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solxamber · 3 months ago

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Summer Nights with: Housewardens + Jamil

Riddle Rosehearts: Sunset Picnic

The beach is glowing in the soft, honeyed light of the setting sun as you and Riddle set up your little picnic. The spread he prepared is impressive—tiny sandwiches cut to geometrically perfect triangles, fresh fruit neatly sliced, and, of course, a beautiful tea set because Riddle wouldn’t dare let you drink from anything less.

He’s organized every detail down to the napkins, each one folded with the kind of precision only Riddle could manage on a sandy beach.

“Everything looks amazing, Riddle,” you say, grinning as he finishes laying out the plates. You reach for one of the sandwiches, hesitating, and he gives you a small nod of approval, that familiar little quirk of his lips barely there but unmistakably proud. It’s a face he probably doesn’t realize he’s making, and it fills you with a warm, giddy feeling.

“I wanted to ensure everything was perfect,” he says, a little stiff but earnest. “Picnics require planning and, naturally, precise arrangements.” He starts to explain why certain foods pair better with the salty sea air, but you can’t stop watching the light catch in his red hair, the way it glows warm and bright as the sun dips lower. You try not to laugh too loudly when he catches you staring, stumbling over his words as his face flushes a deeper red than you thought possible.

It’s when you’re halfway through a pastry that a gull decides to make a surprise swoop in for an attempt at dessert. Riddle bats it away with the napkin he’d just set perfectly, muttering something about “unacceptable behavior from public wildlife” before composing himself and offering you his arm for a stroll along the beach. It’s such a typical Riddle response that you have to bite back a laugh, feeling a strange, happy ache in your chest.

You link arms with him, and the two of you start walking along the shoreline as the sun continues to melt into the horizon. He’s close, close enough that his shoulder bumps yours with each step, and you feel the warmth radiate from him even as a cool evening breeze begins to settle in. Riddle is quiet for a few moments, looking out toward the waves, his face soft and thoughtful.

“This evening is…” he begins, and you can tell he’s searching for the right words. “It’s quite…pleasant, isn’t it?”

You smile at his careful choice of words, a classic understatement. “Riddle, you’ve outdone yourself. It’s perfect,” you say, squeezing his arm.

He relaxes a bit, giving you that tiny, almost shy smile he only shares when you’re alone like this. “I’m…glad you’re enjoying yourself. It isn’t often that I get to do something so…free,” he admits, glancing away as his ears pinken.

You walk on in comfortable silence, letting your feet sink into the cool sand. The only sounds are the gentle crash of waves and the soft squish of your steps. And then, impulsively, you let go of his arm, running forward to splash through the shallow waves. He stares, caught off guard, before breaking into a smile that’s full and bright, his laugh surprising and infectious as he watches you dodge the incoming surf.

“Come on, Riddle!” you call, extending a hand toward him. “No rules, remember?”

He hesitates only a second before slipping off his shoes and stepping in, a bit awkward but determined as he lets you pull him along. He doesn’t protest as the water laps around his ankles, nor does he scold you when you pull him right into a particularly big wave. His only response is a rare, playful smile as he lifts an arm to shield himself from the splash, then softly grips your hand, steadying you both as you stumble from laughing.

The stars begin to dot the sky, and the last traces of sunlight fade to a gentle indigo. Riddle’s voice is soft when he speaks next. “I never would have done something like this,” he admits, his eyes on the distant waves. “Not until you… You’ve changed my life in more ways than I thought possible.”

Your heart flutters, and the sincerity in his gaze makes it impossible to joke, even though your instinct is to lighten the moment. “You mean everything to me, Riddle. Really.”

His hand tightens in yours, his expression shifting to something so tender it makes your breath catch. “Thank you,” he murmurs, voice barely a whisper. “I never thought I’d feel so…so at ease. Especially not here with—well, anyone.” He clears his throat, looking away briefly before meeting your gaze again, his eyes soft, vulnerable in a way that makes your heart race.

You stand there in silence, lost in each other’s eyes, the cool waves washing over your feet. Eventually, Riddle leans forward, brushing a soft, lingering kiss against your forehead. It’s delicate, hesitant, as if he’s savoring each second.

When he pulls back, he lets out a tiny breath, then nods, his cheeks a lovely shade of pink. “Shall we continue?” he asks, the corners of his mouth lifting in a gentle, almost bashful smile.

You nod, linking arms once more as you walk back, each step filled with an unspoken promise, the kind of love that feels more boundless than the sea itself.

Leona: Stargazing

The night’s air was soft and warm, perfect for lying under the stars. Leona and you had managed to find a quiet spot, away from the crowds and even farther from prying eyes, just outside the city’s lights. Blankets spread across the grass, you leaned back, letting the cool, green scent of the earth mix with the distant murmur of the breeze.

Leona, as usual, looked like he belonged in this setting. Reclining with his arm lazily behind his head, green eyes half-lidded as he looked up at the stars, he didn’t seem even remotely distracted. Which was rare. You couldn’t help but grin at how relaxed he was, how right he looked there next to you, his expression unusually soft.

“Didn’t think stargazing was your thing,” you said, letting your hand find his.

A low chuckle rumbled from him, almost like he was barely holding it back. “You’re right. It’s not. Only reason I’m here is ‘cause you are.”

His words should’ve sounded casual, but there was something in his tone that made you want to melt. With Leona, compliments were rare but always real, always hitting a little deeper than you expected.

You turned your face to the stars for a moment, letting his words settle like an extra layer of warmth. The sky was thick with them tonight, a kind of quiet show for the two of you. “Aren’t you at least a little bit curious, though? You know, about what’s out there?”

“Not really. Stars are just lights, herbivore. I don’t see the big deal,” he replied, then, after a pause, added with a smirk, “But… I’m more interested in what’s right here.”

Of course. Right on cue. You couldn’t help but laugh. “Is that so?” you teased, poking him in the ribs with an elbow.

“Watch it,” he muttered, his fingers lacing with yours and holding you in place. His grip was firm but warm, and there was something so steady, so grounding about the way he held your hand, his fingers curling protectively around yours.

You leaned into his side, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest, the steadiness of his presence right next to you. For a guy who claimed he didn’t care much about stargazing, he was certainly taking his time.

The night deepened, and you felt yourself slipping into a comfortable haze. The silence was sweet, each passing minute less about the stars and more about just being near each other. And then, you caught him looking at you, his usual smirk replaced by a softer gaze. His expression was one you rarely saw, one that felt completely genuine, like he didn’t even realize you’d caught him.

“What are you staring at?” you whispered, a little more breathlessly than you intended.

His smirk returned, but his tone was quieter, less playful, as he murmured, “Nothing that isn’t mine already.”

It was impossible not to smile, to feel the warmth blooming across your face. But before you could come up with a reply, he’d tugged you down into his arms, wrapping himself around you in a way that left absolutely no space between the two of you. The stars felt almost irrelevant now, each one fading in comparison to the feeling of him beside you.

And as the night stretched on, you stayed there, wrapped in each other’s warmth, surrounded by stars and held by a silence that felt like home.

Azul Ashengrotto: Moonlit Dance

The beach is bathed in moonlight, and you’re wrapped in a soft, intimate silence with Azul, the night stretching around you like it’s been painted just for this moment. The waves lap gently against the shore, the cool sea breeze tugging at your clothes, and in the quiet, Azul extends his hand, his gaze soft and almost shy.

“Would you… dance with me?” he asks, his voice as soft as the night.

You slide your hand into his, feeling his fingers tighten slightly as he leads you into a slow, graceful rhythm under the stars. There’s a tenderness in his every movement, a carefulness, as if he’s afraid you might vanish if he doesn’t hold you close enough. He glances down, just barely meeting your eyes, and the slightest blush colors his cheeks, bringing a sweet warmth to his normally composed features.

As the two of you sway, he lets out a quiet laugh, his gaze turning to the horizon. "I must admit, dancing here... under the stars... feels like something out of a dream."

"Then let’s make it one we won’t wake up from," you whisper, leaning in just a bit closer.

For a while, you dance in silence, and then—seemingly gathering his courage—Azul spins you and, with a soft breath, dips you low, his eyes wide as he holds you steady. His face is so close to yours, every detail softened by the moonlight, and he swallows, clearly flustered yet smiling. You can’t help but laugh, and he joins you, his voice a low, warm hum that fills the air between you.

Before you know it, you’re pulling him into a dip of his own, and he lets out a surprised, quiet laugh, gripping your arms as you bring him back up. You’re both laughing softly now, and he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek as his smile softens.

Without another word, he leans in, closing the distance between you with a kiss, gentle and warm, his lips brushing against yours in a tender, quiet promise. It’s a kiss that says everything he sometimes struggles to put into words, a sweetness that speaks of his care, his love, his wonder at being here with you.

When you part, his gaze remains locked on yours, his thumb brushing softly over your hand. "I never thought… I would ever share a moment like this with someone,” he murmurs, his voice so sincere it makes your heart ache a little.

You smile, bringing your forehead to his, feeling the warmth of his breath, the softness of his hands holding you close. "Well, it looks like you’re stuck with me for a few more dances."

His lips curve in a gentle, almost shy smile, but his eyes are shining as he wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you sway under the stars, feeling like you’re the only two people in the world.

Kalim Al-Asim: Nighttime Drive-In

Kalim’s eyes are practically sparkling as he takes in the sight of the massive outdoor screen and rows of cars, all parked under the blanket of night. “This is amazing!” he exclaims, his voice brimming with excitement as he hops out of the car. “A whole movie in a car? And we don’t even have to wear tuxedos or sit in a velvet chair?”

You laugh, grabbing his hand as he leans back into the car with a bright smile. “Not exactly the red carpet, huh?”

He shakes his head, grinning ear to ear. “Way better. It’s like our own secret world here!” He gestures to the backseat, which, thanks to him, is overflowing with an assortment of treats—popcorn, candy, nachos, sodas, even a small box of cupcakes. "I didn't know what snacks people usually get, so I just brought everything!"

“Of course you did,” you chuckle, squeezing his hand. “You know, they usually sell snacks here.”

“Oh!” His face lights up. “Then we should buy some more! I can hand them out to people—it’ll be fun!” And with that, he’s already leaning out the window, cheerfully offering snacks to anyone in earshot. A few nearby people laugh, some take him up on the offer, and soon, Kalim’s practically holding court from the car, as if the drive-in is the most thrilling event of the year.

Eventually, though, the movie starts, and Kalim settles in beside you, practically bouncing in his seat as he tries to watch the screen and point out funny moments. Every few minutes, he turns to you with wide eyes, laughing softly. “Did you see that?” he whispers, as if you weren’t sitting right there. “This is great, we need to come to these all the time!”

“You know you’re supposed to actually watch the movie, right?” you tease, bumping his shoulder.

Kalim chuckles, nudging you back. “But I don’t want to miss a second of seeing this with you. Besides,” he says with a mischievous smile, “I think this part’s way more exciting.” He takes your hand, drawing you a little closer as he intertwines your fingers. The movie fades into the background as he leans over, his laughter softening into a gentle smile that makes your heart feel like it’s about to burst.

As the night settles, the energy around you shifts, and the once-lively atmosphere turns tender and quiet. Kalim drapes a blanket over your shoulders, pulling you close so your head rests against his shoulder, his arm wrapping around you protectively.

“This is kind of perfect,” he murmurs, his voice low and sincere. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, a subtle blush lighting up his cheeks as he gazes down at you with warm, adoring eyes. “Thanks for bringing me here. I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun just… being.”

You smile, lifting your head to catch his lips in a soft kiss, one that lingers longer than either of you expected. When you pull back, he’s grinning, a little dazed but more than happy. “Can we do this every night?” he whispers, fingers tracing little patterns on your arm.

“Maybe not every night,” you laugh, resting your hand against his cheek, “but definitely any time you want.”

He beams, pressing his forehead against yours. “Deal. Now, let’s make sure we finish every last snack we brought,” he says, grinning as he pops a piece of popcorn in your mouth before stealing a kiss—sweeter than any of the candy piled up around you.

Jamil Viper: Midnight Swim

The night air is cool, and the water looks almost magical under the moonlight, its surface shimmering with soft ripples. You’re already up to your waist, playfully splashing around, but Jamil is still standing at the edge, arms crossed as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, the corners of his mouth quirking up in that half-smile you know too well. “You know, it’s not really my thing to… jump into random bodies of water at night.”

“Come on,” you laugh, waving him over. “It’s just us, the moon, and the water. Think of it as a mini adventure—no schedules, no duties.”

He sighs, rolling his eyes a little, but you can see the fondness in them. “Fine, but only because you’re stubborn.” He wades in slowly, the water barely making a ripple as he slips in beside you, his usually precise movements softened in the calm, quiet setting.

You drift closer, feeling the water carry you both into an easy rhythm. The night is silent, save for the gentle lapping of the water, and for once, Jamil looks entirely relaxed. No carefully crafted expression, no alert gaze scanning for potential chaos—just Jamil, as he is, quietly peaceful in the moonlight.

After a moment, he lets out a soft sigh, almost as if he’s finally allowing himself to enjoy it. “You know, I have to admit… I can see the appeal,” he murmurs, glancing over at you with a rare, unguarded smile. “Feels like everything just… stops.”

The two of you float side by side, comfortable in the quiet, and bit by bit, he starts talking. About little moments from his day, funny memories he normally wouldn’t share, dreams he usually keeps close to his chest. It’s as if the night, the water, and your presence have created a place where he feels safe enough to let go.

When you reach out to brush a wet strand of hair from his face, he doesn’t flinch or pull away. Instead, he leans into your touch, his gaze softening as he catches your hand, holding it against his cheek.

“Thank you,” he says softly, a hint of emotion in his voice. “For convincing me to try something new.” His fingers trace a light pattern along your wrist, and there’s something almost reverent in his expression as he leans in, his lips brushing against yours with a warmth that makes you feel like you’re floating.

As you part, he chuckles, sounding almost shy. “I’ll admit… it was worth getting a little out of my comfort zone.”

You grin, leaning into his side as the two of you drift together, his arm wrapping around you to hold you close. In the moonlit water, his usual guardedness has slipped away, leaving just the two of you sharing a rare, quiet peace. As he presses another gentle kiss to your temple, you feel your heart swell, more than a little in love with the rare, beautiful serenity of the moment—and the way he’s finally, finally letting you see his softer side.

Vil Schoenheit: Bonfire Night

The scene is perfect from the start. Vil has every detail arranged with flawless precision: the bonfire flickers elegantly, framed by a semi-circle of blankets, and an artful spread of chocolate, graham crackers, and marshmallows gleams in the firelight. He turns to you with a graceful smile, gesturing for you to sit, and you can’t help but think that if anyone can make s’mores look like a scene out of a classic romance, it’s Vil.

The night air is warm, and as Vil carefully toasts a marshmallow, he holds it over the fire with a practiced elegance. The marshmallow never catches flame, never bubbles too much—it’s a perfect golden brown. Watching him concentrate on such a simple act, his face softened by the glow, feels almost like an intimate privilege, as if he’s revealing something vulnerable just by indulging in this little tradition.

But the fun really begins when he offers you his masterpiece. “Now, this is how a marshmallow should look,” he murmurs, extending it with all the poise of someone handing over a rare delicacy. You take a bite, nodding seriously, though the gooey marshmallow nearly sticks to your lips. Vil looks on with amusement, laughing softly at the sight. “I suppose there’s charm in the chaos of s’mores after all,” he muses.

After a few rounds of attempting his perfection, he starts loosening up, even experimenting by making one for himself that’s just a little… charred. “Careful,” you tease him, nudging his shoulder, “you’re about to get soot on that spotless track record of yours.”

He laughs, a rare, unguarded laugh that sparkles in the quiet night. “Tonight, I think I’ll allow it,” he says, before diving into his treat, unbothered by the crumbs or the faint stickiness left on his fingers. The firelight dances across his face, catching every angle with a golden glow, and you’re struck by the warmth in his smile, a stark contrast to his usual poise.

At some point, as you’re leaning back against the blanket, he pulls you closer, arms wrapped loosely around you, and you feel his cheek brush against your hair. “It’s strange,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, “to think that I’d find this much contentment out here—no scripts, no cameras, just you and a fire.” There’s a note in his voice that makes your heart squeeze, a raw sincerity that cuts through the night.

With Vil’s hand resting on yours, and the stars stretching endlessly above, you’re content to sit in the comfortable quiet. You trade stories back and forth, and for once, Vil lets himself be a little dramatic—tales of travels and encounters, where he plays up the details just to make you laugh.

By the time you’re on your last s’more, Vil’s once-pristine fingertips are as sticky as yours, and he’s practically laughing at himself for it. “A worthy sacrifice,” he says, smiling at the mess, then glances up at you, eyes alight with something warm, tender, and unguarded.

Before you know it, he’s leaned in, lips meeting yours in a sweet, unhurried kiss. The fire crackles softly, framing you both in a bubble of warmth, and for a moment, it feels like you’re the only two people in the world.

Idia Shroud: Late night ice cream date

The sky is velvet dark, pinpricked with stars, as you and Idia share a late-night ice cream outing. After the shops have closed, you end up at a deserted park, with only the soft hum of streetlights and the occasional flicker of a firefly. It's quiet and perfect for sneaking glances at each other without anyone else around to notice.

Idia looks adorably awkward, like he’s calculating every step to make sure it goes exactly right, but the way he holds your hand gives him away. His fingers fit between yours, warm and a little shaky, and each time you look over, he’s already looking at you, cheeks flushed. "I—I didn't think anyone else would actually enjoy this level of, uh... casual," he murmurs, glancing at the night around you like it’s a new phenomenon.

You laugh, squeezing his hand. "Idia, it’s perfect. And the ice cream is a solid bonus."

He relaxes a bit, venturing a small smile, even though he’s keeping his eyes carefully on his mint-chocolate chip. "I kinda thought I'd be the only one cool with midnight ice cream runs in a creepy empty park." His awkward chuckle is laced with hope, like he’s waiting for a hint that this really is something special for you.

"It’s exactly my vibe," you say earnestly, leaning just a little closer. "Besides, getting ice cream with you feels... well, like magic."

He doesn’t miss a beat, eyes lighting up at that. "Magic, huh? Guess I’ll take that as an S-rank compliment." He steals a quick glance your way, and for a second, his face softens, like he’s letting himself believe this perfect moment is real. He’s a mix of nerves and quiet confidence, daring himself to be this close to someone who, for some reason he’s still baffled by, loves him.

Finally, as you both settle down on a bench under a streetlamp that flickers like it’s unsure of itself, he clears his throat, still holding your hand. "I never thought...well, I didn’t think I’d get to do this kinda stuff," he says, the words a bit shy. "It’s like... in my head, this was always just some 'maybe someday' scenario."

