#if you cant use a mans belly as a pillow then what is it good for?

[avonne-writes]

i just remembered you have a honeymoon fic in the works omg im so excited cant wait! <3

Yes! 💕💕 I'm sorry I'm so slow, but I'm working on it whenever I can. Here's an excerpt from the beginning:

Sheer curtains billow in the honeymoon suite's open balcony doors as the breeze blows in from the sea to cool the scorching Italian afternoon. Sunshine glances off the lemon pattern of the tiles. After what feels like an entire day of travel, Bucky shares twin sighs of relief with Gale as they finally put their bags down. Finally. They made it. According to the man who drove them to their hotel in Positano, the weather today is mild for the region, but it's still warm and humid enough for sweat to bead at Bucky’s temples and get trapped in the hair on his chest. 

He kicks his shoes off and makes a beeline for the bedroom, where he throws himself face first on the luxurious mattress with a groan. It welcomes him with hardly a creak in protest. There’s a sprig of lavender on his pillow, along with a card wishing him and Gale a happy honeymoon. As he lies there with his feet still hanging off the bed, the card and the flower slide down the fabric and into his messy curls. He ignores them, too tired to actually care. He wants to sleep for two days straight. Then spend the rest of their ten days here having sex. The perfect plan, although he's sure Gale would disagree.

He can hear him puttering around with the luggage, then the sound of his chuckle right above Bucky's head.

"How thoughtful." Gale says as he plucks the card from Bucky’s hair. "Complimentary husband to go with the room. They even made sure he didn’t smell."

Bucky's stomach does a little somersault at the word 'husband'. He mumbles his reply into the pillow. "I smell like roses by nature.”

Gale laughs. His right hand slides under Bucky's shirt to stroke his back. “Wanna take the first shower?”

Bucky grunts no. “Go ahead.”

Gale's fingers press down on either side of Bucky's spine, then he steps away. The soft patter of his feet retreats. The rustle of clothes follows, then the sound of the shower turning on in the ensuite. It’s easy to picture him standing naked in the bathroom, a hand on his hip as he waits for the water to warm. Once it's hot enough, he’d step inside and let the stream of it trickle down his body. It would soak his blond hair dark and dribble over the valley of his spine, sprinkle his shoulders, catch in the sparse coils on his chest, curl over the hill of his ass. His skin would glisten in the overhead light. Divine.

As if in response to Bucky's fantasy, Gale’s sigh echoes between the tiled walls of the bathroom. It tugs at the knot of desire tightening deep in Bucky's belly and makes him forget all traces of fatigue. He pushes himself up and looks around. Gale left the door to the ensuite ajar, which is as good an invitation as any. A grin pulls at the corners of Bucky's lips. He shucks his clothes carelessly in a heap on the floor and goes to join Gale inside.

The first thing he notices when he opens the clear glass door of the stall is that the shower has both a handheld and a fixed shower head, and Gale’s using both of them at the same time. One for his back, the other for his front. Little hedonist, Bucky thinks, amused. Gale's eyes are closed, eyelashes clumped together in pretty lines as if drawn by a make-up artist. His head is tilted back to let the water flow down his hair and neck. His cheeks are pink from the heat. The smile dancing around his lips is a sign that he knows Bucky's in the stall with him, but he doesn’t react otherwise. When Bucky wraps a hand around his left hip and leans in to kiss him, he’s ready for it though. He opens his mouth and hums at the soft sounds their lips make as they slide over each other.

When they pull away, he curls an arm around Buck's neck and holds up the handheld shower head. 

“Stick out your tongue.” He says, a giddy light in his eyes.

Bucky doesn’t even ask why, he just does it. A second later, he’s hit by an intense ticklish sensation as Gale directs the ray of water at the tip of his tongue. He jerks his head back, sputters and giggles, pinching Gale's flank in retaliation.

“Dork.” He laughs and kisses Gale again, pulling him closer by his slim waist. “I'm gonna bite you.”

Gale chuckles and captures Bucky's lips to bite him first, nipping at his bottom lip and then soothing it with the soft flick of his tongue. He bends one of his legs to press it to Bucky's calf and thigh and rakes his wet fingers through Bucky’s hair. They continue making out like that for a minute, rough, then sweet, then playful again, before Bucky pulls back to flash Gale a cocky smirk.

“Bet I can take it longer than you.” He jerks his chin at the shower head.

Gale raises an eyebrow. “What do I get if I win?”

Bucky pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “A blowjob.”

Gale's half-lidded eyes flicker in interest. He raises the shower head. “Okay.”

The outcome is quite predictable.

The thing is, Bucky never intended to win. The moment he saw Gale all relaxed and happy in the shower, he knew what he wanted. His mouth was watering at the mere thought of it. But it's fun to give Gale that thrill of victory to go with the silly fun of the challenge, and Bucky's smiling as he goes to sink to his knees as soon as he concedes defeat.

“John.” Gale laughs, his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, still holding the shower head. It directs the flow of warm water down Bucky’s back. “I thought you meant after we're done.”

With his hands holding Gale's hips steady, Bucky puts his mouth on Gale’s stomach, kissing the mole below his belly button. “Nah, I want you here.”

[hope-to-hell]

The difficulty of taking what you really want. Travis Hackett x Reader. Smut, pegging, implied age gap. It’s never too late to teach an old dog new tricks.

—

When you float the idea he goes all deer in the headlights, blush creeping up from under his collar. He’s not disgusted—poleaxed maybe— spluttering a bit before he gets out a what? I, um. No… no thank you, and so you let it lie. There’s plenty else you can do, after all. And anyway you’re well distracted before long, once he starts peeling off his shirt with that boyish grin that makes him look twenty years younger.

Were you a greaser? I bet you were, leather jacket and jeans, causing trouble down at the drive-in and—

Hey now, how old do you think I am?

Just messing with ya. Still think you’d look fuckin hot in leather.

There’s a span of weeks when he’s turning something over in his mind, now and then making that rumbling hmm over coffee at his desk, or as he’s moving slow and lazy in ya with your back pressed against his chest.

You think too much.

One of us has to.

And so time passes until the question just faintly brushes the back of your mind, until the lights are low and he’s nosing at your neck. I want you to, he says, and you can feel the heat radiating from his cheeks.

Gonna have to be more specific, T. Pulling it out of him carries the risk of Travis simply retreating into himself, but this is part of the dance: the I want that becomes we need, the shyness spiraling out into abandon— because he is shy, no matter what he or anyone else says; he dreams of rain in the pines and not another soul around for miles— but all this hinges on him speaking his need.

I— aw fuck. I want you to fuck me. His words are breathy on the exhale, wispy almost; it’s that little voice whispering I want, I want, peeling back the ingrained layers of good boys don’t do that, laying bare the part of him that dares to take what he wants. This won’t be a grand event; there will be no rose petals or candlelight; he is a skittish thing and so he will try to stay at the very edge of the light where he can let his needs unfurl. But he is the center of your attention here whether he likes it or not; he takes a breath and lets you lay him down.

You don’t have to say I’ll be careful but you do say easy does it when you’re slicking him inside and out til he’s nearly more lube than man; he’s had a finger in him once or twice but the promise of more has him breathing openmouthed, canines catching at his lip. I gotcha. Here, check it out— and you’re closing his big rough hand over the silicone cock, feeling the tug of leather against your skin as he hefts it, pursing his lips such that you can practically hear the gears turning in his mind.

And if he twitches a little at the way you’re petting at his insides, it doesn’t last because at last he’s drifting in the rare pleasure of being cared for, rocked now and again by the uncertainty of this unfamiliar ground. Feels— weird. Exposed? Like I’m more naked than I’ve ever been. He shifts, canting his hips up just a bit; he could be chasing sensation or trying to evade it, and so you have to ask.

Hey. We still good?

Golden.

Okay, then. Lie back and let me blow your mind.

Smartass, I oughta— whatever he meant to say dies in the harsh wet gasp that punches out of him when you steady the toy against his ass and slowly push inside. It’s not from pain but rather from the sheer overwhelming scope of sensation that he has no reference for, and so all he can do is drop his head back among the pillows and feel.

‘Salright? His answer is in the way he reaches for you, threading a hand between all your tangled limbs til he can grip at your hip, catching at the leather strap. His pale arm tenses bowstring-tight with the force of his need; he’s beyond speaking but his body speaks more clearly than he could, his cock twitching and jerking against his belly. Stroke yourself, gorgeous. C’mon, let me see, you look so fucking hot when you let go. And when he does let go— when he sheds the final scrap of oughtn’t, shouldn’t, mustn’t and clothes himself in pure naked pleasure— when he takes himself in hand and his breaths falter out of rhythm, that’s when it happens.

It’s the smallest change in angle, a shift of your hips that rips a startled, wide-eyed oh from him. There, huh?

I— fuck. Fuck. Again, more— and of course you’re gonna give him what he wants, what he needs— unh— he’s been wound so tight for so long, he deserves this mindless pleasure, the wet sound of skin on skin as you push him hard toward the edge— fuckfuckfuck— the stoic in him has combusted and all that’s left is this mad dash to— ah— to—

and he falls.

He’s still twitching but you’re already halfway out of the harness, wrapping yourself around his thigh, and he slots against you so perfectly, slippery with spilled lube and your own need; the hair on his thigh gives just the right amount of friction and it’s no time at all before you’re following him down.

In the loose-limbed aftermath he’s hazy, drifting; his fingertips brush against your cheek as he’s mumbling cmere. Scootch up. He’s so warm, slick with sweat and fluids but you fit so perfectly against his side. It’ll be worth having to peel yourself off him later; for now he’s slipping into sleep with one arm draped across your belly. For now, there is no thought, no worry— only rest.

[khazadspoon]

WMM here!

Uhhh how about

15. Need & 28. Tempting

with Jesus and Rowdy? 🥺👉👈

Need and Tempting

———

It’s hard sometimes, having a boyfriend who is sometimes gone for weeks at a time. Jesús hesitates to use the word, boyfriend, because they haven’t really put a label on what they’re doing, but… it fits. They text, call most days, and when he’s free Rowdy spends most of his time in Jesús’ room.

But that just makes the distance harder.

Rowdy is out of town for a full month this time. He is travelling down to Texas, visiting his family between a few odd jobs for his boss, and it means they don’t get to talk as much. But Rowdy still texts him good morning and goodnight. It just so happens that sometimes he sends pictures as well. Pictures that Jesús can’t open in public.

Today it’s a picture of Rowdy’s torso, from his hips to his neck, damp and freshly showered if Jesús guessed rightly. A fluffy white towel clings to his hips. It looks almost ready to fall off and Jesús stares a little too long at the tantalising, tempting divots he knows lead to one of the man’s… best features.

The picture is followed quickly by a short message: mornin sweetheart ;)

Jesús lays back on his bed and takes a long, deep breath. He texts back.

Good morning; have a nice shower?

Rowdy takes a full minute to respond, and Jesús nearly drops his phone on his face as the image appears. His boyfriend-not-boyfriend is standing in front of a long mirror, his lips curved in a grin as his free hand reaches into the towel, obviously cupping himself, and Jesús mutters a curse under his breath.

Would b better with u

Jesús rakes his eyes over the picture. He takes in every detail; the water droplets clinging to Rowdy’s skin, the dusky peaks of his nipples, the way his biceps look with light and shadow playing on the muscle…

He’d been attracted to Rowdy at first because he was funny, a little goofy, and exuberant. He’d found out not long after that Rowdy was also stunningly beautiful without his clothes on.

Jesús takes another steadying breath and drops one hand, pushes it into his pants and strokes himself slowly.

Are you trying to make me need you? He sends.

Only fair, I need u all the time

His heart thumps in his chest, face heating up as a grin takes over his lips. He tips his head back, moves his fingers a little faster, lets the arousal build a little higher as he pictures Rowdy in his mind. Wet skin, that cute smirk on his lips, the way he would be leaning on the counter… A feast for the eyes.

U busy?

Jesús texts back a quick no and moments later the phone is ringing.

“Hey,” Rowdy says, voice a little breathless, and Jesús already knows how this will go.

He puts the phone on speaker, places it on the pillow next to his head and slips his pants down his thighs.

“Hi Rowdy,” he rubs himself in slow circles, breathes slowly through his nose, feels his muscles tense and relax.

“I… I was thinkin’ about you.”

Jesús smiles to himself, fingers moving faster and drawing a gasp from his throat. “Funny… I’m thinking about you right now.”

He hears Rowdy choke out a curse and the telltale thud of wet fabric hitting the floor. “Shit, ‘soos, really? You- are you..?”

Jesús nods and then remembers Rowdy can’t see him. “Yes. Though I’m sure that’s what you wanted me to do, no?”

He listens to the throaty chuckle on the other end of the line and feels his belly tighten. “I guess it is, yeah…” There is the sound of movement, and the chuckle is replaced by a gentle sigh Jesús has come to know well. He knows that Rowdy has taken himself in hand, is stroking his cock, slowly at first as he always does. Rowdy likes to tease. He likes to draw things out until you’re about ready to grab him and throw him down to make him just get on with it.

Jesús groans softly as he finds just the right angle, fingers rubbing and pressing his own cock perfectly. He spreads his knees wider, cants his hips and tightens his muscles.

“Shit, yeah, love how you sound,” Rowdy moans over the line. “I bet you’re- fuck, bet you’re hard, ain’t you? Wet, too, if I’m hearing right.”

He gasps out a “yes”. His free hand lifts, pushes up under his loose shirt, runs his fingers over his chest in the way Rowdy has done so often since they’ve been together.

“Miss you,” Rowdy mumbles, the sound of his hand on his cock louder now, his breath coming in pants, “miss touchin’ you, tastin’ you, going just about mad being away so long…” He groans again and Jesús echoes it.

“Me too, me too Rowdy! You’re too- too tempting,” he half laughs as his fingers move faster. “When you get back I’m going to lock us both in here for a week.”

He drinks in the moan Rowdy lets out. “I’d let you tie me up if you asked.”

The image shocks him, sends lightning down his spine, makes him shiver. His gut tightens, thighs shaking as he draws closer to the edge. He pictures it - Rowdy trussed up, laying on the bed like a present just for him, eager and wanton and perfect. Jesús wants it.

“You close? You sound close,” Rowdy asks, “you sound- you sound a certain way when you’re close. So pretty.”

He is close. So close he finishes with a sharp cry at the breathless need in Rowdy’s voice.

“Oh fuck that’s it-”

He hears the moment Rowdy comes and stroked himself through right along with him. Rowdy moans his name, no doubt shivers as he spills in his hand, and Jesús takes a moment to wonder what he’s thinking about.

As they cool down, Jesús wipes his hand on the hem of his shirt.

“I, uh… I do miss you, y’know,” Rowdy says softly.

Jesús feels his heart stop for a moment. “I miss you too.”

“Jesús?”

“Yes, Rowdy?”

“I lo-” A pause, Jesús turns the speaker off his phone and cradles it close to his ear, listens to Rowdy hiss a curse quietly. “I’ll see you soon. Promise.”

The phone cuts out and Jesús wonders if he’s dreamed the whole thing.

[baelonthebrave]

'til queendom come, ch. 9

[masterlist] [Ao3] [playlist]

aemond targaryen x targaryen oc

wordcount: 15,310

ch. 9, dohaerās: all men must die. all men must serve.

warnings: canon-typical violence, canon-typical incest, abusive parent/child relationship, nsfw/18+, rough sex, choking, mentions of canon sexual violence & abuse (including against minors), spoilers for HoTD/F&B

a/n: all kudos, comments, bookmarks, reblogs, etc. are very much appreciated and adored! I'm having a lot of mixed feelings about this chapter and about being so close to the end, so I really hope you all enjoy ❤️

In the early hours of the next day, Sena awoke in an unfamiliar bed. The silky sheets below her cheek had a faintly masculine scent, there was white blonde hair splayed on the pillow and there was a wiry arm wrapped around her belly. A tall, lean, naked man was pressed to her back, from shoulder to hip to knee and she was gloriously warm. She leaned back into Aemond’s embrace, sighing happily and laying her arm over the one he had wrapped around her middle. There was a sleepy, gruff sound behind her and she smiled, but when she shifted, she felt something-

Yes. Aemond was sleepily pressing his half-hard cock against the split of her arse. “Good morning, my Prince,” she breathed out a small laugh, and he stirred behind her, still clearly half asleep.

“Mm?” He murmured, shifting up onto an elbow and rubbing at his bare face with a hand. Was this how beautiful he was when he woke? Foggy, a little grumpy, his hair a mess? His eyelids droopily concealed his pretty eyes, one purple, one blue.

She grinned, looking over her shoulder at him and moved her hips a little. “Don’t stop, you seemed like you were enjoying yourself.”

He gave her a puzzled look, then pulled up the sheet to look. “Fuck,” he groaned, his cheeks colouring as he laid down behind her, flat on his back. “Sorry,” he grumbled, shutting his eyes in concentration as if he was trying to banish his morning glory.

“Don’t say sorry,” she said in disbelief as she rolled over to face him. “I think that was the best wakeup call I have ever had.”

He peeked open his lavender eye and smiled at her sleepily. He looked so sweet and carefree like this that it made her heart ache. “Yeah?” He asked, clearly more than a little pleased at her open desire. 

“Yes,” Sena repeated. She brushed a few tangled strands from his cheek and leaned down to kiss him softly. A small sound came from his throat and he came up onto his side to reel her in, deepening the kiss. Only when she could feel his heart thrumming against her did she break away, despite the way he chased her lips with his own. “You know, you worked quite hard last night. Maybe you deserve a lazy morning?” She asked, pushing at his shoulder to get him down onto his back and slipping one knee over his slim waist.

“Gods,” he cursed as she sat up on him, the bedsheet falling to pool around her hips. She saw his eye roving her body, saw the way her nipples hardened in the distinct chill of the room and she surreptitiously used her upper arms to push her breasts together some. “Are you sure you were a maiden ’til last night? You behave as though you were trained in a Lysene pillow house.”

She laughed and canted her hips back, his hardening cock nudging open her folds and spreading her wetness. “Just enjoying the freedom to take what I have wanted for many years, my Prince. And I am inexperienced but what I lack for in skill I can make up for in enthusiasm. You’ll just have to let me practice on you.” She gave her hips an experimental roll and it felt so lovely she gasped aloud.

“Mhm- how could I ever say no to that?” He said with a groan and reached up to pinch a nipple sharply between his thumb and forefinger, making her whine. “I expect you to practice on me until you achieve perfection, my Lady-”

All of a sudden, there was a sharp knock at the door and Sena jumped. Aemond pulled her sharply down onto the bed and threw the sheet up over her, blocking her from view with his own body. “Hope you’re decent-“ came a female voice.

“Alys,” Aemond barked at the woman who had just burst into the room.

“Oh, not decent at all, it seems. Hello, Lady Visenya,” she said and laughed a high pitched laugh. Aemond was rapidly softening against Sena’s thigh and pushed himself off of her with a growl, reaching for his eyepatch on the bedside table. “I’ll have the Maester bring moon tea then, yes? And maybe something for the… love bites,” Alys said with a smirk, eyeing Sena’s neck.

“Who do you think you are? Waltzing into my rooms like you own the place?” He snapped.

Sena sat up in bed, holding the sheet to her body, and kneaded her brow with more exasperation than embarrassment. They certainly had an odd dynamic, these two. Alys smirked at her and winked. “I don’t know, I thought I was a Lady of House Targaryen last night. It’s a comfy bed you’ve given her, I slept like a babe. Much nicer than my own. Very transparent favouritism.”

Aemond made a frustrated grunt and grabbed a pair of breeches from the floor, pulling them up over his hips. He got out from under the covers and went to snatch his morning letters from Alys. Sena was disappointed to only get a brief glance of his lithe body and pert arse before it was covered again. She made a small huffing sound and threw herself back down in bed.

Aemond shot her an exasperated look. “Don’t you mutiny at me too. You two make for a dangerous combination.”

“Someone’s got to pull at your pigtails and keep you humble, oh noble Prince Regent,” Alys said, and Sena chuckled even as Aemond glowered. She could not bring herself to be annoyed at the older woman. She was the only reason Sena was lying in this bed in the first place.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you,” Sena said, and noted the way Alys kept glancing at the swell of her breasts, the pebbling of her nipples under the thin sheet in the cool air. A blush coloured Sena’s cheeks but she did her best not to preen at the attention, that would be unbecoming. “But is there a reason you’re here? Or were you just being nosy?”

Alys laughed darkly. “Nothing to be nosy about, my lady. You two were making enough racket that half the keep knows. Awfully echoey, this damnable castle.” Sena flushed deeply at that, and Aemond raised his hand to scratch at the back of his neck awkwardly. “But if you must know, your brother is here, Prince Aemond.” 

Alys never looked away from Sena to the Prince, though, and Aemond noticed rather angrily. “Her eyes are further up, Alys,” he snapped at her. “Which brother?”

Alys finally looked away from Sena to roll her eyes at the Prince. “The one you sent a raven for in the middle of the night asking he come at once,” she said impatiently.

A grin broke over Sena’s features at that. “Daeron,” she said. “He’s truly here?”

“He is. All six feet of boyish good looks and charming smiles,” Alys said with a wink, and Aemond looked faintly irritated. She supposed it had been awhile since he’d had two women to gang up on him like this.

Sena pulled the bedsheet with her to get out of bed, holding it around her frame as a makeshift gown. “Well, we must get ready and go greet him then.”

Aemond and Alys’s eyes both caught on her hips, her breasts, the wild tangle of her hair. “My love,” Aemond huffed. “Can you at least wait until Alys has left to get changed-“

“You’ll tell her to do no such thing,” Alys Rivers said with a smirk, and Sena somehow turned a deeper shade of red. She looked around for her borrowed dress, then grimaced when she saw the rended remains of the garment on the floor. Alys followed her gaze and scowled. “Animal,” she said, glaring at the Prince. “I guess I should bring a dress and undergarments up for the Lady then?”

“You can leave them at the door and knock to let me know they’re there, nothing more. I can help her dress,” he said with a scowl.

“Awfully jealous, aren’t we? Is that why you’ve made your colour green?” Alys asked, shooting him a smirk. “Very well, then. I’ll bring clothes and see to it that Prince Daeron is comfortable while he waits.” With a nod to her employer and a wink to Sena, she swept from the room before Aemond could bark any more orders at her.

Sena giggled as the door clicked shut and she came to stand before Aemond. She let go of her grip on sheet so she could trace her fingers over his firm pectorals, his narrow waist, the trail of white hair on his belly. He caught her hands in his and pressed their joined hands to the thrumming space over his heart, his eyes hungrily taking in the strength of her shoulders, the curve of her hips, the softness of her tummy. “You know, she only does that because she knows it will get a reaction from you,” Sena told him softly. “She torments you, like your older brother.”

He cradled her face in his hands. “And like my older brother, if anything about you ever goes beyond jests, she will answer for it.”

“I only entertain her because I like seeing how it riles you,” she said with a small smile, squeezing his hand in hers. “You’re handsome all the time, but you’re so pretty when you’re grumpy. Your nose scrunches up like this,” she said, showing him an exaggerated version of the gesture.

He smirked, tracing her lower lip with his thumb. “Or maybe you’re just hoping I’ll get angry enough to be rough with you, like you prefer.”

