#just a baby dark lord obsessing over a married man

[jlhynde-insanitybrilliance]

*Tom doing everything in his power to launch the tomarry ship in UDLTTOM*

*Harry listing every single reason it’ll never, ever, ever, happen*

Tom:

[chloe-petrichors]

cradling constellations // jace x reader

when rhaenyra brings her family to court to celebrate the king's fiftieth name day, there was but one thing on your mind: getting to see jace, the boy you'd loved in secret, once more.

whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. —emily brontë

fandom; house of the dragon pairing; jacaerys velaryon x f!aunt!reader (no use of y/n) warnings; canon-typical incest, canon-au (it's viserys' birthday party baby), altered timeline (jace and reader are in their 20s) idiots in love, instant attraction/love at first (second) sight, childhood sweethearts (kinda?), soulmate vibes, love confessions, switching povs, smut (mdni !) including masturbation (m), p in v, fingering, oral (f receiving), implied loss of virginity, unprotected sex, mild marriage kink if that’s even a thing, body worship, dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, mild overstimulation, soft dom vibes, jace being a tits man. word count; 15k+ (oops) notes; me, obsessed with jace? more likely than u think. this whole fic spawned from the fact that i noticed jace's freckles on a gif and lost my gd mind. this was meant to be a quick smut fic. and then i took 11k+ words to get to the smut part. i'm sorry (i'm not). this is totally self-indulgent, soulmates, love at first sight kinda fluff-to-smut and i regret nothing. way too much time of writing this was me trawling through the asoiaf wiki pages to find details that are relevant for one whole sentence. why am i this way. valyrian is pulled straight from a translator i found online, pls let me know if you notice any errors! requests; are open !

the first time you laid eyes on jacaerys velaryon, you knew he was something special.

you had just been children, then, uncertain of each other due to the discontent between your families. but he had been kind to you, dark eyes warm, and it had been an easy thing to be kind in return. your brothers make it difficult, of course, as they seem to do with everything they get involved in. aegon had been the worst at first, spouting off the same vitriol your mother had always whispered into your ears, but aemond had not been far behind him.

after the events of laena’s funeral and the loss of aemond’s eye, the hostilities only grow and grow. helaena keeps herself apart from most of it by virtue of her typically distant manner, but your brothers insist on drawing you into the same arguments again and again. it's tedious, laborious, but they are your family.

jace and luke are too, of course, not that anyone else seems to want to admit it. for all that they are velaryon’s by name (and strong in heart, mayhaps, yes), they are your nephews. your brothers only seem interested in remembering this when it serves them, however — which is usually when they’re lording it over the dark-haired boys.

in truth, the velaryon’s are hardly innocent either. it seems like the two sets of boys bring out the absolute worse in each other without fail, and it’s usually left to you to try and be the voice of reason.

away from your brothers’ taunts, jace is like a different boy entirely. endlessly curious and ceaselessly kind, the brunette seems to always have time to talk and jape with you. your friendship grows surprisingly easy as children, and with early adulthood comes the bloom of a different kind of affection, too. you never say anything, knowing all too well that if your brothers catch even a whisper of your feelings that there will be no end of hells to pay.

it matters little, regardless. your mother will never tolerate a betrothal between the two of you and you know better than to even attempt to broach such a topic. it had been sheer miracle that she hadn’t tried marrying you off to aemond after securing aegon and helaena’s marriage, and you aren’t willing to tempt fate by giving her ideas now. so what if you spend countless nights dreaming of freckled skin and dark hair? it matters not in the scheme of things.

rhaenyra flees kings landing after daemon’s return to westeros, leaving you feeling strangely bereft without your nephews’ company. years go by with no contact from your sister’s family, and so you let your old daydreams fall to the wayside. there’s no use dwelling on what you can’t have, and no point bringing it up since even now just a mention of luke or jace is enough to inflame aemond’s temper.

and then, of course, the news comes that rhaenyra is returning to court for the king’s fiftieth name day. there are great feasts and celebrations planned in honour of your father, which you privately think silly considering it’s unlikely he would be well enough to attend half the festivities. still, there’s no denying your excitement at the idea of seeing jace again. he would be a man grown, now, his twentieth name day having passed only a few moons ago.

for once the majority of your family will be under one roof, and you are certain it will end in disaster — but you intend to enjoy it while you can.

going flying the morning of the velaryons arrival is perhaps not your smartest idea. 

your nerves wake you well before dawn. you feel as if you’re going to crawl out of your skin if you don’t do something, and you know your chances for flying will be limited with the celebrations expected to start tomorrow. so you decided to take the chance while you can, dressing quickly in your riding gear before creeping to the dragon pit well before any of your family wake.

silverwing likes it when you take her for unexpected flights, so she makes no complaint when you have the dragon keepers release her. you go through the motions of saddling her yourself, as you always do, taking the chance to reinforce the bond with your dragon.

silverwing hadn’t been your hatched dragon. the egg that you had slept beside as a babe had never hatched, just as aemond’s and helaena’s hadn’t. it had infuriated aemond when you were children, that jace and luke’s dragons hatched while he was left without. it had made him an easy target for the other boys; aegon had often led the others in riling him about his lack of dragon until he had claimed vhagar. you can admit now that the others had oft been cruel to him in their japing, and it had ended poorly for everyone involved.

your claiming of silverwing had been incredibly boring in comparison. she had found you, in truth, a year after aemond claimed vhagar. she’d been your great-grandmother the good queen alysanne’s dragon before your own, and had not taken a rider since the queen’s death. she’d flown from the dragonmont to find you, and you’ve been nigh on inseparable since. your mother despairs over it, hating how her often her ‘perfect daughter’ has shown up to court late with windswept hair and flushed cheeks.

but, to you, flying is freedom.

there’s nothing else like it in the world; the sensation of silverwing beneath you, the seven kingdoms at your fingertips, and only the sky above. your mother has never really let go of her fear of the dragons, and you can understand it in a way; she is no targaryen, and she’ll never know what it is to bond with a dragon, to have that presence so alien and yet so familiar nudging against the corners of your mind. any attempts to explain it to her are met with bemusement and wariness, and you’d long ago learned to stop bringing it up.

silverwing’s joy to fly merges into your own as you climb atop her, running a soothing hand over the gleaming silver spikes at her neck as you adjust the straps. her impatience thrums loudly through the bond as you settle yourself into the saddle, and you feel her heart beat through you like a second pulse as your own anticipation rises.

“ivestragī īlva sōvegon, ñuha raqiros! [let us fly, my friend!]”

she needs no further nudging than that, and with a delighted roar she launches into the air. your laughter is stolen by the wind as she beats her wings, propelling you higher and higher before sweeping over the towering peaks of the red keep. with a shouted instruction she banks sharply to the left, flying out over blackwater bay as the sun finally crests the horizon. the dark sea lights up with reds and golds beneath you, the sky gloriously blue above, and silverwing’s distinctive scales shine in the breaking dawn.

a glorious morning, you think, and as the two of you climb higher to the sky you feel all your nerves and excitement for anything but the flight leave you. this is what your mother will never understand; flying is an escape, yes, but not from your duties as she assumes it is. this is an escape from your worries, from the petty machinations of court. in the sky with your dragon, you need worry only about how chill the wind will be, or if aemond is out with vhagar, who’s a grumpy old beast at the best of times and silverwing is feeling mischievous.

you find peace, here, in the sky. this is what you were born for.

long minutes pass as you fly leisurely, circling over the bay and the keep and back again in ever widening circles. sometimes silverwing dives just to do so, plunging so close to the blackwater that you could reach out and skim your hand over the dark depths. you lose track of time as the two of you fly, contentment bleeding across the bond so completely you can’t even tell which one of you it’s coming from.

a dragon’s cry in the distance catches your attention, and silverwing pulls up from where she’d been ducking her head into the water to snatch fish. she propels you rapidly higher into the air, crying out in response as you break through the thin cloud cover. you expect to find aegon’s dragon; sunfyre is the only dragon silverwing likes, rather than tolerates, to be making such a noise in greeting.

but it’s an unfamiliar dragon that greets you, olive green scales shining with the damp from the high altitudes. your mind races as you struggle to place it, and it’s only when you catch sight of a head of dark curls astride the dragon that you realise who it is.

vermax.

and jacaerys.

your heart skips in your chest, silverwing’s unexpected excitement tangling with your own nerves as she swoops towards the much smaller dragon. it’s only her sheer happiness that stops you from panicking or shouting a command to halt in valyrian, and moments later you recall she’d have known vermax from her time on dragonstone.

she somersaults over and around vermax playfully, and you release an exhilarated laugh in response as you cling tightly to the saddle. you see only snatches of jace as your dragons fly complicated patterns around each other, but the quick flashes you do get find an easy smile on his face.

the dragons spend a long while flying together, racing and diving and spiralling to new heights. they move so quickly that you have no chance to try and greet jacaerys, can offer nothing more than quick smiles as you pass him. it gives you the time for your nerves to settle back down, time to reassure yourself that any childhood feelings are long faded and that you will be able to act perfectly composed when it is time to greet him.

eventually you realise your dragon is not going to land until you tell her too, and vermax is clearly just as willing to chase after the larger she-dragon for as long as she is willing to be chased.

“māzigon, silverwing. istiti tegun [come, silverwing. we must land],” you shout, laughing again when the dragon whines her displeasure. she listens regardless, soaring down in tightening circles with vermax following close on your tail. her landing in the dragon pit is far from smooth, but you’re well used to compensating for the jostling as she settles onto the ground once more.

you’re quick in freeing yourself from the saddle, murmuring warm thanks and praise to your dragon as you walk to the side of her great head to meet a single burning eye. “kirimvose, ñuha raqiros. kesi sōvegon arlī aderī [thank you, my friend. we will fly again soon],” you tell her, and she responds with a content grumble as she nudges her head gently against your chest in affection.

you leave the dragon keepers to return her to her cave, instead turning to watch as jace shares his own goodbyes with his dragon. you take the chance to look at him, properly look, and find yourself suddenly warring with self-consciousness and a burning in your chest.

despite the acrobatics of the dragons, he looks perfectly put together with his dark curls brushing his shoulders and a pleasing tan to his skin. you fear you must look a ruin, with your hair undoubtedly a mess and cheeks flushed from the cold bite of the wind. your breath is still a touch laboured from the exertion of the flight, while he looks perfectly composed in his fancy black and red doublet. you curse the old gods and the new that you’d picked out your old riding gear this morning — comfortable, yes, but certainly not ideal for greeting the heir to the heir and the man you’d once daydreamed about marrying.

you push the thoughts away with determined stubbornness, refusing to dwell on the warmth in your chest when jace finally turns to look at you. he’s grown, you note immediately, now standing at least a head taller than you. any traces of baby fat have left him, leaving behind a strong, square jaw and strong yet slim shoulders. his dark eyes are warm, though, and his smile friendly as he takes you in.

you dip instinctually into a curtsey, a perfectly respectable greeting ready on your lips, but you’re startled into straightening back to standing when jace laughs.

“come now, princess,” he says, fond and teasing he approaches you. he’s the only one who’s ever been able to make the title sound more like an endearment. “since when have we been ones for formality?”

it sets you at ease immediately, tension relaxing from your shoulders as you beam at him. “i suppose we never have been very good at that, have we?” you let your eyes skip over him again, something like relief settling in your bones at the sight of him. “it’s good to see you again, jace.”

“aye,” he returns, dark eyes sparkling. “it is good to see you, indeed.”

for a long moment he simply looks at you, and it makes that peculiar warmth in your chest blaze a little brighter. there’s something in his face that you’ve never seen there before — but then you think of course there is. you haven’t seen him in so long there’s probably all kinds of things about you him you no longer know. it aches, almost, to think it, but in a way he’s a stranger to you; a man with the kind eyes of the boy you’d loved in secret, once.

you clear your throat as you drop your eyes from his stare, glancing at the bustling keepers as they tend to your dragons instead as you cast about for something to say.

“are the rest of your family not flying in?” you query after a moment.

he shakes his head, dark curls swaying with the movement. “no, arrax and tyraxes are still too small to fly luke and joff for such a journey, and mother would rather stay with my brothers on the ship.”

you nod in acceptance, shifting slightly on the spot. “well then, let me be the first to welcome you back to king’s landing, my prince.” you take the formality out of your tone with a playful wink, and are gratified to see the way he chuckles at your antics.

“i had hoped you’d be the first i’d see.” he admits this casually, as if this doesn’t set your heart and mind racing. “i have missed you, aunt.”

you duck your head again to try and hide the smile spreading across your face. you tell yourself sternly to stop acting like some lovesick child, all the while that small flame continues to burn away inside of you. “and i you, nephew.” you glance up at him shyly from beneath your lashes, teeth worrying at your bottom lip, and you don’t miss the way his eyes track the movement.

he’s the one to clear his throat, this time, stepping a half-pace away from you and gesturing for you to proceed him. “shall we head to the keep, then? my mother’s ship should have arrived by now and we wouldn’t want to miss the formal welcome.”

“as you say,” you agree, and the two of you set off.

you spend the long walk to the keep catching up on the long years between you. you’d expected the time apart to be like a gulf between you, a canyon that could not be crossed, but if anything it’s the opposite. it’s as if you’d last seen each other only hours ago. it should startle you, how simple it feels to fall into your old friendship, but you don’t have it in you to be surprised. that’s always been the thing with jace, after all — it’s easy. being around him, speaking to him, listening to his odd tangents. it all comes as natural to you as breathing, as if there’s a part of you that was just born knowing him.

he's dodging your questions as you finally arrive at the keep, having let slip something about an old secret from the days of your childhood that he’s never shared with you. it makes something flutter in your chest, the way he looks at you as he says it. the way he’s looked at you the whole time, in fact, has you having to bite back a smile. he looks at you as if he is looking at something precious, expression tender and fond and uncomplicated. it threatens to steal your breath again, and so you make an effort to try and act as unaffected as possible, because he cannot mean it in the way you think you might want him too.

“oh, but you simply must tell me!” you wheedle cheerfully, a mischievous smile on your lips. “you wouldn’t keep a secret from me, would you, my prince?”

you pout at him, fluttering your lashes in the way you usually do when trying to get your way with your brothers. jace swallows audibly at the sight, some emotion you can’t read flickering across his eyes as his gaze drops to your mouth and then lower again before returning to your eyes. something in his expression makes you flush, cheeks burning as your lips part slowly. a heat rises in you, unbidden, as he steps ever so slightly closer into your space. you’re overwhelmed with the smell of him; sea salt and dragon smoke and something almost woodsy underneath it, something entirely jace.

he murmurs your name so quietly you almost miss it over the sounds of courtyard. his hand twitches as if to reach for you as he ducks his head slightly, and you think if you lifted yours just so you’d be able to brush your lips over the strong line of his jaw. you realise suddenly how much you want to — how much you want to drag your tongue over his skin and taste.

oh.

oh.

you want him. that peculiar feeling that had been burning in your chest — you recognise the desire for what it is, now. the easy camaraderie that you’d fell into on the walk to the keep subsides in the wake of it, and abruptly all you can think of is what his mouth will feel like on your own. the palpable tension between you makes your hands tremble with the urge to touch, heart pounding so loudly in your ears it drowns out anything that isn’t him as the rest of the courtyard fades away.

you sway the barest inch closer, inhaling his scent deeply, and watch as jace’s nostrils flare in response. with a shaky breath you lift your chin, eyes dropping to his parted lips, and you bite your bottom lip as his tongue sweeps over his own.

“jace…”

“brother! there you are!”

luke’s voice startles you both back to reality as you spring apart. you hadn’t realised just how close you’d gotten, your chests almost brushing with every breath, until the gap between you widens. you drop your eyes to your feet, cheeks blazing with embarrassment as you realise how close you’d come to kissing him in an extremely public place. you chide yourself internally for forgetting yourself, and take another second to gather your composure before lifting your head with a smile.

“hello, nephew,” you greet luke warmly, doing your best to ignore the way jace’s eyes burns into the side of your face. “it is very good to see you again.”

“aunt!” luke fairly cheers, and you note how the youth still clings to his face. while certainly older than the last time you’d seen him, he still seems like a child to you. his limbs are long and gangly, in that awkward stage at the cusp of adulthood where he’s not quite grown into himself yet. he bounds closer, drawing you into a hug that you allow and return with a fond laugh.

���luke, honestly,” jace tuts, shaking his head as the two of you separate. “we’re at court, now. at least try to remember your manners.”

the younger boy winces. “ah, right, yes.” he sketches a quick but perfect bow your way. “it is a great honour to see you once more, princess.” he flashes a cheeky smile and a wink your way as he straightens out, and you press your hand to your mouth to smother a giggle at the exasperated look on jace’s face at his brother’s antics. he’s hardly one to talk, you think, considering how quickly he had dispensed with manners when greeting you.

in return, you dip into a practiced if impish curtsey. “it is a sincere pleasure to see you as well, prince lucerys.”

luke does giggle, then, as jace rolls his eyes so hard you think they’re at risk of falling out of his head. despite his dramatics, you spot the smile twitching at the corner of his mouth as he watches you jape with his brother.

“the queen is looking for you, dear aunt,” luke says after the greetings are done, and your amusement flees you as your stomach drops.

it’s only then you realise that with both luke and jace being here, you’ve certainly missed the official welcome of princess rhaenyra back to court. you wince at the thought of your mother’s ire, resigning yourself to a long lecture about your responsibilities and how dragon riding is ‘not one of them’. jace catches your expression, concern creasing his face as his brows furrow.

“alright?” he checks, and you do your best to offer him a reassuring smile.

“yes, i’m sure all will be well.” you hesitate a moment before offering a one-shouldered shrug, ignoring the voice in your head that sounds far too much like your mother telling you how unladylike such a motion is. “i expect my mother will be displeased with me for missing the official welcome, but the festivities will surely distract her quick enough.”

luke and jace both offer you a commiserating smile as the three of you head into the keep. you expect your mother will be waiting in her solar, which is on a close route to the guest suites set aside for the visiting royals, and so you walk with the velaryons as far as you can. when it comes time to part, jace lingers at the entry of the hall as luke continues down the corridor. his dark eyes are fixed to yours so intensely it steals your breath as you slow to a stop as well.

“i’ll see you at the feast,” he says quietly, capturing your hand in his much larger one and bringing it to his mouth. your breath hitches in your chest, eyes widening as he brushes his lips tenderly over your knuckles. your lips part in surprise, tingles racing up your arm from where his mouth makes contact with your skin. before you have chance to respond, jace dips into a sweeping bow and then bids you farewell, leaving you staring after him for a long moment.

well. if your mother doesn’t kill you, you think jace certainly will.

jace sinks into the hot water of the bath with a deep sigh of relief.

after meeting with his mother to explain why he’d been late to the formal greetings — or, rather, offer excuses as to why he’d been late, since he doesn’t think his mother will take well to the idea he was so busy enjoying himself flying with you that the thought of any formal welcome party left his mind entirely — he’d sought his chambers. the bath had been ready and waiting for him, tendrils of steam wafting from the clear water, and he’d wasted no time in shedding his clothes. he’s keen to wash the dragon stink from his skin before the feast, and he makes quick work of scrubbing his skin clean. when he’s done, he allows himself to relax against the metal of the tub, arms draped carelessly over the metal rim as he soaks.

king’s landing from dragonstone is not too long a journey on dragon back, but flying for such a stretch causes its own particular aches. vermax had enjoyed the chance to stretch his wings, at least, and had enjoyed the playful flight with silverwing even more.

he can admit to himself he’d enjoyed it, too, the sight of you astride your dragon lighting something within him. it’s been so long since he’d seen you, not since the aftermath of laena’s funeral, and he hadn’t been prepared for how the sight of you — breathless and flush and beaming at him — would make him feel. he’d almost managed to push back his boyhood adoration and childhood daydreams of marrying you one day with the years passing, but seeing you again brings it all rushing back and he feels as hopelessly enamoured with you now as he did as a child.

you’ve grown well, there’s no denying that. where childhood had left you sometimes awkward and gangly, you’ve become a woman grown now with all the curves and delights that come with it. he’d been embarrassed at how hard it had been to pull his gaze from you on the trip to the keep, but you’d not seemed to notice. too occupied with filling the air between you with light chatter, you’d been oblivious to the way his eyes had dragged over your form again and again.

you just — you’re so unlike anyone else he knows. he’d let himself forget how lovely you were, but there was no way to ignore it now. riding the high of your flight and genuinely happy to see him, you’d been like something out of a dream. your face had been as open to him as ever, plainly delighted to see him, and seeing you had eased some ache he’d become so used to he’d not even know it was there until he felt the lack of it.

he’s not some foolish child. he knows better than to think of things like love when his head must lie with his duty. but the thought remains regardless, lingering in the back of his mind that you would be as easy to love now as you had been when you were younger. it had been a childish love then, of course; innocent and sweet in the ways only children could be. but it had been there, unspoken and unacted upon, but no less real for it.

you’re not children anymore. it would be impossible to think otherwise with the way your riding gear had clung flatteringly to your chest and hips. your mouth looked so pretty stretched into a smile, a smile for him, and he thinks it’s a testament to his restraint that he’d not kissed you on the spot when you’d pouted so prettily up at him. he’d thought for a fleeting moment that perhaps you were going to kiss him with the way your eyes had darkened, how you’d gravitated into his space as if without intention.

heat pools in his stomach as he thinks about how the neckline of your riding dress had cut low enough to allow him a peak at your chest, heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. he wonders what your mouth would taste like, what noises you would make if he’d slid his tongue against your own. gods, he feels like a green boy seeing a woman for the first time — almost undone at just the thought of you. he won’t be able to get through the welcome feast like this, he thinks, so on edge with his lust for you burning him from the inside out.

it’s not even a conscious choice to curl his fingers around his cock, half-hard already as he thinks of you. jace’s head tips back against the rim of the bath, eyes drifting closed as a quiet gasp escapes him. the warm water eases his way as he strokes himself, and he lets himself imagine it’s your slick, instead.

he pictures you before him, pretends it’s your hand teasing at the skin at the head of his cock. your hands are so small, so dainty, he thinks you probably wouldn’t be able to wrap them all the way around him. he imagines they’re a little calloused — soft, mostly, but with the fingertips just rough enough from years spent riding and caring for your dragon. they’d drag so deliciously against his skin, and you’d take to the task with the same voracious enthusiasm you do with everything else. you’d watch him closely, pick up on the cues of his pleasure, and he’d unravel for you so quickly it’d be embarrassing if it was anyone else.

“fuck,” he hisses out, thumb dragging over the liquid leaking copiously from his tip. his head tips back even further, water dripping from his curls onto the stone floor as he chases his release. his imagining splinters into disconnected fantasies; you, on your knees with your mouth stretched around him, lashes damp with reflexive tears as your eyes fix on his. you, sprawled beneath him and writhing as he feasts on your cunt like a man starved. you, babbling in high valyrian as he sinks into the tight wet heat of you. you, clenching and shuddering around his cock as you come for him, blazing and beautiful. you, you, you.

his release hits him hard, a low groan tearing from his throat as his hips thrust up into his hand as he drags out those last few moments of pleasure. his panting breaths sound loud in the silence of his chambers, and jace is suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he is alone. there is, of course, no trace of you.

he knows in that moment he has to have you. he cannot tolerate the thought of anyone else — not for himself, and certainly not for you. he wants you as his wife, his queen, the mother of his children. jace doesn’t care how he must do it — as long as you’re as willing as he is, he is going to make you his.

the feast has started by the time jace arrives.

his indulgence had cost him time, and then he’d spent longer than usual readying himself while trying to ignore the fact he was doing so only to impress you. by the time he makes it to the hall his family are already seated and the minstrels are playing a jaunty tune. his eyes seek you instantly, and he resists the urge to frown in disappointment as he sees you sat between helaena and aemond. he’d hoped to sit beside you and use this time to see if there was any hint of you returning his feelings. no matter — there would be time enough later. if he has his way, there’ll be all the time in the world.

you look beautiful, he notes. you’re dressed in your usual deep green, the gown cut flatteringly for your shape. your face is animated and happy as you chat to aemond, and though he finds the idea of anyone enjoying that grumpy prick’s presence bizarre, he enjoys the sight of you so at ease.  

as he approaches the head table and the empty seat between his mother and luke, your eyes linger on him. he’s gratified by the way you light up when you spot him, offering him a warm smile in welcome for all that you’re quickly entangled into a conversation with your sister. it eases some of the sting at finding you unavailable, and he’s helpless but to smile back at you even when your gaze slides back to helaena.

luke eyes him strangely as he settles into his seat but says nothing as jace reaches for a goblet of wine. his mother greets him absently, entangled as she is in conversation with the king, and he takes the moment to glance out at the hall.

it’s a relatively small feast. large enough to not cause offence to the heir to the throne, but not so grand as to detract from the festivities planned for the next fortnight. he recognises a few faces in the crowd, people from different houses from across the kingdoms. the king’s birthday celebrations are no small affair, and he spots representatives from all the great houses as well as some of the more minor ones.

it makes him want to slump in his seat, for all that he keeps his posture straight. he knows the next few weeks will be full of politicking and double speak, and it grates. as the heir to the heir, jace knows it’s partially his responsibility to ensure their alliances still stand while seeking out any news one that might present themselves. he has no doubt that some of the lords in this crowd will have brought their daughters, planning to parade them in front of him and his brothers in hopes they might pick one as their betrothed.

his lack of betrothal has been a point of contention for many of the court, he knows. most had assumed he would be betrothed to his stepsister baela, and he’d thought the same for years. it was only when his mother had confided that baela had no interest in being queen and, in fact, was so strongly opposed to the idea that she swore to fly to essos and never be seen again if they tried marrying her to him that he realised just why such a betrothal had never been announced.

it had left him free, in a way, to pursue his own desires; without a betrothal attached to him he’d shed any guilt about seeking company at the pleasure houses. but, in turn, it had left him open to the machinations of the other houses who all sought to have their blood on the iron throne. it’s incredibly tedious, but he knows he must grin and bear it for the sake of his mother and his house.

the food arrives then, and he busies himself with the meal and talking to his siblings. his grandsire makes a speech welcoming his daughter and her family home, and jace notes the sour faces of alicent’s sons. they keep their tongues, at least, which shows a maturity from them he truthfully hadn’t expected. perhaps they’ve grown just as you have, he thinks, but dismisses the thought when aemond catches his eye and only sneers in response to jace’s tentative smile.

he's often wondered at the conflict between the two sides of the family. the animosity now he can pinpoint, of course; aemond losing his eye. but there had been years before that of tense, standoffish behaviour interspersed with camaraderie when everyone seemed to forget they weren’t meant to be friends. he remembers playing pranks with aegon while luke trailed after them, and he remembers sitting with helaena while she perused the dirt for bugs.

he remembers you, most of all. kind and fearless and smart, you’d enamoured him from the moment he was old enough to recognise girls were different to boys in interesting ways. even before then you’d been fast friends, something in your similarly mischievous behaviour drawing you into each other’s orbit. he’s always been drawn to you, he thinks, to the uncomplicated joy you took in your life. there was so much to be miserable about, so much duty on all your shoulders, but you always found something to smile over. your unfailing optimism would no doubt be irritating to some, but to him it has always been one of his favourite things about you.

his gaze, predictably, shifts to you. he startles to find you looking at him already. you flush immediately as your eyes lock, presumably embarrassed at being caught, and he enjoys the colour it brings to your cheeks. you don’t drop his stare, though, not until helaena says something to draw your attention back to her once again. he catches sight of a private little quirk of your lips as your head turns, and something like satisfaction settles in his chest as he hides his own smile in his goblet.

perhaps this feast won’t be as tedious as he’d feared.

“are you enjoying the festivities, princess?”

jace’s voice pulls you from where you’ve been staring into your wine as if it holds all the secrets of the world. you’ve lost count of how many goblets you’ve had, chattering away with your siblings before aegon had started to become cruel in his inebriation and you’d all opted to split apart through the hall. you glance up to find the velaryon prince standing before you, hands perched loosely on the hilt of his sword. he looks unfairly handsome, you think, with his tumble of curls and well-fitted doublet, and something about the slight smirk on his face makes you think he knows it.

