#less ice on the lakes

[johnschneiderblog]

Ship ahoy

The 2024 Great Lakes shipping season officially began on March 22 when the Poe Lock, part of the Soo Locks, in Michigan's Upper Peninsula, opened to marine traffic.

That was three days ahead of schedule, thanks to a mild winter - a trend that's likely to continue.

Warmer winters mean less ice, which, some believe could extend the shipping season by up to three months. However, less ice means more evaporation, which can lower water levels and limit where the big freighters can go.

This ship, which sailed past our cottage Thursday, is part of the Canada Steamship Lines fleet.

[mistle-foe]

it feels a lot later than it really is...

[euthymiya]

not a selfship but i am taking advantage to get more uncle sukuna content out of u lake. running into baby yuuji at a grocery store and sukuna's looking for him & finds u with him?

“Hi!”

You glance down, caught off guard by the little voice coming from beside you. As soon as you meet two bright, shiny little wonder-filled eyes, you can’t help but melt at the small excited, innocent wave the kid sends you.

“Oh, hello,” you murmur, turning to face him properly, “are you lost, little guy?”

“No,” he beams, “my Uncle Kuna is playing hide and seek with me.”

“In a grocery story?” You blink. (You have some choice words for this Unkle Kuna—what sort of caretaker plays hide and seek in a grocery store of all places? Children can be snatched up by strangers anywhere, and it’s by sheer luck alone that this child ran into you and not someone with…less than good intentions.)

Just as you frown at the idea, a sharp voice interrupts your thoughts. “Yuuji, get back here! I’m not playing these games with you.”

The child, who you assume is Yuuji, giggles, hiding behind your leg as a tiny fist grabs onto your pants.

“Shh,” he whispers (rather loudly) up at you, “don’t tell Uncle Kuna I’m here!”

Suddenly, a man rounds the corner of an aisle, pushing a cart and walking up to you quickly with a scowl on his face as he purses his lips when he sees the evidence of a tiny hand clasping around your leg. He looks a lot like Yuuji, in fact—same pale pink hair and same brown eyes. Except he has tattoos along his cheeks, and much sharper looking cheekbones that make his face a touch harsher.

Handsome, you think. Good genes must run in the family—he’s as handsome as Yuuji is adorable.

“Have you seen a runt about this tall who’s not getting fed dinner tonight and will be locked away in my dungeon?” He asks, giving a crooked smile when a soft, horrified little gasp comes from behind your leg.

“No!” Wails Yuuji, looking up at you with hopeful eyes. “Don’t let him take me!”

“Don’t listen to him,” the man grunts, “he’s gettin’ spoiled. Any more and he’ll be completely rotten.”

With that, he grabs Yuuji and hoists him up to sit on his hip, scowling at him before he gently takes the sleeve of his shirt and wipes Yuuji’s lips of the smeared remnants of ice cream.

You melt a little on the inside once more, the harsh scolding ready on your lips already forgotten.

“Thanks for finding him,” he mutters, giving you a brief glance. “Turned around to grab one thing, and he ran off before I could catch ‘im.”

“It’s…it’s no problem,” you breathe.

Handsome, you think again. What a painfully, stupidly handsome man.

Carina no one loves me like u my fave vehicle

[moonstruckme]

Ok, your little jily about hypothermia gave me the urge to see :

The reaction to the marauders to you falling through the ice. Like you were skating on the Black Lake with Sirius and James because they convinced you (against you initial worry) while Remus stands off to the side and watches (the most unsure and worried of them)

And I can see James and Sirius trying to race each other as you try to get a hand of ice skating. Then a crack and you fall through.

It’s like you know that scene with Amy in Little woman

I would totally get if you don’t like it since you’ve just written a similar one.

Your work is amazing ! Hope everything is ok for you ❤️

Thank you lovely <3

cw: ice skating trauma?

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

It’s just like Sirius and James to goad you out onto the lake and then get bored of you when--as you tried to warn them—you can’t skate. James is fizzing with energy, promising to come back as soon as he makes one quick round of the cove, and of course when he challenges Sirius to a race your boyfriend is too competitive to decline. 

They take off at light speed, blades schwicking across the dark ice. Remus, sitting bundled up on land, eyes you worriedly over the top of his book. 

“Be careful,” he warns, not for the first time. 

You are nervous, with no handholds and no boyfriends to help you, but you’re eager to reassure him. “Don’t worry.” You smile. “I’m not going to go racing after them.” 

Remus returns your smile, and, mollified, returns to his book. 

The ice on the Black Lake is far from pristine. There are dips and ridges, and soon you find yourself being channeled down curving paths away from the shore, hardly moving your skates and arms out to your sides for balance. The ice beneath your feet begins to look darker, less of the frosty sheen or slashes from other skates. It feels smoother, too. 

You let yourself glide forward, raising your head to see if any of your boyfriends are looking to witness your success. The first crack is a light sound. Almost negligible, but it gets your attention. You scream as the ice falls out from beneath you. 

The cold shocks you down to your bones, freezing the blood in your veins and pressing in on your lungs. Instinct propels you upwards. 

“H—help!” 

Your voice is a tight cry. The air doesn’t feel much better, colder even, but you try to stay above the surface, the blades on your feet slicing uselessly through the water below. Each time you try to grasp at a piece of ice and pull yourself onto it, it breaks away. Your breaths are gasping, panicked puffs that send white clouds into the air in front of you. 

You can hear your boyfriends shouting. 

“Pads, wait—wait—” 

Sirius is crawling towards you on the ice, another shape moving quickly in your direction. 

“Accio branch!” 

James tosses the long stick to Sirius, who holds it out for you to grab onto. The bark bites into your palms, but you don’t let go as both boys use it to drag you out, ice jutting into your middle. As soon as you’re out to your hip you’re in Sirius’ embrace, his strong arms bringing you closer and helping you pull your legs from the water. 

“You’re okay,” he says, firmly. As though daring anyone to prove him wrong. “You’re okay, baby, we’ve got you. We have you.” 

James and Sirius keep you tucked between them, pushing you on dripping skates and wobbly legs to the edge of the lake. Remus looks like he tried to come out wearing his shoes. His face has drained of its wintery flush, brow set tense with worry. 

Sirius helps him back to the shore, but not before Remus casts a warming charm on you. You give an odd shiver at the change. 

“How’s that, angel?” James scrubs a hand up and down your arm. His voice is light, but its lightness is so forced and so different from his exuberant tone of a few minutes ago. 

Remus pulls you into a hug as you start to cry. Tiny sobs mixed with shivers, your frame shaking in every way possible. Remus holds you securely to him as he lowers you both to the ground. He casts another warming charm for good measure. 

“You’re lucky she didn’t get dragged under by the grindylows,” he says with your head tucked beneath his chin. He sounds angry, but it’s quickly succumbing to weariness. His arms wind around you tighter. 

“We didn’t know she’d try and go into the middle!” Sirius argues as he kneels beside you, James at his side. Your boyfriend’s face is lined with guilt as he reaches for you, unsticking a damp piece of hair from your cheek. 

“How was she supposed to know?”

“Sorry,” you offer wobbily. Each of them makes some sound of sympathy. 

“No, sweetheart, it’s not your fault,” Remus soothes, covering your cheek with his warm hand. James rubs up your calf from your ankle as though he intends to warm you inch by inch. “It was only your first time, you couldn’t have known.” 

“Yeah,” James agrees, “you’re fine, lovie. Nobody said for you to be sorry.” 

You try on a smile. There’s snot frozen above your top lip. “So I can only be sorry when you say?” 

“Yes,” says Sirius, very seriously. 

He grins when you laugh. Remus cracks, too, and James looks relieved at no longer being scolded. Sirius smooths another piece of hair from your face, looking at you carefully. 

“You okay, baby?” 

“I’m okay,” you confirm. “The warming charms are helping a lot. Thanks, Rem.” 

“That’s our Moony.” Sirius smiles at him, clearly eager to be back in your boyfriend’s good graces. “Always knows the perfect spell.” 

“You know that one, too,” Remus grumbles as James starts to unlace your skates for you. “You could’ve done it the moment you got her out.” 

“Ah, but we’re not all as quick on our feet as you, you swot.” 

“Do you think you can walk back inside?” James asks you, slipping your shoes on. “One of us could go get some tea from the great hall while you warm up in the common room.” 

“Fuck that,” says Sirius. “I know where Slughorn keeps his nice cocoa now. I’d say we’re entitled to some of that after our trials.” 

“One of us is,” Remus corrects him drily. 

“Right, then.” James takes your hands, standing you up slowly and fitting an arm around your waist for support. If the wet of your clothes chills him, he doesn’t complain. “We’ll pilfer enough of Slughorn’s cocoa for one person, and you’ll be good as new by dinner.” 

“I already feel okay,” you try to reassure him. 

“Shh, shh.” Remus takes you by the hand, squeezing gently. “Don’t correct them. Take your dues.”

[cressidagrey]

It's a Love Story - Chapter 8

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues, Fat Shaming, People being utterly horrible. Racism against Illyrians/Lesser Faes?

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

Sky didn’t have much of a temper.

Even if she was frustrated or annoyed, she rarely got angry or lost her patience. 

It wasn't that she didn't have emotions. She did. She felt things deeply, passionately. However, she also believed that there was no point in wasting energy on getting angry. It didn't solve anything. It only made things worse. 

So Sky had learned a very, very long time ago…that there was no need to start screaming, because her stutter didn’t allow her that anyway…and that maybe…maybe it was easier for her to just let go off her anger about being unfairly treated. 

Getting angry wouldn’t help her. 

That day however…it burst out of her. Burst out of her like somebody had lanced an abscess. 

Her family could say whatever they wanted about her. But they were not going to say a single word about Azriel 

It was Winter Solstice.

Azriel and her had spent the last month or so enjoying winter season in Velaris…even once trying to ice skate on their lake, which only ended with him kissing her skinned knees, because she was definitely not a natural at it.

They had bought Winter Solstice gifts, and baked cookies…had decorated their house with pine garlands and velvet ribbons…

She had knitted them socks and they had made rabbit stews out of rabbits Azriel had hunted in the forest behind their house. (It was…she had never really seen him as a warrior, even when he wore these black leathers and the blue stone that glinted off him…but she could see him as a hunter, when he came home with a couple of rabbits, ready for dinner. It had also resulted in a new fur lined blanket for her, all ready on the couch. 

She had never outright asked…but he seemd to like it when she was cuddled beneath it, like it seemed to soothe some kind of instinct for him. Maybe the fact that it was the animal he had hunted?)   

Sky and Azriel had both made the decision to spend the days with their respective families and have their own Solstice celebrations the next day…that would pretty much sonsits out of a lazy day in bed and nothing else. 

It sounded amazing. Just what they wanted. 

And it had made sense to celebrate like that. She hadn’t wanted to be the one to keep him from his family after all, even if the thought of not spending Solstice with her mate had hurt more than she wanted to admit.

Azriel had been up ridiculous easily in the morning for a snowball fight that was apparently tradition…but not before he had spent a good half hour making her scream his name with his mouth between her thighs…

Afterwards, she had gotten dressed and left the shadows to amuse Hector for the day… and Sky had left to help her mother with dinner preparations.

A nice, quiet family dinner. Nothing more and nothing less.

That’s what it was supposed to be. They didn’t even get that far.

It all went to shit before dinner was even in the oven. 

From the moment she entered her parents house it was a barrage of barbed comments. About her appearance, her stutter, her lack of an boyfriend…her lack of a proper job. (Sellyn Drake was hers. Sellyn Drake was nothing they got to gossip about.) 

Sky had bitten her tongue. She had ignored the comments, tried to enjoy herself. But Claire never knew when enough was enough.

Her sister kept at it. Kept needling, jabbing at Sky until the little bubbles of anger popped to the surface and boiled into something…bigger.

“I…I met my m…mate,” Sky finally said flatly, after anther jab at her lack of a boyfriend. 

Take that Claire. Not just a fiance. A mate. 

Finally in just one thing Sky had been faster than her sister. 

A mate. That mystical rare mating bond had been a gift from the other for her and not for Claire. 

It caught Claire off guard. She stopped pacing, and turned to look at her sister, brow raised. The look said ‘Oh is that so?’ as if it was the kind of nonsense she had come to expect from her.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed, clearly not believing a word Sky said. 

But Sky wasn’t going to let this go. “His n..name is Azriel,” Sky said with a smile. “We are ver…very hap…happy.” 

They were. They were so happy. So delightfully happy. (So delightfully happy that Sky had been wondering if maybe…maybe the should start trying. High Fae fertility was hit or miss anyway…why shouldn’t they simply start trying and see where it would take them. And if it took two decades, then it took two decades. If it only took a year or three…well, then they were lucky.)  

Claire narrowed her eyes. She was about to say something mean, Sky could see it in the way her lip curled up.

“He…He's a g…good male,” she said firmly, cutting Claire off before she got the chance to spew out anything else.

Claire laughed. It was a harsh, biting sound.

"A good male? Really, Sky?" she sneered. "You actually fell for that line?"

It wasn’t a line. It was the truth. 

Azriel was a good male. Patient and intense and loving. He had never raised a single finger against her.Azriel would never hurt her intentionally. 

 Claire just wanted to belittle Sky in front of their whole family.

"You must be even more naive than you seem if you believe that," she said, almost pityingly. "You really think he wants you? That he actually cares about you? Nobody could want you. I bet he just pities you."

It should have hurt her, she realised. It would have. Even just months ago, it would have hurt her. 

But right now…right now it didn’t really. 

She was supposed to believe that Azriel didn’t want her? The same male that had spent the better part of an hour on his knees in front of her that very morning, eating her out like a starved male? She was supposed that her mate, who’s arousal shot across the bond like an inferno any time she slipped off her clothes, didn’t want her? That the same male that stared at her like she was a goddess, that spent hours worshipping her body with his hands…that she had nearly made come simply by touching his wings a few days ago didn’t want her? 

Still…Claire's words had their effect. She felt a small stab of doubt in her heart, and she hated it. She hated that her sister could still hurt her like this, still make her feel like that insecure little girl who stuttered and couldn't get a single word right.

“He…He l…loves me and I…I love him,” Sky said calmly.

That was clear in every single one of his actions, in every single word. 

“Where did you even meet him?” Sky’s mother demanded. “And what kind of name is Azriel?”

“In…In a bar. Wh…When we went out for Cl..Claire’s Hen Do.  And I im…imagine it’s an Il…illyrian name.”

Everything ground to a halt.

“He’s Illyrian?!” Her mother demanded sharply. “What’s wrong with you, Skylar!”

Sky flinched at her tone. It was harsh, angry. It was the same tone she'd always used when Sky was younger and got anything wrong or stepped out of line.

"Yes, he's Il…Illlyrian," she said, meeting her mother's gaze levelly. "What's…what’s wrong with that?" she asked. 

She knew that her family wasn’t the…most open about Lesser Faes, but…but that hatred in her mother’s voice….she hadn’t expected that. 

“Everything,” Admon gave back with a snort. “You seriously let that barbarian fuck you? I am surprised you actually survived that and he didn’t just rip you apart.”

Every bit of colour leeched out of her face, except her ruddy red cheeks at these crude words. 

This was Admon. Once upon a time, she had wanted to marry him. To have his children. To spent her life with him. 

And…and this was what he told her to her face. 

“I can’t believe that you even let a creature like him touch you,” her mother breathed staring at her with utter disgust.

“He’...He’s not a cre…creature,” Sky bit out. Azriel was her mate. 

“Is it true by the way?” Her brother wondered. “That Illyrian’s have a cat’s prick?”

"Orin!" her mother exclaimed, aghast. "Don't be vulgar! I don't want to know."

Orin shrugged, a smirk dancing across his face. "What? I’m just curious. I am sure Skylar knows. She must please him somehow when she’s still alive to enjoy their…couplings.”

Sky felt ill. She didn't know what to say, what to say in defense of the man she loved. She couldn't get a word out.

“Did you…did you let it touch you?” Her father demanded finally, his voice icy.

It. Not even him. It. Like Azriel was a thing. 

Sky felt her heart drop to the floor, breaking into pieces.

"Yes," she admitted, her voice barely audible.

Her father's face grew stony, and he took a step closer to her.

“How dare you?” he hissed. "How could you let a monster touch you like that?"

"He's not a monster!" Sky protested, her voice rising. "He's…He’s k…kind and gen…gentle, and-"

“And I am sure, he keeps you stuffed with his cat prick to keep you satisfied,” Claire drawled.