She smiled coyly. “Partly that, too.” His smile faltered for a second and she turned her head to kiss his palm in an attempt to soothe him. “What is it, Aemond? Tell me.”

“You don’t…” he sighed, considering his words, “regret last night? It was something of a point of no return, after all. As odious as it may be to consider you worth any less now… I have ruined you for any marriage you may have wished to make, Sena.”

“My maidenhead was mine to give. Freely, as I saw fit,” she murmured into his palm. She reached up to push his eyepatch up a little, revealing his injury again. How she was beginning to despise the patch and every moment of his true face that it took from her. “And there is only one man I would have given it to, same as there is only one man who will ever have my hand in marriage.”

He brought a hand up to cradle hers as she held his cheek, brushed at the lower end of his scar. He bowed his head and kissed her with a sigh.

They broke apart and she watched his eyes carefully, one purple, one blue. “Aemond… forgive me for prying into something you did not tell me yourself, but… how was it for you?” She asked. He looked a little confused. “It’s just, I know… your first experience with a woman was likely not a good one-“

Aemond’s jaw tightened and he laced their fingers together, huffing out a small breath. “They are not even the same thing in my mind, Sena,” he said. “One was something I did because I was told to, to appease Aegon, and because I could not have held off much longer without raising questions. The other was something I did because I wanted to, with someone I adore. I felt none of that fear with you last night. If anything, I felt brave. Finally giving you what you have asked for but I was too scared to give. Finally taking what I wanted, our family be damned.”

She gave him a soft smile. “Good. You know you can talk to me about it though, right?” She asked. “I know I did not raise it in the most sensitive way the first time, and in truth you likely never wanted me to know. But I would never judge, would never be squeamish or embarrassed or offended. I would just listen, listen to anything you wanted to tell me.”

He smiled and kissed her brow. “I do not deserve you.”

She reached up and made him look at her, holding his jaw steady. “Never say such a thing again, please. You deserve love just by your existence and it is the greatest privilege of my life to be one of many to give it to you.” He met her eyes a little uncertainly for a moment, then gave her a little nod, and that was enough.

Once Alys had delivered her clothes with a knock, they hurriedly helped each other dress. Sena secured half of Aemond’s hair up out of his face, then he laced her into her dress, hands lingering on her hips for a scant second. She did her best to tame her wild bed hair with the water from the basin, but eventually gave up. “C’mere,” Aemond murmured, and pulled a black hair ribbon from a box in his dresser.

She stood with her back to him and he gently gathered her curls up into a knot, smoothing them as best he could and securing them with a tight bow. He pressed a kiss to her bare neck and she shivered. 

Aemond hummed and grabbed a high-collared doublet from his things. “Best put that on. Don’t know if we need my little brother seeing your neck like that.” He helped her secure the doublet over her dress. It was a welcome extra layer - Harrenhal was so draughty - and it smelled like the rosemary oil he ran through his hair, and the brimstone scent of Vhagar. “I’ll be more careful next time. Mark you somewhere a little less… obvious.”

She smiled and pulled him in by his sword belt. “I don’t want you to be careful with me,” she said and pressed a kiss to his lips. He hummed into her lips. “But yes, I don’t see how it would be advantageous to make our bedroom activities the talk of the court.”

“Stop talking to me about bedroom activities right before we are to go greet my brother, my lady,” he chided, but laced his fingers through hers as he pulled them from the room.

They descended to the great hall. This room had once held the Great Council of 101 AC, somewhat kickstarting all of this mess, Sena thought grimly. In the shadowy corner of the room, she could see Lord Corlys fighting for the rights of his lady wife and their children. In the other, her father, as young as she was now, championing his brother as he would for the rest of King Viserys’s days. The blonde-haired young man in the centre of the room could have been her father from the back, truthfully, but when he spun on his heel at the sound of their approach, it was clear that his face was too kind to ever belong to Prince Daemon.

The grin on Daeron’s face as he took them in, approaching hand-in-hand, made Sena’s heart skip a beat. He was so grown, seven-and-ten now, dressed in battle-proven armour, standing nearly as tall as his brother. His was a soft and sweet beauty - more like Helaena than Aemond’s angular, striking features - and he approached his elder brother with a grin, pulling him into his strong arms with an oof from the Prince Regent. “Aemond,” Daeron sighed.

Aemond looked stiff for a second, then seemed to soften in Daeron’s embrace, clapping him on the back. “Daeron.” He was smiling.

Daeron pulled back and turned to Sena, reaching for her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. 

“Come here,” she said with a smile and held her arms wide. Daeron stepped into her embrace gratefully and smacked a kiss on both of her cheeks. 

“My fierce and beautiful cousin,” he said. “It’s been far too many years. I see you’re a woman, now.”

Sena blushed a little at that, still feeling the ache in her hips with every step she took, but knew he could not possibly mean it in the way it sounded. Over Daeron’s shoulder, she watched Aemond smirk, looking a little proud of himself but averting his gaze so as not to catch her ire. “And you’re a man grown,” she said to Daeron, pulling back and brushing a lock of silver-blonde hair behind his ear. “What have they been feeding you in Oldtown? Stop growing!”

He laughed and Aemond smiled at them, taking in the sight of his brother and his lover embracing each other with a soft look in his eye. It seemed he was as relieved as she was, that they’d finally found a way to end all of this. “You don’t seem surprised to see the Lady Visenya out of her cell and at my side, brother,” he said with a lilting smirk.

Daeron returned the smirk and gave his elder brother a knowing look. “I knew that even you would see past your anger and eventually come to your senses, Aemond,” he said. He turned back to Sena. “I can only apologise for him, cousin. It seems Helaena and I did not leave many redeeming qualities for our brothers to fight over when we were born.”

“I have forgiven him,” Sena said, then tilted her head, considering, “for the most part, anyway.” Daeron laughed at that and Aemond raised an eyebrow. Sena linked one arm through each of the brothers’s and pulled both men over to the high table, where Alys had left water and food. If Daeron had ridden through the night, he must be famished. “Enough about us, though. Tell me about you! How have you been?”

Daeron went to pull out her chair for her, but Aemond batted his hands away and did it for her instead. Sena shook her head and smiled at her lover. “I have been well, Sena. Very well. Honestly, I think growing up away from the Red Keep has been my saving grace. The Gods only know what I would have turned out like if I had been raised in the grim plotting and intrigue of my father’s court.” She pushed the plate of food before him and smiled as he started to pick at it ravenously.

Aemond raised an eyebrow at Daeron from her other side. “Probably more like me,” he said darkly.

Sena reached out to take him by the hand and Daeron shook his head. “And how lucky I would have been, if that were the case. You have grown into a good man despite your childhood, brother. You are a triumph. Never forget it, no matter how much we tease you. We only do it to keep you humble.”

A light pink blush rose in Aemond’s cheeks, wonderfully endearing, and he avoided both their loving gazes as he sipped at his water. Sena turned the conversation back to Daeron in an attempt to lift some of the unwanted attention off of Aemond. “Well, what else do you have to tell me of your exploits? A dashing man like you, you must have every maiden in Oldtown throwing themselves in your path.” Aemond sputtered on his water and Daeron dipped his head, smiling. Sena looked at the two brothers, suddenly aware she was missing something. “What?”

“Sorry, love,” Aemond said, clearing his throat and giving her thigh a squeeze. “You have missed a lot, being away on Dragonstone all those years.” She gave him an imploring look and he tilted his head, smiling at her. “No doubt Daeron has every maiden in Oldtown swooning over him but my little brother prefers the company of dashing squires to blushing maidens.”

Sena raised her eyebrows, turning on Daeron, who was blushing a little. “I- why didn’t you tell me?” She asked, rounding on Aemond and landing a light slap on his upper arm.

Her lover chuckled. “Really, Sena, I did not mean to omit it, I’ve just… had a lot on my mind these last few years.”

She guessed she could understand that. She turned back to Daeron who was still avoiding her eye. Bless his soul, he was nervous to see her reaction. “It’s the training yard, isn’t it?” She asked with a coy grin, hoping to set him at ease. “Seeing them all hot and bothered in their leathers, swinging their big swords-“

Relieved, Daeron was laughing and Aemond let out an undignified sound. “And who have you been looking at, hot and bothered?” He demanded, nostrils flaring with irritation.

Sena and Daeron fell on each other, laughing at the elder brother’s obliviousness. “Stop. Stop right now,” Daeron choked out. “I really don’t need to hear a recount of you ogling my own brother in his training leathers, Sena.” That caused Aemond to turn red, and the other two only laughed harder.

“Honestly,” Sena said, clutching at her stomach. “I can’t believe no one told me! Last to know everything, as per usual. Does your mother know?”

Daeron grimaced. “Yes, but she pretends she does not,” he said. That explained his nervousness at her reaction, then. “But don’t let it put you off making whatever deal for me you can. I’ll marry whoever you need me to, if it will end the bloodshed and bring some peace to our family.”

So Aemond had told him, then, why they were here? Or he had guessed as much. “Thank you,” she said, reaching out to squeeze his hands. Come to think of it, there was a Baratheon maid who would soon need appeasing. “We will do whatever we can, though. To avoid that.”

Daeron shrugged. “Love matches are rare in our walk of life,” he reminded her. “Don’t forget it, just because you two have been stupidly lucky. Besides, if I could wed a woman like you or my sister, I would be the luckiest man alive to call her my friend and wife.”

Sena smiled at him. “You’re a flatterer,” she said.

He shrugged and grinned. “Enough about me. I’m guessing I’m here because you two have hatched some plan to save all our mortal souls?”

It was an easy enough plan to explain to him and Daeron liked it. Especially the part about her landing Vermithor in the Eyrie and demanding fealty. He smirked at that. “And if this works and we can get our sister to the negotiations, what then?”

Sena looked at Aemond and Aemond looked back at her. “We haven’t exactly decided on that part,” she said with a wince. She had been thinking about this too, during all those days staring out of windows during captivity. “I think Aegon is the only option for the throne.” Aemond and Daeron threw her horrified looks and she quickly corrected herself. “My brother, not yours. I think we need to betroth him to Jaehaera, unite Rhaenyra and Aegon the Elder’s claims.”

The expression on Daeron’s face softened a little at that, but he still looked uneasy. “He’s a little boy, Sena. Do we really need a regency right now?” Aemond looked equally uneasy at the prospect.

Sena held up her hands. “We have no other options,” she said. “Your family will not accept Rhaenyra or even Joffrey on the throne, and my family will never bow to Aegon, wherever he is right now. Anyone else is too far down the order of succession. Neither of you two can be Kings, you have no impartiality in this war, Rhaenyra would never bow to you.”

Daeron raised an eyebrow. “Not to be a pig, but following previous precedents of men succeeding before women, Aemond is Aegon’s heir, not Jaehaera.”

Sena glowered at Daeron, who held his hands up in resignation. Aemond smirked at his brother’s quick surrender. He turned his eye on Sena. “We are all willing to make sacrifices to end this, my lady. You are forsaking your family by even discussing this. Daeron has consented to marrying whom he must. It only seems right that I lay aside my claim to the throne, for the greater good of the family.”

Sena reached across the gap between them and took his hand in her’s, twining their fingers together. “And we will find a way to repay you,” she said.

He smiled and shook his head softly. “I will consider the debt repaid in full when you become my wife.”

Sena’s heart leapt in her chest and she could not help herself, reaching across the distance between them and pulling him in for a kiss. Aemond melted into her, dragging his fingers along her jaw and sighed happily.

“So we’re trying to make my breakfast reappear, are we?” Daeron questioned behind them.

Aemond growled a sharp “Fuck off,” at his brother, earning him a burst of laughter, and pulled Sena back in for another kiss.

-----

On her own, Sena took in the sight of the Vale from far above. Her birthplace, the place she had spent her early years. It hurt her to think she had such little true memory of it, next to no connection to her mother. The first place she remembered being happy, the first place she remembered feeling loved was King’s Landing.

Vermithor had not been too happy to see her, when she arrived at the shores of the God’s Eye with Aemond. But he had been cowed by Vhagar, on his best behaviour, and Aemond had well warned him. “Ōdrikagon zirȳla rȳ aōha zūgagon,” he had told the great bronze beast, resting a hand on his maw. Hurt her at your peril. Vhagar rumbled low in her chest to second the warning.

Aemond had kissed Sena sweetly. “You look beautiful,” he said, “like a Conqueror.”

She smiled. He had returned her armour and sword to her, but before they had left, she had made a small request of Harrenhal’s blacksmith. The crimson dragon of her house had been scraped from the inky dark breastplate and replaced with an inlay of the same three-headed dragon, this time wrought in bronze. She would have to thank Aegon for naming her so when they finally found him. It was fitting, she thought, her father’s sigil wrought in her mother’s colours, but still uniquely hers. “Thank you, my love,” she said. “I just hope Lady Jeyne thinks so, as well.”

He grimaced. “I would feel better about this if I was coming with you.”

She kissed him again. For the sake of thoroughness. “The Arryns are no friends of yours. Besides, you need to marshal your armies, head for King’s Landing with Daeron and Ser Criston.”

He gripped her by the elbows, pulling her close. “Meet me there, please.”

She nodded. “With a fleet.”

“I don’t care if you bring Nymeria’s fleet of ten thousand ships or a fishing boat, just… be there,” he said. Kissed her once more for good measure.

Now, she circled low over the Eyrie. With Joffrey brought south to King’s Landing as the new Prince of Dragonstone, the Eyrie was not defended by dragons save for Rhaena’s hatchling, Morning. So despite the distant shouting and scurrying of soldiers below, there was no resistance when Vermithor landed on the castle walls that boxed in the courtyard. Sena descended from dragonback with what grace she could muster. “Kirimvose, raqiros,” she said, laying one hand on Vermithor’s vast neck. Thank you, friend. His resulting whicker was not entirely contemptuous. She would take it as progress.

The lords and ladies of Lady Jeyne’s court were rushing into the courtyard as she descended from the wall, pulling her dragonhide gloves from her hands with her teeth. Aemond had knotted one of his own hair ribbons into her hair, holding half of it up from her face, and she wished he was here, but she steeled herself and turned to face the belligerent courtiers. “My lords and ladies,” she greeted, projecting her voice loud and clear. Like Queen Alicent would, like Queen Rhaenyra would, like Princess Rhaenys would. She scanned the assembling crowd for familiar heraldry. Corbray, Redfort, Baelish… Royce. She met eyes with the man who must be some relation of hers and inclined her head.

“What is the meaning of this?” A woman asked sharply, rushing through the crowd who quickly split for her. “Make yourself known, dragonrider. Now.”

Sena inclined her head, taking in the soaring falcon sigil on the shields of the guards who rushed behind her. “Lady Arryn, it is an honour for you to host me.”

“You were not invited,” the woman hissed. “I won’t ask again. Make yourself known, girl.”

“I-“ Sena opened her mouth.

“Sena?”

Sena’s head whipped towards the left entrance to the courtyard and her breath caught in her throat. “Rhaena.”

They stood, staring at each other for a second. Rhaena looked so beautiful, grown and womanly in her gown, with her hair combed out and loose, a beautiful white halo. Then, Rhaena could take it no longer, and rushed forward into her arms.

Sena caught her with an oof, suddenly glad she was wearing steel plate armour, and pulled her baby sister close. “Oh Rhaena,” she said, and pressed a kiss to her head.

Rhaena pulled back, holding her by the arms. “Look at you! My warrior sister,” she said, taking in her armour. “How? How are you here?”

Lady Jeyne Arryn cleared her throat behind them, and Sena turned to see most of the court staring at her. Rhaena kept a firm grip of her hand. “Prince Daemon’s other daughter, then, I take it?”

Sena bowed at her waist. Curtseys did not look so good without skirts, she had learned. “Visenya of House Targaryen, my lady. Daughter of Prince Daemon… and Lady Rhea Royce.”

There was a slight intake of breath around her and Lady Jeyne’s countenance paled. Yes, that one, Sena thought grimly. The one you disinherited.

Lady Jeyne drew a steadying breath. “I would invite you to take audience in my hall, but I do not think your friend would fit,” she eyed Vermithor warily. “Forgive the harshness of my words. House Arryn does not have a good history of dragonriders descending from the sky upon us. Especially not women named Visenya.”

Sena repressed a small smile. “Forgive me, my lady. I would normally never assume to turn up unannounced, but it was urgent.”

Lady Jeyne nodded. “These are dark times indeed,” she said. “If it is urgent, have at it. But know that House Arryn is unfaltering in its commitment to our rightful queen, and we extend our deepest sympathies at the loss of Prince Jacaerys.”

Sena gave her a grateful nod but drew a bracing breath nevertheless. “Truthfully, I am not here on Queen Rhaenyra’s business, my lady. But rather… business of the realm.”

“Have out with it, my lady. We will hear what you have to say.”

Sena gritted her teeth. “We- members of my House and I… have grown tired of this war. We mean to sue for peace.” 

There was a wave of titters around her, and Rhaena gripped her hand tighter. “You mean to disobey your queen?” Lady Jeyne asked, shocked.

“I mean to negotiate with my queen,” Sena corrected. “As we speak, the armies of Aegon II are approaching King’s Landing to lay siege. The plan is to sue for peace. No more bloodshed, no more hunger, no more tyranny.”

Lady Jeyne raised her eyebrows. “So it is the Usurper you have jumped into bed with, my lady?”

Sena winced. This was not going how she had imagined it in her head. She turned to her sister. “Rhaena,” she said. “Help me. Aemond, Daeron and I… we are trying to put an end to this. We have a plan. No one else has to die, sister. Not Baela or Joffrey or Aegon. No more orphans, no more widows.”

Rhaena searched her eyes with her own identical violet ones, looking conflicted. “Sena,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “This is treason, turning against the Queen. You are talking of treason.”

“Not against,” Sena insisted, squeezing her hand. “I am not turning against anyone. This war has been black and green, Rhaenyra and Aegon - what if it doesn’t have to be that way? What if there is a third way-“

“You may have chosen the incorrect audience, my lady,” Lady Jeyne broke in. “The Vale of Arryn remains relatively untouched by war. We are happy to keep supporting the Queen from a distance.”

Sena bit her lip, and turned to the assembled lords and ladies. “Lord Waxley’s lands are not,” she said loudly, fixing eye contact with a man whose doublet was emblazoned with candles burning on a grey field. “We lost a dragon at Rook’s Rest, my lord. I hear King Aegon’s Sunfyre still prowls the fields, flightless. I bet you could see it happen from the top of your tower.” She turned her head again. “Lord Grafton! How does Gulltown fair, with the Narrow Sea beset on all sides by war galleys, pirates, the Triarchy? Is food and wine still flowing as freely as before? Has it started to empty your pockets? Even you, Lady Arryn. My sister’s dragon is, what, the size of a cat at this point? Today, it was a friend who descended from the sky upon you. Tomorrow, it might not be. I know my father for one does not have kind things to say of you-“

“All the more reason not to anger him, my lady.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “My father is a tyrant. He will find cause to be angry, whether you give it to him or not. He humiliated my lady mother, dragged House Royce’s name through the dirt, insulted your authority and now you bow down to him and avoid angering him? Whatever happened to as high as honour?”

Lady Jeyne turned a bright shade of red at that, and Rhaena gripped her hand, and Sena knew she had her. “Interesting for the daughter of a slain woman and her murderer to talk of honour,” she bit out, and the lords and ladies around her drew breath.

Sena clenched her jaw. She had always known it. Deep down. “My honour does not come from my name or the people who brought me into this world, my lady. My honour comes from my love - for this land, for its people, for my family. My honour comes from what I am willing to give up to ensure the safety of the people I care about and the people I am responsible for protecting.”

“You and I both, Lady Visenya. The honour of House Arryn is not just words, it is action,” Lady Jeyne bit out.

Sena nodded. “You recall, don’t you? What I had taken from me? When Lady Rhea died, I lost a mother, yes. But I also lost the lands and title I was born to. I lost Runestone. And now I ride the second-largest living dragon in the world and I have everything I could need to take it back. Armies, allies, you name it.”

Rhaena was staring at her, wide eyed. “For a negotiation, this is sounding suspiciously like a threat, my lady,” Lady Jeyne snapped.

“’Tis not a threat, but a bargain,” Sena said. She drew a deep breath, prayed her mother would forgive her. “Join me in ending this cruel war. Join me in bringing about a new era of peace for the Seven Kingdoms and I will relinquish all claim to my birthright. You need never see me or hear from me again if you do not wish it.”

“Sena,” Rhaena gasped, but Sena’s mind was made up. They must all make sacrifices. This was hers.

Lady Jeyne looked to one of the lords. “What say you, Lord Allard?”

The man she looked to was older than Sena, with a gruff beard and the chain that fastened his cloak was bronze and runic. Sena inclined her head to him. “Cousin,” she said.

Lord Allard studied her, and she could tell from his darting brown eyes that he was shrewd. That gave her hope. “Cousin,” he said, and nodded. He turned back to Lady Jeyne. “It is true, my Lady. Runestone is already starting to feel the strain of the war. And Lady Visenya’s standing claim to my seat remains a substantial concern to me. I would not be doing right by my house if I did not consider her proposal. So long as- so long as her surrender of her claim to Runestone extends to all children of her body. No child bearing the name Targaryen or her Lord husband’s name shall ever lay claim to Runestone again.”

That pinched at something deep in Sena. Signing away the rights of children she did not even have yet. She fixed her unknown cousin with a hard look. Lady Jeyne was waiting for her. It was now or never.

In the end, it was not truly a choice. The only man who would ever father children on her would be Aemond, and that was not even a possibility without this deal.

“Okay,” she breathed.

“Sena,” Rhaena gasped. “Are you sure about this? Your mother’s seat? Your childhood home?”

Sena turned to Rhaena and brushed her hair from her face. “My childhood homes are King’s Landing and Dragonstone, sweet. And I doubt I will live long enough to see either again if I let this continue. Team Dragonstone, remember?”

Rhaena’s eyes were brimming with tears, no doubt thinking of Jace and Luke. She nodded shakily. “Team Dragonstone.”

Sena turned back to Lady Jeyne and Lord Allard, her heart in her throat. “In return for your fleet and your support, I forsake my claim to Runestone and the claim of all children of my body. Let the lords and ladies of the Vale and the honour of House Arryn play witness to the agreement.”

Lady Jeyne looked to Lord Allard, then back to Sena, and nodded stiffly. “I believe we have a deal.”

-----

The siege of King’s Landing was long and arduous. Sena took every moment that the city did not go up in flames or dragons did not fall on them from the sky as a victory.

She escorted the Arryn blockade to Blackwater Bay from dragonback, then descended on the field outside the city gates where Aemond’s armies were amassed, blocking every route in and out of the city. Vermithor circled once, twice, then set her down next to a vibrant blue dragon who bore the name Tessarion.

No sooner was she down from Vermithor’s back than Daeron was pulling her into a crushing hug. “Look at that! Look at all those ships! Bloody genius. Gods, if Aemond gets cold feet, I will wed you, Sena!”

Sena laughed raucously and beat on his chest until he set her down. “Show some respect! You are manhandling the Bronze Dragon, I’ll have you know!”

Daeron grinned. “Not Lady of Runestone?” He asked in a softer tone.

She shook her head gently. “We all must make sacrifices, sweet boy.”