With a gentle smile, you tilt his chin up just slightly, so his eyes meet yours. "Idia," you whisper, "you’re more than ‘maybe someday’ to me. You’re here now."

There’s a spark of bravery in his eyes as he closes the last inch between you, leaning in for a soft, tentative kiss. The taste of mint chocolate lingers, and his hand in yours trembles, but he doesn’t pull away. When you both break apart, he’s blushing, but his smile’s one of quiet wonder.

"Okay, okay," he mutters, laughing nervously, "I think I could get used to this..."

Malleus Draconia: Firefly Hunting

The air is thick with summer warmth, and a soft, whispering breeze trails through the trees as you and Malleus stroll into the clearing. Fireflies dot the shadows, little beacons of light sparking up and winking out, and Malleus’s eyes light up with unmistakable delight. He stands there for a moment, captivated, before glancing down at you with an almost childlike wonder in his gaze.

“These tiny lights,” he murmurs, his voice filled with awe. “They remind me of stars that dared to fall closer to earth.”

You laugh softly. "I’m not sure they’d like being compared to stars, but I see it."

Malleus grins, a hint of mischief in his eyes, and with a subtle flick of his fingers, a soft, verdant glow ripples from his hand. Suddenly, the fireflies seem to double, then triple, in number, painting the entire clearing in an ethereal light. A thousand tiny stars dance around you, and you can’t help but let out a gasp, the world feeling like a fairytale brought to life.

“Now they’re stars,” he whispers, pulling you close as you gaze up in awe at the enchanting scene he’s created. “Just for you, and just for tonight.”

Your fingers intertwine as he wraps an arm around your waist, holding you close in the flickering, gentle light. You both watch the fireflies in companionable silence, each moment feeling as if it’s stretching out forever. Occasionally, he brushes his fingers over your arm, his touch as soft as the summer night itself.

“Malleus,” you say softly, feeling a grin start to play on your lips, “you’ve got to tell me, have you done this whole ‘summon the stars’ thing for other people?”

He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “I assure you, I have not.” He dips his head, his eyes meeting yours with that unwavering intensity that always makes you feel like he sees right through to your soul. “No one else has ever made me feel as you do. With you, magic feels… natural.”

Your heart skips a beat, and before you know it, he’s pulled you even closer, leaning in until his forehead is resting gently against yours. There’s an honesty in his gaze that feels as warm as the summer night, as everlasting as the stars. Without a word, you close the space between you, meeting his lips in a kiss as soft as a breath.

The world around you fades—the fireflies, the trees, even the quiet hum of nature itself. All that remains is the warmth of his embrace and the gentle press of his lips against yours, tender and heartfelt, and the promise of endless moments like this.

When you pull back, you see him looking down at you with a soft, almost incredulous smile. “Thank you,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “For this night. For…” He trails off, as though searching for words big enough, magical enough, to describe the happiness you’ve given him.

“Anytime,” you reply, voice barely above a whisper as you smile back. “But I’m holding you to that firefly magic for next time too.”

With a low laugh, he gives a small nod. “Then I shall make it a thousand more.”

Masterlist

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vesearlee · 26 days ago

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──── 𝑺𝒆𝒂𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑰𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒈𝒐

Each stroke of his brush painted the ocean with such precision it took your breath away, only the tides had more than one surprise in store for you.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ── Rafayel x F!Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ── 2.1k 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 ── T 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ── Tooth Rotting Fluff, angst (anxiety attack), little dash of crack, slight reference to Rafayel's lore 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐒 ── Can’t Help Falling In Love by Haley Reinheart ── Constellations (Slowed) by Jade LeMac 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ── HERE 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ── Written because @smutconnoisseur loves to torture me with heavenly prompts.

─── 𝑳𝑨𝑫𝑺 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ───

The sound of water falling and splashing against the marble floor of the master bathroom was the only sound heard through the hallway to Rafayel’s silent studio. Amber-toned light bathed the room in the glow of the waning sunshine, and streaks of paint were splattered all over the floor — an unfortunate casualty of collateral damage by the artist who worked tirelessly over the taut canvas in the easel’s clutches.

You closed your eyes and sighed. The image of Rafayel perched on his ladder, hand steadily moving a laden brush back and forth with the grace of a dancer burned into your consciousness. The sight was beautiful, and you struck you silent every time you witnessed it.

The only reason such an ethereal vision had come to an end on this occasion, was the artist’s sense of mischief. While in his creative daze, Rafayel streaked a deep indigo through his hair with little care or notice.

“Raf,” you said hesitantly, loath to disturb his streak of concentration.

“Mm,” he hummed in reply, not stopping to glance at you. The brush swept once over a streak of navy, then his hand returned to his chin. “Yeah, cutie?”

“You– You’ve got paint in your hair and–” Rafayel’s movement towards you was sudden. “No!” you gasped, startled.

The sound of his laughter would normally make your heart swell, but with the sudden, cool sensation of paint covering your skin and clothes in little droplets took the fondness out of such a noise. You stumbled backwards into your chair. “Rafayel!”

The creak of wood made him freeze, and you both stood entirely still as you took in the sight of your clothes — dishevelled and covered in colours. “Oh, hang on,” you sneered while the corner of your lip turned up in a devilish smirk. “I think you’ve got something on your…”

As fast as you could manage, you reached towards a shelf that was full of discarded palettes.

SPLAT

“Oof!” Rafayel fell from his stool and landed unsteady on his bare feet, his jaw and neck covered in the remnants of the blue he last used and discarded with a disdained, “it’s not bright enough.”

“You started this,” you called, stepping back with as much grace as you could manage in the cluttered studio. “I only wanted to help, but you–” His sudden lurch towards you made you yelp in shock, and you sidestepped his advance to hide behind a shelf that housed rolls of brushes. “Nope, nope, you won’t catch me!”

“Wanna bet, cutie?” Rafayel teased, a vicious grin turning his normally soft gaze sharp. “Damn it, stand still–”

You bolted out from behind the shelf and towards the floor to ceiling windows, only, you paused for too long. Strong arms enveloped you from behind and you felt the deep chuckle from your captor through your back. “I told you, there’s no runnin’ from me, sweetheart.”

“No–! Aw, don’t–!” The cool sensation of paint spread from your ear to your jaw, painting you a sea of indigos and blues. “Raf, c’mon,” you whined, squirming in his hold. “I was joking.”

“You were jokin’, huh? Got a real prankster on my hands.” The arms around your middle loosened slightly, though you felt no need to pull away. “What d’ya say we clean up, yeah?”

The temptation stirred a heat low in your hips, but then you glanced at the paint strewn all over the studio from your combined antics. “...No.”

“No?” The rush of breath was warm against the shell of your ear, and the mock offense in his tone only made you huff with petulance.

“No. You go, I’ll get this cleaned up, and then maybe you can make it up to me.” The whine that came from him as you pried his arms away from your middle was almost enough for you to reconsider your answer. “Don’t pout at me, go.”

“So mean,” he hissed, jutting out his bottom lip as he sulked off down the hallway.

“So impossible,” you retorted, shaking your head.

A long, deep sigh of annoyance was the only reply you received before you heard the cascade of water begin.

With Rafayel now occupied and out of your hair, you stared around the studio at the mess you both created. Blues and purples were the main choice of ammunition, and as a result, splatters and spills danced in a trail of laughter that you followed, only this time with a cloth in hand.

You hummed a tune to match with the song coming from the bathroom, when you finally came up to the painting he had been working on before he had taken your kindness for granted.

The luminescent curves of scales and the shimmer of pearled fins glowed in the faux moonlight. It reminded you of something, though what it could have been reminiscent of made a sharp pain throb in your temples.

The song Rafayel hummed from the bathroom continued its soft melody, and you valiantly tried to follow the tune to distract yourself, when you took a step forward and heard an almighty clatter. “Whoa– Oh, no!” The easel holding the canvas wobbled slightly — without thinking, you reached out and grabbed the bottom bar of the front panel, and you let out a breath of relief for not having touched the wet paint of the canvas.

“You okay?” Raf called, his voice was muffled by the sound of water on tiles. “That was loud. D’you need help?”

“No,” you yelled back, and you gently released your iron grip on the now steadied frame of the easel. “It’s okay, I’m just clumsy.”

“Alright,” he replied. “I’ll be out soon.”

Not a moment later, the song began again. Even though he would not see, you nodded in reply out of habit before you glanced downwards at the floor to see what had made the clattering noise.

The sight made your heart leap into your throat.

More smears and shades of indigo were splattered all over the plastic spread beneath the easel. Every single shade that Rafayel spent days, weeks on perfecting lay at your feet, utterly destroyed by the pigmentation of the other.

“No, nonono.” The plastic crinkled as you fell to your knees, hands uselessly stretching out to the mess of what could be considered a sea of colours — it was devastating, and all of what Rafayel would say rushed to the forefront of your mind, bombarding your fears and dredging the worst of them from the depths of your well buried thoughts.

It was only then something seemed to snap into place, a panicked clarity that set your heart racing at an uncomfortable rate.

“I can replace…? Maybe?” You blinked the burn of tears in your eyes away, and you carefully grabbed the wooden palette off of the floor to hold it up to eye level. A few brushes above you held the answer, you were sure, and with the mission in mind, you stood up from the floor with a quiet grunt of discomfort.

Time blurred as you worked, a fevered haze of panic and desperation fuelled your every move until the palette was covered in all hues of blues and purples. Each stroke of the brush in your hand grew sloppy and sloppier, nowhere near as refined as the artist himself — the pit of your stomach swirled with guilt the harder you worked to replicate what he had mastered.

“Sweetheart? What’re you doin’?”

“Oh!” you gasped, the sound choked and shrill with your shock. “You–” The rustle of plastic sounded as you spun on your heel to face Rafayel, who stood shirtless, a wet towel in one hand and the other propped on his hip. The hammering of your heart only thundered harder in your aching ribs, and you swore if you were to stand there any longer, the whole of your heart would miraculously beat from your chest and fall to the floor at your feet. “You s-scared me!”

His eyes narrowed slightly, and the corners of his mouth turned downwards in a frown. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, it’s not been that long–” He took a few steps forward, the sway of his hips and the loose fitting pants not enough to capture your attention from the building panic in your chest. You backpedalled rapidly out of reach — a well-honed instinct that had saved you numerous times before. “What– I just showered after you covered me in paint. Rude.”

His jokes fell flat, and the lack of laughter made the frown on his lips deepen.

“I– Uh, um, Raf–” The plastic under your feet shifted again, and the sound drew his attention downwards. You watched with horror swelling in your stomach as his shoulders stiffened. “I’m so, so, sorry– Please, oh my–”

“Whoa, whoa, hold on there, cutie,” Rafayel rushed, his cool hands finally breaking the barrier you precariously built, and he grasped your wrists gently. “You’re trembling, what happened? Talk to me.”

A broken sobbed forced its way through the blockade of fear in your chest, and he pulled you into his chest. The palms of your hands planted firmly against his chest. “Breathe for me—in, out, that’s it, honey, c’mon.”

The silence filled with suppressed sobs carried on for what felt like hours — being held in his arms always had that effect, though this time, you gripped to his body like an anchor against the bobbing waves of panic that ebbed and flowed like the waves outside his window.

“I’m sorry,” you eventually whispered against his skin, the words sharp against your throat as they manifested. The pain of your mistake made your heart clench with guilt, and the splattered colours at your feet did nothing to ease the agony. “I– I didn’t mean to, I was trying to clean and I just bumped into–”

Rafayel pulled back suddenly, the palms of his hands cupping either side of your face so he could stare into your blurry eyes. The pad of his thumb brushed softly against your cheeks while he collected the stray tears that had escaped without your notice.

“So that was the noise, huh? Just some spilled paint?” he asked softly, furrowing his brows as he glanced downwards quickly, the multitude of colours in his eyes reflecting the sheer volume of the mess. “Is this why you’re so worked up?”

Words failed to form on your tongue, no matter how hard you tried. A small nod was all you managed, and he clicked his tongue before pulling you into his chest again. Soft lips brushed over your forehead and trialled down towards your temple.

The sudden movement of Rafayel’s body made you gasp quietly, and you realised he was rocking you side to side, the sway of your bodies matching the now moonlit waves outside. “Y’know, cutie, for someone so smart, you really can be silly.”

You sniffled and pulled back. “What?”

Rafayel smiled cheekily, tilting his head to the side so strands of purple hair fell to the side of his forehead. “You, I’m talkin’ about you.” His hands moved up to your shoulders and gently coaxed you to turn around until you came face to face with the painting he worked on — the deep hues seemed to sparkle under the now dimmed light. “See?”

Long, slender fingers gestured towards the waves in the painting, then towards the scales and fins of the tail in view. “I’ve worked endlessly, tirelessly—to the bone—to make these colours.”

The sentence was enough for your heart to seize, and he sensed the way your body tensed under his hands. “No, no, listen to me, cutie.” You watched his fore and middle finger brush against the palette you had created in your panic-induced haze. “I worked so hard to get this shade, and here you are, gettin’ it outta nowhere.”

You blinked as confusion flooded you. “Huh?”

“It’s true,” Rafayel stated simply, and he shifted closer to you so his chest was flush to your back. With a gentle grip, he held the back of your hand and slowly moved it towards the palette where one of the brushes you used in your attempt to replicate all the shades rested innocently. “Pick it up, go on.”

“But I–” you stuttered, still bewildered at his gentle order. “I ruined it?”

A huff of amusement filled your ears. “Ruined it? Oh, sweetheart.” His hand guided your own to the canvas. “You couldn’t ruin anything. Here, I think you should be the one to add the finishing touches.”

The two of you stood in a comfortable silence, the sound of the fibres of the brush the only thing to disturb the soft, even breathing you shared as he held you close, encouraging you to work.

It was only when Rafayel softly gasped and his hands moved to grip your sides that you were pulled from a kind of trance. You looked over your shoulder at him, and found the indigos you painted reflected in his eyes. The smile on his lips was priceless, and you only wished you could capture it forever, just as you captured the beauty of the waves.

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 ── Gingerbread Edition Bingo (@fandom-free-bingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Crafting Together • I4 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Deep Breathing • N4 ── MASTERLIST ── Eclipsing Bingo (@eclipsingbingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ "Wanna bet?" • G5 ── MASTERLIST ── Hurt/Comfort Bingo (@sweetspicybingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ thought spiral • N5 ── MASTERLIST ── Under the Sea Bingo (@seasonaldelightsbingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ soft love ── MASTERLIST

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meat-fr · 9 months ago

Text

Color Guide for matching Festival Genes + Primal Eyes

Now i want to say this is not meant to be some definitive guide. These are just my attempts at matching colors as closely as i could find with what's available on the color wheel currently. Some of which were quite tricky to find a good match for (or is maybe not even the best use for the gene, looking at you Crystalline...). Will list the colors used for the scries above, but I'll also have some notes for some other similar matches or other color ideas. Overall, this was just a fun little project to work on as the genes released, and maybe some will find some use from it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Light: Sanddollar (Flaxen is a very close 2nd, if you want a very slight warmer color. Banana could also pass, but i find it a little too dark compared to the eyes)

Lightning: Robin (This one's tricky since the color IS the lightning rather than the outline, but Robin is bright enough to give the illusion of being white with a matching blue outline. Aqua is a close 2nd, but again is a little to dark in comparison)

Fire: Sunshine (Saffron if you want darker, more orange fire. Marigold if you want a lighter, more yellow fire. Sunshine is the middle ground of these two. All 3 of these match very closely, so up to your personal preference here)

Arcane: Bubblegum (Matching to the little runes. If you want to match to the eyes themselves, Orchid is the closest match without being too dark in color)

Plague: Vermilion (Berry if you want something less egregiously bright. But i do think Vermilion is technically a closer color match, tho both are very close. If you want a color flipped match, Chartreuse matches the colors pretty well, or Crocodile is you want a similar pallet but less bright (and also has a slight bit more red to it's accents). Bonus color: while it doesn't really match the eyes, Red has a very good Plague-y vibe, if you're a fan of the red+green aesthetic)

Earth: Pumpkin (This one has been the most difficult one to match with all the colors going on with both the eyes and genes. But it leads to a bunch of potential options that just kinda almost match. Ultimately tho there's not really a perfect match for these, just go by your own preference. Ginger matches close for a solid color match. For multi-toned picks, some other good options are Caramel, Peach, Ivory, Seafoam, and Cream. Sadly there's not really any colors that adds more pink secondary tones. (also as an added bonus for these: if you want to match with the geode currency used for the festival: teal, ultramarine, and splash are some good picks)

Ice: Eggplant (Indigo if you want just a very slight more saturation, but ultimately the two are nearly indistinguishable from each other. if you want some really dark blue ice in the same hue, Sapphire works well. If you want a lighter ice color: Sky, Periwinkle, Twilight, and Storm are the closest without going just full on white)

Shadow: Grape (Royal or Violet for a more subdued color, tho i find them a little too bright. The strong highlights on this gene make it tricky to match perfectly, especially when we don't have many darker purples as is. But at the same time, you really can't go too wrong with most of the purple range with this gene, it's just a matter of preference)

Wind: Peridot (Not much to say about this one. This color is incredibly spot on. I guess, if you want something a little darker, Pear matches the darker tips of the eyes)

Water: Cornflower (The whole Lapis-to-Sky range works here, for varying degrees of saturation and brightness, but i think overall Cornflower has the best balance out of all of them? (it looks the closest on adult dragons at least). Idk, this one's really tricky too xP And i am once again painfully reminded that we don't really have any good super vibrant colors in the sky blue range T___T All the closest colors are either too green or too faded. Also as a bonus option: If you want a foamy look, Ice and Pistachio work really well for this)

Nature: Orca (I initially thought Peridot would win this one, but then Orca came out of nowhere. Peridot's still another good option tho, the flowers are just a little more on the green side than the ones on the eyes (but they do match with the actual 'eye' part of the eyes). Also for a bonus color, Pearl also looks really nice paired with nature eyes, even tho it does have a lot of purple in the vines. the leaves and flowers still match really well. And as far as i can find, there's not really a good way to match the vines to the vines of the eyes, since that parts seems to stick to darker colors and browns)

#flight rising #scrying workshop #cobalt speaks #long post #sorry i do a lot of rambling here ;^^#maybe some peeps can find better color matches for some of these than i could #but i had a lot of fun putting these together!

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adarkandmagicalforest · 7 months ago

Text

hunted/hunter

ship: benjicot blackwood/original female character (elma bracken)

warnings: primal kink, smut, rough sex

The ground had some give.

Not much, but just enough that the heels of her boots sank into the soil like it was sand on a beach, slowly her incrementally as she ran as fast as she could through the woods. She'd begun running at sunset. It was almost fully dark now, the indigo skies creating large dark shadows that seemed to mock her as she hurried past branches and jumping over babbling brooks.