And Sky was done.

Somehow that was the last straw. 

Somehow that made something inside her break, irreparable. 

It snipped away every thread that ever kept her close to the family that she had been born into. 

“At least I didn’t need to take my sister’s sl…sloppy s…seconds,” Sky said, her voice flat, meeting her gaze full on.“And yes, Azriel more than keeps me s…satisfied.”

Silence descended over the room, the only sound the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth. Sky felt the tension in the air grow heavier with each passing second.

"You…you didn’t just say that,” Claire said coldly. "You take that back, Sky.

Sky raised her chin defiantly. "No.” she said simply. “I'm…I’m not taking back the truth," she said, her voice ringing with unexpected steel.

"You do not speak to me like that," Claire hissed. "You have no right—"

Something inside Sky snapped. Years of frustration, years of feeling invisible and ignored, years of enduring Claire's taunts and jibes all bubbled to the surface.

"I…I have ev…every right," she shot back, her heart pounding in her chest. “Not so fun when you are on the re…receiving end, is it?”

“Either you end your…dalliance with…that creature, or you are no daughter of mine,” her father snapped.

He talked to her like she was nothing. Like she was worth less than dirt beneath his boots. 

And somehow that made it even easier. 

“You want me to turn away my mate…for what? This?” She asked him, cocking her head to the side. .

"For the sake of our family’s reputation," her father said. "You are an embarrassment to us all by associating with that…lesser fae barbarian.”

Barbarian. Lesser Fae. Thing. Creature. Monster.

All of that said about the male she loved. About her mate. 

“He’s Illyrian,” Sky said, her voice icy. 

“Oh come off it,” “Orin snapped. “He’s lesser fae. The only thing they are good for is being fodder for the armies during war times. Other than that, they are worthless.”

Fodder. 

“We have Lesser Fae ancestry ourself,” Sky responded icily. “Our great grandmother was a River Nymph.”

"That was a long time ago," her father interrupted sharply. "It was one ancestor generations ago. And besides, her blood was not that strong to begin with."

Sky thought back to the eyes that looked back from her mirror each day. Blue and beautiful. The one trace of her that got passed down to her.

"Maybe it was her blood that made you think that opening your legs for that creature was in any way appropriate," her mother hissed. 

And suddenly it was so easy. 

“Azriel is my mate,” she hissed. “I will al…always chose him over you. You can spew what..whatever insult you want about him or his pe…peoople. He’s still a bet…better male than any of you could ever hope to be, has treated me better than any of you. I’ll gladly no longer be your daughter.”

She felt the sting of tears running down her cheeks, but she didn't try to wipe them away. She just stared back at her family, daring them to say more. There was a short moment of silence, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

She should have expected it. Her mother had always been quick to slap her if she did anything anything that she didn’t like.

Just this time…her hand didn’t make contact.

Sky stared at the tendril of shadows that jerked her mother’s hand back, having suddenly appeared. 

*You. Will. Not. Lay. A. Finger. On. Her,* the shadows hissed menacingly.

Sky stared at the shadows, her eyes widening in shock. They were angry. No. Furious. Utterly and completely furious. Her mother seemed equally taken aback, her hand still outstretched in the air where the shadows had stopped her.

Orin looked like he was about to piss himself, and her father…her father stared at the shadows, his face ashen.

“Come here,” Sky said quietly.

The shadows left her mother to come swarming to her, brushing over her cheek in greeting before wrapping themselves around her neck in a clearly possessive move.

Sky felt the familiar warmth of the shadows sink into her, a small bit of comfort in this awful situation. She turned to her family, her jaw set.

"I’m…I’m never coming back," she said, her voice quiet but resolute. And with that, she turned and walked away, She had only taken a handful of steps when she stopped and turned back, one last thing needing to be said, before she closed the door on this chapter of her life forever.

"I never want to see any of you again," she said, her voice shaking only slightly. "And when we have children, don’t you dare come and ask to have anything to do with them. You don’t deserve to even breath the same air as my mate."

With that, she turned and walked away, her head held high. 

***

Whatever went on between sky and her family…it wasn’t good. He could feel that in the bond slumbering underneath his breast bone.

He rubbed it absentmindly, staring in the flickering flame of the Birchin.

He had won that Snowball fight. Once more. One more victory to add to it.  Not that he particularly cared right now.

*Is she alright?* he asked the shadows.

The shadows were…quiet. And that spoke volumes. Something wasn't right. Azriel's heart pounded against his chest, his instincts urging him to act. He had to make sure Sky was alright. He couldn't stand to think about her being in any sort of trouble.

*Physicallly unharmed,* the shadows promised. *Her family is horrible,* they told him distastefully. 

Azriel's heart clenched at the shadow’s words. While it was a small relief that Sky wasn't physically hurt…her family being horrible made him want to grimace. 

“Alright, I had it!” Cassian snapped at that moment. “What the fuck is going on with you two?”

Azriel turned to his brother, seeing Cassian watch Rhys and himself with an expression of…something. Exasperation maybe.

"What do you mean?" Azriel asked, his voice even, feigning ignorance. He was really not in the mood to get into that either. But apparently he wasn’t going to get that small bit of mercy. 

"Don’t play dumb with me, brother," Cassian said, rolling his eyes. "You are both moody and more distant than usual. What the heck happened?"

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Azriel said flatly. Cassian rolled his eyes.

“Rhys?” Cassian demanded with a sigh. 

“You want to explain or shall I?” Rhys addressed him and Azriel just looked at him flatly.

“You gave the orders, High Lord.”

If Azriel had been in a better mood, he would have smirked. But right now, he just wanted this whole conversation to be over so he could check on Sky. The thought of her made his chest ache. He longed to see her, to hold her, to make sure she's alright. But he knew that Cassian and Rhys wouldn’t let him go without an explanation.

“Azriel and I…had a disagreement about Elain.” Azriel just stared at Rhys blankly. Seriously, that was the best Rhys could come up with? That’s what he wanted to go with?!

"A disagreement?" Cassian asked, brows raised. "What kind of disagreement? A 'we came to an agreement' kind of disagreement, or a 'we punched each other in the face' disagreement?"

“A ‘Rhys sticks his nose into things that are none of his business’ disagreement,” Azriel gave back drily.

“Excuse me, you were going to kiss ELain while her mate was under the same roof two years ago. Did you ever even consider the political ramifications of that?” Rhys snapped. “For gods sake, Azriel!”

Azriel's jaw clenched at Rhys's words, his temper flaring even as he tried to maintain a neutral expression. "You think I didn't consider the consequences? Of course, I did," he hissed, his voice dangerously low. "But feelings aren't logical, Rhys. We don't choose who we fall for, and it's not as simple as calculating political ramifications."

“I told Azriel to keep away from Elain. She fell for Lucien. He’s still moping about it and giving me the fault,” Rhys said flatly. “Out of pure interest, how much longer do you want to keep up with that, Az?”

Azriel couldn’t help the laugh that burst out od his mouth at that.

“You didn’t just fucking tell me to keep away from her. You told me and I quote ‘If you need to fuck somebody go to a pleasure hall and pay for it’,” Azriel repeated viciously.

"And I stand by that," Rhys snapped. "The last thing we need is for you to pine over someone who has made it clear where she stands. Elain has her mate, and she doesn't return your feelings. She’s married for gods’ sake!”

“Whoa!” Cassian cut them off. “What the fuck, Rhys?!”

"What?" Rhys demanded, glaring at Cassian.

Cassian gave him an incredulous look. "You told Azriel to go to a pleasure hall? Seriously?"

"I was trying to be helpful," Rhys said, his jaw clenching.

"Helpful?" Cassian asked incrediously. "Helpful would have been to be a little more understanding towards your brother's feelings. He does have them, you know,” Cassian said sarcastically. 

"I know that," Rhys snapped. "But he needs to move on. It's not healthy to keep pining after someone who doesn't return his feelings."

“Where was this opinion for the 500 years of me pining after Mor?” Azriel snapped. 

Rhys's expression darkened. "Don't do that, Azriel. Don't bring Mor into this. She's not relevant to this discussion."

”Not relevant?” Azriel gave back with a laugh. “I think she’s very relevant. You don’t trust me to act like an adult about my feelings. You ordered me to behave like I am some kind of rabid dog. More than once, more than twice. Constantly. Like I would ever do anything to put Mor and Emerie’s relationship into jeopardy. Don’t worry, High Lord. I’ll behave. I’ll leave Mor and Elain alone. .”

Rhys ran a hand through his hair, his frustration clear. "This is not about Mor, Azriel. This is about keeping the peace within our Inner Circle. Elain has her own life and her own happiness to think about. Interfering could only bring pain, not just for you, but for everyone involved. That’s why I ordered you to keep your distance. Not because I don’t trust your feelings or your actions, but because sometimes even the best intentions can have unintended consequences."

Azriel’s eyes darkened, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. "Don't give me any of your high and mighty bullshit, Rhysand. You don’t think I am good enough for Mor, and you certainly don't think I am good enough for Elain. But don’t worry, I'll keep my distance, as ordered. I wouldn't want to risk upsetting your perfect little court or ruining your plans for peace. Just tell me who else is off limits, so I know who else I'm not good enough for. Maybe Gwyn? Because remember, ‘don’t you dare to pressure her’?"

Rhys sighed, his gaze softening slightly. "Azriel, it's not about who you're 'good enough' for and who you aren't. It's about respecting people's choices and boundaries. Elain has made her choice in Lucien, and I just want to protect her and the peace we've worked so hard to maintain. And no, nobody else is off limits. You're free to…'seek your entertainment' as you please."

His entertainment. 

Right. 

Azriel snorted, the sound full of derision. “It warms my heart that you give me that permission,” Azriel said, his voice dripping with disdain.

Rhys rolled his eyes, clearly irritated by Azriel's reaction. "I'm not trying to 'give you permission,' Azriel," he said firmly. "I'm just trying to make sure you understand why I'm asking you to behave. I care about you and our inner circle. You're my brother, but I also care about Elain and her happiness. I don't want to see anyone get hurt."

“Have I done anything, anything at all that put her happiness in jeopardy?” Azriel asked, his voices harsh. “I kept away as you ordered. I fucking saved Lucien’s life, so she could be happy.”

"You haven't done anything wrong," Rhys acknowledged, his tone softening. "You've been a better friend to Elain than anyone could have asked. You saved Luicen because you are a good person, not just for Elain's sake. But I still think it’s best if you keep your distance. Not just for her, but for yourself too. Dwelling on feelings that can’t be returned will only bring you pain."

“For cauldron’s sake, Rhys,” Cassian said with a sigh.

Rhys turned his attention to him, the exasperation clear in his eyes. "What, Cassian?" he asked, his tone weary.

Cassian rubbed a hand over his jaw, shaking his head. "You’re so hell bent on keeping the peace you forget that the people in your court have feelings too," he said. "Azriel isn’t some emotionless soldier doing your bidding. He has feelings and desires, just like everyone else. And sometimes it’s not as simple as just moving on."

"I know that," Rhys said, running a hand through his hair. "But sometimes we have to put our own feelings aside for the greater good. As a High Lord, I have to think about the impact my actions could have on others. I'm not trying to shut down Azriel's feelings. I'm just trying to protect him from potential pain.”

“Yeah you did a shitty job at that,” Cassian said drily. “You could have told Mor hundred of years ago to have a conversation with him. You didn’t. But Azriel is supposed to tread carefully not to make her or Emerie uncomfortable. Azriel is supposed to behave?”

Rhys's eyes flashed in anger. "I know I've made mistakes, Cassian. I should have handled things differently with Mor and Azriel. But I can't change the past. All I can do is try to make the best decisions for everyone involved right now."

“You don’t even fucking realise how much of a self important hypocritical asshole you are, do you?” Azriel asked flatly. “It’s okay for you to pursue an engaged female that’s engaged to another High Lord, damn the consequences. But the rest of us…we are told to behave.”

Rhys bristled at Azriel’s words, his own temper threatening to flare. "That's different, Azriel," he said, his voice sharp. "That’s different and you know it. You would understand if you had a…” he hesitated.

"If I had a what?" Azriel prompted sharply.

Rhys let out a frustrated sigh, his fingers clenching around his mug. "A mate."

“Rhys,” Cassian said carefully.

"What?" Rhys snapped, his temper still simmering just below the surface. “He doesn’t have a mate, he doesn’t fucking understand it.”

Aaaaaand…. Azriel was done.

So fucking done. 

“Where are you going?” Rhys demanded as he stood up.

“Home,” Azriel said flatly. “You have my gifts, hand them out. Wish Feyre a Happy Birthday, will you? I’ll be back to do your bidding in about 3 days, High Lord.” 

“I highly doubt that your mother will enjoy your impromptu appearance at Rosehall,” Rhys said. Azriel’s hand twitched towards Truthteller. “Let’s just…”

“Rhysand!” Cassian snapped.

“What?” Rhys asked. 

“I have talked to my mother once since the Sealing of Velaris was lifted,” Azriel said tightly. “One conversation where she told me that she found a new family and that I should keep away from her. So no, Rhys. I am not going to Rosehall.”

Rhys looked utterly shell-shocked by Azriel’s revelation. "Azriel, I..." he started, but Azriel simply shook his head.

"Don't," he said. "Just don't." He didn’t wnat to talk about it. He never wanted to talk about that. His mother could do whatever she wanted. he would leave her alone, just as requested. But he was not going to talk about it. 

“Then I am coming with you. You are not spending Winter Solstice alone brooding at the House of Wind,” Cassian said quickly, standing. 

“I am not going to the House of Wind either.” Azriel answered flatly. “I am going home to my house and I won’t be alone either.”

"What do you mean you won't be alone?" Rhys asked sharply.

Azriel just snorted, “My mate will be there,” he said simply. “She’s better company than any of you.”

“Your...your mate?” Rhys repeated, his eyes widening.

Cassian gaped at Azriel. "Your mate? Why didn’t you tell us? Who is she?"

“Why should I tell you? ” Azriel gave back his voice icy. “I may trust you with this court, Rhysand, but I do not trust you with anything I love. Not anymore.”

[autonomousroboticorganism]

period madness (TF Prime)

featuring - Optimus Prime x F!Reader, Bumblebee x F!Reader, Smokescreen x F!Reader, Knock Out x F!Reader, Soundwave x F!Reader, Shockwave x F!Reader, Wheeljack x F!Reader

summary - your Cybertronian partner finds out just what a human woman's period entails.

warnings - none

a/n - Knock Out's takes place when he defects to the Autobots. also, don't fight me, these are based on my experiences and what helps me.

OPTIMUS PRIME - cramps

While he may not fully understand what's going on and what's happening to your body, he is still extremely attentive and supportive. He is there to provide any comfort you need, and will not hesitate to take one of the other humans out to a convenience store if you need anything. He knows when it's that time of the month because he'll walk into base after another mission and see you laying face-down on the couch.

"Are you okay, (Name)?"

An unintelligible grumble from you was the only response, before Miko spoke for you, "Her cramps are bad this month. Really bad."

Optimus looked back at your figure, then reached over the railing to carefully lift you into one of his servos, ever the gentle giant. If there was one thing he did know during this time, it was that you were somewhat appeased by warmth.

"How was the mission?" You finally looked up at him, eyes glassy with tears from the pain.

"I shall tell you all about it when you are warm and comfortable," the Prime replied, taking you to his room in the base and laying on his berth. He lay you on top of him, right over his spark where it was warmest. "Is this better?"

"Mhmm, much," you sighed in relief and satisfaction, curling up on his warm chassis. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," he smiled, happy that your pain was eased, if only slightly. "Today was quiet, no sign of Decepticon activity. We found an empty Energon mine that had been stripped entirely of its contents."

"Aw, man," you empathised, "I hope you guys find some soon. But I welcome a quiet mission, as opposed to you going out and getting hurt."

It warmed his spark to know that even while you were in pain, you still worried about him getting hurt. He knew you cared very much for him and the team, but he was unaware it was to this extent. He carried on with his story, explaining how they had found something more disturbing than an Energon mine filled with cons. You listened intently despite being overwhelmed by pain in your uterus, happy to be distracted by one of his tales. And it always helped that you liked to listen to his deep voice, because it was soothing to hear.

BUMBLEBEE - emotional

Bumblebee knows a bit more than Optimus, but less than he feels he needs to. So a few days before your period, when you exhibit the warning signs, he asks Miko - with Raf as translator - to help him with research on the topic so he's better prepared to help you. He doesn't want to let you know he does this, but you know and you think it's very cute. And sweet.