He nodded grimly and bent to kiss her cheek. “It will be worth it, Sena. Once we’re all sat around one long table and bickering about… jousting versus melee, or whatever it is proper families bicker about.”

She grinned. “We can learn together, Daeron.”

He nodded, then his eyes flicked over her shoulder. “Might want to turn around before he tackles you, dear cousin.”

“What?” Sena said, spinning around.

Aemond was some feet away, looking at her with a soft, disbelieving look. Handsome in his armour and eyepatch. “You did it.”

Sena gave him a soft, teasing smile. “You doubted me?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I just… live in awe of you. Every day.”

She blushed violently. “Come here, fool,” she said, reaching out to him.

He met her halfway and pulled her flush against him. “Issa jorrāelagon.” My love.

“Ñuha prūmia,” she murmured into his neck. My heart.

Aemond, Daeron and Ser Criston had closed off all entry points to the capital before she had arrived, by the time the Arryn fleet had been assembled. Their best reports said that the capital was already struggling before they arrived, but the blockaded roads and besieging army had applied pressure. Queen Alicent had enlisted her friends in the faith, and there was a preacher by the name of the Shepherd calling for Rhaenyra’s overthrowing on every street corner where he would be heard, drawing large flocks of the faithful. The Arryn fleet was like a boot on the neck, sealing the capital off from Velaryon relief. King’s Landing began to choke. Sena tried to hold the guilt of it at bay. So much suffering for no good reason, it made her sick.

“You look like you’re thinking too hard,” Aemond caught her one day after many weeks of sitting and waiting, staring up at the besieged city’s walls while she tended to Vermithor. Inside those walls were Queen Rhaenyra, Prince Daemon, Prince Joffrey. Helaena, Alicent, Rhaenys. Addam Velaryon and his brother Alyn and the Nettles girl. All her blood, at some point or another. Not to mention the suffering of the smallfolk. As soon as the city was breached, she would seek out this Marigold woman, make sure she was safe-

“We are leading armies, Aemond,” she said and gave him a forced smile. “I reckon some thinking is probably in order.”

He gave her a considering shrug, leaning against Vermithor’s haunches like he belonged there. He had a way with dragons. She had never seen one of them snap at him. “There’s thinking and there’s overthinking. One is required, the other is pointlessly exhausting. Maybe… I could distract you, my love?”

She shook her head, laughing. “Incorrigible!” She exclaimed. “I’m still sore from this morning, Aemond.” He had awoken her on his camp bed with his tongue inside of her, plundering between her legs. She had moaned his name as he had fucked her slow and sweet, then spilling his seed on her stomach. They should probably be more mindful of their reputations, should probably not be seen coming and going from each other’s tents at all hours. But they were in this together now, this ultimate betrayal, and what was the saying the smallfolk used? In for a copper, in for a dragon?

“This is a siege, Sena. There’s little else to do but… fool around, let you practice your skills on me,” he said with a wry smirk.

She shook her head at him, affronted. “I’ll practice my swordplay skills on you if you’re not careful, my Prince,” she said with a smirk.

He grinned and went to pull her into his arms, ready to say something when-

“My Prince! My Lady!” It was Jarrad. Aemond had made sure the enlisted man was Sena’s personal guard when she arrived back from the Vale. 

Sena turned in the Prince’s arms to the tall man. “Yes, Jarrad?”

Jarrad looked frankly alarmed and red in the face, like he had been running in full plate armour. “There’s word! From the Red Keep! A request for parlay, m’lady!”

“Shit,” she swore, and she and Aemond jumped to attention, following after Jarrad swiftly, back to her pavilion.

It was a letter, not unlike the one Aegon had sent her many moons ago at Rook’s Rest, but this time in her father’s distinctive jagged hand. It made Sena’s throat close.

Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men and Prince Consort Daemon Targaryen, Protector of the Realm request the presence of Prince Aemond Targaryen and Lady Visenya Targaryen at parley. The Queen and her consort request the meeting is held on neutral ground. If this is amenable, a date, time and place should be proposed, and the Queen and Prince shall follow on dragonback to the parley.

Sena sucked in a long breath of air through her teeth. This was it. They were finally getting Rhaenyra to the table. She exchanged a look with Aemond - he looked as apprehensive as she felt - and penned her affirmative reply.

Daeron and Ser Criston were not happy when they told them. “Why just the two of you? It stinks,” Daeron said with a grimace.

“I do not think they would meet us and you and Ser Criston,” Sena said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of her crooked nose. The fire in the pavilion was burning low.

Aemond rested a hand on Daeron’s shoulder. “Do not worry, brother. Caraxes and Syrax are no match for Vhagar and Vermithor.”

Daeron frowned. “I’m not worried about our odds, brother. I’m worried about one or both of you getting hurt or being killed.”

“I second that,” Ser Criston said, giving Prince Aemond a hard look. “Your mother would not sanction this meeting.”

Aemond clenched his jaw. “My mother is not here, Ser. That is what I am trying to fix.”

“Every moment we spend bickering about this is another moment where innocent men, women and children in Fleabottom are going hungry because of us,” Sena said with steel in her voice. “Another moment where Queen Alicent is in chains and Helaena is alone and Aegon is in hiding.”

Aemond looked to her then turned back to his brother and his mentor. “When we chose this course of action, we made a commitment. A commitment to this realm, to her people, to our family. We end this or we die trying. If anything should happen to me… or the Lady Visenya,” he said through gritted teeth, “I expect you to uphold that. I am not asking, Sers.”

Daeron and Ser Criston exchanged a hard look, but finally conceded.

-----

The Isle of Faces was a strange place. At the heart of the God’s Eye, it was an eerie, magical isle, the last place south of the Neck where weirwoods grew. The ghostly trees of the First Men’s faith watched Sena with their weeping eyes as she passed and the clink of her plate mail was the only sound for miles, it seemed. She laid her hand on one of the trunks, holding the gaze of a face twisted in horror. Something as old and unnameable as the life-force in the dragons flowed beneath her hand.

“I do not like this place,” Aemond’s voice came behind her, a hint of reluctance in his tone.

“No,” she breathed. “We do not belong. It is of the old world. A time before us, before our name. And it will long outlive us.”

She turned back and saw him standing still on the shore, his hands on Vhagar’s maw. He lingered by their dragons while she walked in the weirwood trees. The crown of the Conqueror was heavy on his brow. He held a tension in his jaw and Sena’s teeth ached in sympathy for his. “You have the blood of the First Men,” he pointed out.

She raised an eyebrow. It was true, and her dark hair and long face were evidence of it. “You have the blood of the Hightower but you still get seasick.”

That made him smirk, at least. “And you’ll never let me forget it.”

She smiled. “Come,” she said, reaching out a hand to him. “Caraxes and Syrax descended at the other side of the island. I think we’re supposed to meet them in the middle.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow and finally stepped away from his dragon, taking her hand in his and kissing her knuckles. “Symbolic,” he said with a wry smirk.

She shook her head and looked back at Vermithor, who was curled on his haunches down the shore from Vhagar. “If this comes to a fight…” she said with a sigh, “I do not fancy my chances on him against my father.”

Aemond turned with her to look back at the great bronze beast. “Dragons as old and grand as ours respect strength, Sena. Power, boldness. You hold all those qualities. You must only show him that. He likes you more than you think he does, anyway.”

She gave him a questioning look. “Does he?”

“He’s here, isn’t he?” Aemond said. “He will never love you and obey you like he would have if you had raised him from a hatchling, or if you were first to claim him. But that is the price we pay for being their riders. If you wish to ride one of the largest, most ferocious beasts in the known world, you must accept that you will never master them, not truly.”

She nodded. Drew a deep breath. “Are you ready?” She asked.

He sighed and looked deep into the forest, his eye darting this way and that. “No. But we are here now.”

There was a carpet of leaves underfoot that made their footfall impossibly quiet as they walked on into the forest. It was an eerie place. The canopy overhead was full of blood-red, mottled brown, vibrant green. The air was so still she felt she disturbed it just by moving. There was no sign of life, no chittering creatures or birdsong. No sign of any living thing ever having been here until they stumbled across stones that looked too arranged to be natural.

Large, crumbled stones in a clearing that might have once held up a ceiling or a monument. An impossibly old and weathered flat rock that could have been a table. Runes twisted around it in the tongue of the First Men, the same runes that emblazoned and protected the armour of her mother’s house.

“This is where the First Men and the children of the forest signed their pact, ending the wars of the Dawn Age,” Aemond said beside her, looking around in wonder. “They carved the faces in the weirwood trees, so the Gods might bear witness.”

Sena watched him, the spark in his eye, the small smile on his lips. “We can come back another time, in peace time. So you might take it in properly.”

He shook his head. “No one approaches this isle without the will of the Gods, Sena. We will not be allowed back.”

She drew a breath and met the eye of a weeping weirwood. “So they are willing us to be here today? The Gods are smiling on us, then.”

“There are no Gods,” came a voice, and Sena and Aemond looked up sharply. “Only us.”

Her father was taller, more imposing than she remembered seeing him last. His armour was weathered and beaten, his hair twisted back from his face in fine braids. To his left was Rhaenyra, the crown of Jaehaerys the Conciliator glimmering on her brow. She looked as though she had not slept in the months since Jacaerys had died. “Father,” Sena breathed, watching Prince Daemon with hard eyes as the Prince and the Queen drew level with them.

“Daughter,” he said, then inclined his head, “nephew.”

“Uncle,” Aemond said. “Sister.”

“You are no blood of mine,” Rhaenyra said coldly. She could not even stand to look at him.

Sena sighed and leaned forward on the carved stone, hands spread wide. “Let us start as we mean to go on,” she said, eyeing Rhaenyra wearily. Aemond was not looking at his sister, though, but at her father. His eye was trained on the small, vertical scar on Prince Daemon’s neck, where Sena had struck him. He did not betray it on his features, but Sena knew Aemond well enough to know he found it amusing. 

Prince Daemon arched one brow. “And how would that be?”

“With respect,” Sena said. “And a mind for peace.”

Daemon scoffed. “How peaceful is a siege? How peaceful is descending upon the Eyrie with a stolen dragon?”

She glared at him. “Vermithor serves me,” she bit out, “and you lost my loyalty the day you murdered Jaehaerys.”

Daemon was eyeing her with amusement, his arms held behind his back. Dark Sister glinted on his hip, the ruby on the cross-guard flashing at Sena. “Yet you turn cloak to the man who murdered your own stepbrother.”

Rhaenyra stiffened and Aemond watched them both steadily, betraying no emotion. 

“I’m on no side, father. If I have chosen anything or anyone, it is our House, our family,” Sena said stiffly. She turned her gaze to Rhaenyra. “Surely you can see that, cousin? After we have all lost so much, all we want is for this to end.”

Rhaenyra glared at her and it sent a chill through Sena. “It will end as soon as the traitors bend the knee and accept me as their rightful queen.”

To Aemond’s credit, he bit his tongue.

“You know that is not possible, Rhaenyra,” Sena said. She was so tense her jaw was aching, her shoulders were bunched up. “They will not lay down their lives at your mercy anymore than you would lay down yours or Joffrey’s or Aegon’s at theirs.”

“It is not supposed to be a choice,” Rhaenyra said, “whether you pay homage to the ruler you are sworn to.”

Aemond shook his head. “I never swore to you, sister,” he said, calm and collected. “Nor will I allow you to place our family’s crown on the head of a bastard.”

“Get their names out of your mouth,” Rhaenyra spat. “Murderer.”

Aemond said nothing, just turned his eye on Prince Daemon. Sena’s father held his eye with interest.

“However we feel about each other, we are at an impasse,” Sena said. “Neither side will kneel to the other. Right now, the largest standing army in Westeros lays siege to King’s Landing. Blackwater Bay is cut off to you by the Arryn fleet and our dragons rival yours equally if we were to meet in the air. The people are starving and beginning to riot, I would wager. And we do not have the stamina or the will to keep fighting this war. If our forces meet now on the field, it will be a bloodbath,” Sena said, eyeing both her father and her stepmother. “More of our children, brothers, sisters will die. More of our dragons. Maybe all of them. And our House, already considerably slimmed at this point, dwindles to nothing and falls. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but know that every day this drags on, we are penning our own downfall.”

Rhaenyra met her gaze with cold, lilac eyes. She did not speak, did not move.

“There is an answer that leaves everyone happy, though. So we may end this with what humanity we have left,” Sena said.

Daemon barked a laugh. “Oh, do tell, clever girl. What plot have you two hatched in bed together that you think is so cunning?”

Sena did not look at her father, just held Rhaenyra’s gaze. “Lay your crown on your son Aegon’s head, Rhaenyra,” she said. “Wed him to Jaehaera. Unite your claim and your brother’s.”

Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes. “I will not wed my child to my brother’s spawn-“

“Do not think of her as Aegon’s, then. Think of her as Helaena’s. Think of this as the way you will leave your little sister with one living child. I am begging you,” Sena said. Her hands trembled on the runes carved on the table. Her gut was twisting as Rhaenyra watched her with an impenetrable gaze.

Rhaenyra avoided that altogether, shaking her head. “Joffrey is my heir, my eldest living child-“

“He is also the last heir to Driftmark,” Sena interrupted. She had spent long hours thinking about this, how she could save the sweet boy, Jace and Luke’s brother from the stain of bastardy. “Unless you wish that seat to be passed to Ser Laenor’s bastards, or whoever Addam and Alyn of Hull are. And Baela and Rhaena will suffer the same humiliation we have in the process, you and I and Princess Rhaenys. Watching themselves get passed over for the first person with a speck of the right blood and a cock in their trousers. Think about it, Rhaenyra. One cannot be Lord of the Tides and ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Make Joffrey Lord of the Tides and make Aegon King.” She was begging Rhaenyra with her eyes to go for it. It was purely saving face, but it could work if they presented a united front on it.

Rhaenyra at last turned her gaze on Aemond. “What do you think of this?” She asked.

Daemon made an affronted sound. “You cannot seriously be considering this, Rhaenyra-“

Rhaenyra raised a hand to silence her husband. Sena bit back a smile. “This plan disinherits you too, brother.”

“We all must make sacrifices,” Aemond looked at his sister, considering carefully. “It makes sense. Unites your side and mine. You will get no complaint from my brother, he never wanted the crown. Whatever you think of him, he only ever did it to keep our heads off the block. And if Daeron and I kneel to your son, my mother will follow suit. Your trueborn son and the daughter of our father’s eldest boy. We won’t do better than that.”

“No, you won’t,” Daemon sneered. “Can’t you see this for what it is, Rhaenyra? They know they are beaten and they are trying desperately to keep their heads.”

“It is us who is laying siege to your seat, father,” Sena ground out. “It is your city that starves, primed to turn on you at a moment’s notice. Your throne sits on pitch-soaked kindling, ready to burn.”

Daemon was glaring at her, grinding his teeth together. Rhaenyra took a deep breath. Collected herself. She looked so weary, even more bowed and bent than Aemond. “Aegon is just a boy. He will need a regent.”

“And we will find him one,” Sena said. “Someone as neutral as we can find, while still being trustworthy and honourable. I was thinking maybe Princess Rhaenys or Lord Cregan Stark, he is said to have a good, sharp head on his shoulders-“

“No. If you make this plan, you will see it through to the end, Sena,” Rhaenyra said sharply. Stiffly, she rose her hands to her head. The golden crown of the Conciliator, emblazoned with the eight coats-of-arms of the Great Houses rose from her brow and rested on the stone before Sena. The runes of Sena’s forebears seemed to glimmer on the ancient rock. “If you are to put my son on the throne, you will protect him with your life. You will keep my brothers and Alicent Hightower true. And you will bear the weight of that crown until Aegon’s coming of age.”

The world seemed to tilt unevenly before her. Fear gripped her insides like ice water.

If Rhaenyra noticed how she blanched, though, she showed no sympathy. “I was younger than you are now when my father made me Princess of Dragonstone,” she said. “I once told you to be a Lady of our House is to be godlike. You shoulder the responsibilities no one else has to, the fears and worries of every soul who kneels to your banners. You place crowns on the brows of your brothers, your husbands, your sons and kiss them as you send them off to war… send them off to die,” there was a slight tremble in her voice and Sena swallowed hard. “You will not put a crown on Aegon’s head unless you are willing to put one on your own, Visenya, and understand what it means.”

Sena met Rhaenyra’s eye, blinked slowly. She took a deep breath and reached out a trembling hand. The crown was cool to the touch under her hand.

She turned her head and looked to Aemond. He reached up and lifted his own crown from his head. As soon as the steel-and-rubies lifted from his brow, he looked younger, lighter. He placed the crown down next to the golden one. Reached his hand out and touched Sena’s, giving her a smile. “Try one on for size. I think you’ll find it fits you better than it did me.”

Sena’s heart leapt and she looked between Rhaenyra and Aemond. They looked more alike right now than she had ever seen them. She could see her uncle in both their features. To Sena’s shock, they even met each other’s gazes and shared a look. Not one of love but also not one of hatred. Maybe understanding. 

Her chest fluttered. They were really going to do this, she realised. They were going to end this. A pit formed in her stomach as she looked down to the precious, historic circlets before her. All that stood between them and peace was her. She just needed to find her courage, find her steel and don a crown-

“How sweet. I love happily ever afters,” Daemon’s voice pierced the fog. He was grinning widely, maliciously at his daughter. “The simpering of women and cripples. It’s heartwarming.”

Sena’s hand tightened into a fist on the stone. Aemond laid a hand over her fist, willing her to remain calm, giving her a look. They were so close. It was so different from their usual patterns, her rage and his calm, it was strange. “Watch your tongue, father,” she warned and eyed the scar on his neck, “or I will finish what I started.”

Rhaenyra drew a sharp breath and Aemond squeezed her hand. Daemon leered at her. “There she is. My angry, wild-thing of a daughter. No more suited to ruling a kingdom than she would be to ruling Runestone. That is how you got the Arryns onside, isn’t it? Trading away Runestone? So directionless and small and scared you can’t even be the Lady of sheep and self-importance.”

“I did what I had to do to stop you from slaughtering every last person I care about, father,” she said, her voice sounding surprisingly calm to her ears. “I will never apologise for that but you will never understand it because you have never thought of anyone but yourself. Here I am, begging you to let me put a crown on your son’s head and all you can see is that you have not won.”

He shook his head, grinning wryly. “No, you’re right, why can I not just be glad my lady wife is trading away everything I have done for her, everything I have given my life to win for her. Give it all away to you, a simpering and preening, pathetic little whore who thinks herself clever, who cannot even bring herself to be grateful I lowered myself to fucking her cunt mother-“

“Say another word and I’ll open your throat, Uncle,” Aemond hissed.

“Daemon-“ Rhaenyra snapped.

“No, let him,” Sena said, regarding her father with a small smile. “It’s all he has. His acid. His vitriol. He has had no true power in a long time. No one trusts him with it, not even his own brother.” She felt a strange sense of power flow through her as her father fumbled for whatever barbs he could throw at her. She had won. “Go on, father. Call me a whore for falling in love with someone who sees me, all of me. Demean the woman you murdered because she refused to simper and bend to your will. Call me foolish when all I have ever done is refuse to see the world with the same hatred in my soul as you do. I am everything you wish you were and you fucking hate it.”

Aemond’s fingers twined into hers. Rhaenyra was watching her with wide eyes.

“I have wished for many things in my life. I have wished to be rid of you more than once. But I have never wished to be like you, weak and scared as you are.” Her father scoffed, looked at his wife and threw his hands up in the air. “That’s it, then? All of this, Jacaerys and Lucerys, your father- my brother, just to give up and give in? Just like that?” Rhaenyra did not look at him. She looked like she was composing herself, pulling herself tall, shrugging off the weight of the crown. “Brilliant. Fucking perfect. I couldn’t make a better plan myself - the realm will be ruled by an infant and a green girl who will lose her mind a week of each month with moon blood.”

Aemond glowered at him, ready to say something, but Sena laid a hand on his arm to stop him, suddenly feeling far away.

Her stomach dropped.

Months making plans, flying north, sailing south, laying siege…

Aemond was none the wiser, glaring at her father, but Rhaenyra was watching her with an odd look. Lilac eyes tracked the slack expression on Sena’s features, her hold on Aemond. “Sena…” she breathed, “when did you last bleed?” 

Daemon looked to his wife, then back at his daughter. Then turned cold violet eyes on Aemond.

A cold sense of realisation flooded through Sena like a tide.

Her moon blood.

She had been so busy flying from one end of the realm to the other, leading an army, sitting on war councils, she had not even noticed. Surrounded by men, men and more men, she had not even thought. All it would have taken was a single fucking woman in the entire camp to grimace and complain about cramp in her stomach. And the nausea in the mornings - she had thought it to be nerves. The constant blanket of dread that had laid over her for a year now.

She looked to Aemond, and Aemond caught the panicked look on her face, and realisation finally started to dawn on his. His eye went wide. “When did you last bleed?”

There was a lump the size of a peach pit in her throat. “Before-“ she croaked, “Before Harrenhal.”

Aemond looked as though he had seen a ghost. “But-” he said. “We were careful.” It was true. They had been so careful. Even in their frenzy, their desperation to get to learn every part of each other, they had been careful, knowing this war was no place for a babe. Aemond spent on her stomach, her back, in her mouth, never inside her-

“That first night,” she breathed with a pang of shock. That first night, when they had all spoken of moon tea, twice or three times. But they had also been plotting to end a war, moving their pieces into place. “There was Alys and Daeron and all our plans- I forgot.”

Aemond’s hands were shaking as he reached out to her. “Sena,” he whispered. “Do not jest.”

She laid a hand against her stomach, feeling for a slight curve but it was impossible to tell over her armour. But she was thickening, she had noticed it. She had thought it was having no time to train, being stressed, filling out her woman’s figure. Aemond had noticed it because he liked it, liked her tummy and her thighs. Her breasts, full and tender, painful most days. She had thought it was just stress and her fertility and Aemond’s ministrations, but no. This was not a jest. She sent a petrified look at her lover. “Aemond,” she breathed.

“It’s okay,” he said, placing a hand over hers, over her belly. “It’s better than okay. Look at me, love. It’s wonderful.”

“Congratulations,” Prince Daemon’s eyes were fixed on their hands on her belly. Her belly, where she was growing a babe- “And thank you. For finally giving me the excuse.”

The sound of Dark Sister being drawn from her sheath rung around the clearing like a bell tolling a death knell.

Aemond reached for his own sword.

“Daemon!” Rhaenyra barked, but it was no use. She had no control over him and she knew it.

Horrible, horrible dread filled Sena. “Take one step closer and I’ll kill you myself, father.”

“No,” Aemond snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Get behind me.”

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra demanded, “stop this right now. That is my brother. Your daughter.”

But Daemon was not listening to his wife, his queen. He rounded the stone where the First Men and the children of the forest had brokered their peace, thousands of years ago. They had come so close to doing the same. “You have cheated death too many times, nephew,” he said. 

Aemond drew his sword, holding one arm out around Sena, keeping her back. “And I will do it once more,” he said, “so I may love my child like you never did.”

Their steel clashed and Sena screamed for them to stop, but Rhaenyra had wrapped her arms around her middle, pulling her sharply back from the duel. “No! No!” She begged as Daemon brought his blade down hard on Aemond and he feinted out of the way. She pulled at Rhaenyra’s grasp, twisting in her arms, but the former queen would not budge.