This began do to a sudden, unrestrained thought. Ben Blackwood had been sneering at her by the creek, claiming that the rock she was sitting on was on Blackwood land, and that meant she was not only trespassing but also now was Blackwood property as well, while leaning down and making that stupid face at her.

It had been an idea that came so suddenly and clearly, Elma could've done nothing else.

Once his face was within two feet of her, she'd risen up her fist and socked him on the nose.

Then, she'd laughed right in his pained, startled face. Very quickly, that surprise had turned into furious outrage, so she'd had to move quickly. Elma had shoved him into the creek as hard as she could, not even turning back to see him splashing against the water before she'd begun sprinting away.

And now she was running through the woods. With Bloody Ben not far behind her.

She could hear his breath and the sound of his grunts, which were coming closer and closer. It was that it would take time after she ducked a branch before she heard it snap, the savage Blackwood breaking the twigs off rather than take the time to dodge them as she had.

Anticipation had riled her unimaginably. Her heart was pounding in her chest, she could hear every thud within her ears.

Thud, thud, thud. The soft upturned soil sinking and spitting out every time boots sank into it.

Elma was starting to tire, her legs were protesting every movement now and her breath was becoming so loud. She was almost considering stopping, letting him catch her - after all, if she let him catch her, it was not like he had won. She'd have just chosen to let the game end.

And it was when she was considering slowing, after she'd jumped over a rather wide stream that she'd noticed it: the sudden lack of noise.

So her legs halted in place, the soil making way to moss as she struggled to silence her own heaving breaths, even having to cover her own mouth as she turned to look behind her.

Nothing. There was no one.

And it was no longer just dark, it was black now. Night had fully fallen over her and worser now, she couldn't see Benjicot behind her. Had he stopped? Decided that she was not worth the trouble by chasing her all through the woods? And decided that actually leaving her alone, with no weapon or light, would be punishment enough for hitting him?

It was just as she was starting to become truly, actually afraid when she heard a snap of a twig.

Elma gasped.

And then she was taken hold of, and that soft soil she'd been so frustrated with cushioned her fall as she fell face first into the dirt and moss.

"Spread your fucking legs." Ben demanded lowly into her ear.

She obeyed mindlessly, out of breath from the force of his throw.

Immediately, he shoved himself between her thighs, pushing up her skirts from behind and pushing her small clothes out of the way with little care for her before his cock was shoved inside of her wet cunt. Then he began to fuck her. He did so hard and fast, his hips hammering against her without any other preamble, not even touching her any further other than merely holding her hard against the dirt.

The angle wasn't quite right for her to feel pleasure, but that didn't seem to matter. Every thrust she became wetter and wetter, until squelching noises joined Ben's heavy grunts as he used her.

His hips soon changed the pace, from hard and fast to now just hard, as if he were trying to bruise her from his thrusts alone.

And he may have succeeded - as her rear was feeling more tender when he finally came inside of her, his cum shooting well inside of her cunt until she could feel it spilling out.

When he pulled out of her, she realized she was trembling.

Benjicot must've realized it too, because after a few moments he laid himself against her, wrapping one arm around her waist and the other loosely under her neck while he lowered his face into her hair.

The pressure felt good.

But not as good as the kiss that he pressed against the back of her hair, holding her warm and safe against his body.

#benjicot blackwood #benjicot blackwood x oc #benjicot blackwood x reader #house of the dragon #a song of ice and fire #hotd #elma bracken #blood lust

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kuni-is-daddy · 1 year ago

Note

Imagine shower sex with scara & wanderer

Scaramouche X Reader X Wanderer : Puppet pleasers.

Context: 'Agree to disagree'

Word count: 1.4k Straight filth.

|Scaraficlist!|ScaraNSFWAlphabet

Ft: F/ngering,Facef/cking, Scara's a jerk, Double p/netration.

"N-No..Scara..Kuni..Its fine, Im just tired..I'll go wash up for a bit"

CW: Minors do NOT interact past the cut! This is a NSFW POST!

Scara and kuni treating there darling to a soothing shower after their stressful date. Scara 'gently' guided you into the shower as kuni is adjusting the water just as you like it and their immediately both obsessed with how you look under them. Your eyes are droopy as the makeup washes off into the washcloth Kuni gently dampened your face with and mixed in soap, Holding your chin up with his pale fingers. While scara Bit his lip at how delicate you looked from the back. Bite marks he's given along your neck and small hickeys on your shoulders.

The shower was rather spacious and sparklingly clean to the point you saw your reflection by the thick tile rest, resting under a cubby with your bars of soap, shampoo and other bodywash they bought as a gift. You heard a soft sigh and assumed it was kuni, His lean form was shielding most of the warm water from your face and washing through his own hair. His indigo pupils never left your beautiful face as he carefully Dapped along your lips. Smudging off your lipgloss, then softly folding the towel towards your eyes. Just as he was, you we're like a doll to him in every way, He relished in you dressing up for him, The way your skirt perfectly curved along your thighs then up to your waist. Finally leading up to your breasts hidden under a blouse. Even recollecting your bitterly warm smile after patiently waiting with lessor lord kusanali for his return after days made his cock twitch.

In a daze he continued dapping the cloth despite your face being clearly washed off for the nth time. "K-kuni?" You blinked, "Are you okay?" You brushed his bangs out his eyes and his cheeks turned pink at the contact. "Hm? Yeah. I just...Do you feel better. Doll?" "Mhm~" You hummed and rested on his palm; the puppet became even more flustered than he already was. His eyes dimmed and moved closer to your face, intoxicated by the smell of your soap. Scara Averted his own gaze to kuni and looked at him unamused. What a pitiful state he's in; Scara thought, but archons was he right. You looked wonderful like this, Fragile... and so vulnerable like a flower as you pressed your soft lips on Kuni's. He removed his fingers and now cupped your face with his hand in search for your tongue. The water splashed onto your eyes, fluttering them shut while a pair of hands trailed along your chest and you moaned into Wanderer's mouth, catching him off guard as he pulled away with a thin trail of your saliva on his lips. "S-scara~? Wait-" He began licking along your previous bite marks and cupped your breasts. "Ah ah ah~ darling...When you asked to be pampered.. Did all my pet want was a little kiss?" Scara mocked kuni then grinned at him while he sucked his teeth. "I- mnn..No~" You shook your head and scara whispered in your ear. "Then take your reward like a goodgirl."

Before you could mutter another word kuni took ahold of your face again, cupping your cheeks with his thumb eagerly to shove his tongue within your taste. "Mnh~ hmn~" You moaned into kuni's mouth; His taste was a bit sweet like yours from dessert you both shared at the restaurant. Your hand trailed onto his neck, pushing him closer with breathy sighs leaving his lips. Scara's cock grew harder at the sight and bucked your hips closer to his erection, your ass skimmed along the tip of his cock while you we're sandwiched in-between the two puppets. He began licking along your previous bite marks until You finally pulled away from wanderer. Practically gasping for air through the heated mist of the shower. "shit.. your enjoying yourself arent you? My pretty little doll~" kuni went to touch your chest but got interrupted by scara's own hands wrapped around you. "Put her on down on the Tile. She's getting fucked the way she deserves." Scara ordered. You swallowed nervously at his explicit words turning your head down only to notice Kuni's shaft hard and leaking precum. He rolled his eyes but complied, Picking you up then laying your body onto the thick tile rest. Your back shivered a bit at the cold, but quickly relaxed in the hot shower. The two puppets looked over you once again, Legs spread apart and hair frazzled along the tile. And that 'innocent' glare you always gave them before they pounced on you like a cat.

Scara began pumping his cock, moving closer to your face where kuni shifted down in between your legs. "Open your mouth" He ordered again. You stuck your tongue out, panting again as the hot air made contact. Scara's eyes glowed a faint purple and he chuckled a bit at your obedience. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, Then guided your mouth onto his length almost a bit too gently. "If you bite, I wont let you cum." he whispered. Kuni Licked his lips at the sight of your wet clit, He traced his bangs back then licked around the bud, instantly making your thighs twitch. Scara let out a soft moan while your tongue laced around his cock. God your mouth was so fucking warm. It took every bit of the balladeers restraint to not face fuck you as he guided your head back and forth. You couldnt help but moan on his cock, Your body was overwhelmed with pleasure on both ends.

"Your- Mn~ such a needy little doll arent you.? You like being used like this from both ends?" Your head bucked back as kuni inserted two of his fingers into your pussy, scissoring you while licking along your folds. You moaned again as scara's length pushed deeper back and forth into your throat as if you we're begging for him to fuck you. "Ah~ just like that- F-fuck your gonna make me cum slut~Fuck..Fuck!~" Scara grabbed your hair roughly again and bucked his hips into your throat, pushing himself far enough that your eyes rolled back while swallowing his warm load and he slightly felt a sting. Kuni shoved a 3rd finger into your wetness. His slim fingers we're soaked in a mix of your juices and water as he stroked himself with his other hand. Scara leaned down, grouping your breasts in his hands while playing with your nipples. "Yeah? Your gonna cum from just his fingers slut?" "M' not a slut~ I- Please~! Kuni!" Kuni thrusted his fingers faster, chasing his own high while desperately licking your bud. "Remember what i told you slut?" the balladeer whispered again. "If you bite, your not gonna cum?" He said through snickers. "B-but I- Ah~! I didnt~! S-scara kuni-! please! please!" You whimpered and begged but to no avail Kuni Slowed down on your clit, Only peppering licks before licking up your current juices with his fingers.

Scaramouche picked you up, then had kuni hold you by your waist as he leaned onto the wall. "Wrap your arms around me." Without warning Kuni and scara both inserted their tips inside your prepped pussy and you nearly screeched after being so full. "Ah! S-scara- Kuni~! it's too much- Your so big~!" "You can take it darling~" Kuni said while kissing your shoulder. Scara thrusted up into your warmth, moaning at your walls squishing them both inside. "S-so fucking tight..~" Within the shower echo'd their mixed praise and moans in your mushy mind, Your throat was still horse from scara cumming inside, but you pleaded with short breathes to finally reach your orgasm. You we're so patient with them during the date and there many many arguments, Why couldnt they just reward their good girl after treating them so well. "R-right there and~ ah! Scara~ Kuni~ Mn Im close~! please dont stop! please let me cum!" "Hah~ look how fucking delirious she is. Already fucked out just like that~ You wanna cum that bad slut?" please please please "mhm~! please let me cum~!"

With another sloppy thrust from both of them, They came deep into your womb with their hot seed as your juices squirted onto them. As if on instant your body began to feel numb as your high subsided. You fell back into The balladeers chest with hazy vision and view as they cock warmed you. The room began to feel silent, And the only sound was your shared panting and shower still running warm water. It was comforting being in between them like this as stuffed as you we're. Finally, your eyes fluttered shut in-between them. A perfect view of two pairs of indigo eyes and a devilish smirks watching you rest.

#genshin smut #scaramouche smut #scaramouche #scaramouche x female reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer smut #wanderer x reader #wanderer genshin #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #genshin impact #wanderer x you #wanderer x y/n

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justallmyfantasies · 3 months ago

Text

you’re nothing like mine

by the beach.

contains: smut! (unprotected piv) just nice i dont know what else to say bye.

word count: 6.1k (i think i wrote more than i should have but enjoy.)

MINORS DONT INTERACT!

the waves of the sea splashed against the rock you were sat on. the trim of your dress getting hit by the waves each time it came. it was chilly that’s why you had goosebumps. you hadn’t forgot to bring a jacket, you just felt like you didn’t need it. it was warm and light when you left the house, now it’s cold and the sun was beginning to set.

you’d hear the occasional laughter from behind you, a few kids and their parents running along the road behind you. or the occasional dog bark. you had the urge to go up to each dog and pet them. but you didn’t, obviously.

the sun was beginning to set once you arrived at the beach, the main reason you actually came here. it was a quiet area. you liked that.

a man came over, sat next to you. his face frustrated? stressed? you didn’t want to ask, but you analysed his facial features. noticing the stubble growing on his chin, the brown curls at the back of his head, his nose. oh god, his nose.

he looked at you, his face softening at the sight of you. not many would look at you like that, that wasn’t for any reason. he wiped his forehead, perhaps in a act of nervousness? you didn’t know.

“you come here often?” his voice was different, different to others you’d heard. he had an accent, a thick one. he was twiddling with his thumbs. the nail on one of his thumbs damaged. not anything severe, or that’s what you hoped.

you turned your head from the waves to look at him. his eyes directly on you. it wasn’t uncomfortable, it was almost comforting. you nodded. “most days.” your smile curving.

he chuckled, amused by the brief answer given. "you're a girl of few words." he teased gently, his accent becoming more noticeable. he leaned back slightly, mimicking your position. he let out a long exhale, his head tilting back to face the sky, the setting sun casting a warm glow on his face.

"you always come alone?" he glanced over at you again, his gaze lingering. the ocean wind blew through his hair, gently tousling the brown locks. his question was casual, his tone soft.

you could practically see the cogs turning in his mind as he waited for your response. the silence was comfortable, the crashing of waves providing a steady backdrop. the sun was half submerged now, the sky a mix of fiery orange and soft indigo.

"i like the solitude." you finally answered.

he hummed in understanding, his gaze returning to the seas. he leaned forward a bit, resting his forearms on his knees. you could see the small details of his profile, the faint laugh lines around his eyes and the way his hair curled behind his ear.

"i come here when i need to think." he said, his voice laced with a hint of vulnerability. he picked up a small pebble from the ground and began tossing it from one hand to the other.

you watched him play with the pebble, the movement of his hands mesmerizing. your eyes were drawn to the damaged nail on his thumb again, the raw imperfection fitting him perfectly somehow.

“so, what are you thinking about?” you asked, not pushing the topic.

he smiled at your question, his thumb now rubbing over the surface of the pebble. he took a moment before speaking. "the future." he shrugged, his answer purposely vague. his eyes shifted back towards the beach, his gaze lingering over a group of children playing near the shoreline.

"and what does the future hold for you?" your words echoed against the sound of the waves. you were genuinely curious. his demeanor was intriguing, a mix of mystery and a hint of melancholy.

he looked over at you again, his brown eyes locking onto yours. they were filled with a depth that intrigued you even more.

"a lot, i hope." he chuckled softly, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his lips. he let the pebble go, turning to face you fully. the wind picked up slightly, the loose strands of your hair now dancing around your face. "what about you?"

you couldn’t deny the allure of his presence. there was something about him that drew you in.

"i don't know." you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. your honesty seemed to make him smile, his eyes scanning your face intently.

"somehow that doesn't surprise me." he said quietly, the amusement clear in his tone. "not a fan of making plans, huh?" he teased, pushing the conversation further. the wind blew again, this time stronger. it tousled his hair further, the brown curls falling haphazardly over his forehead.

you felt yourself smiling in response, his banter was both unexpected and refreshing.

"i prefer living in the moment." you replied, a subtle hint in your voice. the sun was almost fully submerged now, the last traces of light painting the sky a dark blue.

"a free spirit." he mused, his gaze never leaving yours. his words sounded as if he had already figured you out. he leaned back slightly, his hands supporting his weight. you noticed how his muscles flexed slightly.

"is that a good thing?" you inquired, tilting your head in slight curiosity. the night had gradually begun to settle in, the sky now a deep shade of navy. the beach was a lot emptier than it was moments ago, yet you felt comforted being alone with him.

"depends on who you're asking." he joked, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. he paused for a moment before continuing, his tone serious. "but for me, it is." the confession made your heart skip a beat. he sounded sincere.

the silence grew between the two of you again. but this time it was different, there was a shift in the air. you couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but it felt electric. he was watching you carefully, his gaze intense.

you could feel your heart beating a little faster, a mixture of excitement and nervousness coiling in your stomach.

“i’m alex.” he broke the silence, his voice soft but clear. he extended his hand towards you, the damaged nail on his thumb barely visible in the dark.

"it's nice to meet you." you replied and later on with your name, taking his hand in yours. his grip was firm, yet gently. his skin surprisingly warm against your slightly cold fingers.

"nice to finally have a name for this pretty face." he quipped, his fingers lingering before he let go. the compliment was light-hearted, yet you found yourself blushing slightly.

he glanced down at your hands, the skin at your knuckles white from the cold. "you're freezing." he observed, his brow furrowing.

"i didn't bring a jacket." you admitted, the cold finally seeping into your bones. a shiver ran down your spine, proving your point. alex noticed, his expression turning almost concerned.

he tsked, shaking his head slightly. "you shouldn't have done that." he sounded almost scolding. “do you want my jacket?” he asked, it wasn’t really asking, it was as if he was demanding you to have it. his jacket.

you considered arguing, but the sudden chills made you realize he was right. “i couldn't-" you began, but he was already taking off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders. the leather jacket hitting your shoulders like a blanket, instantly bringing warmth.

the jacket smelled like him, a mix of cologne and something musky, like pine. it was cozy and comforting.

he watched you, ensuring the jacket fit you right. "better?" he asked, his voice gentle.

you nodded, the cold slowly subsiding to a more comfortable temperature. the jacket was a bit large on you, the sleeves nearly covering your fingers.

"much better." you replied, wrapping it tighter around yourself. he hummed in approval, leaning back again, his forearms resting on his knees.

the silence returned, but this time it was more comfortable. the ocean waves provided a steady soundtrack. a few stars had started to appear in the sky, the moon a crescent in the night.

you glanced over at him, his gaze still on you. his eyes were fixated on you, but it didn’t feel creepy or unsettling. it was almost like he was studying you, taking in every feature, every inch of you.

after a while, he had offered to walk you home. you didn’t live very far which is why you tended to go to the beach often. approaching three drains, you shook your head. “don’t step on them.” you said, your feet moving.

“why?” alex asked. one of his eyebrows raised.

you shrugged. “supposedly bad luck.”

he let out a giggle, his laugh quiet. “you believe in bad luck?” he asked, following you as you avoided the drains. he was clearly amused, the corner of his mouth tugging into a small grin.

“sometimes.” a small smile on your own lips. you had reached your building now, the front door in sight.

he stopped as you approached the door, a smirk appearing on his face. "so what would you consider good luck then?" he teased.

you paused, your hand on the door handle. he was now standing next to you, his body a bit closer than before. you glanced at him, his face so close you were able to see the beauty spots on his face.

“having a rockstar walk beside you telling you about his day.” you replied. a short laugh escaping your lips.

he chuckled, the sound warm. he leaned against the brick wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "is that so?" he asked, his eyes still on you. you swore you could hear the smirk in his tone.

you nodded, a small grin playing on your lips. you were surprised at how comfortable you felt, talking to him as if you’d known each other for a while. the street was dead silent, the only noise being your breathing.

“do you want to come in?” you asked, finally opening the door.

he raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise in his eyes. he clearly wasn’t expecting that invitation. he looked at you for a moment before answering.