“i am enjoying them well enough,” you allow, flicking your gaze from his to look out at the dance floor. aemond is dancing with helaena, aegon far too deep into his cups to bother thinking of his wife. your mother is as tense as she has been since you’d found her earlier; her stepdaughter’s arrival to court has set her incredibly on edge, and the lecture she’d given you earlier had certainly been one of her worst. and your father is oblivious to it all, simply too pleased at the presence of his favoured daughter to care about the way the rest of his family are fracturing apart.

he's not been a good father to you, the king. he’s called you and helaena rhaenyra more than once over the years, and even when his eyes are you on you, you never feel like it’s you he sees. your mother had tried to soothe the ache of his absence, of his blatant favour for a woman who was not here, but as the years stretched on even she had seemed to fade further and further away from you all. for so long it’s just been the four of you, clinging to each other and tearing each other apart in equal measure. you’ve oft thought that daeron is the luckiest of you, able to thrive at the hightower and away from the mess of your family.

you pause at the maudlin turn of your thoughts, peering contemplatively into your wine again before offering jace a slightly sheepish smile. “i… fear i may have indulged in too much wine,” you admit, startling a laugh from the darkhaired prince.

it’s aegon’s fault, you decide; before he’d gotten belligerently drunk he’d been so cheerful, seemingly pleased to have the pressure of being the eldest targaryen child in court off of his shoulders. in his cheer he had plied you with wine, laughing and japing with an arm over your shoulder as you reminisced on simpler times of your childhood. happy to see him so, you’d not resisted, but now you find yourself regretting those choices as your thoughts tumble sluggishly through your mind.

jace shakes his head fondly at you, reaching out to carefully steal your goblet away. his fingers brush against yours as he does so, the barest of touches and yet enough to set your heart racing as you blink slowly up at him. he sips from your wine deliberately, amber eyes darkening as he holds your stare, and your lips part with an unsteady breath. something about him drinking your wine from your cup has your stomach fluttering pleasantly.

gods, i want him.

the thought is enough to startle you, heat suffusing your cheeks as you avert your gaze. jace doesn’t, though, and you can feel the weight of his stare on you like a tangible thing. it makes your skin prickle with warmth, and you lurch a touch unsteadily to your feet before you can say anything silly like ‘kiss me, please’.

“i think i should retire to my chambers before i make a drunken fool of myself,” you announce, fingers smoothing over the green velvet of your dress.

“i’ll escort you,” jace returns, tone leaving no room for argument.

he sets aside the wine and offers you his arm, quirking an eyebrow as if in challenge. you hesitate for barely a second, taking a steadying breath, before looping your arm through his and allowing him to lead you through the crowd towards the open doors. the woodsy smell of him you’d noticed before is clearer, now, and you take another deep breath of the scent. it calms your nerves and yet inflames your desire, and your fingers tighten infinitesimally against his bicep.

you stop at the doors of the feasting chamber for long enough to let ser erryk know that you’re retiring for the evening, leaving it to him to pass the message on to your mother, and then you and jace are alone in the halls of the keep.

of course, you’re not truly alone. guards litter the corridors and even at this late hour servants bustle along, busy with their chores. but in the quiet of the keep as jace leads you to your rooms, you can almost imagine yourself alone with him. the thought threatens to overwhelm you, mad fantasies of him tugging you into a dark alcove to devour you flashing through your mind, and you scold yourself internally.

you’re really very cross with aegon. he and his wine have left you in this state, too far into your cups to keep control of your dangerous wonderings. if only he had not kept calling for more of that gods-be-damned arbor gold, you’d have been able to keep your wits about you. you’d wanted to dance at the feast, too, mayhaps even with jacaerys but at the very least with your brothers. instead, you’re being led back to your rooms like a child who’s had their first taste of wine with dinner and let it go to their head.

jace’s presence helps your intoxication little. seeing him again, touching him, smelling him — it’s all too much when all your defences are down like this. you feel like a girl again, staring breathlessly after him and so full of certainty that you love him, and it’s just— ridiculous. you’ve spent mere hours in his presence and you’re like some lovelorn idiot with no thought in your mind beyond being as close to him as is possible. it’s foolish, reckless, absurd. but it’s there, regardless, unfurling in your chest with a lovely kind of agony.

you keep quiet on the walk, too afraid that if you open your mouth you’ll beg him to have his way with you or, worse, confess your re-blooming infatuation for him, and jace seems content enough to walk in silence for a while. eventually, though, he speaks.

“i don’t think i’ve ever seen you drunk before,” he observes, tone light.

you glance at him sidelong, pursing your lips at the teasing smirk curling on his mouth. “it’s aegon’s doing,” you tell him solemnly. “my brother is something of an expert on the subject of wines, and his tolerance is… much higher than mine own.”

jace snorts. “aye, i had noticed.”

you lapse into silence, again, only now you find yourself stealing glances at him. he really is very pretty, you think, though in quite a masculine way. something about the sharp line of his jaw and the curl of his eyelashes keeps drawing your attention, and you suspect you are not being subtle with your admiration in your inebriated state. as you walk by an open window moonlight floods into the hall, sending jace’s profile into sharp relief, and your eyes catch on the smattering of freckles on his smooth skin. something about the pattern makes you think of the stars, and you realise too late that your quick glances have turned to a lingering stare.

“is there something on my face, princess?”

jace’s mockingly innocent words draw your eyes to his. he’s smirking down at you, eyes dancing with amusement, and your cheeks flush. gods, you don’t think you’ve blushed so much in moons compared to the mere hours you’ve spent in his company. the things this man is doing to you — it is unconscionable. you don’t know how much more of this you can take before your resolve breaks.

“i apologise, my prince,” your respond after a beat, teeth biting at your lip. “i did not mean to… i was leagues away.”

his eyes darken, mischief fleeing them in favour of flickers of something else as they linger on your mouth, and that damnable heat in your stomach blazes. you want desperately to surge forward and kiss him, or for him to take you in his hands and kiss you. you just want, and ache, and burn. and it’s too much, far too much for your wine-addled brain to process, but you know if anyone was to happen upon you in this corridor, starting at him with your mouth parted and your breaths shuddering through your lungs, there will be consequences.

“we should— we are almost at my chambers.” your words are stumbling, loud in the sudden quiet that had descended over the pair of you, and jace startles a little, eyes darting away from yours as your stomach plummets. gods, what are you doing? staring at him in such a way? he must think you a simple-minded fool, gaping at him for the sake of a few freckles. you step away from him, rubbing your arm as you turn your eyes to stare intently at your feet instead. “i can make it the rest of the way from here. you should return to the feast.”

jace is quiet for a long moment and you peek up at him to see him watching you with an indecipherable expression for a charged breath before nodding slowly and taking a step away.

“as you wish,” he murmurs, ducking his head in a simple bow. “sweet dreams, princess.”

you stutter out your own farewell, half-convinced you’ll be dreaming of nothing but his hands and his mouth this night, before turning and all but fleeing down the hall.

oh, yes. jacaerys is certainly going to be the death of you.

jace spends the next few days at court so entangled in his responsibilities he feels he barely sets eyes upon you.

he and his mother are roped into starting the celebrations in the absence of the king himself. his grandsire’s health is failing, of that there is no doubt, and after enjoying himself a touch too heartily at the welcome feast he requires a few days to recover. he thinks perhaps that’s why these festivities are so important; it’s unlikely the king will make it to his five and fiftieth name day, and almost certainly not his sixtieth. it leaves him with… complicated feelings.

when his grandsire dies, he will no longer be the heir to the heir, but the heir to the iron throne itself. it’s a daunting thought; for all that his mother has seen him well prepared to sit his throne one day, it feels such an impossible task. he doesn’t understand how he’s ever supposed to be ready for such a thing.

the thought rises, unbidden, that it would be easier with you by his side. with your kind heart but sharp mind, you’d make a fine queen. he finds himself daydreaming of it still and scolding himself all the while for acting the green boy, and yet unable to stop. it’s as if his every thought leads back to you in some way or another — he sees a flower and wonders if you’d like the smell of it, or sees a dress and thinks of how much lovelier it would look on you. at night he indulges in more sensual wonderings, and he swears he’s not felt the urge to touch himself so much since he was a boy of five and ten just starting to discover the pleasures the touch of another can bring.

for all that you’d appeared to reject him the night of the welcome feast, he finds himself certain you desire him just as he does you. in fact, he fancies it’s that very desire that had led to you fleeing his company and avoiding him in the days after.

because you are avoiding him.

yes, he is busy with the festivities and you are perhaps equally so. but he does not think it’s busyness that drives you to seek conversation with absolutely anyone else when he looks for your company, and it is not busyness that has you clinging to aemond’s side so fiercely either. you know he won’t approach you when you’re with your brother, knowing how it hurts you to see them trade barbs and knowing himself well enough to know he will not be able to bite back his rancour if aemond says a word about his father.

jace is not an idiot. he knows what people say about him, the words they barely bother to whisper behind their hands about who his true sire is. he has complicated feelings about that, too, but it all boils down to one simple thing: he is his mother’s son. she is heir to the king, and he is her heir. for him, that’s all that can matter.

he knows it’s all that matters to you, too. for all that your brothers had spit bastard at him for as long as he can remember, you’ve never done so. you’ve never looked at him differently for the rumours of his birth, and it’s just one thing among many he treasures about you.

perhaps it’s foolish, to cling to these childhood feelings so tightly, but he cannot let the idea of the two of you together go. he knows luke has noticed how he stares after you in longing, since his brother has never been shy about teasing him relentlessly. he thinks his mother has noticed, too, from the few carefully inane comments she’s made about betrothals and duty. 

he supposes an argument could be made for the fact that with the years without contact between you, he doesn’t really know you anymore, not as he once did, but he doesn’t feel it matters. he can learn anything new about you and will in fact do so joyfully, but the important things? the things that speak to who you are at your core? jace has always known those, has always felt connected to you in a way he never has with another, and he loves you now just as he did as a boy. 

it would be easier in a way if he felt sure you didn’t reciprocate his feelings. at least then he could try and move on from them, put to bed his endless wonderings of you. but for as often as he turns his head to look at you, he finds you looking away from your own watching of him. the few, brief interactions he has with you over the next few days feel loaded, the desire and affection between you a palpable thing, and he’s tiring of pretending there’s nothing there anymore.

he’s tired of pretending he doesn’t miss you.

so, at the halfway point of the celebrations when there’s another, larger feast held with plenty of chances for dancing and sneaking away into dark corners, he makes it a point to keep an eye on you. the moment he spots you, finally alone, he beelines for you. your attention is on your necklace, readjusting the pendant that rests on your chest, and he cannot help but let his gaze linger on the swell of your breasts as he approaches. he’s found himself staring at your chest more often than is wholly appropriate over the last few days, but then he knows his own weaknesses when it comes to a woman’s form.

“p-prince jacaerys,” you greet weakly when you look up from your necklace, hands smoothing over the skirts of your dress. your eyes dart about the room as if seeking a rescue from someone, and he tries not to feel how such a response to his presence stings. “how are you enjoying the feast?”

“well enough,” he returns, echoing the words you’d spoke to him days ago. gods, has it only been days since that conversation? it feels like an age, and he has felt more distant from you in these passing moments than he is in your years apart.

“that is… good.” your fingers twist around each other, teeth catching on your bottom lip, and he has to swallow back the sudden rush of desire to be the one nipping at the pouting flesh.

“would you do me the honour of a dance, princess?”

his request startles you, eyes widening as your fingers drop back to your side in surprise. he thinks for a wild moment that you’ll say no, make some excuse to remove yourself from him, and he feels himself bracing for the rejection. but you hesitate, searching his face, and whatever you find there seems to soften something in you as you nod.

“of course.” you offer him your hand, an unsure smile on your face.

he takes it with relief, trying not to react at the sensation of your hand in his own. he was right in thinking your hands are smooth, but as he leads you to the dance floor and your fingers slide over his palm he feels the drag of callouses as he’d expected. it pulls him back into that heated imagining of before for a moment, and he has to shake his head slightly to keep himself from losing his wits.

you stay quiet as he guides you into position, dainty hand resting on his shoulder as he places his own at your hip. he leads you through the first few steps in quiet, too, taking the moment to enjoy having you in his arms, having you close. but he realises after a silent minute that you’re obviously not going to say anything, and even as he looks beseechingly at you appear to avoid meeting his eyes.

“you’ve been avoiding me,” he speaks lowly, watching you carefully as you stare purposefully at the bridge of his nose instead of his eyes.

your eyes flicker away and back and then away again, fingers tightening around his own as he leads you through the steps of the dance effortlessly. “aye,” you admit quietly. “i have been.”

“why?” he doesn’t mean to sound so desperate nor so accusing, but the quiet hurt that your absence has caused him surges forth before jace can stop it.

you finally meet his gaze, eyes helpless and wanting and aching, and his stomach twists at the sight of your conflicted expression.

“i— jace, i can’t.” your voice cracks with the weight of your emotion and without thinking he pulls you closer, arm wrapping tight around your waist to provide you some semblance of comfort. “i can’t. not here, please.”

wordlessly he alters the steps of the dance, drawing you with precision through the crowd of dancers until you come to one of the balconies. it’s blessedly empty of anyone else, and as soon as you realise it some tension seems to shake loose of you.

you step out of his grip slowly, almost reluctantly, and walk to the railing, palms splaying on the stone. he joins you after the barest hesitation, drinking you in as you stare out at the courtyard and beyond. he notices how tightly you grip the banister, colour leeching from you knuckles with the strength of your grip, and almost without thinking jace rests his hand beside your own, pinkie fingers brushing. the touch seems to release something in you and he hears how your breath shudders before you speak.

“i embarrassed myself on the night of the welcome feast,” you confess miserably. “i drank too much, and the way that i behaved— staring at you in that way— it was not becoming behaviour of a princess, nor of a, a friend. i did not wish to make you uncomfortable again, so i thought it best i keep my distance from you.”

he blinks in surprise. “uncomfortable?” the mere idea of such a thing is maddening. he recalls the sight of you before him, lips parted and oh so kissable as you’d stared at him with such intention it had set him ablaze. how in the name of the gods can you think he found such a thing uncomfortable? “princess, i can assure you, the only feeling i took from your admiration is delight.”

your head snaps around, eyes finally meeting his own again, and he shakes his head in bemusement at the sight of your desperate hope. “truly? you do not jest?”

he resists the urge to chuckle, knowing you’ll take any kind of laughter, no matter how well meaning, poorly. instead he reaches for you, grasps your hands in his own and tries not to bask in the way you lean into him as he steps recklessly into your space. he feels your trembling breaths puff against his jaw as he ducks his head to stare intently into your eyes, and if he were a weaker man jace thinks he’d be on his knees in prostration for you in that very moment.

“surely you must know how i feel for you?” he murmurs, tracking the way the flush in your cheeks travels down your neck and onto your chest with greedy eyes. “how desperately i adore you?”

“jacaerys—.” you huff, shaking your head in denial for all that with every breath you take you sway ever closer to him. “we hardly know each other anymore. i won’t deny there is, is a yearning between us, mayhaps, but you cannot claim to adore me when you know me not. it’s been years since—"

“—do you think time matters?” he talks over you, strong in his conviction that you and he share a bond that transcends time or distance or duty. “that any distance between us could change what i know in my bones? i loved you before i had a name for it. i loved you when we were children and, yes, i love you again now. mayhaps i don’t know your favourite sweet or if you prefer to watch the sun rise or set, but i know you. i know who you are, princess, for all that i might no longer know the rest of it. i know your good heart, your quick mind and i know that i love you.” he hesitates, drinks in the dawning, open wonder on your face, and then adds, “and i think you might love me just the same.”

you sigh out his name sweetly, fingers tangling with his own as he squeezes your hands tenderly. you tilt your chin towards him as your eyes flutter shut. his nose slides against your own as you turn just so to the side, and your mouth is so close. he could kiss you, right now, and he knows that you would not pull away. but he’s too aware of the noise of the feast, the crowd of people that at any moment could find you in a compromising position.

he wants you, gods does he want you, but he will not ruin your reputation, will not sully your virtue for the sake of a stolen kiss on a balcony when he desires no less than forever with you.

“i will not push you,” he murmurs against your lips, breathing the air right from your lungs as he presses his forehead to yours for just a moment. “if you do not want this — if you do not return my feelings — i won’t push you nor pursue you. i hold too great a respect for you for that.” he cradles your jaw, thumb dragging at the corner of your mouth, and he glories in the way you shudder at his touch. with an unsteady breath he separates himself from you, hands clenching into fists at his side in an effort not to immediately reach for you again.

“but if you decide you want me as i want you, that you love me as ardently as i you, then my chambers will be unguarded and unlocked for you.” he sketches a bow, heart thundering in his chest as you stare at him in wordless shock. “i hope to see you later tonight, my princess.”

you have no chance to respond before jace leaves you standing on the balcony.

he leaves you with your mind swirling, one thought after another coming so quickly you have no hope in processing them. you’re glad to be outside, at least, the cool breeze helping soothe the heat that blazes through your veins as you press your hand over your racing heart. you don’t know what to think, what to feel, what to do. all you can think about is jace, earnest and honest and in love with you.

he’s in love with you (!).

it’s too quick. too much time has passed with too little contact. in the years since he left court you’ve grown into new people, people who for all intents and purposes are strangers to each other. the lust is there, there’s no point in denying that with how your body warms at the smallest glance from him. and that old familiarity that blossomed as friendship as children and now into easy companionship as adults, that remains as it always has. and mayhaps you’ve thought to yourself, in the dark quiet of the night, that you’ll surely love him once more. that to know him any better at all is to love him again, because how can you know him and not love him?

but there’s been years and leagues between you for so long. time and distance have their ways of changing a heart, and he might say it doesn’t matter but it does. it does.

only it doesn’t, not at all, because giddiness is bubbling up in you so sudden that you cannot fight it, a helpless laugh escaping you as you press your hand over your mouth in unabashed amazement. your brave prince, plunging headfirst into the long-unspoken feelings between you. it incites you to act, drives you back into the hall where you catch aegon for long enough to tell him you’re retiring for the night before escaping into the quiet corridors.

you feel like your heart is going to burst in your chest, nerves and excitement and awe twisting together inside of you until you feel like you might vibrate out of your own skin. the walk to jace’s chambers is a haze, and in the morning you expect you’ll panic, wonder if anyone saw you walking so shamelessly towards the prince’s rooms. but now, in this moment, all you can think of is how fervently you want him, how guilelessly you love him.

the knock on his door — unguarded, as he had promised — echoes loudly in the silent corridor. you can hear your own heartbeat thundering in your ears as you wait for him to answer, and when he finally does he takes your breath away.

he’s shed his doublet and sword belt, standing in only his breeches and a billowing off-white tunic. the ties are loose on his neck and you’re entranced by the peek of tanned skin there, the freckles you can see disappearing beneath the shirt. he says your name, once, and your eyes snap back to him in time to see the relief and wonder coalesce into smouldering fire.

he curls his fingers around your wrist, thumb swiping over the delicate skin in a way that makes you shiver, and he uses the hold to wordlessly tug you into his chambers. you step into the space, eyes darting from the large bed to the roaring fire and back to the bed again as he locks the doors behind you.

you are finally, blissfully, alone.

you feel his presence behind you, heat and woodsmoke radiating from him as you turn to face him. something in your chest loosens at the blatant awe in his amber eyes, like liquid gold in the light of the flames, and before you can pause to think you’re speaking, your feelings escaping you in a flood.

“i shouldn’t be here,” you say shamelessly. “i know my being here is—. i shouldn’t be here. but i couldn’t not be, jace, not when you left without giving me a chance to tell you how i feel. because, gods, of course i feel for you. it’s unreasonable, insensible— there’s so much about each other we just don’t know anymore.” you shake your head, smiling at him wide and helpless and hopelessly, hopelessly in love with him. “but despite all the rationality in the world, all the good sense — despite knowing the trouble this is sure to bring us — i am completely and utterly in love with you, jacaerys velaryon.”

he kisses you, then, surges into your space and cups your cheeks and slots his mouth so sweetly against yours. you gasp into his lips as he kisses you deliberate, slow and tender in a way that makes your chest ache. your arms loop around his neck, pulling him as close as you can as his own arms wrap around your waist. your noses bump and your teeth clash in your eagerness and it’s still glorious, it’s the best kiss you’ve ever experienced because it’s him.

it’s always been him.

you part after a few minutes, remaining close together as he runs his hand through your hair before cradling your face once more. “tell me again,” he whispers against your mouth, breathing your breath.

“i love you,” you say, smiling so wide it makes your cheeks ache. “i love you, i love you, i lo—”

he kisses you again, a quick press of his mouth against your this time, and then he’s laughing softly as his golden eyes shine down at you. “i have loved you forever,” he tells you, indulgent and affectionate as his thumb traces over your cheek. “i will love you forever, my princess.”

he draws you closer still, holds you tightly against him but far enough that he can drink you in, and for long moments you simply bask in the presence of each other, of this slow unfurling of happiness in your heart. this close to him, you can once again see the freckles dotted across his face. without even thinking of it your hand rises, and with butterfly-gentle fingers you trace a path over the constellations mapped on sun-kissed skin. jace sighs softly with your touch, dark lashes fluttering closed as his lips part.

“iksā sīr gevie [you are so beautiful],” you murmur, slipping into high valyrian in the quiet of his chambers.

he exhales shakily, breath hitching in his chest as your fingers brush gently over his eyelids, the slope of his nose, the furrow of his brow. you want to remember him like this forever – bathed in the soft firelight, trembling beneath your tender touch, wholly and entirely yours.

“ñuha dārilaros [my princess],” he breathes, and hearing him speak possessively of you in your mother tongue ignites something within you so suddenly you cannot fight it.

arousal roars to life, deep in your belly, and you are helpless but to do anything but lean forward and press your lips to his once more. jace meets you just as greedily, hands gripping tightly to the flesh of your hips as he hauls you closer until your chests press together. your hand moves from his face to fist in his hair, tugging at his curls until he whines against your lips. he kisses you deep and open mouthed and filthy, tongue sliding against yours so deliciously that you can feel heat pulse between your legs.

one of his hands comes up to tangle in your hair, pulling until your head is tilted back. he trails hot, wet kisses along your neck and you hiss at the sensation, pressing his head closer to your skin. you feel him smirk against you before he mouths at your pulse point, teeth nipping just enough to send a thrill of pain and pleasure through you.

“jace,” you moan, grinding against him shamelessly as he sucks a bruise into the sensitive skin of your throat. you want him so fiercely it makes you reckless, makes you insatiable as the hand not buried in his curls drags down his back to grip at his ass. he groans against you, your name spilling from his lips so deep and husky that you want to do whatever you can to make him say it like that again and again and again.

“this is— we shouldn’t,” he says into your skin. he pushes at the shoulder of your dress to expose more of your bare skin to his greedy eyes, lips trailing the path his fingers have taken. “we should wait until we—. if anyone knew of this—”

“—no one will know,” you assure him, fingers flexing into the taut skin of his ass to drive him closer to you.

“i don’t want to, to besmirch your honour.” even as he speaks he’s dragging his tongue against your collarbone, chasing a bead of sweat down to the swell of your chest.

“fuck my honour,” you burst out, and your language has him moaning. you hitch your leg around his waist and his hand drops instantly to grip you at the knee, pulling you just so until the hard length of him is grinding deliciously against your core. you can’t think, can’t breathe, for wanting him. his touch and his scent and his taste consumes you, inflames you, and you care for nothing but the feel of him against you.

he pulls away from your chest, mouth swollen and pupils blown as he pants hotly. he presses his forehead to yours, squeezing your hip to still you as you shamelessly try to rub yourself against him. “this will bring ruin to you if it gets out, do you understand? it would break me to be the cause of such a thing.”

his desperation makes you hesitate, something about the fierce tone breaking into the haze of lust that consumes you. you take a moment to look at him, and you know with certainty that if you ask him to stop right this second he will.

but you don’t want him to stop. you’ve never wanted anything less.

“jace.” you cup his cheek, thumb dragging over his bottom lip as you force him to keep your gaze. “i know the risks of this as well as anyone.” you lean in closer, your nose sliding against his before you tilt your head to pepper soft, deliberate kisses along his jaw, the corner of his mouth. “i love you.” he sighs softly in pleasure before turning his head to capture your mouth again, and this kiss is a softer, slower thing.

when you break apart, you stare deeply into his eyes, making sure he can see the truth of your words. the heat in his amber eyes threatens to splinter you to pieces as you swallow thickly, almost overwhelmed once more with your desire for him.

“i am yours, jacaerys velaryon,” you say steadily. “no matter what happens from here— i belong to you.”

it’s like a dam breaks in him. his hands are suddenly everywhere as his mouth devours yours relentlessly, leaving you gasping and arching into his touch. he backs you towards his bed as his hands fist in your skirts, bunching the material up to your hips. he breaks from your mouth long enough to tug your dress over your head, leaving you in your thin small clothes, and despite the sweltering heat of the room your nipples harden beneath the sheer material.

“look at you, pretty thing,” he says reverentially, the weight of his heated gaze tangible as he stares at your heaving chest. “is this all for me?���

“yes,” you hiss, head tilting back as he trails kisses down the column of your throat. “all for you, jace. only ever for you.”

he groans at your words, deft fingers making quick work of the complicated stays of the brassiere, and when the material falls from you he stares for a long moment as if transfixed by the sight of your bare breasts. it makes you smug, knowing that those times you’ve caught his eyes lingering on your chest haven’t just been in your imagination.

“you are perfect,” he murmurs worshipfully, large hand cupping the side of your breast tenderly. “such a perfect girl for me.”

his thumb sweeps over your nipple, featherlight at first before returning more firmly when you sigh and lean into his touch. his other hand grips your hip once more, pulling you close to him as he lavishes more attention on your neck. he nips and kisses his way down your throat, your shoulder, the swell of your breast until he’s hunched slightly in front of you, sucking bruises into the tender skin of your chest.

“jacaerys, please.” you know not what you’re pleading for, only that you need something, and it’s as if he can read your mind as his mouth closes over your nipple. his hand, now free, gropes at your other breast as his tongue swirls tight circles around your nipple and your head tips back with a moan. it’s somehow enough and yet not, your hips bucking aimlessly as heat and slick pools between your legs, and you crave.

“more, please,” you beg shamelessly.

jace drops to the floor in response and the sight of him on his knees for you has your head spinning. he presses open mouthed kisses to the soft skin of your abdomen, bites gently at your hip as his hands slide steadily up your legs. you tremble beneath his careful ministrations, and he murmurs wordless assurances into your sweat-slick skin.

he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your smalls, dragging them agonisingly slowly down your legs until you can step out of them. standing completely bare before him you expect to find yourself shy, but the way jace looks at you rapturously has liquid heat licking through your veins instead.

he leaves lingering kisses on your thigh and down your leg, and when his mouth brushes over the tender skin at the back of your knee you feel them buckle. he huffs a gentle laugh against you, warm hands cradling your waist as he urges you to sit back on the bed. you do so unsteadily, planting your hands against the soft feather mattress and watching him with intent ardour.

he nudges your legs apart and settles between them, his shoulders spreading you wide around him and you release a soft breath as his thumbs rub soothing circles into your thighs. “let me take care of you, my princess,” he pleads, eyes wide and soft and beseeching as he gazes up at you. you nod hesitantly, not wholly sure what he intends, but then his eyes finally drop to your core and darken so quickly it makes your mouth dry.

“gods, look at you.” he drags a finger through your folds and your head cants back, a whine escaping you at the touch. “you’re so wet for me, love. so gorgeous.” he brings his finger to his mouth, licking it clean of your slick and it has your mouth dropping open because he’s obscene, you think. he’s glorious.

“you taste so good,” he says, his voice so rough with arousal it makes you shiver. “wanna taste more of you.”

with no more warning that that, he licks a deliberate strip along your slit before circling his tongue over your clit. your hand shoots to his hair, tangling in the dark curls as he feasts on you. his name falls from your lips over and over again like a prayer as he laps at your core, tongue pressing deliciously inside you. you grind wantonly against his mouth, panting as he laves at your cunt.

your pleasure climbs sharply, rising so high you’re helpless to resist the way your stomach tightens. as if sensing your approaching high jace shifts his focus to your pulsing clit, flicking his tongue rapidly over the bundle of nerves.