“Do not be foolish,” Rhaenyra ground out, “you have more to defend than yourself now.”

Sena’s blood thundered in her ears as her father struck and slashed with vicious intent. Battle-worn and tested, wielding Valyrian steel, with more than twice Aemond’s years. Prince Daemon was ferocious and Aemond met him with an equal venom, meeting every strike, dancing around the older man.

Daemon feinted, twisted himself around Aemond, then swung down on Aemond’s blind side. Sena screamed, “Aemond!” And he caught Dark Sister’s blade right at the last second. Her blood ran cold. Prince Daemon was not fighting to win but to kill. “Let me go,” she spat, rounding on Rhaenyra. “Let me go or I will hurt you too.”

Rhaenyra met her gaze, her eyes hard. “You have a kingdom to think of, Sena. You have a child-“

“A child who will have no father if I do not do something right now.”

“A child who will live without Aemond and die with you. A peace that will die with you too.”

She looked to her lover. Her brilliant, fierce lover, who was pushing back Daemon with everything he had, but was reticent to kill, pulling his blows right at the last second, the smallest sliver of hesitation softening him. He would not kill her father, she realised. It had to be her. 

Daemon had none of Prince Aemond’s reservations. His blade swung for Aemond’s shoulder and met Aemond’s parry so hard it left a notch on the lesser sword.

Sena spun back to the Queen, pulling at her arms. “Rhaenyra,” she begged, meeting her cousin’s eyes. She would plead, she would beg. “If he kills Aemond, I will kill him,” she told her. Rhaenyra’s eyes were swimming with tears, pleading with Sena to stop. “And if I kill him, you will kill me and where does it fucking end?” 

Rhaenyra’s grip on her slackened as she watched her husband. Not for the first time, Sena wondered what it was between them that had someone with a good heart so lost on someone with one of darkness and rot. Did she feel for Daemon how Sena felt for Aemond? Could Sena understand it, if that was the truth? 

Rhaenyra let Sena slip past her. “Stop him,” she murmured, watching her husband with large, fearful eyes.

With a howl of fury and the sound of steel being drawn, Sena joined the fray. She caught Daemon’s sword on a downstroke, halting it from cutting into Aemond’s bicep. Daemon met her eye and glared at her, seething, burning with rage. “Two on one, father. Should be a fair enough fight for you.”

He smirked. “Three on one, really,” he said, eyeing her belly. “I warned you, girl. I told you, if he lays a hand on my daughter-“

“Your daughter is not your property,” Sena spat.

“Darling, please,” Aemond said. “Please. Stand back. Let me handle this.”

She shot him a look and he was afraid, watching her with his eye wide.

“Listen to your lover, Sena,” Prince Daemon ground out.

“No. You have taken too much from me, father. You will not have him too,” she said and there was an ice, a steel in her voice that shocked even her. “And my name is Visenya.”

Daemon raised his arms to parry her strike, a look of shock in his eyes at the savageness of her blow. She rushed him with her shoulder, catching him square in the chest and making him stumble off balance, leaving his back open to Aemond. As Aemond swung into the opportunity, Daemon clattered his gauntlet across Sena’s face and stars blew behind her eyelids. She spat blood and Daemon caught Aemond’s strike.

How many times had she duelled him and actually won? Even once? She searched her mind, searched her memories of Dragonstone. He fought like he was invincible, like arrows would bounce off him, and in some way they did. He had been knighted at six-and-ten, the same age as Baelon the Brave, and given Dark Sister by the Old King. He had been wielding Valyrian steel and knocking grander, larger foes in the dirt for some thirty years. How was she supposed to do this?

Daemon swung straight for her middle and Aemond howled with rage, knocking him off balance with his entire body. It was a poor move, had Aemond stumbling to catch himself. “Aemond,” Sena barked, willing him not to be foolish.

Aemond would not look at her, though, swinging on her father once again, intent on ending this. “It’s me you despise, Uncle. Attack me.”

“Gladly,” Daemon growled and lashed out savagely at his nephew.

Aemond parried the blade to his left, but Daemon knew what he was doing, knew it took Aemond a second longer to react to movement on his left side, and slipped Dark Sister down Aemond’s blade, past the tilted cross-guard and biting deep into the top of Aemond’s thigh, where his armour gave way to his hip.

It seemed her father knew veins and arteries better than she did.

The scream that came from Aemond was pure agony and Sena’s vision swam as blood spurted. “Aemond!” She cried. “Aemond-“

“Aemond!” It was Rhaenyra. Sobbing.

Aemond fell where he stood and dark, dark blood began to pool beneath him.

Sena screamed and rushed Daemon.

She threw her weight behind a swing, glancing off his breastplate, and he caught her with a firm arm. She went dead in his arms, pulling him off balance, raking her nails over his face. Daemon howled, let her go. She raised her sword again and Daemon swung desperately to meet her in time. He missed her blade entirely, missed her cross-guard and swung clean through her mail, through two of her fingers on the grip of her sword.

Blood spurted. Sena’s vision went grey. She wouldn’t have even known if she had not watched the digits fall, the grip of her sword growing warm and wet. The stench of iron on the air was nauseating. She did not feel it. She only felt rage and fear and a thirst for death. Luke, Grey Ghost,  Jaehaerys, Jace, Maelor, all of it. Someone had to pay. She tackled her father where he left his front open, staring with faint horror at her fingers on the floor.

They crashed to the ground and Sena’s stomach rolled, her vision swam as her chin cracked off of her father’s breastplate. She forced herself up and pinned his arms to his sides with her thighs. She had him, she thought belligerently. She had him. On the floor, her blood running freely over both of them. She was growing weaker by the second, she knew it, but she did not need long. Her father struggled against her, throwing his greater weight in an attempt to push her off of his chest, so she raised her sword in her bloody sword hand and brought it down hard.

The pommel connected with Prince Daemon’s skull and she struck him so hard the ruby set on the cross-guard flew free of its setting, spinning away into the undergrowth. Prince Daemon went slack beneath her, his head rolling, groaning in agony and nausea. 

He was dazed, his hands splayed wide at his sides. Dark Sister lay some feet away in the leaves.

At long last, Sena stood, shaking on her feet, ready to end this horror story once and for all.

She looked down at her sword hand. Where her first two fingers had been were now bloody stumps. She gazed at them in wonder. Swapped her sword to her left hand. Her left was weak, she was not so gifted as to be strong with both, but it would do.

This would not be swordplay, after all. This would be butchery. And she did not need to be proficient with a blade to slaughter a pig, she only needed to know where to stick it. She raised her sword - a slimmer, slighter model of Dark Sister, now devoid of its signature ruby. She would take off his head with one clean strike.

She would not miss again.

“Sena!” A woman’s voice screamed. “Stop! Please! Stop!”

She could see a creeping tide of blood at her feet. She suddenly remembered where she was. Sena whipped her head to Aemond and her vision swam.

He was limp on the ground and Rhaenyra was cradling him in her arms, tears running freely down her cheeks. She had removed his sword belt, tied it around his thigh. Twisted it tight with a branch of weirwood. Gods.

He was the reason Luke was dead. He would not deny it, nor would Sena, but there Rhaenyra was, trying to save his life. Sena watched Rhaenyra cradling her little brother, the man who killed her son, and suddenly, she felt the fight go out of her. 

This needed to end, she realised, as she looked down at her father. This needed to end now.

She dropped to her knees, straddling her father’s prone form, and pulled him up so their faces were inches apart. “I am letting you live, father. Do you hear that?” She asked. He was dazed but he looked up at her. “I am showing you mercy. I am letting you live because I will not hurt Rhaenyra and Aegon and I want to preside over a whole realm with a united House Targaryen. I am letting you live because I will not kill my child’s grandfather. I am letting you live because you are my father, and as much as I have hated you over the years, I have also loved you. You will never again raise arms against a member of House Targaryen or I swear upon all the gods and on my mother’s grave, I will have your head. Am I understood?” 

Daemon looked at her with identical violet eyes, unfocused. He nodded weakly, and Sena dropped him to the ground, kicking Dark Sister far away from his grasp and running to Aemond. 

He was so pale, so limp. She kneeled over him in Rhaenyra’s arms, took his weight from her. He was still warm on her legs, on her body. She ran her hand down his face, leaving blood on his cheeks as she did. “Aemond. Aemond. Ñuha prūmia,” she begged him. His eye rolled, trying to focus on her, but he was slipping out of consciousness. 

“Sena,” came Rhaenyra’s voice, pulling her from her state of shock and fury and fear. “Sena, look at me,” Rhaenyra steadies Sena’s face in her bloody hands. “You need to take him to Harrenhal now, get him to a maester as fast as you can. He may yet live. Take Vermithor, go now.” 

He might live? But he was bleeding so much- he could barely hold his eye open. She had held him like this before, the night he lost his eye, but it had been nothing like this. The blood beneath them, soaking through her breeches, staining her armour and skin was dark and thick.

Sena looked back over her shoulder at where her father was attempting to rouse himself. He faltered, rolling up onto his knees and starting to gag and wretch. “Sena,” Rhaenyra snapped, pulling her gaze back. “You need to trust me. If my brother is to live, you need to go now. Daemon and I will follow.” 

Fear shot through her. The fear that she could lose it all. Aemond and her sword hand and Rhaenyra and her father and their peace, the thing Aemond was dying for. Sena was afraid, afraid that if she left them now, it would all be for nought, and her father would vanish with the wind and plot another strike on her or the Green forces. Aemond would die for nothing and more of them would follow. Helaena next. Baela and Rhaena. Aegon - the Younger or the Elder.

But when she looked down at Aemond, she knew.

She would lose herself if she lost him now. If she had to spend the rest of her life looking upon a child with his laugh and his bowed lips but she could not hold him.

She knew she would give it all up in a heartbeat just to save him. 

She had lied to Alys that day in Harrenhal, she realised faintly. Alys had asked her, you wish to end this bloodshed more than you care about black or green, Queen or King? More than you care about your siblings and cousins, even your Prince?

She had lied. She had lied and said yes. But she did not realise it was a lie until right now, with Aemond bleeding out in her arms. She’d slay them all, she’d burn it all down, just to save him. Just so he could meet his child.

“Help me,” she bit out to Rhaenyra.

They managed his limp weight between them, Rhaenyra urging her not to twist herself or strain too hard but that ship had sailed, she thought grimly. She had just went toe-to-toe with her father and won.

By the time they reached Vermithor at the shore, Aemond was deathly pale and not moving. His pulse was still there, weak but valiant. Vermithor snorted at her approach and Vhagar growled and whined. She could smell her rider’s blood on the air, see his limp form.

“Vermithor!” Sena barked. “Vermithor, dohaerās.”

The large bronze dragon snorted and reared his head, shirking away from the bleeding prince, the distraught rider.

“No! No! Not right now,” she hollered. Aemond’s weight bore down hard on her, her arms under his, holding up his upper body. Rhaenyra had his legs, holding the tourniquet on his thigh steady, but black blood was still oozing weakly. “Dohaerās. Dohaerās!”

But it was no use. Vermithor growled low in his throat, raising on his haunches.

She lowered Aemond to the shore and felt ready to sob. He would not die here. He would not. She would not bury him so far from home, without his mother looking on his face again. No.

She stood. Drew herself up to her full height. Her voice was cold and commanding. The voice of a woman grown. The voice of a ruler. “Iksan aōha kipagīros. Iksan Visenya Targārien, se ānogar hen uēpa Valyria. Iksan se brāedāzma zaldrīzes se kesā dohaeragon nyke.”

I am your rider. I am Visenya Targaryen, the blood of Old Valyria. I am the Bronze Dragon and you will serve me.

Vermithor met her eyes. Met her wild fury, her desperation with liquid amber eyes. She was no Visenya the Conqueror. No Jaehaerys the Conciliator. But she would be damned if she failed now because of some wretched wyrm. 

He let out a low grumble, then lowered himself to the ground. One bronze wing extended, covering a large swathe of the shore.

Relief flooded every inch of her being. “Come on,” she said, and she lifted Aemond with Rhaenyra once more.

-----

Harrenhal was a dreadfully cold castle, and Sena did her best to keep the fire stoked at all hours, in the rooms where she had first held Aemond in her arms and known every inch of him.

Under the blankets and furs she had laid on him, Aemond rarely stirred, as heavily drugged as he was. His damaged eyelid was slack and drooped over his empty socket, his sapphire eye on his bedside table. The maesters had attended to him day and night for the first few days. Sena only allowed them to look at her hand once she knew he would live.

Her hand was in agony. The first two fingers of her sword hand severed just below the knuckle, the third finger cut deeply. She would never hold a sword in her right again. She did not know how she had not dropped her blade as it had happened and died on Dark Sister there and then. But then, she knew enough of life and death at this point to know the body was capable of incredible feats when it had to be. When there was no other choice.

The maesters gave her nothing for the pain - the babe in her belly was too little and milk of the poppy would be dangerous, they had told her. She was happy to agree. Happy to grit her teeth and bear it, sitting by Aemond’s side.

His soft, steady breathing kept her company. As did the tiny soul growing inside her.

The seat at Aemond’s bedside was comfortable enough and they had pushed the bed closer to the fire, giving the both of them the best chance of fighting off the Stranger, fighting off infection. Targaryen blood burned hot, though. She had faith in them.

She lost count of the days. Lost count of how long she sat and paced and rubbed at her belly. She brushed Aemond’s hair, shaved his face, changed his shirts, raised his head and fed him sips of broth, dribbles of water. He was growing frightfully skinny and pale and gaunt. He did nothing but sleep but still the shadows under his eyes were black as night. She stroked her fingers over his cheek. Begged him to live, begged him to wake, begged him to kiss her. “I love you,” she murmured into his hair, against his lips. “I love you. Do not leave me.”

Alys appeared every now and then, to bring her food, make sure she was drinking water, give her news of Rhaenyra and Daemon. “Your father is bed bound,” she had told her some days ago. “The maesters say he is bleeding in his brain. He keeps convulsing dreadfully.”

Sena did not care. Did not give a fuck, with Aemond so close to death. Rhaenyra stood vigil at Daemon’s bedside, same as Sena stayed at Aemond’s. There were no words exchanged, nothing uttered between them, but the crowns of the realm were on the mantle, she had noticed faintly a few days ago. Someone had placed them side by side above the hearth. How ridiculous it seemed now. All this for the sake of circlets of metal and gems. For a twisted throne. 

Alys came with the maester one morning, who checked Aemond’s pulse, checked his bedpan. Listened to his breathing. Alys laid a hand on Sena’s shoulder. “You need to go to bed, Lady Visenya. This is not good for the babe. Allow me. I’ll stay with him, come wake you as soon as he stirs.”

Sena shook her head weakly. She was so tired, so tired, but how could she sleep?

“Lay down at least,” Alys murmured, brushing Sena’s curls from her shoulder. “Lay down beside him. Your father is incapacitated, Sena, he has not risen from his bed in a sennight. I will be right here. I will wake you if Aemond so much as twitches.”

She did not have the will to keep protesting. She lay down beside Aemond, burrowed under the furs and blankets and into his side, gently laying one had over his chest. Alys tugged the covers up tightly around her shoulders. It was not so comfortable - her dress was growing too tight on her figure and her stomach was still churning as the babe changed and rearranged every part of her. 

“I love you,” she murmured against Aemond’s temple. “Do not leave me.”

She slept lightly, fitfully.

It was Aemond’s stirring, his breath rustling her hair that awoke her.

She was awake and alert in an instant, pushing herself up onto one arm. Her dress was hopelessly creased, her hair tangled in knots, and Alys was dozing in the chair by the bed. But Aemond- Aemond had a little pink in his cheeks. His eyelids fluttered. One purple eye and one blank space. Sena brushed his lower lip with her thumb. “Hello, darling,” she said. Her throat was thick with emotion, her eyes brimming with tears. “Hello. I’m so glad to see you.”

Alys stirred and looked at Aemond’s stirring form with wide eyes. “My Prince,” she breathed and pushed herself up quickly. “I- I’ll get the maester.”

As she fled from the room, Aemond’s eye left her and returned to Sena. “Gods, I must be truly dying, if she was concerned,” he jested and it sounded weak but Sena chuckled. She kissed the corner of his mouth sweetly.

“Your mother is coming,” she told him. “She is travelling right now. I am told she rides day and night on horseback. So no scaring us, okay? She is exhausting herself just for you, so you must hold on.”

He reached up and gripped her left hand weakly. “I intend to, beautiful girl. I intend to.”

“Good,” she murmured, pressing her lips to his hair, to his temple. “Good.”

He let go of her hand, reached down, to rest on her stomach. “Did I- did I dream this part? Was it just the milk of the poppy or are you-“

“We’re having a baby, Aemond,” she said, a little wetly. “The maester examined me a few days ago and confirmed it.”

He smiled that wide, boyish smile of his that was everything she loved about his soul in one. “And are you… pleased?”

She was crying again, she knew. Her tears ran off her cheeks, down her neck, dampening the shoulder of his shirt. “I have never been happier,” she said. “You are alive. We are at peace. And we have a little one on the way. Aemond, I never dreamed we would get this lucky.”

He was beaming with pride, his chest puffed up, with one hand on her belly and the other cradling her injured hand to his chest. “You’ll have to marry me now, love. I won’t let you make my daughter a bastard.”

She wrinkled her nose at him playfully, laughing wetly. “Or son.”

“Mhm,” he murmured, giving a little shake of his head. “I have a feeling about this.”

“Do you?” She asked, brushing his long hair from his forehead. 

“I do,” he said, holding her gaze with certainty and giving her a little smile. “Kiss me, please, darling. I’m a little foggy to do it myself.”

She leaned over him, cradled his strong jaw in her hand and sealed their lips together. His breath was sour from slumber but she did not care even in the slightest. He tasted better than any fine wine and he sighed happily into the kiss, bumping his nose against hers with a gleeful little grin. He broke away from her, traced her shining bottom lip with his thumb. “Did we truly do it, darling? Did we end it?” He asked softly, his voice a little hazy.

“We did, my love,” she said, smiling down at him, stroking the stubble on his jaw.

“Mm,” he sighed happily. Then he pulled her down for a kiss. “Marry me,” he mumbled against her lips.

“Yes,” she whispered against him. “Yes.”

taglist (dm/ask/reply to be added): @stargaryen22 @trap-house-homiecide

[giggly-bun]

Tis The Season {ChiScara}

A/N [WARNING THIS IS A TICKLE FIC] if you don’t like it, don’t read it. Sorry for any mistakes that i’ve made but i hope if you read this I hope you enjoy it. i cant guarantee that i’ll be writing before christmas so merry christmas everyone and ily all! :D -bunny 🔮

Tis the last day of school before Christmas break, and Ajax was on his way back from class. The soft bitterness of winter nipped at his nose as he walked along the icy path leading up to his door, pulling his scarf up gently. Upon entering his dorm, he felt a gentle warmth coat his face as he shook off his snow covered coat and boots. The faint smell of something sweet was lingering in the air, and he continued to make his way to the living room. Opening the door, that’s where he found his lover laying peacefully asleep on the couch, a thin blanket keeping his legs warm. 

Ah, yes, home. 

There was a fond smile resting on Ajax’s face, one that only appears when his gaze falls on Scaramouche. He walked closer and, on further inspection, noticed his boyfriend was wearing a Christmas jumper, the same Christmas jumper that Ajax had bought him. Ajax scoffed playfully as he remembered how much Scara had protested at the sight of it. 

“You’re not getting me to wear that! It’s hideous.” He had said, a look of disgust on his face. 

“What, but it’d look so cute on you, Scara. Look, it’s even got little elves on it, it’s your brand.” Ajax joked, watching with a smirk as Scaramouche’s face caught a tint of pink, and the shorter just walked off. 

Now here he sat, snuggled up in said sweater, looking as cute as Ajax had expected. His hair was gracefully splayed out on the pillow, his mouth slightly ajar, and- oh. Said jumper had ridden up. Ajax chuckled and went to sit down next to Scaramouche, making sure to watch his legs. He admired his boyfriend for a little longer before a mischievous idea caught his attention. 

He slipped his hand gently at where the sweater had ridden, just above his belly button, and began tracing light lines at the dip in his waist, catching the older’s sides on purpose. Ajax watched as Scaramouche shuffled slightly in his sleep, but nothing more than some slight movement was made. So he continued. He decided to use his nails slightly and dragged a straight path from his bottom rib to where his sides met his hips and- aha, results! The ginger saw how Scara’s lips twitched at the corner, and he stirred more in his sleep, letting out a huff that resembled a laugh. Feeling the motivation to continue his action, that’s what Ajax did. Until some soft, sleepy giggles started protruding out of his boyfriend’s mouth. 

“Mhmhm stohop.” Scara mumbled out, evidently still slightly asleep but on the verge of waking up. The taller man smiled to him, oh how cute he found his partner. 

“I see you’re wearing that Christmas sweater that I bought you.” He said, moving his fingers so that they were swirling around the bluenette’s exposed belly button. That one got him awake. Scaramouche’s body twitched at the feeling, suddenly being away of what his body was going through, and his eyes fluttered open. 

“Ajahax? Mhmhmhm w-whahat are you doihihing?” Scaramouche giggled, still trying to register his surroundings. 

“Good morning, sleepy head.” Ajax grinned down, not stopping his motions. “Did you have a nice nap? You look awfully cosy in that sweater.” Scaramouche tried to move his body away from the sensation he was feeling, but he was still so tired he couldn’t bring himself to move. 

“Why are yohohou doihihing thahat- ack! go away ajahahax.” Scara’s giggling began to pick up as Ajax began to apply more pressure to the tickling. He used his index and middle finger to walk a path up from his sides to his upper ribs, where he gently wiggled in between the grooves of the bones. Oh, Scaramouche wasn’t ready for this at all. 

“Well, I just missed you all day and I come home to such a lovely surprise. So, what made you wanna wear the jumper, Scara?” Ajax teased with a slight smirk on his face, watching as that tinge of crimson set itself on the shorter’s cheeks. 

“Shuhuhut up ihihit gohot cold, okay. Mohove your hahands- mhmhmhm. stohohohohop” Scaramouche tried to purse his lips to keep in his laughter, but the sleep that was still intoxicating his mind wouldn’t let him. 

“Oh you were cold? Well then I guess it came in handy, didn’t it? See, I told you it would, and you look absolutely adorable. It makes it easier for me to do this.” And then Ajax did the unthinkable. He moved his fingers to the space just below Scara’s navel, scratching lightly at the skin. The shorter’s body jerked, that familiar feeling taking over and he finally managed to bring his hands down to block his tummy, attempting to turn over. Ajax just swung a leg over his boyfriend and straddled his waist, laughing. 

“No! Ajahahax not there- you knohohow it’s sohoho bad, you jerk!” Scaramouche protested, although it sounded whinier than he intended. The taller boy just chuckled to himself. The sight of his boyfriend begging ignited something so dangerous in him. He tried to get to the spot again but Scaramouche’s hands stayed persistent in their blocking so Ajax just sat back and gazed at him with a look so dark. 

“Scara, move your hands.” He said, low and stern. It made the other gulp. 