"sure." he replied, his voice casual. he pushed himself off the wall, walking towards you.

you held the door open, gesturing for him to go inside. he walked through, the muscles on his back flexing as he passed by. he didn’t look around, he just waited for you to shut the door.

you could feel your heart beating in your chest as you closed the door, the click of the lock echoing around the hallway.

you turned around, facing alex. he was standing a few feet away from you, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. he looked relaxed, but there was a hint of tension in his shoulders. his eyes were on you, studying you intently.

“this place is cozy.” he commented, breaking the silence. he looked around the hallway, his gaze taking in the surroundings.

you nodded in agreement. the apartment wasn’t a penthouse or anything fancy, but it was home. it had a warm and cozy feel to it.

you gestured towards the living room, encouraging him to follow you. “make yourself comfortable, i’ll grab some snacks.” you said, walking towards the kitchen.

he followed you without a word, his footsteps soft against the hardwood floor. the living room was modest in size, but it had a cozy feel to it. a bookshelf against the wall and a worn out, yet comfortable couch in the middle of the room.

you watched him take a seat on the couch, slouching into the cushions. he looked relaxed, yet his eyes followed your every move as you rummaged through the cupboards in search of snacks.

“what kind of snack do you like?” you called out, your head buried in the cabinets. you could hear him shift slightly on the couch, his voice carrying through the room.

“i’m not picky.” he answered. you couldn’t see him, but you knew he was watching you. you could feel his gaze lingering on you, as if he was trying to figure you out.

you settled on a bag of chips. it wasn’t a fancy snack, but it would do. you walked back towards the living room, the bag of chips crinkling in your hands. alex was lounging on the couch, his eyes on you once again.

you took a seat next your him, the couch dipping slightly under your weight. you opened the bag, offering him some. he took a few, his fingers grazing against yours for a brief moment.

the texture of his calloused skin sent a jolt of electricity through you. the brief touch felt charged and almost exciting. you mentally shook away the feeling, focusing on the chips in the bag.

the room was quiet, the only noise being the crinkle of the chip bag and the occasional car passing by. alex seemed comfortable, his body relaxed against the cushions. he was watching you again, his brown eyes intent on every move you made.

“you seem to have a habit of staring at me.” you teased lightly, a small smirk on your lips. he looked slightly amused by your remark, a corner of his mouth tugging into a smirk.

he leaned slightly towards you, his voice low. “you’re nice to look at.” the comment made you blush, your cheeks heating up at his directness.

you looked away, trying to hide your blushing face. he chuckled, clearly aware of the effect his words had on you. his eyes were still studying you, his gaze intense.

“you get flustered easily, don’t you?” he teased, his voice laced with a hint of amusement.

you glanced at him, your flustered expression giving you away. he was right, you did get flustered easily. especially when it came to handsome guys giving you compliments.

“is that a bad thing?” you asked, trying to maintain some level of composure. he shook his head, his smirk growing wider. he was enjoying this.

“not at all.” he replied, shifting closer to you on the couch. he was now sitting just a few inches away, his leg bumping against yours. his scent, the mix of cologne and musk, was stronger from this distance.

you could feeling your heart beating faster, his closeness and the scent of his cologne making your head spin. he was so close, you could almost feel his body heat radiating off of him.

he leaned back, his arm now resting on the back of the couch behind you. his fingers were playing with the edge of your hair, the action almost absentmindedly.

the feeling of his fingers on your hair sent a shiver down your spine, the tingling sensation traveling through your body. he was so close, yet not close enough.

you could feel his gaze on you, his eyes studying every expression, every movement you made. his fingers continued to toy with the end of your hair, the feel of his calloused skin against your neck sending a jolt of electricity through you.

“you’re interesting, you know that?” he mused, his voice low and quiet. his fingers were still toying with the end of your hair, sending tingles through your body.

you turned to look at him, your eyes meeting his. he was looking at you intently, a soft smile on his lips. his eyes were flickering over your face, as if he was trying to memorize every feature.

“how so?” you asked, your voice betraying a hint of nervousness. his compliments were making you flustered again, the feeling of his fingers in your hair not helping.

he hummed, his fingers now tracing your jaw line. the sensation sent a shiver through your body, his touch so light, yet so electric.

“you’re like a paradox.” he stated, his fingers now resting on your cheek. their touch was warm, the callouses on his fingers rough against your skin.

“you’re calm, yet restless. quiet, yet full of personality.” his thumb was now tracing the edge of your jawline, slowly moving towards your lips.

“and you’re observant.” you quipped, the heat in your cheeks intensifying. his touch was sending shivers through your body, the rough skin of his thumb against your lips making it hard to concentrate.

he chuckled, the sound low and almost sexy. his thumb now tracing the contour of your bottom lip. the touch was so light, yet it sent tingles down your spine. he leaned closer, his face now just inches away from yours. his breath was warm against your face, the proximity making your head spin.

his intense gaze never left your face, his eyes intently studying you. his thumb was still tracing your lip, the action almost reverent.

the air was charged, the tension between you palpable. your faces were so close, you could feel the heat radiating off of him.

his lips curved into a smile, a small, almost private smile. he shifted slightly, moving even closer. his hand moved from your chin to the nape of your neck, his warm touch sending another shiver down your spine.

he gently pulled you closer, your face now mere centimeters away from his. his lips hovered just above yours, before he decided to kiss you. the kiss soft and slow.

his kiss was gentle at first, his lips moving against yours slowly. but before long, it became deeper, more passionate. his tongue slowly making its way into your mouth, tasting and exploring.

his hand moved from your neck, to your waist, gently pulling you onto his lap. you could feel the heat rising in your body, the feeling of his lips against yours, his tongue exploring your mouth, making your head spin.

he deepened the kiss, his arms holding you close against him, your body now pressed against his.

he broke the kiss after a moment, his forehead resting against yours. his breathing slightly ragged, his eyes still closed. the moment felt almost intimate, both of you silently enjoying the closeness.

his hand was still on the small of your back, his thumb gently caressing the skin through your clothes. his eyes opened, the intensity of his gaze still present.

“do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” he muttered. the compliment was genuine, his tone honest.

you shook your head, your cheeks burning slightly. compliments were not something you were used to. at least not from a guy that looked like him.

he chuckled, his laugh soft and warm. “you really have no idea, do you?” he said, his fingers tracing the side of your neck.

his fingers were sending electric jolts through your body, the sensations almost overwhelming. his touch was tender, his rough skin a contrast to your softer one. he pulled you closer against him, his lips finding your jawline, trailing small kisses down your neck.

his lips left a trail of fire on your skin, the feeling of his mouth on your neck making you shiver. his hand moved from your back to your hips, holding you against him. his lips were now on your collarbone, biting and kissing the sensitive skin.

the feeling of his lips and teeth on your skin was driving you insane. you couldn’t think straight, your mind a mix of sensation and desire.

he nipped the sensitive spot between your neck and shoulder, drawing a soft gasp from your lips. he chuckled, the sound warm against your skin.

“i love that sound.” he muttered, his voice almost a purr. his lips were back on your neck, his teeth gently biting the skin.

you could feel his hands, now on your thighs, gripping you tightly. the dress you were wearing pushed up to your thighs. his body was warm against yours, the heat almost scalding.

he continued his assault on your neck, his lips and teeth leaving love-bites on your skin. every touch was making it hard to think, the sensations driving you crazy. his hands moved higher, one of them disappearing under the hem of your dress, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

his touch was like fire on your skin, the feeling of his hand on your inner thigh making you shiver. his lips had moved to your ear, his breath warm on your skin.

he was whispering praises, his voice low and raspy. he was calling you beautiful, sexy, perfect. the compliments sent a thrill through your body, the words making you feel a mix of shyness and desire.

his hand was slowly moving higher, his fingers now tracing the soft skin of your inner thigh. the proximity was making it hard for you to breathe, the heat of his body pressed against yours, his lips at your ear, whispering words that both thrilled and flustered you. his hips were now pressed against yours, the hardness of his body undeniable.

he bit your earlobe, a soft gasp escaping your lips. his hips moved, his body pressing even more against yours. you could feel the growing hardness against your thigh.

he was murmuring praises in your ear, his free hand now moving to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. his body was so close, you could feel the heat of his skin through your clothes.

his hips grinded against your own, the action making the heat pooling in your stomach grow. his teeth were back on your neck, his lips sucking and biting the sensitive skin.

his breath was hot on your neck, his breathing growing ragged. one of his hands was on your thigh, squeezing the soft flesh, the other tangled in your hair.

his lips were back on yours, the kiss hungry and passionate. his tongue was in your mouth, exploring and tasting. the kiss was messy, the mixture of desire and desperation making it sloppy. his hands were now wandering over your body, his touch leaving a trail of fire wherever it moved.

his hands were under your dress now, caressing the skin of your thighs, your hips, your stomach. you were panting, the sensations almost too much to bear.

he broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours once again. his breathing was ragged, the desire mirrored in his eyes. he motioned towards your dress, a question whether he could take it off or not.

you nodded, breathless and more than a little flustered. he smirked, a corner of his lips tugging into a small smile.

he carefully pulled the dress over your head, leaving you in just your underwear. his eyes roamed over your body, taking in the view. his gaze was hungry, his eyes dark with desire.

his hands were on your body again, caressing your skin. he was touching you as if you were the most delicate piece of art. his touch was light, his caresses almost reverent.

he ran his fingers over your stomach, your sides. his eyes were roaming over every inch of your body, taking it all in. when his fingers caressed the edge of your bra, he looked up at you again, silently asking for permission.

you nodded, your breathing a bit shaky from the intensity of his gaze. he smiled slightly, his fingers now gently undoing the clasp of your bra. he took his time, his movements slow and deliberate, almost as if he was savoring every second.

once the bra was off, he took a moment to look at you again. his eyes were filled with lust, yet there was a hint of something else. awe, perhaps?

his hands were back on you, one hand on your hip, the other on your chest. his touch was now more urgent, his desire more evident. he carefully pushed you down on the couch, hovering over you. his body was so close, the press of his hips against yours making the heat in your core grow.

his lips were on your neck again, leaving a trail of kisses and bites down to your collarbone. his hand was now on your thigh, pulling your leg to wrap around his waist.

he was muttering praises between kisses, his voice a low, sensual rumble. every touch was electric, every kiss like a spark to a fire.

he was biting your shoulder now, his teeth gently pulling at the skin. one of his legs had moved between your own, the friction making you gasp.

he was pressing himself against you, his hardness rubbing against your core. you could feel the heat, the need, the desire. his body was so close, yet it wasn’t close enough.

“tease.” you commented. your hands trailing down to his belt, undoing it slowly.

he raised his head from your shoulder, a smirk appearing on his lips. he bit your neck before replying. “you’re one to talk.”

his hips were now pressed against yours, the heat of his body making you feel like you were burning. he was watching you, his eyes on your hands, undoing his belt.

you had his belt off, his jeans now hanging loosely on his hips. the desire in his expression was clear, his eyes following your every move.

he leaned back, watching as you unbuttoned his jeans. his breathing had grown ragged, his patience slowly running out.

“i want those off.” you breathed, pointing at his jeans.

he grinned, a devilish smile appearing on his lips. “yes, lady.” he teased, but still did as you asked, pulling his jeans and boxers off.

he was back over you, his body pressed against yours in only a moment. the feeling of skin against skin was almost overwhelming, and you could practically feel the heat radiating off of his body.

his lips were back on your neck, his teeth and tongue leaving a trail of kisses down to your collarbone. his hands were caressing your sides, your hips, pulling your body close against his.

he shifted a bit, positioning himself between your legs. the feeling of his body against your core was intoxicating, the heat making everything feel more intense. his breath was hot against your ear, his voice a low, sultry murmur. “you’re driving me insane.”

he pulled your panties to the side, the tip of him touching you slightly. you gasped aloud, the feeling of him against you almost making you shiver. you could feel the heat pooling in your core, the need growing with every passing moment.

“please,” you gasped, your voice a needy whisper. you were desperate, the feeling of his hardness making you crave more, more, more.

he chuckled, the sound low and seductive. “please what?” he teased, his lips hovering just above your ear.

you were almost desperate now, the need overwhelming. you whimpered, your hands moving to his shoulders, gripping him tightly. “you know what.” you managed to say, your voice a ragged whisper.

he chuckled again, enjoying seeing you so flustered and needy. “okay ma’am.” he replied, his voice a low, seductive rumble.

he leaned back, his body still hovering over you. his eyes were locked on yours, his gaze intense. you could see the restraint in his expression, the need to be gentle and careful with you.

he shifted again, positioning himself at your entrance. the heat was almost unbearable, the anticipation making every second feel like an eternity.

“you sure?” he muttered, his voice a low, rough whisper.

you nodded, your words caught in your throat. the need for him was overwhelming, your body almost trembling with anticipation. “yes, god, yes.” you finally managed to say, your voice a desperate, pleading whisper.

he smiled slightly, his eyes still locked on yours. “okay.” he muttered, his voice low and seductive. his hand was on your hip, gripping tightly.

he pushed himself in slowly, his eyes watching your every reaction. every gasp, every intake of breath, every small whimper and moan. he was going slow, carefully, every inch making you feel fuller, more every second was agony, the need for more almost overwhelming.

you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer. your legs wrapped around his hips, your body begging for more.

he leaned down, his lips by your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “god, you feel good.” he breathed, his voice a rough whisper.

he started moving, his hips moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm. it was torture, the pace leaving you craving for more. you gripped his shoulders tighter, your fingers digging into his skin.

his lips were on your neck, his teeth biting and licking the sensitive skin. his hands were on your hips, holding you in place, his touch firm yet gentle at the same time.

“so good.” you managed to gasp out, the pleasure almost too much to bear.

he grunted in response, his pace picking up slightly. his movements were fluid, his hips rocking against you in a steady, rhythmic motion. it was maddening, the combination of pleasure and need making everything seem sharper, more intense.

he was muttering praises in your ear, his voice a low, rough rumble. “you feel amazing.” he breathed, his teeth nipping your earlobe.

you felt the pressure growing in your core, the pleasure building with every move. you were gripping him, nails digging into his skin, your breath coming in gasps and moans.

he was holding you against him, his body almost enveloping you. his lips were on your neck, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses down to your collarbone. his hands were roaming over your back, your sides, his touch leaving a trail of fire on your skin.

his hips were moving faster now, his pace increasing. it was almost overwhelming, the pleasure almost too much to bear. you were whispering his name, your voice a ragged gasp.

he was panting against your neck, his breath hot on your skin. “look at me.” he muttered, his voice rough and demanding.

you lifted your head, your eyes meeting his gaze. there was a hunger in his eyes, a raw need that mirrored your own. his movements were more urgent now, his body pressing against yours.

he was staring at you, his gaze intense. he was watching your every reaction, every expression and sound. he was devouring you, everything about you, his eyes roaming over your face, taking everything in. his movements were harder now, more forceful. his name escaped your lips, a strangled moan.

he grunted, the sound low and guttural. his head dropped to your shoulder, his face buried in the crook of your neck. he was breathing heavily, his body moving against yours with a newfound urgency.

he was almost gasping for air, his body moving with a desperation now. he was muttering praises, his voice thick and husky. “you’re so good, so perfect, so beautiful.” he was saying, his words breathless and broken.

the pressure in your core was almost unbearable now, the pleasure building with every move. you were gripping him tighter, your nails digging into his skin.

he was moving faster now, his body trembling against yours. his mouth was on your neck, his teeth biting the sensitive skin. his hands were on your hips, holding you in place, his fingers digging into your flesh.

you were almost there, the pleasure building to almost unbearable levels. you were gripping him, your breath coming in ragged gasps, your nails digging into his skin.

“fuck.. i’m close,” you managed to gasp out, your voice a desperate, pleading whisper. “please, don’t stop.”

he was almost at the edge, his body trembling against you. he grunted in response, his movements more urgent, more forceful. his mouth was on your neck, still biting and sucking at the skin. his hands were on your hips, his grip tightening, his fingers digging into your flesh.

“hold on.” he muttered, his voice thick and guttural. “hold on just a bit longer for me.”

you were on the edge now, the pleasure building to almost unbearable levels. you were biting your lip, trying to hold back, trying to hold on for just a moment longer.

he was moving faster now, his body pressed against yours, his hips rocking against you with a frantic energy. his mouth was on your ear, his breath hot and ragged.

“you're doing so good,” he muttered, his voice a ragged whisper. “hold on... just a bit more."

he was on the verge, his body trembling against you, his breathing ragged. he let out a strangled moan, his eyes shut tight, his mouth on your neck. “god, you feel so good. i... i can’t hold on much longer.” he panted, his voice low and rough.

his movements now slowed down, you both reaching your orgasms. you were both panting, your bodies shuddering slightly. he collapsed on top of you, his face burying in the crook of your neck. you were both trying to catch your breath, your chests heaving. the room was suddenly quiet except for the sound of your ragged breathing.

he leaned back after a moment, his expression soft and tender. he gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers touching your skin with a gentle touch. he smiled slightly, his eyes warm and fond. “you okay?” he asked, his voice a low, gentle rumble.

you smiled back, feeling a wave of affection wash over you. you reached up to cup his face, your touch gentle. “yeah, i’m okay. more than okay.” you said, your voice a weary, contented murmur.

he leaned down, his lips brushing against your forehead in a gentle kiss. “good.” he mumbled, his voice a low, satisfied rumble. he shifted off you, lying down beside you. he pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close against his chest.

you snuggled into him, feeling safe and warm in his embrace. you rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. you felt content and at peace, your body and mind still buzzing slightly from the aftermath of your orgasm.

he was idly running his fingers through your hair, his touch gentle and soothing. the room was quiet except for the sound of your breathing and the occasional soft rustle of fabric. after a comfortable silence.

he spoke up, his voice soft and low. “you know something?” he asked, his fingers still playing with your hair.

you tilted your head up to look at him, a small smile on your face. “what?” you asked, your voice equally soft and sleepy.

he smiled down at you, his eyes warm and fond. “i don’t think i've ever met someone like you before.” he said, his voice gentle.

you felt your heart flutter a bit at his words. “yeah?” you asked, your voice a little shy and bashful.

he nodded, his smile growing. he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle. “yeah. it’s weird, i’ve only ever seen you today and i’m astonished by you. is that too cheesy?” he asked.

you chuckled a bit, feeling a warm, cozy feeling spread through your chest. “yeah, a little cheesy.” you teased, poking his side playfully.

he chuckled too, grabbing your hand and trapping it against his chest to stop you from poking him anymore. “hey, i’m trying to be sweet here.” he protested, his voice feigning indignance.

you giggled a bit, unable to keep a straight face. “okay, okay. i’m sorry, sweet talker.” you teased, your voice dripping with mock-sincerity.

he rolled his eyes, his expression amused. “you’re ruining the moment, you know that?” he said, his voice feigning irritation.

you chuckled again, feeling a warm, happy feeling wash over you. “oh, I’m sorry. i didn’t know i was supposed to be swooning over you.” you teased, a small smirk forming on your lips.

