gleaming with unholy joy. “Yes, my child… my beautiful child…”

The doors to the throne room slam shut behind you, cutting off the sight of your father, the dragon, and the pyromancers who still hover near the brazier. The noise of the court fades, leaving only the sound of your ragged breaths and the rapid thudding of your heart.

You collapse against the cool stone wall in the corridor outside, the weight of everything crashing down on you at once. Rhaegar pulls you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you as if to shield you from the horrors you’ve just witnessed. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice raw with emotion. “I should never have let it get this far. I should have protected you better.”

You shake your head, tears burning in your eyes. “It’s not your fault, Rhaegar. Father… he’s beyond saving. We all are, in some ways.”

Arthur stands nearby, his sword still in hand, his eyes scanning the corridor for any sign of danger. When he’s satisfied that you’re safe for the moment, he steps closer, his expression softening as he looks at you. “You did well, Y/N,” he says quietly, his voice carrying the faintest tremor. “You kept your head when most would have broken.”

You manage a faint, shaky smile. “I’m not sure how much longer I can keep doing that.”

“We’ll find a way,” Rhaegar promises, his voice firm with determination. “We’ll figure this out.”

Arthur nods in agreement, his eyes meeting Rhaegar’s with an unspoken understanding. “For now, let’s get you somewhere safe. Somewhere away from all of this.”

As the three of you walk down the corridor, the shadows stretch long and dark around you, but for the first time in what feels like an eternity, you feel a spark of hope—a fragile, flickering thing, but it was there.

The heavy doors of the throne room remain shut, muffling the distant echoes of court life beyond. Inside, the once-grand hall is now shrouded in smoke and the eerie green glow of dwindling wildfire. The courtiers stand frozen, torn between awe and terror, their eyes darting between King Aerys and the small dragon now prowling around the smoldering brazier. Its obsidian scales shimmer like dark glass in the firelight, and the flicker of its eyes—molten gold and full of intent—keeps everyone on edge.

Aerys is utterly captivated, his attention consumed by the creature. He paces before it, hands outstretched as though in reverence, his eyes wide and unblinking, a man who has found purpose in his madness. “You see?” he whispers, almost to himself, though his voice carries across the silent room. “The blood of the dragon endures. This is proof that our power remains unbroken—that fire still answers our call.”

The dragon moves closer to him, its claws clicking against the stone floor. The creature’s wings flare slightly, casting long, menacing shadows that stretch across the walls. Aerys’s twisted smile widens, and he drops to his knees, bowing his head in what could only be described as worship.

“Magnificent,” murmurs one of the pyromancers, unable to tear his eyes from the dragon. “It lives—birthed from fire and blood, just as the old lore spoke of.” The other pyromancers exchange looks, their fascination clear as they huddle together, speaking in hushed, fevered tones about the possibilities this creature presents for their dark craft.

Tywin Lannister stands near the Iron Throne, his face a mask of carefully controlled disgust. He makes no move to approach the king, but his cold eyes remain fixed on Aerys, taking in every detail of this unfolding disaster. “Your Grace,” Tywin finally speaks, his voice calm but edged with steel. “This… event is extraordinary, yes. But surely it is time to consider the safety of the realm. The presence of this dragon—” He pauses, clearly choosing his words carefully, “—in such a volatile environment is a risk.”

Aerys rounds on him, his eyes blazing with fervor. “A risk? You call this a risk, Tywin?” His voice rises, sharp and mocking. “You, with your golden pride and ambition, would dare question the return of our house’s greatest symbol? You lack vision, as always.” He laughs, a wild, grating sound that sends shivers down the spines of those nearby. “The dragon is our salvation! It will stay here, in the throne room, where it belongs—where it will be under my protection!”

Pycelle, his face pale and beaded with sweat, clears his throat and steps forward. “Your Grace, with all due respect, the throne room is—unsuited for such a creature. Perhaps it would be better served if the beast were kept in the improvised Dragonpit we can quickly construct, where it might be properly—”

“Enough!” Aerys shrieks, his voice cracking as he rounds on Pycelle. “Do not presume to tell me how to care for my child! It stays here—here, where it can watch over its throne, where all can witness the return of our glory!”

The dragon’s head turns toward Aerys as he speaks, as if it senses the intensity of his emotions. The court watches, paralyzed, as the creature inches closer to the Iron Throne, the jagged steel blades reflecting in its golden eyes. The pyromancers exchange glances, their awe deepening with every movement of the dragon.

Varys, who had been lingering at the edge of the shadows, slips away unnoticed, disappearing into the darkness with a subtle swish of his robes. No one remarks on his absence—those who do notice are more concerned with the king’s unpredictable mood and the ever-looming threat of the dragon in their midst.

As the courtiers murmur amongst themselves, Tywin presses his lips into a thin line, his calculating gaze sweeping across the room. He knows this situation is spiraling out of control, but there’s no room to maneuver—Aerys’s obsession is beyond reason, and any direct confrontation would only invite disaster.

Ser Jaime Lannister stands near the Iron Throne, his expression one of wary amusement. His hand hovers near the pommel of his sword, ready to act should the dragon—or the king—become a threat. “A bold decision, Your Grace,” Jaime remarks, though there’s a mocking edge beneath the politeness. “Keeping a dragon in the throne room—how very fitting. After all, nothing else in this cursed hall has been able to match the madness of our times.”

Aerys barely registers the comment, his focus wholly consumed by the dragon. He kneels closer to the creature, his fingers trembling as he reaches out. The dragon’s head snaps toward him, teeth bared, but it does not strike. Instead, it simply watches, waiting, as if testing the king’s resolve.

“It is ours,” Aerys whispers, more to himself than anyone else. “The blood of the dragon recognizes its own. It will stay here, by the throne. It will grow strong, and in time, we shall see it reclaim the skies.”

Tywin takes a step forward, his tone measured and laced with warning. “Your Grace, this creature is not a mere pet—it’s a wild beast, born of fire and blood. Keeping it here in such close proximity to the court is—”

Aerys cuts him off with a vicious snarl. “It is mine! It belongs to me and to my daughter! It will stay where I command, and you—” he points a shaking finger at Tywin, his eyes blazing, “—you will remember your place.”

Tywin’s jaw clenches, but he says nothing more, recognizing the futility of arguing further. The court remains silent, the tension thick enough to suffocate. Everyone knows that challenging Aerys now would only lead to more bloodshed, and none are willing to risk their lives in the presence of both a mad king and a dragon.

The pyromancers bow low, their eyes gleaming with eager anticipation. “As you command, Your Grace. We shall prepare the throne room to be the dragon’s new lair. It will be a place worthy of its presence, a shrine to the rebirth of your house.”

Aerys smiles, a twisted, satisfied grin that sends a shiver down the spines of all who see it. “Yes,” he murmurs, stroking the air as if he were already petting the dragon’s scales. “This will be our sanctum—the heart of fire and blood. The dragon will stay here, where all can witness its glory.”

The dragon lets out a low growl, its eyes shifting between Aerys and the gathered court, as if it understands the weight of what has been proclaimed. The courtiers exchange uneasy glances, knowing that this new “child” of Aerys could just as easily turn on them as it could serve the king’s ambitions.

But Aerys remains entranced, his gaze never leaving the dragon as he whispers to himself, lost in his fevered dreams of power reborn. The court is dismissed, but no one dares move until Aerys waves a dismissive hand, lost in his own world. The courtiers leave as quickly as they can, their footsteps echoing in the empty hall, a reminder of how far the realm has descended into madness.

As the last of them depart, the dragon curls at the foot of the Iron Throne, its eyes half-lidded as it watches Aerys with a gaze that is both predatory and curious. Aerys remains beside it, mumbling incoherently about fire, blood, and destiny, oblivious to the dark path he has chosen for himself and his house.

The warmth of the fire does little to chase away the cold that clings to your bones as you sit on the edge of the bed, your hand outstretched while Maester Pycelle inspects the wound left by your father’s dagger. His fingers are cold and dry as parchment, trembling slightly as he cleans the cut, murmuring in his usual pedantic tone about the necessity of avoiding infection. The scent of herbal salve fills the air, mingling with the distant echoes of the chaos still unfolding in the Red Keep.

Rhaegar stands by the window, the soft glow of dusk casting shadows across his face. He stares out into the night, lost in thought, his posture tense and his eyes troubled. Arthur stands nearby, ever vigilant, ever protective. He hasn’t left your side since the moment you escaped the throne room, and though he remains silent, you can feel the weight of his concern in every glance he sends your way.

Pycelle’s mutterings are a dull hum in the background, your focus entirely on the tight line of Rhaegar’s mouth, the subtle slump in his usually straight shoulders. Finally, when the maester finishes wrapping your hand in clean linen, you find the strength to speak the question that has been gnawing at you since the madness in the throne room.

“Rhaegar… what happens now?” Your voice is barely more than a whisper, the words trembling as they leave your lips. You’ve always known your father’s grip on sanity was tenuous, but tonight felt different—darker, more final. 

Rhaegar’s sigh is heavy, filled with a weariness that seems to age him beyond his years. He finally turns to face you, his eyes meeting yours, and in them, you see the burden of responsibility that he carries like a shroud. “Now?” he echoes, the word hanging in the air. “Now we try to hold this fractured realm together while our father plunges deeper into his delusions.”

Arthur shifts his weight slightly, his jaw tight as he struggles to contain his own thoughts. He glances at Rhaegar, then back at you, but remains silent, knowing this is a conversation between brother and sister first.

Rhaegar crosses the room and takes a seat beside you, his hand resting gently over yours, careful not to disturb the bandage. “I’ll talk to him,” he says, though there is little hope in his voice. “Once this feverish madness of his has dimmed down, I’ll try to reason with him. He must understand that what happened today cannot continue.”

You shake your head, doubt gnawing at the edges of your thoughts. “And what makes you think he’ll listen? He was… convinced that the dragon was our child, that it was born from us.” The words stick in your throat, bile rising as you recall the twisted gleam in Aerys’s eyes when he proclaimed the dragon a gift of your blood.

Rhaegar’s grip on your hand tightens, his expression hardening as he forces himself to remain calm. “He’s lost in his fantasies, yes, but there are moments—brief as they are—where he’s still lucid enough to recognize reality. We need to be patient and wait for one of those moments. If I can find that opening, maybe I can convince him to focus his obsession elsewhere.”

Arthur’s voice, low and firm, cuts through the tense silence. “You shouldn’t have to navigate this alone, Your Grace. The longer the king’s madness goes unchecked, the more dangerous he becomes—to Y/N, to the realm, to everyone.” His words are carefully measured, but the undercurrent of anger is clear. The thought of you being forced into another horrifying situation like the one in the throne room clearly torments him.

Rhaegar nods, though his eyes remain shadowed with doubt. “I know, Arthur. But what would you have me do? We are trapped in a court ruled by fear, with our own father sitting at the heart of it like a ticking time bomb. Any direct challenge to his authority could spark civil war.”

You bite your lip, the weight of your brother’s words settling like a stone in your chest. You can feel the walls closing in, the oppressive sense that there is no escape from this nightmare. “Is there really no way out of this?” you ask, your voice small and filled with a desperation you hate showing.

Rhaegar’s expression softens, a rare glimpse of the brother you knew before all of this—the one who would comfort you with songs and stories when the world outside seemed too dark to bear. “I’ll find a way, Y/N. I promise you that, even if it means I have to make decisions I never wanted to make.” His voice drops to a whisper, almost as if he’s speaking to himself. “I won’t let him destroy us.”