He knows when you have it, because on your first day you storm into base looking for him and you cling to him like a little koala. He has no complaints of course, until you end up crying into his arm.

Immediately he's concerned, his little beeps translating in your mind to 'are you okay?' Apart from Raf, you were the only human who could understand what he was saying. Neither of you knew why, but it was so convenient and a happy coincidence that you never questioned it.

"Today I saw a duck," you sobbed, "And you know, it reminded me that Jasper doesn't even have ducks because we don't have any lakes and..."

You rambled on and on, tearfully so, while Bumblebee shot Smokescreen a confused look. Your guardian shrugged.

"She's been emotional all day."

The scout turned his attention back on you and held you up, whirring and beeping in concern. You stopped whatever story you had launched into afterwards and looked at him, before your eyes lit up.

"Ice cream? That sounds great!"

Bumblebee beeped and whirred again, telling Smokescreen where you two were going before transforming and driving off with you. He played some of your favourite music, and eventually you calmed down enough to look at birds and not burst into tears.

Once you had your ice cream, he took you on a nice, long scenic drive. The long way back to the base. You relaxed in his passenger seat, happily eating your cold treat.

"Thanks, Bee," you smiled, "I can always count on you."

The scout beeped back that you're very welcome and he'd do anything for you. And he mentally thanked Raf and Miko for telling him that ice cream might be a good idea for mood swings.

SMOKESCREEN - cravings

The newbie is not as great with human beings as he'd like to be. He'd had to learn a lot since coming to earth, and one of those things was to navigate a relationship with a human being. One that was both his girlfriend and his charge. So throw periods into the mix and you have...a very very confused Autobot. He knows absolutely nothing about periods, stemming from his lack of knowledge about the human anatomy.

"So...why don't human guys bleed?"

"SMOKESCREEN!" You protest with a burning face. "You can't just ask that!"

"I...thought it was a valid question?"

You sighed, "Men don't menstruate because they don't have to have babies." At his clueless expression, you added, "They don't have to give life to what you call sparklings."

"Ohhhh..."

He still didn't understand. Nonetheless, he was eager to help. Anything you asked of him, he tripped over himself in his rush to do it. Anything you wanted or needed, he found a way to get for you. Hugs and kisses? Of course! Cuddles? He would never say no to that. He had grown so fond of and attached to you that he was even clingier than you were on your period. But you thought it was sweet.

"So it hurts...here?" The giant mech prodded your uterus, gently.

"Mhm," you nodded, devouring a slab of chocolate Jack had given to Smokescreen to give to you. "Hey, don't poke me!" You smacked his servo away.

"Sorry," his faceplates burned in embarrassment.

He watches you happily munch on your chocolate, amused that such a small thing could appease you when just moments ago you had been screaming at Ratchet for not knowing about female human anatomy.

KNOCK OUT - body pain

Knock Out knew humans were fragile. He's used that against the Autobots multiple times when he was a Decepticon. But now that he's become an Autobot, he has to be extra careful around you, Jack, Miko, Raf, June and Fowler. Especially you. But it seemed that every month you would go into a state where your body hurt for no reason at all, and it wasn't until June explained to Knock Out what you were experiencing that he finally understood.

"(Name)! Are you okay?!" The medic panicked, rushing to your side the moment he heard a pained whimper come from you.

You were trying to roll over on the couch, but sharp pain erupted in your lower back causing you to let out that sound. You looked up at your concerned boyfriend, pretty optics putting you at ease.

"Mhm, just really sore."

Knock Out looked at June in desperation, and the older woman laughed at the fact that he had once kidnapped her and forced her to play a crueler version of hide-and-seek, but now he was desperately seeking her medical advice.

"I'll get some painkillers and water that you can give her," the nurse stood to go retrieve those items.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" He asked you in the meantime. Knock Out hated feeling useless, helpless, which was a side effect of being criticised so often.

"Pick me up?" You suggested.

The bot was more than happy to oblige, lifting you onto his servo with surprising gentleness. You happily laid on your back on the warm metal, sighing contentedly until your head started to hurt.

"Maybe also poke me in the head?"

"What?! I could kill you!"

"That's kind of the idea. My head is already doing that."

"I will not terminate the one good thing I've managed to earn, thank you very much," he insisted, cooling his free servo and pressing a non-lethal part of it to your temple. "That better?"

The pain in your skull receded, and your body relaxed, "Oh, much better. Thank you, Knock Out."

The bot beamed at the grateful response, "You're very welcome!"

June returned with the painkillers and a bottle of water, which Knock Out carefully handed to you with the servo he had used to ease your headache. He watched you intently as you took the medication, before lying back down on his palm.

"Now just hold me."

The former con eagerly obeyed that command, even taking you to his assigned room in the base and laying with you on top of him on his berth. He placed a servo over your smaller frame, practically blanketing you with it. He further eased your pain by slowly running it up and down your back, gently and affectionately caressing you. The mad doctor had truly changed for the better.

SOUNDWAVE - nausea

Soundwave had taken it upon himself to learn about humans when he'd first taken you. So he knew very well what the warning signs of anger, hunger and cramping meant. He was well-equipped to help you, because this bot is hardly ever ill-equipped for anything. He searches the human internet for things he can do to help ease your pain and make this uncomfortable period of time more bearable for you. So you usually find stuff you need and crave during your period already laid out on his berth when the first day comes.

The Decepticon walked into his berth one of those days to see you happily munching away on the snacks he'd gotten Laserbeak to acquire for you. Speaking of the little bird, you were laying atop one of its wings, and Soundwave always liked to see how comfortable you were around it.

But then a weird look came over your face, and you turned a little sickly. The bot worried that the snacks had done something to you, but you just set them down and curled up, breathing in and out deeply. Soundwave was by your side in a second, touching your shoulder in concern.

"I'm-I'm fine," you reassured him. "Sometimes I just get nauseous. And sometimes it's the snacks that I like that cause it. I can't explain it."

The silent Cybertronian nodded to say he understood, before scooping up into one servo and soothingly rubbing your back with the other. Then he handed you a sugary drink he'd also obtained for you, his screen showing you research saying that something sweet and fizzy might help.

You smiled at him and took the drink, taking a few sips and finding that he was right, "Thank you, Soundwave. I can always rely on you."

His screen showed something else now, a bright red heart. Your cheeks heated up, and your smile became flustered at the gesture. Despite being committed to not speaking at all, he could be expressive and sweet when he wanted to be. His actions always told you more than his screen did, though.

SHOCKWAVE - bodily insecurity/bloating

Like Knock Out and Ratchet, Shockwave is scientifically and biologically knowledgable. He's an expert in all things physical and mental. Unfortunately, he spent so much time on a dead Cybertron that he was completely helpless when he first got attached to you on earth. Fortunately, he was a quick learner and very studious. Meaning he found out pretty quickly what he was meant to do during a time like this. Though sometimes, you still confused him.

Like now, when he walked into the room to see you sitting in front of something that mirrored your reflection. You were frowning and poking your midsection, eyes becoming glassy and bottom lip trembling.

"What has happened?" The intimidating Decepticon approached. "Are you hurt?"

"No," you wailed. "I'm getting fatter!"

"..."

Shockwave was, well, shocked. He never thought once that you were a displeasing weight or size, and he would never mind or care if you were picking up weight. But in this case, it was not true.

"Little one, that is a most illogical statement," he picked you up with his one servo. "You are not looking any different."

"Then explain this!" You cried, poking your stomach again.

Once more, Shockwave failed to see the issue, "You are perfect, my little human. There is nothing wrong with you."

"You're just saying that!"

"Have you ever known me to lie?"

"No..."

"Then cease your worrying," he reassured you. "I understand that on your...period, as you humans call it, you may feel bloated. But that does not mean you have increased in size. It is normal, and it will go away."

That was...oddly comforting.

"Thank you, Shockwave. That means a lot coming from you."

"Good. Now stop crying, little one. I have something to show you."

WHEELJACK - anger/frustration

Wheeljack was generally a lot more sensitive and considerate towards you than anyone else on base, but that doesn't mean that he was perfect. There were times when he didn't mean to offend you or incite your fury, but his actions or words that just tumbled out of his mouth left you shaking. He wasn't aware of human periods until Miko told him about them when you'd first started dating him, but he still continued to piss you off.

"WILL YOU STOP FOR ONE SECOND!" You screamed at the Wrecker one day while you were lounging in front of the TV while watching Jack and Raf play video games.

Wheeljack and Bulkhead were lobbing a giant ball of metal around, as they tended to do every other week, and Bumblebee and Smokescreen had been tempted to join. They promptly changed their minds at the sound of your yell and the glare on your face.

"Sweetheart, we're just playing around," Wheeljack responded calmly, shrugging your attitude off. Bulkhead got nervous, though.

"Well could you go play somewhere else?!" You snarled, rubbing your temples. "You're making my headache even worse!" You were usually irritable on your period, so Wheeljack took this as a sign.

He sighed, "Would you stop being such a buzzkill?"

Dead silence. Everyone beside Wheeljack froze up, knowing that was exactly the wrong thing to say to you at this time. Your eyes narrowed, and you stood up so fast your head spun.

"Well if I'm a buzzkill then I'll just leave!" You spat, storming down the stairs while trying not to burst into tears. Both angry and sad.

"Sweetheart, I didn't mean that," the bot immediately regretted his words, spotting your glassy eyes. "Come here."

"Go away!"

He sighed and grabbed you before you could leave the base, "Where are you going to go? There's nothing but dirt outside this base, sweetheart."

"I'd rather walk across the desert than spend more time arguing with you," you grumbled.

"Alright, alright," he relented. "I'm sorry. Can I make it up to you? We'll go sit in my berthroom and I'll project your favourite movie onto the wall."

"...Fine."

Wheeljack was an idiot, and impulsive, but he sure knew how to charm his way back into your good books. He cuddled you and rubbed your uterus for you, getting help from Miko to get you snacks that would keep your temper at bay.

[xoxo-surfergirl]

the lady, the prince, & the sword

[in honor of spooky season]

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

abstract: over one hundred years after the dance, you grow up as a lady in the ruins of Harrenhal. One day, you get a little too curious about the prince and his dragon rumored to be rotting at the bottom of the lake, and awaken something beyond your understanding. 🕯️this fic is inspired by a post from @sapphirevhagar 🕯️ themes: spooky harrenhal, smut, ghost/undead aemond, aemond as a war criminal, forbidden romance if you squint, you are the lady of harrenhal, dark aemond (but like, he's a dark character so I just tried to stay true to who he is), piv & hand stuff

lucy's notes: ao3 link. I tried to make my characterization of aemond as true as I could, but I won't lie it was hard in this scenario!! I don't think he'd be the type to just fuck someone (but maybe he would...who knows), but for the purposes of this spooky halloween fic I tried to make it as realistic as I could. maybe he would if he was pussy starved for a century, so that's what I'm going for. ENJOY!

word count: 8.6k

The sun had struck its highest point in the sky, your very own guiding star to the lake below it. 

From this bluff above God’s Eye, you could see all of what you called home: a boundless land, resilient despite centuries of war that had left each tree as a tombstone watered with spilled blood. And yet, the land was more alive because of it, or perhaps despite it. You weren’t sure which, but you knew just as well as any other riverman that if you listened close enough, you could feel the breath of the land under your feet. 

The rolling evergreens murmured when the winds ran through their branches. Winter was coming, and soon the jeweled blue of God’s Eye would coalesce into bitter sheets of ice. But for now, the first light gusts coaxed the water’s surface into gentle catspaws, still forgiving enough on your skin to welcome you into the lake. There was no barrier between your toes and the grass. Your daily swims were the one time you went without boots, an activity of yours that the Lord of Harrenhal detested. Mud is unbecoming of a lady , your father would say. It was, but so was walking in squelching boots back to your chambers. 

The faint line of sand at your favorite lakeside spot had finally breached your toes. It was better than all of the rest. Much of the lake had no such comfortable entry as this: a large swath of sand perfectly divoted for entry. Silence was a familiar friend here. It was a true silence, unlike the faint drips and echoes that seeped through your walls. 

And so the last thing you were expecting was company. “And what finds my Lady at this cursed corner of God’s Eye?” 

“My good Patrek, I did not expect to see you here.” Hiding your fright was easier said than done. An old family friend of the less noble type, with a face worn by time and a voice weathered by wind. Onlookers were rare here, and you wondered if he had followed you all the way from the keep. 

“You should not be here, my Lady. You know the stories, educated as you are.” 

You did—of how the very burrows of sand that now welcomed your toes were dug by Daemon Targaryen’s dragon Caraxes in a death-crawl to shore after his rider and opponent had perished. Every riverman knew of the tale. 

“I swim here often. If there is a curse, I hope I have been spared it.” Brushing off a stubborn elder was something you were quite familiar with. 

“Then you know the dragon’s blood soaked into the soil, dying where you stand. The very ground you walk on is damned.” His voice gruffed against his throat, but there was no mistaking the concern there. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t believe in the power of such things—as a Lady of Harrenhal you knew very well from your own accord how often things are not always what they seemed. But even some tales were too far-fetched for your own belief.

 Besides, if you heeded every tale and story from your surrounding men, you’d hardly be able to leave your chambers. 

Telling an old riverman what to do was not a task you’d expected to find yourself involved in at this hour. The look in your eye did more talking than your words. “I appreciate your concern, Patrek. But I insist, I am more than alright.” 

With one last stare, he dismissed himself. Thank the gods. 

In front of you, fragile blades of grass dared to peek through the large sand trough. It was a perfect pathway to the water, gently sloping and kinder on your feet than the rocky mud surrounding the rest of the lake was. If this truly was Caraxes’ doing, he had carved such a fine entrance to the water. It had never regrown. Barren, unlike the greater parts of the rest of the lake—perhaps the agony of such a creature reshaping the dirt with its claws, belly dragging and wingless on one side, had scarred the land permanently. You could see it. 

The water lapped at your toes now. Dragons were a far away concept, from a land and world that no longer existed, yet you wondered if their deaths really were something so traitorous to the gods that the land could never fully be right again. 

Stepping further and further inside, the light billow of your dress danced in the water. There were times, like a moonlit night, where you would forgo your dress and let the lake feel you bare. Those moments were rare, and ladies hardly had enough privacy and virtue to spare to allow such brazen activities—but you indulged in them when the moon called. With a final push of your toes, you dove your hands ahead of you and released. For a second, you were flying, letting the water carry you before you pushed against it once more. Smiling came easy here. 

And yet Patrek’s words lingered. None of the information was new. Perhaps it was the graveness of his voice that haunted you. 

Words could melt in the water, and his were no exception. The water held you as your mother might have, or a lover—all over, bringing you a comfort you could find nowhere else. You ran your fingers and toes in the sand below you, feeling it sift in the weightlessness between them. 

The sun had sunk low in the sky when you emerged from the lake, mind and body calm in your daily ritual. 

A new day had brought with it new curiosities—it would be easier to say that getting the tales out of your head was a simple task, but over the course of the previous day, it had proved much more difficult than you’d hoped. 

Sleep had evaded you, and restlessness drew you to the library. Each book was half rotted away from moisture that settled between each page and binding stitch. The candle light in your hand fought a losing battle with the mist, surrendering to a low bruising blue. Even still, you had found what you came there for. 

It was readable despite the poor lighting.  Dragons in the Riverlands were a sore subject—it was not a surprise to find that many, if not all of the manuscripts on dragons were loathsome at best, and near traitorous to your Targaryen overlords at worst. 

Prince Daemon Targaryen and his dragon Caraxes dueled Prince Aemond Targaryen and his dragon Vhagar on the 22nd day of the 5th moon of 130 AC. Dragon shrieks rippled in the wind and dragonfire flamed into the sunset so bright that the sky itself was said to be alight. Prince Daemon is said to have leapt onto Vhagar, plunging the ancestral Targaryen Valyrian steel sword Dark Sister through his nephew’s good eye. Caraxes is believed to have crawled to shore before releasing a dying shriek. Prince Daemon, Prince Aemond and Vhagar’s bones are believed to remain at the bottom of the lake today. 

Portraits of the two men and their dragons had accompanied the passage, with sketches of the battle gathered from the artists and bards surrounding God’s Eye. Long platinum hair framed both men, though Daemon lacked Aemond’s youth and sapphire eye.