“jace, gods, feels so good,” you gasp out, fingers tightening in his curls to press his head impossibly closer. “please don’t stop, ‘m so close—”

he sucks harshly on your pearl, ever so carefully dragging his teeth over the sensitive flesh, and you fall to pieces as that tightly wound ball in your stomach snaps. he coaxes you through the trembling release, gentling his attention on you to drag out your pleasure until you’re squirming away from him in sensitivity. when he pulls away from your core his face is shining with your slick and the sight makes you feel feral. you bend to reach him and he presses up to meet you, kissing you hot and messy as you drink the taste of yourself from his mouth.

“you did so well for me, my princess,” he pants into your mouth as he crowds you onto the bed and the praise blooms hot in your chest. “need you to be good for me a little longer, okay? need to prepare you.”

you whimper, capturing his mouth in another sloppy kiss and nipping thoughtlessly at his lips as he settles between your legs. you can feel the heavy length of him against your hip, kept from you by his breeches, and you’re suddenly insensible with desire to see more of his skin. you tug wordlessly at the hem of his tunic, pulling it free from his trousers, and with a huff of fond amusement he separates from you to pull it over his head and toss it aside.

you drink in the exposed planes of his chest, leaning up to drag your tongue from freckle to freckle along his collarbone, and jace groans out your name in response. you follow the map of constellations down his chest, pressing kisses and gentle bites to the skin until you come to one of his nipples. hesitantly you flick your tongue out, curl it around the puckered skin just as jace had done to you earlier.

“fuck,” he hisses, fingers clenching in the sheets as his arms tremble with the strain of keeping himself steady above you.

emboldened by his response you lavish the pebbled bud with attention, switching to the other when the fancy takes you, until jace is shuddering with desire and pushing your shoulders back into the bed. he swallows your protests with a flurry of kisses as his fingers trail down your chest, your abdomen until he reaches the heat between your legs. he presses a finger against you again and you arch into the touch, tossing your head back into the pillows.

“i want you so badly,” he confesses in a whisper as he sucks another bruise into your neck.

“yes,” you respond senselessly, hips bucking up to meet the slow stroke of his finger. “want you, jace, please.”

“i need to prepare you first, love,” he tells you again and you whine in displeasure. “i don’t wish to hurt you, so i need to get you ready for me.”

you’ve heard that it can hurt, what happens in bed between a man and a woman. you can’t comprehend the idea with how good you feel right now, how good he’s made you feel already, but you nod in acquiescence at jace’s stubborn expression and he beams down at you.

“that’s my good girl,” he utters affectionately, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

the finger that’s been sliding leisurely against you shifts, pressing inside with a familiar stretch. you’ve touched yourself before, explored what pleasure you can draw from your own body in the late of the night. you don’t know if it’s different because it’s the angle or just because it’s jace, but the feeling of his finger pumping into you is so much better than anything you’ve managed with your own clumsy digits and you moan with the pleasure of it.

“you’re so tight,” he says in amazement, burning gold eyes staring down at you worshipfully. “can’t wait to be inside you, my princess.”

you moan at his filthy words, hips bucking into his touch as he presses a second finger into you. this one pinches more, makes it almost uncomfortable until jace starts to rub slow circles over your clit with his thumb. any discomfort melts into liquid pleasure as he mouths at your neck once more, fingers crooking inside of you just so until stars burst behind your eyes.

“fuck, jacaerys—”

he shushes you softly even as his eyes gleam with smug pride. he picks up the pace, now, fucking you with his fingers as your pleasure starts to climb once more. just when you start to feel like you can’t take it anymore he slides a third finger in, the stetch burning deliciously this time, and you come apart on his fingers with a strangled moan of his name. he doesn’t relent this time, though, even when you writhe helplessly beneath him; he just chases another release for you without giving you a chance to recover, and the thrill rises so quickly it almost makes it a little hard to breathe.

“just one more,” he soothes as you whine, pressing delicate kisses to the corner of your mouth as he drives his fingers into you relentlessly. “you’re doing so well. just one more for me.”

your third climax hits you so hard your back bows up from the bed, mouth parting in a silent cry of pleasure as jace coaxes you through it before pulling his fingers from you. you ache at the loss, mewling your displeasure as your cunt clenches around nothing. he breathes a laugh at your impatience, kissing you so sweetly in such contrast to the delicious heat between you that it almost makes you weep.

with shaking hands you reach for the ties of his breaches, fumbling with the laces while he kisses you languidly. you make a triumphant little noise when you finally untie them and he smiles at you, adoring and soft and yet somehow feverishly aroused as you push the leather trousers down his hips. he helps you the rest of the way, kicking them off before returning to hover over you.

your hands brush his abdomen as you reach for him, fingers curling gently around the hard line of his cock, and he realises a shuddering breath in response. he watches you intently as you stare at his arousal, fascinated by the way your fingers barely close around the thick girth of him. he’s going to fill you so well, you realise, and you bite your lip as your core clenches again. the tip of him is leaking fluid, and you drag your hand up his cock to swipe your thumb over the head.

jace moans at the movement, so you do it again and again, watching in inflamed curiosity at the way his stomach contracts as he thrusts into your hand, the wet noise of it making you flush down to your toes as desire sparks in your core. his hand covers your own abruptly, stopping your exploration, and you pout up at him as he fixes you with a blazing stare.

“if you keep doing that, i’m not going to last,” he says, voice shaking with the weight of his desire.

“fine.”

you huff, pretending at annoyance even as you eagerly lie back and spread your legs for him. you fix him with an expectant look, raising an eyebrow, and he chuckles fondly as he settles himself between your legs once more. you’re not expecting the velvet heat of him dragging against you and you gasp at the sensation, grinding against him as he thrusts shallowly against you.

“are you ready for me, love?” he checks, cradling your face in his hands as his thumb rubs over your jaw.

you turn to press a kiss against his palm, near overwhelmed with your love and affection for this man. “yes,” you say simply, and it’s all the permission he needs as he ducks down to kiss you unhurriedly.

his head catches at your opening on the next thrust, and with the slightest shift of your hips he’s pressing inside of you. the stretch of him burns, pinches, but just as he did with his fingers, he worms his hand between your bodies to drag circles over your clit. you do your best to relax, keeping your eyes fixed on his golden stare as he slides into you, agonisingly slow.

the whole while he keeps up a litany of praise, calling you good and precious and perfect as sweat beads along his forehead. when he’s finally fully sheathed inside you he stills his movements, kisses you hard and wanting as he thumbs at your pearl, and when you’re ready you tilt your hips. the stretch of him burns, still, but in a way that sets your skin alight as you cling to his shoulders.

he moans your name like a prayer, drawing away from you until the tip of his cock catches at your entrance once more, and this time when he sinks back in your eyes roll back into your head. he feels so good, stretching and filling you so completely that you’ve no room to think, to breathe, to do anything but take it as he thrusts into you. he buries his head in your neck, resting on his forearms as he plunges into you again and again and again, and between your own choked breaths and the sounds of skin against skin, you hear him muttering in high valyrian.

“sīr sȳz syt nyke, sīr ȳrda, sīr lōz. vēttan syt nyke. ñuha dārilaros, mirre ñuhon [so good for me, so tight, so wet. made for me. my princess, all mine].”

it drives you wild, his voice and his words and hearing him speak in valyrian combined with the exquisite torture of the slow drag of his cock inside you. it’s too much, not enough, and leaves you with nothing but the need to feel as much of him as you possibly can. your hands drag up and down his back, fingernails leaving raised red lines in their wake as you seek to be as close to him as you can bear.

“more, jace, gods, please, i need—”

he cuts you off with a hard thrust, your breath punching out of your lungs as he starts to drive into you harder and faster. it’s so good, so fucking good, but still not quite enough and you whine, seeking something you’re not sure you know how to verbalise.

“whatever you need, love. i’ll give you whatever you need.”

understanding your need even when you don’t, jacaerys rears up, grips your legs and presses your knees to your chest before bearing down on you. like this he reaches so deep it hurts in the most unbearably, searingly pleasurable way. and it’s perfect, exactly what you needed, feeling him so far inside you that it soothes you and ignites you and makes you ache all at once.

“y’feel so good,” you manage to slur out, head lolling as you lose yourself to the feel of him taking you apart so expertly. “so— fuck— so deep. so good, jace, so good.”

jace groans your name, pounding into you so hard and so deep that it’s unconscionable, has your eyes rolling back into your head as your hips buck up to meet him recklessly. your peak approaches again, searing heat blazing through you as you inch closer to another climax, and all you can do is whine and moan as he fills you over and over again. he starts to lose the thread of his rhythm as you clench around him, valyrian and common tongue mixing senselessly as praise spills from his lips.

“avy jorrāelan [i love you] my perfect girl, gūrogon nyke sīr sȳrī [take me so well], can’t get enough of you, hells, i love you, ao sagon ñuhon [you’re mine], my love, my princess, my queen, ñuha ābrazȳrys [my wife].”

you come so hard you see stars, walls pulsing around jace’s cock as he curses. he thrusts sloppily into you, chasing his own release and dragging out your own as you keen, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders. he finds completion with a drawn out noise, seed spilling hot and thick inside of you as he lazily pumps his hips two, three more times before collapsing on top of you.

you press absent kisses to his temple, brushing back the sweat-soaked curls from where they’ve matted on his forehead as he shudders against you. you feel lethargic, body aching in the sweetest of ways as you fight to catch your breath. eventually the heavy weight of jace on top of you becomes uncomfortable and you squirm beneath him in protest. with a sigh he slides himself free of you, rolling over onto his back and wrapping an arm around you to pull you with him so that you sprawl over his chest.

you bury your smile into his neck, satisfaction settling bone-deep as his hand runs up and down your back idly. for long moments the two of simply lie together in the quiet, the only sound the rustling of the sheets and the crackle of the dying fire.

“i’ll speak to my mother and the king on the morrow,” he says into the quiet and you raise your head to look at him. he looks serious, amber eyes contemplative as he peers down at you. “i’ll not let another night pass without you as my betrothed.” he smiles at you then, a little crooked as his eyes crinkle, and without thought you reach up to press a lingering kiss to his mouth.

“i love you,” you say, eyes shining with mischief. “ñuha valzȳrys [my husband].”

jace swallows your laugh with another kiss, doing a poor job of hiding his own amusement as his smile presses to yours, and as the candles burn down you let all of your worries and doubts fade.

you love him. he loves you.

there’s nothing else that matters.

[15-lizards]

sorry to bother but... what about gender swapped lannisters twins?? how much worse are male!cersei (kevan or cerso) and female!jaime (jaima)?

Oh my god wait…

Also disclaimer I’m aware that doing these gender swaps messes up character dynamics/what makes them so complex but again this is just for speculation and good fun 👍🏻

Cevan is somehow so much worse than regular Cersei because he has male audacity now (which fem Cersei does have but now he can back it up) Originally wanted to marry the Targ princess whom he still obsesses over to this day, so he was quite annoyed when his Momma sided with Roberta. He does Jamie’s eldest son failure by marrying the new queen and giving up his claim as heir to Casterly Rock, bc of course he only cares about himself and his power. Whenever Roberta is pregnant, Cevan’s beloved sister Jenna is miraculously pregnant at around the same time. And once Roberta gives birth, her chubby and dark haired babies have a sudden tendency to lose weight and have lightened hair. He’s scheming and notably irritable and paranoid, but thinks he savvy enough to outsmart the small council. He’s also constantly getting bombarded by noblewomen to be his mistress, but he prefers to keep it in the family ofc. Though he has tried Lord Merryweather once or twice. By the events of GOT he manages to get Roberta killed on one of her hunts, installing his dear insane daughter Johanna as king, making his mother start a bloody, continent wide war to protect that claim. Through pure luck does he get his enemies killed and his sycophants in positions of power. But feels lost without his mother after she dies. Classic Cersei through and through.

Jenna Lannister living in the most gilded cage in the world…she was never a female knight or warrior but rather the most loved and sought after courtier in the Red Keep. She was well liked at court and preferred to socialize and dance and gossip (much to possessive Cevans annoyance) to politics and scheming, taking few things seriously. When the war started she was the favorite of the king, and was thus stuck at the Red Keep. On the day he started screaming to burn them all, she managed to convince the kingsguard to leave the hall and quickly forced his neck down on one of the thrones blades. After the war her mother marries her off as a war prize to a useful Lannister ally. Despite her good health she’s unable to carry a baby to term, and the three times she’s given birth, the baby has tragically and suddenly died of mysterious complications. By GOT she’s now one of Roberta’s ladies in waiting, and despises her and what she’s done to her brother. The court half fears her and half loves her, calling her Kingslayer behind her back and even to her face at times. She goes off as an emissary during the war but gets captured when the Lannister army loses a battle to the Young She Wolf, resulting in the hand she killed the mad king with getting cut off. Brienne is still her gf bc lesbians.

Mommy issues bonus round. Tyresa Lannister is the first cousin and widow of Johan Lannister, who died. She is a domineering woman, a powerhouse in politics, but is deeply resentful of any woman in power besides herself (cmon internalized misogyny). Close friends with the king and queen when she was young, and eventually became the royals closest advisors, leaving when they would not wed their daughter to Cevan. She was the unofficial head of the Lannisters by the time of the war because she sure as shit was not letting her useless cousins and brothers and uncle be in charge of an army. She plays her cards right and becomes the most revered and feared woman in the seven kingdoms, no man objecting her to her face. She sells her daughter as a war prize and is going to arrange her heirs auction, but he goes off and becomes king, leaving her to secure her legacy on her own, starting an entire war to keep her family safe and their legacy in tact even if she doesn’t particularly like them.

[loveeari]

harry potter and his tumultous meetings with luck

Harry Potter was having a pretty peaceful life right now. Well, as peaceful as you can get being the man-who-conquers or the boy who lived twice or some other word misnomer people liked to refer to him by. 

He had gotten his mastery in Defense Against the Dark Arts and was  teaching  DADA in  Hogwarts. His friends were married and thriving and his love life was never better. He has been dating his girlfriend Ginny Weasley for 10 years. 

They started dating when he was 16 and she was 15 and have been going strong ever since then. Harry would like to say that they, “technically” broke up while Ginny liked to reiterate that Harry was being a prat so they were “technically” still together. Honestly, They both didn’t really care to count how long they were actually together.

Harry was currently 25  and Ginny 24 when Molly started hinting at the both of them getting married. At this point, everyone was joking saying Harry was going to take forever. 

Somehow Ron manned up and got engaged to Hermione for two years and got married the previous year. It was a lovely fall wedding and Harry was the best man while Ginny was Hermione's maid of honor. Harry did not want to admit that he shed a few tears at the wedding and had a lot of fun. 

Kids and marriage and the 4 story house with a picket white fence wasn’t really a goal that Ginny and Harry had set themselves out for. Ginny hadn’t really felt the need to wear a shiny rock to prove that she was Harry Potter’s wife as the Prophet liked to say. Ginny wasn’t in a rush to have the big lavish wedding that she knew her mother was going to throw and obsess over every single detail for her. 

She would know because she did the same thing when Bill got married, when Charlie got married, when Fred and Geroge got Married and when Ron got married. All their closest friends either were already engaged, married or had a baby on the way. 

Case in point Hermione and Ron, Bill and Fleur and so on. 

Of course Harry and Ginny had talked about engagement and marriage and babies and they simply weren’t in a rush like everyone expected them to be. Ginny loved her career as the chaser for the HolyHead Harpies and Harry loved his job as a teacher. He tried the auror thing out for a year and quit because he did not want to spend the rest of his life chasing villains and dark lords. 

He liked his life with Ginny but the next coming events were things he did not imagine happening. But he was harry potter so why was he surprised 

It all started like this 

1 year ago

It was a calm day and it was summer vacation with Harry being on break and Ginny not having her match until the next week. It was currently nightfall and Harry was sitting on the couch with the telly on but he was skimming through a book in his hand. 

Ginny was currently laying upside down on the couch humming to herself. It was peaceful in a way with just the two of them relaxing and weren’t in the busy hustle of life. Harry glanced at his girlfriend and smiled amused thinking, “Wonder what she thinking about”

Ginny was humming lazily while the clock above them ticked at a steady pace. Harry noticed that Ginny was about to say something but was simply just laying there thinking of words to say. Sometimes Harry saw a little of Luna Lovegood's mannerisms in her. Just floating through everything that’s going on and not minding everything that ever was. 

“Harry” Ginny asked with a smile on her face and amusement coloring her tone

“Yes, love?” Harry asked tentatively because you never  know with this one

“What if we just go married without telling anyone and then just walk in waiting for how long it’ll take for them to notice” Ginny asked grinning 

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle, “You have wicked ideas, I love it” 

Ginny asked, “So let’s get married today, not like it’s hard”

Harry looked at her shocked, “you mean right now” 

“Yeah why not, I mean we’re gonna get busy and then we won’t have any tiiiiimee” Ginny whined playfully 

Harry sighed exaggeratedly, “Fine let’s go get married”.

Ginny giggled and sat up grabbing Harry by the hadn who was asking confused, “Shouldn’t we change?” 

Ginny thought for a moment, “nahh” 

Harry fondly rolled his eyes and they went to get married. It was the easiest thing that Harry himself has ever done. He thought he would feel some sort of shaky nervousness but he didn’t. He was basically getting married to the love of his life. The person who stood with him at his worst and brought him to his best. 

It was a very simple ceremony and Harry could not ask for anything better.  Ginny changed her mind and put on a simple white dress while Harry tugged on a white button shirt and pants. They walked into the muggle courthouse smiling excitedly. 

In an hour Ginny Weasley was now known as Ginny Potter. 

Harry was confused as to why she took his name but Ginny smiled genially at him and stated, “There’s a million other Weasleys to carry on the name but not a single potter but yourself, I’d reckon I’d like to become the second”

Harry couldn’t help but beam at his girlfr- no wife 

Ginny never really saw the need for a wedding ring

“I’m already married to you why must a ring showcase that”

But she decided they had to know somehow 

When walking into the jewelry store the man working in upfront stated, “An engagement ring too polish yes?” 

Ginny took great relish in stating, “No we’re here to buy a wedding ring for both of us” 

Harry rolled his eyes while grinning amused looking at the shocked man.

The man cleared his throat and took out the rings from the protective case. Both Ginny and Harry peered down at the cases, humming and hawing dramatically. Ginny would mutter, “I like that color” 

While harry would respond back, “babe your mother would murder me if i got a ring like that for you” 

Ginny grinned, “It has a certain touch too it” 

Ginny giggled but put the ring down and perused some more with Harry giving sarcastic commentary along the way. It was quite funny to see the shopkeeper's face turn redder and redder with each passing insult to the rings. 

Harry of course didn’t mean any of it and Ginny found it hilarious either way 

They finally decided on a teal sapphire ring that had leaves circling it. Ginny picked the color because it reminded her of Harry's eyes just a little. After paying for the selected ring the shopkeeper looked relieved for the two of them to be leaving but ginny then stated, “let’s get a ring for you too” 

Harry gasped dramatically, “for meee?” 

Ginny fondly rolled her eyes, “yes for you” 

They spent another hour there carefully picking up each and every single one of the rings and finding the tiniest faults with it because their reservation for dinner wasn’t for another two hours. From there they were planning on going home and celebrating. And then tomorrow was a Weasly family dinner with everyone in attendance.

Ginny had bets running on who was going to see the rings or notice first. 

Harry had 10 galleons on Luna while Ginny had 10 on her hawkeyed mother. 

Finally, Harry also decided on a ring that had a teal band running through it. 

“I wanted it to match” Harry explained excitedly 

Ginny fondly rolled her eyes while controlling her giggles 

After finally paying and actually leaving to the shopkeeper's relief, Harry and Ginny went to dinner. It was a place they rarely went to and only for special occasions. To get a reservation you had to plan months in advance but Harry and Ginny were stickin rich and also a potter owned this restaurant or whatever and they were allowed to walk in whenever and eat for free. 

The sight it probably was to walk in with people dressed to the nines while ginny and harry had on comfortable clothing. Ginny was judging the clothing when being walked to their table. 

“That does not look comfortable” Ginny motioned over to the woman in a skin-tight dress. 

Harry hummed in agreement ad they finally sat down at their table.

Harry sighed, “I’m beat” 

Ginny agreed, “Who knew something as simple as getting rings and signing some papers was that stressful” 

Harry grinned, “I wouldn’t say stressful, it was fun actually” 

Ginny beamed at him, “It was wasn’t it” 

Harry then asked, “I think in the distant future maybe we should do the bonding ceremony” 

Ginny thoughtfully agreed, “I think so too, we also might get some heat off of us from just popping a ring on our fingers and calling it a wedding” 

Harry had the fake falsetto voice, “How dare you  get wedded without your family” 

Ginny couldn’t help but cackle out loud 

So they sat there eating there weight in fancy food and just sitting there talking and talking and more talking. 

Harry felt finally at peace with his wife sitting and eating dinner. Who knew something like that would cause him so much happiness? 

Harry was always stuck in some dangerously dangerous situation that almost killed him or his family and best friends.  

Ginny absentmindedly picked Harry’s hand and started playing with the fingers. (not in that way ya nasties) 

Harry couldn’t help but fondly smile at her in love. 

“Yeah this is the life I dreamed of sitting in that cupboard all those years ago” He thought to himself content. 

present-day 

Harry and Ginny were idly walking around as they got ready for the Weasley Sunday Dinner ™ . They haven’t seen everyone else for a week because they basically were offline from the world and went to America for their “fake but kinda real honeymoon” as Ginny would like to say. 

Harry tugged on another buttoned-up shirt which a light blue and Ginny matched him with a pretty blue dress that Luna gifted her. Harry forgoed the suit coat and tie because he didn’t see the need to be that fancy.  

Ginny was looking at her hair in annoyance because she just wasn’t in the mood to brush it. Harry walked and gently took the brush from her and started on a fishtail braid. How Harry knew how to braid? Well, when he was younger and Hermione sometimes needed help with her own hair, Harry would look up books in how to do different hairstyles. 

Harry actually kind of liked the hairstyles and slowly figured out a way to grow his own hair out. The Dursley despised it but Harry absolutely loved it. It also made his hair a little more manageable with the skeezy hair products that actually worked. 

After harry finished, Ginny turned him around and put a simple bun for him which harry didn’t mind at all. 

After everything was ready but took a deep breath and walked through the floor after calling out, “The Burrow” 

Harry still absolutely hated floo travel but dealt with it unfortunately. 

They saw the burrow in chaotic chaos as usual and half the kids running too them 

“Aunt Ginny” Victoire or “Vicky” came running towards them

“Uncle Harry” Teddy shouted excitedly with his hair turning a brighter teal 

All the others came as well with all of them laughing and giggling while catching up. All sat in the living room and Ginny made sure too show off her ring but no one seemed to pay attention. 

Both Harry and Ginny looked at each other with a bemused smile on their faces. 

Soon the room was awashed with chatter and gossip until the dinner bell rang. 

Then it was a stampede outside to get to the chairs and Harry and Ginny just calmly walked outside with their arms swinging. 

Ginny sat down next to her niece Vicky while Harry sat next to Teddy. 

Both were chattering both of ther ears after not seeing there favorite family members for a week. 

Everything was going normally until luna cut in serenly with, “Congratulations Harry and Ginny” 

Everyone looked at the couple confused 

Ron asked, “What do you mean congratulations luna” 

Luna looked surprised, “They didn’t tell you” 

Hermione looked frustrated, “Ask us what” 

Ginny cleared her throat and exclaimed proudly, “We got married” 

Molly Weasley shouted, “WHAT” 

Before she could start shouting luna stated, “No, I was saying congratulations on you baby ginny” 

Harry and Ginny looked at each other surprised 

“Huh no wonder you hated the smell of vanilla” Harry muttered 

“I honestly got sick of it” ginny replied back 

Molly looked like she was about to get a heart attack while everyone else was confused and happy. 

[gojuo]

Having to witness Ragged Tarpits and Becky with the Blue Roses fraudulent ass wedding ceremony in fucking DORNE of all places was borderline vomit inducing, but the fact that production got two of the most mid looking actors to play them was most pleasing to me. Ragged especially looked like a foot in Viserys' old, musty unwashed 2 dollar wig. Never getting over it lmaooooooooo.

Anyway, I do not acknowledge any of that shit as canon and D and D better pay for their sins. Inshallah.

IM CRYINGGGGGGG cuz you wanna know why? Bc that RxL wedding bullshit was so obviously D&D dog ass fanfiction because they wrote themselves into a corner by erasing Young Griff from the show, the guy the entire Southern Plotline is going to revolve around in TWOW and ADOS. I mean they literally split his storyline into four and gave it to other characters:

The legitimate heir part and most of the Westerosi lords' support being with Aegon against Dany went to Jon.

The Golden Company + being King of Westeros once Dany arrives and having the people's love and support against her and the final showdown with her went to Cersei.

Varys + Tyrion + JonCon's trauma of the bells went to Dany.

Jorah got JonCon's greyscale.

Jon's arc has never been about being "the rightful hidden heir". Those are the fantasy trope cliches GRRM has always been subverting. It's Aegon that is the legitimate heir, and what you'd expect is for him to save the day and live happily ever after ... but that's not going to happen. The legitimate heir—the true hidden prince—is going to die. Horrifically. And so is the other legitimate Targaryen (Daenerys). But the one that will come out on top is the bastard.

Now, I don't want to make it seem like Jon's character purpose is being a bastard, because that's the wrong conclusion in my opinion. The point and most important aspect to Jon is being Ned Stark's bastard. And then he's going to find out the man he believed to be his father is not his father at all. The issue with this is that people conflate that with legitimacy which is also the wrong conclusion because that's exactly Aegon's plot, not Jon's. The point of R+L=J is the fact that Jon Snow will no longer be Ned Stark's bastard son, which will devastate him.

However ... how-fucking-ever ... D&D decided to forgo this important facet of Jon and did decide to not write the THIRD HEAD OF THE DRAGON into the story but give the part of Aegon's plotline of being the legitimate heir in the books to show!Jon, which left a very big problem: How were they going to justify why there was a legitimacy battle going down between Jon and Dany when Jon can't even be the legitimate heir if his parents are not married? Which they weren't. Because Rhaegar only needed a Visenya for his already-there Rhaenys and Aegon, and as the future king he could just legitimize his own bastards without any trouble. So he did not need to marry Lyanna to have a child with her per se, especially not the Visenya she was supposed to bear him. And I especially do not believe Lyanna was in any way or form in love with him or that she went with him willingly, considering what we know of her.

Besides, when Rhaegar returned from the Tower of Joy after making sure he raped a baby into Lyanna to King's Landing to ride off for the Trident, he said this to Jaime about Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon:

“And the children, them as well,” said Prince Lewyn.

Prince Rhaegar burned with a cold light, now white, now red, now dark. “I left my wife and children in your hands.”

“I never thought he’d hurt them.” Jaime’s sword was burning less brightly now. “I was with the king … ”

ASOS, Jaime VI.

So you see how he still refers to Elia as his wife, meaning no damn annulment took place? He can't even fucking annul a marriage that is fully legal and totally consummated, and prophecy-obsessed Rhaegar 100% would never cast away his two children HE DEEMED TO BE 2/3 HEADS OF HIS THREE-HEADED DRAGON and he sure as fuck did not make Aegon, literally the son he believed to be the PTWP (as seen by Dany's vision in the HOTU), a bastard. D&D just shot themselves in the foot because they gave Young Griff/Aegon's book storyline of being the legitimate heir to Jon and had to make sense of why it would be him to be the legitimate heir when Rhaegar's legal wife was not Lyanna but Elia.

The entire bullshit way RxL went down in the show was just more proof to me that Young Griff is the real Aegon since D&D just had to make Jon a legitimate son. LMFAO.

[mermaidsirennikita]

I just finished A Wicked Bargain for the Duke by Megan Frampton and I was wondering if you had any recs for others book where the couple start off having middling sex but end up having great sex (I was unsure about the sex scenes in the book given how they started out but they ended up being really hot)

Oh, sure!

For My Lady's Heart by Laura Kinsale has a pretty mid first encounter for Melanthe and Ruck, largely because a) the focus is really less pleasure and more consummation and b) he hasn't had sex in 13 years so it lasts for like... half a second. A lot of their relationship is about her becoming vulnerable and LETTING him take care of her needs, which includes sex. In the second book, Shadowheart, Allegreto and Elayne's first encounter is.... straight up noncon, though I don't think either of them would necessarily see it that way, because 1300s.