Pycelle clears his throat, finishing his work and shuffling back a step. “The wound should heal without issue, Princess. Keep it clean and avoid straining the hand. I’ll prepare more salve and have it sent to your chambers.”

“Thank you, Maester Pycelle,” you reply automatically, though your attention is still fixed on Rhaegar and the quiet resolve hardening in his gaze.

The maester bows stiffly, casting a wary glance at Arthur before retreating from the room. Once the door closes behind him, the room feels smaller, the air thick with tension and unsaid fears.

Arthur finally speaks again, his voice a low rumble. “Whatever your plan is, Rhaegar, know that I’m with you. We can’t let him harm her—or anyone else—again.”

Rhaegar meets Arthur’s gaze, a mutual understanding passing between them. “I know I can count on you, Ser Arthur. But until we figure out a solution, we must tread carefully. We cannot afford to provoke our father into something even more catastrophic.”

You nod, feeling a mixture of gratitude and fear swirl within you. You know Rhaegar is trying his best to protect you, but the weight of your father’s madness is a heavy one to bear, and you can’t help but feel that it’s only a matter of time before something—someone—breaks.

“I trust you, Rhaegar,” you say softly, though the words feel fragile, like glass on the edge of shattering. “Just… promise me you won’t let him drag us all down with him.”

Rhaegar’s gaze locks onto yours, and for a brief moment, you see the depth of his fear mirrored in his eyes. But he forces a small smile, squeezing your hand one last time before standing. “I promise, Y/N. We’ll find a way through this. Together.”

With that, he takes his leave, casting one last look over his shoulder before disappearing into the dimly lit corridor beyond.

Arthur remains by your side, his presence a solid, reassuring anchor amidst the swirling uncertainty. He watches you carefully, his concern evident even in the silence that stretches between you. “Get some rest, my lady,” he finally says, though his tone is gentle, almost tender. “You’ll need your strength for whatever comes next.”

You manage a faint nod, your exhaustion catching up to you as the events of the day settle like a leaden weight in your limbs. But even as you lie down, pulling the covers around you, sleep remains elusive. Your mind races, filled with the image of the dragon’s eyes—their unblinking, knowing gaze—and the twisted words of your father as he proclaimed the creature a child born of your blood.

As you finally drift into a fitful sleep, Arthur remains close by, ever watchful, ever ready to defend you. But even with him there, the darkness creeping at the edges of your thoughts is impossible to ignore.

You wonder how much longer you can hold out against the rising tide of your father’s madness—and what will be left of your family when the storm finally breaks.

Tywin Lannister sits at the head of the chamber, his expression unreadable but cold, calculating. His piercing green eyes scan the room as Jaime and Cersei stand before him, their postures tense. The usual arrogance in Cersei’s gaze is muted, replaced with unease, while Jaime leans against the wall with his arms crossed, his casual stance belying the seriousness of his expression.

“What we’ve witnessed today,” Tywin begins, his voice low and deliberate, “has shaken the foundation of this court more than any whisper or scheme could have. A dragon has been born, and with it, the Targaryen madness has been given a new life.”

Cersei’s eyes flash with anxiety as she steps forward, unable to keep her unease hidden. “Father, this changes everything. If Aerys has control over that creature, it strengthens his position—and his madness. He already considers himself untouchable, but now… now he’ll see himself as invincible.”

Jaime chuckles darkly from his position near the wall, though there’s no humor in it. “Invincible? The man is already half a corpse in his own mind, clinging to delusions of grandeur. That dragon is more of a threat to him than to anyone else in this castle. But still,” he adds, his expression turning grim, “it complicates things. Our position at court was precarious enough, and now we have to worry about Aerys using that beast to tighten his grip even further.”

Tywin steeples his fingers, his gaze distant as he considers their words. “You’re both correct. Aerys’s obsession with this so-called ‘rebirth’ will only drive him deeper into his madness. He’s unpredictable enough as it is, but now he believes he’s found proof that the gods favor him. If he sees that dragon as a weapon in his hands… well, that could make him far more dangerous than we’ve ever seen.”

Cersei steps closer to her father, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Then we must act quickly. Rhaegar and his sister clearly do not support Aerys’s madness. They’re our best chance to take control of this situation. If Rhaegar were to become king… and if I were to be his queen…” Her eyes gleam with ambition, the familiar hunger returning as she imagines the power that could be within her grasp.

Tywin’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker of something—perhaps approval—in his gaze. “That is the path we have been working toward, Cersei, but it is not without its dangers. Rhaegar is a cautious man, and while he despises his father’s madness, he is still bound by duty to the Targaryen name. We must tread carefully. Any overt move against Aerys could lead to bloodshed, and with a dragon in his arsenal, even the smallest provocation could have devastating consequences.”

Jaime pushes off the wall, uncrossing his arms as he approaches the table. “I’ve been stationed near Aerys for long enough to know that he’s on the edge. One wrong move, and he could turn that creature against anyone he perceives as a threat. And if that happens, none of us—Rhaegar included—will be safe.”

Tywin’s eyes narrow as he considers his son’s words. “Which is why we must ensure that the dragon remains under control—or neutralized if necessary.”

Cersei frowns, her brows furrowing as she processes the implications. “You’re suggesting we find a way to… dispose of it? That would require subtlety, and the king’s attention is entirely fixed on it.”

“Not necessarily,” Tywin counters. “Aerys’s obsession with the dragon could be his weakness. If he becomes too focused on it, it may give us the opportunity to manipulate him in other ways. We can bide our time, waiting for the right moment to strike. But make no mistake—if the situation continues to spiral, we will need to act decisively. Aerys is a danger to everyone in King’s Landing, and now more than ever, that danger is real.”

Jaime’s mouth twists into a wry smile. “You mean more real than the wildfire he’s been stockpiling under the city? Or the executions he dreams of every night?”

Tywin doesn’t dignify the remark with a response, his gaze shifting back to Cersei. “Your focus must remain on gaining Rhaegar’s trust. He will be the key to any transition of power. If you can convince him that marrying you would stabilize the realm, then we can proceed from there. But until we know where his loyalties truly lie, we must remain patient.”

Cersei’s eyes gleam with determination. “I won’t fail, Father. Rhaegar is torn between his duty and his family—if I can show him that we’re the solution to that conflict, he’ll come to us willingly.”

Tywin nods approvingly. “Good. But remember—your ambition must be tempered by caution. Rhaegar is a man of principle. If he suspects we’re using him purely for our own ends, he’ll shut us out. He must believe that aligning with us is not just the best option, but the only option.”

Jaime runs a hand through his golden hair, glancing between his father and sister. “And what if Aerys decides that the dragon is the answer to all his problems? What if he starts using it to cement his control—publicly?”

Tywin’s gaze turns steely, his voice cold and unyielding. “Then we will do what must be done. But that is a last resort. For now, we watch, we wait, and we maneuver carefully. The dragon may be a tool of fear, but fear can be wielded by those with the will to seize it.”

As the conversation draws to a close, Cersei’s thoughts churn with a renewed sense of purpose. She knows that winning Rhaegar’s favor is her path to power, and now, more than ever, she’s determined to succeed. The image of her sitting beside him as queen flickers in her mind like a beacon, drawing her forward, regardless of the dangers that lie in her path.

Jaime’s smile returns, this time with a hint of bitter amusement. “We’re all dancing on the edge of a knife. Let’s just hope we’re the ones holding the hilt when it all comes crashing down.”

Tywin’s silence is all the confirmation they need. The Lannisters, like everyone else in King’s Landing, know that the game is changing. The dragon in the throne room is not just a creature—it’s a symbol of the chaos that now reigns over the capital.

But chaos, Tywin knows, can be controlled. If they play their cards right, this madness could be the key to seizing the power they’ve long desired. And in the end, power is all that matters.

-A/N: Did I just played with the idea of the Mad King having a dragon in his arsenal. Yeah, I did. And nobody in Westeros will have a fun time with it. And words 'fire and blood' are used far too often, but it's so fitting.

[writingforstraykids]

Letters Of Love - Jeongin🖤

Pairing: Jeongin x gn!Reader (poly!skz)

Word Count: 1026

Summary: Next on your list is Jeongin, remembering a day where the younger came home devastated after a mistake on stage.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, angst

A/N: Hii, I'm so sorry, life kept me busy and I had no chance finishing this little post. I hope to be back on track with the four remaining pairings and an eventual bonus chapter of how the boys react if you're interested in that🤭🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

Chan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Jisung | Felix | Seungmin

Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you scroll through your photo library, searching for the right image of Jeongin. When you find it, a wave of tenderness washes over you. The picture is from a few nights ago—one of those nights that left your heart aching for him and full of pride all at once. He’s sitting on the floor of the dressing room, his hair tousled and slightly damp with sweat, his makeup smudged around his eyes, staring down at the floor with his lips pressed tightly together. You’re beside him, one arm around his shoulders, your other hand resting gently on top of his. In the photo, his expression is one of frustration and self-doubt, brows furrowed, eyes downcast. But even in the midst of his struggle, there’s something undeniably beautiful about him—something strong and resilient.

You remember that night vividly. Jeongin had messed up a part of the choreography on stage. It was a minor mistake, something no one else probably noticed, but to him, it was huge. You’d seen it the moment he came off stage—the way his shoulders slumped, his gaze averted as if he didn’t want to meet anyone’s eyes. He’d forced a smile for the fans, held himself together until the lights went down, and then quietly slipped away to the dressing room, shoulders tense with self-reproach.

You’d followed him, heart aching, knowing how hard he can be on himself. He’d been sitting on the floor, looking so small and lost, shoulders trembling slightly as he tried to hold back his frustration. When you sat down beside him, he didn’t say a word—didn’t even look up. But you knew what he was feeling—the disappointment, the anger directed inward, the overwhelming need to be perfect.

“Hey, Innie love,” you’d whispered softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. He’d flinched slightly, then let out a long, shuddering breath, still not looking at you.

“I messed up,” he murmured, voice strained, like the words were clawing at his throat. “Everyone else was perfect, and I… I ruined it.”

Your heart had tightened at the raw pain in his voice. “No, you didn’t,” you’d said gently. “Jeongin, it was just one tiny mistake. No one even noticed.”

But he’d just shaken his head, fists clenched on his knees. “I noticed. It’s my job to get it right, and I couldn’t. I’m supposed to be better than this.”

You’d stayed quiet, letting him speak, letting him vent. Then, without another word, you’d wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close. He’d resisted at first, his whole body stiff and tense, but then the dam broke. He’d sagged against you, his face buried in your shoulder, his hands clutching desperately at your shirt as if holding on for dear life. His breathing was harsh and uneven, each exhale filled with a mix of anger and helplessness. All you could do was hold him, murmuring soft, comforting words, rubbing his back gently until the storm inside him started to calm.

“It’s okay, Innie. It’s okay to mess up sometimes. It doesn’t change how amazing you are. Not even a little.”

For a long time, you stayed like that, just holding him, feeling his body gradually relax against yours. He didn’t say anything, but you could sense the shift—the way the tension slowly drained out of him, replaced by a heavy, weary kind of acceptance.

Eventually, he’d pulled back, his eyes red but his expression softer, more resigned. “Thank you,” he’d whispered, voice still rough around the edges but steadier now. “I’m sorry I—”

“Don’t apologize,” you’d cut in gently, shaking your head. “You don’t have to be perfect, Jeongin. You just have to be you. That’s more than enough.”