  What a peculiar thing, a sapphire eye. Imagining a dragon as large as Vhagar sunk deep beneath your nose was a strange thing, fitting for a strange man with a sapphire in his socket. Trying to imagine a creature, let alone a dragon as big as her, was incomprehensible. If she really was the size of a small keep, how could one command her? 

Aemond Targaryen had—and perhaps that made him one of the most god-like Targaryens of all Targaryens to exist. And now he was damned to spend his eternity bound to the dark blue dungeon that was the depths of God’s Eye. 

Your toes had found the water’s edge once again, among the supposed cursed grounds of Caraxes last breathing place. If one dragon’s death made the land cursed, then surely the death of two doubled it. 

Today was a different venture than you were used to. The sun was even more forgiving than usual, warming your skin before you ever touched the water. It was a compulsion that drew your limbs to swim further from shore, an unexplainable magnetic lord that your limbs gladly obliged. With a hefty suck of air, you submerged your head. The chamber of echoing silence took its hold of your ears as you sank deeper and with a blink, you opened your eyes. The sun rays refracted in planes off of the water’s surface, down to the awaiting bottom. Only on the most clear days were you able to see this far, and yet it still wasn’t far enough to reach its furthest depths. 

Arms and legs tugged on the water. You sank deeper, your hair and dress haloing your floating figure. Long tendrils of curly pondweed and brittle water nymph followed the soft current rippling through the lake. You could feel its light pull, but your limbs were much stronger than the fragile plants that lay there. Swimming forward into deeper territory, large rocks begin to take shape, with their own water thread and algae sprouting from aged cracks. 

It was so faint, you almost missed it. A sparkle or two in the darkness, a trap of sunlight where sunlight didn’t belong anymore, just out of your sight. Another pull of your arms and you were closer: close enough to almost see what could create such a glimmer. Your lungs were calling but you just needed to get one more look—

Despite the near fade to darkness, the shape was unmistakable: a silver pommel, jutting out from beyond the deep. The dragon wings at the hilt were frozen in flight. Realization laid its heavy hand upon your chest and the call of your lungs became too loud to ignore. Frantically swimming to the surface, the bubbles spilled from your lips as the water became warmer as the sun drew closer. Your rift of the surface was punctuated by the loud gasp of your aching chest. Save for your weak disruption, the top of the lake sat as tranquil and undisturbed as you had left it. 

If it’s what you thought it was—

A few more deep breaths later and you were down below the surface once again, heart thrumming with revelation. This time, you knew exactly how deep you needed to go. You don’t know how you didn’t see it before, but the glint was visible even near the surface. It was a distant sparkle in the underworld, as if it was capturing the blue essence of God’s Eye itself. Blood pumped through your ears in the chamber of the deep as your arms tugged, stomach threatening to turn despite your precious conservation of air. 

A sapphire and a sword, each a shining beacon of their own. The skull which held both tilted up towards the heavens. Beyond it, skeletal arms reached forward, nearly upward. Part of you knew that the same buoyancy which allowed you to float was the same that held him, but another part of you wondered if at the time of the prince’s death he was reaching towards the sky in hopeless defiance. His once royal leathers and armor were rusted and torn, ebbing like the eel grass that had taken root. Time submitted all to its will, even princes, leaving only rot behind. 

The incomprehensible became comprehensible with one look downwards: crumpled and black, you realized it was not depth, but dragon bones themselves that seemed to create the darkness of the water that surrounded him. Thick spires of obsidian bone curled around what you could only put together as a rib cage the size of a small keep. Her skull was far from her body, large eye sockets gaping and maw stretched with rows of dagger teeth. The very maw that was the last sight of many in the Riverlands. 

If you wanted to reach the surface, you needed to swim now. But for a few more moments, the urge to swim just a bit further was greater than your want for air. You don’t know what possessed you—it could have been the lack of oxygen, or that you were just fond of shiny things on occasion, but you reached for the bright pommel that was nearly offering itself out to you and pulled. The blade was heavier than you were anticipating, as much of a novice as you were, but you persisted. Drawing your arms tight into your chest and using your whole body to swim against it, you did your best to wrack it free from its hold in the prince’s skull. It felt almost wrong to pull so hard, but you persisted. Bubbles jutted from your mouth in the struggle until it wracked free. 

It was now the second time you surfaced, and your gasp was much louder than the last. The sword was heavy in your arms, wanting to drag you back down to the bottom with it and join the prince and his dragon. There was no particular reason for taking it—it was a beautiful thing, untouched by the same rot and ruin as the prince and his dragon below. A sneaky voice in your head reminded you that a relic like this could pay to fill Harrenhal’s coffers for half the year or more if returned to the Targaryens, yet that is not why you sought it. 

In fact, you weren’t sure you wanted anyone to know what you had taken, and made quick work to wrap it in your swimming dress on your way back to the castle. A large object wrapped in cloth was not subtle, but the impossibility of manning such a monstrosity of a castle worked in your favor. Taking careful steps and hiding in the many alcoves to weave your way back to your chambers without spectacle proved a successful effort. 

The afternoon had come and gone with little affair, besides a light dusting of rain. It rained at Harrenhal often. And often, you found it peaceful. The rain was a part of life, and the wetness with it. 

But as the late afternoon carried on to evening, it became no such rain. The sky had darkened hours before sundown, bright colors and pretty horizons forgotten behind the undulating turmoil above you. The thunder went beyond simple sounds to full-bodied vibrations, shaking you from the bottom of your feet through your ears. It was not a storm, but a wroth sky. You were certain that no castle for hundreds of miles was spared. 

The buckets meant to catch runaway leaks in the stones were overflowing from the violent rain. Wind raided every crevice it could weave through, whistling just to force itself through. Servants and your family alike had begun sheltering the most fragile of belongings: books, letters, artifacts, and wood sensitive to rot. The torches fought against the wind, a harsh back-and-forth that flickered all light around you into senselessness. 

Retiring early tended to suit you better in many storms, though you doubted you would be getting any meaningful sleep. Earlier, you had unfurled Dark Sister. A small bead of blood on your finger taught you that valyrian steel was as sharp as they say it is. The sword rested against your desk, tall and lethal, catching every strike of lightning as it came down through your window. 

Between each bout of thunder and battering of lightning, you managed to find moments of rest. Each time a strike would come down threatening to tear down the walls, you sat up, clutching your down quilt in your hands. And each time, Dark Sister was glinting in the corner, winged hilt spread like a pouncing bird of prey. 

And yet the greatest of your fears lay not with the presence of the ancestral Targaryen sword, but came in your winks of sleep: a figure, tall and eerie, in the corner of your chambers. Each time you had awoken, your eyes flashed across your room, fearing that you would find a creature of the night standing there. 

Luckily, it seemed the shadow had made its home in your head and not your chambers. When daybreak began to glow behind the clouds, your relief came with it. 

This day was much the same as the last, yet there were fewer and fewer channels for excess water to pour away from the hearths. There would be no swimming today, that much was certain; making the walk down to the lake alone would be enough to sink you into mud, never to be seen again. All were set to help the effort to keep what was able to be kept dry, lady or servant. 

“An omen, I fear,” said Mathilda, a favored handmaiden of yours, as she threw another bucket of water through the open window to the yard below. 

“An omen of what?” 

“Harrenhal hasn’t seen a storm like this in over a decade. It went against all folk predictions.” she breathed worriedly,  “A bad omen. Something isn’t right.” 

You had tucked the sword under your bed about halfway through the night when you realized that looking at it only made your stomach churn. There it lay still and waiting, inches from your two pairs of feet. 

But there was nothing you could do about it at this very moment. “Is there anything to do to protect against a bad omen?” 

“It depends on what’s happened. But for most of my knowledge, I am afraid not. The damage has already been done.” 

The pit in your stomach stirred. In the same evening, the thunder was just as fierce and lightning just as fiery. Regret compounded with every shake of thunder for the stolen sword. It was better left under the lake where it belonged—you knew that now. 

Purple cracked the sky in two from your chamber window, illuminating everything once more. Folktale or omen, bad tidings or tall whispers, on the morrow you would return it. 

And yet that was exactly what didn’t happen. 

Instead, it had happened like this: servants had been rushing around the keep all morning, doing their best to keep the rush of water from entering the hall of a hundred hearths and touching the rugs. Half soaked and boots trailing water already, you didn’t make it past the tower of dread before the guards crossed their swords and insisted that you shall not pass. Too much water could sweep you off your feet and carry you away, they had said, pushing you back to your chambers while you discreetly held a covered Dark Sister to your side. 

Tomorrow it was, then. Insistence would get you nowhere. A lady’s requests were either dutifully followed or carelessly ignored. It was imperative that the torrent stopped, or that you were able to more discreetly make your way to the lake. 

The sword could not be by your side any longer. Perhaps you could leak your secret to septa Scully—you knew her folkwoman heart still beat inside her somewhere, and it could drive her to help you. 

This night was no different from the last. Harrenhal and its eerie passageways and mangey essence had managed to frighten you as a girl, the darkest storms holding your fear hostage. It had been years since you had faced the same fear that licked at your erratic heart as it did now, tucked under your quilted down, thunder wracking itself outside. 

It was in your head—the uncontrolled storm, the tales in your ear—they had simply wormed their way deep in your mind. It was a weak consolation, but your heart finally began its slowing. 

A footstep in the darkness, outside your chambers, was enough to jolt it right back. 

Any sense of sleep had left you now, and all of your focus rushed to your ears. Digging yourself deeper in the covers, you exhaled as quietly as you could in wait. 

Just as you feared, there was another, and then another. 

No matter how hard your forced your eyes shut, the fright remained, each boot knocking on the stone outside, coming closer, and closer, until, 

The door creaked open softly, a rumble of storm to accompany it. Each finger, limb, and blink was frozen over. If you were still enough, perhaps whoever had opened the door would leave you behind. Each of your heart beats felt so loud it would give away your very existence. 

The cold voice that met you instead was nearly enough to get your heart to stop beating all together. “You have something of mine.” 

You dared not move, not even at the direct notice of your presence. 

Squelching wet footsteps punctuated in between his words, each one slowly creeping closer to your bedside. “I know you’re here, little lady of Harrenhal. No amount of stillness in the world would hide you from me.” 

With a swallow of fear, you scurried off of your bed to your night side table, hoping to distance yourself from the intruder. Sitting or laying felt too vulnerable for you to stay put. 

“I don’t understand.” Were the only words you managed to choke out to the shadowed figure in front of you. There was no weapon for you to reach, unless you reached under the bed and grabbed—

“How do you not know? You took it from me.” 

He lowered the hood of his cape. Platinum hair spilled down his shoulders over the black leather of his doublet that shined as if made from metal itself. His skin was pale as a soft moon, and a sapphire eye with a dash through his face—it was almost holy in nature, the beam of a celestial spell. Any thoughts of a common thief or crook left your mind. Even still, it did almost nothing to alleviate your fear, for you had recognized him. 

The pages in your books didn’t do him justice. Any gasp that may or may not have left your lips was drowned out by a whip of lightning.  “H-how?” 

“Give me back my sword.” He answered plainly. 

Shaky hands reached under the bed, eyes locked onto his fierce gaze as you gingerly felt for the hilt. Once in your grasp, you dragged it out, the weight even heavier in your arms than it had when you had pulled it to the surface. Your arm, lightly shaking, extended to his, the pommel and blade gleaming menacingly. His own palm lay over yours to reclaim the hilt. It was made of flesh, and warm—a mystery that evaded you. 

You figured he might strap the sword to whatever sheath was on his side and go back to wherever he had come from, but instead, he set it aside. In yet another movement of unpredictability, he stepped closer. 

“You must dive again and put it back yourself, I cannot do it for you.” His flesh eye studied you carefully, stepping forward to circle you. “But, you have given me reason to finally meet you.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I’ve had no one but you to keep me company for one hundred years” Now, he was at a distance where there was more familiarity and the details of his face became more prominent out of the shadows. “You swim in the lake almost every day.” 

You watched him attentively, attempting to understand what it was you were seeing. The fear of the unknown and absurd frightened you. It could be another dream, just like the one you had last night—but you were certain you were awake. 

He stepped even closer, daring to reach out his hand and brush it over your cheek, as if feeling the lifeblood that beat beneath it. “Who are you, one that swims in God’s Eye?” 

“I am a lady of Harrenhal” you paused, still trying to gauge his danger with your disbelief. “Who are you?” 

“You know who I am.” His sapphire was a burning blue ember in the night. 

Denial reared its unforgiving head into yours. Backing away, you tried to reason with yourself. “It’s a trick. Harrenhal plays tricks—I know this.” 

“I assure you, I am no illusion. Stop fighting it.” 

“I—” You let it sit for a moment. He stood in front of you, tall and enshadowed even in the faint candlelight. 

A deep exhale was all you could manage, closing your eyes in resignation. “Yes, my prince. Are you going to kill me?” 

“No, my lady. I’m not going to hurt you.” Watching the ground, you could see his black boots stepping towards you once more. “You did take my sword, but more than that, I simply wanted to meet the only one who dared swim down to me and Vhagar.” 

He tilted your chin up to meet his own eye. There was something curious there, almost soft. Aemond’s hand was so gentle it soothed your rabbit’s heart. “Now you see me, made of flesh.” 

Fear, though not absent, was no longer the only feeling that sent your blood pumping. The feeling of being wanted was something that you had coveted, yet always remained outside of your grasp. You imagined every movement of yours in the lake, how you had never been truly alone on your visits, even the ones in the deepest of summer where you shed your dress and embraced the lake with all of your bareness. 

Crafted in the image of the gods themselves or not, you knew it was impossible for every Targaryen to look the way he did; the beauty of him was something unique, you knew it. Another bolt fractured the sky outside, its flash illuminating both of you. It played a trick on your eyes, almost closing some of the distance between you with blinding light. 

“Are you scared of the storm?” Aemond loomed above you. 

“I’m of this land. Storms do not scare me.” 

“Did I frighten you?” 

He had to have known your answer, but you indulged him. “Yes, you did, my prince.” 

“You don’t need to be scared of me, my lady of God’s Eye.” He stepped closer, resting his left hand on your arm. His hair hung above your face now, a tilt of his head altering its course. “Does this frighten you?” 

You felt the soft weight of his palm, fearing breathing for the simple movement of it. “No, my prince.” With a careful pause, you continued. “My apologies for taking your sword. I didn’t know—” 

“You can repay me.” Aemond replied, his voice assured yet tender for your ears. “You have been tempting me in the lake for long enough.” 

You nodded lightly, delicately reaching out for your palm to meet his chest. There was a warmth coming from within, not cold like an undead body might be. The prince, real or not, was closer to you than any other man had ever been. He reached down, gently tugging you into a soft kiss. 

He was warm here too, and wet, much to your pleasure. Your lips opened to his own, mouths deftly sliding against one another. Aemond’s hand smoothed over your cheek, his palm nearly swallowing it whole. You moved together in a gentle sway, mouths delicately pressed together. In an act of boldness, you pressed your own body closer to his, your palm holding his side to steady yourself. 

The tempest outside your windows beat on. Your hands moved to crook in his neck. The skin there was soft like his mouth, and you wondered if the rest of him was just as welcoming. Aemond began walking forward, holding and kissing you through his guidance. Your lower back bumped against your mattress, and you broke your lips apart. 

It was perfection: the softness of this moment and the synergy of your movements against one another. 

Until it wasn’t. Perhaps it was the way the lightning had framed him, thunder dividing you two.  Within its roar came the cries of those he had forced to their knees in this very castle. The fall of wood as the huts of innocents burned to ash, Vhagar’s fire hot enough to meld armor and flesh to one. The scar he ripped across the belly of your homeland still hadn’t healed hundreds of years later, and you laid your lips on the man, or the entity of him, who had done it all. 

Your eyes must have given you away. 

“So you are frightened of me?” His subtle sultriness didn’t evade him, even in the light of the hell he had brought upon the earth. 

“You, Aemond Targaryen—reigned terror on this land,” you recoiled slightly, lifting yourself up onto your bed to inch away from him. 

He looked down, but any semblance of remorse was absent from his face. “I did. The fire that raged could be seen from the wall to Dorne.” 

History was a funny thing—something that becomes more intangible the longer it’s dead, fresh marks haunting only those who lived through it. But Aemond was tangible, here in front of you somehow. To him, did it happen yesterday or did it feel like a lifetime away?