Her Husband's Harlot by Grace Callaway has a variation of this--I don't even know if he finishes, but their first encounter is really awkward. Then she ends up pretending to be a sex worker and seducing him that way, sorta kinda accidentally? I haven't read Regarding the Duke yet, but I know the couple in that has been married like... eight years, and has good sex, but sex that's very structured and withholding. He gets amnesia and it turns around.

Run Posy Run by Cate C. Wells is a mafia romance I enjoy a lot wherein the hero and heroine have been in a relationship for around a year, and have very mid, him-focused sex because she doesn't feel comfortable with asking for more. He thinks she's cheated after a video is doctored and she has to go on the run--but he quickly realizes she's wrong and chases her. He's like... a sociopath, and the book is him realizing his feelings for her and learning what pleases her. It's gooood.

Private Arrangements by Sherry Thomas has a variation of this. I think the wedding night is good? But the hero and heroine separate for ten years the day after, and when they first reunite the focus is all on having a baby, and she wants to divorce him. So it's a bit awkward.

Lord of Darkness by Elizabeth Hoyt has another "it's awkward because it's all for the baby" thing. The hero and heroine got married because she was pregnant by another (dead) man and her brother blackmailed the hero into marrying her. She miscarried right after, and they've been living separately, but she arrives in town wanting a baby. He agrees, but the sex is intentionally very stiff and weird at first, though it gets more passionate as the story goes on.

Kiss of a Demon King by Kresley Cole, obviously paranormal. Rydstrom and Sabine are fated mates, but she's evil and just wants his baby for scheme purposes, and he withholds until he can't anymore and it's... intense, but not fun for her, lol. She's all "NEVER AGAIN" and they have to work up to good sex.

The Chief by Monica McCarty. Tor and Christina's first sex scene is awkward because he literally doesn't know it's her, and she didn't realize he was going to put it in, and then also her dad barges in and Tor has to like, leap naked out of the bed. They get better.

The Truth About Cads and Dukes by Elisa Braden is a marriage of convenience book where the hero tries to be cool and withholding, which leads to awkward sex until he basically admits he's obsessed with her.

Waking Up with the Duke by Lorraine Heath. They obviously aren't married, but the sex is clinical and awkward (and over quickly) until she allows herself to feel something for him.

Tempt Me at Twilight by Lisa Kleypas. They have a hORRIBLE wedding night full of miscommunication, but after some angst over that, they work towards a good sex life.

The Bride Test by Helen Hoang. Contemporary, hero is on the spectrum and the heroine doesn't realize it and doesn't get how little he knows about female pleasure, so it kind of sucks at first and they have to lear to communicate.

I know A Wicked Kind of Husband by Mia Vincy has this with the hero and heroine marrying, having an awkward wedding night, and separating right after. It didn't super work for me the first go around, but I think it was partly a mood thing, so I want to try it again.

[loksthegreat]

Okay so I was asked to talk about the most insane and awful Targaryen oc I ever made, and luckily for you all I got a few!!! Here’s my ranking of those!

(Also there are a bunch of targs who I had consider pretty shitty people so imma just list the ones that are also a little mad!)

1. King Aegon XIV (383-446) ‘the false’, had visions and dragon dream that made him out to be the prince that was promised (in his opinion) and was almost as obsessed with becoming a true dragon (like an actual big flying lizard not in a metaphorical sense) as he was with becoming king and fucking his 18 years younger cousin in order to usurp her claim, just to then try and kill their only child and son (the ONLY heir to the throne) because he was insecure about whether maybe baby Aerion was the actual prince.

2. King Baelor II (155-200) ‘the Bright’, was just as delusional as Aegon but unlike him he didn’t actually intent to start a war he just thought everyone should see that he was a prophet and blessed by the seven, so mass burnings, blood rituals and two wives were aye-okay. He also probably is to blame for some of his wife’s Aegaras madness, by locking her up in a dark room all day long to read the entire seven pointed star to her over and over again. Not to mention the religious trauma he forced into all of his close relatives. Man’s really just a petty guy who’s way of dealing with criticism from his uncle was to kill his uncles sisterwife and other sister.

3. King Vaegon II (518-607) ‘the blind king’, was so paranoid he blamed his 11 year old son that he must have impregnated his mom (Vaegons wife) and caused her miscarriage like that. He was a bad father, a worst husband and an downright awful king who held grunges for ever and failed to see any reason because he always thought anyone was after his head, throne or wife. He also tried to make his little sister marry him by force to the point were she had to literally run away and marry in secret so he had led her alone, and he was so angry he married her new husbands sister instead, to punish him. Also caused the death of both of his sons and heirs because of his paranoia.

4. Queen Aegara I (149-200) ‘the mad princess’, was driven to madness after the loss of her first husband king Aegon IX and being held captive by his murderers. She apparently turned to dark vices to try and bring him back to live, which was the reason her second husband Baelor II had her imprisoned and basically tortured to redeem her soul. This led her to become ‘infected’ (read as: brainwashed) by his religious fanaticism, to the point were she told her uncle that his wife deserved death for opposing her true king, while said uncle held her imprisoned, she then demanded a duel under the eyes of the seven to buy her freedom, despite having not swung a sword since her maiden days and going up against a experienced and famed swordsman. My girl was the most delusional of them all.

5. King Aerys II (297-352) ‘Weakflame’, he wasn’t the most awful or harmful because he just was too much of a push over but he did very much start a war with the north, because he really didn’t want his daughters or nieces to sit the iron throne. So there’s that. Not sure if it’s just a bad temper and not that much brainpower or actual madness but I’ll still put him.

6. King Aeralon I (260-295) ‘the king of winter’, also not the most insane, but certainly one very unreasonable guy. He was forced to marry his much older cousin to unite the two claimant lines of house Targaryen, while he had no interest in her at all (he was fucking his half brother, but he had to leave and become lord of Winterfell after their das died and Aeralon has been bitter ever since). He would try to send her away, accuse her of infidelity and finally lock her in her chambers and not allow any Maester in, after she got a cold so that she would eventually die of the fever. All in all man was just trying really hard to self sabotage his house and end the Targaryen line forever.

[bradshawed]

boy do i have a lot to say. firstly, thank you for writing this masterpiece, the description and details in each of their characters oml, i just want to give them, especially bob, the biggest hug! it’s like everything’s playing out in front of me and i love it sm. secondly, jacob thomas seresin, i have words for you. who have you the right to do that to my heart, better yet, who gave you the right to use the pet name princess?! i’m a complete goner and we haven’t gotten to the third point which is fairy godmother!bradley because i’m obsessed with the concept and i desperately need more *fangirling with them at his smile bc lord wooo*

back to business, how did you know i love penguins?! and the comparison and the memory oml ily. jacob, get off track, get so desperately off track, idc.

those girls saying they should get married, ily <3

baby no, don’t act like someone jake would date, act like you bc he’d date you, not anyone else!! idk if that made any sense but anyways.. ahhhhh go romanticise that shit!!!! sorry i’m a little all over the place atm.

turn him off and on apparently 🤭

hoodie hoodie hoodie my girl my girl my girl.. might pass out from soft jake icl

um jacob no. stop reacting. kendall i don’t know you but respectfully back away 🤺 um excuse you, don’t know how to treat a girl right, stfu he (and bradley) are the reason i have a standard now.

fairy godmother!bradley i love you <3

why can i not take “bradley’s dark energy” seriously, that man is a golden retriever in my mind (with daddy issues).. okay so maybe i see the dark energy now. lmfao but bradley dipping is the most iconic thing ever, i love him!!! and i love you and your writing because this is a masterpiece. awww bobby you cutie <3

um sir.. “feels like he’s sixteen again.. only slightly buzzed”.. you wanna talk about that buddy??

Fake it

Chapter Three: Deja Vu

synopsis: a pair of best friends, one apartment, and one fake dating ploy to get jake’s ex girlfriend back, will end well right? wrong.

pairing: jake seresin x female reader.

warnings: no use of y/n, underage drinking, mentions of drugs, jake and reader are both 20. this blog is 18+.

word count: 6.1k

college au, fake dating trope, roomate trope

previous chapter | next chapter | fake it masterlist

With your afternoon class finally wrapping up, you rush to jot down the last bit of the lecture notes—but your professor’s already begun to erase it off the board. At that, you shut your notebook with a resigned sigh. The amount of content covered within the last hour has nearly distracted you from the knotting pain in your abdomen, but it’s quick to resurface again as you stand up from your seat. 

It couldn’t have come at a worse time. The opening week party—marking the start of the semester was tonight. And the universe must’ve had it out for you, because you woke up with the tightest cramp known to mankind, today. Not yesterday, not last week, but today. Today, your body decided to turn against you. 

Holding your notebook tightly against your stomach, you suck in a sharp breath, failing to hide the discomfort etched on your face. You reach for your bookbag next, tossing back the weight over one shoulder to tread lightly behind the crowd of students heading for the exit. 

As everyone spills out of the room, there’s appreciative whispers of thank you’s that can be heard ahead. Looking past the cluster of students in front of you—there’s Jake, as promised. He’s stationed himself by the door, holding it open and flashing a smile at everyone who steps out, as a polite guise to search for your face amongst the crowd. As expected, he's completely unaware that he’s acting as a distraction to your female classmates—who seem to be in no rush to leave. 

The scene unfolding in front you is almost comical, like something straight out of a sitcom.

As girls pass him, they make sure to furiously bat their lashes—as if they’re in a race with one another, to see who can do it the fastest. For a split second, you’re convinced they might be able to curate a light breeze to blow into his face if they synced up their eye flapping. And though, the sight was amusing, you're suddenly taken aback by one girl who looks like she’s nearing a stroke from the speed her eyes are fluttering.

Jake might’ve been blind to his surroundings but even she catches his attention, turning his polite smile into an awkward one. But, that’s the exact kind of reaction Jake’s able to pull from people—well, girls. So, it’s truly a mystery to you that Kendall was able to break up with him, again. 

Once you finally reach him, Jake lets out a snort. “What’s with the face, Princess? You should be happy your boyfriend’s here to pick you up.” 

Jake grabs the top of your head like he's a claw machine, extracting you from the line of students, and placing you behind him. The swift movement causes another twinge of pain to strike you right in the gut. You wouldn’t even wish this onto your worst enemy as you bite down on your tongue to deal with it.

Turning his body to face you, Jake leaves one foot by the edge of the door, still keeping it open for everyone. And the line seems to move faster as he shifts his attention to you. 

“What’s wrong? Your bag too heavy?” Jake asks with his brows stitched together. 

You straighten up, clearing your throat, now aware of the uneven mass weighing down your shoulder. “Oh,” you gape. “I guess it’s a little—”

Jake cuts you off, tugging on the strap of your school bag, signaling you to pass it over. Wordlessly, you let one hand fall from the notebook in your clutch, allowing him to glide the strap down your arm, transferring it over his broad back like it weighed nothing. And your bookbag just dwarfs in size as it rests over his large frame. 

Behind him, your professor is last to step out, muttering a quick ‘Thanks kid’ as he joins the rest of your class in the hallway. Yet, Jake’s too preoccupied by the discomfort still evident on your face to even acknowledge the appreciation. Instead, he just lets the door shut behind him as he juts his chin at you, pairing it with a look. One that says, tell me what’s actually bothering you. 

“My stomach kinda hurts,” you admit, giving him a limp shrug to conclude.

At your confession, Jake’s eyes flick down to the notebook you’re pressing against your midriff again. While your shirt only reveals a sliver of skin, Jake can already picture how the metal spirals would leave an imprint on your stomach based on how tightly it’s tucked against your body. You’re gripping it as if someone has plans to steal it from you. 

He frowns a bit. “Stop that.”

In saying that, Jake pries the book from you with little effort, your fingers instinctively loosen once his large hands hover over yours. His chest tingles in surprise at how compliant you’re being. It’s a lapse in thought, but Jake wishes Kendall was here to witness this—to witness how cute you’re acting as his girlfriend.

With the notebook now secured under his armpit, Jake presses his palm to your stomach in its place, applying just the right amount of pressure to relieve your pain. “You gonna be okay tonight?” He asks, leaning against the wall. 

You swallow hard—unsure if the goosebumps rippling across your exposed skin was brought on by his mention of the party or by the practiced gesture. “I—Yeah. Think I just ate something bad,” you blink up at him, doe-eyed and neck craning from the height difference. 

Jake’s mouth twitches, unable to hide his amusement for your sudden shyness. Moving off the wall, he rolls back his shoulders to stand up straight—all while keeping eye contact with you. 

With his palm still on your stomach, Jake skillfully guides his hand over to your waist, using it as an anchor to flip you around. Then, he returns his hand back to its original position, palming over your ache again as he draws you in—pressing your back to his front. The bookbag he took from you jostles, jerking around the charms you had hooked onto the zippers at the final move. 

Jake then shuffles forward with you in his arms, forcing you to take uncoordinated steps with him. All that leaves your mouth is a surprised yelp, making a few head turn in your direction. “Jake we–we can’t walk back like this,” you squeak, slapping your hands over your face. You can already feel your cheeks burn up from embarrassment. 

“Oh yeah?” He teases, wetting his lips. Despite the first few unsteady steps, Jake is still mindful of your stomach ache, maintaining a firm pressure there with his hand.

After learning that he could fully knock you over with a simple high five over the summer, Jake made sure to be extra careful with you, because if he wasn’t—your dad will knock him over, with a high-five, to the face. 

You decide, right in this moment, that this had to be the most mortifying thing Jake’s pulled so far—there was no need to uncover your eyes to know how ridiculous this looks. The sound of both of your shoes scuffing the floors of the crowded lecture hall was enough to create a mental image to flash in your mind. 

You’re so sure that you both resemble a pair of waddling penguins—specifically the ones you used to visit at the zoo instead of going to class, back in highschool.

After his morning swim practice, Jake would show up to your locker, hair still damp from the pool and a crunched duffel bag slung over his team hoodie—eager to leave before class even ensued. And who were you to say no to an impromptu day-trip? Especially when your best friend was just so convincing. Seventeen year old Jake always pledged, we’ll get back in time for third period—but you’d spend hours seated in front of the exhibit, watching your favorite set of penguins waddle around on a slab of ice, and calling dibs on which penguin you each were. 

And for some reason, the strange comparison makes your head spin. You and Jake, a pair of penguins, bonded for life, sneakers squeaking against the floors, and heading towards your apartment together. With that, an unfamiliar sensation begins to form in the pit of your stomach. It merges right into the existing pain you had there—making it difficult to discern. The only thing you registered from the sensation was that it felt oddly familiar.

But you can’t put any more attention to it, as Jake’s foot clumsily knocks into your ankle.

The offender tips his head down, a smirk playing on his lips, ready to relish in your flustered response to him—but you’re hiding behind your hands, walking blindly with his guidance. “Oh come on,” he coos. “Quit covering that pretty face of yours. You shy or somethin’?” You almost lose your footing, feeling his chest rumble behind you as he speaks. 

“Jacob—You can’t—,” you stammer, unable to spit out a response. 

All your stuttered sentence does is pull a bass-like noise from his throat, one that signifies that he’s enjoying this. 

It comes as no surprise, but Jake had always loved seeking reactions from you. A part of him knows it’s a tad bit cruel to do so, but another part of him tells to do it anyway.

Sometimes, Jake is undoubtedly sure that he was just born with the life purpose to make you squirm—because why else would it be so satisfying? And it’s not like he got away with it growing up either. His mom made sure to give him an earful whenever he did shit like this—but he took the punishment regardless. And it’s a good thing Mrs. Seresin’s not here to see this, because she would’ve given him more than just a scolding for how fiendish he’s being with you right now. 

Biting his lip with finality, Jake puts an end to his teasing—for now. Because, his mom would kill him—like really kill him for your sake. You’d always been more of a daughter to her in that sense. 

He hums, choosing to redirect his focus, leading your entwined bodies towards the building’s exit. “Let’s get you something for this, Yeah?” He rubs your stomach in a circular motion, hoping it would simmer your humiliation. 

“...Okay,” you grumble, still blinded by your own hands. 

While plodding down the hall, with more coordination this time, Jake catches a pair of girls fawning over you two—secretly snapping a few pictures as they whisper to each other. He chooses to ignore it, but his ears slightly flush pink, overhearing them chatter about how you two needed to get married. 

Feigning ignorance, Jake looks down—watching your footsteps sync up with his, your steps are akin to a waddle. And the memory of those penguins crosses his mind, making Jake forget about Kendall—and about his plans to find her tonight. For a brief moment, his mind is full of just you. 

Then, it reels back to the girl he’s been plagued by, with the self reminder that he needs to stay on track.

For the past week, the boyfriend-girlfriend routine came easier to Jake than it does to you. The only contribution you’ve made so far was barely kissing him in the library, and confirming to girls whom you’ve never spoken to before that Jake Seresin was in fact, your boyfriend. The constant questioning rooted from genuine curiosity, you knew that. But, a part of you shrinks at every inquiry you receive. Thinking back on Jake and Kendall, you distinctly remember the exalt she got on their relationship, there was never skepticism there. So, why are you garnering suspicion, when she never did?

Your inclination to overthink tells you that maybe because it’s just you. That maybe, it’s so hard to believe because you don’t know how to act like a girlfriend. But you can’t help but to feel stupid for struggling with this. All you had to do was suck it up, and act like someone Jake would date. Someone who people actually looked twice at, someone who had more friends than she could count on one hand, and someone people actually caught wind of.

You needed to be someone Kendall could be neck-to-neck with. Yet, everytime you try to take initiative, you backtrack once Jake starts to play into it—even though you had the knowledge that he would. 

And unlike you, Jake’s doing everything he can to keep up the act, and more. If your classes don't clash with his schedule, he’s dropping you off and picking you up right after—carrying your things for you, throwing in flirty comments for eavesdroppers to pick up on, and pulling you close when people come up to him for some small talk. It doesn’t steer away from what you’re used to, besides a tid-bit of bragging—because this is exactly how your previous boyfriends acted with you. 

This was something you chose to keep to yourself, but you secretly hated it—they were so sweet, but so boring. But for some reason, when it comes from Jake, it’s like you’re sixteen all over again. It’s when Jake casually moves you to walk on the inner part of the sidewalk, keeping you away from cars—that you feel like the version of yourself that has a debilitating crush on her best-friend, romanticizing every little thing that he does.

And it certainly didn’t help that Jake’s always reaching to touch you in every way he could think of now. If you accidentally walk a bit ahead of him, his hand will casually slip up the back of the sweater he bought you and travel over to your naked waist just to pull you beside him. Sure, he’s naturally touchy with you, but never to this extent. You begin to wonder if this is how he acted with Kendall when you weren’t around to see, or if he's just over exaggerating to sell this. He’s even starting to do it at home, when there’s not a single onlooker. 

“Is this…really necessary?” 

Jake had thrown you onto the kitchen counter, placing himself in a convenient spot between the crack of your legs. And even in this position, he manages to tower over you still. “What? Me taking care of you?” Jake asks, rolling two pain relievers between his fingers tips, wondering if it could melt from the warmth he’s creating.

“We’re home—you don’t,” you pause, sensing you’re about to stammer. Taking a deep breath, you give it a second shot. “You don’t have to do it—this way,” you mumble bashfully.

In response, Jake gives you a lazy shrug, continuing to play dumb. “Dunno what you’re talking ‘bout.” But the smirk he’s wearing is a dead giveaway, that he knows exactly what you’re ‘talking ‘bout’.

“Now. Open wide,” he sings mockingly, holding two tylenols between his thumb and pointer, lifting it up to your lips.

Annoyance starts to sink in now, but before you can show any sign of it—you suddenly wince, feeling your stomach twist again. At that, Jake’s expression falls with guilt, knowing he’s delaying you from taking the painkillers. 

“Jake. Not right now,” your voice drops, and so does your shoulders. 

“Okay. Not right now,” he mumbles back to you. It’s like a flip is switched, he maneuvers with clear purpose now. After dropping the two tylenols into the palm of your hand, Jake reaches for the glass of water beside you, as you toss the tablets into your mouth. Taking the water from him, Jake cups a hand under your chin to catch any leaks as you chase it down, eyes softening as you finish it off. 

It comes as a mystery to everyone, even to Jake—at how you had the innate ability to just turn him off. It’s a side of him that no one really sees unless they’re watching him interact with you. And just to add onto everyone’s frustration, you two blamed it on the fact that it’s a natural part of your friendship. Things have always been like this between you and Jake. This is a normal occurrence between life-long friends. 

Setting the empty cup aside, you sigh. “I don’t think I ate something bad,” you share, wiping away a droplet of water that hung from your lips. Jake’s eyes slowly settle on your face. “Is that right?” He mirrors your soft tone. 

“Think I’m just nervous,” you profess, referring to tonight’s party. 

It’s not like you didn’t attend parties, you went to plenty—in highschool. It was easier to stomach the idea of spending the night out with people you grew up with, it was just a plus that you had Jake there too. And at that stage in life, everyone was equally as naive and unassuming, so it wasn’t daunting to know you had parties you were invited to. But this party—the one where you didn’t know the first and last names of every attendee, has been looming over your head for days now. Did they only try thc-treats within the last year like you have? Was their first pull of a vape just as disappointing as they thought it was?

“How about this,” Jake wets his lips, an idea forming in his head. “You wear my hoodie tonight, and I’ll take care of it,” Jake tucks his bottom lip under his teeth, holding back a growing smile. His solution is so dumb, but it’s dumb enough to make you lightly laugh, putting an end to your stream of apprehension.

You shake your head, smiling at the cheeky offer. “Right, cause the pheromones wafting off that stinky thing is gonna heal me.”

“Hm,” Jake pretends to give it some serious thought. “Yeah, actually.” Unable to contain his smile, Jake’s lips curl upwards. “You know what else it’ll do?” He prompts you to ask why, with an all teasing glint in his eyes. 

Your head tilts, wondering what he’s up to. “What will it do?”

“It makes sure everyone knows you're mine,” he finally answers, waiting for your reaction to load in. 

You scoff, lightly hitting his chest. “You’re so unserious, Jacob,” you complain, hoping your embarrassment isn’t showing. 

“No,” he’s still smug. “I can be very serious if my girl asks me to,” he moves in closer, pelvis hitting the edge of the counter. 

In an attempt to create some distance, you fold your arms over your chest, but Jake’s hoodie brushes against your forearms once before he fully rests the fabric onto you.

You clear your throat, as you look off to the side. You were a girl after all, any normal girl your age would be nervous if a guy had them caged in like this—it doesn’t matter if he’s your best friend or not. “You’re annoying, you know that?” Your voice comes out smaller—weaker than you intended.

There’s a bout of silence that falls onto the conversation, leaving you two to linger off in your own heads for a bit. 

Jake glosses over what you say, with a thin veil of seriousness coating his tone. “Tell me you’ll wear it.”

You swallow thickly at the idea of you showing up in Jake’s hoodie. The hoodie you bought for him last Christmas. The hoodie that he let no one near, not even Kendall. Jake knew better not to give his stuff away to girlfriends, seeing that it’ll never be returned to him. That was something he learned the hard way when he lost his favorite t-shirts to a few exes.

So Jake giving you his hoodie was a big deal. So much of a big deal that it’ll help you get one step closer to the pedestal Kendall sits on—and that's the push you needed to say yes.

“...I’ll wear it.”

This environment is one that Jake’s all too familiar with. There’s red solo cups strewn across the front lawn, stretching into the house, and finally spilling into the backyard. Some of the discarded cups are even decorated into the freshly trimmed bushes, resembling a sprinkle of red flowers.

And not far off, the sound of his former frat brother’s roaring chants at freshman they’ve coerced into chugging beer kegs can be heard amongst the overlap of drunken conversations being held around him. From where he stands, Jake’s nose wrinkles from the nasuseating whiff he gets of somebody’s body odor. Maybe it’s the two beers he pre-gamed with, but his brain can’t process that he’s actually here. Truthfully, Jake didn't think he’d ever be able to experience this again, as unappealing as it might sound—he missed it. 

Javy hadn’t been the...most understanding, when Jake dropped the bomb on him last semester that he’s moving out. He only recently realized that maybe Javy was so ticked off because Jake couldn’t offer him a clear reason for his resignation. Just like how Kendall couldn’t give him the time of day before ditching him for some fucking loser.

After their breakup, she disregarded Jake like he was some tiny tank top she didn’t like in her closet, throwing it to the side, opting for one she liked better. So, when Jake went off to grab you a drink, he wasn’t ready to be faced with her again. He knew she’d be here, he knew for an entire week long actually. Jake just didn’t expect to see her right as he left your side. 

When he snuck out to the far end of the house, sliding back the screen doors leading into the yard—Jake meant to grab you one drink. But as soon as he reached the outdoor table, littered with an array of hard seltzers—Jake stomach ruptures at who stands there. Her eyes are skimming over the different flavors, fingering the loop of her denim skirt. And when he thought she couldn’t get any more beautiful, she did.

Jake hates this. He fucking hates that his body reacts her like this. He also hates that he’s unable to stay mad at her. His build up of heartbreak is pathetically dropped at the sight of her. It’s like he’s seeing her for the very first time, the pretty girl who renders him breathless. 

But it’s quick to die once he approaches her, tangling himself in a growing argument. 

“Jake, I—seriously,” she pauses, weary as she scans the backyard for any sign of her boyfriend. “I don’t have time for this,” she crosses her arms against her front, clenching her jaw. “Austin’s about to pull up, and he’ll kill you if he catches us together,” her usually sweet voice is lined with agitation. 

Jake shakes his head in disbelief, laughing at her useless warning. “I don’t give two shits about what he’s gonna do to me, Kenny.” The nickname slips out of his mouth so easily, that it makes it difficult for him to not think back on his favorite memories with her.

“Jacob, we can talk another—” 

“One second you’re telling me you love me—telling me that you would marry me someday,” his voice drops into a harsh whisper. “And the next you’re telling me I can’t be seen with you?” A pained expression takes hold of his face, and Kendall falters.

What Jake said wasn’t exactly a lie, because she did mean it. It slipped her mouth in a drunken conversation they had right in the house behind them. Kendall said it mindlessly, not thinking that it’ll stick with him—but it did. 

Before she even realizes it, she gives in. “You think this is easy for me?” She turns her back to Jake for a brief second, paranoid that her boyfriend might be here already. The familiar gesture reels Jake’s mind back to you amidst the conversation—you did that when you were annoyed with him.

Kendall faces Jake again at the confirmation that Austin hasn’t arrived yet, “Jake…you know how hard—” She catches the blond looking past her.

“Oh my fucking god. Of course!” She yells, throwing her arms up in the air, bringing his focus back to the conversation. Kendall barely spared him enough time to actually find you amongst the sea of sweaty bodies blocking the screen door. 

“You still can’t pay attention to me. And you wonder why we had problems?” There’s a twinge of hurt in her voice, but she quickly swallows it back.

“Jacob. You have a new girlfriend for fucks sake, and you’re over here begging me to talk to you. Is she even okay with this?” She spits, steering him away from her previous accusation. In front of him, she’s breathless, exhausted, fed up with him—with this. 

Jake stills at her statement. ‘Is she even okay with this?’ Because of course you would be, wouldn't you? If you knew that he was here in the backyard, talking to her, you’d be okay waiting on your own. You’d want this for him. If you didn’t want this—if you didn’t want him to win her back, you wouldn’t have agreed to help him. 

Getting lost in his thoughts, Jake loses his chance—he takes too long to reply. “You know what? Fuck this,” her tone is venemous now, a blend of bitterness and resentment. 

Jake flinches at her words, regretting his search for you. “Talk to me when you learn how to treat a girl right,” she grits, finally. With her closing statement being said, Kendall moves past him, shoulder knocking into his arm with full force. 

Fuck.

Jake’s body seems to move on his own, steering him towards the beer kegs—driven by her words. 

Talk to me when you learn how to treat a girl right.

As pathetic as it was, it didn’t take long for your stomach to start up again once Jake left your side, though he promised you he’ll be back.

But with divine timing, Bradley appeared in front of you like your fairy godmother not a second after. He’d possibly kill Jake in replacement for you at the comparison, but it was true. You blinked just once, and your college aged fairy godmother was there. But instead of a glittery cloak shrouding her shoulders, she had on a pitch black t-shirt. And instead of a dainty little wand floating in her hands, she had the back of Bob’s hoodie fisted between her large knuckles, almost lifting the blond off the ground. 