You attach the picture to a new message, feeling the emotions from that night all over again. Fingers trembling slightly, you begin typing, knowing exactly what you want to say to the boy who tries so hard to be perfect, when all you want is for him to see just how perfectly imperfect he already is.

Message to Jeongin:

Hey Innie love,

I know this picture isn’t from your best moment, but I wanted to send it to you anyway because I think it’s a reminder of something important. That night, you were so frustrated with yourself, and I know how much that tiny mistake hurt you. But to me, this photo doesn’t show someone who messed up. It shows someone who’s strong enough to keep going, even when things don’t go perfectly. It shows someone who cares deeply about what he does, who wants to give his best every single time.

But you know what, Innie? It’s okay to stumble sometimes. It’s okay to have moments when things don’t go the way you planned. That’s what makes you human, and that’s what makes me love you even more. Because you always get back up, always push forward, always try to be better. But please remember—being perfect isn’t what makes you special. It’s your heart, your determination, your courage to show your vulnerable side.

I’m so proud of you, not just for your talent, but for your resilience. So, even on the days when you feel like you’ve let yourself down, I want you to know that I’ll always see the amazing person you are. No mistakes could ever change that.

Happy anniversary, Innie love. Here’s to more moments, both perfect and imperfect, and to loving every single one of them because they’re all a part of you.

Love you so much,

Your biggest fan and supporter.

You send the message, your heart aching with tenderness. You can already picture his reaction—how he’ll probably read it in silence, his eyes growing soft and misty. He might not say much in reply, might just send a quiet, heartfelt “thank you.” But you know it’ll mean everything to him, because Jeongin isn’t someone who needs grand gestures. He just needs to know that he’s enough, just as he is.

And that’s what you’ll keep reminding him, every single chance you get. Because he’s your Innie love—the one who shines brightest, even when he thinks his light is fading.

Chan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Jisung | Felix | Seungmin

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@zehina @jinnie-ret @atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @palindrome969 @theo4eve @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @minh0scat @dis-trict9

[joffyworld]

COTL Freaky Tierlist

ALRIGHT LISTEN UP CHUCKLEFUCKS

I'm about to drop some life changing lore and if you can't handle it, that's tough titties my brothers, sisters and theys. If you don't agree with this tier list, you're either a normal person (in which case why are you here run for the hills) or you're so damn freaky that God forgot that was possible when he made me.

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, FROM LEAST TO MOST FREAKY:

F:

Kallamar - Need I say more? This loveable twink is soft as his husbands knickers and by God would we not have him any other way. This fucker can't even fathom anything beyond the most painfully dull missionary imaginable, and that's just as an excuse to cuddle more afterwards. "But Joffy" I hear you say, "He's a renowned slut he should be in A!" Wrong. He couldn't be more vanilla, it's all an act and anyone with more than 3 spouses is just fucking lying at that point. Cmon, he may be a God, but deep inside that cowards octopussy is a love for the mundane.

D:

Heket - Controversial I know. But hear me out here. Heket has spent all her life getting fucked by life, she has literally no time for your stupid fleshy appendages, and to top it off she's the most desperately useless lesbian this side of the lands of the old faith. Renowned from Darkwood to Anchordeep, this bitch is fucking stupid when it comes to "rizzing a shawty" and it shows because she spends all her time yapping about the good ol' days. She's only slightly freakier than Kallamar because she's probably into being burned by cigarettes or some shit, but let's face facts. Inexperience guides this poor phrog into the D tier, despite her aversion to "D" to begin with.

Leshy - This stupid dumb stupid worm barely knows that sex exists, and if you asked him what his favourite position is he'd say "1st" and then promptly challenge you to a footrace. The God of Chaos has no time for ropes and rails, but he's at least got a good heart and is pretty gay for that cat. I've watched this stupid fucker get divorced in two different AU's because he couldn't live with the guilt, you think he's surviving post-nut clarity? No. Enough said, he's keeping it clean and calm in the bedroom, and that cat couldn't be happier about that considering his daily life is fucking mental. Keep the Chaos outside, inside? Domestic worm only.

C:

Goat - Now this is where it gets tricky, you might think that the gruff exterior of a mass murdering psychopath is enough to demonstrate a willingness to get tied upside down and spank the monkey till the sun don't shine. But brother, let me tell you, it ain't fuckin true. Don't get me wrong, this goat can fuck, and boy does he, but most of the time it's all bark no bite in the flirting department. Easily flustered, puts up an external image of punk-rock to hide that he's an utter cinnamon bun, the whole works. That being said, with a long term partner? Buckle up. That crown isn't dildo-purple for no reason, prepare for bliss and potential bliss-ters.

B:

Lamb - OKAY HOLD YOUR HORSES this is gonna be a tough one. You've gotta be thinking, that's either wayyy too high for this silly lil fella, or wayyy to low for this absolute cock devouring demon, but let me remind you, this one here is subjective. This is the only character I've seen written as everything from an asexual to a violent and sadistic cannibal, so what fairer rating than the exact middle? It truly does depends, if you're on your "cannibalism is routine and fun" shit then you're gonna be rocketing right up there, straight to S baby, unless you have some kind of twisted mentality you need checked by a licensed psychiatrist to somehow think that's tame; not to shame it mind you. But if you're more on the side of the lamb's that typically get posted by a cuter artist, than you're gonna be rocking a D or even an F. This little fuzzy fucker is traumatized, some type of gay no matter what, and certainly a wildcard, and what better way to celebrate that then with a middle-of-the-road approach? Besides, their most famous partner is certainly a bit more repressed, which leads us to:

A:

Narinder - Are we surprised? This fuzzy little furball has been trapped in prison for 1000 years with his two kids and NOTHING ELSE to do except hope he can get back on the market. The moment he's freed, it's gonna be hell unleashed, but thankfully 99% of the time he's either so angry or so oblivious it turns into a slowburn of passion with his fuzzy lil sheepguy that he definitely "doesn't" have a thing for. But, as the well versed know, this motherfucker has seen shit, and being the God of Death is gonna give you a weird taste in, well, "tastes" than a normal life will. I mean really, the guys fuckin surrounded by miserable dead people all day, he needs stress relief and his enthusiasm for revenge borders on the horny-sided. This guy fucks, but mostly gets fucked, and remains The One Who Bottoms in almost every AU. Cmon people, if you've read this far you've fuckin seen it with your own eyes, do I really to lecture about it more?

S:

The Mura™ - The fucker that started it all. I bet until now you thought I wouldn't include this loveable spider and awful mother-sibling of 4, but here we are. This goddamn spider has single-parented a family of genocidal psychopaths since history started being recorded, and to match that then had to almost literally kill one of their own brother-kid-things to save the others. Stressed and in need of relief? Check. You know what makes a motherfucker freaky? Repression, and this spider is goddamn dripping in it (pun intended) and is ready to burst. I myself may be a Shamura aroace truther, but if I have to put a letter on it, it's 100% in the universes where this spider fucks. Copulates, eats your head, kills your family mid-coitus, the whole shebang, but boy is that gonna be the best last nut you'll ever bust. This spider's an expert, literally the God of War and by God are they gonna wage war on your holes, not to mention ALSO being the God of Wisdom? I mean come on, somebody had to write the Kama Sutra, and it was this horny bastard

And that's it

You may have questions, you may have alternative takes, to be honest I'll probably change my mind the moment I hit post and remember that actually Heket deepthroated a glizzy on the 5th of October last year, but honestly? Who gives a shit. These gods be gay people, that's all that matters.

Goodnight, Lamb Bless, and may you never encounter The Mura during ovulation. Godspeed soldiers, amen.

[browneyesandhair]

Non-Exhaustive List of Soulmate Fics: Merthur

Okay, I'm bored so I'm compiling my favorite soulmate fics. Here's the Merthur edition:

True Love by platonic_boner

Summary:

AU where soulmates can’t lie to each other. (That’s okay, Merlin wasn’t planning to lie to Arthur anyways! Haha.. ha.. ha…)

Don't Know You by platonic_boner

Summary:

Arthur can't wait to meet the voice inside his head.

Sharing is Caring by platonic_boner

Summary:

Arthur hadn't really given his soulmate much thought, until he beat a peasant with a broomstick and every blow hurt like he was hitting himself.

Thousand Times Worse. Or Better? by elirwen

Summary:

Forced by Morgana's nagging, Arthur visits soulbond guidance office. Merlin Emrys is asigned to be his guide. That's where the simple ends and complicated begins.

Deeds by the5leggedCricket

Summary:

Arthur is coming of age, and that means he’s about to get Deeds—marks on his body telling him of his soulmate’s greatest accomplishments. But as he tries to find his soulmate, he also makes some worrying discoveries about the kind of person his soulmate is.

Take Your Pain Away by BlueGrassSax

Summary:

Merlin was young when he came to realise that his soulmate was either really clumsy or lived a chaotic existence. Being able to take on the injuries of your soulmate is just a fact of life, a fact that Merlin happily accepts as he learns the ins and outs of his healing magic. But coming to Camelot has disrupted his long held trust in the Fates, for how can someone as bull-headed and arrogant as the prince wear his mark?

Now I Will Unsettle the Ground Beneath You by nu_breed

Summary:

Merlin's dreams have always fuelled his art, but they've always been abstract and removed from reality. Soon after he meets Gwaine, he starts to see vivid images of a past full of death and magic and love for a King who was ripped from him. Things only escalate further when he spends a weekend in the country with Gwaine and meets his group of friends, which includes aristocrat and It Boy, Arthur Pendragon. Merlin soon realises that no matter how hard you try, one thing is certain, you can't fuck with destiny.

Heart Lines by PeaceHeather

Summary:

Everyone is born with a heart line, a pigmented mark running from the heart down the left arm to the palm, which turns color when the person comes of age, telling them when it is time to seek their soulmate. Red indicates a romantic love, while blue is for platonic "heart-friends", as the minstrels called it. Uther had always told Arthur to ignore his heart line, that it wouldn't matter who his soulmate was; princes did not marry for love, after all. If was lucky, he'd be able to keep her as a mistress, so long as he did not get any children with her. Uther hated magic and would have urged Arthur to ignore the heart line anyway, if he could. Arthur wasn't sure his soulmate was really a woman despite Uther's assumptions. But Arthur's heart line hadn't even come into its full color yet, which meant he hadn't come of age in the eyes of the gods, despite being named crown prince by Uther. So it really didn't matter: whoever his soulmate was, he wasn't yet ready to meet them. Then one day his heart line comes in, and it's neither red nor blue.

the gold of you that can't be seen by Fleetling

Summary:

Arthur grins at him, waves his chubby hand. "Father!" he says, because he knows he should be formal with his father. There is no Pa here, no Dad or Da. There's something shiny on his father's head. He points to it. "What's that?" "Prince Arthur!" hisses the woman holding him, but his father only chuckles. The woman relaxes, just slightly. "It's a crown, my son. One day, you will wear one just like it." Arthur tilts his head, curiously. "What colour is it?" He thinks it's grey, just a shade off of the silver of the swords. It's the same silver-grey as half of the household's shiny jewelry, a not quite true silver. He doesn't think he likes it. "It's gold," says his father. "There's a lot of gold here in Camelot, my son." Arthur nods his head, and labels that silver-ish colour gold in his mind.   (Or: in a world where you can't see the colour of your soulmate's eyes until you meet them, Arthur can't see gold, and it makes his life as a prince much more difficult.)