“you’re supposed to be swooning, yes.” he said, a small smirk appearing on his own lips. “anyway, what i wanted to say was that.. i uhm.. wanna see you again.”

you felt your heart skip a beat, a small thrill running through your veins. “yeah? you want to see me again?” you asked, your voice soft and hopeful.

he nodded, his smile soft and sincere. “yeah. i know it sounds crazy considering we only just met today, but... i just really wanna see you again. spend more time with you. get to know you better.”

your heart was fluttering in your chest, a warmth spreading through your veins. you felt a little giddy, a little lightheaded. “okay. i’d like that.” you admitted, a small smile appearing on your lips.

his eyes seemed to light up, his smile growing wider. “yeah?” he asked, looking genuinely pleased. “okay. yeah... yeah, that’s great. i... yeah.” he said, his words faltering slightly, looking a little flustered.

you chuckled softly, amused by his shy, flustered reaction. you reached up to pat his head, your touch light and tender. your fingers playing with the curls of his soft hair. you couldn’t deny that you felt something for him and neither could he. but was it too soon?

a/n: wow finally writing woo!!! anyway i like this (kinda), i have a few more ideas for upcoming fics so just wait for that i suppose. i hope it’ll be good.

#justallmyfantasies #alex turner x reader #alex turner #alex turner fic #alex turner fanfic #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x you #alex turner smut

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pink-pone · 9 months ago

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One thing you learn about me pretty quick is that a lot of my ocs look like they’re related (color-wise) but actually aren’t. And also vice-versa, ocs that look like that have no relation to eachother at ALL, are actually close family lol.

Take for example Heather and Benji. Look related? Absolutely. You’ve got the tans, the lighter colored wings, the fact they bothe HAVE wings, and even eye color. But nope, they are just neighbors, no relation at all.

then see Benji next to his brothers, Sour and Indigo

huh??

like, what? They look like they’ve got nothing in common haha, two unicorns and a pegasi, totally different color schemes, hairstyles, and etc! But yes, they all have the same mom (except Sour had a different dad then Benji and Indigo), but yeah!

I guess it goes to show I develop my ocs with personality in mind first, and color schemes much much later. But regardless, I make it work. XD

#Heather #benji buttons #sour punch #indigo splash #mlp #my little pony #mlpfim #my art #my little pony friendship is magic #oc #my oc #gingerverse

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yuoimia · 7 months ago

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OUR SUMMER DREAM

summary: beneath the radiance of cloudless skies, a summer memory is tied between the two of you. days with them - summer edition!

characters: wanderer, xiao, diluc, alhaitham, neuvillette, kazuha, ayato, zhongli

notes: gn! reader, soft and sweet, fluff, teasing, wc: 1.3k

soft splashes of aquamarine waves, sparklers in hand, the flash of a digital camera - wanderer, xiao.

“don’t wander too far.”

“oh c’mon,” you exasperated, tugging his arm a bit harder again, letting a humoured laugh escape from your lips. “if you’re so scared of getting lost, then you should hold my hand-“

“i know what you’re planning,” he replied knowingly, lightly elbowing your side with his free hand, a fierce gaze reflecting the flickering embers of the sparkler in his other hand, twinkling and incandescent with matching ferocity that was rapidly dissipating.

you sighed and shook your head with a tut, accompanied with a lazy gesture towards the horizon, now swallowed in breathtaking shades of rich indigo and navy, streaked with the last ribbons of daylight.

the waves tumbled one over the other, idly lapping at the golden shore sprinkled with pearly shells and tangled seaweed, each swash permeating a stinging scent of salt.

“i promise i won’t push you into the water,” you nodded solemnly, pulling him and his skepticism closer. “i promise,” you enunciated, putting on what seemed like a confident expression of benevolence before refocusing your attention on the smooth sand delivered by the ocean.

“that’s not what i was worried about,” he muttered under his breath, making his way down to where you were, seemingly inspecting something in the sand, two newly lit sparklers in his hand, softly illuminating a golden path.

“cute, isn’t it?” you grinned, smiling adoringly at the red crab, crouching down further. “look!”

he looked, trying to find what was so amusing, only releasing too late the trap he had fallen into.

“say cheese!” you exclaimed, pulling something out of your bag instantly recognisable by the quantity of cat stickers and its signature flash.

double cuteness. an upturned crab and a certain wide-eyed person illuminating them both with the light of burning stars.

low whirrs of a running fan, windows thrown open, a bowl of freshly cut watermelon between the two of you - diluc, alhaitham.

any agonising second now, you’d pathetically melt into a miserable puddle on the cool vinyl floor.

any second now, you’d make a suffering groan, thrust the electric fan closer, and aimlessly stab a fork into the bowl of perfectly cut watermelon and momentarily delight in its juice before staring disinterestedly through the sheer curtains of the opened window, hugging your knees with your arms. there wasn’t much to do on an afternoon in one of the most insufferable summer heatwaves ever.

“why does it have to be so hot,” you complained to nobody in particular, patting your cheeks and forehead. there’s hasn’t been a single breeze in the last five minutes.

“you should find something to do,” a voice swept from behind. snapping your head backwards. you revealed a look of contempt in his direction. “it’s too hot to move.”

he examined you from where he was dusting the bookshelf, his fingers tracing the books with great care. “you’re moving your mouth.”

“even talking makes me exhausted,” you turned to shove another bite of watermelon, a ghost of a pout resting on your lips. it wasn’t as cool anymore, but rather unpleasant now that it had reached room temperature.

“with a mind like yours, i’d expect you to be able to easily entertain yourself,” he cooed, now sitting on the end of the bed, just above where you sat. further tilting his head downward, he brushed the loose strands of your hair, eyelashes fluttering in your peripheral vision. “unless…” came a soothing whisper, “you wanted my attention all along?”

when met with no reply other than your tentative gaze and deep breaths, he laughed, removing his hand from your hair and sitting back on the bed. “i was just joking.”

from our favourite spot for sunsets, ice creams in hand, wistful thoughts and eyes - neuvillette, kazuha

if you could, you’d polish this memory until it was clearer and brighter than any bygone jewel and store it in a small box sealed within layers of dreamy clouds, tied with a chain of love.

away from the ambience of the blaring city, out into the forgotten outskirts that always looked so far away, hidden under vine-covered overhangs, between the sharp scent of evergreen pine trees, cold and invigorating. through blooming meadows and woods of delicate wildflowers, sometimes met with a plain of deer and foxes. up here, up high, breathing in the quiet beauty, the rays of sunset hugging you both in a comforting embrace.

“it’s been a while since i’ve done something like this,” he whispers before releasing a fond laugh, his face tinged with the slightest pale hue of cherry, spreading from the apple of his cheeks to the line of his jaw, either from the bountiful crispness of the fresh breeze whipping through the windswept grass you both laid on, adorned with dandelions, and the hum of the last hardworking bees.

“hm, really? we should do this more often,” you acknowledged warmly, turning to lie on your side, propped up with an elbow. pushing a loose strand of hair from his face, you watched with no particular intention but to just look. not in an uneasy way, something more unattached, more open for thoughts to run free and connect once again.

he smiled at the linger of your touch, bringing a hand to lock yours in place just below his ear, between his neck. “you always come up with such wonderful ideas,” he murmured, the gentleness far from innocent, chuckling at your sudden rapt attention. “your ice cream is melting.”

vibrant vivid lights, screams and smiles, the delicious aroma of buttered popcorn - ayato, zhongli.

one might assume that he was enjoying this more than you were.

“don’t you think it’s time to give up?” you proposed, eyeing him and the fluorescent vending machine with profound disapproval when he had simply sighed, the glass reflection exhibiting his contemplative face. “it’s been nearly half an hour, you know.”

he turned briefly to raise an eyebrow, his hand still on the joystick. “didn’t you say you wanted the panda?”

he’s concerned about that? you feel a sudden urge to burst into laughter, or maybe even slap his hand, still stuck onto the motionless joystick.

“i’ll be fine without it,” you shook your head, rubbing your forehead with a smile towards the ground. winning or losing, the earnestness with which he took your previous offhand comment made the butterflies in your stomach soar a bit too high for such a casual night.

for a few seconds, silence simmered in the cool air, your eyes scanning the striped tents, the constellations of bubbles drifting behind the faces of happy children, the cheerful vendors and their tied bags of coins, landing on a particular cluster of food stalls beneath an arched entryway lit by twinkling amber fairy lights, failing to notice the inconspicuous set of eyes still fixed on you.

“do you want to eat something?” he finally asked, easily noting your prolonged attention at the bustling entryway. he intertwined your hands together, before faintly tugging you forward, tightening his hold as you began to navigate the busy lane, stopping at the first stall.

“there are so many things i want to try,” you breathed, bending down to analyse the chalkboard menu with a cursive title reading: specials.

but which ones to pick? you chewed over it, edging closer to the list. which one..

“are you finished?” came a hushed voice behind your ear. “we need to find a table before they all get taken.”

“what do you mean? i haven’t-“

standing above to your left, he smiled with a small sense of pride, his hands filled with the menu of specials.

#genshin x reader #genshin fluff #wanderer x reader #xiao x reader #diluc x reader #alhaitham x reader #neuvillette x reader #kazuha x reader #zhongli x reader #ayato x reader #・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#anya writes ᝰ.ᐟ

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year ago

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When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 13: Condemned From The Start] [Series Finale]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), death, angsttttttt, more children than usual, Wolfman!

Series title is a lyrics from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 8.1k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoy the finale.🦀💚

In the Eyrie, one of Rhaena Targaryen’s three dragon eggs has hatched at last; the creature is small and pink, and she has named it Morning. When Rhaena’s tears fall onto the scales of her diminutive wings, they glitter like flecks of rose quartz. Deep within the snow-laden labyrinth of the Mountains of the Moon, Nettles is in hiding with Sheepstealer; already the nearby clans are bringing her offerings of meat and treasure, axes and clubs and daggers, hairpins carved from the ribs of enemies and necklaces made of bear teeth. Silverwing is settling into a lair on an island in the Red Lake at the northwestern corner of the Reach. Word of this has travelled back to King’s Landing, and Borros Baratheon implores Aegon II to seize Silverwing for himself; but the king does not want a new dragon. He wants Sunfyre back. That grim truth aside, Aegon is unable to trek across the continent to tame the beast anyway. Some days he cannot even cross a room. At the bottom of the Gods Eye, bodies are dissolving into bones, threads of long white hair breaking loose to flow in the currents like weightless strands of spider webs torn free by cold drafts. And only a few miles from the border of the Crownlands—preparing to cross the icy waters of the Blackwater Rush—the army of Northmen camps under a full moon in a clear, indigo sky heavy with stars like glinting coins.

“There are passageways under King’s Landing,” Clement Celtigar says. He stands by the bonfire with his sword in his hand, his face flame-bright and eager, forever licking up drops of the Kingmaker’s approval, a stray cat lapping milk splashed in an alley. Increasingly, Cregan Stark finds him tiresome. Clement is brash and dramatic, forever swearing vengeance, reveling in his newfound position as the head of his house. The Warden of the North has never had to beg for attention, admiration, acclaim. These things come to him like snow falls to the earth in winter: effortlessly, inevitably. Yet Cregan tries to be patient. Clement is soon to be his brother-in-law, and it is dishonorable to fail to extend courtesy to one’s kin. Furthermore, it seems, Clement has his uses.

“Are there really?”

Clement nods. He wears the banner of his house on a strip of fabric looped around his upper arm: crabs red like blood, a backdrop of white like snow. “That monster’s disciples used them to kidnap my sister from the Red Keep. But she fought hard. When we searched her rooms, all the furniture was upturned and the sheets ripped from her bed.”

“She is brave,” Cregan murmurs in agreement, though he is distracted now. The air tastes like smoke and ice, the wind rubs raw spots into the soldiers’ faces. They are arriving just in time. The depths of winter is no time to wage war. Cregan Stark imagines how you will greet him when he liberates you: a desperate embrace, hands that refuse to let go, whispered gratitude and breathless kisses on his earth-stained knuckles, bones of steel softened by the innate weakness of womanhood. You will love him, of course you will, fervently and entirely. Then when the realm and succession are secured, the Kingmaker will take you North and wed you in the tradition of his people, under the heart tree where the Old Gods can witness it. And then there will be the wedding night. In Cregan’s understanding, women receive little pleasure from the act itself. It is a burden they bear for the men they love, for the children they are divinely tasked with bringing into existence. Cregan Stark intends to alleviate your suffering in this regard as much as possible…yet he has already begun to choose the names of the sons he will make with you. He especially likes the sound of Brandon, sturdy and grounded and thought to mean leader or prince. “This is the last night your sister will ever spend in the clutches of the Usurper.”

“Praise the Seven.” Then Clement adds diplomatically: “And the Old Gods too, of course.”

“It’s the end of the world,” Cregan Stark says, gazing up into the night sky where constellations tell the stories men deem worthy of remembering. “And the start of a brand new one.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“How did you learn to braid hair?” little Jaehaera asks you in her lilting, reedy voice like a bird’s. You are sitting behind her on the floor in Alicent’s bedchamber. Nearby, Autumn is flipping through a child’s book with Rhaenyra’s ever-solemn son, murmuring as she points to colorful illustrations of ravens, dolphins, bears, dragons, crabs. They are learning to read together.

“My sisters taught me,” you tell the princess. Firelight turns her silver hair to gold, her pale skin to flames. Logs crack and pop as they melt to glowing embers. Alicent glances over at you and sighs despairingly. The dowager queen, so thin she might disappear, is hunched in a chair by the fireplace. She has an unshakeable, rattling sort of cough that reminds you of how Sunfyre sounded on Dragonstone when he was near the end. Her long auburn tresses are falling out in handfuls. She will not survive the winter, this is a certainty.

“You have sisters?” Jaehaera says, surprised. “How many?”

You smile faintly as you weave her hair into one thick braid like the kind Aemond once wore when he went to battle. “Three. Piper, Petra, and Penelope.”

“Where are they now?”

“Back on Claw Isle, where I came from. With our mother.” Mourning Father, mourning Everett, writing letters to Clement to keep his spirits high as he and the Warden of the North march towards King’s Landing to slay the Greens’ king and bind me to a different man’s will.

“What’s Claw Isle like?” Jaehaera asks with a child’s clear, boundless curiosity.

“Rocky, misty, grey. But the ocean is beautiful.” You think of Aegon’s eyes, the same as his daughter’s, a murky storm-blue that is deeper than it looks.

“What brought you here?”

You consider this before you answer. You see it, you feel it: cinders like dark snow in the air, Aemond’s iron grip on your forearm. “When your father was burned at the Battle of Rook’s Rest, he needed someone to help heal him. Your uncle Aemond found me.”

“And he asked you to stay with us?”

He would have slit my throat if I said no. “Yes, he asked very politely, as any gentleman would. And of course I agreed. I wanted to make the king strong again. I wanted to take his pain away.”

Jaehaera stares down at her tiny hands, palms crossed with lines that are long and shadowy in the shifting firelight. She does not speak of Aegon. She does not know him, and he frightens her: the burns on his skin, the suffering in his glazed eyes. She has no memories to impress his true character upon her. If she does not make them herself, she will believe whatever she is told. “I miss Aemond. I miss Daeron.”

“I know, sweetheart.” They were formally laid to rest yesterday on two funeral pyres. Daeron’s bloodied, charred, seafoam green cape was burned to ashes on one. All that was left of Aemond—his favorite books, his quills and ink, small leather eyepatches from when he was a boy—were torched on the other. “I miss them too.”

Jaehaera’s braid is finished. You reach into a pocket of your emerald green velvet gown to retrieve what you have brought for her: a thin golden chain necklace with Aegon’s ring as a pendant. He can’t wear it anymore. His fingers are too swollen. “What is this?” Jaehaera says as you place the chain around her neck. She lifts the ring and peers at it, gold wings and jade eyes.

“It’s supposed to resemble Sunfyre,” you explain. “Your father loves you very much, Jaehaera. He wanted you to have this ring and keep it with you always.” Aegon didn’t say that; he rarely mentions Jaehaera at all. Sometimes you think he forgets she exists. But she is a part of him, she is his legacy, and you cannot look at any piece of her without seeing the man you love.

“He gave it to me? Like a gift?”

“Yes. A gift.” A gift, an inheritance, a relic, a reminder.

Jaehaera turns around and looks up at you hopefully, vast wave-blue eyes like winter oceans. “Do you think I’ll have another dragon someday?”

Her own infant beast, Morghul, was killed in the Dragonpit before Rhaenyra fled the city. “Maybe,” you tell her. “There are eggs that could hatch someday. And there are a few unclaimed adults left, Silverwing and the Cannibal. Perhaps you’ll tame one.”

She wrinkles her nose in confusion. “What’s a cannibal?”

Someone who murders, devours, fuels their body to the detriment of their soul. “Someone who eats their own kind. Like a dragon who feeds on other dragons.”

“So just like in the war. Dragons killing dragons.”

“Exactly,” you say, a shiver crawling down your spine. “Now go show your new necklace to Grandmother.”

Jaehaera wobbles to her feet and dashes across the firelit bedchamber to where Alicent is slumped in her chair. “Look, look! It’s Sunfyre!” you hear Jaehaera chirping. Alicent examines the ring—skeletal hands trembling, large dark eyes slick with tears—and dutifully fawns over it, telling the little girl how beautiful she looks, how brave she has been. Then she bundles Jaehaera into her boney arms and holds her like she’ll never let go. Autumn catches your gaze from the other side of the room, and when you leave to return to Aegon she follows.

“What is your plan if the Greens lose the battle?” she says in the hallway under an arc of grey stones. Her tone is urgent, her hazel eyes sharp. Everyone knows the Northmen are within days of King’s Landing. Borros Baratheon—a large, loud, abrasive man, but with a bottomless appetite for combat—and his soldiers will march out of the city tomorrow to meet Cregan Stark’s army on the fields of the Crownlands, sparse and grey with winter. The Lord of Storm’s End has spent hours locked in the council chamber discussing strategy with Larys Strong, Corlys Velaryon, and the misfortunate yet courageous Tyland Lannister, maimed by his months of torture at the hands of the Blacks.

“We won’t.” We can’t.

Autumn slams her palm against the wall behind you; the sick thud of flesh against stone reminds you of the day Helaena died. “Wake up. We might. You’d better have your options figured out.”