After that, he communicated to you with a grunt to follow him and Bob along to the front of the house. You had flinched when he nearly growled at you for not getting the hint to stay ahead of him, so he could ensure you wouldn’t escape. The three of you barely made it out the front door together before Bradley scared away the three puny freshmen occupying the stone steps. They were already halfway across the lawn from just sensing Bradley’s dark energy, casting onto their backs.

With a shrug of his shoulders, and an accidental yank at Bob from the movement, Bradley led you to the steps. The hoodie swallowing your figure should be enough to keep you warm from the dropping temperatures, Bradley surmised to himself. 

None of you spoke a word to each other as Bradley silently suggested that you and Bob should sit down in the space he cleared. And right as Bob gathered enough courage to put a question forward, Bradley kind of smiled at you two and left. He just showed you both what it looked like when Bradley Bradshaw isn’t on the verge of killing someone, and he dipped like it was nothing. 

You and Bob had gone through different stages of revelation at the rare sight. At first you two gaped at each other in disbelief, then you entered a stage of denial together, and following that you both confirmed that Bradley actually fucking smiled. To anyone else, you two might have sounded clinically insane for being moved by his little smile, that could…probably use a bit more practice—but at the end of the day it was a smile from Bradley Bradshaw.

You and Bob had a mini-celebration to yourselves at the delirious confirmation that Bradley would actually take the time to tell you if a car was steering out of control in your direction. It may be hard to believe that someone wouldn't inform another human being that they might die, but this is Bradley you’re talking about. The same Bradley that smiled at you two, it’s a stamp of confirmation that he would care if you were in danger. 

“Just to preface, I don’t have my degree yet. But it does sound like an anxiety-induced stomach ache to me.” Bob offers with a small smile, chest still warm from Bradley’s gesture.

Since you just had a life-altering experience with Bob, conversation began to flow easier between you two—and this was only the second time you’ve ever spoken to him. 

You purse your lips in curiosity. “Have you learned about a solution for it yet?” 

Bob hadn’t actually browsed through that part of the textbook, but he wished he had now. It could be that his empathy was way too high for an average person, but Bob's own stomach started to hurt from your explanation of the pain you were feeling. 

“I–I’m really sorry, but no. I’ll definitely let you know once I do find out though.” And Bob intends to fulfill that promise, in fact he’ll download the electronic version of his textbook after this conversation so he could help you out for the future.

“But, uhm,” he hesitantly puts out his cup towards you, “It’s ginger ale, I haven't even touched it yet I swear. And I’m not saying you should take it. Girls should never really take drinks from anyone, actually. I just–I’m just offering, you have the right to say no.” Bob clamps his mouth shut, stopping himself from saying any more.

You peer into the cup, eyeing the liquid sloshing in there before curling your fingers around the solo cup. The tightness in Bob’s shoulders finally lets up once you offer him a reassuring smile.

A comfortable silence rests over the exchange, with you taking small sips from Bob’s drink as he stuffs his hands into his hoodie pocket. You two linger in the moment, quietly appreciating Bradley for pulling you both away from the chaos that’s going on inside the house. 

Again, you bring the rim of the cup to your lips, but once the sleeve of your hoodie hits your chin—you suddenly still, which catches Bob’s attention. It somehow slipped your mind that you showed up wearing Jake’s hoodie—your supposed boyfriend, who you haven't seen in the last hour.

“Oh god,” you whisper in realization. “I–I have to go. It was really nice talking to you Bob–like actually. I just,” you’re scrambling to stand up, going light headed from rising to your feet so quickly. Bob lightly laughs, looking up at you. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you in class,” he gives you a single nod, ensuring you that it’s okay. 

Storing his assurance to the back of your mind, you go shooting through the doors. The warmth inside the house is a sharp contrast to the biting breeze outside, sending a shiver down your spine. Everyone around you downed more drinks than you have tonight, they knock into you while you struggle to navigate through the living area. As you try to recall the interior of the house from being here last week, one guy bumps you into a wobbly table, shaking the plates of party snacks on it.

Not wanting to draw attention to yourself, you reach a hand out to still the foldable table by its edge. Then, you take a moment, blinking down at one plate in particular. On it, there’s a load of plastic baggies containing brightly colored gummies, which you assume to be edibles.

Almost as a signal, your stomach cramps again—urging you to grab one for yourself, so you do. You whip your head left and right before doing so. It’s for everyone right? 

With the ziplock baggie safely tucked into your back pocket, you resume your desperate search for Jake. But, you hardly have to take another step, because Jake is already drawing towards you, feet heavy as he drags them across the floor.

His chest buzzes, light warmth scattering through his ribs as he comes to a slow stop behind you. And maybe it’s because he’s done it so many times, but Jake’s fingers mindlessly curl around your waist, right under his hoodie. And like earlier in the day, he flips you around, reveling in goosebumps he’s brought on. 

Jake watches through half lidded eyes as you blink repeatedly at his chest. Acknowledging the large hand hugging your bare waist, you swallow so hard, you cough up a bit—before tentatively lifting your head, to meet the owner of said hand. 

“Oh.” It’s just Jake. 

It’s just Jake who’s staring down at you, with something unfamiliar pooling in his eyes. It’s just Jake whose fingers lightly squeeze your waist, again. It’s just Jake, you remind yourself.

You blink again, eyes wide and glossy underneath him. From this angle, you note the light flush tinting his cheeks. Then, your eyes run across his features, trying to get a read on the unfamiliar expression he’s wearing, and it seems like he’s doing the same.

Hearing a crunch, you both flick your eyes over to the cup in your hands. It takes a moment for you to even realize that it’s your fingers that’s currently curled around the solo cup. 

The sight of the crinkled plastic under your nails makes a voice ring out in Jake’s head. You still can’t pay attention to me. And you wonder why we had problems? Kendall’s right. That’s why she broke up with him, he let so much shit fly over his head. It’s no wonder she had a backup plan after she dumped him. Jake didn’t even pay enough attention to realize some guy was under his nose the whole time, giving his girlfriend attention when he wasn’t.

And it’s happened again. While Jake was thoughtlessly walking around the party, with nothing but Kendall in mind—someone got you a fucking drink. Someone who isn’t him. 

Talk to me when you learn how to treat a girl right.

Jake’s body reacts before his brain gets the chance to. Your breath hitches in your throat, watching him swat the cup out of your hand, forcing it to splatter against the wall, and falling flat to the ground with a clink.

Jake knows his limits, maybe too well for that matter. Right now, he’s slightly buzzed at best—he knows he is from his need to prove Kendall wrong. He knows from the way he moves his other hand to your jaw. He knows from the way he wants to get the remnants of that drink out of your mouth. He knows from the way he dips his head down to do it.

Jake feels like he’s sixteen again, kissing his best-friend, only slightly buzzed.

With his hand on your hip, he steadies you, fingers digging into your flesh as you stumble backwards. Satisfaction washes over him, feeling you eagerly slot your mouth into his. You’re just as shy as he thought you’d be—you’re kissing him back with a soft intensity, it’s different from what he’s used to. As your lips parts again, Jake’s mouth tingles at the sensation. 

Talk to me when you learn how to treat a girl right.

Not knowing what to do with your hands, you fist the front of his shirt with one, while the other reaches for the nape of his neck. Feeling your fingers hesitantly scratch at the baby hairs sitting there, Jake’s spurred on to pull a reaction out of you. A sudden need burns into his chest, telling him to make you feel brainless.

And you do.

Because in his hold, your body is going haywire, legs succumbing to jelly—but Jake holds you still, delving his tongue in your mouth—exploring it, draining that ginger-ale lingering there. It’s like you’re on overdrive, the dull music playing in the back dies out from the sound of your heartbeat in your ears, and your lungs burn from holding your breath.

With your jaw going slack in his hand, Jake knows you need to catch your breath, because he finally pulls away, lips twitching as he does so.

Jake’s darkened eyes lift open, observing the string of saliva between your mouths, mesmerized by the way it breaks from the distance and settles to glisten on your lips. With his hand on the line of your jaw, Jake extends a thumb to swipe away the shine he produced.

You’re breathless, chest rising up and down underneath his hoodie—mind still processing the practiced kiss.

“Was she looking?” 

Jake’s brows furrow, but he conceals it before you catch it. Thumbing over your bottom lip, Jake’s mind is half with you and half somewhere else.

He hums, mindlessly assuring you. “Mhm. Did such a good job for me, Princess.”

note: she is lengthy, but it's because i wont be able to update for the next two weeks, due to finals week D: but putting that aside, thank you for reading! and as always, reblogs are greatly appreciated. + gently ignore any mispells for now.

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[bemylord]

↠ toji with a virgin s/o ↞

pairing: toji fushiguro x fem!reader.

warnings: nsfw, aged up, size kink [?], oral [fem!receiving], virgin reader, first time, lost of virginity, praising, toji calls himself daddy, grammar errors.

word counter: 3.2k

rq: I would like to request a oneshot? a hc would be appreciated too though. Toji with a virgin gf who can’t even make herself cum? Just how he would like to destroy her :)

butler's remark: (◕‿◕) hello lord, i'm back with an oneshot with toji being tremendously tender with his lover for the first time. in addition, reader is a citizen. sorry, i did it soft, bc i think toji will super-extra-super soft for the first time with his s/o, only for the first. i hope you'll like that, thanks for the request ;)

disclaimer: everything you read is purely my opinion - any detail, sketch, or event is a figment of my imagination.

you've been an ordinary citizen and had never planned to date a sorcerer or someone close to this specialty. you ain't cowardly, merely as you were thinking you'll marry a simple man and will have kids with him, and die in one day like lovebirds.

you had never considered yourself being stuck in a relationship with a sorcerer killer.

you were overworked, virtually sleeping as were walking in the empty street, dreaming to get home as soon as possible, to feel the silk sheets against your back. the area where your office was located had little street lighting, although, you hadn't felt the anxiety of being robbed or something worse. the day went lingeringly and horrible due to the boss who declared you as a temporary deputy, piled you up with a stack of papers.

but, this is life, anything might happen. all of a sudden, you overheard something behind you but as you looked back - there was nobody, as soon as you turn your head to the starting position, you saw a young, skinny man who is holding a knife in his hand.

'hmm~ look who's here, a young, gorgeous lady..' he said with his disgusting, lewd voice, coming closer to you. 'would you mind playing with me? don't be shy or els-'

you have a perky personality, no doubt, but because of how hard the day was, you had one option - run for the hills. before you could do any movements as if hit the man or run away, something prompt hit him, like a swift meteorite that you couldn't see. a cloud of dust grew around you and the man, so you hide your face in the elbow curve, covering your mouth with another hand.

as soon as the dust had settled, in front of you opened up on the view of an adult man. he was high, had an athletic, broad-shouldered, pretty impressive figure. your savior held the blade in one hand, flopped on his back.

'he ran away like a coward. don't worry, girl, you saved, thanks to me' he laughed, he stroked himself on the shoulder, as were about to leave the dead body.

'no i'm not! i'd have protected myself on my own'

you refuted his smugness, watching as he slowly moves his torso in your way, flaunting his outlining muscles through the fabric of the black t-shirt. his complacent eyes and the sharp scar over the right side of the mouth on the edge of his lips. you took a deep breath, continuing on your path as he isn't standing there, not hadn't protected you.

'you're too weak to beat even him, if not me, you'd be-'

'i am stronger as i may look'

he giggled, in a flash stood in front of you, bending over to your face, by finger tugs your face up to look at him directly in eyes, smirked.

'are you sure, girl?'

those green, almost emerald, but cold eyes looked directly into yours as two faces were as closed as you could kiss his lips.

'i'll walk you home'

'i don't want to, and anyway, maybe you're his partner in crime, leave me alon-'

previous to you had finished your phrase, he threw your tiny body on his shoulder, leisurely walking, better say, carrying you home. you beat his back, softly reminiscent of a parody of the word 'let me go, moron, i can walk by myself'

'tch, fine, idiot,' he deliberately shrugged his shoulder to close your mouth as heard the name you had given him. 'by the way, what's your name or you prefer the name idiot?' you said sarcastically.

'for you it's toji'

well.

as a result of your crawl and also being talkative when clearly you shouldn't be, you ended up being in a relationship with a man, who'd obviously fuck you on the first date, as it may count as a 'date', anywhere-anytime, by the way.

although you wouldn't ever say he isn't hot or sexy, conversely, you willingly allow him to breed, precisely you'd beg toji to breed you on the straightaway on the cervix, but for one thing.

you're a virgin.

hilariously - it's true. nothing bad to be in your age a virgin, but if you weren't dating toji it'd fine: his dirty jokes and lustful eyes which are maddening you insane, also his fucking athletic body which is outlining through the t-shirt or white cotton shirt [he wear it once] you thought he did it purposely: he knew your secret, undoubtedly could sniff your chaste nature as if you can emit fragrance.

on the second date, it had been nine days since you got acquainted with him, as you moved in with him. toji was exceedingly obsessed with every step of yours - he followed you from the work, in the mall or market, for your security and control every guy who'd be close to you.

although, you couldn't hide your addiction - he's a drug you should be careful with or you might be addicted as if you ain't. he isn't wearing pants in home, walking in front of you solely in underwear. he could walk from the shower in a terry towel wrapped around his torso as he buries his hands in his dark hair mess it up.

'what are you looking at, girl?'

you couldn't take your eyes off his bulging..

'you. just you. i'm gonna cook dinner, something.. special?'

'eggs, baby'

fushiguro put hands above the door frame, exhale and tensed every muscle, narrowing predatory eyes as you were the extraction he was target for. you're laying on his king size bed [lol i'm sorry i'm out], wondering is everything he has gotten measured in king size as he interupted your reflection by putting the knee on the edge of the bed.

'mine. in your pussy'

as if you're bewitched - you couldn't talk, just contemplate as he leisurely moves towards you. you couldn't contravene as he tugs your face to ogle in your absentminded eyes as you're avoiding his gaze, looking at the ceiling or door or even window. not. at. his. bulge.

your heart had stuck in your throat when toji ran his hand under his shirt, certainly, he has a kink of dominion, when he suddenly stopped. despite of your uncertainty and timid of subsequent play, you looked at his emerald eyes as he licks his lips with a tongue.

'are you sure, baby girl? i mean, it's your first time after all'

you quell your forthcoming question staring deeply into lascivious eyes, put hands on his massive shoulders. as you anticipated, his cock twitched as toji letting out a low groan in your ear, kissing your temple. you're absentmindedly running finger pads on his back, not knowing the proximity of bodies that are readiness wanted to intertwine together. not knowing how much it turns him on.

'stop me if i go crazy over your body, okay?'

as if. as if you dare would rip out his tongue off your crotch as he makes you his woman. toji left on your red cheeks quick kisses, took off the towel. you shut your eyes tight, still holding his shoulders barely squeeze them, letting out a hushed moan.

after you quelled your moan, toji touched your lips against his one, running fingers on your lower stomach to the cup of the breast without touching the hard nipple. light movements mixed with his muted groans. his pads deftly touched one areola as you emitted a sharp purr, arching your back a little as a dulcet sign for toji.

you dug your fingers into toji's back, as he put a finger on your hard nipple, holding himself as to grab your tits and clench it in his large hand.

you gasp for the air as if there was a catastrophic shortage of it due to the pressed body of toji. you responded at his deep kiss, wrapping hands around his neck, apparently begging for something more.

he pulled away from the kiss just to take off the shirt he has given you, baring your untouched by no one but him tits, leading palms onto breasts, skipping nipples between the gaps through fingers. he reached down to your lips to give a bit of warning kiss as he slightly bit your lip, kissing all the way down to your collarbone, finally leaving there manifestations of hickeys.

for how long toji has been stopped from leaving on your stunning skin his marks? it seems it has been absolutely not many days but toji, as you may see, clearly has to leave labels on your neck.

he dug his teeth into your neck, frantically wants your area to be dotted by him as a token for everyone meaning: she's taken, dude, don't mess up with her.

for how long toji has been stopped from touching your sensitive area as having been feel warmth and tenderness is emitted from your body?

toji squeezes your nipple imponderable, to make you feel some kind of power over you becoming submitted by toji fushiguro, a sorcerer killer, a man who owned you, spinning the pea between pads, making you let out whimpers.

'you drive me insane, little one,' he approached his face close to the breasts, touched your pea with his tongue cautiously, as not to frighten you away. 'i'm gonna make your pussy drool beneath me, completely own you as my little girl'

you feel yourself gush beneath him, burying hands in his messy hair as your breath has stuck in the throat as toji snuggles his lips on your tits, sucking your hard and probably swollen from teasing. fushiguro has made you became wet in your panties as he's moistening your breast, hearing your precipitous whimpers.

'toj-toji, i don't know-'

'tch, little girl, relax your body and let daddy do the rest'

as he pronounced, he moves down, leaving the trace of wet kisses on your stomach, massaging your hips, stopping his action to look at your red face. your chest heaves heavily every time you feel toji's silky lips on your belly as his finger pads caressing your thighs. as if something weighty is resting on your chest you take deep breathes, breathlessly exhaling.

'spread your legs'

you obediently did what he said, hesitating a bit as the only fabric holding him back to bury his mouth against your pussy, assembling all juices, tasting your cum as if it's his meal. he rested kisses on the fabric of panties, couldn't sate with tender kisses he spreads on your body.

deliberately run tongue on your labia through the thin fabric as you were about to push his hand from your crotch as toji grab you by the hips, pulling you closer. he slackens his teasing actions by kissing your inner thighs. as your cunt was lack of attention from toji, you let out a pliant whimper, approximately woefully have purred.

toji's self-restraint thinning as you're silently begging with your eyes and your hands immeasurably are burying in his dark hair. the tip of his tongue deftly sideline panties, flicked it, as he discovered a divine view on your drooling hole.

'stop me now, because i won't be able to hold back later'

teasufully kissing your labia and area around the place he should be playing with as anticipating for some pliant whimpers of you, deliberately showing you he'll lick that swollen clit, pressing a soft kiss on the skin instead. fushi's shattering your hopes of being eating every time he kissed literally everything and lick everywhere besides your hole and clit. he acts like an inexperienced teenager, notwithstanding, you know that toji'd ruin or demolish your holes like a monster.

't-toji..'

'yes, my little girl' he pressed the tip of his tongue on your clit, hearing those moans he's willing to listen for the rest of his life, then take away as you were about to press his mouth back again, digging his tongue deep inside you, although he obviously couldn't reach to your cervix, barely permeate in your hole.

'you want me to eat your little pussy?'

as if you can't talk, you nodded. scarcely reached up to take off the last thing, leisurely pulling down the panties, staring at you as a predator. toji is standing on his knee on the bed, threw your ankles on his shoulders, smooching ankles watching as to how your cheeks are becoming pinky, as you try not to look at his dick. still, you're a timid one, despite your words.

he reached to your face to give you a voluptuous kiss, returning to the starting position.

'look at your pretty pussy'

he kissed your clit in a flash replace into the tongue, making a circles on swollen and needy spot, decisively giving you what've been begging for. running the tip of the tongue on your virgin hole, leaving it for the dessert, returning to your clit.

you'd swear to god you can see stars in the ceiling as toji squeezing your nipples while moistening you. the proximity of his face in your pussy is driving you insane, for the days of cohabitation you understood he isn't a tender one, vice versa, he'd fuck you whenever his dick gets erect. maybe it's a rush of tenderness, maybe it's the fear of hurting his girl. nevertheless, you not scared to give toji full control of your body and bring you to your first orgasm by ripping the hymen. if that's i may call the way he's licking you, it'd be make-out with your pussy, due to his relentless movements by flicking his tongue on the clit.

'baby,' he pulled away from it, as you squeeze a sheet, making your knuckles become whiten as you spread legs wider, watching his mocking grin appeared on the face. 'i'll be gentle' he pressed his lips on your forehead, taking from the bedside table lubrication to low the friction. although, the thought of his dick ripped the hymen, putting all his tenderness in your first time, make your knees get shaken.

he put a soft kiss on your lips, smearing lubrication on his dick, substitute cock on the entrance. abrupt and penetrating pain wavily covered your body as you feel soft lips covered your mouth, blunting the pain with one hand being dug in your hip, painting illegible traces. another hand he put on your cheek, drawing circles with his thumb, waiting till getting used to the pain.

toji will find lots of red stripes from your nails on his back, smirked, as reminiscing about that special night when he made you his woman. his broad back was made merely for you to leave thousand and thousand fingernail impressions every night. toji had let a low groan as he feels as you move fingertips to the neck, exhaling in his chest.

he entered all his dick inside you feeling as your walls compressing the base, getting used to being full with his thick cock. you're indulging at the new, mind-blowing feeling, give him sheepish kisses as you're scared to be rejected. he moves his palm from the cheek to the ear, running fingers through your tangled but soft to the touch. you nudged your hips up, intermittently letting your breath out.

'tch, if you're not feeling well, i can come-'

'more, toji, more'

without breaking up kiss, he pulled out cock to the tip as pulling it again slowly, stretching your walls, touching with the tip your cervix as his balls touching your ass, groaning in the kiss, softly caress your thigh. you moved your palms to the shoulder, touching the musculature, going down to the biceps wrapping his arm as another hand attempting to draw patterns on the back as if it a canvas for you.

you can feel every vein, curve, and the way his tip is expanding gummy walls, as toji diligently coming in, adjusting inside you then pulling out. you're focusing on how full you're with his cock inside, your clarity gradually getting mushed as the sharp pain turning into a pleasurable and delightful feeling. sating to the new feeling might get addiction, but you're far beyond to accept that, surrendering to your lover as he gets addicted to it. you grasp for his shoulders, as he nudged in you, leaving whimpers from your mouth.

'like that, huh?' he pulled his cock out to contemplate as your facial expression have changed: you furrowed eyebrows as felt your hole being empty without thick toji's cock, practically purring like a march cat. 'beg me for it, baby'

what an insatiable man you've got. he licked his lips, looking down on it. your hymen has left blood, as he glanced at you to see his future wife your reaction.

'i-i toji, it's..'

he hummed, returning to your lips, slowly giving back the missing part.

'you okay?' you nodded as a response; he's perceiving fullness as wants to fill you up, but desperately be tempered himself, blaming he didn't wear a condom to do it. a dozen of half-moons will be littering your hips as toji's digging nails, scrambled your mind with squelches pushes in your hole. 'relax, baby girl, i'm here' he thrusts inside the spongy spot, ripping another moan out of you, voluptuous to his ears. 'baby~ you tease me with those moans of yours'

his cock was aimed at a place inside your vagina, with a slow but deep thrust skillfully reaching your cervix, massaging with the tip of his cock that spot. toji's staring at your pleased, satisfied face as he found that needy place of yours.

holding on to the headboard in the bed as support, clutching the sheet with his other hand like the composure he was rapidly losing with each thrust into your hole, formerly virgin cunt, letting out a heavy sigh, tilting his head back.

wiggling the pelvis backward and forwards as heard beneath his body your whimpers, feeling replenishment on his skin to his previous strips, losing remains self-control as your walls have been clenching his cock, as your body gets shaking as his, preparing the body for the coming ecstasy.

'toji, mh~' you tilted the head back on the pillow, wrapping legs around his pelvis, quelling moans while arching back against his chest. you're milked [? correct if i'm wrong] his cock, shuddering. you felt his lips on your cheeks, as he's covering your wet face in kisses, pulling cock out.

'damn, baby, probably-' he stroke his hard cock a couple of times before releasing his cum onto your belly. fushiguro ran fingers from the hairline, wiping beads of sweat from the hairline through hair. 'are you good?'

as you're still catching your breath you rested on your face a slight smile, closing eyes. he giggled, getting out of bed.

'almost made a baby' it took him a second or two, to lift you up in my arms, leading into the bathroom. 'i'm gonna clean you up, my baby. but you could fall asleep in my arms, you did such a good job by taking my cock' he kissed your forehead, wiping your drops of sweat.

'i love you, toji'

he put you on the washing machine, turning away from you to fill the tub. what went unnoticed was his relaxed smile after your phrase.

'i love you more, little one'

(◕‿◕)

↳ back to the main master list.

i feel i made lots of mistakes, like, idk. correct me if smth i did wrong.

i remember my promise to do one more work with toji, so lately i'll write hdc + drabble with him.

[punemy-spotted]

Dead Trees Like Lavender Fields Chapter 2

Chapter 2: In The Pines

Pairing: Old One!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Elements, Dub-Con, Soft!Dark Characters, Dark! Characters, Cult Elements, Human/Animal Sacrifice, Religious Elements, Blasphemy, Cosmic/Dark Horror, Stalking, Possessive/Obsessive Characters, Appalachian/Mountain Gothic, Gothic Horror, Descriptions of Death and Rot and Poverty, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, This Is Kind Of Horror So Please Remember That

Chapter 1

Chapter Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Elements, Fever, Sickness, Death, Burning, Religious Elements, Cult Activity, Immolation, Unclear Timelines, Unreality, Horror, Choking, Bruising, Potential References to Domestic Violence, Pregnancy, Churches, Shotgun Weddings

PLEASE REMEMBER THAT YOUR CONSUMPTION OF MEDIA IS YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY AND IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE CONTENT THAT IS BEING PRESENTED, PLEASE DO NOT READ

Chapter Summary: You come to the mountain to burn and be reborn.

O Appalachia: mother and maw that births and devours us, roots sunk deep and winding as gnarled hands clasped in prayer, hold us fast and give us foundation..

- Old Gods of Appalachia, Episode 11: Season Two Prologue

Notes: Another chapter of my baby. Old Gods of Appalachia just completed their second season and ooooh boy am I in love. More lore to come. I'd call this fic slow-burn but that would be both a lie and a pun.

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

Names… names have power.

A power she cannot comprehend, can never comprehend, not in the years that are laid out before her, her path wound through trees of time and space.

Names have power.

The handsome coal miner boarding with her papaw’s family calls her Darlin’ and she is shy and cautious, is interested and sweet on his work-wizened smile and axe-sure hands.

Her fiancée calls her Sweetheart and she is bubbling and bright and full of adoring life.

Her husband calls her Missus Tucker, and she is welcomed, is a stranger in a new family, is in search of a community in a town not her own.

So here she kneels, this many-named she, composed of a thousand identities bound to one soul, dressed in the white of purity and death and rebirth in a church which looks grander and stranger than anything she had ever seen in her own life.

Here she kneels, a wafer of spun sugar melting on her tongue, consecrated by the brush of a warm hand over her veiled head, listening to the boom of a pastor the likes of which she had never known and would likely never know again.

He calls her Foundling, tells her she was once a lost lamb, tells her this flock is her family, this congregation of ringing voices raised up in a kind of praise she had never known before and might never know again.

And here in this church, with its pews hewn right out of the fine oak floors which lined this holy place, she believed him.

You come to us a lamb in need of sheering, in need of rebirth, in need of shelter from the storms beyond. You come to us to be forged, the Pastor booms, a looming man who looked like he might have been carved from marble itself, his hair the spun gold of Heaven’s own light, his eyes flooded blue with the fervor of the Lord, You come to us to be welcomed, to be named found, to be named the wife of Eugene Paul Tucker, to be the cornerstone of that new homestead you shall build here in this Holler. You come to be made whole, sheared of the sins of your old life, to begin anew.

They were already married, she and Eugene, ‘cuz the swellin’ in her midsection was starting to get a bit obvious and her mamaw weren’t about to let her great-grandbaby be a bastard. Her momma and poppa might’ve been taken out by the booze and the black lung but Goddammit, I ain’t lettin’ no good-fer-nothin’ rock-finder make a fallen woman outta my girl! You git down t’city hall afore I git myself a shotgun. You better make an honest woman outta my grandbaby, you gottdamned lout! And she’d never heard her mamaw swear that much — weren’t Good nor Godly, that sorta language — but she knew then just like she knew now, that her mamaw meant business. No point asking if she’d need some soap t’clean her mouth.

They were already married, she and Eugene, with a license from City Hall for the government t’be satsified, but Eugene wanted a church weddin’, a good proper one with praise an’ scripture an’ all the trappings of Godly Grace. The church in town, her momma and poppa’s town where they’d been born and died, well it wasn’t ‘bout t’let an unmarried — license by some gov’mint weren’t ‘nough for these folks — girl and an outsider get good and proper hitched in their sacred halls.