Of All The Planets In All The Galaxies, He Walked Into Mine. by supercalvin

Summary:

On Camelot, the base planet of the Albion Intergalactic Alliance, the people have a unique gift where the name of their soulmate appears on their arm. Finding one’s soulmate could be as easy as taking a shuttle over to the next planet or it could take years for destiny to find its way to their side of the galaxy. Ten years ago, Ambassador Arthur Pendragon found out the name on his arm wasn’t from any known language in the galaxy. He hadn’t had much faith in love ever since.

The Druid Consort by bluevalentine69

Summary:

27-year-old Alpha Prince Arthur has been married off to 16-year-old Druid Prince Merlin to unite their kingdoms. Meeting for the first time at dawn to be handfasted by the customs of Merlin’s druid people - and expected to mate that night by the customs of Arthur's wolf-people - neither prince is best pleased by the situation. Tomorrow they will belong to each other in body and soul. Turns out, married life's not so bad ...

Four Days To Fall In Love. by CupCakezys

Summary:

In a world where everyone has a soulmate (or two or three), Arthur Pendragon knows he is destined to be alone. For Arthur can see his heartstring, could follow it to where his soulmate lived, and that could only mean one thing. His soulmate had magic, and should they ever meet, Arthur would have to kill them.

the world entire by schweet_heart

Summary:

The world is very still, and it occurs to Arthur suddenly how quiet it is. The bells don’t toll for dead manservants, only for princes and kings, but that just makes the clamour of his heart seem louder.   “Very well,” he says, pushing himself to his feet. “Then I’m going to have to save him.” Episode 1x13 AU. Nimueh accepts Merlin’s offer to exchange his life for Arthur’s. Arthur does not.

Hear Your Heart Sing (Love, Love, Love) by schweet_heart

Summary:

Merlin used to like the idea of finding The One – until he fell in love with Arthur Pendragon. Now he has a boss he can't date (but can't stop thinking about), a soulmate he can't find (who has terrible taste in music), and a best friend who can't believe he still hasn't got his act together (even though it's seriously not his fault). Sometimes, life is unfairly complicated, even without your soulmate singing painfully catchy tunes in the back of your head.

Dreams Don't Turn To Dust by goodluckgettingtosleep

Summary:

In a world where every person starts dreaming about their soulmate on the day of their 16th birthday, Prince Arthur is expected to be the soulmate of a beautiful princess. But when the big day finally rolls around, it turns out that his true soulmate is as far from a beautiful princess as one could get... a peasant boy with magic.

Let it be you by amithia

Summary:

This is all Gwen's fault. Merlin never wanted a stupid smartphone in the first place. Now, he has a smartphone and a supercilious, posh git bullying him on Whatsapp. He really should block the prat. or The one where Merlin doesn't block the prat and finds out that, maybe, smartphones aren't so bad after all.

Feather and Fang by 0hHeyThereBigBadWolf

Summary:

Everyone knows that magic users have magic dæmons. Creatures of myth and legend. Some appear normal but have hides in unnatural colours. It's a way to pick them out of a crowd, find them, even when they try to hide in plain sight.

The Worst Wizard by bluevalentine69

Summary:

Merlin is the worst wizard in wizarding school: his spells are accident prone and he is generally a walking disaster. When the time comes for his class to summon their familiars for the first time, many of the students summon powerful magical creatures. However, upon Merlin's turn, he summons a very unamused, regular human as a familiar: Arthur. Based on this prompt: https://kinksofcamelot.livejournal.com/1806.html?thread=557070#t557070. Now with original artwork!

Strangled by the Red String of Fate by idlestories

Summary:

“It has its roots in a legend from the east, sire. I believe it’s called the red string of fate.” “Fate?” Arthur said incredulously. “What, is he going to be the one to kill me?” “Getting more likely by the minute,” Merlin supplied. “Shut up, Merlin.” Gaius held up a weary hand. “Legend has it that the string connects people to the person with whom they are most compatible.” There was a beat of silence. “You have got to be kidding me.”

octarine by schweet_heart

Summary:

Merlin isn't Arthur's soulmate, and Arthur isn't Merlin's, yet somehow in spite of themselves they're everything to one another. Which is why, when Arthur finally starts seeing in colour, he isn't willing to let Merlin go without a fight. Written for Merlin_Holidays Fest 2016.

you are my favorite mistake (it can only be fate) by muItifandomjess

Summary:

When Merlin accidentally creates a mental link between himself and Arthur, they discover far more about each other than they could ever have imagined.

[musings-from-an-elder-goth]

Lisa Frankenstein Filming Locations

“It is true, we shall be monsters, cut off from all the world; but on that account we shall be more attached to one another.” ― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

As promised, here are some of the filming locations for Lisa Frankenstein. As I just saw Kathryn Newton at Spooky Empire in Orlando this past weekend, I decided to stalk filming locations for some of her cooler movies. Or you can just watch the video I made, which covers all the locations but it goes into much less detail:

I found most of the locations on my own, but then received a location list from a person on the film's production team which confirmed the ones I'd already found and gave me the ones I was missing. Big thank you to that person!

***Spoilers below***

We'll start with Lisa's home which is located at 2552 Cypress Lawn Dr, Marrero, LA 70072. The shed in the back yard for the tanning booth is really part of the property, & can just be seen from the street (circled in red in second image).

Now, if you go there, remember, THIS IS PRIVATE PROPERTY. Perfectly fine to admire it from the street, but do not trespass, do not knock on the door, do not ask for a tour, & do not ask if Lisa is home. Please. Now, if the folks living there say 'Hey' & invite you in when they see you in the street taking selfies with the house, that's another thing entirely - but otherwise, low profile it.

Although they filmed a little bit inside the real house, at least for the scenes where Creature first arrives, most of the house interiors were filmed on a sound stage which I know thanks to Zelda Williams posting this photo:

And that sound stage is The University of New Orleans Nims Center Studio located at 800 - 824 Distributors Row in New Orleans. I know this because of this picture from a behind the scenes video showing the entire cast & crew taking a group photo with two distinct architectural features circled. The next image is a Google street view of the same location with those features also circled.

Per the locations list, the party house Lisa & Taffy go to early in the film is located at 12565 Patterson Rd, New Orleans, LA 70131, which I've confirmed via location detail on Google maps:

And the high school is Belle Chase high school at 8346 LA-23, Belle Chase, LA 70037, which I've also confirmed via architectural detail:

The exteriors for Bachelor's Grove Cemetery & the woods around it, the wooded paths, & the bench scenes all take place in Brechtel Park, which is located in the Algiers neighborhood of New Orleans.

The park offers roads for driving scenes as well as thick woodland with vines & dense ground cover for the cemetery set - which, sadly, was entirely fake. Below is the exact location of Bachelor's Grove.

Bachelor's Grove is located at GPS coordinates 29.9100534 -90.0124431. The easiest way to get there is to take an asphalt sidewalk that you'll find about 100 feet to the right of the entrance. That sidewalk will take you around the north edge of the park and then turn left (south) where you will look for the 2nd marked trail. Follow that trailfor about 50 feet and you'll find a second marked tree, which I call the Twisted Tree, and you're in Bachelor's Grove.

Moving along, the scene at 1:17:37 in the film where Creature goes to retrieve Janet's (Lisa's step-mom's) car and kills the mean old man who is harassing the kid who can't start a lawn mower, was filmed at the south dead end of Dede Street in Marrero, LA at GPS 29.855776, -90.093451.

Rather pleased with myself for finding that one - not easy.

Creature then returns to just outside Bachelor's Grove, which again was filmed in Brechtel Park, with precise location circled in the third image.

Lisa & Taffy arrive there & Lisa psychs herself up to go into the cemetery to kill Creature at GPS 29.906104, -90.009096

This is still in Brechtel Park, they just moved the cars about 30 feet to the west & spun the camera around - the dead giveaways are those posts along the road & the two small hills in the background.

Lisa then runs down a wide, woodland path.

This photo of one of Brechtel Park's wide, wooded paths is the same path, located at GPS 29.908912, -90.011958.

And here's that spot circled below:

When Dale, Lisa's dad (played by Joe Chrest, who also plays the Wheeler's dad on Stranger Things), & Taffy visit Lisa's grave at the end, they are standing in the southern section of Carrollton Cemetery in New Orleans, at GPS 29.947097, -90.121813.

The reason they used this location is because Carrollton is one of the few New Orleans cemeteries that has a large section where all the graves are below ground, as this movie is supposed to be taking place near Chicago.

As for how I know they used this specific location, I have a wine bottle shaped tombstone to thank for that. In the below image, we see that odd tombstone from the front.

And here we see it from the back, as I wasn't able to get a clear image of it from the same perspective of the above image:

Also rather proud of that find.

And the final scene on the bench is also in Brechtel Park at the location circled on the map, GPS 29.909290, -90.010784.

So the only significant filming location I can't find is Michael's red brick colonial, but whatever. Found Michael's house, too!

Anyway, here's to hoping we all find that special someone who was reanimated just for us. 🦇🖤🦇

creaturesfromelsewhere 5-23-2024

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Rev. 22:20 - Chapter Four: Saviours and Saints

Warnings: Talk of religion, angst, sexually suggestive language. Word count: ~3.1k

Summary: Aemond deals with the shame of his confession, leading him to get closer to the novice..

Author's note: I do not have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications to be updated when I post a fic. Community labels are for cops.

The moment Aemond spills over his knuckles with a choked grunt, shame weighs heavily upon his chest. Disgusted with himself, he cleans himself off, the very act of wiping away his spend feels as though he is scrubbing away his irrational thoughts, though he cannot evade them for long. 

Of course a novice would not be touching herself to his words, especially not while inside the confessional booth in the Sept. He is a fool to entertain such a notion, has allowed his lust and recklessness to direct his actions; but no more. He will simply stay away from the Sept, until he can keep his thoughts and urges under control, and put this woman out of his mind. Perhaps he ought to apologise to her.

I imagine taking her virtue.

He feels his cheeks blaze at the memory. How could he ever begin to say he is sorry for such crassness? Worse still, it would be a disingenuous apology because, despite their utter depravity, he meant every word. In spite of the risk it poses, he still wants her, is still enamoured by the way her eyes catch the light, the softness of her voice.

I think about how she’d feel writhing beneath me.

His chest tightens, his heart beating rapidly as the thought occurs to him that she may tell someone. What if she was so appalled by what he’d said to her that she had divulged it to one of the septas? What if they tell his mother? He feels bile rise in his throat at the image of her looking at him with the same disappointment that she so often stares at Aegon with. He really is no better than his wastrel of a brother.

Aemond drums his fingers anxiously on the arms of his chair, keeping his gaze fixed upon the flames within the fireplace. His stoic demeanour does nothing to betray the maelstrom that rages inside of his mind, as he sits and waits for the inevitable moment that his mother will fling open the doors to his chambers and scold him, just as she has done to Aegon each time he has forced himself upon one of the maidservants.

He has no idea of how much time has passed, but eventually, the door creaks open - to his surprise, not in an angry burst, but with quiet trepidation. He turns and meets the soft, hopeful gaze of Helaena, a tight smile upon her lips.

“Did you see Dreamfyre?” She asks, keeping her hands clutched in front of her as she moves slowly towards him.

As she draws nearer, he sees a golden beetle brooch clasped within her fingers, her thumbs running over its ridges as she anxiously awaits his reply. Aemond loathes the nervous habits passed down to them all by their mother - where she picks her nail beds bloody, Aegon flexes his fingers against every surface, taps incessantly against his wine goblet. He drums on the arms of his chairs, rubs his forefingers against his thumbs, while Helaena is always clutching something, fiddling with some small trinket to soothe her inner turmoil.