Aemond paused, lifting his eye to meet yours, kneeling onto the floor, holding your gaze. “Let me atone for my sins then, my lady of Harrenhal.” 

Your breath hitched in your chest at the slight of his hands lifting your nightdress. 

Sitting up, you slowly pulled yourself away. “This is wrong. You’re—” 

“A monster?” 

Your lack of response was as much of an answer as anything else. 

“I am much more than that, I assure you.” You tried to pretend like the smoothing of his palm against your calf didn’t feel good. It was even harder to pretend that the man doing so wasn’t the most dashing man you’d ever seen, cursed by the gods or not. 

A lip bite was all he would get from you, uncertain of how to navigate your desire with your morality. 

“I can show you many things.” he hummed against your calf. 

You fell back onto the bed, whining lightly in frustration of the sexual kind. 

“If you only let me.” 

You closed your eyes. 

“Which would you rather do?” His princely voice was a seductor’s poison. 

“I can show you how deeply sorry I am for what I did to your home,” he said with a mocking sorrow as the featherlight warmth of his lips and tongue kissed the inside of your legs, up to the inside of your knee, and to the most sensitive skin on the inside of the meat of your thigh. Any resolve that you had was wafted away by the trace of his fingers. 

He pulled away, watching you carefully. “Or, you can show me how sorry you are for stealing my family’s sword. Which would you have it be?” 

Gods bless your ancestors. You prayed that they were not unlucky enough to bear witness to what you were about to say—the closest thing to treason you could commit. 

“I want to see your forgiveness, my prince.” You said, unsure of his next move but knowing somewhere within you that you would only indulge yourself further. 

Aemond smiled smugly. It suited him. “How about you feel it instead?” 

Hooking his fingers under your smallclothes, he rustled them off of you smoothly. You were exposed, cunt glistening and pooling wetness before him. Yes, definitely treason. 

You wondered what sins those long dead and buried beneath would have had to commit to be forced to hear your moan as one of his fingers entered your hole, ready and wanting. Aemond leaned over you, silver and knowing smile once more falling around your face. Using his thumb, he found your pearl so neatly in between your pillowy lips, touching you there lightly. 

“All wet, for me?” his smirk hung over you once more, satisfied by how quickly you dissolved under his hand. And what a joy it was to dissipate into a syrupy essence soaked mess. 

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he asked, eye observing every rise and fall of your breasts. 

“Well—yes, but,” you whimpered, shame in your gaze. “I’ve never been touched by anyone else.” 

“A good, pretty maiden then.” He added another finger, your body sucking him in and oozing wetness in its own craving. Every brush of his thumb and curl of his digits left your mouth hanging open and eyes pleading at the man above you for more. 

Aemond could act as in control as he wanted, but you saw the embers of greed in his eye and felt his hardness at your hip. 

“I am so terribly sorry,” Aemond started in your ear, his fingers working their way inside of your honey soaked walls and thumb expertly toying with your swollen bud, “for absolutely nothing.” 

The words fell on ears too consumed by the talent of his hands to give a damn. Warmth in your belly bloomed as if he had planted the sun in there himself, your shining juices dripping the length of his palm. You had never been brought to the point of near blindness and incapacity by pleasure before, your own fingers too untrained. 

When the peak of your pleasure came, your arms wrapped around Aemond’s shoulders, moans breathy and full. Your walls throbbed and dripped around his fingers and your body flexed underneath his. Thunder was your friend, drowning out every noise that bubbled from your lips. 

Aemond Targaryen, or whatever was left of him, had been starved of a woman’s taste for over one hundred years. He savored every bead of syrupy sex that dripped from your cunt onto his hands while you panted in the final glimmers of ecstasy. 

It was difficult to help your eyelids from closing—the man had sent you to the hands of the gods and back. All you could do was savor the feel of him under your fingertips, rubbing lightly, until your sleep claimed you without your will or knowledge. 

The dawn broke and you were alone once more, nothing but disorder in your head and gleaming sword under your bed. 

Light thunder beat through the clouds, a solemn sun hidden behind them. The rain had eased a touch, but there had not been enough reprieve to make it any easier for the servants to clean up what was becoming a half-drowned castle. 

Yet the water navigating through the crack in the stones over your head took up the least amount of room in your head. It was real. You knew it was from the echoes of ease in your limbs from the pleasure he played you to. If that wasn’t evidence enough, your slippery juices coated the nestle of your thighs.  

It was wrong—you knew it. What had materialized between you and the prince was highly improper, not only as a lady, but as a lady of Harrenhal, the very castle in which he was partially responsible for the large number of roaming ghosts and of the land which he brought to ash out of his own anger. 

Aemond had said that you needed to return the sword to the God’s Eye yourself. Perhaps you had tampered with something greatly out of your knowledge, and restoration was imperative for your own good and the good of the castle. 

And yet the sword never moved from under your bed. Perhaps you had forgotten, or perhaps, you had conveniently discovered a hundred and one other tasks that needed your attention. And perhaps, the prince would come again. 

You could pray for forgiveness from the river people later. It was your own secret shame to have and to hold, for no one else’s eyes or ears. 

It was last light. Mathilda swept a dollop of water that landed on her forehead. “This storm won’t break.” 

“I was a girl the last time one like this hit.” Of all the many storms that wracked this land, few had the same unbroken rainfall and loud slaughter of thunder. 

There was apprehension and fright in her eyes. Mathilda’s movements were unnatural to anything you had seen her, to the point that it struck its own fear in you . 

“What is it, Mathilda?” 

“There’s only one storm I remember like this,” she started, worrying her hands with another bucket of water. “I didn't want to believe it yesterday. You were a girl, yes.” 

“And what of it?” 

“This land is old. A mass graveyard is what it is. Someone had tampered with something they shouldn’t have.” 

Your stomach sank, and your secret with it. “What happened?” 

“The man was never seen again. And there’s only one place around here people disappear to.” 

The lake. You remembered him, a guard in your father’s command, the storm that tore on, and his disappearance marking the end of it. Everyone had figured he got swept away in the storm, but it seemed that Mathilda, among others, believed something different. Still—there were plenty of cursed objects lying around, perhaps you had gotten a touch more lucky with your object of choosing. 

But perhaps it wasn’t such a dismissive endeavor, and you were more than a halfwit for thinking so. And yet, the night had fallen once more—leaving you with no other choice but to wait and see. 

The blade seemed to find a light of its own even in the blackness of the storm ridden night, peaking just under your bed. Finding a rhythm in between the bolts of lightning and thunder happened over time, but the past few nights had begun to give you practice. Your apprehension kept you from your sleep nonetheless. 

There was always something more beyond the surface, that much you knew was true, and life was no exception. Gods existed, you were sure of it, you just didn’t know how, or why, or where—but there was something about the thread of actions over the past handful of days that connected pieces together in a visceral way you had never fully encountered.

Through each beat of lightning, the truth of every tale that you had ever heard came into question: the cook turned white rat, forced to eat his own young; the children of the forest and the Green King of the Isle of Faces, Sharra the witch queen and her inability to die. Before now, you had not fully disbelieved, but rather doubted the ability of magic or the whims of the gods to make profound changes in an instant. 

“You did not return my sword.” 

His entrance was silent but interruption swift, or you had been so lost in your own head you failed to notice. There was little shock this time. You had been expecting him. He stood there for a moment in patience, your eyes and finding the details of his trench coat in the shadow. There was much less fright in you now than there had been at his first intrusion, and you swung your legs to sit at the edge of your bed. 

“You disobeyed my request,” Aemond said, “I do not take kindly to those who disobey me. Why didn’t you return it, my lady of God’s Eye?” 

It was a fool’s endeavor, a disregard of any consequences. Eyes wide and waiting, you could do nothing but speak your deepest truth. 

“I did not want to.” 

He crept forward, a creature of the shadows coming to enact its wrath. “Explain yourself.” 

With a swallow of the last inklings of your pride and dignity, you replied. “Because I want more of what you did to me last night.” 

He stood as a relic, everything from his hair and skin and coat shining from within, regarding you with an intensity you had never had anyone offer you before. Time existed nowhere in this room; past and present converged in the tides of thunder that swayed over your heads, and you wondered if the world outside of your door still stood or if there was nothingness. 

“Who would have thought a lady to be so lustful? A lady of the Riverlands, no less.” His boots were off now, making his way to you like an animal preys upon what it desires to snatch in its claws. 

You held your chin in an acceptance of his mockery and all that came with it. Because he was right, and because you didn’t care so long as no one knew of it. Aemond moved to stand in between your legs, and you tilted your head to meet his own eye. 

“I suppose I will make an exception to my usual punishment since you have been so honest,” he reached to hold your face in his hands as if he was holding a holy grail. “Do you promise to make such an exception worth my while?” 

“I promise.” You nodded as well as you could in his soft hold, eyes large and pleading. 

The kiss that followed was soft, just as every other first touch between you had been—but it quickly became emboldened; a drop of satisfaction in a lake of craving. His hands slid down your sides, past the sensitivity of your waist and moving to grip the full flesh that sat on your thighs. 

Chest to chest, you were pressed against him, feeling through every movement and flex of the muscle beneath his flesh. Moving once more, his hand slid down in between your thighs where your smallclothes sat pitifully between your bare skin and his fingers. 

He swallowed your whimper into his mouth as his hand moved once more to play with your bud. Skin holds memory, they say, and you knew yours did of him: his light touch was enough to have you squirming beneath him with little effort. 

“My own little harlot of the Riverlands.” Aemond pulled away, moving to untie the wrap of your nightdress. You watched him carefully, a twing of shyness slowing your movements. 

He took your timid hands into his, holding them to him as he moved his nose to meet yours. “And yet a maiden, all the same.” 

You closed your eyes, savoring the feel of his tenderness. Both your hands moved now to take away what lies between your modesty and bareness. 

“Do I please you?” softly you looked at him, hoping that your shyness was replaced by your attempt to be sultry despite your lack of practice. 

He looked at you as a man starved, deprived of warm fleshy skin to sink into for a century, and there was no pretending in his eye that he hadn’t prayed that you would not return Dark Sister to its rightful place. No matter how powerful the man, beyond swords and war and life and death, the soft skin of a lover would always be a weakness. There was no hiding the membrane of vulnerability and desperation at something so human: the touch and feel of another. 

Leaning down to offer you a kiss, in a near whisper he replied, “Very much so.” 

Hands and lips tenderly felt you everywhere, the blood underneath beating against the glide of his fingers. It was worship of the most holy, or perhaps the indulgence of a sin most foul. The lines blurred and you sank under his want, whether it be worship or sin, you did not care. 

Your hands searched for him, shrugging off his own clothing in the rapture. 

“Whatever it was you did to me yesterday, please, I need to feel it again.” it was more of a breathy whisper in between kisses than an affirmative request. 

“I’ll show you something even better.” Aemond sank to your hips as his right hand did, already weaving slow strokes against your bud. And yet he sank farther, until his head rested between your thighs.

He watched you carefully from there, sliding one finger into your hole. His rubbing continued, and your legs began to weaken once more. You had swung your head to rest your eyes on your ceiling, unexpecting the hot wetness that met your bud. 

It was unlike anything you had felt before—heat on heat, wetness on wetness, his tongue skillfully lapping your clit. 

You fell under his enchantment for him like a man dies gasping underwater: slowly with resistance, until want for release pushes you to frantically search for it all at once. All thoughts of doing anything but taking everything he had to give you had been locked away, perhaps only to be seen again once you had gotten your fill. And you weren’t sure if you could ever be satisfied. 

From this point forward, you would be damned by this memory: Aemond sliding his tongue between your folds, sucking on your sex, and pulling pleasure from you as if he was born a hundred years ago to do it. 

He was determined to feel every drop of your essence sliding down his throat, holding you to him with his hands clasped around your thighs.  Your orgasm came with his lips and tongue never ceasing their worship of you, even as your thighs shook and moans echoed through your walls. 

Even though heavy breaths and dazed eyes of the afterglow, you would not make the mistake of falling asleep so soon, not after the previous night. Your hands lazily reached for him, pulling him closer to you. 

Because you wanted more . There was no clarity and rational thinking bestowed upon your release. If anything, it had driven you further into a wanting animal, a ravenous direwolf seeking to tame its taste for blood. Maiden status be damned, if doing such things with a long dead prince even counted. 

“Eager, are we?” he drawled over you, hands rustling between your bodies. “Shh. Let me take care of you.” 

You felt him on you then, skin to skin, his hard manhood heavy on your stomach. Aemond’s eye met yours as he slid his cock between your folds, gathering the wetness there. 

It was just you two in this moment, one body and another, seeking something buried deep within one another’s skin. 

Face to ear, you whispered about your inexperience and novelty. He did nothing but pull your lips into another kiss, allowing your bodies to slip against each other’s warmth for moments to come. Aemond was a desiring man, or creature—you weren’t sure which, not that it fully mattered to you anymore—and you could feel his own lust for you seeping into each of your kisses and all of his touches, much more wanton than they had yet to be. 

“Let me take you,” he nearly whined in between kisses, “I need to feel you.” 

“I want you. Show me this.” 

Forehead to forehead, Aemond reached between your bodies to guide his leaking cock to your entrance. You knew why maidens and ladies got wet—it would be impossible to carry out the deed without such slipperiness. What hung between a man’s legs was far too large to fit without it. 

Even still, it was always a challenge at first—your own sex squeezing so hard, seemingly wanting to suck his cock deeper inside you and milk it within your walls. As he went to the hilt, moaning was all you had to cope, the noises blending with the creak of the castle. 

“Does it always feel like this?” you choked, more than happy to be full of him but surprised at the feeling.

With his forehead still against yours, his breath fanned in your mouth. “At first, and then it will feel even better.” 

As if to show you, he began long strokes, the head of his cock sliding against the vice of your juicy walls. And you felt it bloom—the deep ember of pleasure at your core, both satisfied and left wanting more by each thrust. 

Your moans and whimpers against his ear were compounded by the thrust of his hips, heavy against your own, pushing his cock to the hilt now in every stroke, the head of it brutally kissing the end of you every time. 

He sat up now, hands firmly on your hips to control the angle of you and the drive of his cock to be right where he wanted them. Moving between your bodies, his thumb danced on your bud again, sending you to reflexively grip him further out of the sheer ecstasy of it. “What would your rivermen think of you like this, moaning like a whore on my cock?” 

It was more of a suffocated squeal than words, chest heaving, not being able to help the way your body was in his hands, moving at the speed he set. “They would think me a traitor.” 

“But you just couldn’t help it, could you? You needed more of me, no matter what I’ve done.” 

Despite you both knowing the truth of it, hardly any shame could touch you now in the throes of your bodies. In between love bites on your ear and kisses on your neck as he took you, there was more than enough praise spilling from his lips: haughty whispers of you take my cock so well and your body is made for me. 

It was as intense as it was pleasurable. Aemond’s platinum tresses locked you into a cage where it was only him: only his body, his cock—nothing else. He was making you into a woman of his own liking, his spell on you binding you to desire and breaking every one of your senses to want nothing but him. 

There was no clarity and rational thinking bestowed upon your release. Reaching the peak of it, your cunt hardly willing to let his cock move inside you and pulsing and pleading for it to be even deeper, you cried out, your own howl into the night. Aemond fucked you through it, seeking his own peak within your walls and finding it in the vice you had him in, milking him for every drop of his own essence to spill in the hot syrupy tightness of your cunt.  

The sedation you felt in your after-pleasure was familiar to the first night—leaving you in a daze, the murky waters difficult to navigate. Fighting it was futile, but you kept yourself awake enough to feel him pull away, save for leaving a kiss on your fingers and hear his final words.

Visit me, my lady of God’s Eye

It would be a selfish thing—you knew—to keep the sword, no matter how badly you wanted to satiate your desire during the night. But the storm raged on, and it was only right to do what had to be done to prevent the entirety of Harrenhal from being consumed by the water raiding every corridor and sieging nearly all chambers and apartments, only the highest of rooms in each tower being spared. 

It was a difficult task, but you had managed. And not hours after the sword was back in the sheath it belonged in, the rain had ceased, to the relief of all in the castle except for one. 

You hadn’t forgotten his last words to you. Sometimes, you swam back to the remains of the dragon prince again, hoping the hallowed skeleton could see you in the angelic light only water could give.  

And sometimes, in the deepest chamber of the lake, you swore you heard whispers in the catches of the currents. 