So that was it.

So they came here, to Eugene’s town. To Bell’s Hollow — or Holler, cuz government names ain’t the right names, plenty of people knew that — where they were welcomed.

She ain’t ever heard of Bell’s Holler before but that weren’t a worry — plenty of towns here not on the government’s radar, even if they had a mayor and a post office and a city hall. Ain’t nobody carin’ about these little places ‘less there was money t’be made of it.

So they came here.

And now they both kneel afore the Pastor, the smilin’ man with gold-flax hair and sparklin’ eyes and teeth placed all in a row like a neat little graveyard, booming out scripture and something else. The fire in her soul ain’t nothin’ like the feel of her old, somber church which rejected her for bein’ rich with life, moving slow and languid through every corner of her body, like the Lord’s Good Word was spreading into her with every beat of her loving heart.

But then the heat grows, blooms into something… uncomfortable.

Unbearable, before long.

Eugene watches her shift on her knees with a smile in his eyes, almost unbothered by the way stinging tears stream down his pretty new bride’s face, the way the Pastor makes her expression contort with pain and then terror with every fervent syllable pouring like stinging hornets from his mouth.

And when the hem of her wedding dress catches ablaze and his wife starts screaming, all he does his squeeze her hand like he could shackle her here, tie her to the wood and bone and Pastor Rogers booms, I strip you, lamb of God, I sheer the wool of sin from your skin and wrap you anew, anew with a new name, a true name, and when the Good Lord calls you to His side, let the name He draws you with be Eliza-Anne Tucker and may the fires of your love for Him be your guide Home.

And Eliza-Anne Tucker burns.

You wake. Ablaze too, just like the woman in your dreams, the one you recognize and don’t all at once.

If the fever wasn’t presently decimating what remained of your thoughtful mind, you might have considered who your mother was before she married the man apparently called Eugene Paul, the man who apparently was your father, the man no one seems to mention anymore except to tell you he was dead.

Unfortunately, fever.

It’s the same unnatural burning as the other dream, the one you wish the fever would make you forget and yet you are never quite so lucky, invisible flames licking your heated skin and something like a brand stinging on the inside of your thigh. Sunlight filters in through the window, burns your eyes until you close them, too bright, too loud, too warm. You open your mouth to groan and feel claws sink into your throat, pine needles embedding themselves into you and you can’t… you can barely breathe, much less speak.

Sickness never sat well with you — your mother always knew all the right remedies to make, chamomile milk, honey and turmeric, a saucer of biscuits soaked in coffee — but you’re sure this is something… worse.

This isn’t warm milk and tea remedies. This feels like someone tied you to a stake and lit you up, too much smoke in your lungs to be washed away with honey, leaving you unable to do anything but choke on your own labored breaths, tasting blood instead of coffee-cookies.

If you looked at yourself in the mirror — that was, if you could actually pull your body up and see yourself, take a look at yourself in the vanity mirror right beside your bed — you might have seen the mottled bruises around your throat. Might have realized that they looked like fingers wrapped around you, choking quiet any attempt you might have made to make sense of yourself. But… seeing as you can’t, can’t do much more than roll over in your sweat-soaked sheets, you don’t see and thus don’t notice the way one of those bruises deepens, not even as darkness overtakes your senses.

It’s the fever, you would probably justify if you had the senses to do it, the fever. Just needs to be slept off.

Whatever sleep means.

You see things, behind your closed eyes. Scattered images, fractured visions and strange voices. Glowing red eyes, monstrous growls, fangs flashing in the unnatural light. You think yourself awake a few times, sure you see your momma pacing fretfully at the foot of your bed, see Sergeant Barnes sneering at you from your doorway and uttering words that sounded something like an incantation, see flames and horned beasts with glowing amber under their peeling skin.

The whispering voices too are numerous, too numerous to name each individual one, but you try — your mother’s, Sergeant Barnes, the golden-haired Pastor from your dream-mare, and… the slow singsong of someone you know and don’t all at once.

You wake to the voice and its source, a smiling woman with a cool, wet rag in her hand, pressing it to your forehead, Well hello, honey, and ain’t you a sight?

And well.

You are.

Sweat-soaked and uncomfortable, flushed with both embarrassment and fever, mumbling some sort of apology to the strange woman at your bedside. This was not exactly how you envisioned your homecoming.

Ain’t got no need t’pologize, honey, lord knows we should be the ones fallin’ over for you, the woman cuts off the half-formed words pouring from your mouth, still pressing that rag to your heated cheeks, Comin’ down this sick, well, I know your Auntie Estus’s cookin’ an’ I know she ain’t the type t’give food poisoning. Air must just not be agreein’ with you, but that’s alright. We’ll get you right as green soon enough.

You nod, trying not to think on how strangely your nurse speaks — an affectation of age, almost, the shape of her words somehow ancient and not, like seven voices all at once — and instead try your best to get a good look at her as waves of heat blur your vision.

She flickers, indeterminate, shifting through phases of being but always, always with that same rounded belly of a woman just weeks from popping out a squalling babe into the world, yet so comfortable in her gravidity.

Shh, don’t you try lookin’ too hard, honey. Only gonna hurt yourself, she assures you, pursing her lips when you turn your head away to rest your eyes and give her a greater view of your neck. You don’t see them, but she does.

Well. Looks like somebody already did, now how’d these come about, honey…?

The look on your face — confusion, concern, and a hint of panic — is enough to tell her you have no idea, and she tuts her tongue again, Tch. Have a talk with your people ‘bout that when I’m done gettin’ your fever down. Now… you can feel fingers brush over your head, cool spring water on your scalp, ice over your sweltering skin and you sigh softly as relief floods in like the tide, That’s a good girl. Just breathe now, for me.

Your senses flood with sweet orange as a battle is held in front of your nose, a sure hand helping you sit as pillows seem to rearrange themselves, laying you back at an angle and as you finally reopen your once-tired eyes, the world sets itself right.

A world blooming with light, the chirp of a warbler outside no longer sandpaper on your senses, and that same beatifically smiling woman watching you blink into what has to be finally clear awareness.

There we go, back to the land of the living, the woman’s voice is a bell, a constant press to your senses, pushing back the foggy film threatening to cloud your thoughts all over again.

You manage a smile, a warm nod to mirror your nurse, I’m sorry, before you can be interrupted, I… I’m not sure what exactly happened.

The nursemaid’s eyes merely crinkle, suppressing a smile of quiet amusement, No honey, I don’t suspect you would. Ain’t no reason t’worry ‘bout that now, ‘course. Never any. Now then… You have a mug pressed into your hands, the source of which you can’t quite place but you know enough to sip at it even before you can be told to. It smells of orange again, bright and sunny, tastes of nostalgia and home.

You almost let a tear slip quietly down your cheek, stopped only at the soft brush of a caring thumb. You must miss her somethin’ awful, honeysweet. She loved you a mighty ‘mount, didn’t she…?

Miss her?

You think on the dreams you remember a moment, the shape of your mother’s face, so young in the dim flashbacks of your memories and so full of… life.

A life you still can’t remember her having, not while she raised you up.

I’m realizing I don’t know her very much, you admit, unbidden, unsure suddenly where such honesty came from it isn’t like you to tell your secrets.

You never know your mama, not the way you think you do. They always got secrets t’keep, from you an’ for you. S’what mamas do, to protect their babies. Something about those words sits in you. Weighs on you, embeds into your heart like nails in the wall. The friction of realization.

The ache might have pushed you to cry again, to finally let out that deluge of pain and sorrow and loneliness you buried, just like she did. Ain’t got no reason t’cry, cuz I ain’t got no one t’care, but the hand at your cheek is warm and familiar and when you look at your nursemaid you see her again, hale and hearty as you wish you could immortalize her all over again.

It’s when she opens her mouth and the warbler outside turns from a song to a crow that you bolt upright proper.

Dreams in dreams.

It was afternoon when the fever broke.

Afternoon, faded into a brick-grey dawn, the sound of a crowing rooster cutting through any words you might have heard the last vestiges of your sleeping mind say, and you…

You’re not sure if any of that was real.

Hell, you’re not sure any of this is real.

The bedsheets are… fine.

Unaffected. There’s no stink of sweat and sickness on them like you might have imagined from a fever so bitter it had you imagining your own mother’s memories and a nursemaid bearing her reborn visage, had you tasting sunshine tea and feeling bruises you couldn’t even see. No sign of…

No sign of the other dream too, the one you refuse to dwell on lest it heat your cheeks and something else entirely.

Nothing.

You almost expect to feel sore as you push aside the covers and let yourself rise from bed, listening to the house come alive around you. Someone hollers for eggs, someone calls back, Aunt Estus’s opera-singer voice calls for quiet or Ye’ll wake yer pa up!

Pa, whoever that is to the chastened down below, doesn’t appear awake to respond. And you, who expected aching between your thighs and the unsettling slick of the-thing-you-don’t-want-to-think-about, are both delighted and confused to feel neither.

Of all the strange realizations you have faced until this moment, somehow this — the realization of nothing at all — is the most welcome.

You dress, watching yourself in the vanity mirror and toying with the empty space where the bruises you were sure you would find were supposed to be, before picking up your necklace and breathing in deep. Never take it off again, never never never and you don’t know where that sort of knowledge comes from, but you know enough to listen to it.

Enough to clasp it around your neck, let the stone sit heavy at your collar, let it almost thrum, as if a heart had suddenly begun to beat to life within that carbonized gem. Heavy. Safe. Protective.

You ought to have minded your mother a bit more often, you remember. Ought to have paid attention to the warnings the late woman-who-was-once-Eliza-Anne-Tucker had always given you. Don’t go into the woods, don’t go into the dark, don’t listen to the call of the void.

Some lessons, apparently, need to be hard-learned.

You’re learning them now, as you stare at the door to the hall and steel yourself to face the new day before you.

Open doors are portals, you know from your mother’s warnings, as you step forth from the bedroom and into the hall.

And come face to face with a grinning shadow Sergeant Barnes, nonchalant against the wall, feet from where you’d locked yourself in for the night before, eyes bright and full of knowing.

Morning, kitten. Sleep well? Not too hot?

[smutsonian]

Dark!bucky X pregnant reader with someone else’s baby

dark!bucky x pregnant reader with someone else’s baby

warnings: darkish, smut, obsession, possessiveness, some violence, stalker!bucky, manipulation, asshole ex, i dont do crack but i was on crack when i wrote this but i dont do crack, not prrofread 

word count: 1.4k 

an: so i have no idea how to make a headcanon so this is an attempt pls go easy on me im a lil bitch

masterlist

- Dark bucky with a pregnant reader having a baby that’s not his will probably be an obsessed dark bonky barnacle

- Like fresh out of hydra bucky who’s so lost but then he sees you, a pregnant woman all alone, carrying bags of groceries.

- He’d be so mesmerized by your glow that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from walking towards you and helping you.

- It’s like he’s never seen something so pure but then there you are, walking around with this light surrounding you. Like a goddess in Bucky’s eyes.

- He would be a terrific actor because you wouldn’t even notice his accent and how does this guy able to speak a lot of words just like that? He’s suddenly a friendly dude. Far from the assassin described all over the news.

- He won’t ask about the lack of a partner by your side but he can easily manipulate the conversation to that topic. 

- “How come a lady like yourself is all on your own?”

- And just like that, you tell him your life story. Maybe it’s because of the hormones that you just wanted to rant about your horrible partner that left you the minute you told him the news or maybe it’s because you felt so safe with this hot stranger… A big mistake on your side, to be honest. Or is it?

- Bucky would listen to every word you’d say while he memorizes every single detail about you. The way your lips move when you talk, the way you would lick your lips when you’ve been talking nonstop. How you smell; he’ll inch closer to you just to get a whiff and he’ll be so intoxicated.

- He’ll be walking you back to your home and that will be the start of something…

- Bucky would be watching your every move. He’d call it watching over you but dark bonky is bonkers.

 - And he’ll see you interacting with children at the cafe, at the bakery, anywhere and his heart will melt at how you’re so good with children.

 - Then he’ll see how your stomach will grow bigger as the child inside grows and this guy’s protectiveness will grow as well…

 - Obsessed and protective bucky is a lot to take in

 - BUT obsessed, protective, jealous, AND horny bucky will be the death of all vaginas.

 - He’d watch as your asshole ex-boyfriend comes back, trying to win you back and bucky would just wait for how you’ll react while his whole body heats up with anger, hungry for murder. Preferably your ex-boyfriend.

 - But then bucky would be all giddy and would wear a grin all the time when he sees you reject the asshole, telling him that you’ve fallen for someone else.

 - That grin would soon fall when this asshole of an ex of yours calls you names such as a slut, whore, and whatnot.

 - That grin comes back when bucky finally deals with that ex-boyfriend.

 - Would you look at that? Bucky answers your call the next day, crying your heart out because your asshole ex came back which hurt your feelings and a very hormonal pregnant woman can’t just go through all that.

 - Bucky is there to the rescue because he’s at your door in a blink with a lot of comfort food.

 - Your heart melts at that and you’d fall for him deeper every moment he’s with you.

 - How can a guy be so perfect?

 - You’d secretly wish he’s the father of your unborn child.

 - That wish wouldn’t be much of a dream because bucky would confess his love to you and dadadada would you look at that! You’d fall even MORE because of how he kissed your bump, promising you and the baby that he’ll take good care of you.

 - Could you be more in love? This man would always talk to your bump and will always be at your service.

 - You whine from back pain? This guy will give you the best massage ever.

 - Cravings? No problem because this guy will fill your pantry until the whole grocery is moved into your home. The home that became bucky’s as well.

 - Of course, due to pregnancy hormones, you’d be hungry for some action and you best believe that bucky will not let his girl wait.

 - He’d give you everything.

 - He’d see you whining, noticing how you’ve been grumpy the whole day and he’ll act oblivious but he exactly knows what’s happening. He can practically smell your fluids, duh.

 - “What’s wrong, doll?” His voice would be extra sultry and you would just blame it on your hormones but this mf is doing it on purpose.

 - You’d try to play it cool but this man will do everything that’ll make you so very hot and bothered.

 - “How about a massage?” He’ll over, already running his hands over your stiff shoulders and earning a moan from you.

 - He only smirks as he plays your body like a fiddle.

 - Then all of a sudden, you’re naked.

 -  He’d cloth you with oil, claiming that it’ll feel good and lord have mercy it does feel good.

 -  He’d start from your back, going lower and lower until his focus is on your ass. 

 -  Bucky’s pants will get tighter as the smell of your arousal invades his senses and how about that? Now bucky is naked as well.

 -  He spreads your cheeks before inhaling your scent more.

 -  He’d admire the sounds you’re making as he devours that pussae.

 -  Cumming once will not be enough because he wouldn’t stop until you’re begging for his cock.

 -  “PLEASE BUCKY! I need it!” You’d scream out but that’s not enough for this fucker.

 - “Tell me what you want, baby…” He’ll be sucking on your neck, continuously pulling moans from you.

 - “I need your cock in my pussy…” You finally whisper, breathing heavily and squealing in ecstasy as his cock finally enters your begging cunt.

 - “AAHH fuck!” Bucky would be having visions inside his head as soon as he gets that magical pussy skkskksks because he’s never felt this way before.

 - He’d be rutting into you like a starved caveman and you’d be rutting your ass back against him, just as hungry as he is.

 -  You just feel so good around his cock. Your walls are so snug and so wet, bucky would fucking die for that pussae.

 - After a few minutes, or maybe hours idk y’all are a different type of horny… 

 - You’ve cum a lot of times and bucky has spilled his seed inside you over and over…

 - You’d be cuddling and this man is wrapped around you like a fuckin’ koala.

 - He won’t let you get away unless you’re in an uncomfortable position. He’d let you adjust but then he’ll be back to cradling you.

 - He’s palm would be stroking your belly.

 - “I can’t wait for our baby to come,” he’ll whisper in your ear and you know you’ve already fallen in love with this man but fuck it. You’re deeper in it so gluck.

 - You’d let him kiss your face and you’d tell him how thankful you are that you’ve met him.

 - Then he’s like ‘no IM thankful for YOU’ kind of shit.

 - “You know… After giving birth…” You’ll trail off, making bucky wait in anticipation but he already knows what’s coming.

 - “I would want to have your baby…” You’ll say shyly but bucky’s having none of that. He’ll be peppering kisses all over your face, almost crying in joy at the words you just said.

 - “I fucking love you. I love you more than you’ll ever know.” He’ll stare at you and you’ll stare right back at him.

 - “Marry me.” He’ll say suddenly.

 - Bucky almost feels guilty when you start to cry but you assure him that those were tears of joy and you’d just keep nodding your head.

 - “Yes, I’ll marry you!” You’d share a kiss before going back to cuddling.

 - Bucky would be watching you as you doze off and he’ll be admiring you as you start to fall asleep.

 - “I love you,” he’ll say before he lets his cheeks fall on the top of your head.

 - “I love you too, bucky,”bucky’s heart melts at your sleepy voice as he sleeps peacefully which he was only able to do when he’s with you.

 - Bucky would be proud of himself for being able to orchestrate everything and he’s not even guilty about it because, in the end, he was able to have you.

 - And soon enough, you’ll be having a big family with him. He’ll make sure of that.

----

an: i think i fucked up at some point lol sorry

taglist

General: @readermia @unlikelygalaxygiver @xoxabs88xox @anncutamarica @chaoticfiretaconerd @i-love-superhero @caffiend-queen @coconutqueen21 @jtargaryen18 @jennmurawski13 @mushyjellybeans @ninjabucky @evnscvll @buckstaybucky @donutloverxo @rebloggingeverything @adriannajackson @la-cey @awaywithtime @gotnofucks @littlegasps

Bucky Fics: @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123

Chris and seb: @harrysthiccthighss

Marvel: @jemzeraion

[i-make-fun-of-spn-characters]

I feel like you've given most spn related things some lil spice but I always love the spice on this : hot spicy take on the "Dean is the most horrible character and ruins everyone's life and Sam and Cas are poor little meow meows who only do bad things sometimes because tyran Dean farted in their direction" takes that are not really only said by anti-Dean peeps ? Obsessed with that incredible thesis and would love the added spice ❤

SPICY HOT HOT GHOST PEPPERS CAROLINA REAPERS HELP I'M BURNING

I really try to respect other people’s opinions, and I believe there are a wealth of ways to interpret a story, and I think that’s a deeply beautiful thing. This applies to interpretations I don't agree with and outright dislike as well. That said, some opinions are simply and objectively bad, dishonest, and/or demonstrably false, and I truly do not believe you can sit down and honestly watch through the show with an open mind about all the characters, truly pay attention to what they do, say, and believe, and come to the conclusion that this show is about an evil manipulative abusive man terrorizing his pure and sinless brother and friend. It is an interpretation built from cherry picking facts to suit an ugly, miserable theory, making Mount Everest out of a bunch of the tiny mole hills, making the worst possible presumptions of feelings and intentions, and holding characters to completely different standards in order to neatly divide them into "abused" and "abuser" in a way that, frankly, fetishizes the abused person. I despise this interpretation of the story with every fiber of my being, and I have absolutely no respect for the opinion of anyone who peddles it, regardless of who they cast as villain/victim (because people have also done this with the others—it’s just more “popular” to do it with Dean... I mean... does anyone else remember how people were shitting on Sam after his emotional reaction in 14.12? Calling him an evil abuser? Because I do).

The thing that always gets me about this take isn't just how dishonest, unfair, mean-spirited, and compassionless it is in its treatment of Dean’s feelings, circumstances, and intentions... but how deeply reductive and offensive it is toward Sam and Castiel, sucking away their identities to turn them into effigies to mourn for their sad, Stockholm syndrome-esque attachment to their "abuser". Further, it grips the heart of the show—the relationship between Sam and Dean, and then the relationship among TFW as a whole—in a tight, uncompromising fist and pulverizes it. It literally rips out the heart of the show (the RELATIONSHIPS) and replaces it with something unprepossessing of any merit: A miserable, 15 years long story about a malicious abuser getting away with terrorizing those closest to him for his entire life, while his poor abuse victims suffer through until they die for him/happy to be reunited with him because they “don’t know any better” and never ever learned better, I guess. What a stupid, sad sack of a story.

Castiel is a thousands of years old celestial being who has literally beaten Dean into the pavement under no form of mind control, and has shown over and over again that he will do whatever the hell he wants, regardless of whatever Dean thinks about being sidelined. If he thinks whatever he is doing is in Dean's best interest, he literally does not care how Dean feels about it. He will nod and smile and then fly off and swallow thousands of souls with Dean begging him not to, shove Dean out of the way to attack the big bad, leave Dean alone in Purgatory, refuse to come out of Purgatory so he can self-flagellate, fly off with the angel tablet, help Sam with the Book of the Damned, let Lucifer possess him without anyone's knowledge or agreement, come into Dean's room under the guise of apologizing for ghosting him so that he can steal The Colt out from under his pillow and murder someone, decide not to murder that person and still prevent Sam and Dean from helping by knocking them both unconscious, get himself killed, make a deal to trade his life for Jack's and never tell anyone, hide information and worries and ignore phone calls, ghost Sam and Dean, and bicker and fight with Dean as if they are a married couple. Love sickness and feelings of worthlessness (which Cas has a wealth of reasons to feel—many of which aren’t even related to Dean but to his heavenly family) are reinterpreted as the result of some sort of constant, terrorizing emotional abuse. Power and authority that Dean does not actually have is forced into his hands by these fans. Maybe listen when Cas says, “Hey—not everything is your fault.” Maybe listen when he says “I loved the whole world because of you”, calls Dean a role model, says he enjoys their conversations, offers to die with him and dies for him multiple times. Maybe treat these feelings as genuine and valid and HIS and not as the delusions of some poor manipulated baby. 

Sam is framed this way even more often than Cas, and it's a damn shame, because what I typically see is this: Sam’s development into a mediator and peacemaker is twisted and reinterpreted as coming from a place of weakness and/or fear. Rationality, maturity, wisdom, and compassion are not the traits of a scared, powerless child. They are the traits of a mature adult, who has been beaten down by life, and fought and raged against his circumstances, and somehow come out of it with more kindness and understanding and strength instead of less. He has made his own decisions whenever it was possible, within the set of circumstances doled out to him. From telling his dad to go fuck himself and going to college, to getting back into hunting to avenge Jess (NOT because of Dean—Dean took him home without complaint at the end of the woman in white case), to continuing to hunt after their father died because he wanted to feel close to him (Dean was actually weirded out and sort of disgusted by this), raging and fighting to save Dean from his deal against Dean’s wishes, continuing to hunt and working with Ruby (directly against Dean’s dying wish), drinking demon blood, jumping in the cage, leaving hunting to go be with Amelia, coming back to hunting to save Kevin, fighting with Dean over what he had with Amelia and threatening to leave if Dean didn't shut his mouth, leaving Amelia to go back to hunting (Dean ultimately suggests he go back to her—Sam chooses to stay), trying to kill Benny, demanding to be the one to do The Trials and saying he is going to SURVIVE them—that being the ENTIRE POINT, losing that resolve in a fit of depression but choosing to drop the knife, demanding space from Dean (and being given it), fighting to save Demon Dean who didn’t want to be found or saved, using the Book of the Damned against Dean’s wishes, telling Charlie that this is what he wants—that he used to want normal but now all he wants is to hunt with Dean and that he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he can’t have that, unleashing the Darkness in his desperation to keep Dean with him and even saying, “I would do it again” in the aftermath, saving the town being destroyed by Amara, getting into The Cage with Lucifer, leading a team against the British Men of Letters, nurturing Jack, punching Dean in the face when he was going to sacrifice himself, leading more hunters, wielding a gun against Chuck... and that’s just some highlights. Sam Fucking Winchester does not need your bullshit about him being some sad, scared, helpless baby lorded over by mean old Dean who has never let him do anything he wants. 

Yes, in the text itself, there is jealousy and resentment at times, and there is legitimate and righteous anger on Sam’s part on a few occasions. There is blame cast on Dean by Sam for some of these choices/circumstances. Some of those moments where Dean is blamed are legitimate, and some of them... frankly, are not. Within the framework of the fucked up dynamics of the way they were raised, Sam and some fans bristle when they feel Dean is casting himself as the parent he is not, but Sam also has been guilty in the past of trying to reframe himself as Dean’s child when things got tough. Neither of them is responsible for the origin of that dynamic, but they BOTH have responsibility to change it, and they both, ultimately, succeed in doing so. For Sam, his part comes in recognizing and learning to fully own his own choices. Recognizing that he is not a child, and he is certainly not Dean’s child, and it isn’t just “Mummy—loosen the grip”, but Sam has to too—not claim independence only to blame Dean for his choices when his own decisions have an ultimate outcome he is unhappy with. That is a legitimate arc that Sam goes through imo, but he comes out the other side of it, and he and Dean relate to each other much better as peers from then on—and I’d like to note that throughout the entire series, when they don’t relate as perfect peers and teammates, it isn’t always Dean “bossing Sam around”, but Sam also trying to sideline Dean and yes—boss him around. And when they lied and hurt each other and yes, even manipulated each other, Dean most certainly wasn't always the one doing the lying and hurting and manipulating. Always, always, ALWAYS, they both had an understandable point of view, and it was complex, and you could understand why they made the choices they did, even if you thought of those choices as being wrong ones. 

I also would like to point out (because this is basically what I see all of the time) that Dean being hurt by someone or simply voicing his feelings or opinion is in no way abusive or manipulative. Dean is certainly charismatic and loved and his returning love and respect is often deeply desired, but he is not an actual siren, who bends people to his will simply by speaking or being. People are, in fact, able to tell him “no”, and frequently FREQUENTLY do. Further more, no one is owed his affection, his unwavering loyalty, or his trust. He has a right to his boundaries, regardless of if it makes some poor sad sap feel deprived of the “wellspring of coveted love” while he works through things. He can be hurt and angry, and he can wear his heart on his sleeve at times, and he can be flawed, and broken. [Insert Castiel's speech from 15.18 here]. So can Sam. So can Cas. None of them are manipulating each other by virtue of getting angry, feeling hurt, being traumatized, needing space, or having differing opinions or feelings. Sam didn’t punch Dean in the face in 14.12 because he's a cruel, manipulative abuser trying to force Dean under his thumb. He didn’t work behind Dean’s back with Ruby, insist on doing The Trials, beg Dean to use Doc Benton’s alchemy, use the Book of the Damned to cure Dean, pump him full of blood to cure him of being a demon despite the fact that it might kill him, or scream at him and fight him for wanting to get in the Ma’lak box because he “doesn’t respect his autonomy” and “wants to control him” and “doesn’t respect his right to his own body”. He did it because he loves him desperately, and Dean could stand to fucking hate himself less, and he fiercely wanted Dean to live even when Dean didn’t want to or couldn’t picture what that could be like. He didn’t force Dean to do anything simply by opening his mouth to voice disagreement and swaying Dean when he did so. Now reverse that. 

Cas didn't beat Dean into the ground in season 5 because he wanted to terrorize him into never going against Castiel ever again. He didn’t go behind his back dozens of times, sideline him, go MIA, all because he wanted to manipulate and control Dean and punish him. He didn’t throw sassy remarks at him to shatter his self-esteem. Now reverse that. 

*Breathes*

Anyway, fuck "X is abusive” interpretations. 

[bxdbxdboy]

Character Development

BASICS

Full Name:  Luz Noceda 

Alias:   Apprentice

Nicknames: Bad Boy, (Luz Squad) B.Boy, (herself) Soft Boy, (Cottage) Baby Boy, (Eda) Nice Boy, (Sunny) Sweetheart (Bee)

Sex / Gender:  Female, Nonbinary  (she/her/hers, he/him/his, they/them/theirs ) .

Right or Left:    Left 

Age:   16.

Height:   5'6″.

Eye Color:    dark brown

Hair Color:   Dark brown

Distinguishing Marks:  She has a raven tattoo over her scar she received trying to stop her villain in her timeline. She’s shaved her left eyebrow in the middle to match her friend’s scar.  

Paragraph Of Physical Traits: She’s got a rather strong build which means she has no weak nerd arms and a significant amount of muscle to her arm. Her hair is slicked back like a wave and it’s always been like that it just has always naturally curled and folded over in that direction. When she sleeps it gets wavy or spikey sticking up like a parrot.