He keeps his eye fixed upon the beetle for a few moments more before looking at his sister.

“Yes,” he replies simply, thinking about the sorry state the she-dragon had been in when he’d seen her earlier that day.

Helaena kneels beside his chair, not a care for how the position rumples her skirts, gazing up at him imploringly. “How is she?”

Aemond is struck at this moment by how childlike his sister appears. Despite her being the elder sibling, he has always felt seniority over her, an intrinsic need to protect her. She is so innocent, so filled with wonder, and his brooding darkness has forever served as the shield that ensures her light is never snuffed out.

He swallows thickly, going against all of his natural protective instincts and his earlier thought to water down the truth and not cause Helaena upset. Right now he needs to look out for himself, to ensure it is his sister that accompanies their mother on her next visit to the Sept instead of him. So he wields the words he knows will hurt her, against his better judgement.

“She…she is in a bad way,” he says quietly, his heart aching at the pain that fills Helaena’s eyes as her brow furrows, her bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly.

He has never hated himself more than in this moment, deliberately tormenting his sister to get his own way.

“I think you should accompany mother on her next visit to the Sept, go and see Dreamfyre, she needs you,” he tells her gently.

The movement of Helaena’s fingers against the brooch becomes more insistent as she blinks slowly, her lashline becoming watery. “But…the children–”

“Will be fine with the nursemaid for a few hours while you tend to your dragon,” Aemond tells her. “She needs you more than they do at the moment.”

Helaena nods slowly and Aemond wants nothing more than for her to just leave. He cannot bear to see her so sad, to know that he is the cause of it.

“I-I suppose you’re right,” she says, uncertainty colouring her tone as she rises to her feet. “Thank you.”

She places a gentle hand upon his forearm, where it rests upon the arm of the chair, and for a brief moment her face becomes vacant of all expression. “Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike,” she says, her voice hollow.

Helaena releases his arm, sniffing quietly before moving quickly from the room.

Aemond huffs a sigh of relief as the door clicks closed behind her. He is used to his sister saying all manner of strange things, however, there is something in her words this time that unsettles him, adding to the swirling dread that plays havoc in the pit of his stomach - another piece of tinder for the burning misery that rages white hot within his heart.

He is irritated over the following week, he had assumed ensuring that Helaena takes his place on Alicent’s next visit to the Sept would give him respite from his constant thoughts of the novice, knowing he wouldn’t have to see her.

Instead she is prominent in his mind as ever, but this time when he pictures the graceful slope of her neck and the silkiness of her hair, it is accompanied by the words he’d disgraced himself with in the confessional booth.

He is driven to distraction by a combination of crushing shame and unbridled lust. Nothing is able to fully occupy his mind, he replays their exchange over and over again, noticing that he has taken in none of the words on the page of the book he is attempting to read. He has gripped the cover with such force that his short nails have left crescent shaped indentations in its leather cover.

As Helaena and Alicent ready themselves to leave the Keep for the Grand Sept, it takes all of his restraint not to rush out to join them. He longs to see her, even speak to her again, and yet he knows he must not.

He is fortunate that it appears she has told no one of his indiscretion the previous week, however, there is nothing to say she won’t tell Alicent if she sees her today. It is a humiliation he cannot face.

It is better that he stays behind and continues in his efforts to simply forget about her, cast her from his mind, and attempt to return to his life as it was before he met her.

He is filled with restless energy and attempts to burn it off in the training yard, physically exhausting himself with the exertion of every slash of his sword and defensive block of his shield. Yet, while his body aches and fatigues, his mind refuses to cease its racing.

By the time Helaena and Alicent return, he is setting down his blade for the day. He rights himself to his full height, anxiously anticipating a withering look of disapproval from his mother as she walks through the yard. Perhaps it is today that she’ll have learned the words he sullied the ears of the young novice with.

Instead, to his relief, she gives him a small nod and smile as she moves past, eager to get back inside. She has never enjoyed watching the sparring sessions that occur in the training yard.

He ponders why the novice has not told anyone of what he said to her, but has little time to indulge his curiosity as Helaena makes her way towards him, looking much happier than when they’d last spoken.

“I saw her,” she tells him brightly, “I saw Dreamfyre. She ate the rest of her goat when she saw me. The keepers said she has been leaving most of it. I am happy to have lifted her spirits. Thank you for telling me.”

Aemond nods. “I am glad to hear it.”

“And perhaps we could fly together soon, like we did as children?” Helaena continues, looking hopefully up at him. “I will have more time to, once we have the new septa.”

Aemond blinks, swallowing thickly, feeling his heart freeze. “The new what?”

“The new septa”, Helaena repeats, oblivious to Aemond’s shock, “she is still a novice at the moment, but once she finishes her training she will be able to care for the children once they’re old enough to no longer need the nurse maid.”

If Helaena says anything else, Aemond does not hear it over the roar of blood in his ears, as silent panic settles over him. He quietly excuses himself and walks back inside, shutting himself away in his chambers.

This will be disastrous for him. If she hasn’t revealed his indiscretions yet, then she certainly will once she resides within the same four walls as him. He cannot allow this, he must ensure he silences her once and for all. The risk is simply too great to leave to chance.

Aemond bathes, changing into plain looking attire and dons a hooded cloak, ensuring his dagger is securely fastened to his belt, before leaving the Keep via the passages he has seen Aegon use to sneak away hundreds of times before.

His steps are sure and quick, keeping his gaze fixed ahead as he strides through the streets of King’s Landing towards the Grand Sept. It occurs to him as he draws closer that he hasn’t fully considered what he intends to do. He has been so tightly wound over the last week, that he has sprung forth at the first opportunity for release, and now stands at the doors to the Sept, unsure of his next move.

Slipping through the slightly open door, his fingers flex around the pommel of his dagger. Has he come here to slash the novice’s throat? Spill her blood upon the chancel, for all of King’s Landing to see? 

Foolish. 

He should not have come.

But then he sees her. 

The sun is beginning to set, and if she’d looked beautiful the first time he’d seen her with the mid morning rays shining upon her face, she looks positively ethereal now, bathed in a warm orange glow.

He watches her, entranced, feeling as though he has forgotten how to breathe. His grip loosens upon his dagger, but he does not lower his hood, choosing instead to stay back in the shadows and watch her from afar.

Uncertainty regarding what he ought to do clouds his thoughts, but he is sure of one thing; he cannot turn back now he has seen her.

It is nightfall by the time she completes her duties, and Aemond is swift to follow her as she leaves the Sept, keeping back a few paces so he does not arouse her suspicion.

The walk through the narrow street seems incredibly dangerous to him, and it occurs to him that anything could happen to her as she makes her way back to her lodgings each day. He could do literally anything he wanted to her at this moment, and she’d be powerless to stop him. He draws in an unsteady breath, attempting to ground himself and clear the idea from his mind as he feels himself stir in his breeches.

He has never given much thought as to where it is that septas might go when they retire for the evening, but he is surprised at how humble the building she unwittingly leads him to is.

Waiting in the darkness, he watches her go inside, the door closing behind her.

He steps forward, trying the handle, expecting to find it locked, but is surprised when it opens with ease. She has forgotten to lock it. 

Stupid girl.

Every part of Aemond demands that he cease what he’s doing and return to the Red Keep, yet he is powerless to stop the force that propels him silently forward, carefully following the lingering herbaceous scent of camphor - it is burned regularly within the Sept, and he is certain it must cling to her hair and clothing - up the stairway and down a narrow corridor.

It feels more like a place where one might be held prisoner than find a comfortable night’s rest, a joyless existence in service of others, which each day ending in a room that may as well be a cell.

He pauses when he catches a glimmer of a candle light coming from one of the narrow doorways, illuminating a familiar head of soft hair.

Pressing back against the wall, he watches her, knowing he shouldn’t, but unable to help himself. His single eyed gaze is captivated as she removes her robes. She faces away from him, yet he is enraptured by the curve of her back, the swell of her backside and her shapely legs - legs that would look so good wrapped around his—

Screwing his eye shut, he swallows thickly, and when he opens his eye again she is wearing a nightgown. He exhales shakily, his hood slipping back from his head, watching as she slips into bed. Seeing she is about to snuff out the candle, he moves closer, telling himself he will allow himself one final look before he leaves. 

He will ask that his grandsire send him to Oldtown to be with Daeron before she is ever stationed at the Keep, and put an end to this once and for all.

Her quiet voice causes him to freeze in place, heart lurching.

“I knew you’d come.”

His fingers flex uselessly around the pommel of his dagger once more as she climbs out of bed and walks slowly towards him. He is rooted in place, eager to run from her but unable to.

She stops in front of him, impossibly close, the heady scent of camphor mixed with cloves fills his nostrils as they stare at each other in silence.

“I waited for you all day”, she finally says, “I knew I’d see you eventually. It’s why I didn’t lock the door when I returned.”

“That is dangerous”, he replies in a strained whisper.

“As are you, I am sure,” she says, cocking her head slightly.

He blinks, pursing his lips, his curiosity making it feel as though his skin sizzles with expectancy. “Why haven’t you told anyone…about what I said?”

She smirks, her eyes sparkle in the dim glow of the candlelight. “You and I are not so different.”

Aemond scoffs. “I hardly think so.”

“It is true,” she insists, “we are both angry over what we have lost.”

He narrows his eye at her. “And what is it you have lost?”

She giggles softly, though there is no real humour to it. “You assume me pure and virtuous, but it is not my faith in the Seven that has led me along this life path.”

Pausing, she pokes the inside of her cheek with her tongue, choosing her words carefully, before she continues. “Before I was forced to give up my life to the Seven, I came from a noble family. I fell in love with the son of a blacksmith. My father caught us…together, and the blacksmith’s son was sent to The Wall for sullying my virtue. No rich lord wants to marry a woman who is no longer a maiden, so my family handed me over to the faith to be trained as a septa.”

Aemond feels his pulse race as he listens to her confession, certain that this is how she must have felt when he’d revealed his darkest desires to her just a week prior. He opens his mouth, closing it again when he realises he is unsure of what to say.

She takes another step towards him, her nose almost brushing his as she looks up at him. “Do you still desire me? Does the fact that I am defiled turn your stomach, or does it make you want me more to know that I am all too willing to writhe beneath you as you rut into me, as you so eloquently put it?”

His mouth runs dry. Her words are crass, sinful, and yet his gaze drops to the fullness of her lips all the same.

It happens too quickly for him to know which of them moves first, but the kiss is hungry, possessive, his hands cup her jaw as she clutches the front of his cloak eagerly. 

Aemond has not kissed many women before - the servants he allows into his bed he does not permit such affection. Their purpose is for his pleasure only, he does not desire their lips upon his. Yet he moves his mouth against hers as though he means to suck the very air from her lungs, a groan of appreciation rumbling in his chest as he feels the wetness of her tongue caress his.

When they eventually break apart, both breathing heavily, the reality of what he has done settles over him like a viscous cloud. She is to be the septa for his niece and nephew, she is nothing like what he expected her to be. There is a familiarity to her that sets him on edge, and he is overwhelmed by the urge to get away. She is too much, too dangerous, he cannot get close to her.

Wordlessly he turns and walks quickly away, out into the night, back towards the keep, knowing in his heart he has done nothing to quell the deep seated ache of longing he feels for her; on the contrary, he has worsened it.

Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.