[emmcfrxst]

logan howlett x reader

word count: 1.6K

warnings: smut! nasty filthy smut! afab reader who gets called a girl one (1) time because i didn’t know what nickname to use, MINORS DNI YOU WILL BE BLOCKED! i literally dreamt of this specific scenario last night and it was so vivid i decided to write it LMAO as always feedback is welcomed and appreciated <3

Being sent on a mission up north with Logan and as you’re scouting the area around a frozen lake after setting up in an abandoned cabin, the ice shatters underneath you, your body getting quickly engulfed by the icy water.

Logan doesn’t have to think twice before diving after you, retrieving your trembling body from the depths of the lake and bringing you back to the cabin. You’re shivering the whole time, clinging onto him; despite the fact that he also went in the water, his body naturally runs at a higher temperature, which makes him far less cold than you are— and he gently puts you down on a pile of blankets in front of the fireplace before lighting up a fire, turning to you with concern in his eyes.

“Gonna have to get these off of you, bub.” he mumbles hesitantly, gently tugging at your soaked clothing. You nod your consent, lifting your arms to allow him to take off your shirt and bra, hips lifting to aid him in sliding your pants and panties down your legs afterwards. He keeps his eyes on yours out of politeness, clearing his throat awkwardly and letting out a rough sounding “Right.” when you remind him that he should take his off, too. Once you’re both naked, he hesitates again before sitting next to you, offering his palm in invitation.

“It would… Be quicker… If we shared body heat.” he sounds just as awkward as he feels, cringing internally at himself, goosebumps spreading over his skin when you tentatively push on his torso to make him lie down, joining him right after and curling your body against his. Logan takes it as a silent permission to start rubbing up and down your arm and leg from where you’re laid on your side against him, one of your hands coming up to rest on his bare chest. He tries to ignore the way your heartbeat is pounding in his ears, focusing on getting you warm enough to avoid any injuries. The process happens in comfortable silence despite the sexual tension reigning between the two of you, your body finally relaxing when your temperature comes back up to normal. He’s still trying to be polite, only glancing down at your face, body tensing up from the feeling of your bare breasts against his ribs, laid down flat on his back. Noticing his restrained expression, you run your hand down his chest lightly, stopping at his abdomen.

“You saved my life.” your voice is soft, making him turn to meet your fond gaze, heat creeping up the back of his neck.

“It’s nothin’, bub.” he assures you hoarsely, squeezing your arm affectionately.

“You would’ve done the same for me.” you smile at his comment, shaking your head affectionately and running your hand back up his chest.

“That's beside the point.” you protest gently, moving to press the entire length of your body into his side, making his eyes flutter shut and his breath hitch.

“How can I repay you?” you ask, lips slowly trailing down his shoulder, making him tense up again.

“You don’t have to do anything, bub.” he assures, a large, roughened palm coming up to cup the side of your face to make you look at him, concern flashing in his eyes once again.

“I want to. I've wanted to for a long time.” you reply, making him inhale sharply. He looks into your eyes for any sign of hesitation, thumb caressing your cheekbone before he exhales shakily, eyebrows furrowing.

“Are you sure?” he rasps out, finally allowing his desire to show. You nod, kissing his shoulder again, looking up at him with wide, worried eyes when he grasps your chin in his hand.

“I need to hear you say it, pretty thing.” he mumbles, voice serious. You only smile, moving your head to kiss his hand, holding his gaze steadily.

“I am sure. I want you, Logan." The words make him groan low in his chest, eyes searching yours for half a moment before finally giving in and shifting your bodies so you’re laying underneath him.

“Been wanting you for so long.” he confesses, the gravelly tone in his voice making you press your thighs together. The smell of your arousal hits his nose a second later, making his eyes roll back into his head, a moan leaving his lips. He wastes no time to kiss you, groaning softly at the sheer enthusiasm with which you kiss him back, mewling into his mouth. His tongue swipes over your bottom lip, tangling with yours when you part your lips in invitation. Pulling away for air, you gasp softly, arching your back to meet his chest when he grasps one of your thighs and spreads them, sliding between them in one fluid movement. The action causes his hips to fit right against yours, hard cock pressing against the slickness of your cunt. Moaning into each other’s mouths, you start swiveling your hips, causing his cock to nudge your swollen clit. Pulling away again, you feel your walls fluttering around nothing when you notice the trail of spit connecting the two of you— one that Logan has no shame licking away from your chin once it breaks off.

“Fuck, Logan, I need you.” you whine, making his cock throb. Gripping your thigh, he spreads you open even further, nestling his cock between your folds and grinding slowly.

“Gotta prep you first bub, don’t wanna hurt you.” he sounds far away, pupils swallowing the rich brown of his irises, but even then, he still worries about you; a fact that only seems to make you wetter. Despite your arousal, you still gasp out loud when he slides two fingers inside your cunt, your eyes fluttering shut at the delicious stretch his thick fingers provide. His eyes watch you carefully for any sign of discomfort as he starts to stretch you out, your body jolting upwards to meet his when a calloused thumb circles over your clit.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this, bub. Gonna take such good care of you.” his voice is lower than you’ve ever heard it before— tone almost dangerous— causing goosebumps to bloom across your skin. Your orgasm is building up quickly, mewls mixing with the loud, slick sound of Logan’s fingers drilling inside of you. Without warning, your thighs tense up and you let out a soft squeal, gushing around him. You can hear his depraved moan even through the deafening beating of your heart in your ears, teary eyes moving up to meet his as he brings his hand up to his face— his palm absolutely fucking soaked. You watch as he licks a stripe up his hand, his eyes rolling back into his head at the taste of you, cock twitching hard from where it’s pressed against your thigh. He inhales deeply, stomach tensing up for a brief moment before he finally regains control of his body, dark, hungry eyes landing on your fucked up form.

“Fuuuck, could come just from that.” his words have you aching again, a desperate tear running down your cheek— one he kisses away, humming lowly. You tangle your fingers in his hair as he starts kissing down your body, heart pounding in anticipation. Getting up on your elbows, you watch as he makes his way between your legs, feeling warmth creep up your neck and down your chest when he breathes you in loudly, groaning in the back of his throat. You try to push his head away timidly but he grasps your wrist with one hand, pinning it down and away from him.

“Let me have my moment. Been dreamin’ of having you like this for fucking ever.” the lust in his voice causes butterflies to erupt in your tummy, still shy from the shamelessness of his desire. Nodding your head, you sit back on your elbows, gently kicking him in retaliation when he gives you a cocky little grin and a hoarse mumble of “That’s it, good girl.”

Your amusement is, however, cut short by Logan burying his face between your thigh and licking a stripe from your hole to your clit, moaning against your cunt at the taste. Crying out loudly, you move again to tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling in encouragement as he practically makes out with your pussy, his eyes closing in ecstasy. He switches from thrusting his tongue inside you to sucking your clit between his lips, making you whine out his name. Through the thick fog of pleasure that overcomes your body, you notice the floorboards creaking under Logan’s weight— he’s driving his hips into the blankets, trying to alleviate some of the tension in his body. The sight makes you gush a second time without warning, your fingers pulling at his hair harshly and nails digging into his scalp as you come on his tongue. The moan he gives you in response makes you clench around nothing, feeling his body tense up and his hips stutter against the blanket before he relaxes, face still shoved into the meat of your leg. Oh.

“Did you just—“ you cut yourself off suddenly, feeling a delicious twist in your gut at the thought of Logan coming untouched simply from eating you out. Your lover picks his head back up with a dazed look in his eye, beard glistening with your slick. He’s still hard.

“Yeah. But I’m not done with you yet.” the promise in his voice makes you tremble, warmth coursing through your body— the mission could wait.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Fae!Danny But Make It Fantasy

I've already made a whole Changeling AU with fae!Danny, but guess what, I have decided not to achieve any level of chill with fae ideas.

We all know Danny is Ghost Kind. Now, what if he is a Fae Prince? A Prince of Winter, to be exact. Imagine all the ice castles (Elsa, I'm looking at you), the snowy lands, northern lights in his crown, a cape made of tiny ornate snowflakes. Crystalline ice swords, skin so white he doesn't even look alive, eyes clear and blue like a frozen lake. Formal gowns, ballrooms, duels and carriages pulled by horses made of snowstorms.

He used to be a changeling, put in place of Dan. Grew up in a village with his parents being witch hunters, or maybe just hunters in general. Meanwhile Dan, a human child whose place he took, grew up in a fae realm, surrounded by magic creatures and miracles.

But Danny couldn't hide he was a fae his whole life. He used to look human when he was a baby, but as the time went by, he started to look more and more fae-like. Jazz was the first to notice it, of course, but this was Danny, a child she practically raised, so she dealt with it. Their parents, though, did not.

Sam and Tucker are in the know, for sure. Sam used this opportunity to learn witchcraft - who is better to learn from than an actual fae? Tucker is a blacksmith, as is his family. The first thing he asked Danny when he discovered he is a fae, was "how in the seven kingdoms are you a fae, and you decided a blacksmith is your best friend?" because, honestly, not even Fentons have so much iron around them as Tucker does.

Now, you may be thinking of where the DC part comes in here.

Well, the Waynes are actually the royal family. Bruce is the King of Gotham, and his children are princes, princesses, and heirs. They are also protecting the country not only by the word of the law, but also from the other, more shady side. I think they should go by Shadows, not Bats, though, since I doubt a name like 'Batman' would fly in the fantasy world.

Constantine is a mage, the strongest one alive, and yet he couldn't care less for his uniqueness if he tried for a week. Diana is the Queen of Themyskira, of course. I think Krypton should be its own country or a continent, ruled by the family of El. Although Jon is the first heir to a throne, due to Kon being, well, a bastard in terms of medieval customs.

After Danny's race is found out by his parents, he leaves for the fae realm, and he offers his friends and his sister to join him. Tucker refuses, Sam and Jazz take him up on that, but Sam leaves shortly after - she mostly used it to get away from her overbearing parents. She is now a witch who lives in the woods all alone, and no one can find her. She keeps contact with Danny, though. Jazz is traveling both the fae and the human realms, just having fun with it.

Jason is part-fae. After he died, a cult has abducted his body - the cult leader being Ra's, of course - and used it for an experiment. They used some fae magic to bring him back, or, maybe, they have tried to merge a fae and a human, creating a chimera. This was the first option of Ra's trying to get closer to Bruce in order to take power. It was not a very successful option since both Jason and whatever was left of the fae inside him decided not to obey the madman.

Damian was... slightly more successful. He was not merged with anything, but his development was magically enhanced.

And now, while Danny is back in the fae realm and he is a crowned Prince of Winter, Clockwork has a problem. He knows humans are afraid of fae, but this is not a very productive way to go. And there is a timeline somewhere there that can fix it.

Of course, Danny is right in the middle of that timeline. Now, Clockwork just needs to find a way to help Danny make an alliance with humans.

[thewritergx]

Lake Tahoe: Rafe Cameron x Thornton F!Reader

Summary: Rafe spends Christmas with the Thornton's on their yearly trip to Lake Tahoe when his feelings for the shy girl become too much to handle. I was supposed to post this like two weeks ago, but I got extremely busy, so happy late Christmas. I hope ya'll like this because it was a total bitch to write.

Warnings: Drinking, Mention of lost loved one (Rafe’s papa), Smut Containing: Soft!Rafe x F!Reader, Topper's little sister, Kissing, Begging (by both parties but mostly Rafe), Dry Humping, Oral (F!Receiving), Unprotected P in V, Cumming in your mouth. 

Word Count: 5K

EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Please feel free to like and repost. Click here if you’d like more stories from me. Text divider from @cafekitsune. 

The bar is dimly lit, a warm glow from stripes of red and green Christmas lights cast shadows across the low-set tables. Conversations from couples and friends echo off the wall, blending into a quiet hum under soft piano music. Snow falls outside, covering the building in a thick pristine powder. It grows heavier, white flakes swirling in a biting wind. The ground is coated in a thick layer of pale white, covering any signs of the road or sidewalk. The wind howls a fierce and chilling gust that vibrates the bar's windows.  

It wasn’t like you hated snow, but the cold never set well on your skin. You were used to sixty-degree winters with the occasional rain, a heavy contrast to the twenty-degrees and constant snow of Lake Tahoe. Your family has been visiting Nevada for the past three years. Slay rides, hot coffee, and campfires always made the trip fun, but it was growing old, and less exciting with each repeated year.  Rafe joining the family breathed new life into the trip, an excitement dancing on your skin as his shoulders brushed against you on the seven-hour plane ride. You had hoped you were hiding it well, the lingering feeling of need that crept up anytime Rafe was around. 

You spot Rafe from across the bar, his tall frame clad in a thick sweater, sleeves pushed up to his forearms to expose his tan skin. The soft material clings to his chest, a gold chain dangling from his neck. Rafe’s eyes lock onto you, watching the way you ease across the bar and settle on the stool next to him. His eyes rake over you, taking in every detail from your boots to the way your hair falls down your back. He takes a pondering sip of his bourbon, the golden liquid settling on his lips as he swallows. His dark green eyes meet yours in silence, your cheeks and nose rosey from the cold.

“You want a drink?” Rafe blows a quiet huff of air, an intense broodiness clinging to him like a second skin. He glances over at you, a cocky half smile formed at the corner of his mouth, his voice low and smooth under the music. 

“What are you drinking?” You ask, turning your body to him. 

Rafe smirks at the question, a hint of amusement you rarely see. “You’re not going to like it”. His eyes flicker over you. A low gruff as he chuckles hits your ears, another rarity. 

“Let me try it.” You furrow your eyebrows, examining the ice that clings against the glass. 

Rafe studies your face for a moment, that cocky smile creeping up again before he pushes his glass towards you. “Sure, but don't say I didn't warn you”, he replies, watching as you wrap your mouth around the rim of the glass, lips landing right where he previously was. 

Your face turns sour, lips puckering as you swallow the cold drink. “What is that?” You laugh, whipping your lips with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. 

Rafe grins, his green eyes dancing with amusement. “It's just an old fashioned. Nothing crazy,” he chuckles. “Told you, you wouldn't like it.” Rafe gestures to the bartender, signaling them over with a wave of his hand. Even away from the Outer Banks, he has people at his beck and call. 

“Can I get a vodka cran? Put it on my tab” He instructs the bartender, waiting as the man dressed in all black brings back a glass. “Here, you look like the type.” 

“Hey, what does that mean?” You laugh, placing your hand on his warm chest. You would never tell Rafe, but Vodka had always been your go-to.

Rafe studies you again, peering down as a spark of green glimmers against the Christmas lights. His gaze falls down his body, landing on the way your hand lingers against him. “Nothing. I can tell you prefer it sweet, not too strong.” He clears his throat, his tone a playful mockery as he leans closer into you.

You shudder at his words, a slight shiver running through you as you grab the glass from his hands, fingers ghosting over his. 

“Cold?” He asks, his expression soft.

“I’m freezing. I wish my parents would pick somewhere warmer for vacations”, you mumble, taking another quick sip. 

“Here. Take my jacket.” You watch as Rafe grabs his jacket, the muscles in his shoulders flexing as he places it around you. He drapes it over your shoulders, hands brushing the fabric up and down to create a warm friction on your skin.  

You nodded your head, a quiet “thank you” scarcely audible over the music as you pressed your legs firmly together. 

“Have you seen Topper?” You glance around the room, looking for any sign of your brother. He was supposed to be here having dinner with you and the rest of the family. It was just like him to run off, quickly leaving you and Rafe behind as he partied with some random girl. Your voice is less than thrilled, a dash of annoyance in your tone. 

“I saw him leave a while around”, Rafe smiled, “had some blonde chick with him”. Topper had been a good friend, but Rafe was lying if he said he considered him a real, true friend. If Rafe was being completely honest, he only accepted the invitation to your family's vacation to spend more time with you, the girl he was reluctantly pinning over for the last year and a half. 

Growing up, Rafe was constantly by Topper's side. When someone asked, he would say they were best friends or that he was like a brother to him. But in the back of his mind, Rafe knew. He knew the only thing still tying him to Topper was you. You were always lingering close by, a constant presence in his peripheral vision. Rafe didn't know when it happened but he stopped hanging out with your brother to spend time with him and switched to getting quick off-hand glances of you. You would be laid up by the pool, a tiny bikini clinging to your tanned skin, or sitting in your living room with a book, your legs spread out over the polyester. Everything about you pulled him in, a yearning he had kept quiet for far, far too long. You were a constant tease, always lurking in the background of his life. Just close enough to make you impossible to ignore but always out of his reach. 