And you recall Larys’ words on Dragonstone: I think it’s time for you to consider what your options are if a Green victory no longer appears to be viable. “We’ll run,” you say weakly. “We’ll take Aegon and we’ll escape through the corridors under the Red Keep, just like he did before. Cregan Stark will kill Aegon if he finds him. I can’t let that happen. We’ll have to run.”

“Run where?” Autumn snaps pointedly, pushing you towards a conclusion you refuse to acknowledge.

“I don’t know.”

“Where? Where could we go that is beyond the grasp of your wolf if he seizes the capital?”

“Dorne, Essos. Somewhere, anywhere.”

“The king won’t survive a journey like that.”

You cover your face with your hands, feel the biting cold of snowflakes melting in your hair, see the stains of earth on your thighs as Cregan Stark forces them apart. How can I lie with a man who hailed the deaths of people I loved? How can I spend the rest of my life listening to him being called a hero for killing Aegon? How can I give him children? How could I love a baby that was half-made of him? “We ran before. We’ll have to do it again.”

Autumn scoffs. “You have no idea what it means to be a woman on your own in the world. What will you become without a great house, without protection? A prostitute? A peasant? Will you eat scraps covered with rot or mold? Will you live in a tree? Will you beg some family to take you in? And then when the father who is oh-so-gallant in daylight starts fumbling under your blankets once the candles are blown out, will you let him inside you? Or will you fight him off and risk a blade in your guts, your throat? You have no fucking idea what it’s like out there.”

“I don’t care what happens to me if Aegon’s gone.”

“You would abandon Jaehaera? You would abandon me?” Autumn demands. “You speak for us now. You are the only one who can. Our fates are twisted up with yours.”

That’s true. And I promised Helaena I would look out for her daughter. You can’t imagine a life without Aegon; there was a time when he was only a name—and an infamous one, a terrible one, soulless and monstrous—but now he has broken down the eaves of what you were once resigned to call your life and painted colors in the sky you’d never glimpsed before, never even dreamed of. You ask Autumn with genuine, painful bewilderment: “What is the point of learning that something exists only to have it taken away? Why would that happen? Where is the justice in it, where is the reason?”

Autumn smiles, sad and patient. “Ah, this is an affliction of the highborn. You still believe that there is a design, and that life has some amount of fairness in it. There is no divine judgment being passed, my lady. There is no god weighing the worth of your dragon or your wolf or yourself. Life is random, and it is ungovernable, and it is very often cruel. And that makes it all the more remarkable that you knew the king for the time you did. That you ever met him.”

It wasn’t enough. And I can never go back to who I was before. “I’m sorry. I should not complain to you. Your losses have been terrible.”

“It is no contest,” Autumn replies, weary now. “But I should go back to check on the children. They need me.”

“No. They love you.”

And now she beams, sparkling eyes and copper ringlets. She doesn’t need to say it, you can both feel it in the winter-cold air. She loves them in return. She loves them fiercely. As long as they live, she will have reasons to.

When you reach Aegon’s bedchamber, Grand Maester Orwyle is just leaving. He bows to you and grins, pleased that you have both survived the fall and retaking of King’s Landing. He is haggard from his months in the dungeons when Rhaenyra ruled the capital, but he endured. Who would have guessed at the start of this war that the old man had more years left than Aemond or Daeron or harmless little Maelor? You wait in the hallway for the maester to amble sluggishly by, but then when he is gone, you peer through the slit of the half-open door to see that Lord Larys Strong is speaking to Aegon, who is propped up in bed on a mountain of pillows and wearing only his cotton sleeping trousers. He is thin, frail, ghostly pale with the exception of the scars that are a mosaic of white and scarlet and bruise-like violet. Aegon and Larys have not noticed you. You linger just outside the doorway, watching, listening.

You can take care of Aegon as much as you wish now: feed him, clothe him, clean sweat from his brow, dose him with milk of the poppy, rub rose oil into his scars, stretch his legs, test the heat of his skin for fever. He’s too weak to stop you. He can’t walk, can’t stand, can’t stay awake for more than an hour or two at a time, can’t even pour his own wine or milk of the poppy; the glass bottles are too heavy when full. Yesterday, Aegon had to be carried outside in a litter to see the remnants of his brothers burned on the pyres. And he had exchanged a brief, somber glance with Autumn that you neither anticipated nor understood. He acknowledges her so rarely. And yet her small hazel eyes had been alarmed, knowing.

Larys is saying with a grave expression and his restless hands propped in the handle of his cane: “Lord Borros Baratheon is asking for your assurance that as soon as the war is won, you will take his eldest daughter Cassandra as your wife.”

Aegon stares at him, incredulously, impatiently. Aegon has not called you his wife in the company of others since his homecoming. You do not ask why. You already know. It is not because his intentions have changed; it is because if he is not the victor, your life is in less danger as his captive than as his queen. “Surely even a man as brainless as Borros can surmise that there would not be much benefit for the lady now. I am a worm. Useless, pathetic, deformed, no longer virile.”

“He is willing to take the chance, I gather. And he is placing his eggs in more than one basket. He would like another daughter, Floris, to be married to me.”

“Seven hells,” Aegon mutters. Then he turns determined. “I cannot marry another. I won’t do it. I am claimed already, body and soul.”

“I fear how enthusiastically Borros’ men will fight for you if you do not agree to the match. He is risking his life for your cause. He will expect generous repayment.”

Aegon is quiet for a long time. He stares fixedly at his bedside table: a full cup, a large glass bottle of milk of the poppy. His dagger is still there from when you cut and braided his hair for him this morning; he cannot do it himself anymore. At last Aegon says, almost too low for you to discern from the doorway: “He’s not cruel, is he?”

“Who? Borros Baratheon?”

Aegon glares at Larys. “No.”

After a moment, Larys realizes what his king means. “Cregan Stark isn’t cruel. I’ve heard many whispers from many mouths, but I’ve never heard that.”

“Look at me. Don’t lie to me.”

“He isn’t cruel,” Larys says again. “Perhaps the truth is worse. He is measured, competent, merciful, wise. He is honorable. The Manderlys want to torture everyone and the Boltons itch to sharpen their flaying knives but Stark forbids it. He respects the laws of war. He tries to avoid the slaughter of noncombatants. He forbids his men from burning farms or raping women. He is devoted to the woman you call your wife. He takes no mistresses, visits no brothels. Cregan Stark is not a monster. He’s not soulless. He’s just on the wrong side.”

Aegon nods slowly, then his face breaks into a humorless smirk. “Tell Borros Baratheon that I’ll marry whichever daughter he wants me to when the war is over. I’ll marry all four if that is his preference, and bed them all on the wedding night too, one right after the other. Agree to anything he asks for. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

It doesn’t matter because none of it will ever happen, even if the Baratheon army does win the Iron Throne for the Greens. It doesn’t matter because Aegon does not believe he’ll still be here in a month, or two weeks, or perhaps even days.

But he can’t mean that. He’s not thinking clearly. He’s confused, he’s exhausted, he’s in pain, you tell yourself, before remembering that Aemond said it first.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Larys is subdued, sorrowful. He bows deeply to his king. Then he turns to depart.

“One more thing,” Aegon says, gesturing to something on the side of his bed you can’t see from where you’re standing. “I hate to impose upon you further, but I can’t manage it myself. Can you take that and empty it somewhere? I don’t care where. But you must keep it hidden from my wife. The red-haired girl Autumn knows, and so do the maesters now. They are all sworn to secrecy. Can I trust you to exercise the same circumspection?”

Larys is gaping down at an object that is a mystery to you. He begins to stammer out a reply, stops to collect himself, and starts again. “Yes. Yes you can.”

“Good.”

Larys picks up the object; you are puzzled to discover that it is a chamber pot, white and porcelain. And as he navigates around Aegon’s bed and towards the door where you wait, you see that the vessel is full of blood.

You gasp before you can stop yourself, a razor-sharp inhale of breath that both men hear. They spot you, lurking in the doorway like someone lost, someone far from home. Shock bolts across Aegon’s face, and then frustration, and then defeat, and then profound misery.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to lie to you, I just knew…I knew you’d be upset and I…I didn’t want to hurt you. I’ve never wanted to hurt you.”

“How long?”

“It doesn’t matter, Angel.”

“How long?” you ask again. “Just since this morning?”

“Four or five days now.”

“Four or five…?” Your mind whirls like storm winds. He’s dying. He’s really dying. His kidneys are failing and there’s nothing I can do. I can’t cut him open and stitch him back together. There’s no wound to scrub clean with vinegar and then bandage with honey and linen. There’s no brew that can restore the rhythm of his blood and bones and nerves. He’s just dying. That’s all there is. That’s the beginning and the end of it.

“Please don’t cry,” Aegon says, reading your face. “Don’t do that, please don’t, I’ve hurt you enough already.”

His hands stretch out to close the space between you, and as Larys slips from the room you go to Aegon, climb into bed beside him, collapse into him as his arms catch you and rest your head against his bare, scarred chest, his feverish skin mottled with the history of wounds you helped close all those months ago. “I’m sorry,” you sob. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let you go after Baela and Moondancer on Dragonstone. I should have stopped you. I should have dragged you inside the castle to wait until Aemond and Vhagar could help you. I shouldn’t have let Aemond go to Harrenhal. I shouldn’t have let Daeron fly south. I shouldn’t have let Autumn go back to King’s Landing, and I shouldn’t have let Everett stay there. I shouldn’t have let Helaena leap from the window. I should have stopped Maelor from being sent to the Reach. I should have stopped Rhaenys and the Red Queen from taking flight to burn you in your armor at Rook’s Rest. I should have stopped this! I should have done something! The only good thing I’ve ever had to offer the world was healing but I can’t save anyone, I can’t stop their suffering, I can’t do anything!”

“None of it was within your control, and none of it was your responsibility. I am the king. The fate of my kingdom and my followers rests with me. I wear their spilled blood, not you. I am so full of red I’m overflowing with it.” And he chuckles, sardonic, exhausted. He’s already battling unconsciousness again; you can hear his heartbeat slackening, the slow laborious expanding and contracting of his lungs.

“Aegon,” you say softly, as if afraid to speak it into existence. “What happens if the Baratheons don’t win tomorrow?”

“They will. They have to. There’s nothing I can do for you if they lose.” Then he winces and groans. It’s his back again, his failing kidneys, overrun with so much ruin—burns and breaks and pressure and heartache—that their cadence faltered and then ceased. You grab his cup of milk of the poppy and tilt it against his lips; and how many times have you done this since you met him, burned nearly to death and half-mad at Rook’s Rest? A hundred? Aegon drinks it down, his arms still tight around your waist. They do not loosen until he’s out like a snuffed candle.

You refill the cup on his bedside table with milk of the poppy in case he needs more when he wakes, pick up the dagger you use to cut his disheveled hair, take it to the dresser. And in the cascade of silver moonlight flooding in through the windows, you practice laying the gleaming blade against your wrists, pressing it to the throbbing arteries of your throat, angling the sharpened point of it between a gap in your ribs and towards your racing heart.

Autumn. Jaehaera. Aemond’s child that Alys carries. I still have promises to keep. I still have tasks that cannot be left unfinished.

Helaena’s words surface like a drowned man dredged from the waves: You must whisper into the right ears.

You set the dagger down on top of the dresser and roam to the castle library where Aemond once spent so many hours. You collect a stack of anatomy books and carry them back to Aegon’s bedchamber. There, before the roaring fireplace, you devour them for any scrap of hope, any last resort. You turn pages until one illustration stops you. It is an unclothed man, his major veins etched in blue and his arteries in red, his nerves a faded yellow, his bones white and unshattered, his body a roadmap of the bricks and mortar used by the architects of nature. You have seen this image before. It is the same page Aegon teased you for studying when you were travelling by carriage back to the capital from Rook’s Rest.