“Make me, asshole” 

The seconds of silence that followed were deafening. Then the younger clicked his tongue and in one swoop, had Scaramouche’s arms were being held above his head in one of Ajax’s hands. The eldest gasped, peering up at his boyfriend in slight fear, slight excitement. Ajax smirked. 

“You really are forcing my hand here, darling.” And he went for it. He shuffled down Scara’s joggers slightly, just below the waist band and experimentally swiped his finger across the thin skin of his waist band. Scaramouche flinched so hard, and a round of anticipatory giggles began rolling out. 

“Plehehease Ajax dohon’t you know it’s soho so ba-AHAHAHA NO!” He screeched as the ginger used his four fingers to begin scribbling at the small bit of skin. Ajax can’t exactly remember how he figured out that this was one of his partner’s death spots, but he’s so glad he did. Watching how Scaramouche squirmed and jerked while he laughed and laughed brought out an excitement in him he didn’t know he had. 

“Why not, Scara? What’s wrong with this little spot? I love it so much, how something so small can get you so worked up.” Ajax taunted, a teasing lilt to his voice. Scaramouche was indeed worked up. He was thrashing his head to the side and bucking his hips, trying to escape the feeling. It was electric, it was hellish. 

It tickled. 

“NOHOHO p-plehehehehease AHAHEHEEHE! YOHOHOHOU ASSHOLE!” Scara was trapped in a ticklish torment, the mixture of Ajax’s slightly cold finger tips, the use of his nails and the sleep that he had finally gotten rid of was all too much. Ajax laughed along with him. 

“Well that’s not very nice. What’s wrong, Scara dearest, I hope i’m not bothering you.” 

“YOHOHOHOU ARE! thihihis- STAHAHAP- IHIHISN’T FAIR! i cahahahahan’t i-it’s bahahaAHAHAD. AJAX!” Scaramouche continued to scream and screech as his feet drummed on the couch in defeat. He tried to bury his burning face in his bound arms to hide his embarrassment, but Ajax could see it clear as day, and he grinned like the cheshire cat. 

“I dunno, I really do like seeing you like this.” And he leaned down to Scara’s red ear. “Do you really think I should stop, dear?” It was low and seductive and god it was humiliating how much it effected the bluenette. 

“YEHEHES NO MOHOHORE- I CAHAHAN’T!” The screech that was released at the end of that sentence was absolutely deafening, and Ajax had to cover his ears, letting out his own laughter. 

“Ohoho my gohohod, was it that bad? You’re sohoho loud my god, Scara.” Ajax sat back, easing off his boyfriends legs. The latter immediately pulled the jumper down and curled his legs up protecting tummy. 

“Yohohoho are horrible! Why did you do thahat, you jerk.” The shorter glared, still panting out his final giggles. 

“Because, like I said, you look cute. Be grateful I didn’t go for those knees that I know are just as bad.” Ajax threatened and he reached out his hand to wiggle his fingers by the elder’s knees but Scaramouche slapped his hand away. 

“Don’t you dare, you’ve done enough tonight. You owe me another hot chocolate” He grumbled, trying to fight off a smile that was still present on his face. Ajax just chuckled and got up, not without leaving a forehead kiss of course. 

“Merry Christmas, ya little Grinch.”

[eyesxxyou]

Hobies nipples are definitely pierced idc what anyone says they are pierced and if you have pierced nipples you bet hobie and yall are mix matching yalls set together ornusong each others or some shit like that or he buys yall very similar ones. Or matching ones like so romantic. I also hc he has his belly pierced. I wanna see how sensitive his nipples would be if their pierced i wanna see how sensitive he is. I wanna look at how sensitive he is. Like… i wanna put a tattoo:

Like that on my lower back with his silly initials on it (I totally would, side note i do plan getting a tattoo like that and if i ever date someone i will have their initials there.) anyways hobie would totally also have a tattoo thats meaningful to him as it shows both of yall together in some shape or form. And itd be his favorite and your favorite. Love looking at it while you fuck him dumb or the other way around. He likes switches as he likes switching the power during sexy time with you. His cum definitely taste like citrus and id eat his cum all up idc how bad i have issues with certain textures. If he wanted me to i would, id swallow that shit whole without a complaint (i literally cant eat certain foods because of their texture). His cum after he shoots a load in your throat would definitely drip out of your mouth on your lips. Hed rub your lip with his thumb and get his cum that left your mouth and stick his thumb in your mouth. He knows that you will suck on him and his fingers so you already know what to do as he calls you his good pretty thing, his messy thing. Who he makes sure to clean up his cum from dripping anywhere else, even though he loves seeing you a mess. God this man. I love him so much. I need a british punk im so sad british rockstars dont exist

Spam of him because i love him<3 (i have sm more of him in my camera roll, its all of him mostly. If not its of myself or drawing references. Or tattoo stuff.)

-🍄

Rubbing your pierced nipples against each other while your two kiss, the metall catching on each other, hardened buds rubbing and stroking.

You're fucking him from the back, fingers tracing his tramp stamp with your initials in it, calling him your pretty boy before pressing down on us back to get him to arch while you stroke your hips and fuck him deep until he's drooling into his pillow and reaching back to touch your hips and keep you from getting overzealous.

[cosmos-coma]

Hello My Old Heart- Part 2

Pairing: Eskel x Reader

Warnings: fem!reader,

Word count: 1.1k

Summary: You knew it was inevitable, but its time for Eskel to leave. You tell yourself that he wont miss you and you wont miss him, but... will it be that easy?

________________________________

Afternoon light was pouring into the windows of the cottage when Eskel’s eyes finally opened again, grunting as he felt a weight on his chest. 

“Baaa” Ivy bleated down at him from her position on his chest. 

‘Oh… Well, Hello.” Eskel greeted, moving to sit up, causing the young lamb to slide down into his lap. Pain rippled through his torso as he righted himself and looked around the small cottage, gathering what had happened. He had been getting ready to leave and go back out on his contract when… when you put him to sleep. He wanted to be upset, but he knew he couldn’t really argue much. Witchers have used Axii for much worse things and- upon quick glance- all of his items are exactly where he left them. So, no harm done.

Ivy, bored now that her new self-heating bed has become vertical, bounds off of Eskels lap and out the door. Eskel listened as he rose to his feet, picking up her hoofbeats as she made her way outside to you. 

Careful not to pop his stitches, Eskel pulled his belongings together and followed Ivy out with quiet feet. What he wasn’t ready for though, was the sight of you when he stepped through the front door. 

You were there in your underclothes, a thin white dress that fluttered gently in the breeze. You were on a short stool, bent over your laundry tub, and trying to scrub the blood and dirt out of your dress. Dry clothes waved in the breeze behind you on the clothesline, ready to be replaced.  The afternoon sun shone down on you, illuminating the slight frizz of your hair into a halo-esque aura

“Oh…” Eskel breathed. It was all he could manage to say. 

“Ivy, are you here to help or just chew?” you chuckled to yourself a bit as Ivy pulled one of your shirts out of the tub. “I’m gonna hang you out to dry soon if you're not careful” you quipped, pulling the clothes away. 

Ivy bleated loudly in retort to your threat before turning to Eskel to back her up. 

But Eskel was occupied with his heart beating loudly in his chest, almost certain that you'd be able to hear it if it got any louder. In all his time on the path, the Witcher had felt lust before, plenty of times- but he wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt something close to Lo- well… the other L word. 

“She’s got quite the personality…” the Witcher commented and finally continued toward you “Mind if I help?” 

“Hm? Oh, Eskel…” you said, his name coming with an easy smile on your lips.

Now that he was standing, you finally got to really see him- all of him. Broad shoulders that supported strong arms, Dark hair that served to brighten those lovely golden eyes. His skin was covered in various marks and scars, leaving a bold pattern of bites and slashes. The sun warmed his fair complexion and seemed to invite you in for another touch of his skin.

 “I would like that. Thank you… Here- Let me do your shirt while I’m at it, or it's gonna be blood-colored forever.” you held your hand out for his shirt. Though it seemed your mouth was moving faster than your brain was, because you were not thinking far enough ahead. 

When Eskel took off his shirt for you to wash you were certain that your brain had turned to soup in that exact moment. His pendant fell and rattled gently against his chest in your presence. Strong arms and a stronger chest- even an enticing little happy line trailing over his softer belly towards…. NO.

No. Focus Y/n this is NOT the time. You’re not falling into this shit again. 

“Um… uh, thanks- Thank you…” your words stumbled out. “If you really want to help the dry clothes need to be taken down…” You handed him an empty basket.

With a nod the sweet-hearted Witcher went on his way, taking down dry clothes and folding them before putting them away.

You rubbed the stained shirt furiously against the washboard, working out the frustration you had with yourself… and yet…

Your eyes couldn’t help but gravitate towards him; the gentle smile he seemed to have in your presence, the way his hands move about carefully, not with the heavy touch you would have expected from such a man. His footsteps were quiet and intentional, not unlike the elk that pursue the forest. For a man in a career of killing, he seemed to have a rather soft presence.

You had always wanted someone you could live a gentle life with…

And that's when you felt it. Your old heart was beating behind its rock walls. 

Your heart had been so still for so long that you hadn’t even been sure it was there anymore. But now there’s a beat. It’s quiet and it's weak, but oh boy is it there, and it's beginning to rattle its cold stone walls. 

With a soft blush now adorning your cheeks, you looked back down at your working hands and continued washing. 

Eskel, ever the kind soul, even went so far as to bring your laundry inside before coming out to help you wring out and hang the new load. You both worked quietly and comfortably beside each other, occasionally brushing fingers and mumbling half-hearted apologies. 

Though like all things, everything has an end, and before long it was time for Eskel to head out.

“Take care, Eskel… Don’t go getting hurt again, alright?” You joked, a light chuckle falling from your lips.

“I’ll do my best… Until next time?” He asked, smiling down at you from his seat on Scorpion. 

A pause came over your expression before you smiled once again. “Right. Until next time…” you replied. 

You didn’t try to ignore the small pang in your heart as you watched him leave, you wanted yourself to feel it. You wanted it to serve as a reminder- a fraction of what you’d inevitably feel if you let your old heart go too far. 

Quietly you sighed and rested your head on the door frame as you watched him and his horse get smaller and smaller in the distance. 

You knew deep down that soon enough he’d forget. 

He’d forget this cottage…

His time spent here…

 and eventually so will you.

___________________________________________

Tag list: @writingmysanity @open--till--midnight @arcana-greenleaf

Wanna get on/off the tag list? No worries, just drop me a message or leave a reply!

[toutallyahoe]

good sir, if you are taking asks at this moment, I would like to ask for nsfw ethan headcanons. or really anything with nsfw ethan. i simp for this man so much, it is not funny-

- 🌺✨ (aka a new anon to this wonderful page)

pairing(s): ethan winters x male reader

warnings: cursing, nsfw content ahead

a/n: hallo 🌺✨ anon and happy to have you here in this mess of a blog!

and ive been talking about ethan's kinks in previous asks but ill try to compile this one here haha, hope you enjoy 💙

btw im using 2 pov on writing hcs and etc but will continue using 3 pov in my usual works

ethan winters prefer soft vanilla sex but that doesnt mean you both cant be kinky from time to time

mostly, he is just a soft boi who is definitely a pillow princess

please take care of him, the man has been through a lot

but anyways

praise kink is definitely ethan favorite kinks of them all

ethan deserves to know how much of a good boy he is

how good he was taking you so well and just over all praise his body

he likes being reminded that he is love by you and that the scars he has all over his body after the shit he had been through louisiana and the village are not ugly at all

and that you just appreciate every inch of his body even if he hates some parts of himself

just let ethan know his scars arent ugly

that he is the most beautiful man in the world and just let him know you love him so much

please kiss and tell him he is beautiful

ethan is very weak for it

especially when you guys have sex

like to imagine ethan has daddy kink to be honest

it was a surprise for both you and him when that slipped out of his mouth when he decided to be a power bottom that one night

it just open a kink that ethan never knew he even liked

he is a papa but when you softly call him daddy as you fuck him?

poor man is w e a k

please, call him daddy

also, ethan will not enjoy pain that much

he has ptsd from the shit he went through louisiana and the village

so please be soft with him

reasons why soft vanilla is the best way to go for him

the only pain ethan wants to feel is you literally destroying his ass, the hickeys and bite marks you leave in his skin, and orgasm denial

and yes, ethan has an edging kink and is very into orgasm denial

it is a bit of pain but goddamn ethan loves the thrill of you delaying and denying his orgasm

it doesnt only turns him on but it also gives him much more time to spend with you

yes, even in having kinky sex this boi is thinking about just being with you

he adores you so much

please love him

and also im going to add this since it became very popular recently

and because im a sucker for this shit

belly bulging

ethan is very much weak for it

if he gets a belly bulge from your dick inside him and rearranging his guts, he unconsciously places a hand

which is just really adorable and wholesome enough

ethan lightly touching and feeling the way you move inside him

god, he could literally just cum with that thought honestly

you will fill him good

ethan loves it

he is rather addicted to it

especially if you praise him for it as well

and if you mention about his belly bulging because of your cock, expect ethan to clench on you and prettily moan and whimper

especially if you place a hand on his and pressed on his belly bulge

fuck

ethan's mind just blanks

your so big that it shows even on his belly

so lowkey ethan has a size kink now that i think about it

what do you mean he is canonically 5'11? cant hear you over 5'9 ethan winters asfshsjkdksjfjjf

but anyways

please, continue just love him

thats all he wants and needs

just you loving him

[missluckycharms]

These small moments.

Single Dad!Harry and his little love, Honey.

Summary: mornings with Honey are Harrys favourite, small chats with blurry eyes and lazy smiles is what makes him feel closer to his little lady.

A/N: ahhh they’re so 🥺 enjoy !!

Click *** for visuals throughout the story.

Warnings: none, just pure fluff and dad jokes.

Word Count: 2.1K

Masterlist.

It’s nearly seven in the morning.

The sunrise shining through the windows and casting a bright warm hue onto Harry’s sleeping body in his bed. The white sheets tossed about and his head buried in the pillow, his cheek smushed to up and his lips slightly parted letting out small snores.

The only sound throughout the whole house is the sound of birds chirping about outside and the engines of cars on their way down the roads, the morning rush nearly upon the streets as people make their way to their nine till five jobs. The house has a slight breeze throughout due to Harry always sleeping with his window cracked open, and his door cracked open also to allow honey to walk in when she needed her Papa.

Speaking of the little love, she’s already awake, in her own small pink coloured bed, many pillows around her and her stuffies lined up against the wall, her favourite stuffie in her hand — Pascal from Tangled is her favourite stuffie, she brings him everywhere, even sneaks him into school in her back pack when Harrys not looking. She does this every morning, she lays in bed and talks to her stuffie or just stares at the ceiling, her glow in the dark stars now white and barely noticeable in the bright room, her pink curtains casting a pink hue around the room.

She waits five minutes before she’s hopping out of her bed and padding along towards her door, she pulls it open as it’s only closed a little, allowing enough of a gap for her small body to fit through. She snuggles pascal as she walks, looking around and noticing her Papa must still be asleep, she immediately darts for his room, peeping her curly head in and looking at his sleeping body, his back facing her and his bed messy as usual, but there’s always enough space for her to snuggle up next to him.

She doesn’t wake him, she tip toes towards the side he’s not laying on, throwing pascal up first before she’s hiking herself up on the large bed, a small groan when she has to put more strength into getting up than usual due to her sleepy state. When she’s up, she brushes the curls from her face with a harsh swipe, her blue doe eyes looking at her Papa, his hair messy like hers. She lays down on the pillow, looking at her Papa as she softly taps his cheek and pushes pascal towards him.

“G’morning button” he grumbles when he hears a small giggle, pascal now on his back as her dimples pop out at how ridiculous the man looks with a small green chameleon stuffie on his bare back. He smiles when he hears her hearty laugh, instantly wrapping his tattooed arm around her and squishing her into his chest.

“Papa! Cant see!” She laughs loudly, her small body being caged by her Dad’s broad muscular one, his own laughs filling the room as she peeps her head up at him, a small pout on her lips which causes him to lean down and peck her lips lightly.

“Have a good sleep? Yeah?” He asks when she nods happily, her small hand playing with his cross necklace as he shuts his eyes for a few more minutes, face buried in her chestnut curls as she talks to him and pascal, Harry never knowing which one she’s actually talking to sometimes.

“Papa? Pancakes now?” She asks after another five minutes, her small attention span running out which causes Harry to wake up from resting his eyes, smile back on his face as he turns them over so he’s laying on his back and Honey is sat on his stomach slapping his chest looking at his tattoos — she loves his tattoos or his “paintings” as she calls them.

“Papa, your pearlies are gone” she says disappointed looking to see that her favourite necklace of his which is his Pearl one, is missing. She loves to run her small hands over it, the feeling and look of it making her eyes wide in awe at the beauty of it.

“Should I wear them today?” He asks with a smile, watching as she rubs her eyes a little, slowly waking herself up as she lets out a small yawn, her small pouty lips returning as she babbles on nonsense as Harry tries to tame her hair a little before he has to style it for her today.

“Love your pearlies Papa” she says brightly, laying down on his chest, her curls tickling his chin as he wraps and arm around her back, rubbing small circles on it as she relaxes a little, her small body still trying to wake up as Harry softly kisses her head.

It’s when his alarm rings when the two actually peel themselves from bed, Honey immediately springing up and slapping his phone to turn off the sound, it’s her favourite thing to do for some reason, she always shouts “I did it Papa!” Which makes him laugh and nod kissing her head proudly. They’re both in the kitchen now, the early start allowing them to lounge about in their comfy clothes for awhile while they make breakfast. Harry is only in a pair of grey joggers while Honey sits on the counter, helping him add in flour and sugar to the pancake batter in her baby pink bunny printed silk pyjama set *** the darker complexion of her skin standing out against the pale pink, Harry was overjoyed when he seen she had the same skin tone as her Mum, her darker skin causing her blue eyes to be brighter.

“Wanna help crack an egg button? Need t’be careful though, don’t want crunch pancakes now do we?” He asks with a grin as she pulls a disgusted face shaking her head. Her small palm helps her Papa’s hand crack the egg and she giggles watching it plop down into the dry mixture.

They scarf down their banana pancakes through small chats and giggles, Harry cracking his usual jokes that have Honey giggling loudly as she shovelled her pancakes into her mouth, their faces hurting from laughing by the time they’re up in her bedroom, Harry standing at her drawers, holding up small outfits as Honey sits like the diva she is on her bed, giving him a thumbs down when she doesn’t like an outfit he picks. She’s so stubborn, but she gets that from him.

“I do it Papa!” She says annoyed now, marching over to him as she picks her up with a laugh, her small hands rooting about until she pulls out a white cable knit jumper with a few frills on the sleeves and a baby pink velvet pinafore to go over it. She smiles up at him as he nods, happy with her choice. ***

“Did good button, need to put some tights on you though, getting a bit nippy out” he says as she nods, walking towards her sock drawer and pulling out some white knitted tights with an smile as Harry gives her a thumbs up, causing her to laugh loudly.

“Why Papa shave?” She asks sitting on the sink, her small outfit on her and her brown boots swinging on her feet as she dangles them off the counter beside the sink watching as Harry applies his shaving foam and wets his razor under the water, he’s still shirtless and only in his joggers as Honey watches on — she loves watching him, when he’s shaving his face or when he’s cooking, even when he does something a small as put her DVD in the player, she’s fascinated by him and Harry thinks it’s because he’s all she has, and he doesn’t mind being the centre of her attention as she is his.

“Papa has hair on his face, sometimes it gets itchy when it lets long. You don’t like it sure you don’t, always complaining it tickles when I kiss ya” he says with a laugh, his hand gliding the razor over his face as he inspects himself in the mirror, trying not to nick himself as Honey watches on curiously.

“Yuck! Hate Papas beard, gross!” She says as Harry looks at her, his face shaven and the foam gone, he picks up his curl cream and scrunches it through his hair a little.

“S’not nice to say gross button, remember? Cant say things are gross” he warns her, her small face falling but nodding as she takes the small scolding from her Papa, he rarely scolds her and when he does, he feels guilty but he knows it’s for her own good. Apart from a few slip ups here and there, she’s the most well mannered toddler ever, everyone that meets her complements Harry on his good parenting which means so much to him due to what he’s been through to get to where he is now.

It’s another few minutes before Harry is fully dressed, a baby blue striped grey suit *** on his body and his usual gucci heeled boots that Honey loves the sound of, she instantly perks up at the sound knowing her Papa is near. She claps when he walks out from the bathroom, it’s her new thing, she claps like he’s putting on a fashion show, causing him to strike a pose which causes her to fall back onto the bed in fits of laughter.

“Alright button, hair time!” He says as she widens her eyes, trying to wriggle off his bed and run away. She hates her hair being combed due to her curls being unruly and always tangled on her head. He grabs her and makes monster noises at her, tickling her belly as she screams out a laugh, nearly falling from his arms as he places her down on the counter by the sink, she spins around and watches herself in the mirror.

“What are we going for today Miss Styles?” He asks her like a professional hair stylist, her smile wide as she grabs a pink hair tie with small butterfly clips also, she shows them to him in the mirror as he smiles, taking her hair brush and de tangling spray. He struggles a little but he gets there in the end, her hair tied up in a pony tail and the small butterfly clips all around her head as she smiles brightly at herself.

“Did good job Papa!” She says clapping her hands, seeing how her Dad is improving, he’s been watching tutorials nightly and even trying some on himself as he gets used to braiding and all that stuff for when she starts asking for more complex styles in her curly hair.

He packs her bag and they’re both out the door quickly, he straps her into her booster seat in his black Range Rover, her legs dangling about as she rings and dances to the song on the radio, Harry keeping his eyes on the road but they flicker to hers in the rear view mirror when she speaks to him. Honey loves school, she loves her teacher and she loves making new friends due to her out going personality that she definitely got from her Mum, she could make friends with a tree if she was near one.

She’s holding his hand as he walks her in the gates, the other kids all lining up on their designated class spot on the ground, a yellow circle painted on the tarmac signalling the younger class. The Mums are all there with their kids, the odd few Dads there also but it’s always the Mums who are smiling and speaking to Harry as they watch their kids walk into their classroom, small hands waving as they excitedly march into the school. He doesn’t stay long after she’s gone in, mainly because the Mums have no filter and would publicly flirt with the single Dad even when they have wedding bands on their fingers.

He brushes off all the women, smiling at them as he runs out the gate, hearing them all whisper amongst themselves as they excitedly look on as he pulls away in his expensive car heading towards his work building. Harry feels empty when Honey is gone, he loves mornings with her, just him and her going about their mornings, making breakfast and cracking up at jokes they tell one another back and forth over banana pancakes every morning, some mornings they have cereal if they wake up late and sometimes if they wake up extra early and can’t go back asleep, they get ready and Harry brings her out for breakfast before dropping her off at school.

It’s the little moments with Honey that Harry cherishes, knowing she won’t be his little love for very long, but doesn’t think about that. He lives in the present with her and he loves how they are now, he loves his little lady with all his heart.

[jarofstyles]

hiii idk if you guys are taking blurbs or concepts but how would y/n plan for Harry’s birthday in level up? 🥺🥺

We are always taking concepts!