Now, he was stuck here with you, your hands lingering on him like a warm blanket. He was never a big fan of Christmas, especially not now that his father was dead and the rest of his family was refusing to speak to him. He hated to admit it, but the only choice he had for this Christmas was to third-wheel on your trip. He felt out of place, like a burden to everyone around him, even if Topper had guaranteed that he was welcome to accompany the family. 

Rafe glimpses at the windows, watching the heavy snow fall silently. “Is it always like this?” Rafe stands motionless next to you, taking a big swig of his whiskey to cover the slight concern in his voice. 

“No,” You laugh, watching the way his shoulders tense. “A storm is coming through. It’ll pass”. 

“I don’t like it”, Rafe mumbles, his grip on the glass becoming strained.  “Maybe we should get going. The hotel is just a block down. I’ll walk with you.”

“Okay,” You mutter, swallowing the remainder of your vodka. “You want your jacket back?” 

“I’ll manage”. Rafe places a firm hand on your waist, his jacket loosely hanging as you stand from the stool. His grip is protective, a warm presence against the chilling air. “Besides, you look like you need it more than me. You’re shaking”.

He slips his hand in yours, fingers encasing yours as he leads you past the crowd and towards the exit door. Electricity surges through you, a hot blush covering your cheeks. 

Rafe’s motions are fluid, the muscles in his back tensing under his sweater and he guides you into the cold night air. The frozen ground crunches under your feet, echoing in the silence between you. Rafe groans, the cold air hitting his face with an unexpected violence. He keeps his grip tight in your hands, a reassuring warmth in the freezing temperature. 

Rafe leads you through the front door of the hotel. The lobby is a quiet ghost town, only a couple of the hotel staff linger behind the front desk. The air between you is still, almost like a storm is not raging just outside the thick walls. Rafe’s fingers finally loosen in yours, his eyes trailing over you as he gently brushes a bit of snow from your cheeks. 

“I’ve got a fireplace in my room.” His fingers dance across your soft skin, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he loiters against your cheek, tracing along your jawline. “You can come warm up”. His eyes lock on yours, watching the way you shudder against his touch. 

“Oh, u-um…o-okay,” you whisper, your eyes meeting Rafe’s as he towers over, his body close enough to fill yours with warmth. 

The elevator ride is quiet, your breath hitching as Rafe presses the button to the fifth floor. He leads you towards the room, his strides are quick and calculated against the carpeted hallway. He stops at room 514, pulling out a key card, and quickly unlocking the bedroom door. Rafe gestures you inside the spacious room, an elegant and comfortable room dominated by a large fireplace. Soft carpet blankets the floor, a queen bed in the center. 

“You look very pretty, by the way”, Rafe clears his throat, standing awkwardly in the doorframe, his hands stiff by his side.

“You think I’m pretty?” You mumble, a shy nervousness causing your eyes to fall to the floor. 

Rafe shuffles, taking a step towards you. In a single passing second his body is pressed against you, his hand resting on your chin to force your eyes on his.

“I’ve always thought you were beautiful,” he smiles, tracing the plump skin of your lips with the pad of his thumb. It’s a gentle motion, one that forces a red-hot blush on your cheeks. You search for anywhere to look, darting your eyes between Rafe and the doorway.

“Getting shy on me, princess?” Rafe smiles, the hand on your lips traveling down to your jawline, tracing every inch of the velvety skin. You nod your head in a deafening silence, unable to stop the involuntary trembling of your body. 

In all the years of knowing Rafe, he had never been this close. He never even made a pass at you. You figured he must not be into you, the way he used to frown at you from across the room at parties. 

“It’s okay, I knew you would be. My shy, little girl”. His hands fell to the zipper of the jacket he had placed around you, slowly pulling the cold metal down until it clicked loose. His hand brushed against your shoulder, fingers hooking the thick material until it was falling down your waist onto the floor. 

“Rafey,” you finally speak, your breath low and fatigued. You force yourself to look at him, studying the way his Adam’s Apple bobs as he swallows. His eyes dart between yours, hands falling to the small of your back to pull you fully into him, your arms resting around his neck.

“Can I kiss you, princess?” Rafe’s voice is barely a whisper, almost inaudible in the white noise of the snow crashing down outside. 

You try to respond, begging yourself to say that simple three-letter word, but your voice is stuck deep in the back of your throat. Instead, you give him an exasperated whine, your eyes pleading for his touch. 

Rafe almost laughs, watching you squirm into him, your legs pressing tightly together. As much as he wanted to laugh, and release some of the thick tension built up, nothing was funny. He wished it was humorous, watching you try to fight off the desperation your body was echoing, but it was serious, deadly in the way your little moan sent an intoxicating jolt straight to his cock. 

His eyes darted between yours, studying the way your eyelashes peered up at him. He bowed his head, bending his shoulder as leaned into you. Rafe’s small breaths ghosted over your lips, the grip on your back turning to iron. Every muscle in him tenses, his forearms flexing against your body. 

Rafe groans, finally meeting your lips in the kiss he has spent years daydreaming of. It’s deep and insistent, his tongue gliding past your lips to explore the warmth of your mouth. He pulls you impossibly closer, molding your molding into his until you are practically one. A raw intensity ripples through him, burning just beneath the surface of his skin as his tongue dances along yours, prompting a low moan from your throat to echo into him. It vibrates through him, his body stiff and hard as his hands roam over you. Every curve, every soft dip is met with a possessive touch, his fingers tracing red hot patterns over the fabric of your clothes. His movements are slow, calculated even under the intoxication of your lips. His hands make a home on your sides, cold fingers gently slipping under the hem of the warm fabric of your sweater. Fire burns through him, the sensation of your smooth skin sending bolts of electricity straight to his cock. Rafe’s hands continue on a dangerous trail upwards, calloused fingers caressing your stomach and ribs.

Rafe’s lips leave yours, both gasping for air as he trails down your cheek, kissing a sloppy path down your jawline to your neck. You whisper his name, all shaky and out of breath as his teeth scrape at the skin, sucking a crimson mark easily seen by others. You should stop him, but your mind is in a daze. Whatever neurons in charge of firing were clearly asleep, your only thought focused on the way his hands travel up your shirt. His fingers trace the outlines of lace, feather-light and reverent as he lingers against the hem of your bra. He takes his time, eyes locked on yours as he teases the material, his fingers tracing the intricate pattern of the fabric before he cups your breast in one hand, his palm warm and firm against your flesh.

Your hands fall to Rafe’s chest, the gentle rising and falling of each breath expanding his muscles under your touch. He shivers at the contact, squeezing the subtle fat of your breast. 

Rafe stands motionless for a moment, his only action the gentle caressing of his hands running up and down your sides. His eyes roam your face in thought, wondering just how far you’ll let him take this. His hands grip your hips tighter, his thumbs stroking the bare skin between your shirt and pants, as he gazes down at you with a look of conflicted desire. 

“Can I-Will you let me…Fuck, you got me all messed up, princess.” His voice is shaky, the usual roughness betrayed by a yearning need of desire. He clears his throat, swallowing hard as his eyes flutter closed. For a moment he just breathes, holding you against him in a stoic mystery of private thoughts. “I want you…I-If you let me. I p-promise I'll make you feel fucking good. I’ll be gentle. J-just please, please let me inside you. God, I need you so bad, baby.” The words come spilling out of him, like a rush of freedom granted after a thousand years of silence. You swear he’s staring into your soul and you can’t help but wrap your lips around his again, this time a hungry desperate action, leaving a layer of his saliva around your mouth. 

That’s all Rafe needs. The confirmation that you want him, that you need almost as much as he does. Rafe grabs at your thighs, a sickening desperation as he hoists you up to wrap your legs around his waist. His hands grip under your ass, squeezing at the fat concealed by a pair of denim jeans. His tongue dances in your throat, his steps messy and uncalculated as he searches for the bed. 

The kiss grows more heated and desperate as his hands grip onto your ass, squeezing and kneading at the flesh there before he drops you on the bed, his hips pushing against yours in an anguished attempt for any kind of friction. His body traps you, your back pressed into the warm soft mattress and his muscular frame. 

Rafe breaks the kiss, leaving your chest heaving as he gazes down at you with pleading lust-dark eyes. “C-can I take t-this off?” he asks, his voice low and hoarse as he tugs gently at the hem of your shirt. “Please, please let me see you.”

Never would you have expected Rafe to be so tender, the way he begged for just a hint of you almost making you cum right there. “Oh god, yes. Please Rafey, I-I need you,” you whine, your back arching off the bed and into his chest. 

Rafe's eyes darken with desire at your words, his control snapping at the way you cried out for him. 

“I know, baby. I got you”, he groans, his hands gripping your shirt tightly and quickly pulling it over your head. He tosses the fabric to the floor, his eyes roving over your exposed skin with a longing admiration. "So fucking pretty," he murmurs, his hands running up your sides and caressing your flesh. 

Rafe's gaze drops to your bra, his eyes fixed on the lace that covers your breasts. He stares at the thin material, reaching out to caress one of the straps with a shaky hand, his eyes still locked on the way your tits bounce free. Rafe's hands are quick, his fingers falling to your back and unhooking the bra with trembling motions. He drags it down your arms, his eyes ghosting over your bare chest. He swears for a moment he dies, brought back to life by the way your hard nipples sit erect in the air, the subtle pink bud breathing new life into him. 

"Fuck," he mutters, his hands immediately coming up to touch your skin. His fingers trace over your flesh, kneading fists full of fat before attaching your nipples between his fingers. Little moans flow out of you, your hips bucking into his relentlessly. 

“So soft”. His voice is hardly above a whisper as he peppers wet kisses down your collarbone landing on the bone that separates your breast. He licks a long strip between the two mounds, slipping a nipple between his teeth and sucking. He bobs his head a bit, the swollen bud becoming impossibly harder as his warm tongue teases you. 

“Rafey”, you whine, the unfamiliar gentleness of his touch relaxing your body. Your hands fall on his hair, the dirty blonde locks almost too short for you to grasp. He loves the way your hips writhe into him, just as pathetic and needy as him. He gasps at the feeling, his hard cock pressing against you. Even through layers of jeans, you feel him, hard and tight. Rafe growls around your nipple and presses himself against you until you're a grinding mess of moans and whimpers. 

“Are you trying to make yourself cum like that, princess?” This time, he lets out a chuckle watching your failing attempt to get off on him. He hovers over you, snapping his hips against yours as your head falls onto his shoulder. “Let me help you,” he smirks, shuffling above you. He stands at the foot of the bed, fumbling at the button of your jeans. His fingers are shaking, his breath hitching as they tug at the fabric, quickly pulling the annoyance down your legs. You're left in a pair of thin panties, the light blue fabric becoming more of a dark grey as your arousal soaks the material, an obvious mark of how undone Rafe has already left you. 

He towers over you, green eyes a shade darker than normal as he spreads your legs. A newfound confidence washes over him, and he’s pulling his sweater off in a swift motion. His tan muscles hit the cold air, his eyes roaming over the way your pussy lips are outlined, in clear view even though the panties hugging at your sides. He almost loses right there, watching you all sprawled out and begging for him. 

Rafe undoes his jeans, his movements quick and urgent as he tries to get them off, throwing them off the bed with a light ‘thud’. You can’t help but stare, mouth watering at the way his boxers press against him, a large bulge pulling at the fabric. 

Rafe’s motions are smooth as he positions himself on the bed, his back against the bed frame, pillows keeping him at a ninety-degree angle. You grasp your waist, pulling each leg by his thighs so you're straddling him. His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he pushes you back in forth on his clothed cock. Even through his boxers, he can feel your slick wetness, his fingers digging into your sides as you buck into him. 

“That’s it. Fuck, grind my cock baby.” That’s all he has to say before you’re throwing your head back, bouncing your tits in his face as you practically ride him. Sharp gasps escape you, the smooth skin of your thighs pressed against his as your hips stir in a string of circular motions, massaging your clit with his hard cock. 

Fuck,” he growls between gritted teeth, his jaw clenched as his eyes flutter close. “You…you gotta slow down baby”. He knew he wouldn’t make much longer for his cum to spill out of him, not with you crying above him and using him like some kind of sex toy. Rafe dragged a finger to your panties, quickly rubbing soft motions with his thumb, circling your clit with gentle strokes. 

It’s enough to push you just over the edge of no return, your legs already shaking as your stomach tightens.  “Fuck, Rafe,” you cry out, your hand grabbing at Rafe’s shoulders. 

“Yeah? You gonna cum for me baby?” He growls, pulling your hips harder against him and rubbing his thumb faster.

You nod your head, crashing your lips against his as your orgasm hits you like lightning, a single bolt sending shots of painful ecstasy to every nerve. 

Rafe wraps his arms around you, still gasping for air as he flips you into your back, his body weight crashing down on you. 

His hands dig into the hem of your panties, his eyes fixed on the fabric as if he’s completely entranced, not a care in the world other than what’s concealed underneath. "I need to taste you," he mutters, his voice gravelly with need. "Can I taste you?"

His words sent an uninvited shiver through you, your cheeks growing hot with embarrassment. You fight not to turn away, a gasp leaving your lips as he spreads your legs. 

Rafe was no stranger to your shyness, always turning away when he looked too long or brushed against you. His eyes roamed over you, fingers lightly brushing your thighs. “Don't get all shy on me now,” he smirked, your adorable blush sending shockwaves to his cock. “Please, please let me do this,” he begged, lightly pulling at your panties again. 

“I…O-okay,” you whined, watching your panties fall down your legs and Rafe sinks to his knees. He snaked his arms around your thighs, holding you in place as he smothered your skin in soft kisses. His hand made smooth up and down motions against you, his breath hot against your core as he spread your legs, hooking your ankles around his neck. 

Rafe lost it, the sight of your swollen pussy in his face. You were so fucking perfect, arousal leaking out of your dark pink hole and onto the blanket under you. He ghosted his lips over your clit, mankind small quick motions with his tongue as his fingers spread your labia apart. Your clit was so pretty, swollen, and hard against him as he sucked his lips around it.

“Fuck, ohmygod” Your words came out in one syllable, euphoria dripping from your throat as Rafe lapped at your pussy, soaking you in his salvia. His spit ran down your legs, mixing with your arousal in a warm concoction of need. 

“Taste like heaven, princess. Fucking heaven” he groaned against you, vibrating your clit between his teeth. Rafe could do this hours, days even he thinks. Swirling his tongue through your folds and cleaning the mess you made against him just moments ago. The way you're moaning his name, your hips bucking into his mouth as you dig your hands in his hair, it’s too much for him to take. 

“Oh, Rafe!” You pray the walls of the hotel are insulated enough to drown out your cries, your brother just on the other side. Your head falls back, spine arching in the air as you tremble around him. 

Rafe needs more, needs to feel you stretching around him hopelessly as he drills into you. But he can’t rush, wanting even more in this moment for you to cum in his mouth, let him swallow every drop of wetness that falls onto his tongue. 

“That’s a good girl. I knew you would like it,” he groans, sucking at your clit with vengeance. “Don’t I always take care of you?” He asks, recalling moments when he drove you home from parties or picked you up after school. He was always there, just a phone call away from rescuing you if you ever needed it. 

“Ah! God, Rafe. Please, I-I’m gonna…” you were cut off by your own gasps, a second orgasm coursing through your veins.

“Good fucking girl,” Rafe growled, quickly standing to his feet and tugging his boxers down. He knows he should probably open you up with his fingers, help stretch your walls a bit before he pounds into you, but he feels like he’s got seconds to last before he’s nutting in his underwear like a bitch. 

“Fuck, I need you baby. Please, can I put it in?” He whines, a sound so foreign to you, that you almost can’t recognize it’s him. Rafe tried so hard to wait for you to tell yes, but he’s already rubbing the tips of sick against your pussy, your slick wetness painting the underside of his. 

Rafe grabs at your legs, pulling you farther back until your ankles hang on his shoulders. “Fuck baby, need to hear you say it.  Tell me I can take you. Tell me this pussy is all for me”

The tip of cock pressed into you lightly, dangerously close to dipping inside you. Rafe can feel your walls clenching, the warmth of you on his cock destroying all the strength he has. 

“Please, Rafey. It’s yours. Please, please, please,” falls from your lips, your fingers digging into the blankets as Rafe shivers his cock inside. One swift motion and you are seeing stars, the pit in your stomach filling with rapture. 