You rip out the page, crumple it violently, pitch it into the fire and watch it burn.

~~~~~~~~~~

At dawn, Lord Borros Baratheon leads his men out of the city. You hear them through the glass panes of the windows, closed against the winter chill and flecked with frost: boots marching, hooves of warhorses clomping against cobblestones. They carry with them swords and spears and bows and morning stars like the one Criston Cole was famed for using. Meanwhile, throughout the city, civilians are arming themselves with anything they can find to ward off an invasion of Northmen, creatures they believe to be bestial and mindless. Men carry kitchen knives and clubs fashioned out of bits of furniture or driftwood. Women hide their young children in cupboards and under creaking wooden floors.

“I should be going with them,” Aegon says. He’s just taken another dose of milk of the poppy and is struggling to keep his eyes open. His long, slow blinks close his vacant eyes for ever-increasing intervals. You’ve changed his clothes and cleaned the sweat from his skin as best you can, but he’s burning from the inside out.

“You’re not able to fight, Aegon. Nobody faults you for that. Everyone knows you were wounded in battle.”

“They must think I’m a coward.”

“No, you inspire them. They love you. I love you.”

Aegon doesn’t say it back. He never says it back. He only offers you the same drowsy, mournful phrase of High Valyrian he always does, not knowing that Aemond told you what it means: To your misfortune.

Autumn is with the children in Alicent’s rooms. The castle is tense and as quiet as a crypt—Alicent weeps soundlessly, Larys paces the halls with Corlys and Tyland Lannister, everyone peeks out of windows constantly to see if bannermen of the victor have appeared on the horizon—but she keeps them distracted with stories and games. You cycle between Alicent’s bedchamber and Aegon’s. He is in and out of consciousness; sometimes you perch beside him on the bed, sometimes you lie curled up against him counting the beats of his heart, sometimes you help Autumn read to Jaehaera and Aegon the Younger. It is just after noon when the city bells begin to toll and screams rise from the streets outside the Red Keep. You and Autumn hurry to a window. In the distance, beyond the city gates, there is a swarming mass of infantry, cavalry, archers. Their banners, when you strain your eyes to decipher them, are not the brazen, vivid yellow of House Baratheon. They are night black and an icy, steely grey. They are the colors of House Stark.

“No,” Autumn says, denial in a protracted, helpless exhale. Alicent shrieks, frightening the children. You grab Autumn’s hand and lead her out into the hallway to warn the others if they don’t know already.

Lord Corlys Velaryon comes bounding up a staircase. “There are soldiers down in the secret passageways!” he booms. “Northmen! Armed! I’ve helped our guards bar the doors, but that won’t hold them back forever.”

Autumn looks to you. “Get the children ready to travel,” you tell her. “Find Larys and inform him.”

“Yes, my lady,” she says, and is gone. You sprint in the opposite direction towards Aegon’s bedchamber. You blow the door open like a strong wind, and Aegon startles awake. You rip through his dresser for things he will need: warm clothes, boots, his dagger, bottles of milk of the poppy.

“Get up, Aegon. We have to go. We’ll run, we’ll flee, there are Northmen in the tunnels but we’ll find another way out, we have to try, we have to, if they catch you they’ll—”

“Come sit with me,” he says from the bed, calmly, like you have all the time in the world. He is reaching out for you with one hand.

“What? No, we have to hurry—”

“Angel,” Aegon says. “I need you to come sit with me now.”

Why isn’t he afraid? Why isn’t he frantic? You cross the room with slow, numb footsteps. When you reach the bed, Aegon takes both of your hands in his own. And suddenly you know exactly what he is going to say. You remember what he told his brother in High Valyrian the last time Aemond left Dragonstone. Your voice is trembling and hoarse. Your throat burns like embers. “Aemond was supposed to be here to help us win. But he’s gone. Daeron, Criston, Helaena, Otto, Everett, Jaehaerys, Maelor, Autumn’s baby, so many people are gone.”

Aegon whispers, smiling softly as tears spill down his cheeks, one scarred and the other pure: “I’m not going to get better this time.”

“No,” you moan. “No, Aegon, no. You can’t say that, you can’t tell me that—”

“I’m not going to get better.” Now his palms cradle your face, forcing you to listen. “I’m not. And it’s okay. I’m not angry, I’m not scared. You’ve done everything you could and you’ve bought me more time and I’m so grateful. But I don’t want it to hurt anymore. I’ve been in pain for so long. I’ve been in pain my whole goddamn life.” He kisses you, like tasting something rare and fleeting. His thumbprint skates along the curve of your jaw, memorizing the angles of your bones, the rhythm of your pulse. “Please, Angel. I don’t want to try to run and die on the side of the road somewhere. I don’t want to die with Cregan Stark’s blade at my throat.”

You shake your head, unable to believe, unable to understand.

Aegon glances to the empty cup on his bedside table, to the large glass bottle of milk of the poppy. Then his eyes return to you. “You know how to do it.”

No. Never. But beneath those cold, dark, stormy waters: It would be painless. “I can’t,” you say, overwhelmed with horror.

“Listen, listen to me—”

“No—”

“Angel.”

“I can’t do that to you. Not to you. I can’t, I can’t.”

“When I’m gone, go to Cregan Stark,” Aegon says. “He is an honorable man, he will ensure your survival. He is the only person who can now. He wants to put his mark on the world. He wants to play Kingmaker. Let him. He can decree that my daughter will marry Rhaenyra’s son and ascend to the Iron Throne. He can end the war. Cregan will keep you safe. Tell him that I kidnapped you, that I forced myself on you. Tell him that I wanted an heir with Valyrian blood. Tell him that I was a drunk, a degenerate. Tell him whatever he wants to hear.”

“You would become a monster?”

“To protect you? I would become anything.”

He’s holding you, he’s pulling you into him until you can feel the fever bleeding from his flesh into yours, until you can number the knots of his spine and the ladder-rungs of his ribcage, counting them with your fingers through the sweat-drenched fabric of his cotton shirt. You draw back to look at him, to really look at him, sunken bloodshot eyes and rasping breaths, scar tissue of the body and the soul. You remember the day you met him, how he’d begged to die and been refused, how you brought him back. You postponed a debt, but you never paid it. It’s not possible to ever pay enough. You stack up gold coins in a vault until they touch the ceiling and still the Stranger comes knocking, jangling his purse sewn with scorched skin and chanting: more, more, more.

Aegon glances to the cup again. “How much?” he asks you, hushed like a prayer.

You don’t answer. Instead, you stand and go to the dresser. You open a small wooden door beneath the mirror. Your reflection is a woman you don’t know, someone who walks through fog and memory, someone made of ghosts. You take four clean cups from the cabinet and set them on Aegon’s bedside table. As he watches—eyes glassy with agony, lungs rattling—you fill them all with smooth, pearlescent, lethal liquid, as well as the empty cup that was already there. “Five,” you say, and it sounds nothing like you. “I think three at once would be enough. Five to make sure.”

He sobs with relief, and only now do you realize how badly he needed this. “Thank you. Oh gods, thank you.”

Your own words come back like an echo: I preserve life, I don’t take it. But that was a different lifetime, a different you. Aegon’s fingers are lacing through yours. He is drawing you back onto the bed, he is brushing your hair back from your face, he is kissing the path of tears down your cheeks so he doesn’t waste a drop of you. He’ll never get another taste, another chance; not in this life, not on this earth.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the end with you,” he says. “I really tried.”

“I know, Aegon.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough.”

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

He looks down at his left hand, then remembers where his ring has gone. He chuckles, darkly, bitterly, dismayed by all the failings he is built of. “I don’t even have anything to give you.” Then he remembers. “My dagger. Can you get my dagger?”

You are petrified. “Why?”

He grins, dull teeth beneath dazed eyes. “I’m not going to hack off a finger or my exemplary cock or something. I promise. Just get it.”

You fetch the dagger and bring it to the bed, and only then do you realize what he means for you to have. He points to it, then threads it through his pale, swollen fingers: his thin lock of hair that you’ve been weaving for him since the day you met. He wants you to take his braid.

“You’ll have to cut it yourself,” he says. “I don’t think I can.”

You hook the blade beneath the top of his braid, and with a few cautious slices of the dagger it is free. You tuck the braid into a pocket of your gown, thick black velvet to guard against the winter cold. Then you lay the dagger on the bedside table and pick up one of the cups filled to the brim with milk of the poppy. Your tears are scalding and torrential; it is almost impossible to see through them. You smooth back Aegon’s white-blond hair as you pour the blissful, deadly brew through his lips and down his throat, hating yourself, knowing it is the kindest thing you can do for him.

Suddenly, when the cup is half-drained, Aegon pushes it away. “You don’t have to be here. You don’t have to watch,” he says. “I can do the rest. Go, now. Right now. If the Boltons or some other house finds you before Cregan does, they might not recognize you. They might not care. You’re only safe with Cregan Stark. He has to find you first.” Aegon takes the cup with one shaking hand and presses a palm to your shoulder with the other. You haven’t moved. You can’t move. “Go. Leave me. Now. Please go. I love you, but you have to go now.”

“I can’t,” you choke out.

“You have to.”

“I’ve never wanted anyone but you.”

“Angel,” he says tenderly, smiling. “I’ll see you again. Just not too soon.”

“Okay,” you whisper, and you kiss him, traces of milk of the poppy on his lips that deaden the thunderstruck horror faintly, powerlessly, like small clouds drifting over the sun.

“If there’s anything interesting on the other side, I’ll find a way to let you know.”

The dreams, you think. “Okay,” you say again, barely audible.

“Now go. Right now. Go.”

You wipe tears from your face with your sleeve as you turn away from him. You can’t look back; if you do, you’ll never be able to walk out of this room. You take the dagger from the bedside table. Your bare feet pad across the cold floor. As you step through the doorway, on the periphery of your vision you can see Aegon swallowing down each cupful of poison as quickly as he can. It won’t take long to stop his heart. Minutes, perhaps. Seconds. You walk into the hallway. Autumn has just arrived with Jaehaera’s tiny hand clasped in her own. A few paces behind her, Alicent and Larys stand with Rhaenyra’s son. Two orphans without choices, two pawns in a much grander game.

Autumn is panicked. “Where should we go? What should we do?” Then she takes another look at your face. Her eyes go wide with terror. “What? What happened?”

“Follow me.” Your voice is low, flat, dark like deep water. Your eyes flick briefly to Lord Larys Strong. “Keep the boy here. He’s not safe with the smallfolk yet. But the Northmen won’t harm him.”

Larys knows. It’s over. He is devastated; and yet you think a part of him might be relieved as well. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“I’m not the queen anymore. I never really was.” You give him Aegon’s dagger. “I don’t think you’ll need this, Lord Larys, but now you have it in the event of any danger. Or in case I can’t convince Cregan Stark to spare you and you decide you’ve had enough of this world. You should get a say in how your life ends. You’ve earned it.”

Then you break away from them and glide through the Red Keep, Autumn and Jaehaera trotting swiftly behind you to keep up. You pass the rookery where Aemond wrote his letters. You sweep through the gardens where Helaena loved to collect her insects. You gaze down to the beach where Daeron landed on Tessarion under a dazzling sun before winter came like a plague to King’s Landing. From inside the castle, you can hear Alicent wailing as she discovers her last child’s lifeless body. What was all of this for? Why did this have to happen? Why didn’t anybody stop it?

Out on the streets of the city, the smallfolk have flocked with their makeshift weapons to defend their homes from the Northmen. But their eyes are darting everywhere and their faces are uncertain as they clutch their clubs made out of the legs of chairs and their rusty kitchen knives. They haven’t decided if it’s futile. They don’t want to be butchered for nothing.

“That’s Autumn!” they shout and sigh, especially the women. “The mother of the king’s bastard son, the one murdered by the half-year queen!” They reach out to skim their hands over Autumn’s gown, her long coppery hair, as if she is a saint or a spirit who can impart good luck upon them, who can change their fates. They fall to their knees to bow to Jaehaera, their king’s only living child, and she blinks at them with benign confusion.

But the smallfolk have a different reception for you. You hear their venomous chattering: “Is that the Celtigar woman?” “Her family put this city through hell.” “They served Rhaenyra.” “She’s a traitor, she’s a thief.” A few of them venture close enough to tug at your gown, to strike at you. A woman’s knuckles rap against your cheekbone, raising a bruise there like lavender in a dusk sky. You think dully: I wonder if they’ll gouge out my eyes with those knives like they did to Everett.

“Get back!” Autumn hisses, shoving the smallfolk away. And when she speaks, they listen. “She is going to the Wolf of Winterfell. She is my protector. She is your protector now too. She is the best chance you have left.” And the crowds open up and the three of you pass through King’s Landing unimpeded, though cloaked in thousands of fascinated gazes.

The King’s Gate has been abandoned; the guards must have feared the Boltons’ flaying knives or Lord Stark’s dark justice. Autumn instructs several hulking men of the smallfolk to open the gate if they wish to be spared from the wolf’s wrath. They are reluctant at first, but do as she asks. When the massive doors creak open, the people of the capital huddle behind the wall and peer out skittishly as you, Autumn, and Jaehaera advance to meet the Northmen, who are bloodied from battle and now within a hundred yards of the city. Above, the sky is thick and iron-grey and frigid. Snowflakes—the first of this winter to touch King’s Landing—begin to fall and land in your hair, and you are reminded of how embers rained from the smoldering pine trees at Rook’s Rest.

“Can you catch one on your tongue?” Autumn asks Jaehaera, and the little girl giggles as they both try.

The Warden of the North rides an immense, shaggy warhorse at the head of what remains of his army. He recognizes you immediately, dismounts, approaches with determined, unbreakable strides. Clement is close behind him.

“You’re alive!” your brother shouts joyously. “And apparently not pregnant with a Targaryen bastard! Praise the gods!”

Cregan Stark does not act as if he’s heard this. The Warden of the North is not as you remember him; he is larger, heavier and broader from the muscles won in battle, coarsened by weather and war. His hair is long and dark and pulled back from his face. He wears a sword at his belt that is taller than you are when it’s unsheathed. He is entombed in leather and furs. He does not hesitate before he lays his hands you. You are betrothed to him, you are his property, would a man ask before he grabs his horses or his dogs?

The Warden of the North does not seize your forearm roughly like Aemond once did. Instead, his massive palms and fingers clasp your face as he marvels at you. You can feel the stains of dirt and ashes he leaves there. You want to scream when he touches you, but you can’t. You want to burn with rage and heartache until you crumble like ruins. Your life is already over. Your life has just begun.

“You have suffered greatly,” Cregan Stark says, a marriage of shock and reverence.

“You have no idea.” Perpetual Resurrection, you think. It doesn’t mean you come back better. It just means you’re still here.

“You are safe now,” Cregan swears. “The Usurper will never harm you again.” And it ends the same way it began: with a man mistaking your allegiance and beckoning you into a destiny that he wholeheartedly believes is greater than any you could have envisioned for yourself.

“He’s dead.”

This stuns Cregan. “When? How?”

“Today. Of old wounds sustained in battle.”

He looks at Jaehaera, noticing her for the first time. “Is that his daughter?”

“Yes,” you say. “She must always be treated with kindness. She must be protected.”

“You have an affinity for her,” Cregan notes, intrigued.

You hear Aegon’s voice, so clearly it cuts like a blade: Tell him whatever he wants to hear. “We have been through great trials together. We survived the same monster.”

The Warden of the North nods. This is a story he craves to be told. “Very well. If it is your wish that she not be discreetly disposed of as a Silent Sister, I will betroth her to Rhaenyra’s surviving son. They will unite the noble houses of Westeros and end this war.”

“The worst of the Greens are dead already. Those who remain should be shown mercy. Alicent is old and ill and broken from loss. She poses no threat. She should be permitted to remain in the company of her granddaughter. Corlys was loyal to Rhaenyra until she falsely imprisoned him for treason, and he belongs on Driftmark with Rhaena. Larys Strong, Tyland Lannister, and Grand Maester Orwyle, if no pardon can be arranged for them, should go to the Wall instead of the scaffold. And Autumn, my companion there with Jaehaera…she was a true friend to me. I owe her my life several times over. She must be permitted to stay with Jaehaera and Aegon the Younger as a caretaker, and reside in comfort in the Red Keep for the remainder of her days.”

“Who do you think you are, sister?!” Clement exclaims. “You’re speaking to the Kingmaker, not some handmaiden! You do not command him!”

“I am not commanding,” you counter levelly. “I am pleading for mercy on behalf of imperfect souls who showed me kindness during my captivity. If granted, I will consider these my wedding gifts.”

“She is remarkable, is she not?” Cregan Stark says, grinning to Clement and several other men who have ventured closer. They wear the sigils of Northern houses: Bolton, Cerwyn, Manderly, Hornwood, Dustin. They chuckle in agreement, stroking their wild beards with huge filthy hands. “Dauntless but merciful. Clever but obedient.” And then the Warden of the North claims your lips with his, chaste but overpowering, the first of a thousand kisses you never desired, a thousand acts of affection for a woman who isn’t really you, feigned resignation and bitten-back rage, eternal war with the interminable knowledge that there is something more, more, more…you just aren’t permitted to have it. It was taken from you, it was ripped from your hands like stolen treasure.

All your life you will have to murmur in wounded agreement when people recount the terrible sins of the Usurper. All your life you will have to praise Cregan Stark for killing millions to rescue you. And the days will pass, weeks, months, years, summers and winters, the births of your children and their own marriages; and when Cregan’s boy Rickon, born of his first wife, produces only daughters, your son Brandon and his descendants will become the heirs to Winterfell. In the desolate North—so far from the ocean, so far from everything Aegon ever knew—your greatest solace will be letters from Autumn as she learns to read and write, books that your husband orders for you from the Citadel, setting bones and treating burns, a tiny lock of braided silver hair that you keep in a hidden drawer of your jewelry box, dreams that you never want to wake up from.

But one day, decades after you leave King’s Landing, you will receive a raven from Queen Jaehaera Targaryen, and she will ask you: You knew the Greens in your youth, Wardeness Stark. You knew Aemond, Daeron, Helaena, Alicent, Otto, Maelor, Aegon the Usurper. What can you tell me of them? What was my father like? Who was he really?

And you’ll pick up your quill and begin writing.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader

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tadpolesonalgae · 1 year ago

Text

Dark!Rhysand x reader: mine.[***]

A/N: Razzled, dazzled and frazzled my mind

(This isn’t dark dark, but just be wary!)

Warnings: dub-con, hate sex?, dark!Rhysand, CNC kink

Word Count: 5,297

“Where the hell were you last night?”

Blink wearily, attempting to locate the voice. Head is pounding, floor swaying ever so slightly. Gods, you should have watched how much you drank. Blearily stumble forward, clutching your purse tight to make sure you don’t misplace it again. Intricately detailed shoes peek into your vision, the dark leather neatly indented with swirls and dots. You look up; violet splashes across your world, head twinging at the startling colour. “Mother, Rhys. Your eyes.”

Hands press over your own, soothing their ache, providing pleasant reprieve from the bright vibrancy. He steadies you as you sway, roughly holding you straight by your hips. Hear as he scents you. “You drank too much again, didn’t you?” You groan at his protective nature, batting his hands away. “I’m fine, Rhys,” you snap, “I’m capable of looking after myself.” Squint up at him in time to catch a muscle feathering in his jaw. “Forgive me for doubting you, Lady.” He steps aside, gesturing with his arm for you to walk past. “I trust you’ll be perfectly capable of making it to your chambers?”

Scowl at his arrogant tone, warily eyeing the staircase. Pride won’t let you back down, though, so you put one heeled foot in front of the other, steadily marching away. Until the room tilts, and you stumble.

His scent engulfs you, firm warmth wrapping around your middle, large hands gripping your waist, keeping you upright. You regain your balance, then push out of his hold. “Seriously, I’m fine,” you snap again, embarrassment warming your features. He scoffs, still holding you to his warmth, “you were about to shatter your nose on the marble.”

“I was not!” You insist. He stares at you hard, pinning you to the floor with that sharp, violet gaze of his. Dips his head once, and releases you.

Your legs give out, making you yelp as you drop to the floor, knees surely going to bruise from the impact. Spine hurting, too, from how you landed on it. Curse at him under your breath, then glare upward. “You’re a dick, Rhys.”

“You’re irresponsible, and clearly unable to handle your alcohol,” he growls softly, violet taking on an icy hue. “Do you even remember any of last night? Anything you did? Where you went?”

Brow narrows; lips purse. You look away from him.

Jaw tightens. “I thought not.”

Glare up at him, getting to your wobbly feet. “That’s my choice, Rhys. Quit being so controlling. I can do what I want, so stay the hell out of it.”

His temper flares in response, hands gripping your hips, hard. Pulls you tight against his chest. Releases the damper on his power, pressure weighing on your bones as your knees again turn weak, relying on his strength to keep you upright. Grip shakily onto his arms, steadying yourself as your heartbeat spikes.

“Prove you’re capable of being responsible for yourself, for once, and I’ll stop,” he snarls, gaze turning indigo. “But as it stands, any number of things could have happened to you, and you don’t even seem to care.”

“It’s not your business to care,” you manage, voice straining beneath him. He snarls roughly, fingers biting into you, putting bruises into your hips. Suck in a sharp hiss at the sting, flattening your palms over his chest, attempting to push away from him. He grips harder; you whimper.

Muscle stiffens at the sound, sharp arousal piercing his mind, watching from an elevated view how you squirm in his hold, how you fit against him. So clearly made for him. Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you feel how well you mould against his body?

“What if some other male had you like this, huh?” He growls, softly. “There’s nothing you could do. Do you not understand that?” His own heart spikes at the idea alone. If you were somehow subjected to even a fraction of what he went through Under The Mountain… Rage pounds in his heart, fury ripping at his insides. That will never happen to you. Never.

You tip your head upward, craning your neck to peer at him. “You’re the most powerful High Lord in Prythian’s history. That’s hardly a fair example,” you snap weakly, having a hard time resisting his pull. His upper lip curls back, showcasing sharp, gleaming canines. How would they feel on your skin? “There are many other males out there. Certainly nowhere near as powerful as I am, but strong enough to take you if they wanted. And yet you insist on putting yourself at their mercy.”

A snarl rips from your throat. “So it’s my fault they’re like that? Fuck off, Rhys. You’re better than that.” His grip tightens further, your hands flying to his, attempting to push him off you. Tears blur from the pain, but anger surges quick behind. “Get off me. You’re hurting me,” you manage, glaring up into darkened violet, pupils dilating before your eyes.