FAMILY / RELIGION

Parents / Guardians:     Camilla Noceda 

Siblings: n/a  adopted Brother King.

Marital Status:  Not married. 

Significant Other(s): Bee (Amity-Bee), Blushy (Amity in her timeline)  

Children:   N/A.

Other Relatives:   Many Many cousins, aunts and uncles and cousins on both sides of the family. 

Pets:   Bunga, (familiar, honey badger) Saturn, (familiar magical Owl) Calypso. (palisman Sable)  

Friends:     Cottage, Sunny, Iris, Bee, Lucky, Otter, Puppy, Gus, Willow.

Enemies:     Emperor Belos. 

Ethnicity:     Latina 

Religion:     None. 

Beliefs:    N/A

Superstitions:    black cats, broken mirrors. KARMA!

Languages:   English. Spanish. 

Diction / Accent:    Spanish 

SCHOOL / WORK / HOME

Education:   Public School / High scool leverl/ Hexside

Degree(s):   Not yet. 

Occupation:   Local Power washer for her boiling isles, Food delivery, Potion distributor. 

Own or Rent:    Neither.

Living Space:   Eda’s home in the owl house, Her home in the human realm, and Magic Treehouse bedroom. 

Work Space:    N/A.

Main Mode of Transport:   Skateboarding, Walking, running, or flying. Can drive, will learn, will drive without license. 

PSYCHOLOGY

Fears:      Being replaced / abandoned,  her anger issues, her home getting concurred, loosing her friends, venomous snakes, possessed creatures, dark mimics. spiders, The deepest depths of the Ocean, Slender Man, Siren Head.  

Secrets:    A big softie just doesn’t want many who meet her to realize it. 

IQ:     Was never formally tested,   but she may not be as intellectually gifted as the other Luz’s There’s a big jock mentally mindset to her as a whole.

Eating Habits:  Ravenous Appetite, no matter how much she eats she’s always asking for more. She can put some food away if someone has something they’re saving it’s too late she’s already gotten to it. 

Food Preferences: She enjoys Hot Wings they are her most favorite food besides Pizza coming around at a close second She likes a lot of junk food candy, cookies, chips of all kinds. On occasion she will eat something green though like some lettuce with taco meat or a green pepper. She’ll eat it all everything under the sun and even be adventurous eating a wide margin of other foods. She almost always has hot sauce on her there isn’t a single kind of meal she doesn’t love covered in the hot stuff.  

Sleeping Habits:   She sleeps well, for the most part, when she isn’t attempting to be a night owl she falls asleep relatively quick, even rivaling some of the younger Luz’s with how early she can fall asleep. It’s likely she has sleep apnea as she has tendency to snore so very loud and wakes up during the night in cold sweat, when she stops breathing from night terrors. She will oversleep until almost 2:00 in the afternoon if not monitored.         

Book Preferences:   She’s not a big egg-head book reader like the rest of the squad is the most Bad Boy read in school was “Animal Farm”, and The “Lord of the Flies”, in high school two books that peaked her interest a little bit. She also enjoys listening to Cottage read some horror books it’s the most she’ll really listen rather than use her eyes to read, in fact, one would say she struggles to read efficiently. 

Music Preferences:     Hip Hop, Rap, Dubstep, 80′s music, The Weekend, Various artists. 

Leader or Follower:    She likes to be the boss, but will occasionally follow if she doesn’t have to do much. 

Planner or Spontaneous:  Spontaneous! All of her ideas are never planned out she definitely does not look before she leaps. Her leaps are full of optimism and happy stupidity. The only time she tends to plan is when Bee holds her hand and forces her to take a step back. 

Journal:    Nope

Hobbies:    Dancing,   listening to music,     training,    watching videos / shows,  exercising,  roasting members of the Luz squad, doing dangerous stunts, skateboarding, basketball, baseball, (more so the batting range)  Surfing (Prior), Deep woods exploring, practicing her magic, teaching her familiars, (Saturn and Bunga) Listening to music, Swooning Bee, Video games, Baking Pizza, Breakdancing, Beat Boxing, Collecting Hats, Serenading, Dancing, Snuggling King.

How Do They Relax:  By listening to some calming beats privately, counting to 10, or at any point stroked by Bee she curls and becomes softer. 

What Excites Them:  Competitions,  Wild magic, Magical Creatures, Parkour, Plane Crash videos, Unus Annus, Dogs! Kitties, Being in charge, Buffalo sauce, Food!, Flirting, 

What Stresses Them:  Bossy individuals, Strict Parents, Rude people, Being inside the Emperor Castle, Being the butt of the joke, Tests, Explosives. Needles. 

Pet Peeves:   Vegan food, Whining, losing games, Being accused of being a perv, mocking, people stealing her hat,  Lucky sending her cursed images. 

Prejudices:  high horse, pretends not to be a trouble maker to stay in good graces, struggling to not be hostile towards her doppelgängers, 

Attitudes:   Closed off, Laid back, Aggressive,  or chill and cool depending on who you are. Bad Boy appears to be the “scary” anger issues Luz that is liable to explode at any moment and when she does her face and ears can get as red as Bee’s. You’re either in good graces with her or your not, she’s not always easy to approach unless you have a good sense of humor than she cracks up with you about stupid jokes. 

Obsessions:    Her shoes and hats, her favorite music, lids, BEE

Addictions:    Does addiction to sugary cereal count? because oh my god-!!

Ambitions:     Defeat Belos in her timeline, find a way to get adopted as a sibling by Cottage Core, Have her own identity outside of Cottage and the Luz squad.   Become a powerful witch, Make her mom proud.  

ASTROLOGY / PHISIOLOGY

Birth Date:    November 26,    2005.

Sign:    Sagittarius

Traits Associated with Western Sign:  loyal, smart, assertive, and compassionate personality   

Chinese Zodiac Sign:    The rooster

Traits Associated with Chinese Sign: active, amusing, and popular within a crowd. Roosters are talkative, outspoken, frank, open, honest, and loyal individuals. They like to be the center of attention and always appear attractive and beautiful.

Handwriting:     It’s okay…;      fairly sloppy.

Sexual History:   N/A.

General Health:     She takes pretty good care of herself as far as hygiene and having a good confident attitude.  experiencing some struggles with her adhd, bad posture leaves her with some back pain.

Mental Disabilities:      PTSD,   ADHD,  depression,  

Allergies:   Seasonal.

OBJECTS KEPT IN

Purse / Bag:  Wallet, towel, water bottle, Treehouse keys key chain,

Wallet:     Photo ID, Gold, Cash, rings, Brass knuckle, 

Fridge:     Chalked full of between meal and frozen pizza. 

Medicine Cabinet:  Bandages, Healing Potions, Icey-hot muscle rub,  

Glove Compartment:   Parking tickets, Trespassing tickets, concert tickets. 

Junk Drawer:     fidget spinners, gum, pens, sharpies, stress balls. 

Backpack:   Hats, Snacks, Mints, hair gel, Extra clothes, socks,  pepper spray, hand sanitizer, suntan lotion, hair brush

Desk:   Doodles, Paper Airplanes, Crumpled up Paper.

Clothes Pockets:    Phone, Hot Sauce packets, hand warmers, stress ball.  

OTHER

Halloween Costumes:   A zombie, the cementary is hiring.

Talents:    break dancing, beat boxing, fighting in close quarters, self defense, making Luz squad question their sanity, making jokes, flipping her hat. being annoying. 

Politics: Nah. 

Flaws:   stand offish,  moody,     blunt and direct,   vain,  doesn’t like to be on the losing side indecisive, selfish,

Strengths:  Her optimism, strong sense of personal integrity, avoiding the status quo, free spirited, confidence level, good sense of humor.  

Drugs / Alcohol:    N/A. No who invited? 

Passwords:     The most random shit. 

Prized Possessions:   Her hat passed down by her oldest cousin, her unus annus sweatshirt, a small wolf plushy named Akela 

Time and Place:    Currently, at the Treehouse interviewing new members of the Luz squad. She just got back from a trip and she has jet lag.     

Special Places:      The treehouse, her original house, The owl house, the forest where she goes to meet Blushy, The cliff by the Grom tree, the beach. 

Special Memories:   Meeting Eda and King then running into Cottage and Bee, Becoming friends with Cottage Core learning magic from them, Teasing Belos and Hunter with Cottage Core, Dancing with Bee at her Grom, becoming a polyamorous couple with Bee and Cottage. Being accepted into the Luz Squad. 

Tagged by:    Stole it from @witchesborn​

Tagging:    You,    if you want to do it.

[marshmallow-phd]

Heart of Thorns

Genre: Beauty and the Beast!AU, Romace, Angst

Paring: Tao x Reader

Inspired by: These moodboards created by @xui-n-soowillbethedeathofme (x) (x) and my absolute obsession with Beauty and the Beast

Summary: Lost in a forest during a storm, you find shelter in a crumbling castle that had been hidden away for years. The master of the house shut himself away, refusing to engage with the world. Too intrigued and running away from your own fears, you refuse to leave no matter how much he tells you to, wanting to try and find the heart within the beast.

Part One I Part Two I Part Three

**

Everyone knew the story of the man in the forest mansion. He’d once been the son of a prominent and just lord. The people of the land praised the lord’s name as he was always fair and practiced justice amongst all his subjects. It was a month of mourning when he passed away from sickness, but there were high hopes for his son to carry on his legacy. And at first, all was well.

But something happened that changed his heart.

A woman appeared; beautiful, alluring, and sweet. She captured his heart and they say he adored her, showering her in gifts of gold, jewels, and fine cloth. No one knows what happened for sure, only that the lord’s son went mad. There was a fire and the woman died. Most say that he started it with the intent of killing her.  

Soon after, the son turned out all the servants and secluded himself from the rest of the world. Whispers popped up that the woman he killed was a fairy or a nymph and for killing her he was cursed. Some say that he was now a beast, sporting fangs and claws where his human teeth and fingers once were. Others say he was now a creature of the night and stalked the forest when the moon is high for wandering prey.

No had seen the son or the castle where he supposedly lived in years. The excuse that the grandmothers gave was that the forest had grown too thick from the trees and vines for the castle to be found. Since the son had turned out all the servants and land workers after the fire and there was no one to keep the paths clear.

You didn’t believe a word of it. A man with fangs and claws hiding up in a castle to terrorize anyone who came too close was utter nonsense; a fairytale to scare the children and keep them within the town walls. Even if there were such a man, you hardly considered the possibility that he was cursed.

“It's only because you moved here a few months ago,” Mrs. Mooney crooned. As the wife of the town butcher, she was privy to all the gossip that passed by the family shop. She often stood outside, keeping the stall for the smaller scraps or animals they hadn’t managed to sell to the more prestigious customers. “But we older folk remember the little boy who used to run around here while his father conducted business. Spoiled little thing. Always had a pretty pony and the finest clothes. Stuck his nose up at playing with the other children just because they had dirt on their sleeves. Serves him right, what he got.”

“You don’t know what he deserved and what he didn’t,” another graying woman chimed in haughtily. Her dress, though still rough like a peasant’s, was much nicer than the other villagers. Silver curls spilled out from under a white bonnet. Her hands looked coarse from hard labor and her skin kissed for years under the sun. Crinkles stayed permanently in the corners of her eyes, letting you know that she did smile on occasion. You’d never seen her before when you came to the market, but Mrs. Mooney seemed to know her well.

“You would know better than anyone, Feifei,” Mrs. Mooney sneered.

Though now you were intrigued, Mrs. Mooney did not elaborate how the other woman would know anything about this make-believe man.

“That tongue will get you into trouble someday, Johanna.” Adjusting the basket hanging from the crook of her arm, the old woman spared no glance at the meat as she walked away.

Mrs. Mooney clicked her tongue. With a shake of her head, she turned back to you. “So, milady, do plan on any wares today?”

“No, my father already sent Claudette earlier this week,” you said. The smell of the meat was starting to get to you, but you tried your best to keep it off your face. “I simply came down to escape the confinements of home.”

A huff pushed past her lips. “Oh, yes. I’m sure that large stone house must be suffocating.”

Though lashing out would have been easy, you bit your tongue. This butcher’s wife didn’t know your history. She didn’t know that compared to your previous home in the city, this new place was a shack.

It was your mother’s inheritance that kept you, your siblings, and your father afloat. The home, bought long ago by your grandfather who was now passed, was a honeymoon paradise for your parents. After your mother died giving birth to you, the house was locked up to be a refuge only to spiders and rodents since your father couldn’t bear visiting the place alone. He’d poured himself into his work, curating business as he brought investors and merchants together. When a major client lost his ships at sea, one of his managers took off with most of the assets and funds, leaving debts and loans in their place. To pay off the leeches, most of your possessions had to be auctioned off and the home that had sheltered you since childhood was sold to a new family.

Life away from the bustling city wasn’t too awful. You didn’t have to worry about being run over by a carriage since most of the residents here couldn’t afford one. Everyone seemed to know everyone, which was both intriguing to you while also a little bothersome. At first your family, being new, was the center of all the gossip. Rumors of your father or brother gambling the fortune away or you and your sister having scandalized the family and caused you all to hide away ran rampant. Eventually, the mill settled down and you were left in peace. Some of the villagers still gave side eyed glances, but you’d learned to brush them off.

Thinking it was time to head back home, you said goodbye to the butcher’s wife and followed the brown dirt street beyond the wall that surrounded the town until the scenery turned to fields of wildflowers and small farms. You took a right at the fork, already seeing the two-story country home come into view. The tan brick was a bit faded from the sun and thick vines grew up the sides and around the windows. A small garden grew out in front. There was a fairytale essence to the home that made you love it more. In the back, Claudette would be hanging the laundry to dry in the subtle breeze. Father was most likely in his study, shuffling through papers and letters to find a way out of this place. Cosette was probably lying on the old couch in the front parlor, constantly fanning herself as she whined of the woes she was forced to live through. Your brother, Lu, would be sitting on a log, writing in his journal when he was supposed to be chopping wood.

Cosette was right where you had guessed she was. As soon as you walked through the door, she jumped up and hurried to you with her skirt crumbled in her hand.

“Where have you been?” she screeched, her dark hair pulled back into an intricately braided bun. You tried not to be annoyed. She must have had Claudette do her hair when both of them were supposed to be helping with the washing. “Father has news that he’s been dying to share with us, but he refused to divulge what it is until you were here.”

You rolled your eyes at your sister’s impatience. “Surely, you must have known I would have been home eventually.”

She “hmphed” at you before whirling dramatically and stomping off towards your father’s study. You followed her slowly, your stomach swishing with nerves.

Truth be told, you didn’t mind it out here. The country was a great deal quieter than the city, the air cleaner too. The greatest unexpected gift, however, was how often you saw your dear father. As a child, you had to savor every dinner, every private concert in your living room, and the short moments you were able to spend with him in between his travels or meetings. Claudette never carried as she was more invested in the connections she was making with the other well-to-do families and Lu was often tagging along with your father as the eldest and heir apparent. Now the four of you felt more like a family. If you were, by some miracle or fashion, to go back to the city, routine would fall back into its previous structure and you would be alone again.

Lu surprised you by already being in the room when you entered, seated in a corner with a hardened look on his face. It was strangely out of place given his boyish looks often kept his expression soft. Your father looked up from the papers that were neatly piled up on the desk. “Aw, (y/n)! You’re back from town. Did you have a nice walk?”

“Yes, I did,” you aswered cautiously. “The market was full today.” Your eyes flicked towards Cosette, who had taken the only other chair, continuing to fan herself even though the temperature wasn’t anywhere near that drastic. “I heard you wanted to see us all together?”

“Yes! Yes! Um.” Your father looked around, perhaps to see if there was another place for you to sit. As there was none, he went on. “I received a letter from Lu’s old friend, Lin Gao.” Lu perked up at the mention of Gao. None of you had seen him since you came here, thinking that he, like the others, had abandoned you all when the money was lost. Now, that didn’t seem to be the case. “He has worked with several connections and can bring us back into good standing with society. He’s even convinced a few merchants and investors to allow me to broker deals again.” Your father cleared his throat. “There is, however, one condition.”

“What is that, Father?” Lu asked.

“He asked for (y/n)’s hand in marriage.”

The quietest gasp escaped your lips. Gao wanted… to marry you?

As the baby sister, you tended to follow your brother and his friends around, begging for attention and often they obliged you, as long as the setting was appropriate for a child. All of his friends had treated you as their own sister, equally protecting and caring. You’d never suspected them to have thoughts that led into the contrary as you’d grown up.

Lu’s eyes landed on you for a split second, studying your face enough. “Did he say (y/n) specifically?”

“Yes, why (y/n)?” Cosette scoffed. “I would be more than willing.”

“He specifically asked for (y/n)’s hand.”

Cosette closed her fan with a snap. “Well, then. Arrange the wedding so we can get out of this dumpy town.”

But wait. Did you not get a say in this?

Your father leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “The help from Gao would be tremendous. But I will not force anything on to any of you. (Y/n),” he looked at you with conflict in his eyes, “if you do not wish to marry Gao, I will send him a letter politely declining the offer. I can find other means on my own.”

He was giving you a way out, if you so wished. But you couldn’t deny the help this would bring for all of you.

“Can I think about it?” you asked in a quiet voice.

“Yes, of course.”

“What do you mean, think about it?” Cosette nearly flew out of her seat. “What is there to think about? If we are to get our fortune back, then (y/n) must marry him. I would in a heartbeat if he had asked for me.”

“But he didn’t ask for you,” Lu said.

Your father insisted. “Let your sister think about it. To force this upon her would break my heart. I will not have her live unhappily.”

“And what about me! Why should I live unhappily?”

“Enough!” Your father stood to his feet and he slammed his fist down on the desk. You flinched at the noise the collision created. Rare was it for your father to get upset like this. He was usually very levelheaded. “I am still head of this household and you will accept my decision. Now, go!”

With a stomp of her foot, Cosette stormed out of the room like a spoiled child told that she couldn't have a piece of candy. Eyes trained down on the floor, you quietly excused yourself and went upstairs to your room.

Your favorite place in the house was your room, the smallest besides Claudine’s on the first floor. But the trade for it was the reading crook by the window, overlooking the garden. You liked the isolation you could feel when you sat on the bench, knees pulled up close to your chest as your skirts fell over the side. The window was cold as you laid your forehead against the glass. A breeze was moving through, swaying the leaves in the trees and rattling the vines against the stone walls of the house.

What would living with Gao be like? You had never thought of your brother’s friend in a romantic light. Would there be any romance between the two of you? Or would you be condemned to a loveless marriage like so many other girls? Could you live like that?

You had no answers at the moment. You weren’t sure if you would ever have an answer. But a compromise was coming to the forefront of your mind. You didn’t have to say yes right away. Maybe you could meet with Gao, get to know him more, in a different way that how you knew him before. And, if you decided that he was not the kind of man you wanted to spend your life with, if there was no possibility of love between the two of you, perhaps you could convince him to help your father anyway, for sake of his friendship with Lu.

You pictured Gao’s face in your mind, willing yourself to love it. But all that did was churn your stomach.

**

Your father had sent the letter asking if a visit to the city would be possible for you. Gao’s reply came back quicker than expected: yes. He made all the arrangements; he hired the carriage, sent money so you could rest in an inn for a night before arriving in town the next day. Barely a week had gone by since you were first told of this offer and now you were traveling by yourself for the first time in your life.

Cloak wrapped tightly over your shoulders, you kissed your father goodbye on the cheek. Tears were swelling behind your eyes, but you refused to let him see them.

“Be on your best behavior,” he teased. You were the last out of the three to get into trouble. “Write to me as soon as you arrive. Alright?”

“Of course,” you smiled.

Lu patted your shoulder. When you were a child, he showed you affection freely, but now that you were grown, he’d become a bit awkward when other people were watching. Cosette didn’t say a word. She simply fanned herself at a quick rate as smirk rested on her lips. All she carried about was getting back to high society, to the parties and the searching for a husband who possessed a fortune large enough to keep her satisfied.

Your father glanced up at the sky. “Better go now, my dear. The clouds are growing darker. I want you at that inn before the storm comes through.”

“The only way to do that is to go through the forest,” the driver commented from atop the carriage.

Your father seemed unnerved by that observation but gave no protest. “I will wait to hear from you.”

You gave one last kiss to his stubbled cheek. “Goodbye, father. Take care of him, Lu. Will you?”

“Naturally,” Lu said with a chuckle.

You merely nodded to Cosette before stepping into the carriage. The cabby lurched forward and you allowed the small smile that had been straining on your lips to fall away. Anxiety settled in your stomach. You wanted to have a positive outlook on this whole thing. It was better to possibly marry a friend of the family rather than a complete stranger twenty years your senior.

Unclasping the hook that held your cloak together, you let the soft fabric fall behind you on the seat. The literal weight off your shoulders helped you to breathe easier. You closed your eyes and leaned back. There was still a long journey until you would arrive back in a city that you hadn’t seen in months, although it felt more like years. That was another life to you, a past self. One you had been okay with letting go. And now you were uneasily walking back into its arms.

The ground shook, rattling the walls of the carriage. You pushed the curtain out of the way and peaked out the window. Flashes of lightning so bright that not even the thick trees of the forest could keep them back splintered across the sky. The storm had come quicker than anticipated. Raindrops splattered against the dirt floor, starting out slow then growing in pace. Soon it was impossible to see more than five steps in front of you.

The wind grew untamable. The carriage rocked from side to side, the thin wheels ricketing against the strain. A bolt of lightning screamed too close for comfort. The horse reared back in fright as the carriage passed by a ravine. It was all too much. The carriage toppled over, falling down the side of the ravine. You were tossed around the cabby like a rock between a group of children. When the falling finally stopped, you let out a cry of relief. A second cry left your lips, this time for the driver. But no reply came.

The carriage had landed on its side, but thankfully, it had another door to escape through. You clasped the cloak around your shoulders once more and pulled up the hood before pushing the door open and climbing out.

You were soaked as soon as you stepped out of the carriage. The driver was gone. You didn’t know if he was dead or if he had ran away. The horse, the poor thing, didn’t move or whine. Water was slowly rising in the creek from the rushing rain. You had to get out of here. With what little strength you had, you managed to climb back up the side of the hill. A chill froze your fingers and chattered your teeth. You walked in the opposite way that you thought the carriage was heading. Getting back to your home was your only hope. You had never been in these woods and the sky was too dark to tell directions from the sun. The rain was pouring down harder. Each step you took grew weaker. An unseen tree root stuck out of the ground, catching your foot. Shock ran up your arms as you tried to catch yourself when you fell. You couldn’t go anymore. You were too cold, too tired. So you lied there in the mud, wishing for a miracle. The rain soon came to a stop, but you were still too exhausted to push yourself up. Your eyes grew tired. Finally, the lids closed. The sound of horse hooves against the mud grew near, but you couldn't be sure if it was real or simply your imagination clinging to hope.

“We can’t just leave her here, Xao.”

“But what would the master think if we showed up with her?”

“So, you would leave her to die?”

“No, of course not!”

“Then we take her with us! The castle is big enough that he would never even have to know.”

“I guess you’re right.”

Someone lifted you up from the ground, but before you could discover who it was, you lost consciousness completely.

**

You weren’t sure what woke you up. It could have been the splitting headache that pounded at your skull. Or it could have been the shouting coming from the other side of the door.

“Get her OUT of here!”

“My lord, please, see reason. The poor child was dying in that storm.”

“I don’t care. She’s alive now, so get her out!”

“But she’s still sick. The poor thing has a fever. She’s been sweating all night.”

“I do not want her here. No one is to come here, you know that!”

“Let me take care of her. Once she’s on her feet again, I’ll take her back into town.”

“Fine!”

Heavy foot stomps echoed off the floor. One side of the double doors opened and inside stepped the old woman from the market.

You?

“You’re awake,” she sighed. “I can only imagine what had woken you up.” In her hands was a silver tray of different morsels and a tea kettle slowly letting out a flow of steam. Seeing you struggle to sit up, she hurried to set the tray down on the nightstand and help you. “Don’t overexert yourself, miss. You’re not fully recovered from that awful storm yet. You’ve been asleep for two days now.”

Two days! Your father must have been losing his mind when he never received word that you had arrived in town. A coughing fit of your own started up. The old woman gave you a glass of water to calm your throat before adjusting the pillows behind your head. You took in the bedroom that you were housed in. The light gray drapes that hung from the bedposts were old and a little faded but still made from an expensive velvet fabric. The blanket that covered you was soft and warm and smelled of lavender. Cosette would squeal at the size of this place. It was even bigger than her room at the old house in the city.

“Where am I?”

The old woman’s hands stopped before she could pull out the warming pan from the foot of the bed. “You're at the lord’s estate.”

You frowned. “What lord?” As far as you were aware, the closet lord was at least several days ride from town. And you doubted he would have allowed a room to go untouched like this one obviously was.

Sadness fell upon the old woman’s face. “He’s a good man. A good man with a tragic past.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, the old woman folded her hands and laid them in her lap. “Do you remember the story Mrs. Mooney was telling you at the market?” You nodded. “This is his home.”

“He… exists?”

“Yes. Though the awful rumors….” She shook her head. “Anyway, yes. But his lordship isn’t accustomed to visitors. I apologize for what you might have heard.”

Perhaps it was the fever, but your curiosity was now out of your control. “Why doesn’t he want anyone here?”

The old woman stood up. “Never you mind. We’ll get you back on your feet and then Mr. Chan will take you back into town.” She poured a fresh cup of tea, handing it to you carefully.

“Do I have to go back to town?”

“We don’t really have a choice, dear. You heard the master.” She eyed you as you sipped on the warm, caramel colored tea. “What is it? Why don’t you want to go back to town?”

You finished off the tea before explaining. “My family wants me to get married, to help the financial situation. At first, I thought I was willing to at least try, to see that man again and find out if I could love him. But… now I’m grateful for the storm.”

“If you don’t wish to marry him, why not say so?”

“Because if my father never restores his reputation and our family falls further into ruin, it will be all my fault.”

The old woman shook her head. “You poor thing. That’s too much weight to bear.” She let out a long sigh. “Try to eat and then get more rest. Your eyes look heavy. We’ll see if we can’t delay your being cured by a few more days.” She headed for the door. After opening on side, she halfway turned back around. “I’m Mrs. Chan, by the way. If you need anything, pull on the cord by the bed. I’ll hear the bell and come to you. Now, rest.”

As soon as the door closed and you were alone again, you felt the weight of your lids growing. Reaching over to the tray, you tore off a piece of the bun and chewed on it slowly. Eventually, you nodded off into a dreamless sleep.

**

Over the next several days, you passed between peaceful sleeps and uncomfortable awareness. Your fever broke on day two, but you still felt weak. Mrs. Chan checked up on you often, keeping you well fed and making sure there was a fresh pitcher of water or tea for you to drink. When you stopped sleeping as much, she brought you a book to occupy your time. But you read through the comedic romance quickly. A tingling was coursing up and down your legs. They needed to move, to be used. You’d been lying in bed for so long you weren’t sure if they even worked properly anymore.

Earlier, Mrs. Chan had stopped by to say she was going into town to pick a few things up at the market. Mr. Chan was to be out on the grounds so if you needed anything it would have to wait for her return.

Curiosity was a dangerous thing. On one hand, you could find nothing of interest in this ancient castle. On the other hand, you could find yourself in the absolute wrong place and have yourself thrown out into the cold before Mrs. Chan could come back and rescue you.

Silly. All of it was. A little walk wouldn’t do any harm. You would make sure to stay near your room and if you heard footsteps, you would run back here in an instant.

With your feet bare and the nightgown Mrs. Chan had given you made of a thinner material, you were a bit cold as you left the comfort of the blankets. But you pushed forth with your curiosity. This grand room was all you had seen of your haven. You wanted to know more about the home of the lord whose memory haunted the village. You stuck your head out first, looking down the hall from either side. It was empty save for the polished suits of armor that lined the sides, sitting between old portraits previous tenants. As quietly as you could, you closed the bedroom door behind you and softly stepped further into the hall. Through the long space you made your way, glancing at every painting as you passed. Some had chipped paint while others’ frames had dulled over the years, but each one was still magnificent, the subject stunningly beautiful in their own unique ways. You weren’t sure if it was the magic of the artist or if the family was truly blessed in that manner.