For Level Up, it’s something for the both of them. He’s always a bit selfish with her and her time, liking to soak in her pets and touches. He isn’t the most social butterfly besides his mates but the day would be filled with some alone time. Waking him up with kisses, he would groan and tug her on to his body, bury his face into her chest and take her hand up to his head so she could play with his hair.

“Happy birthday...” her giggles would be felt as vibrations against his cheek. It made him smile every time he got even the tiniest bit of a laugh so already, his day would be going amazing. With her fingers threaded through his waves, she would gently run through them and hum quietly. See, Harry likes to wake up slowly and get acclimated to the area around him. When she’s around though, he doesn’t ever want to leave the bed.

“S’my birthday.” His slurred speech muffled against her top. “Can I do somethin?”

She paused her hand in his hair, raising a brow bur whispering a hum of approval. At the confirmation, he would pull up just enough to lift up her (his) shirt, placing his head under it like a child and assuming his last position. Between bare breasts. A perfect way to wake up. It’s not even sexual this time. Just warm.

“Seriously?” Her laugh of disbelief made him smirk into her skin. “You’re insane. Couldn’t even look at me when we first got together again, and now you’re rucking up my shirt to use my boobs as pillows.” They truly had gone a long way. But the soft kisses to the skin and his hands following to hold her around the waist made her soft. He thrives with skin to skin contact. Made sense why she called him a baby.

When finally able to be pried out of bed, the day begins. Dressing him in jeans and a band tee shirt, she does up his hair as he sleepily sits on the closed toilet seat and let her style it how she likes. It’s a new thing they’ve been doing and Harry was weak to have his hair played with so he never had any complaints. She would lightly tussle it and and put mousse and whatever the hell it was that smells good in his hair. When she finished, he would pucker his lips at her and get one of the first of many kisses.

She doesn’t tell him the plans. As much as he whines, his lover knows that secretly he loves surprises. Internally, he’s incredibly touched she has spent a whole day planning something. Of course Harry insists on driving but she makes a nice pout of it until he playing sings, “S’my birthdaaaaaay. I get to do what I want.”

She takes him to a new breakfast cafe a town over and finally get the crepes Harry had been drooling over on the Instagram explore page. Followed by an hour out trip to a comic book store and a speciality game store he hadn’t known existed, which the pair of them spent a good deal of time and money in. Their shared hobbies rubbed off on each other and they had their gamer fun, Harry blinking a few times when they had gotten to the car and revealed she had bought him a surprise. Another lunchbox. The sentimental bastard teared up!

For lunch, it’s a picnic. Grabbing food from a food truck, they sat on the beach of a lake, Y/N sitting against his chest as they feed each other fries and Harry bringing the straw of his watermelon soda to her lips a few times to let her try, before ultimately claiming he didn’t want anymore and handed it over to the girl he loved. It was an incredibly peaceful afternoon, complete with his lover bringing out a comic book she had snuck and held it up so they could read it together.

The big plans were for the night though. She had planned a get together with his friends and his family, booking a table at the combination arcade and restaurant. That was something she had collaborated with his mother and her future mother in law with. She had it all set up with blue and red balloons and had the cake there and everything.

Knowing he didn’t like large public attention, they didn’t shout surprise. It did startle him though to walk into a section, already beaming to be here with her only to see everyone else he loves. She loves him enough to go through all of this, and it was moments like these that he really felt like he was the luckiest man in the world.

They’d play together but she would insist on him going off for a bit with his friends while she sat with his family and chatted. They were so cool and down to earth, she was already part of their family and they made her know that. Who wouldn’t want that for their child? A lover who wanted them whole lot and would do any and everything for them?

Eventually he would get pouty, feeling a bit clingy and find his way back to her, bringing her into his body and disappearing off to play some games with her. A photo booth escape too, taking a few strips of cute pictures for the both of them and playing some of the basketball hoop game. Harry was stupidly good at everything but helped her to ‘win’ so, she was happy. Even managing to sneak her around to the hallway and kiss her deep and full, muttering “love you, so fuckin’ much.” And “cant believe y’do this for me. You’re everything.” And of course, “m’so lucky. This is the best day.”

At the end of the night, with photos upon photos, new gifts, and bellies full of food, they’d collapse upstairs in his room, curled up while a YouTube streamer highlights played on his tv. It wasn’t the end of their night though. No, of course not. Y/N couldn’t leave him without a perfectly sloppy birthday blow job. Crawling under the covers like he had done to her shirt, tugging down the grey sweats (yum) and mouthing over his cock, getting it hard and leisurely sucking on her boyfriend. Paying attention to the spots he loves, dipping down to take her tongue over some new places, under his balls a bit and ever so lightly over his hole, making him gasp.

They’d discussed it a few times, their want to try it but it was just a slow introduction. His whine and slight spread of his legs let her know he was okay with it, so she repeated it a few times while her hand stroked him, but the cuss and whimpery “fuck, I....m’gonna cum, gonna cum baby.” Had her back up to take it into her mouth. Swallowing every drop he had to give.

Sliding back up to lay on top of him, they share a deep kiss and a final “Happy Birthday.”

[zaikaglow]

Betrayal

For @mikaberries 4k Celebration Collab

Pairing: Bertholdt Hoover x Reader

Content Warnings: Unprotected sex, dacryphilia, abandonment 

Summary: You feel your relationship has run its course but youre unable to get out and you feel trapped leaving you with only one option, but can you bring yourself to do it?

“You're really sure about this y/n”? Hitch asks, sitting in the driver's seat of her Subaru palms just grazing the wheel as she drums on it with her pink fingernails. Sitting in the passenger's seat you pull your knees to your chest and look out at the Starbucks parking lot. Your face is starting to heat up at the shame of what you just told her. “I just really don’t know how else to do it” you mutter, wishing that maybe you had just kept your little plan to yourself that you didn’t get your best friend Hitch involved. She turns to you this time before she speaks “I just really can’t believe you wanna do that to him, just leave totally ghost the poor guy after what? 4 years? Come on y/n be an adult”. 

You can tell she’s scowling at you now “Hitch what would you do if Marlo asked you to marry him?” she laughs “well I’d tell him no, I’m not ready for that and not just pack up all my shit in the middle of the night and ask my best friend to be my getaway driver”. You were trying to choke back tears of frustration when you weakly mutter “that wouldn't work on Bertholdt”. “Come on y/n you're being ridiculous what do you mean that wouldn't work” her eyebrows knit together as she looks at you with more concern than contempt now. “Remember when I told you I was going to break up with him last year”?

“Yeah but then you two went to dinner and talked it out and you decided to stay together”

“That’s not exactly what happened. I started trying to breakup with him but he started crying and saying how he didn’t even think he could imagine life without me and everyone started staring and I just told him we could work it out”

“Okay so just don’t do it in a public place again” she takes a sip of her iced coffee

“God dammit Hitch! I’m an adult don’t you think I thought of that? Every time I’ve tried to break up with him he just starts either smothering me telling me how much he loves me or starts crying and going on about how he doesn’t know how to go on living.” Getting more exasperated at trying to make her understand you place your head into your palms “I swear that's the whole reason he asked me to marry him”

Hitch sighs “Do you still love him?”

“I don't know anymore Hitch”

“Okay how about you make an actual attempt to end it tonight, I’ll still drive you and you can stay with me until you get stuff figured out but please don’t just disappear on him”

“Fine i'll make a last attempt but if it doesn’t work will you still come get me?”

“Sure what else are friends for y/n” 

It’s later in the evening when you make it back to your shared apartment and your heart is beating in your chest. You're going to do it, you're actually going to be an adult and tell Bertholdt that you're breaking up. You're not getting married and you don’t care about how much he’s crying or the way he wraps his big arms around your body and pulls you close and whispers “stay” over and over. But then you walk in and he’s there and the way his eyes light up when he sees you makes your heart swell and you start to wonder if you can really go through with this “y/n! I’m glad your home I made dinner it’s your favorite” he walks over to you and places his hands on your shoulder “Don’t worry i'm not trying to sway you, I told you that you can take your time to think about my proposal” he smiles “unless you want to say yes right now I’d be okay with that”. Oh god the swelling in your heart is gone and is now replaced with the feeling of being drowned by him, even his touch no longer feels like that of a lover but of a weird stranger. “Uh actually I think” you're interrupted by a kiss, as his hands slide up from your shoulders up the back of your neck into your hair. His lips move to your neck “I’m only joking baby, take your time”. God this is what he did. You could tell he knew what you were trying to do and he was going to try to seduce you into staying with him. His lips lose contact with your neck as he reaches down to pick you up and place you on the counter. He brushes the hair out of your face with one hand, the other resting on your cheek “you know I love you y/n”. You place your hand over his “I love you too” it wasn’t entirely a lie. You truly do think that you still love him in a way which is why what you were going to do was going to hurt. “Let’s go to the bedroom” at which he grins and picks you up again carrying you to the shared bedroom. And you hope to god he doesn’t see the suitcase stored under the bed.

His hips press into the space between your thighs right where he fits perfectly, as you two would joke. His hands go to start toying with the hemline of your shirt, when you look up into his soft blue eyes and push his bangs out of his face “hey, how about we try something” you practically whisper he ruts his cholted cock against you as he kisses that sensitive spot behind your ear reply “yeah what do you want to try” . You grab him by both sides of his jaw bringing him back up to meet your gaze “how about you fuck me like its the last time?” his lustful look is replaced with a mix of concern and a smile trying to hide it “I don’t know if I like that game y/n”. Moving your thumb in small circles against his cheek you smile “I mean just like as passionate as if this were our last time together” you can see his gaze soften at your reassurance. “Okay” ending his reply with a kiss. Large but soft hands run down your neck thumbs tracing your pulse point as he moves towards your breasts giving them a gentle squeeze before moving back to that hemline pushing it up so he can start planting kisses by your belly button making his was up your torso moving the shirt up along with his head until it reaches the bottom of your rib cage where you take the hem in your hand and remove the shirt and bra yourself. Bertholdt pinches your nipple between his top teeth and his bottom lip rolling it into his mouth and soothing the sting of his teeth with his tongue, as his other hand grips your other breast rolling the nipple with his thumb. Legs wrapped around him tightening as the overwhelming stimulation in your tits is causing you to start grinding against his hardened dick in his pants desperate for friction. He pulls away sitting up to pull off his own shirt “hey slow down if this is the last time im fucking you I’d rather make it last” he says with a small chuckle before going to work at your own pants as he slides them down your legs and then lays himself down between your legs. He starts with a wet kiss to the side of your right thigh before making his way down to your core fingers running over your clothed slit before grabbing the waist band and pulling them down. “That's my good girl” he sighs as you spread your legs further apart and grips the sheets at the sensation of his hot breath fanning over your now exposed cunt. A feather light kiss greats your clit before he starts to use the flat of his tongue to lick circles around it as he dips his long delicate fingers into your core and all you can do is grip his locks of dark hair. His fingers dragging against your swollen walls bringing you closer and closer until he switches to suctioning on your swollen bud pushing you over the edge. You squirm under his grip around your thighs as he keeps licking to help you ride out your high. You pull his head off of you, feeling his resistance and attempting to make contact with you again. His jeans already have a wet spot from the way he was rutting his hips into the mattress, so excited at the pleasure he was giving you. He takes off his jeans before sliding back over you, his weeping cock laying on your stomach. You pull his head down into a kiss as he takes his cock and rubs the wet head against your clit before sliding it into you. His hip movements are rhythmic, dragging out slowly and thrusting back in faster and you cant help but to blurt out “I love you, I love you, I love you” over and over at his thrusts; it's almost like a prayer, no, an absolution. The building of guilt at the betrayal to this man's love that you were about to perform, and when he says it back you can't help it and you feel tears start to streak down your face. Bertholdt shifts up and grabs your legs throwing them over his shoulder, head ever so slightly turning to the left to kiss your ankle “it’s okay sweetheart I’ve got you” he says before continuing his thrusting. The tears are still streaming down your face as your head throws back into the pillow at the new deeper angle. Legs still over his shoulder he brings his forehead down to meet yours and he’s so deep you can feel him start to brush against your cervix hurting in the best sort of way. His hips begin to stutter as you feel the warmth of his release into you, and you can feel it start to drip down your thighs as he pulls out of you and wraps you in his arms. “I love you y/n, I really do”

It’s been about 2 hours since you’ve settled down for bed, you're pretty sure he’s sound asleep by the strange way his body is contorted, and you think about how you’ll never wake up hitting the floor because your boyfriend accidentally pushed you out of bed with his crazy sleeping positions again and your chest hurts. “Berty, Berty are you up?” you mutter sweetly but the tall man just continues to slumber. You pull your suitcase out from under the bed, it's packed with all the essentials and you’d probably have to convince Hitch to come and collect the rest of your things for you, no way you could stand to face him after what you were about to do. God you felt like such a bitch you couldn’t have one hard conversation? You had to do it this way? It was so hard because you did love Bertholdt. You weren't lying earlier, you really did love him! But you know this won’t work so you'll continue to feel like something isn't quite right, not exactly whole. So this is the only way you can do it, the only way you can escape from this relationship without the love you feel for him pulling you back in.

You sit in the foyer of the apartment building on your stuffed suitcase and pull out your phone and call her “Hey Hitch” choking back a sob causes a cracking in your voice “can you come get me now”

“Of course, I’m sorry your talk must have been hard”

“We’ll we didn't have the talk per say”

“What do you mean?”

“Well we had sex and I just couldn’t do it Hitch it just has to be this way”

There's a long pause from the other end of the line

“You know y/n, I love you but right now I really don't like you”

You start to sob “I’m sorry I don’t know why I couldn’t, but I left a note”

Hitch sighs before replying “It’s okay we’ll talk more later, i'll be there in 15”

[failedintsave]

I tried the MTL pairing generator for rarepair month...aaaand it told me to stay in my lane lol. And then it told me to write some Rachel/Roy Cornickleson which I just don't think I'm ready to take on 🙃 So here's some Skwistok set just before Doomstar that I've been fiddling with.

(gets just a little nsfw near the beginning)

Stages

Everyone handles grief differently.

Skwisgaar groaned as muscular arms pushed him against the wall, the reinforced metal door to his room on the submarine banging shut as they cleared the threshold. Hands tangled in his hair, holding him in place while lips and tongue and teeth worked over his neck. He clung desperately to the body pressed against him, fingers twisting in blue cotton material and yanking it upward. The mouth latched onto his throat pulled away as the t-shirt was hauled over his head and Toki's fevered eyes found his before rushing forward again, mashing their lips together with sloppy abandon. He gripped Skwisgaar by the belt, half dragging him as they stumbled their way to his bunk and collapsed. Breathing came in gasps and sighs as Toki's weight pinned him down into the mattress, the pressure both exhilarating and mollifying, an anchor to hold onto as the life he'd known for so many years turned upside down and twisted away in the wind.

He'd never given much energy to grief. Life was just a punctuated string of losses in the long run. Loss of innocence, loss of trust, loss of opportunities. It was all meaningless, really. In his experience, something new always came along to fill the space so why dwell on mourning what you couldn't have back?

Boots thumped to the floor, kicked off in haste. His shirt was peeled away before sturdy hands lifted his hips to free him of his jeans, calloused fingertips gliding back up his thighs and making him shiver. Toki climbed up to kiss him again, hungrily, as if trying to swallow him whole, their teeth knocking against each other. Skwisgaar ran his hands over every inch of skin he could reach, the hard lines of Toki's shoulders, the raised ridges of overlapping scars on his back, hip bones where they ground down against his own. Heat pooled low in his belly like magma aching to erupt. He wanted this, needed this right now, more than he'd ever needed anything in his life. How long had they danced around this, stealing moments and blaming it later on booze or post-show adrenaline, walking right up to the line and peeking over before backing away again? In the name of preserving band dynamics? A lot of good that had done, they'd still ended up where they are now, Dethklok tipping over the precipice into self-destruction.

Another loss to add to the list.

Toki pulled back, glacier blue eyes raking over Skwisgaar's features with manic light, chestnut locks of hair falling in disarray to frame his face. Skwisgaar reached up and tucked a strand behind his ear and Toki's expression shifted, the wild yearning softened into something gentler, less wolfish. He sat up to kneel between Skwisgaar's legs, hand skimming from his collar bone to his navel and leaving a trail of fire, over the inside of his thigh and dipping beneath, pausing until Skwisgaar breathed his assent, whispered his name.

Fingers tested gingerly, gradually increasing in depth and pressure before he gripped him by the waist and hauled him onto his lap. Skwisgaar canted his hips, lip catching between his teeth at the feel of Toki against him, his pulse hammering in his ears. His head angled back into the pillows and a wordless moan escaped his throat when Toki eased forward, back arching as lightning raced up his spine. Skwisgaar's fingers knotted in the bed sheets as Toki released a shuddering breath over him, rocking into him slowly, building rhythm into a steady push and pull.

Loss of professional boundaries. Definitely not something to be mourned.

The devastating sensation of fullness where they joined drove all coherent thought from Skwisgaar's mind and his eyes rolled back under closed lids, panting nonsense and expletives, begging for release. His toes curled as Toki matched stokes with his hand to the tempo of his thrusts, coaxing him through his climax until tipping over the edge after him with a whining sigh. Call and response, Skwisgaar thought dazedly as his superheated skeleton melted into jelly. When he could open his eyes again, his gaze landed on Toki's face above him, watching him with an openly heartsick expression.

"I… hads to do dat… at least once before dis ams all over." The broken whisper settled over him like a burial shroud.

Skwisgaar shook his head, holding out his arms. "Come heres."

Swallowing thickly, Toki obeyed, winding his arms under Skwisgaar's shoulders and burying his face in the crook of his neck. Skwisgaar shifted to find a comfortable position, their sweat-slick chests sliding against each other as he angled slightly onto one side, hand cradling Toki's skull to keep him near.

"Seem pretties stupids we aments been doing dat dis whole time, honestlies."

Loss of time.

Toki held him tightly and Skwisgaar felt the tremor in his grip. He rubbed his cheek against the crown of the other man's head, humming tunelessly as he waited for him to speak, knowing already the fears plaguing his mind. He'd faced them often enough in his younger days, even if the scenario now was more complicated. It was hard to compare wondering where your next gig, your next meal ticket, might come from to wondering where to go after you'd already stood at the top.

Sniffling preceded the feeling of wetness against his shoulder, Toki mumbling against his skin. "What happens now? Ams we all just gonna says 'fucks you, see ya laters' now dat de band ams done? Even now dat dey tells us we gots to plays music to saves de world?"

Skwisgaar fiddled with a strand of brown hair for a moment before answering. "Well, I don'ts know abouts all dis saves-de-woirld business. But whats I do know ams band break ups. And, euughh, ja dat ams a pretty standords opseratings procedures."

"But does it has to be likes dat? We coulds all stays pals, right?"

"Dat ams...compslickateds." He dropped the lock and let his hand fall to Toki's shoulders. "Somet'ing like dis...people tends to ezpecks yous to euughh, picks sides. It ams messy. And it never warks out, t'ings always comes apart in de end."

Loss of the longest working relationships he'd had in his life.

Toki said nothing, so Skwisgaar continued if only to fill the silence. "But it coulds be worse, you knows? We gots more moneys den god, what's so bad what cants be fixed wif dat?" The statement produced a cold feeling trickling down behind his ribs, like swallowing a heaping spoonful of snow. "Nones of it acktualies matters. Just goes on to da next t'ings."

"I just... don'ts know what to does if dere aments a Dethklok."

"Whatevors you wants! You coulds buy de whole stores of airplane models, or you coulds builds you own splasharoonies water parks. Hell you coulds probablies starts a new bands wif dose guys from dat T'underhorse group."

"No," Toki murmured, face still compressed against Skwisgaar's neck. "I don't wants a new band. Dis was da one."

The possessive satisfaction he felt at those words tied his stomach in guilty knots.

"Ja it ams was a pretty good gigs…"

Toki shifted, laying his head on the pillow next to Skwisgaar's, his forlorn gaze searching his face for answers. Skwisgaar rolled so they were laying face to face, legs still twisted under the sheets.

Not everything was tied up in the feud that caused the band to split. What if it didn't have to be a total loss? Surely there were parts here that could be salvaged.

"Okej...so who says we haves to do anyt'ings at all?"

Toki's brows cinched. "What you means?"

Maybe, just this one thing, he could keep.

Skwisgaar's lips curved with the ghost of a smile. "I's already mades it to de top, ams de fastest guitarist alives...coulds be I shoulds just quits while I gots de title, ja? Retires, takes my ball and goes home wif it."

Toki snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Builds mineself a giant house up in de mountains or somet'ing. Or travels and just fucks off on de resgiduals forever, not worries about a deadlines or demos ever again. Plays guitar just for funs."

He saw his grin mirrored on Toki's face as the other man nodded dreamily.

"Maybe you...comes wif me?" Fluttery nerves tickled behind his sternum. "If you wants to."

Toki's eyes widened. "Wait. Whats?"

Just this. He could be happy with this.

"Y-you means it? You aments just messings with Toki?"

He shook his head. "How long dids we waste before nows? For not'ing. I'm sick ofs waitings. Let's just goes."

A heartbeat passed, and then Toki's mouth was on his again. Less frantic this time, hopeful rather than desperate. He cradled Toki's jaw, taking his time as he returned his affections, deepening the kiss and tracing languid strokes over his neck, his shoulders, his chest. Their limbs wound together in a twisted bramble, bodies drawing tightly together, fitting like puzzle pieces.

A repetitive, discordant riff sounded from the pile of clothes abandoned on the floor and Toki's head jerked away. Flashing an apologetic grin, he rolled away to fish his phone from his pocket, sliding his pants up loosely around his hips.

"Sorries, be rights back!" He whispered, pressing the screen to answer. "Oh hei, Rockso!*

"Hows do you even has signals down here?" Skwisgaar called after him as he stepped into the hall, then flopped back onto the pillows to stare at the ceiling, counting the shiny rivets in the metal plating.

This was doable. Tomorrow they would bury more than just a mentor, they would lay to rest their careers as the biggest metal band in existence. The world at large would mourn their passing, but Skwisgaar wouldn't dwell on what's done and over. Not if he had new prospects to look forward to. Something always came along, and he never looked back.

"I tolds Magnus dat I woulds sit wif hims tomorrow." He heard Toki's muffled voice through the crack he'd left in the door.

A shadow passed over his thoughts at the name, like someone walking across his grave. It was uncomfortable to say the least, to have their former guitarist back in the fringes of their lives. Toki had a habit of finding friendship in questionable places, but where the clown was mostly an annoyance and sometimes a financial drain, his relationship with Magnus left Skwisgaar apprehensive. It didn't ease his mind when Toki insisted the older musician was different now. How could he know? He hadn't lived with the man, hadn't walked on eggshells during every rehearsal or songwriting session, hadn't watched as he plunged a knife into a bandmate.

But Magnus had also saved Toki with his insulin. He'd been there for Toki as a shoulder to lean on when the band had started to fall apart, too preoccupied with their own issues to spare a minute for their youngest member.

So maybe Toki was right. Things change; he'd never expected that a wedge could be driven between Nathan and Pickles far enough to end their friendship in such a catastrophic way, but here they were. And if Magnus still harbored any resentment for the band, their breakup was probably a balm to the old wound of rejection. What else could he wish on them? He was probably loving this.