He can feel the heat from your body, feel the supple press of your stomach as you writhe against him, how you’re inadvertently rubbing over him. Cock twitching behind the seam of his fitted trousers. “What would you do?” He repeats, staring down at you as you squirm, chest rising and falling lightly. “What could you do?”

Breath pants softly from your lips, the swell of your breasts pushing against the crisp dark linen of his neatly pressed shirt. Mouth parted invitingly, your own eyes dipping briefly to his own, flicking over curiously—absently. Something flits through your gaze, resistance draining from your form, almost melting against him. At last.

His heartbeat spikes, temperature raising as your hands raise from his chest to his shoulders. Almost inquisitively, hesitant of what’s happening. Push up onto your tiptoes, eyes again flicking down to his mouth. His head quietens, memories of what you were talking about vanishing, zeroing on the offer you’re laying out before him. How your eyes are clouding, and you’re…

A snarl rips from his throat as you slam your heel on his toe, landing a brutal kick to his shin. Darting out of his hold, stumbling backward. “I could do that, for starters,” you huff, breathing heavily as you regain your sense now that his power isn’t utterly overwhelming you. He could expand it to reach you, though. “I’m not as helpless as you might think, Rhys. So piss off.”

Fury clouds his vision, darkness wrapping around his mind.

Sharp, glittering talons breech your mind, keeping you frozen to the floor. Back turned on your High Lord. Can’t even swallow, rooted to the spot.

“And what about now?” He growls, softly. Shoes tap lightly along the marble floor, leisurely and refined. A beast who knows his prey is trapped. “What would you do against another with my set of gifts, hm? Your mental walls are as strong as tissue when you’re drunk.” Mind is pulsing, awareness prickling your skin as those talons scrape menacingly against your walls, cupping your conscious in the palm of his hand. As if those claws encapsulate your entire body, skin littered with goose-pimples.

“Rhys…” Your voice is strained, dragging against the rawness of your throat. Heat radiates into your back, powerful arms snaking around your middle, keeping you tight to his chest. Hips pressing into your ass. Spine curves subconsciously, pushing into him. “Why do you insist on making me worry so much?” He whispers beside your ear, one hand gliding up over your front, brushing up the line between your breasts. Cupping your throat; holding, lightly. Tipping your head back so it’s resting against his shoulder. “Do you enjoy seeing me like this? Enjoy these arguments, hm?”

A shiver licks its way down your spine at the softly-spoken roughness of his words. “I don’t…” Swallow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Fingers are trembling with indecision. You should pull him off you, shouldn’t allow this type of touching. Blatant and unrestricted. Burning through your clothes.

“No?”

Heart spikes at the lilt. Swallow again beneath his palm, wrapping around to the base of your neck. “It’s my choice is I want to go out…” you manage, breathing heavier. Head spinning from how his scent is overpowering you, power thrumming in the air, buzzing beneath your skin. Zapping at your clit, making you ache. “It’s my body, Rhys…”

“I don’t think it’s truly yours right now is it, little lynx?”

Awareness prickles at your skin, nipples peaking beneath your dress—there’s no way he could miss it. Neither that nor the stiffening of your body as you try to regain some control over yourself. Try to find those lethally sharp talons, and push them from your mind, one at a time. “That’s not fair… Let me go,” you manage steadily, hands overlapping his own, fingers settling between his own, attempting to weakly tug him away.

His lips part in a smile, brushing against your cheek, the weight of his piercing gaze heating your features. “Do you really want that?” He asks, hand tightening around your throat, possessive ownership. Like a collar. Your temperature spikes at the low implication—how could he possibly know… “Rhys…” you warn. Try to. It sounds a little too close to a whine for your tastes. He hums against your back, something turning to molten liquid between your thighs.

Grit your teeth, pulling harder at him, attempting to squirm away. Shifting in his tight hold, one arm still wrapped flush over your abdomen, pressing you back into him. “Rhys, let go of me.”

Quiet stretches between you, then his hold tightens almost imperceptibly, giving you a suggestive squeeze. Like he won’t let you go, like your demand means nothing to him, because he doesn’t need to listen to you. You’re already his, he knows you completely and utterly; he knows you don’t want him to listen to you.

But then he releases his hold on you, and cold rushes your back. Steps in front, towering over you. “I may have let you run free, but I doubt you would have enjoyed being held captive by another male,” he drawls lowly, hands sliding into his pockets, the portrait of lethal grace. Pulls back, standing to his full height, marking how the breath puffs from your parted lips, peering up at him hungrily. Do you even know how you’re looking at him?

Takes a step back, then turns on his feet, prowling off deeper into his home. Aiming for his office, if you remember correctly. Peers at you from over his shoulder, lips twisted into a feline grin, “you know you’re always welcome to spend a night in. I’m sure the alcohol in the cellar will be of a much finer quality.”

Then he’s disappearing off through a doorway, leaving you staring after him. Body unnaturally flushed, despite the lack of wine in your system.

————

It’s long past midnight and you’re long past sober.

Not enough to be blackout but rationality has long since left your body.

A droplet of wine trickles from the corner of your mouth and you hastily lower the bottle to feel as it drips down to your chest, seeping into the fabric of your night robe. Quickly dry the wet spot, disliking the way the material stuck to you. Wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, gripping the neck of the wine bottle, wondering what havoc you could wreak.

You could go out into the night…nose scrunches at the idea. You’re all cozy and tucked away in here, no way you’re going to change into a tiny dress and heels that make being out and drunk even more dangerous. You could go to bed…but that’s boring, and you’re wide awake. Slightly hungry, too. Lick your lips as an idea springs to mind, grabbing another bottle as you go. Mouth quirks upward as you imagine the chaos you’ll get to inflict upon your unsuspecting High Lord.

————

Push the door wide without knocking and saunter in, drunkenly wobbling on bare feet.

“Morning, Rhys,” you greet, violet eyes flicking up to meet your own the second you were in view. He switches his attention to the antique clock ticking on a wall, checking the time. You are, unfortunately, correct. It is, technically, morning. “Good morning,” he drawls, sitting upright, attention skating to the tops of your thighs, the hem of your silky night top barely swaying over the skin. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

You’re already at his desk by the time he’s finished his question, pushing the bottle over. “How well can you handle your liquor, High Lord?” You ask mischievously, challenge gleaming in your gaze. Violet dips to how your hand is wrapped around the neck of your own bottle, raising it to your lips; drinking deeply. “Better than you, at the very least,” he replies, noting the patch of damp fabric around your neck.

A scowl creases your brows as you glare at him, taking another sip before you do anything rash. “You’re being disagreeable,” you snap, drying the edges of your mouth with your thumb. Enjoying how intently he’s watching. He quirks a neatly groomed brow, challenge lighting his violet eyes. “I am?”

“Just drink the damned thing,” you mutter, folding your arms over your chest stubbornly. “Shouldn’t you be leaping for joy that I’m not ‘putting myself at some other male’s mercy’,” you mimic, lowering you voice in a poor attempts to match his own.

Lips quirk as the stopper vanishes from the bottleneck, leaning back in his chair, taking a decadent drink of the lovely wine. Heat pools between your thighs at the roll of his throat. Then he’s lowering it to his desk, setting it down on the mahogany. “So you’ve decided to put yourself at mine instead?” Nose wrinkles at how he’s phrasing it. “I should have poisoned yours.” Violet eyes gleam with mischief. “It’s not too late,” he hums, attention flicking to the wine before him.

Roll your eyes, muttering under your breath, taking another gulp…and you’re out. Scowl deepens as you glare. It was practically full five minutes ago. Grumble to yourself, on the brink of turning to return to the cellar, when he winnows to be at your back. Arm is again pressed over your abdomen, except this time his hand is splayed lightly. Breath catches in your throat as he keeps you tight to his chest.

“Where do you think you’re going, little lynx?” He asks beside you ear, breath feathering over your skin. Brow narrows, head instinctively tipping back to rest against his shoulder, trying to peer up at him. “I’m getting another,” you respond, practically jumping at the opportunity to lean back against him; relieve the weight from your tired feet. Lips quirk, feeling you sink into him. Magic zips across your skin, then he’s raising something to your mouth.

Eyes flick down, spotting how he’s called over his own bottle, gently putting it against your lips. Encouraging you to drink. And maybe— No, you definitely flick your tongue out over the head, guessing at the kind of reaction it will evoke from the male. Hand tightens over your abdomen, but other than that, he merely tilts the bottle higher, watching as the liquid pours into your mouth. Raises it higher, greedily marking how a drop or two trickles down the corner of your lips.

Scowl at him when he steps away, moving to wipe away the dampness before it can splash down onto your night robe. But he spins you around, violet eyes commanding you not to do a thing. Damn him.

Instead, he grips your chin, tipping you upward. Feeling at the droplet cascades down to the hollow of your throat, reaching your collar bones— “Rhys!”

Muscles tense as he attaches his mouth over the bare skin, lightly sucking away the alcohol. Swallow as his tongue flicks out, softly, with slow, gentle strokes. Lapping up the warm path. Hands tremble at your sides, caught between shoving him away and tugging him closer. “Rhys…” you mumble, voice fragile in the quiet. Travels up your neck, flicking out beneath your jaw, tasting your skin, licking the corner of your mouth. Pulls away with hunger in his eyes. Knees feel weak, trembling at the thrumming intensity about him.

You swallow heavily, heartbeat spiking at that male look. “What…?” Peer up at him, spine tingling with anticipation, fingers trembling with uncertainty. His tongue again flicks out over his lip, heat flaring between your thighs, observing cautiously. Clear your throat, trying desperately to pull out from his hold. “Bold move.”

The High Lord raises a single brow, violet sparkling in his gaze. “It was nothing of the sort,” he counters smoothly. You frown up at him, “do you do that with all you lady friends, Rhysand?” Stars glitter in his eyes, mirth dancing, “male friends, too.”

You scoff, batting his chest once, “I’m being serious.” A low chuckle drags from his throat, his hands settling on your hips softly, touch like a brand. “Are you interested in seeing a truly bold move?”

Lips part at the blatant invitation, staring at him. Eyes flick away temporarily, considering. Return to his after a second of contemplation. Shrug your shoulders nonchalantly. “How bad could it be?”

A feline smile graces his hellish mouth, then he’s pushing you backward, walking you until his desk digs into backs of your thighs. One hand steadies yourself on the surface, the other landing high on his upper arm, over the swell of well-earned muscle. Quirk your brow in competition. “My, my, Rhysand. How brazen you are—”

His mouth attaches to the sensitive skin of your neck, sealing over a point between your shoulder and throat, sucking and nipping.

Mouth parts in surprise, back arching into him. One of his own hands winding around your waist, making your spine curve as his hips press against your own. Fingers press into him at the abrupt move forward, the way he’s pinning you to his desk as he laps over your skin. Taking what he wants.

“Rhys…” you murmur, breathing a little faster than you were a few moments ago. He doesn’t pull away, switching to a spot lower down, bringing his canines out this time. Gasp as they prickle at your throat, scraping across your skin. “Rhys, stop,” you mumble, pushing lightly at his shoulder.

He doesn’t budge.

Heart picks up a beat as he bites harder, making you hiss. Legs turning weak as he keeps you still, hips pressing tight into your own while he occupies himself with your taste. “Cut it out,” you hiss, temperature rising as you push harder. “I know you’re not that drunk, Rhys. You’ve barely had anything, so—”

You get a little dizzy as his hand slides down the curve of your ass, settling over top with male propriety. Squeezing with interest. Back arches, arms twisting up over his broad shoulders. He growls softly against your throat, nosing at the bruises he’s already begun painting onto you. Nips at a space beneath your jaw. Breath catches in your throat as he pulls away, standing up to his full height. “Bold enough for you?”

Heart picks up speed again, uncontrollable heat pooling between your legs, surely dense enough he’ll be able to scent it by now. Blatant want.

Raise your hand before you can think twice, smacking him square across the jaw.

Violet eyes widen, staring at you. Gingerly raises his fingers to feel the sting of the skin. Watches you, features unreadable.

“I told you to stop,” you grit out, pulling your hands to your chest, shielding yourself. “What’s wrong with you? You’ve been acting off since this morning.”

A low snarl drags from his throat then, hands gripping your hips tighter, pressing into the earlier formed bruises. “So you’re back to acting like this, huh?” You swallow at the tone, the rough drag of the letters as they leave his tongue. Straighten your spine. “Like what?” You snap, attempting to edge away as much as you can, shifting your weight more onto the desk. Legs parting a little in the process.

It’s space he quickly takes advantage of, stepping to be closer between your thighs, pushing you back so you’re almost seated atop the surface. “Pretending,” he growls. “Teasing.” Hands settle around your waist. “Taunting.”

Lip curls back from your teeth, “you aren’t entitled to my affections, High Lord.” He laughs, roughly, palms splaying flat against your skin. An arrogant presumption. Shifts you so you’re fully on his desk, allowing him to press between your thighs. “How much wetter did you get from having my title on your tongue?”

Arousal turns molten in the pit of your belly, hands flatten against the mahogany, steadying yourself as he presses in. “That’s none of your business,” you breathe, shifting backwards. “Even in your position, you keep your nose out of my life, Rhysand.” He hums, the sound rumbling in his chest, peering down at your from his vantage point. “Weren’t you the one to come drunkenly stumbling into my office?” He drawls, mouth so close to your own you can practically feel its softness. “Barely dressed, at that. What sort of message do you think that sends?”

Brow narrows, attempting to glare up at him. “I think it shows that I expect basic decency from you, and that I don’t think I’ll get taken advantage of for respecting your request to be a little more careful where I drink.”

“Maybe I should listen to what you’re saying,” he growls softly, peering down at you. “But I don’t think that would be the right way to bed you.”

A wave of arousal crests over you, washing over your body, ravishing it with heat. Thighs part wider for him, speechless from the brazen answer. “That’s a hell of a lot of assuming you’re doing,” you manage weakly, on the verge of succumbing to him entirely. Mouth quirks into a distinctly Rhys-like grin, “tell me I’m wrong.”

The challenges ripples across your skin, prickling beneath the intensity of his gaze. As though he’s stripping you naked, inch by inch. Swallow around the pressure that’s contracting your throat, violet tracing its roll. “I…” Heart kicks up, heat bubbling between your thighs, anticipation thick enough to be cut with a knife. Swallow again.

“I thought not.” Then his mouth is forcefully crushing against your own, hands roughly gripping your waist; your hips. Dragging you to be tight against him, thighs pushed so ankles lock at his back. Tongue pries your lips apart, stroking over your own, gathering, tasting you. Groans roughly into the hot, open-mouthed kiss, holding you flush to his chest. The swell of your breasts rises and falls with the hurried pants, temperature spiking as he invades and conquers, waging war on your body. Taking it for his own.

Eyes flutter shut, and he’s shoving you back onto his desk, ink pots spilling, papers scattering, shooting up before raining to the floor. Mouth detaches from your own, only to reattach to that— “fuck…” He targets it mercilessly, scraping the sharp point of his canines over the sensitive patch, biting roughly, marking. Spine arches upward, legs locking firmly around his hips as he thumbs away the straps of your night gown. Pushing them off your shoulders, practically tearing the material away to make room for his tongue; his teeth.

The High Lord leaves a path of bruises in his wake, nipping and kissing his way to your breasts. Gasp when his licks over a peaked nipple, fingers threading in his hair, nails scraping. “Rhys…” you pant, hips winding, bucking against his own, feeling the prominency of his own arousal. How big he is. Good Gods.

Pulls away, chest rising and falling slightly, staring down at you with dilated pupils. A beast taking in his catch for the night. Staring down at his meal. It makes heat swarm your body, breathing quickening. “What are you waiting for?” You pant, staring up at him, trying not to think about how ink is almost certainly staining the soft fabric of your night shift.

Teeth flash in a vicious smile. “I thought you didn’t want this?” Brow narrows, lip pulls back from your own teeth. Move to shove away from him, but his palm presses down over your sternum, pinning you effortlessly to his desk. “I don’t,” you snap weakly, the pressure from his hand keeping your voice soft. He hums in response, then your legs are being forcefully unhooked from his hips. Fingertips bite into the underside of your thighs, and then they’re pushed back, positioned close to your sides, bent at the knee.

“Rhysand!” You snarl.

Palm smacks over your mouth as he licks up your centre. Hissing at the pleasurable violation.

He pulls back, grinning arrogantly from between your thighs, lips glistening. “You taste like you want it.”

“Well. I don’t,” you manage to grit out, hands clenching into fists. His brow quirks, seeing through your lies, but makes to retract from your aching cunt. You hiss softly, ankles locking as your legs hook over the broad width of his shoulders. “You’ll damn well finish what you started, High Lord.”

Rhys chuckles roughly, sending fire licking between your thighs, more wetness pooling as he drags it out. “So demanding,” he taunts, “and here I was, thinking about giving it to you for free.” He stands up to his full height, pulse spiking as his dexterous finger drop to the ties of his leathers, slowly pulling them loose. “But I suppose if I’m going to give you something, it’s fair to get something, in return.”

Throat dries out as he pushes away the constriction, large hand wrapping around his cock, allowing it to rest heavily over your cunt. “Don’t you dare,” you hiss, attempting to push up from his desk. Sharp talons pierce through your foggy mental walls, forcing you back down. Laughs cruelly, heat pounding between your thighs. Almost begging for him to slide home. To slam in to the hilt. The idea alone nearly makes your eyes roll form pleasure.

His grin widens as if he’s read your mind, arousal wrapping around your senses, filtering into your body through your lungs. Your own personal aphrodisiac.

“Don’t I dare what?” He taunts. Lethally quietly. Marks the roll of your throat.

“You know what I’m talking about,” you manage shakily, fingers gripping the edge of the desk, thighs subconsciously parting. His hips pull back, tip catching on your clit as he goes, making you flinch. Presses himself to the soft, wet dip. Positioning himself at your entrance. “I don’t think I do,” he murmurs back, leaning over your body, caging you in, hands wrapping around your wrists. “Tell me. Tell me what you don’t want me to do.”

Need pulses in your veins, short-circuiting your already hazy mind.

“Fuck me,” you manage, eyes glued to his lips, close enough to brush your own should you rise from the surface. “Don’t fuck me,” you breathe, struggling to keep your lids from fluttering shut. He offers a non-committal hum, violet dancing with mirth, lips quirking into a smirk. “What a shame.”

He slams in to the hilt.

A long moan drags from your lips, involuntarily tightening around him, hips pressing flush to the backs of your thighs. Spine bows from the furniture, eyes squeezing shut to keep in the tears of pleasure. You can only imagine how he would crow with cockiness if he saw how good you’re feeling. Breathe out shakily, and immediately suck another down. Open your mouth to speak, but he draws back, and slams in.

Air is shoved from your lungs, needing to make room for him, to accompany his size. Head tips back, eyes squeezed shut, fingers grasping at something to hold on to. His large hands grip your hips, pressing against the painful bruises, setting a brutal pace, pounding into you again and again. Pleasure blinds your vision, wildly grappling for something to hold onto, to keep you steady, ink wetting the pads of your fingertips.

He doesn’t allow you time to rest, not even a second. Slamming into you, touching those spots that make you sob, tears cascading back into your hair. He curses, low and vicious, attention glued to how you’re taking him. Wet squelches ring through the office, shallow pants and rough groans accompanying in the background.

Manage to crack your eyes open, peering up at him: flushed skin, colour tinting his cheeks, dark, inky swirls peeking from beneath the slightly unbuttoned shirt. Hands using your hips to slam you back against him, making certain he gets everywhere you need him. Thumb brushes over your clit, and you gasp. Nails pierce the wood, crying out in pleasure as he completely overwhelms you. Mind goes dumb, narrowing in on the feel of him, how he’s pressing against every delicious place. You don’t stand a single hope of lasting.

“Rhys…!” You whimper, teeth biting down into your lower lip.

Violet latches onto you, pinning you beneath him. “Close?” He smirks, thumb gently circling your clit, just adding that delicious edge for you to ride on. Cocky bastard. You would tell him as much if you had any capacity left for speech. “I thought you didn’t want me to fuck you?” He mocks, the lilt of his voice causing you to tighten around him. “I thought you would have hated this. Are you going to cum while hating me, too?”

Leans closer, the angle of his cock shifting within you. Tilting your hips upward a little.

Lips part as your orgasm lights your entire body, waves of pulsing heat and pleasure rolling through. Toes curl, eyes roll, spine bows. Arcing toward him like he’s pulling at your waist. Dear God above me… His violet eyes weight down on you, practically able to feel as they rove across your body, taking in your pleasure as it crashes into him.

Hips stutter, throwing you off, sending fresh, stronger waves coursing through your thighs. Hot cum spills into you, feeling how it fills you up, putting himself inside of you. Marking his territory. You’re his. His to pleasure, his to fuck, his to own. Utterly submitted.

Teeth bite into your throat as he rides out the aftershocks of his orgasm, tugging your head to one side to give him clear access. Stamping his ownership into every available point on your body. There’s no way he’ll allow you to cover those. He’d only create more, in increasingly obvious spaces, until his bruises are scrawled across every inch of skin. Scent infused with your own.

Rhys’ mouth finds yours, lips parting, tongue flicking over the roof of your mouth. It’s slower than before, a more leisurely exploration. There’s no hurry now. He’s taken you for himself. Can have you whenever he pleases in his mind. You moan softly, worn out from the strain of withstanding such intensity.

He pulls away, hand tangling in your hair, raising from the surface. “I suppose you positively despise me now?” He asks, tone lilting with mocking grace. Eyes gleaming with mirth. You scowl, inky fingers threading in the soft, silky locks. “I fucking hate you,” you snap in response, tugging his mouth back over your own.

Rhys laughs into the kiss, hips pressing back against your thighs, keeping his cum deep inside. Reminding you of the power he now has over you. Legs tighten, encouraging him to use it. To take advantage of it again.

Stars dance in violet eyes, a dark promise conveyed with a single look.

He’ll make you cum again and again until you’re begging for reprieve. And even then he’ll force one after the other, until you’re turning limp in his arms.

It’s not something you fear.

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