Chapter three || Chapter five || Series masterlist

[look-at-the-soul]

Easter egg hunt

Tommy Shelby x reader (blurb)

🐣 🐰 I wrote this in one sit and it’s pure fluff 🤭

Y/N tried to catch her breath after chasing the kids around the stables, she was so grateful for the fresh glass of lemonade Ada offered.

“Charlie is getting so big.”

“Have you seen Karl?” She chuckled throwing a glance at the Shelby cousins. Each kid had so much of their fathers, both women complained of carrying them inside for months only for them to look just like their dads.

“Do you think these will be enough?” Polly joined them followed by Frances who brought a second tray of sandwiches.

“As long as you keep my brothers off those, it will be enough for the children.” Ada laughed.

They were doing an Egg hunt for Easter this year and after spending weeks collecting and decorating one by one with different colors and filling them with little piece of candies before covering them with bright papers.

“Ugh, those bloody eggs… if I see one more after today…” Esme arrived flopping into the nearest chair, she was severely pregnant and everyone keep betting the baby would be a boy.

After finishing their task, all the Shelby brothers demanded to not eat a single egg in a few weeks.

“Everything is ready for the kids Mrs. Shelby.” Frances announced.

“Perfect, I’ll go get my nephews.” Polly disappeared into Arrow House.

Y/N asked Frances to get the children, but she wasn’t able to hide her disappointment as Arthur, John, Finn and Johnny Dogs joined them outside, except for Tommy as they mentioned he decided to check some paperwork.

Soon the little giggles and squeals from the Shelby kids filled her heart as they started running around looking for the eggs hidden under the bushes, behind the flower pots of even inside the fountain.

She particularly loved the look in Charlie’s face when he found the little candies inside his first egg.

As Esme was comforting Katie because she still hadn’t found one, Y/N stood up determined to walk in and drag Tommy from his office. It was a Sunday and she wanted to have the entire family together to enjoy it.

But to her surprise, he was leaning against the front door, with his characteristic cigarette unlit between his lips, the sleeves of his immaculate white shirt rolled up and a breathtaking smile that he usually had reserved only for the private moments between them decorating his face.

He had been watching the egg hunt from afar.

“I was about to make you come outside.” Y/N wrapped her arms around his torso.

“I knew you would, so I saved you the trip to my office.” Tommy winked, saving in his memory the images of his entire family gathered having a lovely moment.

Thoughts of how this was pretty much what he had been looking for were running inside his mind, watching the kids barefoot, giggling, he was willing to give anything for that.

“Saved you one… it’s special.”

“Yeah?” Tommy couldn’t remember having his own egg for Easter, his eyes were fixed in the delicate shell.

Covering his hand, Y/N couldn’t keep hiding the huge smile from her face. “You need to break it, sweetheart.”

Smashing it with his hand, Tommy found a small paper inside among the confetti.

Can’t wait to meet you, daddy! - it read.

Tommy couldn’t believe it, it took him several seconds just staring at the handwritten note. After Charlie, they had to deal with a few losses that caused a severe damage to their marriage, but they surfed the high waves with patience and decided to focus on what they had, so this was a total surprise.

“It’s been so hard to keep it from you, but I wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

His arms where around his wife in a tight embrace, feeling grateful, blessed, thinking how good his life actually was.

“This is the best news I’ve had in a long time, love.”

To his own surprise, he took Y/N by the waist to spin her around, showering her face with feather-like kisses when he stopped, feeling his love expanding without limits.

*****

Master list

A/N: Just because 🤷🏻‍♀️

Tag list: @lyarr24 @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @gypsy-girl-08 @datewithgianni @cloudofdisney @gretelshelby @ange-thoughts @lespendy @onlydeadcells @fastfan @stevie75 @prettylittlehoneyeyesxoxo @esposadomd @strayrockette @forbidden-forest-witch @elenavampire21 @forgottenpeakywriter @zablife @peakyscillian @moral-terpitude @babaohhhriley @shelbydelrey @shaddixlife @sloanexx @cilliansangel @rangerelik @sydneyyyya (can’t tag) @adaydreamaway08 @dandelionprints @thomashelbyswhore @woofgocows @cljordan-imperium @flippittygibbitts

[gosmigenergy]

KINKTOBER 2023 / Day Twelve

( Will ‘Ironhead’ Miller x F!Reader )

ORGASM DENIAL/CONTROL / LINGERIE / ROLE REVERSAL

Summary: After his kindness the other week, you think Will deserves a little treat.

Day twelve of @absurdthirst's Kinktober prompts list.

Rating: Mature 18+

Warnings: Mentions trying on clothes, P in V, unprotected sex (use protection irl please), no use of Y/N

Word Count: 2.4k

You were never one for shopping, everything was easier online.

A Saturday spent going shop to shop, fighting against the flocks of people doing the same with sounded like a weekend you’d rather forget, yet here you were. Your friend had dragged you out, mostly because she wanted to see you, secretly to get the gossip on what was happening with you and those guys from fight night.

Your lips were mostly sealed and what you did give her wasn’t nearly as juicy enough.

She was carrying a few bags whilst you were leaving empty handed, everything you tried on either felt weird or looked weird or both. This is why you preferred trying stuff on at home, without the unflattering mirrors, poorly lit changing rooms or the shop assistant knocking on the door to see if you were alright.

Until you caught something out of the corner of your eye.

She carried on ahead of you, only realising you’d ground to a halt when you didn’t reply.

“I haven’t seen you look at something like that since Santiago.”

“Huh?”

She chortled, “You look so cute when you’re confused.”

Standing next to each other, you gazed at the mannequin in the shop window. You never remembered a lingerie shop being here before though it gave that vibe of not just selling ridiculously pretty under garments.

“Why don’t you try it on?”

“I’ll just get it on—“

“This is not the kind of thing you order online,” she folded her arms, “trust me.”

You bring your attention back, biting the inside of your lip.

She sighed and grabbed your hand with a python like grip.

“Come one,” she hauled you towards the doors.

“Nooooo.”

You immediately gravitated towards the set you admired in the window, fingers flicking to find your size and just as you gave up hope, a shop assistant approached. She was mostly harmless and actually good at her job. When she asked what size you were looking for, you blanked, and she smiled and said she’d measure you up. Now you found yourself stood in a velvet walled changing room with matching furniture, twiddling your thumbs, waiting for her to come back with your size.

The knock made you flinched.

Opening the door, she slipped in and handed you the pieces.

“I didn’t know which bottom you’d like so I brought all three.”

“There’s three different types?”

She hummed, “You’ve got my personal favourite, the high waisted knicker. The thong which you know, always sells well and the crotchless. You wanted the garter too, right?”

You could only nod, the last option had thrown you.

Crotchless?

“Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll fix the bra straps.”

“Ok,” you say softly.

You could hear the conversation outside, your friend and the shop assistant making small talk at first - how was your day, where have you been, the usual until they started talking about you.

‘She’s not much of a shopper.’

‘Who is these days,’ the shop assistant says. ‘I much prefer online but this kind of stuff is risky, if you don’t know your size, it’s a lot of back and forth.’

‘That’s why I dragged her in here.’

‘I hope she likes it, that set will really accentuate her figure, it’ll look great on her.’

‘There’s definitely a few guys who’d love to see her in it.’

You wobble, bumping the door as you try to get a leg through the hole, too busy listening in on what they were saying.

“You ok?” Your friend queries.

“I’m fine, almost there.”

Closing your eyes, you take a few breaths before spinning on your heels, opening one eye. The image reflected had you instantly opening the other and your heart skips. You looked good, real fucking good. You exhale, pushing yourself up on the balls of your feet, imagining how you’d stand in heels. Clinging onto the plush walls, you turn to view the back and are equally as pleased.

All the boys would love this but you had one in mind.

—

You told Will you were going to freshen up about twenty minutes ago and you were surprised he hadn’t come to check on you.

The first five minutes was you, staring at the clean lines of the bag, a neat little bow sealing it shut. The next five was you gazing upon the set laid upon the black tissue it was once wrapped in, the emerald green colour rich. You spent the other ten minutes getting the damn thing on with delicate fingers, afraid that any brisk movement would ripped the mesh. When it was all on, you went to the mirror and adjusted your boobs just like the assistant showed you, it was the correct way apparently.

Back on the bed, you slipped on the stockings and hooked them into the garter before slipping on the pair of heels you hid in your weekend bag.

The nerves were starting to get to you, you wobble on your heels as you head to the mirror again. 

You didn’t get why you were so nervous, this was Will for fuck’s sake. You’re sure if you approached any of the boys in this lingerie, they’d fall to their hands and knees and worship you at your feet. Maybe that’s what it was, new territory, you were used to being the centre of attention but now, you were stepping into the spotlight.

You took a deep breath before checking yourself over one last time.

Heading to the door, you grabbed his robe from the hook and wrapped it around your frame. You step carefully, his robe gathered around your ankles as you go to find him.

He’s busying himself in the kitchen, back towards you.

You knew you could do this.

Treading carefully, you tiptoe to stop the clicking of your heel and hover behind him. You stretch your arms up, rubbing your hands before covering his eyes.

He drops the soapy dish in his hand.

“What have I told you about approaching us from behind?”

Not to do it, which hardly seemed fair because they did it all the time.

“I know, it’s jus—“

His other hand had snuck to your ass and he squeezed, a twitch in his brow as he felt the soft, thick fabric of his dressing gown.

“Keep your eyes closed.”

He gifts you another three squeezes.

You guide him away from the countertop and turned him round, still covering his eyes with your palms.

“Are they definitely closed?”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

You part one set of fingers to make sure, he was never one for lying. Bringing your hands back, you read his features like always he was pokerface except for the slight curl in his lips, you’d peeked his interest.

Grabbing the tea towel, you dry his hand before taking them in his. Yours were always so velvety in comparison to his even after soaking in the water for as long as they had, he knew they were rough.

Leading the way, you tug lightly and walk him out the kitchen.

You thought you had planned this but as you turn your head, looking at the living room, you realise this isn’t going to work. You needed to sit him somewhere where he could see you in full view and where you could stand so he would see you from head to toe. It’s as if he heard your mind working.

“What are you thinking?”

“I want to sit you down but I need the space.”

“Bedroom?”

“Hmm, I wanted somewhere different.”

“How about the office?”

“You have an office?”

“Kind of,” he shrugs, “it’s where I keep all my books, there’s a nice leather chair if that’s what you’re after.”

You make a move.

You’re met with a small room, the walls ladened with books and military paraphernalia, photos that you can’t wait to have a proper look at. You escort him to the leather chair and he makes himself comfortable as you go to close the door.

He can hear the clicks on the wooden floor, feel the nervous energy.

“You ok?”

You hum.

“Can I open my eyes yet?”

“Yeah,” you say in a sigh.

There you were stood in his robe though his eyes did fall on your shoes. He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, hands hanging loosely together.

“Now you’re just teasing.”

Your head drops as you giggle, cheeks blushing. You bring your head back up and scoop your hair out of the back, shaking it out of your face.

“I know I am but,” you begin to undo the tie. “I wanted to see your face when I did this.”

Shrugging off his robe, it pools at the bottom of your feet.

You hear his breath as his eyes roam across every part of your body, those piercing blues bringing goosebumps to your skin. His tongue whips over his lips as one of his hands reaches for the back of his neck, he tips his head to one side. Leaning back, he takes another peek, forehead creasing as his eyebrows raised. 

“Fuck.”

His smile buried into his cheeks. He threw his hand to you after he rubbed his neck.

“Is this just for me?”

You bit your lip, “Yeah.”

His reaction was better than you could ever have hoped for.