The door scraped shut and Toki slipped back into the blankets gingerly, as if expecting Skwisgaar to be asleep. When he saw that he was still awake, Toki leaned in with a grin.

"Sorries...now, where was we…?" He murmured, capturing Skwisgaar's lips tenderly. "Oh ja, you was tellings me how we's gonna runs away togedders into de sunsets."

"Pfff. Dat am hardlies what I saids."

More kisses peppered his cheek and jaw. "Dats what I heards."

"Well I always knew yous was tone deafs, I didn'ts realize you ams just all de way hards of hearingks." His arm encircled Toki's back as the brunette nestled in again.

"Tells to me about wheres we gonna goes. Tells me about our house on tops of de mountains."

Skwisgaar snorted. Of the two of them, his was not the more vivid and fanciful imagination. But staring up at the blank canvas that the brushed metal panels of ceiling created, he envisioned a future for them to share. They squabbled playfully over locations and home design styles. They named off outlandish things they would fill their home with, like an even bigger ruby metronome or a trampoline room or an indoor pool shaped like a guitar and filled with champagne. They listed places they'd toured that they wanted to visit again, and locations they hadn't been yet but had always hoped to see.

"Can we gets a cat?" Toki asked suddenly, making Skwisgaar laugh airily.

"If we haves to?" He laughed again as Toki nodded against him. "But I'm not cleaningks up after it, dat ams all you, pal."

"Okei." Toki sighed deeply, settling in more comfortably. "Okei. I feels a lots less scareds now about all dis."

His hand glided up from where it had been resting at Skwisgaar's hip to lay warm over his heartbeat.

"I'll miss Dethklok. A whole lots. But now I t'inks I ams acktualies looking forwards to what comes next."

Still staring at the steel plates above, Skwisgaar grinned at the pictures they'd painted in his mind.

"Ja, me toos."

He covered Toki's hand with his own. However much they stood to lose after tomorrow, his heart felt lighter at what they were about to gain together. There was no reason to dwell on what was gone.

Everyone handles grief differently.

Laying on his bunk, Skwisgaar's eyes roamed the scuffed plate ceiling overhead, lingering on rusted rivets and water stains. The imperfections seemed to move and writhe like crawling insects under the influence of whatever handful of pills Pickles had given him. A half-drained bottle of vodka lay cradled against his chest, the mouth stoppered by his thumb. Fire burned in his belly from the alcohol, but cold fury pulsing through his veins tempered it.

He'd been prepared for Dethklok to end, had even accepted the idea that his career as a guitarist was over, diminished to a hobby. Playing guitar was his lifeblood, his purpose, and he'd been about to let that go. What had he been thinking? How had he gotten so wrapped up in fantasy that throwing away his entire self had seemed like a plausible course of action.

Loss of objectivity. Fortunately it seemed to be temporary.

He took a long pull from the bottle, dribbling a little and not bothering to wipe it away. Stupid Toki, needing to be comforted like a child with make-believe bedtime stories. He couldn't just man up and move on like everyone else, like Skwisgaar had been doing since he was a teen, finding his next audition, his next couch to crash on, his next temporary alliance with subpar musicians to make ends meet. It couldn't have been an easier landing for him either, no concerns about hunger or homelessness or deportation hanging over his head. He was set up for success and still couldn't handle it.

Fucking idiot needed so much attention, so much coddling, he'd even run straight into harm's way to try and make a friend. Of all people, he'd had to choose Magnus, that vindictive bastard. Of course he'd still been carrying a grudge, when had he ever let anything go in the past? And they'd known it.

A pair of divots on the ceiling stared back at him, one dark, one catching the light. Glaring back at him mockingly, winking at his impotent rage.

They'd known. They'd known, they knew, they knew.

Skwisgaar knew. And he'd said nothing.

Then he'd watched again, frozen, as Magnus drove a knife into someone close to him.

Skwisgaar thrashed upright, a strangled roar bursting from his lungs as he flung the bottle at the wall. He kicked at the bedside table bolted to the wall, denting it from below, then spun around to tear the sheets from his bunk and hurl them across the room. This wasn't the trade he'd prepared for, this wasn't the deal he'd made with himself.

His eyes fell on his Explorer propped in the corner. He reached for it, wrapping both hands around the ebony fretboard, holding it like an axe and swinging it against the wall. He bashed it into the floor, the dresser, screaming until his throat was raw and the guitar was cracked into useless chunks of wood and fiberglass connected by twisted strings. He dropped the pieces in a heap, sinking to the ground to lean against the side of his bed, his shoulders heaving with labored panting.

The door of his room scraped open, and in his periphery he saw a figure standing, backlit by the dim red glow in the corridor. Broad-shouldered, straight hair dangling about their head. His heart seized for a moment before the figure spoke, shattering his hallucination.

"What are you doing in here?" Nathan's gravelly voice was cautious.

Skwisgaar didn't turn, eyes still focused on the debris ahead of him. The stainless steel guitar strings seemed to wriggle like worms in grave soil, consuming the corpse of his instrument. He waited until he caught his breath before trying to respond.

"What does it looks like I'm doingks?"

Nathan shifted in the doorway. "Losing your mind."

He chuckled mirthlessly.

Loss of sanity? Maybe.

"You've been locked up in there a while. Maybe you should, you know. Come out here. With the rest of the band."

"Fucks off."

Nathan didn't move. Skwisgaar felt the urge to rage at the other man rise in him, to shout in his face, demand to know why it had taken him so long to patch things over with Pickles, why he let it go so far that he'd upset all of their lives so horrifically. But the feeling passed, his body drained from his previous outburst and from trying to filter a pharmacy's worth of substances through his liver.

"We're gonna find him, you know. Charles has people everywhere looking already."

One shoulder rose and fell in a halfhearted shrug. "Whatevers. Who cares."

They could have been a four-piece. If he really wanted to rage at someone it would be his past self. How different would things be right now if he'd never given that gutter rat a chance after missing his audition time? How much of what they achieved would they have really missed out on? How many rerecording sessions and stupid arguments and publicized blow outs could have been avoided? What would they really have been missing?

He certainly wouldn't mourn the loss of a constant source of annoyance. Of an immature tag-along with a hair trigger temper. Of a loud and boisterous whirlwind of silliness and color and sincerity.

Loss of his shadow. Loss of his muse. Loss of his best friend. Loss of his future. Loss of…

Loss of…

He couldn't breathe.

"Just leaves me alone. Please." He gritted out, proud of the steadiness of his voice as his stomach began to roil and his eyes prickled with tears.

Nathan hesitated. "Should I...close this?"

Skwisgaar nodded and after another moment the steel frame clanged shut. His vision blurred as tears welled and spilled over, his breath returning in short gasping puffs which rolled over into sobs that rattled his frame.

They'd had one day. Not even a day. An evening. Hours.

He wept until he was sick, vomiting clear liquor and not much else onto the floor next to the remnants of his guitar. He wept until his tears were spent and his head throbbed in tandem with his heart, even though he didn't understand how the muscle still carried a beat when the rhythm had been taken away.

Eventually he had nothing left. His face felt swollen, his eyes were gritty. Skwisgaar rolled to his hands and knees, avoiding the puddle of sick as he rocked up onto wobbly legs. He looked at the door, wondering if the others were still awake. If they were sitting in the lounge, drowning their sorrows. He felt like he wore a lead weight around his neck, bowing under the pull of it. It might be better just to sleep.

He turned to the naked mattress, but a scrap of blue on the floor near the foot of the bed caught his attention. A faded cotton t-shirt lay where it had been discarded. Skwisgaar stared at it for several long moments. He stepped closer to the bed, to the shirt.

And kicked it underneath the frame and out of sight before turning for the door.

He'd never given much energy to grief. Life was just a punctuated string of losses in the long run. Loss of purpose. Loss of self. Loss of connection. Loss of…

It was all meaningless, really. So why dwell on mourning what you couldn't have back?

[pseudofaux]

Thanks for opening up your requests for the last time pseu! Seeing your writing is always a treat and makes my day 💕 would you please write a spicy spicy drabble for lance/alice/sirius pairing? The last headcanons you wrote about it left a lasting impression and i cant get lance on all fours eating alice out with sirius taking him out of my head but im happy with whatever you wanna write 👀 hope youre doing well and taking care of yourself!

YES!!!!!! If that’s what stuck with you, I’m very happy to write it! ♥️♠️  How gratifying to be asked for more, thank you! These are a few scene-snippets in order in the interlude, but not exactly continuous. I hope you enjoy them! Thank you for always being up for this goodness, I love them together. 

(Requests are closed, but there are several more to be posted this summer! Feel free to follow along or just enjoy this one. A masterlist will be posted when all are completed.)

What I’ll never tell them— I don’t think I have to— is that fucking one of them is really fucking them both. They are each so much more to me than a sleeve, but when Lance has his mouth on her cunt and his ass in the air, I fuck him meaning for her to feel it. And when I fuck her and he’s there with me or down her throat, I mean to push her onto him.

It’s not about being big enough to fuck them both.

Maybe it is a little about being big enough to fuck them both.

Lancelot’s body doesn’t have much give, his back is an elegant river of pebbles from the base of his neck to just above the surprising softness of his ass. There’s not a lot there, but what there is, I like. It feels nice to hold, and it can take a smack. It can take a gentle bite if we’ve gotten him relaxed and feeling loved. Sometimes that takes awhile, but it’s always worth it. He melts like a pat of butter under noon sun if you touch him right and talk to him the way he needs.

Alice, on the other hand... Don’t have to talk to the little lady much to get her going. Alice is all softness, even her dainty little wrists and ankles. I’ve seen how her body is a pillow for a man’s fingers. She calls to us both, sometimes daring to be sultry but usually sweet. We like her honest, however she feels like being. The forthright way she wants, that’s what pulls our cocks up without a touch. Sweet, soft, eager. That’s our girl.

I don’t want to be too rough with him, but that golden hair is begging to be gripped. From Alice’s poorly muffled cries, Lance is eating her out well enough to deserve everything he’s ever wanted, so I get some of that hair between my fingers and curl it into my fist. I don’t use it to pull him back. He’s where he belongs right now, his tongue doing that gentle rubbing he’s so good at.

So I hold him right there instead, not letting him move his mouth off her as I push inside him and keep going when I hilt. His body moves forward from his knees and he nearly pitches forward. That’s when I put my other arm around his belly and laugh.

“I’ve got you,” I tell him. He snarls like an irritated puppy but he doesn’t so much as nip the vulnerable slit in front of him, just attacks it with his tongue like she can get me to stop.

They both know it would take a lot more than a snarl to stop me. And even though Alice loves him, she doesn’t even try to get me to stop. Those pretty helpless eyes flash open when she gasps and she looks right at me when she smiles around a whimper. It’s enough to make me throb so deep inside the red king I hope she feels it on his tongue.

Lance can fuck her with his tongue, I’ve seen it. He is better at gentle lovemaking of all kinds, that’s his preference but not his only interest. If she wants a thorough tonguing that love-filled and slow, Lance is the one to give it to her. I could watch them for hours. Sometime I will.

But now I’m focused on the sweat on their bodies: the beads of perspiration on the back of Lance’s shoulders and all those pebbles of the bumps of his spine, and on the sheen I see covering her face. Her sheen covers his face by now, I’m sure. So they are both glossed there on his bed, she propped up against the headboard with a multitude of pillows, Lance’s elbows and knees pressing into the mattress.

“Fuck her with it,” I tell him. “Faster.” Sometimes the way to love Lancelot Kingsley is just to tell him exactly what you want him to do.

“Please,” Alice moans, reaching for that golden hair. It truly does call to us. In this afternoon light it looks richer than ever and we get to touch it so we know how soft it is. Soft like Alice’s skin.

What’s soft about me, I wonder?

Today’s a day to manhandle a King, it seems. After he fucked her like he was told, I pulled out and Alice pulled him up for kisses. She guided him onto his side in that soft way of hers, so she could fit his weeping cock between the plushness of her thighs and rock back and forth on him while his hand rested on the curve of her hip. She caught my eye and gave me a wink, then had eyes only for the king. She held his face just the way he likes when he’s vulnerable, and I know it must have made her hands sticky but she cherished him like a giant rose cupped in her palms.

He wasn’t quite crying, but I heard his hiccup.

“What do you need?” Alice asked, sweet and soft. Always soft. Even when she’s leading him (especially when she’s leading him), she is soft. The care in her expression could stop a wild animal in its tracks.

Lance stutters over an answer, but the three of us like for each of us to be honest, not just Alice. We give him time. Alice gives him so much love through her eyes.

When he gets it out that he wants me again, I hide my smile in a kiss to his shoulder and fit my body to his back. It’s a pleasure to slide a hand down to his hip, same as his hand still rests on Alice.

“Do you want to be inside, too?” she asks. “I’m happy with you right here.”

“Right here,” he gasps as I fit myself to his hole.

“I’m right here,” I promise against his shoulder, and then press back inside. The ring of him is always so tight the entrance reminds me of a slow-moving gate. It’s not to be forced. You have to be worthy.

He cries out, lost and lusty, and Alice stretches her neck to kiss him and lick anything that remains of her out of his mouth. I can hear that she’s murmuring sweetness to him but can’t make out the words. We don’t exclude, but sometimes we do mean things just for one of us, and right now Lance needs the love and reassurance.

“Right here,” I repeat as my hips shift forward. Around me he’s a sheath, perfectly made and perfectly warm. It reminds me that I want Alice to feel it when I move inside him, even if he’s between her thighs instead of deep in the heaven of her cunt.

So I snap my hips the way he likes, and Alice seems to like it, too, because they both cry out. They kiss one another and cry out again and again.

In the afterglow, I’m somehow in the middle with one of them on either side, my arms around them. Their bodies leak, and I can feel a wet patch on the bed behind me, but we’ll clean up later. Right now it is nice just to touch along the lines of our bodies as we catch our breath.

“Sirius,” she murmurs tiredly. Her voice is a little lower than usual, it reminds me of brown sugar. “You have the softest heart.”

When Lance says “True,” and nods, his cheek rubs its place on my shoulder.

They’re not making fun of me, but it makes my face feel hot. “Is that so?” I ask, pulling them in. Alice kisses my cheek and I can feel her smile. Lancelot does the same and slips his fingers into mine where they dangle off his shoulder.

“It’s so,” he says solemnly. He twists his other hand to rest on my chest and Alice gets her hand over his and squeezes it.

“Softest,” she says again.

“If you say so.” It’s the most measured response I can make. My body shifts like it can shake off the embarrassment of the compliment, and I feel that wet patch behind my back, sticky and still warm. The two of them do make my heart feel soft enough to be the one laying in the wet patch. So soft, and so full.

[chews-erotically]

Waxing Gibbous 

Pairing: Ezra + femNurse! Reader

Rating: Hard M / 18+ ONLY

       * Warnings: Angst/ mentions of childhood trauma/ mention of domestic abuse, violence/ killing both in- and unintentional/ SMUT/ hand job/ fingering/ mentions of partner-sharing, threesomes/ PTSD/ nightmares

      * Summary: Confessions of sin and of desires.

      * Word Count: ~2200

*Part ONE* *Part TWO* *Part THREE* *Part FOUR* *Part FIVE**Part SIX*        *Part SEVEN*  *Part EIGHT*  *Part NINE*  *Part TEN*  *Part ELEVEN*  *Part TWELVE*

 PART THIRTEEN

    The weather on Central turned cool as the months stretched on. You’d realized after the bar that you had perhaps pushed too far, too soon. You’d both retreated back to the sanctuary of your home to regroup. The insidious nightmares continued for you, though nowhere near the level of intensity of the first. You continued to sleep with the lights on, limbs entangled with Ezra’s. You held on to one another, fingers drifting over pulse points, entwining fingers and legs. Two halves of some damaged whole.

    You’d found some solace in cooking. You had gone so long without anything more than the nutritionally dense, yet bland and uninspired nutribars and ration packs that you were desperate to experiment. It was slow going at first, but Ezra was far from selective with what he’d eat. He devoured everything you put in front of him, even burnt and strangely seasoned. He offered profuse compliments that expounded upon his good fortune in having found someone so willing to graciously cook for him. It always made you snort, but you appreciated the fact that he was supportive.

    Ezra had begun writing an autobiography of sorts. You often heard his dictation well into the stretch of your afternoons, his voice animating into flights of vivid imagery and florid, expounding descriptions. He dictated, but he also typed, pecking with the pointer fingers of each hand. You knew that when he was typing he was not to be disturbed. He never said it outright, but you knew that he typed because he could not bring to life the horrors he’d both witnessed and committed, he could not convince himself to speak of things he’d done that would shake the foundations of a kinder man’s moral compass.

    You were not privy to those thoughts. You stayed away, you respected his need to keep that part of him tucked away. You knew it was his way of working through it, of processing the deeds that had led him to what seemed in the reaches of his mind to be an unearned reward. He would tell you in his own time, you did not press or push him as you knew better than most how fragile peace of mind could be. You would allow him any indulgence that may work to keep the dreams away.

    When Ezra had a nightmare, you were most often awoken by a keening whine between clenching teeth. He did not thrash as you did, rather he’d lie beside you as if paralyzed. You had to talk to him to bring him back, coaxing his rigid muscles to loosen with careful, even strokes of your palms across his limbs and torso. 

    “Come back to me, love. You’re not back there. You’re here with me.”

    He would reemerge from his fathomless depths gasping, and reach out to you, winding his limbs through yours as a thistle seeks to weave itself into the wind that caresses it.

    You moved your hand to his chest, felt the frantic pounding beneath his breast. Like a trapped bird desperate to escape. You smoothed your fingers across the expanse of his bare chest, his skin warm and alive, thrumming. Present. And then lower, rubbed against the soft curve of his belly as its panicked heaving incrementally slowed.

    Lower still to the soft curls beneath his navel. Your fingers wove through the hair, teasing the skin with your nails. Ezra huffed, eyes fluttering. He turned his head toward you, knocking his forehead against yours.

    “My Dove….the succubi had their talons hooked into my tattered soul once again, I’m afraid.”

    You leaned forward and kissed him softly. His hitching exhale made its home within your mouth.

    “Is there nothing I can do to take this away, Ezra? Nothing I can offer you that will soothe you?”

    Your finger dipped down, lightly tracing the curve of his half-hard cock. You felt it twitch, followed by Ezra’s sharp intake of breath.

    “The demons that consume the nether regions of my addled mind cannot be placated so easily, Dove. The things I have done, the wretched life I’ve lived would leave you without thought of staying. My greatest fear is your discovering the nefarious deeds of my past, of learning exactly who it is that you lie willingly next to in this bed.”

    “I know who I lie next to, Ezra. I lie next to a man who decided to trust me, who gave me my voice back and showed me that I am worthy of love. That will never change. No matter what sins you’ve committed, I can stop loving you no more than I can keep the moon from waxing and waning.” Your hand encircled his length, rubbing gently. You trailed kisses across his shoulder as he gasped. He reached a hand to cover yours, stilling your actions momentarily. He paused for what seemed an impossibly long beat, seeming to consider his next words to you.

    “When I was a child in Louisiana we were poor. Mama worked three jobs to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads. My father was a drunk, shiftless sonofabitch. He put his hands on Mama and on me and Isaiah like clockwork when his life did not go his way. It did not go his way often. One night, he was really workin’ Mama over something awful. Isaiah was out in the shed fiddlin’ with an old transistor we found earlier that day at the salvage yard. I was alone in the house and Father had his hands around Mama’s neck.

    “She was strugglin’ and kicking at his knees, wherever she could reach, but Father wouldn’t stop. When he maneuvered close enough to the root cellar I saw my chance. I ran and I screamed, as loud as I could, and I shoved up against Father with all of the force I could muster. A meager show, to be sure, but Father was well on his way to obliterated by that time. He was just unsteady enough on his feet to topple forward down the steps. I heard his neck snap like a twig and he was dead before he hit the dirt. Mama and I told Isaiah it was an accident. But the truth is, Dovie, I took a life for the first time when I was nine years old.”

    Your hand raised from his groin to cup his cheek, your throat constricting around the lump forming there.

    “You were just a little boy, Ezra, scared for his Mama. You were protecting her. He may have killed her that day, if not for you.”

    His eyes narrowed, his voice thick with emotion. “That day set my path. I knew that I was not fortunate. I hated that I didn’t have what others were so freely given. I was born under a bad star, under an awning of misfortune. I was determined from that day forward to do whatever it took to survive. Kill, maim, steal. I have sold my soul a million times over to ensure my own victory in all my ensuing endeavors.”

    When he paused to collect his thoughts further, your hand drifted back down to his groin. He was now fully erect, and you felt the precum beading at the tip of his cock. He was hot, unbelievably so, and his eyes squeezed shut with a low groan as you swept your thumb through the slick of his crown. His head tipped back into his pillow. He resumed his confessions with a straining voice.

    “Later on, when Isaiah and I began prospecting as a means of finding our fortunes, we often found ourselves on the wrong end of an underhanded deal. We were green, and we were easy marks. We were swindled, robbed and double-crossed more than I care to admit, Dove. It took me a fair amount of time to become just as ruthless as those who would venture to hoodwink myself and my partner. The first time I killed on a job, it was a woman who thought she could bewitch and seduce me. Isaiah had overheard her plans with her partner to satiate my carnal desires before making off with my haul in the dead of night. I saw the knife in her hand as she tried her best to take my cock down her throat. I wrested it from her and used it to penetrate her chest. The third intercostal space of the ribcage houses an anatomical landmark known as Erb’s Point. Her own weapon found its home at the apex of her heart, and she bled out summarily.”

    His breathing was becoming more shallow,  his exhales more explosive as you continued to stroke him as he spoke, reaching every so often lower still to cup and gently roll his balls, which were steadily drawing themselves up, tightening against his tensing body. He canted his hips up into the air as you worked him. He rasped out a stuttering groan and panted up into the ceiling before whipping his head toward you, turning his body onto its side in the bed beside yours.

    “You know by now….”

    (gasp)

    “Isaiah was stabbed and left to die in an alley. It was the work of that woman’s partner. While I…”

    (groan)

    “While a did heartily mourn the loss of my only sibling, I could not….Kevva, girl….I could not begrudge him his need for karmic justice.”

    You brought your palm to your mouth, licked a wide, lascivious stripe from the base of your palm to the tips of your fingers. Ezra’s hand found your hip and squeezed. His eyes were dark, lust-filled and far away. He was lost in his reverie while consumed with your ministrations.

    “Keep going, sweetheart,” you soothed to him, nipping at the junction of his neck and shoulder. “I’ll take it from you. Don’t hold it back..”

    He answered with a full-body shudder, teeth catching his lip. He swelled and twitched and leaked into your eager hand; you knew he was close. He canted his lips to the cusp of your ear, breath hitching, stirring the hair there like chaffs of wheat in summer wind.

    “I found...myself alone and so I was available to partner up with whomever I could find that I deemed beneficial on my various excursions. I...fuck, I….found myself attached to a most open arrangement related to a job I signed up for on the Pug. A married couple, male and female. They….they both took a shine to my proselytizing, indeed they each became in short order equally enamored with...other more physical aspects of my prowesssweetmother….”

    His canting hips began an erratic stutter as your hand squeezed and stroked and twisted around his turgid cock. Your own breath became thick and shallow, a pool of arousal collecting at your center that you soon felt drooling onto the flesh of your inner thighs. You nipped at his jawline as his eyes fluttered shut, eyebrows knit together, mouth open as he embraced the divine sensations you were giving him.