Every so often you would peer into a room when the door was unlocked. Most of them were bedrooms or small studies. By the collection of dust gathered on most of the furniture, they hadn’t been used in quiet a while. Soon, the hall took a turn, spilling out into the Grand Hall where the other hallways met. You started to go right when a set of double doors down a shorter hallway in the other direction caught your eye. They were bigger than any of the other doors you had seen so far. You hurried to that one instead, intrigued by what might be behind it. Barely able to get it open with your weak arms, you squeezed through the space and stumbled inside. Then you gasped.

When Mrs. Chan had described the library to you, she had said that the family had a fair collection of books. You might have to clarify with her what a “fair amount” really meant.

The library was housed in the back most tower, the shelves built into the walls and going higher than your eyes could see. Ladders made of wood and metal were attached to the spaces between the shelves. They moved freely from side to side to put any book within reach. As a child, you thought your father had the biggest collection of books by any one person in the world. How silly you were. This place could hold twenty of your father’s old library. You whirled around and around, taking in every detail. It was like a fairy tale.

You stepped closer to the wall and ran your hand over the leather bindings. It had been so long since you’d been able to take in the smell of old books. You had only been able to save two of your favorite novels from the auction. They were currently hidden under your bed. If Cosette ever got a whiff of them, she’d sell them to pay for a new dress. As you made your way around the library, you spotted another door, one that nearly blended in with the shelves. Feeling brave from your latest discovery, you tried the handle. It turned with ease. You pulled the door towards you. Sunlight spilled into the library. The secondary room was mostly empty – save for one object. A piano.

Bang!

The door shut in your face, startling you backwards. You stumbled into something hard. Turning to see what it was, you gasped in fright

A tall, dark hair man with the left half of his face covered in a white mask glared at you.

“What are you doing in here!” he shouted, face glowing red with fury.

“I-I-I’m sor-sorry,” you stutter as you scurried back. The door to the room stopped you from going any further. You were trapped with no way to escape. “I didn’t mean to-”

“You were supposed to say in your room,” he continued to bellow, not concerned at all with your fear. “Stay away from this room! Go!”

That last command was enough to send you running, passing the man and leaving the library. You hurried to the Great Hall, to get back to your room as quickly as possible. Looking back over your shoulder, you checked to see if he was coming after you. The hallway was empty behind you. Once safely back in your room, you scurried under your covers as if they would protect you from the masked man.

**

Mrs. Chan gave no indication that she was aware of your little adventure. If the masked man – the lord of this castle, you presumed – had told her, surely you would have been thrown out by now. She did, however, seem upset about something.

“Is everything alright?” you asked before she could leave the room with your empty food tray.

“Oh, it’s nothing I want to trouble you with, dear,” Mrs. Chan said.

You smiled at her. “I’ve been told I’m a very good listener.”

A second went by and then Mrs. Chan sighed. “It’s just the master. He wasn’t been sleeping well. He’s been wondering through the west wing lately and I’m worried about him.”

The west wing? That was where you were headed before the library stole your attention. “What’s in the west wing?”

“Nothing of importance,” Mrs. Chan snapped. It was a harsher tone that you were used to. You lowered your gaze remorsefully. “Oh, dear. I’ve upset you. Don’t worry about and try to get more rest. You need color back in your cheeks.” She left the room, blowing out the lamp before shutting the door and leaving you in darkness.

You woke a few hours later to a loud bang. At first you thought of ignoring it. Then the thought of something happening to Mrs. Chan came into your mind.

Throwing a blanket around your shoulders, you carefully relit the lamp and stepped out into the hallway.

“Hello?” you called out softly. Another bang answered you. It was faint, not coming from this hallway. You followed it, occasionally calling out again. No human ever replied.

You passed through the Great Hall and into the west wing. You should learned, really, from your earlier excursion. But the thought of someone being trouble refused to let you turn back. Now that you were closer to the source, a soft moaning could be heard among the silence. You pressed your ear from door to door, trying to see if it was coming from behind one of them. It was the door on the very end that held back the sound. With enough moonlight coming from the wide window at the end of the hall to see by, you put the oil lamp down on the floor out of the way and went inside.

Even in the darkness, you could see the smoke and soot stained walls. The remnants of a bed stood in the middle of the wood. Hanging behind it was a portrait of a beautiful woman with golden hair and rich brown eyes that stuck out even with half of the painting burned and curled.  

“What are you doing in here!”

You gasped as the lord of the castle stepped out of the shadows. His mask was gone, but he kept the left side of his face covered with his hand. In his other hand was a small torch. With its light you could see the scars on the back of his hand, the tight and lifted skin usually caused by fire. You said nothing, too stunned to find words.

Dropping his left hand, he reached out and grabbed you by the wrist. The scars on his face were now partially visible, but still mostly hidden in shadow and by the locks of hair that had fallen. From what you could see, they matched the scars visible on his hand. “I asked you why you are here!”

“I’m sorry!” Your voice came out in squeaks, fear running you cold despite the proximity of the flame. “I heard noises. I thought someone might be in trouble.”

He sneered at your answer. “If you’re well enough to walk around then GET. OUT!” He practically threw you out of the room.

You landed on your knees but didn’t stay there for long. You scrambled up to your feet and took off down the hall, leaving the oil lamp behind. The nightgown caught on your foot in your haste as you passed the staircase. You went tumbling down the marble stairs, a scream piercing your throat. You couldn’t stop no matter how you tried. When the bottom of the staircase finally came, you were out cold.

[ingek73]

Fairytales for fuckwits: Meghan, a children's book, and the school bully tactics of the British tabloids...

Piers Morgan's obsession with Meghan Markle continues, while Mike Graham appears worried there may be too many big words for him to understand.

Mic Wright

May 6

On May the 4th, there was a great disturbance in the force, as if thousands of tabloid reporters and talk radio pundits cried out at once: The Duchess of Sussex had announced she was writing a children’s book.

Since the earth-shattering news that Meghan has written a story about the relationship between father’s and their sons — apparently based on a poem she wrote for Prince Harry — the tabloid press and talk radio stations have gone into meltdown.

The Sun has managed to crank out seven hysterically-pitched stories on the announcement since it dropped — the book isn’t out until June 8th — with each more unhinged than the last:

MEG TO PAPER Meghan Markle writes children’s book inspired by Prince Harry and baby Archie about ‘bond between father and son’

MEG-A MOVE Meghan Markle’s first priority should be mending broken relationships with royals not writing kids’ book, expert claims

SOUNDS A BIT WOODEN ‘Schmaltzy’ Meghan Markle ‘on dodgy ground’ with kids’ book celebrating fathers ‘after own bust-up with dad’ says author

DOUBLE DUCH Meghan Markle accused of copying her kids’ book The Bench from another story – but author defends her

NOT WRITE Piers Morgan slams ‘hypocrite’ Meghan Markle for kids’ book on ‘father-son bond’ after ‘ruining Harry and Charles’ ties’

'RIDICULOUS' Meghan Markle using Duchess of Sussex as author name ‘laughable’ after she wanted to cut Royal ties, says royal expert

CUT PRICE Meghan Markle’s kids’ book has price slashed already at Amazon and Waterstones

You’ll notice that Piers Morgan — a man who has turned one drink with Meghan after which he claims she “ghosted him”, which took place in 2016, into a five year and counting obsession — gets his own story there. That’s The Sun filleting Morgan’s spittle-flecked Daily Mail column on the book for its own news piece.

Morgan, who trails his columns on Twitter like they are exciting new releases rather than the tabloid equivalent of a letter scrawled in faeces forced through your letterbox, dashed out his thoughts on The Bench with the indecent haste of a man running along while his trousers fall down.

Image description: “Twitter avatar for @BreeNewsome

DEFUND & ABOLISH POLICE, REFUND OUR COMMUNITIES

@BreeNewsome

Piers Morgan’s obsession with Meghan Markle is genuinely disturbing. He’s really just using the guise of journalism to be a public stalker and harasser.

May 5th 2021

1,414 Retweets10,252 Likes”

-

Beneath a typically screaming Mail headline — How the hell can Meghan 'I hate royalty but call me Duchess' Markle preach about father-child relationships when she's disowned her own Dad, and wrecked her husband's relationship with his? — Morgan howled:

… she continues to cynically exploit her royal titles because she knows that's the only reason anyone is paying her vast sums of money to spew her uniquely unctuous brand of pious hectoring gibberish in Netflix documentaries, Spotify podcasts or children's books.

Of course, her equally cynical publishers don't give a damn about any of this shocking double standard.

Forget the fact that Meghan had a good degree of personal fame before she ever met Prince Harry, Piers Morgan accusing anyone else of being a cynical fame chaser is beyond parody. From his earliest days as a gossip hack, Morgan has muscled into pictures with the rich and famous, desperate to be someone.

When Meghan was willing to indulge him, he showered her with praise, but once she stopped taking his calls, he turned into the Tinder match from hell. That he has been married to his second wife, fellow controversialist columnist Celia Walden since 2010 seemingly did nothing to dampen his obsession.

Having repeatedly interviewed Meghan’s estranged father Thomas Markle — another man aggrieved because a woman would rather not spend time with him — Morgan sneers:

If she really cared about father-child relationships, she'd take a chauffeur-driven limousine on the hour-long trip to see her own father who's never even met either Harry or Archie.

It’s projection again: Piers Morgan’s ego is so egg-shell thin that after Meghan decided that one drink was more than enough, he’s spent 5 years seeking revenge and convinced that he’s been wronged, just like her ‘poor old dad’. That’s the ‘poor old dad’ that insists on talking about his daughter to journalists at every possible occasion.

At the end of an article that implies Harry and Meghan contributed to the death of Prince Philip — he died of natural causes — and rants on about “the woke”, Morgan ends with this:

But then as we've seen from her gruesomely self-interested behaviour during a pandemic that's caused so much devastation and pain to billions around the world, Meghan Markle doesn't really care about anyone but herself.

Remember, the Duchess of Sussex’s only ‘crime’ here is to write a children’s book which people will be free to buy or ignore with equal ease. But, as ever, Piers Morgan treats the news with all the proportionality of a US drone strike.

The real story here is about how Morgan — the bittiest of bit-part players in the narrative of Meghan and Harry’s lives — is so desperate to upgrade his place in the cast list that he will rant and rave to stay relevant. His departure from Good Morning Britain came after his last stream of invective about Meghan and he knows this schtick gets him the attention and money he craves.

Image description: “Twitter avatar for @MariaLRoach

Maria Roach

@MariaLRoach

Meghan Markle inside the tiny space called Piers Morgan’s head. #duchessofsussex Tap Dance GIF by Miss America

May 5th 2021

122 Retweets1,619 Likes”

-

Aside from Morgan’s column, MailOnline has published 9 other news stories on or related to the book announcement. The most telling of them is one that links the Duchess of Sussex’s book to another one… by the Duchess of Cambridge.

Headlined Bookshelf battle royale! Kate Middleton shares a glimpse inside her Hold Still photobook just a day after Meghan Markle unveiled her own £12.99 children's story, the story unsurprisingly treats Kate with kid gloves while continuing to imply that Meghan is the kind of person who would make gloves out of kids if it suited her devilish schemes.

There’s no shade thrown at the Duchess of Cambridge for revealing further details of her book just hours after Meghan’s announcement. Instead, the story — lavishly illustrated with images from the book — gushes:

The Duchess of Cambridge has shared a glimpse of her photography book Hold Still ahead of its release on Friday…

… Kate, 39, a keen photographer, launched a campaign during the first lockdown last year to ask the public to submit images which captured the period.

It even includes a mention of an image of a BLM protestor saying:

Over the course of the project, the Duchess shared a number of her favourite images on the Kensington Royal Instagram page, including a Black Lives Matter protester holding a sign reading: 'Be on the right side of history.'

If Meghan had done the same she would have been decried for “supporting extremists”. Remember the contrasting way their mutual taste for avocado was covered?

15 Headlines Show How Differently The British Press Treat Meghan Markle Vs Kate Middleton | Bored Panda

Over at The Daily Telegraph, Spiked alumna Ella Whelan offered her thoughts on a book that isn’t released until next month under the headline Meghan Markle’s fun-free children’s book may put an entire generation off reading, which makes it sound like a grimoire full of dark magic rather than a gentle children’s book about kids and their dads.

Just as with the Mail’s story on Kate’s book, it’s worth imagining what Whelan would say if the Duchess of Cambridge had written The Bench. Look at the following section…

It reveals something of the political superficiality of Harry and Meghan’s activism that an “inclusive” book would use the military father as its promotional message. Perhaps it’s a cultural thing, but if my kids have to read about soldiers, I’d prefer Hans Christian Andersen’s tin version rather than the woke posturing of a former royal.

… and notice that because Meghan is the author including a father who is in the military is “political superficiality”. If Kate had written a story that featured an analogue for Prince William — who also spent time in uniform, though in less dangerous circumstances than his ‘spare’ brother — Whelan would likely deem it a ‘touching tribute to their love’.

Similarly, Sarah Ferguson — the ex-wife of Prince Andrew, top Yelp! reviewer for Jeffrey Epstein’s houses and noted avoider of FBI questioning — uses the title Duchess of York on her many execrable children’s books.

Now that Meghan is the tabloid’s new monster in the monarchy, Fergie’s antics are pointed to as a positive with her books flattered even as Meghan’s as-yet-unpublished book is panned.

Image description: “Twitter avatar for @talkRADIO

talkRADIO

@talkRADIO

Meghan Markle is releasing a new children's book about father-son relationships.

Mike Graham: "It's so juvenile. This is somebody who acts like she's still in high school... it's not exactly Tennyson, is it?

@mrmarkdolan | @Iromg Image

May 5th 2021

36 Retweets221 Likes”

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Over on talkRADIO, Mike Graham — a melting mass of expired meat — ranted about a children’s book, worried perhaps that it will contain too many long words. Speaking to his colleague, Mark Dolan — Dennis Pennis without the charm — Graham crowed:

It’s so juvenile. This is somebody who acts like she’s still in high school… I don’t have anything against her for any particular reason, other than she’s a bit too American, you know. She thinks everything is just great and cheesy. Rhyming the words ‘joy’ and ‘boy’. It’s not exactly Tennyson, is it?

Ah yes, that famous children’s author, Alfred, Lord Tennyson, known for such devastating rhymes as this one from The Lady of Shallot: “She left the web/ She left the loom/ She made three paces through the room.”

I’m not saying The Lady of Shalott is rubbish — though I do still hold a grudge against Tennyson after some very tedious teaching in high school — but that focusing on one rhyme in a poem is an easy trick if you want to say its shit. That Graham cannot see the irony in decrying writing a children’s book as “juvenile” is just one of the reasons he’s employed by a station with less than 1% reach.

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Piers Morgan ranting about the one who got away in 5, 4, 3.......

Media Guardian @mediaguardian

Meghan wins copyright claim against Mail on Sunday over letter https://t.co/cJZTgDMvgz

May 5th 2021

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There’ll be a new round of these columns, stories, and talk radio segments when the book is released, particularly as The Mail on Sunday just lost the second part of Meghan’s copyright claim against it.

There’s nothing that either Meghan or Harry could do that wouldn’t drive these rats in a sack rabid. If they did nothing, they’d be called lazy. When they make things, take jobs, or really say anything the very media that benefits hugely from stories about them scream that it’s a cry for attention. And yet Piers Morgan regularly pissing himself in public is “commentary”.

[somanysigns-13]

Part 3: Snuggle in and buckle up for a long read. 😬

Reputation 2017 - her final required album with BMR (2014-2017 3 years after 1989)

…Ready For It? (also see cowboy like me on evermore)

* Knew he was a killer first time that I saw him wonder how many girls he had loved and left haunted...Knew the beard (maybe Joe?) was gay; wondered how many girls he had to pretend with?

* But if he’s a ghost then I can be a phantom holdin him for ransom...She can use him to cover her relationship with Karlie (also see New Romantics)

* Some boys are tryin too hard he don’t try at all though younger than my exes but he act like such a man so I see nothing better keep him forever like a vendetta...Some of her beards actually tried to make the relationship legit but he doesn’t try at all, maybe because he is also gay, so she can see staying with him until it’s over

* In the middle of the night, in my dreams you should see the things we do. In the middle of the night in my dreams I know I’m gonna be with you, so I’ll take my time...She knows in the end she will be with Karlie so she’s just going to ride this out

* Knew I was a robber first time that he saw me stealing hearts and runnin off and never saying sorry but if I’m a thief then he can join the heist and we’ll move to an island.... Possible reference to Karlie’s bearding with Josh and him knowing they are together and being part of the whole plan?

* He can be my jailer Burton to this Taylor...Nod to Elizabeth Taylor and her relationship with Richard Burton * Karlie’s middle name is Elizabeth * Burton to this Taylor - Josh will marry Karlie to quiet the rumors of her and Karlie’s relationship therefore he is Taylor’s “jailer” keeping the “cage” in place. Back to that recurring theme..cages..(see so it goes, this is me trying, and cowboy like me)

* Baby let the games begin...Here we go...start of the end game by playing more games

End Game

* I wanna be your endgame I wanna be your first string I wanna be your A-Team... She wants to be able to be public with Karlie and not the “secret”

Could the End Game be them getting through the final years of the BMR contract and possible other contracts (Karlie with Scooter and Josh). Did Taylor possibly sign a 3 album obligation to UMG which is why she busted out 3 albums in 1 year (Lover/folklore/evermore) to make “End Game” “New Year’s Day” 2021? There seems to be a countdown between the years of album releases...1989-reputation (3) rep-lover (2) and lover-folklore/evermore (1)

* Big reputation, big reputation ooh you and me would be a big conversation... If they came out now everyone would really be talking about it even though there are currently rumors

What kind of big conversation would really come of her and Joe Alwyn? Why would being in a heterosexual relationship need to be kept such a secret? What’s so taboo about it? And why would it need to be a secret when the public narrative is that you are in a relationship with him already?

* I hit you like bang we tried to forget it but we just couldn’t...Karlie and Taylor’s chemistry is too much to disregard or act like it was just a temporary thing, they are each other’s lobsters and they couldn’t quit each other.

* And I bury hatchets, but I keep maps of where I put them... She’s going to go along with the plan but she won’t forget who made her have to do it

* And I can’t let you go your handprints on my soul It’s like your eyes are liquor like your body is gold...again Karlie’s astrological sign is Leo and the Leo color is Gold…she’s love drunk on her eyes and she’s left a mark on her forever (see This Love and Dress)

* You’ve been calling my bluff on all my usual tricks so here’s the truth from my red lips...Taylor tries to push Karlie away or talk herself out of her feelings but Karlie calls her on her bullshit

I Did Something Bad

* I never trust a playboy but they love me so I fly ‘em all around the world and I let them think they saved me...Playboy as in boy she uses as her beard (play things for her to use- Don’t Blame Me) they think they can be the one to change/save Taylor (make her straight?) or possibly that by them going along with the plan she owes them something more since they “save” her reputation/career, she pays for all their expenses as her beard

* They never see it comin’ what I do next ...New Romantics; poker ref...she fills them in on the situation?

* This is how the world works you gotta leave before you get left...Foreshadowing her leaving BMR so she doesn’t lose Karlie?

* If he drops my name then I owe him nothin’ and if he spends my change then he had it comin... Did a beard say something he wasn’t supposed to in an interview that went against the NDA contract... Was he taking advantage of Taylor and her money?

* They’re burning all the witches even if you aren’t one they got their pitchforks and proof their receipts and reasons... “Witches” historically were thought to be lesbians (see Salem witch trials - see Willow) Even if you aren’t one - Some of the rumors of her being with her friends other than Karlie (Martha Hunt)...The proof is obviously in the rumors of her and Karlie and possibly Kissgate..and lots of witch references in evermore

* So light me up go ahead and light me up...Acknowledging she’s gay?

Don’t Blame Me

* Don’t blame me, love made me crazy if it doesn’t you ain’t doin’ it right lord save me my drug is my baby I’ll be using for the rest of my life... Don’t blame her for all the crazy things she’s had to do to keep her relationship with Karlie Lord save me - “pray the gay away” type ref

* I’ve been breaking hearts a long time and toying with them older guys just playthings for me to use (see “I Did Something Bad”)...Boys = beards

* For you, I would cross the line I would waste my time I would lose my mind they say she’s gone to far this time... She would give it all up to be with Karlie (see lyrics of evermore)

* My name is whatever you decide and I’m just gonna call you mine I’m insane, but I’m your baby...Reference to Karlie writing her name in the sand wrong or maybe using “James” or another pseudonym like maybe Kayda?

* Echoes of your name inside my mind halo, hiding my obsession I once was poison ivy but now I’m your daisy...

Alleration of Karlie’s name? (Echoes of your name) Halo = Victoria’s Secret Angel.. Poison ivy (see Ivy) Daisy - all the pictures of them with daisies during the Big Sur trip and other

* And baby for you I would fall from grace just to touch your face if you walk away I’d beg you on my knees to stay... She would give it all up and come out if she could ....If Karlie wanted to leave (Victoria secret fashion show “walk away” ref) she would do whatever she had to do to make her stay

Delicate - there’s more lyrics here but you’ll get the point with just a few

* Is it cool that Taylor told Karlie how she felt? She knows their relationship/situation they’re in is delicate

* Echoes of your footsteps on the stairs stay here honey I don’t want to share...She hates that Karlie has to leave and pretend to be with Josh, she gets jealous

* I pretend you’re mine all the damn time...She hates the bearding

So It Goes - all Victoria Secret fashion show refs

* See you in the dark all eyes on you my magician all eyes on us you make everyone disappear ...From Taylor’s perspective - Victoria secret fashion show interactions - usually all eyes are on Taylor but not now, it’s all eyes on her and Karlie and Taylor see’s only her and her “shiny abs” when they’re out there together on the stage

* Cut me into pieces gold cage hostage to my feelings back against the wall trippin when you’re gone...it kills Taylor to have to hold her love for Karlie inside and not share it with the world as much as she hates when Karlie has to leave after their time spent together

* Cause we break down a little but when you get me alone it’s so simple cause baby I know what you know we can feel it... When they have to be apart it’s hard but when they’re together it’s all worth it...They both know what they have and what they have to do to keep it

* And all the pieces fall right into place getting caught up in the moment lipstick on your face so it goes...Everything so far is going to plan but sometimes they forget and have to deal with a revelation (lipstick on Karlie’s face as they walk out of the apartment and get papped)

* I’m yours to keep and I’m yours to lose you know I’m not a bad girl but I do bad things with you so it goes...Seems like Taylor is saying the ball’s in Karlie’s court so to speak? The bad things = lesbian things 😂

* Met you in a bar all eyes on me your illusionist all eyes on us I make all your grey days clear and wear you like a necklace I’m so chill but you make me jealous but I got your heart skipping when I’m gone... From Karlie’s perspective - usually everyone is looking at Taylor but not at the VS Fashion show. She’s the sunshine in Taylor’s life but she does get jealous sometimes...But she knows she has Taylor’s heart and that Taylor misses her when she’s gone

* Come here dressed in black now scratches down your back now so it goes...Victoria’s Secret fashion show when they’re in black dresses holding hands walking down the runway and likely what happened after the show 😉

* You did a number on me but honestly baby who’s counting I did a number on you but honestly baby who’s counting 1, 2, 3...They really can’t help themselves with each other and their feelings * 3 years has gone by (2014-2017) (see invisible string - bold was the waitress on our 3 year trip. * 3 album contract with UMG?

Gorgeous - the rest of the lyrics speak for themselves I think, so here’s a couple.

* You make me so happy it turns back to sad ...When they’re together vs when they’re apart (Karlie w/Josh)

* There’s nothing I hate more than what I can’t have Due to the management teams keeping them apart?

Getaway Car

King of My Heart - Karlie is a Leo (Lion - king of the jungle)

* Salute to me, I’m your American Queen - Karlie referred to Taylor as the Princess because she has blue eyes, red lips, is beautiful and wears a crown in the Best Best Friend Vogue video

* Cause all the boys and their expensive cars, with their range rovers and their Jaguars never took me quite where you do...She feels nothing with any of her expensive beards like she does with Karlie

* Late in the night, the city's asleep Your love is a secret I'm hoping, dreaming, dying to keep... They have to sneak around to avoid being seen together in intimate situations

* Change my priorities The taste of your lips is my idea of luxury... She’s making all the effort to make the relationship work. I’m sure some guys have tasty lips but typically the ladies win that one

* Is the end of all the endings? End Game

* My broken bones are mending She uses breaking bones metaphors often (sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me refs?)

* Up on the roof with a school girl crush

* She’s got a girl crush

* Drinking beer out of plastic cups

* Karlie and Taylor at the Knicks game

* Say you fancy me, not fancy stuff

* Taylor wants to know that Karlie wants her for her, not what she has

Dancing With Our Hands Tied - a lot to unpack here so I’ll try to do it briefly

* I, I loved you in secret First sight, yeah, we love without reason...Depending on when they first met, Taylor saw Karlie either irl or modeling or through mutual friends and had a crush instantly

* Deep blue, but you painted me golden

* Karlie is Leo...astrologically represented by 1 color...Gold

* I, I loved you in spite of Deep fears that the world would divide us...If they came out what would it do to their relationship and their careers?

* So, baby, can we dance Oh, through an avalanche?... Is it possible to do it? Maybe not now, but can they weather the storm until they can make it public?

* I'd kiss you as the lights went out Swaying as the room burned down Possible Kissgate ref?

* I'd hold you as the water rushes in...They’re both fire signs...a water sign beard (Joe is a Pisces) could be the extinguisher to squash the rumors of Kaylor

* If I could dance with you again...She’ll do what she needs to do to keep this relationship

Dress - another big one

* Our secret moments in your crowded room They've got no idea about me and you...Victoria Secret fashion show moments

* There is an indentation in the shape of you Made your mark on me, a golden tattoo Again with gold and the tattoo...permanent mark (see End Game)

* Say my name and everything just stops I don't want you like a best friend...Not really sure if it could be any more obvious..Karlie and Taylor were each other’s “Best Friend” and Taylor is letting it be known that she wants her more than that

* Only bought this dress so you could take it off Take it off (ha, ha, ha) Carve your name into my bedpost 'Cause I don't want you like a best friend...She wants to “do bad things” with Karlie (see “so it goes”)

Call It What You Want

* Possible start of the bearding ref?

* Sounds an awful like “So Karlie would you want to?”

* Windows boarded up after the storm ...They have to be apart, possible arguments over what the plan should be? Also see Death by a thousand cuts on Lover

New Year’s Day=End Game?

* Last song with BMR..Taylor’s contract is over

* Candle wax and Polaroids on the hardwood floor...Candles are a recurring prop in her music videos, assumed to represent the passing of time of their respective contract periods * Polaroids - Karlie was asked in an interview what she collects, she said Polaroids...They took lots of Polaroid pictures on their trip to Big Sur * Taylor used the image of a Polaroid as her album cover in 1989

*You and me forevermore...direct link to the evermore album and song...she said in the MAATHP documentary that her life is planned out at least 2 years in advance...looks like maybe some of the folklore/evermore songs were already in the works or at the very least she went back and drew inspiration from other albums.

* You squeezed my hand three times in the back of the taxi

* could 3 years be the length of Karlie’s contract with Josh? (See So It Goes)

* 3 album contract with UMG?

* I can tell it’s gonna be a long road They’re going to have to suffer through at least 3 years of not being seen together in order to avoid speculation

* I’ll be there if you’re the toast of the town, babe Or if you strike out and you’re crawling home Whatever Karlie’s reason is for going along with the Josh stunts, Taylor will be there to support her no matter what...Strike out is a baseball metaphor and Karlie is a big St Louis Cardinals fan (baseball ref also used in peace on folklore...”swing with you for the fences, sit with you in the trenches”)

Crawling home…opposite of what Karlie used to do as a Victoria Secret model and “walking” the runway

* Don’t read the last page But I stay When it’s hard or it’s wrong or we’re making mistakes... Try not to look too far ahead, things can go wrong and it can make the time longer or seem longer

* I want your midnights But I’ll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year’s Day Taylor wants to be with her now, but she knows in the end she’ll be with her forever after the charade and games are over.

* Hold on to the memories they will hold on to you Just keep remembering the good times..they’ll get “us” through until the games are over