The goosebumps had dispersed and left a prickly feeling that warmed your skin, the knot you felt in your belly releasing, your arousal burning in your loins.

He beckoned for you to come.

You walk with purpose, exaggerating your hips, stopping when your pointed toes scuff the chair. 

Rocking forward, Will smoothes his palms over your legs and up your ass, sweeping over your hips and waist. He extends his thumbs, brushing over your breasts, nipples growing under their mesh containment. Moving to your back, he edges you closer.

His breath teases your skin, whiskers tickling as he kisses along the band of your knickers.

You sigh, your nails scratching his scalp as the kisses intensified.

The strain in his pants was becoming unbearable, his cock stiffening underneath. With one hand, he undoes his buckle and pops the top button, pulling the zip to alleviate himself. He does nothing else, desperate to touch your skin.

He flattens his tongue and licks from one side of your body to the other.

Your juices dribble, dressing your folds.

When he offers you some relief, you climb onto his lap, knees pressed to his hips. You settle so you’re face to face and bring your lips to his, two swift kisses before you push on his mouth, drawing the air from his lungs. You catch his moan in your mouth as you slip your tongue in and dance with his.

His teeth sink into your bottom lip as he pulls back.

Cupping his hands over your breast, he thumbs at your nipple until it grows puffy. Freeing it from the delicate fabric, he takes it his mouth and suckles, tongue swiping up and down.

Your head falls back as a cry rises from your chest.

He releases it from his mouth with a pop before doing the same with the other. His fingers run in the middle of your breasts and down your stomach, over your knickers. Sliding over your mound, he expected to be greeted with more material containing you. He chuckles when your juices coat his digits.

Peeling himself away from you, he lifts his hips and yanks his pants and boxer enough to release his heavy cock.

Licking your fingertips, you catch his precum and spread it over his tip, a shiver jolting up his spine as he reclines. You line yourself up and drop your hips, taking him in your opening. Your walls pulse around his bright tip before you sink further into his lap. He gives a satisfied sigh as you take him to the hilt.

You roll your hips in the figure of eight.

“That’s it,” you coo as his head rests to the cushion.

Placing a hand on his chest and the other on his thigh, you lift yourself up before coming back down with a gasp. You revel in his every grunt, every moan as you steadily ride his cock, the wet smack as you bounce from bare skin.

You rode until your legs began to protest.

After another stroke, you collapsed onto his chest, your hand releasing his top.

He’s still inside you, cock twitching as your walls constricted around him. His movements were sluggish but he manages to bring a hand to your back. He strokes you up and down, allowing you to breath.

“Shall I help us finish?”

He looks at you, smiling softly.

You nod in agreement, sweat clinging to your hairline.

Placing his hand under your ass, you lean forward and let him lift your hips up and down. You whimper as your arms wrap tightly around his neck, your chin resting on top of his head.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’ll both be cumming soon.”

With the new angle, his cock nudges that sweet spot over and over and though he promises you’ll finish soon, you don’t know how much more you can take. His breath is hot against your shoulder, lips showering it with kisses. The blood pumping through your veins fast and loud, you can only just hear him whispering praises in your ear.

Then he holds you steady, tip still radiating in your walls.

You know what’s coming, your fingers bury into his shirt and your eyes snap shut.

He thrusts, shoving his cock into you sharply.

You both moan in unison before he slips out before continuing back and forth at a relentless pace. 

Even with your eyes closed, your seeing stars, that burn in your belly heightening as you let out a strangled cry. Your legs are vibrating as he pushes you to the edge and helps carry you through your orgasm. His cock is trapped in your pulsating walls and with a couple more strokes, he coated them.

Your body slack above him and he drops his hip for you to lay.

There’s shockwaves as you try to settle, his strokes on your legs not helping. You feel his heartbeat slow against your chest, his breaths less staggered as you bring your attention back to the room.

There’s a moment of blissful silence before Will speaks.

“Please tell me you’ve got more lingerie.”

[just-a-space-rabbit]

Flufftober 2024 Day: 9 Sickfic

It is Villain’s day to make history. But unfortunately for them, Henchman is sick.

Flufftober 2024: Prompt List by @thepenultimateword TW:Illness Mood: Light

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“It is finally time...” Villain said pridefully as they looked at the big monitor. “Tonight will be the greatest scheme of my life. Tonight, we will make villainous history!”

Henchman tried their best to sound cheerful as they responded. But under their facemask they were struggling, as the fever they had woken up with this morning now felt like it had consumed all their energy and excitement. “The heroes will surely be surprised, boss.” they said in hopefully a cheerful tone all while trying to keep their blurred focus on Villain.

A smirk grew on Villain's face, before they got out of the chair, signaling for Henchman to follow along. “Yes, my loyal Henchman! They won't even know what hit them! To think that in only twenty minutes, the 1000 year asteroid will be in perfect position. And with it and our mech we will be able to drain all its energy.” 

Villains began their monologue not noticing how Henchman struggled to keep up  “With that we will be able to knock out all superpowers in the city for at least a month!” Villain laughed maniacally as the images of the chaos they were about to create grew.

Once the two of them got to the giant mech that Villain had been built specifically for this mission, Villains quickly picked up speed and ascended to the top of the giant mech. They yelled down to Henchman, who just reached the mech’s foot. “We need to get to the center of the city on time. You need to be quick and efficient. Just like I trained you.” they said the last bit with great pride. 

“Yes, sir.” Henchman answered as the weight of the task began to come down on them.

“Once there, I estimate we will have about a 5 minute window to fully activate the machine, too little and we won't make it in time. Too much and the heroes will be alerted to us. I know I am counting on you a lot here.” Villain continued, standing as they usually do, next to the mech’s head. “But I know you got it”

Henchman only nodded with another, but this time weaker “yes sir.” as they began to climb up the mech. But stopped midway, as they were hit with a sudden dizziness.

“Are you alright?” Villain asked, looking down at them. “We don’t have much time to waist”

“I’m fine. boss.” Henchman said as they gave quick thumbs up, before continuing up and into the cockpit. Inside they quickly strapped themself down, and began the quick start up. ‘Once this scheme is over I can go home and rest’ they thought as the mech roared into life.

“Alright then” Villain said, but now over the headset. “Remember to take the river path, it’s a bit longer and harder to navigate. But there are less people at this time of day. It’s a giant mech, but any seconds we can buy of us not being seen will help towards our goal, allright? ”

Henchman's head pounded harder as the machine awoke, making concentration even worse. they had already forgotten what Villain had said. ‘Maybe this was a bad idea? NO. I don’t have time to think about that!’ They shook their head harder. ‘I know where Villain needs me to go.’ Still they did try to snap out of the daze they had found themself in.

“Henchman? Henchman, do you hear me?” Villain’s voice kept echoing around them.

“YES SIR! I can hear you.” Henchman responded, realizing they had used too much time as they grabbed the controllers and began to pick up speed as the mech got out of the lair.

“Are you sure you're alright? You don’t sound alright.” Villain asked, as the mech began to move faster, damp cave air fast being replaced with cold night wind. “I can operate the mech if you want to? I’m sure there is enough time” Villain lied, knowing damn well that they need Hechman's skills to get to the center in time.

“I’m fine. I’ll get us there…” was all the Villain heard back. ‘Just get to the city center,’ Henchman thought to themself ‘I’m sick, but not that sick. I just need to get to the city, launch the thing, fight some heroes, and then we go home. That’s all. Come on, Henchman. Just… get… to-’ 

There was a loud thud beside them as Villain jumped down from above. “Villain?” Henchman whispered, turning around and accidentally bringing the mech with them into the motion. They felt the world tip around them as they moved. 

But Villain didn't even stumble as everything moved. Instead they picked up speed towards Henchman. As they kept repeating “Henchman, what is happening?” over and over as Henchman feels themself spin and lose control over the mech.

Henchman opened their eyes, and was confused when they found themself on the floor of the mech in complete silence. ‘How? What?’ They tried to sit up only to be met by more spinning as their head hit them with another wave of dizziness. “Whoa! What’s happening!” Hecnman yelled thinking they and the mech were about to crash into the ground.

“Keep calm Henchman! You passed out while in control of the mech. Luckily I caught what was on to what was happening before it got too bad and activated the override key. If I did not we would have a worse problem.” Villain said as horror spread over Henchman's face. “Then once I got you out of the seat you passed out again. You were out for only about two minutes, we just got back into the lair” They said parked the mech. 

 “Lair? But boss… the plan-” Henchman said, but Villain only hushed them as they got out of the seat and over to them. Villain quickly took Henchman's mask off, with only a little resistance from Henchman themself. Their eyes widened at the look of them, but they said nothing, placing their hand on Henchman’s head. “Henchman, You're boiling up. Why did you not tell me you were sick?!”

“Because you said you needed me for the mission… I thought I was strong enough to push through.” Henchman whispered as they tried to sit back up. “I’m sorry…”

“Apologies accepted, not for being sick, but for you not telling me.” Villain said, picking them up in a bridal carry “come on, I’m taking you to my place. You do not look like your in a condition were I’m comfortable leaving you alone” 

“But the mission?” Henchman responded weakly as drowsiness began to come over them, “there might still be time! You wanted this so badly…” 

 "Your health is more important than any scheme!” Villain responded “I can’t have my best henchman being sick at work!”

 “Boss, I’m your only henchman…” Henchman said as they slipped into sleep.

“EXACTLY!” Villain huffed.

… … … … …

Day 8 -🎃- Day 10

[intoanotherworld23]

Calling You Mine

Pairing: Reader x Bradley Bradshaw

Warnings: just some swear words and mild kissing, someone getting punched

Summary: You haven’t seen Bradley Bradshaw since the two of you broke up, and you run into him at the Hard Deck

If you wish to be added to my Bradley Bradshaw/ Miles teller tag list please don’t hesitate to ask me so I can add you! Heart it! Reblog it! Enjoy it! XOXO

✨Please do not copy and paste my work or take credit for this without my permission or you will be reported✨

It has been too long since you've last been to the Hard Deck. Every memory you've ever had of this place went flashing across your eyes. Smiling to yourself at all the laughs and kisses you shared here.

Bradley Bradshaw was the love of your life and you loved him with every once of your being. The two of you grew up together, and had talk of plans to spend the rest of your lives with one another. The two of you even at one point talked about have little ones running around.

Every pilot always joked with you guys saying how head over heels you guys were. Your dad absolutely loved him and his mom loved you. It was like the two of you were made for each other. Nothing could break the two of you apart.

Frowning once images of him started showing up remembering this was the last place you saw him. This was where you had your big fight that ended your relationship with him. Not even remembering what the fight exactly was about.

It was the worst night of your life when you lost the love of your life. Constantly looking at your phone praying he was going to call or text you but it never happened. The pain was too much you moved to a completely different state.

Seeing him tonight would bring back all those horrible memories and thoughts you had or yourself. Blaming yourself every day for why he left you.

All you know is that you were hoping he wouldn't be here to remind you of everything. Walking inside the bar already seeing that it was filled with people. Almost every person here was in uniform wondering if they were going to be joining in the mission as well.

Seeing the familiar khaki uniforms over by the pool table. Instantly recognizing some of your fellow pilots Coyote, Fanboy, Phoenix, Bob, Payback and Hangman. If they were here surely they all got the same letter as you. They were all the best and they wanted the best.

Your eyes doing a quick glance around seeing if you could see that familiar mustache anywhere. Wherever he was you were surely going to avoid as along as possible. Which was probably going to be damn near impossible.