    “Ezra….” you moaned against him. “Ezra, did you fuck them? Tell me how you fucked them…”

    “Always….shit….always together. That was the agreement. His cock in my mouth, her mouth on my cock… oh my gods sweetheart I’m close….he’d eat her pussy while I fucked his tight ass….she...fuck meee...she loved a hard cock in her cunt and in her ass at the same tiiiimme…..oh Jesus Dove FUCK.”

    His hips thrust and stuttered, his balls drawn taut and tight as he spilled into your hand. He buried his face in your neck and moaned, whimpered, as his seed came forth hot and thick to paint your palm and fingers.

    When he finally stilled, you brought the mess he’d made to your lips and made a show of licking every finger before lapping at your palm to clean it thoroughly.

    Ezra’s fingers found themselves parting your soaked, swollen folds as you gasped against his mouth, your tongue licking in to caress his teeth, to tangle with the slick velvet of his own talented instrument.

    “I want that, Ezra,” you groaned against his hot mouth. “I want that with you...I want you to watch me while I lick a cunt. I want to gag on someone else’s cock for you. Perform for you. I want to watch you get fucked in that beautiful ass….” you keened as two of his fingers entered your twitching, weeping hole. Ezra watched your face, eyes wide and mouth open, as he processed the frantic, lust-soaked words that spilled from your lips unabashed in their filth.

    “Is that what you desire my love? To explore the whims of the Satyr, to share the pleasure of other willing bodies with one another?”

    “Fuck yes, Ezra…” you sobbed against his flexing bicep as his fingers and palm worked you toward your own rapid petit mort.

    “Kevva wept, Dove, then you shall have it.”

tag list:  @ifimayhaveaword, @rzrcrst, @absurdthirst, @cinewhore, @hopelikethesun, @yespolkadotkitty, @sin-djarin, @lackofhonor, @din-damn-djarin, @mrpascals, @theocatkov, @thefineandnobleartofavoidance, @hellojustheretolookatmeemees, @cyaredindjarin, @im-like-reallythirsty, @mstgsmy, @goldafterglow, @givemethatgold, @shaqbutt, @sirianisrock, @artemiseamoon, @thatreclusewriter, @scribbledghost, @f0rever15elf, @opheliaelysia, @qveenbvtch, @hdlynn, @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa, @spacegayofficial, @ezraslittlebirdie, @ezrasarm, @ezraslittleblondestreak, @tintinwrites, @kindablackenedsuperhero, @darthadeline, @alexisinorbit, @knittingqueen13, @lueurnotes, @xakilicious, @keeper0fthestars, @huliabitch, @di-kut, @zombieaurora, @corrupt-fvcker, @cryptkeepersoul, @teaofpeach, @thestreamergirl, @frannyzooey, @mndalorians, @sistasarah-sallysaidso, @autumnleaves1991-blog, @heatherbel, @the-feckless-wonder, @millllenniawrites, @revolution-starter, @melon-eyes 

[thequeenb]

In love With My Enemy

Poppy x MC

Have you read those cheesy novels? Yes the super romantic ones, i know you did dont lie. That's the best way i can describe what is happening right now. Poppy holds a puppy in her hands rubbing its belly happily, she hasn't seen me yet and i am actually glad. I can't hear the conversation between her and the guy that works here but her laughter fills the room and my stomach turns at the sight

Its the first time i see Poppy so free, she must feel right at home. I smile approaching slowly, she turns around changing her expression completely, adorable Pops

"Aww i didn't knew you had a soft spot"

Poppy rolls her eyes but i can tell she is trying to hide a smile "If you tell anyone about this i won't hesitate to end your career, kick you out of Belvoire and make your life miserable"

Oh wow she didn't even shutter, that's impressive, should i be turned on or scared? Maybe both? My gaze falls to the adorable puppy in her hands and i can't help but pet its little head

Her eyes soften for a moment and all i can do is be fascinated and surprised by this new side of her

"My daddy bought me this animal shelter when i was eight years old"

"Oh..um nice? Is that what rich people do when they want a pet?" i tease her but her eyes seem to get distant and i think i might just hit a sore spot, damnit

"I wanted a puppy but my mother didn't allow pets inside the house so daddy got it for me. Its nice but i don't think they quite understood my point of view"

I look around noticing we are left alone and the crew is probably getting ready for our shooting. I reach to place my hand on her shoulder but i stop my hand mid air, remembering that we are actually enemies but are we?

Her gaze falls to my hand as i pull it back and i don't know if it's my mind playing games but i can see a mix of relief and disappointment in her eyes.

She lets the puppy down walking towards a room, i guess that's my cue to follow. I can now see the height difference between us and i smile to myself, she is so cute really

She leads me to a room filled with pink pillows, small pet beds and toys. She rans her hand on a shelf where several pictures are framed beautifully, why would she bring me here?

"It used to be my favourite place here, because no one could interrupt my thoughts" she holds a frame in her hands gesturing at me to approach closer

"This was my first pet, her name was Lucy" she taps at the glass and awww its the cutest thing have ever seen really. Its a beautiful brown Pomeranian and oh my god

"Is that little Poppy?" I gasp actually surprised by how innocent she looks. Of course she is wearing designer but the look on her face is.. genuine happiness and it made me think..I haven't seen Poppy smiling this way ever

She yanks the frame putting it carefully back "I shouldn't have shown you" Did i just made her shy? Damn where is the real Poppy? Is this her kind twin sister?

"Oh come ooooon you were beautiful since a kid hm?"

She looks me in the eyes and i can sense a rouge colour forming on her cheeks. She walks past me sitting on an extremely pink couch. I don't know if i should sit next to her or stand where i am but she pats at the spot next to her and my heart starts racing

"Sooo, this place is amazing I don't see why you didn't want it" i rest my head on my palm watching her intently

She sighs looking at me without hesitation this time "My parents were never around when i was growing up, so i really wanted a company. But they always had to do everything in their own way"

The puzzle is starting to get solved as i learn more about her past. I see pure vulnerability when i look at her in the eyes. In her own way she makes me feel special and I won't take that for granted

"Do you wish you could grow up in different circumstances such as mine?" I curiously ask

"Is this a trap?" She raises her eyebrow and i roll my eyes

"No, i am a great listener i am just trying to understand you"

"Why would you want that?"

Yes Bea, why would you want that? Aren't you suppose to hate her guts? If yes why is your heartbeat quickening? Why is your mind racing?

She notice i take time to respond and to avoid this awkward silence she finally speak "Can i imagine myself without designer clothes? Hell no"

I chuckle, good job Pops "That was a nice way to deflect my question"

Poppy smiles and its the cutest thing i have seen all day despite the cute animals here "You dork" she leans closer and her eyes widen in realisation

"I won't judge you, in fact i knew you were mean for a reason" i can now see her eyes sparkle and all i can do is sit back and admire her

Today she is very beautiful and her perfume fills my nose. I can see that she put extra effort this afternoon, is it the commercial or is it the fact that she planned for us to be alone? To be honest i kind of wish its the second option

"I asked you to help me bring Chloe down not become best friends"

"And who told you that i want to be your best friend?" I smirk daring to take her hand in mine. At first she just stares at me but doesn't pull back

"No one deserves to feel alone during their best years. When i was growing up we didn't have a lot on our plate but i got to spend time with my mother at the farm"

I can feel tears forming so i wipe them away knowing well i will look weak. Since i got here i miss my hometown more than anything in the world, the smell of the earth, the fresh air, everything.

"Oh right, because spending time with pigs covered in dirt sounds so much fun" Poppy responds ironically and for a moment i regret opening up, that until she pats my hand

"I..i wish i had a simpler childhood" she admits and i can clearly see tears ready to roll down her perfect face

Before she can wipe them away i place both of my hands on her cheeks wiping each tear away. Her eyes are closed trying to avoid my gaze but she suddenly pulls back stunned

"I- we shouldn't even talk about that Farmsville! Ugh you are annoying"

Its obvious that emotions aren't something she is fond of but i am trying my best to make her understand that feeling sad and nostalgic is normal

"Hey, hey! Not now that we made progress damnit" i pull her closer to me and that's when my breath catches

"What are you--"

"Take a deep breath and look at me" Even though she is about to protest she swallows hard doing as i said so

I take her hand placing it where her heart is. At first she looks at me confused but then i press it against her

"Can you feel your heart beating? That makes you human, humans are capable of having feelings. Therefore its normal to have emotions even more normal to need to rant about something that troubles you, do you understand me?"

I get lost in her eyes and her lips part wanting to respond but words cant describe how she is feeling. She takes a shaky breath and without thinking twice she closes the distance between us with a kiss

She press her body against me sighing happily, eagerly. She caught me off guard but i quickly set a pace. Poppy is starving for affection so i make this experience soft and gentle

I stroke her hair as my thumb runs circles on her cheek. I feel her shudder, overwhelmed by all the emotions she is feeling at once. I can't help but smile against her lips and she does the same

"Nobody ever talked to me this way" she says breathless

I rest my forehead against hers sighing "You deserve so much more than you think you do"

Aaaaaaand we had to be interrupted of course. Someone knocks at the door and Poppy jumps snapping back to reality, god damnit.

"Miss Min-Sinclair are you ready?" A man asks and i roll my eyes. Good job buddy we were having a moment!

"Y-es i will be out in two minutes" she can barely speak a sentence and i smirk to myself

"Go out first i need a moment" she pushes me towards the door, oh so now she forgot everything i said?

"But--"

"This is not a time for questions go go go!" Aw frustrated Poppy is sweet

I reached the door but I stop turning around to smile at her "We aren't done yet" and like that i step out of the room leaving a clearly confused Poppy behind.

Every possibility and every thought of her fills my mind as i step out of the room. She is different i knew it but i never thought things could end up this way. I smile to myself picturing a future with Poppy and i wont stop until i tried everything i have, i am coming for your hand Queen Bee, not your crown so be aware.

Tag list: @lolimugly @origmansello @greatestflirt-hero @mvalentine @otakufangirl-12 @sugarplumpnhoneybun @princessstellaris @coldbatfriendroad @indecisive-choices @i-loveeveryone @kiara-36 @ognenniyvolk @somewillwin @it-lives-in-braidwood-manor @ghalind @justastranger-passing @nydeiri @simpforpoppy @sergeant-pepper-loves-choices @dibberdipper

[melaninxateez]

the woosan bond-vamp au (.01)

Hi! Thank you so much for reading my first blog post. My main account is @ kmelanin, so :)) Enjoy. 

No warnings yet.

At the age of 21, you were quite alone…a lot. You did not really have many friends, except a few from high school who hit you up to catch up over a couple of drinks. You have never dated anyone either, too afraid of commitment or heart break. Which means that you were still a virgin. It did not really matter to you, until anytime you try to date, and they cut you off because you do not want to fuck on the first date. Maybe you were just looking in the wrong area. Maybe you should not be looking at all.

                       You could not help but blame the way you look. You were on the heavier side, your body shaped more like a pear. Your hips protruded and so did your belly a bit. Your ass was huge and your boobs on the smaller side. And that, that is not what people want. You are trying to get over this insecurity, as it will do nothing for you. Or maybe this is just another excuse to not lose your virginity a move on with someone random. Maybe you are too picky.

                       When you woke, you grab your phone that started to beep a couple of times. It was a group chat with you and two of your best friends, San and Wooyoung. You do not really remember when you three became so close. But they made sure to keep in contact with you every day. Without you saying anything they always reassure you on how much they love you. You truly did not deserve them.

                       Wooyoung and San told you a couple of days ago that they were going to be out of town for a couple of days. It threw you off a bit because you have not been apart from them for that long since you first met three years ago. You couldn’t help but to feel a bit depressed because of it, and you hated that.

                       You hated that you depended on them so much. Its been two days since they left and you didn’t want to bother them on their vacation; or whatever they were doing. You lay in bed and open your phone. You’ve read all of their messages from the past two days, you just didn’t answer. They wondered what you were up to one day and wondering why you weren’t answering the next. They started to get worried and upset yesterday so you made sure to tell them that you’re fine and that you’re just busy. Now you read todays messages,

                       WOO- I can’t help but feel like you’re avoiding us.

                       Sannie- Its not like you to message us once in three days.

                       WOO- its pissing me off

                       Sannie- we are on our way back to you

                       Sannie- expect us around 8 tonight…

                       Your eyes widen at the last message. You look at the time noticing that its almost 10am. Your heart started racing, you didn’t know what to do. You didn’t really have a valid reason to not messaging them, you just didn’t feel the need to. They needed time away from you, you felt. More like you needed time away from them, you needed to clear you mind a bit. Because what you felt for them is different than anything else you ever felt. Is it wrong to feel like this for them? For both?

                       At this point, you’re overthinking. You decided to message them back.

                       YOU- sorry, I just woke up guys. But did you guys have fun?

                           You didn’t know…they don’t know how to tell you. San and Wooyoung, they fell in love. Not only with you, but with your soul. They are bound to you for eternity and you didn’t know. It was absolutely the most painful thing this man has ever gone through. Days before them leaving, Wooyoung was losing this control a bit to fast.

                       It was a night that they decided to sleep over. You don’t usually cuddle with them, which made them upset sometimes. But that night, you fell asleep against Wooyoung while watching a movie in your bed. San was laying on the end more focused on the movie than anything. Wooyoung was sitting next to you, his back against the wall. You were laying against some pillows next to him.

                       Wooyoung looks over at you halfway through the movie to see that you were asleep. He pokes your cheek a bit to make sure that you were fully asleep. Then he gently pushes your head so that it fell right on his lap. Then you started to move making Wooyoung freeze and San to look back. When San watched you cuddle into Woo young’s lap, his eyes widen, and he starts to sit up a bit.

                       “Fuck…” Wooyoung groans softly, his body was tingling like crazy. He didn’t think this all the way through. San looks up at Wooyoung noticing the younger one staring back down at you.

                       “Yah, what are you doing?” San starts to freak, but also tries not to wake you up. San clenches his hands on the bed when he watches Wooyoung run his whole hand down your arm. He then rans his hand over your head and pushes your hair away from your neck. San didn’t know what to do and Wooyoung couldn’t stop.

                       Wooyoung felt his fangs start to protrude out, and his vision goes a bit red. He knows his eyes were glowing at this point. He looks up at San, noticing his eyes were glowing back at him.

                       “I just wanted her to rest on my lap a bit, as we never really get to hold her.” Wooyoung speaks slowly, he feels as if he might crack at any moment. Both men make sure not to move to fast, because if they did…who know what would happen.

                       “You know what skin on skin contact does to us, we can only handle it for so long. And you haven’t had any blood in a week, you’re really push our luck.” Sans voice starts to get deadly. He starts to threaten the younger one, warning him not to do any harm to you. “When we mark her as our, then it won’t be so intense. Until then we need to go and feed, and plan how we tell her.

                       In a blink of an eye, Wooyoung was standing next to the bed. They both watch you, making sure you don’t wake up. When you turn over and fall back into your deep sleep, they let out a breath.

                       “I hate this…” Wooyoung pouts softly as he tries to pull himself together. He also adjusts his pants a bit because he was supporting a hard on. San just shakes his head and pulls the younger one out into the living room.

                       It was the next morning when they told you about their vacation.

                       They are always with you, because its impossible to be away. They remember seeing you sitting in a café window enjoying some tea and a muffin as you drew on your iPad. San couldn’t help but to admire you the whole time, while Wooyoung was practically jumping up and down where he stood.

                       San tends to be the calmer and more serious one between the both of them. He tends to care for both you and Wooyoung so very much. San and Wooyoung have always been a duo, and they just knew that they needed one more.

                       Wooyoung being the giddy one, he walked up to you first, complementing your art and sitting down next to you without asking. San just rolls his eyes and his bluntness from outside.

                       Ever since that day, they haven’t left your side.

                       San watches Wooyoung pace around the hotel room as they wait for their friend Yunho. He’s dropping off some blood bags for them to take back home. His pacing was driving San insane.

                       “Will you sit down? You pacing around like that is pissing me off.” San says lowly as he rubs his temples a bit. Wooyoung instantly stops and groans, he runs his fingers through his hair.

                       “I need to be next to her. Do you think she’ll accept us?” Wooyoung asks San. He walks over to the bed and sits next to him.

                       “I have no fucking idea. I never know what shes thinking.” San mumbles. Its true, they never knew. That kept things interesting for them though, as they can read people quite easily. Wooyoung throws himself back on the bed, and he sighs.

                       “I don’t think I can survive if she rejects us.”

                       Suddenly both of their phone dings, they both instantly take out their phones and read the second message you’ve sent them in three days. They are pretty sure you loved driving them crazy.

                       YOU- sorry, I just woke up guys. But did you guys have fun?

                       Wooyoung couldn’t help but to laugh a bit.

                       “I cant believe she just messages us like she hasn’t been ignoring our messages.” He grumbles. Hes always asking if you’ve eaten, or wonders how your day is.

                       “Be happy that she even said anything back.” San says as he starts to text something back.

                           Sannie- Did you sleep well? Did you eat?

                       If you were asked what question they ask you the most, it would be “Did you eat?”. At first you thought it was sweet that they wanted to make sure that you were well taken care of. But at some point, it felt like they were trying to fatten you up. You always complain to them that you’re thick enough, maybe a bit too thick. Suddenly your phone starts to ring, your heart beating out of your chest. You look back at your phone seeing a group chat facetime call coming in.

                       You couldn’t ignore it, so you answer it. You face the camera towards your closet at the end of your bed instead of on your face.

                       “Hi Woosan.” You say, your voice cracks a bit since you didn’t wake up not to long ago.

                       “Why is the camera pointed at the wall, I called to see your face.” Wooyoung whines a bit into the camera. You couldn’t help but to blush while looking at both. They always look so good, in every angle and in every lighting.

                       “I just woke up, I look ugly.” You complain rolling your eyes a bit. You couldn’t help but to laugh little bit when you noticed that he rolled his eyes too. You found that cute, so you just turned your camera towards you. They’ve seen you when you first wake up plenty of time, how is this any different?

                       “Ahhhh, there you are pretty girl.” San smiles big when he sees you. You start to blush when you notice both smiling big and just staring at you. You wait a couple of more seconds before you notice them not really saying anything.

                       “Are you both just going to stare at me the whole time?” You ask covering your face a bit with your free hand.

                       “Mhmm.” Wooyoung smirks and nods his head, making a point to hold his head up with his hand and look lovingly into the camera at you. You throw your blanket off of your body and you sit up and stretch. You didn’t realize that the camera was catching the whole scene for them up close. They both looked at each other with huge smiles on their face.

                       “So cute.” They both coos. But you don’t hear that. You stand up from your bed and you head to your bathroom to start your morning routine.

                       “Why must you facetime me now if you’re coming home later.” You ask them as you set your phone up on a shelf that was near your sink. You grab your toothbrush and open the toothpaste.

                       “ahh, well…” Wooyoung starts off as if he wanted to say something, but he stops himself and looks over at San who was in the same room as him. San looks from him back to his phone at you.

                       “You suddenly forgot how to text, so facetime is the only way.” San puts it simply. They were damn near praying that you would answer.

                       “Sorry guys, I just feel so..” You pause from saying what you wanted, and you continue brushing your teeth.

                       “Eh?” San asks, not sure if he heard you or not. You just shrug and point to the brush in your mouth, then you leave the view of the camera.

                       When you’re done brushing your teeth and washing your face, you look back at the camera and noticed that they muted themselves. They were looking at each other and talking but you couldn’t hear them.

                       You take this time to look at your best friends, you will never get over how fucking gorgeous they are. San has dark hair with some red strands in it, he could rock any hairstyle. You were still trying to convince him to grow his hair out for a mullet. Wooyoung hair wasn’t black, but it was a dark brown. He got it done days before he left.

                       “Guys…” You say wanting to hear their voices. “Why am I muted? Are you talking about my birthday coming up?” You joke around.

                       “Of course, we are, it’s in a couple of days and we still haven’t gotten your gift yet.” Sans voice comes through first, his words getting you excited. His gifts were always amazing, from random songs he’s made for you to expensive jewelry. Wooyoungs always made you blush, giving you really pretty lingerie and expensive shoes. They really did spoil you.

                       You didn’t know, but they wanted to confess to you on your birthday. They wanted to tell you how much they love you before the bigger secret. They needed to see that you could handle them without all the extra stuff. They were very afraid of your reaction, but they were also confident in you. They wouldn’t have bonded with you if you couldn’t handle it.

                       “Actually, I want to go to a club for my birthday. I haven’t been to a club in a while.” You perk up at the thought. But the boys look at each other confused as hell. You always reject their attempts to get you into one. You know they loved dancing, so you always forced them to go without you. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you guys fully dance, so I want to.”

                       Its true. Sure, you’ve seen them do a little dance here or there, but you haven’t seen them go all out. And if the rumors are true, they go crazy in clubs.

                       “Okay, but what about our little get togethers, I miss those.” Woo whines a bit as he speaks, making you blush a bit. You loved when he spoke like that, it made you feel like whatever you said next to him would make or break him.

                       “We can have one the night after, plus its Wednesday and my birthday is Saturday. We have time in between.” San nods his head in agreement with your words.

                       “Which one are you thinking?” San asks, he brings the camera closer to his face so he can hear you loud and clear. He wishes he were there right now talking about it with you. But the sun makes his skin itch, and he didn’t bring clothes for that. They will have to wait until the sun starts to go down.

                       “Mhmm,” You set up your phone on a cookie jar in your kitchen. You open the fridge and bend down to grab some thick cut bacon and some eggs. Both San and Wooyoung enjoy the show a bit too much, seeing your oversized shirt rise a bit as you bend over, showing off your black and white stripped undies. Wooyoung had to rip the phone away from his eyes. San looks over to him and watches as he fixes his pants to make his hard on more comfortable.

                       “Did I teach you anything about self-control?” San whispers harshly. He swears Wooyoung will never learn. He looks back at the phone, and watches as you start to cook some bacon.

                       “What’s the one club on the edge of town with the red sign called?” You ask

                       “Hwa Fang?

                       “Oh yes!! Let’s go to that one, you say you go there all the time, right?” You ask them while smiling. You couldn’t tell, but they got nervous. Hwa Fang is a club owned by one of their dear friends SeongHwa. SeongHwa is a much older vampire, he owned vampire clubs and human clubs. Hwa Fang so happen to be a combination of the two, allowing humans and vampires to mingle together freely. They don’t feel comfortable enough to let you go there without even telling you about them.

                       Their secret will come out then, and they can’t let that happen. But then again, they don’t want to disappoint you.

                       “How about the one downtown, the roof top on you’ve always wanted to go to?” Wooyoung brings up the club that you always see glowing at the top. You didn’t know it was a club until they told you.

                       “That’s true, but its also so much more expensive.” You contemplate your options as you finish cooking your food. You would rather not pay $50 for one drink.

                       “You know you don’t have to worry about that,” Wooyoung starts.

                       “Especially on your birthday.” San finishes.

                       You three continue talking about random shit, trying to make the time go by faster. While talking with them, you’ve realized how much you’ve been over thinking. These boys are your life and you’re okay with that.  No matter what happens you can’t lose them, you refuse.