"He isn't here yet." Pennys voice called out when she noticed your figure standing by the bar looking around.

"Who?" Asking playing dumb damn well knowing she knew exactly.

"Please Y/N I know exactly who it is you're looking for." She scoffed as she grabbed you your drink placing it in front of you. "He usually comes in later than everybody else."

"Does he always come in?" You already knew the answer to that you still just wanted her to say it.

"All the time." She smiled at you and you couldn't help but smile back knowing he's always loved this place when you two were going out.

"It's good to have you back in here." She said as she cleaned out some dirty glasses. "Brings back good old memories."

Nodding your head as you took a sip of your drink avoiding the subject looking back over to your group of friends. Penny knew everything about the two of you, and how close you were with one another. You were like a daughter to her and she hated when he broke up with you how crumbled it left you.

"Do you think he'll be angry if he sees me?" Asking her as she stepped in front of you now placing a rag on her shoulder.

"No I don't think he will." She shook her head as she thought about it.

"Do you think he'll talk to me?" It was a question you didn't want answered but needed to hear something hopeful.

"Probably." Not liking that word or the way she said it. "Which means if he doesn't talk to you you'll just have to talk to him."

"I don't know if I can Penny." Shaking your head as you looked down at your hands on the bar top. "He hates me I know he does."

"Bradley does not hate you." Her voice stern as she gave you a certain look.

"I guess we'll see huh." Grabbing your drink and heading over to your friends not giving her a chance to respond.

Penny knew very well about what happened between you two, and always had hope both of you would make amends. She truly believed the two of you were perfect together, and always told you her feelings.

When you two broke up everyone left it alone, and knew it was a sensitive subject. Everything around you reminded you of him, and surely he was feeling the same. Laying in bed just staring at the ceiling wondering if he would ever speak to you again.

"Hey." A chorus of greetings rang out when they saw you approaching their table.

"Hi guys." Greeting back as you stood by Phoenix giving her a tight hug she was your best friend out of everyone.

"Well we can all go home everyone Y/C/S is here." Patting you on the back as you rolled your eyes at her.

"I'm here." Hangman pointing to himself which was responded with eye rolls.

"Oh shut up Hangman." Phoenix snorted out with a shake of her head. "Need remind you she graduated top of the class."

"Yeah and kicked your ass during training every time." Smirking when you saw it was getting to him as his jaw clenched.

"Not every time." Mumbling to himself as he picked up his pool stick lining up his shot.

"Yeah they only brought you here to make us all feel better." Snapping back making everyone break out into ahh's as they smacked him on the back.

"Ouch sweetheart you're as ruthless with that mouth as you are in the sky." Putting a hand over his chest trying to act like he was wounded.

"Yeah I agree I don't want you to kick my ass in the sky." Coyote joked reminding you the last time you flew together you blew him out of the sky with your skills. "Again."

"Not my fault you're scared of a girl." Shoving his shoulder everyone laughing.

"I'm not scared of a girl." Coyote pushed you back. "I'm scared of you."

"Yeah I don't ever want to face off with you in the sky." Fanboy agreed with Coyote looking over at him. "No offense."

"None taken." Crossing your arms over your stomach as you watched the boys playing pool.

"She doesn't scare me." Recognizing that voice instantly your entire body froze afraid to even turn around.

"Bradshaw as I live and breathe." Hangman smirked at the man getting his attention off you who you still couldn't turn around to face.

"Hangman." His voice stoic as he leaned up against a stool behind him not even acknowledging you. "You look...good."

"Oh I'm good Rooster I'm very good." The blonde haired man cockily said as he shot one of the balls into the pocket.

Feeling someone walk right next to you looking up to see Hangman standing there with a huge grin on his face. You knew exactly what he was about to do, and you just closed your eyes and prepared yourself for whatever was about to happen.

"Doesn't our Y/N here look absolutely stunning." Putting an arm around your shoulders as he moved your body to face towards Bradley. "God I wish you were mine."

Looking up timidly at Bradley whose eyes were now glued to yours. You couldn't tell what kind of emotions were going through his mind but you knew he wasn't happy with Hangman hovering over you like that. He was breathing heavily through his nose not trying to get angry since the two of you were broken up.

Hangman always like to flirt with you when everyone found out you and Bradley were going out. It made it his life's goal to mess with you and say things to piss him off. You could tell it was something that Bradley really didn't like, and he was close to punching Hangman in the face sometimes.

"She's all yours." Sneering through his teeth as he glared at you and Hangman who looked a little surprised at his lack of reaction.

Everyone was standing there awkwardly listening to what was going on. They tried to act like they were doing other things but they wanted to hear what was going on.

You gotta admit hearing Bradley's harsh words stung you. A tiny piece of your heart break at his lack of affection and feelings towards you. Turning your head away from him when you felt your throat start to close up, as you tried to keep yourself from getting too upset.

"I'm getting another refill." Mumbling as you moved Hangman's arm off you practically running back up to the bar.

Penny could see your flustered look and without even responding handed you another drink. Your hands gripped the counter as you tried to control your breathing. You didn't realize seeing him and how little he talked to you would upset you that much.

"He hates me Penny." You stated staring off into the distance not wanting to walk back to them. "He hates me."

"Y/N he doesn't hate you." She stood in front of you throwing a rag on her shoulder. "The two of you just need to talk."

"Penny he pretty much handed me over to Hangman." Throwing your hands up as she gave you a yikes look.

"I am sure he didn't mean it." She was trying her best to make you feel better but it wasn't helping anything.

"Think I should just go home." Feeling defeated as you looked over to Phoenix and Bradley talking.

"You can't go home Y/N." Her voice stern as she spoke not liking your answer. "Just talk to him."

"He won't listen to me." You argued back making her groan.

"You'll never know unless you try." Nodding behind you as you turned around to see Bradley walking straight to you. "Now might be your chance."

Turning back around to face her giving her a help me look but she just shrugged and continued her job. Standing there like a statue as you felt someone now standing next to you already knowing who it was.

"Y/N." Hearing his low voice calling your name felt good. "Can we talk?"

"Yeah what's up?" Trying to act cool like you had no idea what he wanted to even talk about, and he just scoffed at your reaction.

"Can we talk outside?" He asked again nodding his head towards the back deck where there was nobody.

Also noticing that everyone from your group was now standing there watching the two of you. Phoenix looking at you with a reassuring smile and giving you two thumbs up. Hangman looked bored by what was going on and continued to play pool.

"I guess." Sighing as you led the way through the many patrons and headed to the back deck was the noise already went down a few notches.

Wrapping your arms around yourself as the cold beach breeze smacked against your skin. Rocking back and forth on your feet as you avoided eye contact with him. As much as you wanted to look into his eyes if he was going to give a cold shoulder than so we're you.

It's been so long since you and Bradley have spoken and neither of you knew what to say to the other. It was like both of you had so much to say but you just couldn't find the right words to say it.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry." He spoke first and you stopped moving as you looked up at him.

"For what?" Asking him with curiosity to what exactly he was talking about.

"For earlier." Clicking your tongue realizing it wasn't about what actually happened between you two. "I shouldn't have said that."

"No it's fine I'm already over it." Which was a complete lie and he knew that.

"You know I can tell when your lying Y/N." He had a tone of amusement behind his voice as he tried not to smile. "You've never been able to fool me."

"Is that all you wanted to talk about?" Not bothering to respond to what he said watching as his smiled faded.

"No it's not." Shaking his head as he stepped a little closer to you. "I also wanted to apologize for how I ended things."

"The way I ended things with you was completely wrong and I had no right to do that without talking to you first." You could have sworn you were holding your breath the whole time.

"You're right you were a dick to me." Finding your voice as you snapped back at him. "Not even explain to me why you broke up with me."

"I'm sorry believe me I am I wish I could go back and do things all over again." Slowly leaning forward to press his forehead against yours.

Both of you standing there without exchanging any words and enjoying being with each other again. Smiling to yourself feeling like you finally got your Bradley back. It felt so good to have him touching you and holding you like this again. Not wanting him to let go of you in fear this was all a dream.

It was like you back in time before you broke up remembering how he would always just hold you like this. Sometimes he would even start dancing around the parking lot making you laugh as other stared at you like you two were crazy.

"Why did you break up with me?" You couldn't help but ask wanting to know his exact reason.

"I was just angry and I thought you were acting out on purpose." Now you were even more confused as to what he was talking about.

"What are you talking about?" Questions him as you scrunched your face up. "Whadda ya mean how I was acting out?"

"That night Hangman was all over you and you were flirting back and it really pissed me off." You we're about to respond when he put his hands up to let him finish. "I confronted Hangman to leave you alone."

"That's when he said you two dated before and were sleeping together." You swear your jaw dropped down to the floor in shock by what he was telling you and you didn't know whether to he disgusted or pissed off,

"Excuse me?" Screaming at Bradley as he looked at you nervously judging by your reaction it wasn't true. "That is further from the truth."

"I know I know I wasn't thinking clearly." Putting his hands up when he watched you walking back and forth trying to control your anger. "I should have talked to you but I just assumed it was true."

"Your damn right you should have talked to me first." Shaking your head at him as you scoffed. "I would have never ever dated Hangman let alone sleep with him."

"Seeing him touch you like that tonight brought back memories and I just got angry." He was sounding angry himself and beating himself up for letting you go like that.

"Wait a minute." You stopped him from talking as you thought back to what he just told you. "So Hangman told you specifically that we dated and were sleeping together?"

All Bradley did was nod at you and that was enough to send you sprinting back into Hard Deck looking for that cocky blonde asshole. Looking to see him still standing with everyone laughing and joking which only fueled your anger.

"Hey sweetheart decide to join us again?" Hangman smirked as he started walking towards you Bradley right behind you as you brought your hand back punching him square in the jaw.

"Oh shit." Bradley spoke as everyone in the bar stopped what they were doing to watch everything unfold.

Phoenix looked proud of you and wishes she could have done what you did. Some of the guys felt bad for him but knew it was a long time coming. It was just a matter of time before someone punched him even more so a woman.

Bradley looked at you like a proud father who wished he had been recording it so he could play it back over and over. Hands on his hips as he stood right behind you in case you wanted to keep going. The last thing he wanted was for the admiral to find out and kick you off this mission.

"You son of a bitch." Screaming at him as he grabbed his jaw moving it to make sure it wasn't broken. "You told Bradley we dated and slept together?"

"What?" Phoenix exclaimed as she looked at the three of you shocked and wanting answers.

"Didn't think he would actually believe it." Shrugging his shoulders as you started moving forward only to be grabbed by Bradley.

"Don't you ever say anything like that again or I swear to god I'll kill you." Pointing a finger at him in warning making him put his hands up in defense.

"Yes ma'am." Quickly nodding his head as everyone around him chuckled at how terrified he was of you.

"Let's go." Bradley whispered in your ear rubbing his hands up and down your arms pulling you away.

Walking out with Bradley behind you people cheered you on even Penny. Who lifting up a glass to you with a huge smile on her face making you laugh. It felt so good to do that and you didn't realize how much you wanted to do that until now.

"I gotta admit." Bradley spoke stopping you by grabbing onto your waist turning you to face him as he smirked at you. "That was pretty hot what you did."

"Thanks." Smiling up at him as he stared down at your lips and then back up to your eyes.

"Can I kiss you?" He timidly asked afraid you would say no and walk away.

"I thought you'd never ask." Wrapping your arms around his neck Bradley smiling showing off his teeth as he pulled you flush against him his lips on yours.

——————————————

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