Rafe swears you were made for him, taking his cock until his balls are pressed against your ass. He tries to be gentle, pulling out so tormentingly slow. He finds a steady, rhythmic pace as he slams back into you, your legs shaking like you just ran a 5K. 

“Fuck, ain’t gonna last long with you squeezing me like that,” Rafe groans, pounding into you with an unforeseen violence even he didn’t know how to stop.

“I need you to cum baby, please. Cum around my cock, need it so bad.” He practically cries, biting at his hand as he watches the way your tits bounce with every thrust. 

“Close,” is all the strength you have to say, your eyes clenched tight as Rafe slams into your cervix. He brings his hand to your clit, rubbing soft circles that make your mouth snap open. 

“Fuck!” You scream, bucking your hips as much as movements would allow. In a second you're following his instructions. Your walls are like velvet, hugging his cock so tight he’s afraid he might not be able to stop. He growls at the thought, wishing he could flood you full of his hot thick seed. 

“Shit,” he whispered through gritted teeth, pulling his cock out faster than he ever would have hoped. “Open that pottery mouth baby, fuck” Rafe grabs your hair, gently pulling you so sit just under his cock, your tongue pressed against his tip as he strokes every bit of his cum into you. 

“Fucking swallow it,” he demands, pumping harder as he shoves his head passed your teeth, hitting the back of your throat as ropes of his juices fill you. Salty and bitter, but a welcomed taste you always dreamed of. 

“Good girl” he whispers, watching you scope the drops running down your chin into your mouth, sucking your finger as you swallow. 

“You okay,” he asks, a hint of nervousness overshadowed by breathless huffs. 

“Great,” you laugh, pulling him next to you on the bed. You run your hands down his chest, the veins in his arms lightly sprinkled with sweat.

“You know I’ve always liked you more than your brother,” Rafe chuckles, running his fingers through your hair. 

“Yeah, me too” you smile, sprinkling his shoulder in light kisses. 

“I meant what I said at you being mine. I don’t ever want to be away from you.” Rafe pulls the blankets over your body, holding you tight as the storm outside continues to brew, the hollowing audible again.

“I meant it when I said I was yours.” You close your eyes, Rafe's strong arms warming your body. 

[dual1pa]

"you're gonna make me fall in love with you"

steve harrington x reader using she/her pronouns

A/N: ahh the sweet smell of a best friends to lovers fic <3

WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY PLEASE !! language, swimming in underwear (both reader & steve) kissing w/ tongue, boob grabbage, missionary position but no smut occurs

(doesn't follow plot of Stranger Things)

She placed her Converse-covered feet on the leather seat of her best friend, Steve Harrington's beat-up Chevy. He received the "piece of shit car," as he would say, from his parents as a graduation present years ago. It was originally his father's work truck, but he no longer needed it.

"At least you have a car, son," he told him.

All her attention was outside of the car as Steve drove them to their favorite spot at the lake. It seemed as if no one knew it existed since there was never a soul in sight, which was great for the two of them to get away from the hustle and bustle of their small town of Hawkins, Indiana.

The scenery of the drive there was something else - especially at sundown after a warm summer day when the sky was filled with yellow, orange, pink, and purple.

As her hair blew from the open window, she hummed along to Tiffany's 'I Think We're Alone Now' as Steve tapped his hands to the beat of the song on the steering wheel.

Steve pulled into a rocky area where he normally parks the car, went to grab a blanket out of the trunk, and led her to their favorite spot.

Normally, they didn't swim in the water, just lay on the fuzzy blanket, listened to the water and their favorite tunes from Steve’s portable radio, and stared up at the stars.

She and Seve have been friends since middle school, yes, even though his King Steve era where he thought he was better than everyone.

The two of them rarely had fights, and when they did, they quickly made up and went out to get ice cream or head to their favorite spot on the lake.

They found their spot on accident after participating in an extra credit assignment for Ms. Taylor's science class - since the both of them were failing at the time.

Now, a year later, they considered the spot theirs.

Just like usual, empty.

Steve tried his best to lay the teal blanket down flat, but the grass made it difficult.

She laid down first, then Steve. He watched her figure out her next thought as she stared up into the cloudless sky.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, resting his body on his arm.

She turned her head to lock eyes with him and smiled, "I kinda wanna go swimming."

"I didn't bring a swimsuit," Steve sighed.

She chuckled, "Neither did I," quickly getting up and stripping off her T-shirt and jean shorts, leaving her in a bra and underwear.

Steve had seen her change a dozen times and she could care less as she had no shame about her body.

Without waiting for her friend, she ran into the cold but refreshing water. She dove under the small waves and resurfaced to find steve shoving his pants off, leaving him in plaid boxers.

Once he caught up to her, they enjoyed the water for a while longer then went to air dry on the blanket.

Steve reached for the radio to find a station playing a song they both liked. as if it was fate, one of their favorites played softly through the speaker.

He got up and started dancing and singing the lyrics, urging her to come join him on the imaginary dance floor.

She grabbed his hand to help her off the cozy blanket, grabbed her waist and started swaying back and forth. If she was honest with herself, she could picture a life with Steve.

She could imagine traveling with Steve, purchasing a home with him in the suburbs.

She pictured buying a cute little 3 bedroom home in the Indiana suburbs - definitely away from Hawkins. She pictured the bright green grass and being surrounded by nice neighbors and even getting a pet.

She pictured starting a family with him, though, she would never tell him that, unless the time was right.

Back in the moment, she couldn’t stop laughing at Steve’s horrible singing.

“stop it,” she leaned her head back and let out a loud laugh

“stop what? singing?” he didn’t listen and kept singing along.

“you’re gonna make me fall in love with you if you keep singing like that,” she smiled.

Steve blushed, “we’re literally slow dancing in our underwear, i hope you know that i’m already in love with you.”

That’s all she ever wanted to hear from her best friend, “i’m in love with you.”

He wasted no time to press his lips to hers. they were just how she imagined he would taste: a mix of mint toothpaste and the coffee he drinks daily.

she reached her hands up to comb through his damp brunette hair and moaned into his mouth, urging him to shove his tongue in her mouth.

he gripped her waist, then her butt, then her thighs to feel every inch of her, what he wanted to do for years.

the two laid back down on the blanket and continued their assault on each other. he fit right between her legs, but knew that she didn’t want their first time to be on the muddy ground.

to take a breath from their make out session, he rested his forehead on hers and smiled.

“can i call you mine? all mine?” he asked, placing a piece of hair behind her ear.

“that’s all i’ve wanted, steve harrington.”

he reached up to grab at her breast but she stopped before she got too turned on.

“as much as i want to, take me back to your place and take me in your bed?” she said, kissing his neck and down to his chest.

she’s never seen him pack up so quickly.

[sepdet]

How the heck was that bit not [snow]Drift compatible? 🤔

The Driftless Area of the Northcentral US. Where the glaciers missed a spot. Four times.

[loveinhawkins]

Barely ten minutes into the hike from Skull Rock to Lover’s Lake, Dustin heaves a sigh like he’s the most long suffering person in the world to ever exist. Steve rolls his eyes.

“Jesus Christ, Henderson, what?”

“I’m bored.”

“God, you’re such a whiner. No, you—you’re like a little kid on a road trip, like, are we there yet?”

Behind them, Max and Lucas snort in almost perfect unison.

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees Eddie’s lips twitch into the faint semblance of a smile. It’s very quick, blink and you miss it, before he turns sombre again, looking down at the forest floor. Steve can’t blame the guy; he can’t imagine that he has all that much to smile about.

“I just meant,” Dustin says, “that we could use some entertainment.” He jerks his head meaningfully at Eddie—who thankfully still has his head down so he can’t witness this tremendous lack of subtlety—and mouths, You know, a distraction.

“And I’m the entertainment guy,” Steve says flatly.

“Well, we’ve gotta keep you around for some reason,” Lucas pipes up.

Steve turns around, walks backwards so he can point warningly at him. “Thin ice, Sinclair.”

But it’s all for show, and he keeps walking backwards, pretends to trip on a tree root and narrowly avoid a pratfall. Max actually giggles at that, which is a victory in and of itself, but Eddie’s looking down at his feet.

Hmm.

“If I wanted slapstick, I would’ve called Charlie Chaplin,” Dustin says.

“He’s dead,” Max points out.

Dustin quickly draws a hand over his neck, Cut it out. Which—yeah, that’s fair. Don’t want the conversation straying into stuff that’s too close to… everything.

“So you want education instead?” Steve says. “I think I can remember how to identify, like, some trees and shit from—”

“Forget Lover’s Lake,” Dustin says, “I’m walking you straight into a retirement home.”

Steve opens his mouth, ready to play up his outrage, and then he hears a very soft chuckle from the side. Eddie.

Steve catches Dustin’s eye, winks briefly in reassurance. Nice work.

“Oh, sorry, is that not entertaining enough for you?” Steve turns so he’s front facing again, kicking a few stray twigs as he thinks. “Uh… ooh, did I tell you about the affair? At work?”

“Someone’s having an affair at Family Video?” Lucas says, sounding disgusted.

Max cackles. “The scandal! At a family establishment, no less.”

Dustin points at her. “See, this is why you should play D&D!” he says, annoyingly sing-song. “You’ve got a flair for words.”

“How about I stick my flair right up your—”

“Uh, okay,” Eddie interrupts suddenly. “I need details.”

Aha, Steve thinks, smug. Got you.

“Fire away, Munson.”

“Did someone, like, confess to you while you were ringing them up?”

Steve scoffs. “No, it was—” He cups his mouth, calls, “Hey, Rob?”

Up ahead, Robin and Nancy turn.

“What?”

“The affair shift.”

“Oh!” Robin whacks Nancy on the arm in her enthusiasm. “This is such a good one. Okay, so am I gonna be her or—?”

“No!” Steve says. “You’ve gotta be me, you can’t do her voice right.”

“Ugh, fine, fine. Wait, I need to get into character.”

Robin makes a show of ruffling her hair, and Steve doesn’t even roll his eyes, can only grin as he hears Eddie cough a much stronger laugh into his elbow.

“Nance, count us in,” Robin says.

Nancy looks a mixture of surprised and amused. It only takes a moment of hesitance before she mimes holding a slate, mouths counting down. “Action!”

And they’re off.

It’s probably so stupid, Steve thinks, to be this loud right now, but he can’t bring himself to care—not when he can hear raucous laughter from all directions: Robin captures his flustered, wide-eyed look, while he dramatically re-enacts a woman storming into the store, demanding to see her husband’s account.

And he thinks Eddie actually laughs the loudest when he gets to the reveal: that said account was full of romantic movies the married couple had never seen together.

“Not one,” Steve echoes—and not to brag, but with this delivery? Juilliard, eat your heart out. “Not. One!”

The kids dissolve into more giggles; Robin fights to stay in character as Nancy jokingly calls, “And, scene!”

And Eddie throws back his head, and laughs and laughs.

Happiness is a good look on him, Steve thinks.

They all quieten eventually, but a lightness in mood still remains, as the kids huddle off together—“Hey, shitheads, not too far!” Steve says, far from the first time—and Eddie sidles up, fleetingly knocks their shoulders together.

“Steve Harrington. Who would’ve thought it, huh?”

“Thought what?”

Steve glances over at him, suddenly struck by the fact that the sun will go down soon; and he doesn’t really need to know what Mordor is to know that he’d rather not get there. That he’d rather freeze time, so they could all just walk in the woods forever.

Eddie shrugs. “You’re a good storyteller.” His eyes are soft, like that isn’t all that he’s saying. Like he’s saying Thank you.

Steve shrugs back. “I’m a man of many talents,” he says.

Eddie chuckles, and this time his smile doesn’t fade away.

Steve allows himself a moment or two to admire the scenery, and if that means looking less at the way the sun still shines through the gaps in the branches, and more the way that it illuminates Eddie’s lingering smile, well…

Well, so what?

Right now, we’re happy, Steve finds himself thinking.

They can stay in the Shire for a little while longer.

[icarusredwings]

What things smell like according to Logan Howlett/ The Wolverine. A series of smell based headcanons. Do with these whatever you want :)

People:

Ororo: burnt marshmellows, rain, chunky chocolate chip cookies, protien shakes, spansih rice, chillies, and cocoa butter. She always smells great.

Scott: cucumber shampoo, the remaints of a bonfire the next day, fresh dry cleaning, axe shower gel, lavender sheets

Jean: caramel latte, lavender sheets, vanilla spiced chai, books, mint ice cream, fruit smoothies, stinky hair product, lemon poppy seed muffins, sassafras

Hank: Books, sanatizer, various chemicals, a very specifc fur dander, kinda musky but in a 'im covered in fur and sweaty' kind of way.

Rouge: "Dolly Parton", brick and concrete dust, cherry blossoms body spray, freshly engraved wood, strawberries and milk conditioner, spicy gaucamole and freshly sizzled sausages.

Gambit: tv static, a fresh deck of cards at the casino, spicy jumbo, gin, lime jello, hair gel, "suprisingly good actually"

Kurt: brimstone, smoke from franckinsense, myrrh, a less smelling dander then hank, Holy chrism oil (olive oil and Balsam made by catholic priests), metal, and blue raspberry. Fur/ beard pomade sometimes for special ocassions.

Morph: even when changed he can smell is sandlewood shampoo, he smells like how "Jack Outta smell", latex, pine and cedar, clear nail polish, "that ugly quilt that your grandma kept on the back of her couch that was the warmest, softest thing you've ever slept with."

Charles: Old man fart, metal, chalk, shoe polish, nutmeg, wool, "a trusting hug", books, mahogany, expensive champagne.

Laura: "teen spirit", a shitty cheap "girl power" deodorant that doesn't do well hiding the sweat, apples and peaches, kinda woodsy.

Wade: Cancer, gun smoke, citrus dish soap, blood, oranges, taco sauce, infected skin once in awhile, red dye 40, slight over cooked and crispy apple pie, sugary cereal

Puppins: wet dog, dog dander, oatmeal senstive skin puppy shampoo, chicken, "the dirtest trash she can find to roll in on her walk"

Althea: Old lady, way too strong perfumes, butter biscuits, tea, peppermint candies, more cocaine, "baby powder", lanvender linens, cotton and daisy's Landry detergent.

Feelings/emotions:

Big/serious lies: smell like Gasoline and salty sand near the sea.

Small fibs/playful/ teasing lies: smell like Anise

Lies with decent intentions/are bent truths: smell like honey

Those two are easily mixed up.

Innocent (the person truly believes it. Ex. A child saying dinos are real) truth: smells like thick vanilla creamer.

Filling, whole truths (the person knows for a fact its a truth) smells: like fresh baked rolls/buns

Cancer smells vary like: urine, nail polish remover, some people have a pungent semi sweet smell like rotting fruit, and tar is another smell, depending on which part of the body. If already in late stages, one can smell like cadavers. Even spicy almost.

Pregnant people vary in scent but he can smell the rise of different hormones: Some hormones sweeter then other. If you asked him he would say cinnamon or dying roses. If you're later in your term the scents are more soft like lotion or custard. Lemon ussually.

Serotonin; cheese, lemon cakes, fruity, a bit light, and flakey like a pastry. Marshmellow fluff.

Dopamine; sweet fresh coffee, doritos(?), cocaine. Don't ask why he knows what cocaine smells like. He was alive during coke cocaine.

Endorphins; Sweaty Sex, mint, dark chocolate, violets, chemicals, varies by persons pheromones

Oxytocin; "playful cherries", freshly washed cotton pillows, the warmth of a bath, skin on skin hugs, strawberries

Joy/relaxation/relief: Jasmine, vanilla sugar cookies, fresh soup.

Anger/disapproval/hurt: smoke, the back end of a cigarette, spicy curry, iron, blood, "spoiled raw chicken left out too long"

Fear/excitment/anxiousness: Adrenaline smells like oil, paint, salty pretzels almost.

Tears: Oceans, lillies, fresh water lakes

[sunkissedscribbles]

☆ 𝑆𝑊𝐸𝐸𝑇 – 𝐻𝑂𝐺𝑀𝐴𝑆 𝐷𝐴𝑌 𝟷

PAIRING: mattheo riddle x reader A/N: christmas szn strikes again!!! i'm so excited to be doing my first ever ficmas, i hope y'all like it, too SONGS: Sweet by Cigarettes After Sex

☆ HOGMAS 2024 LIST ☆ MASTERLIST ☆ TAG LIST ☆ KIARA'S PART

One thing about Mattheo that was very obvious to anyone with eyes that besides loving you to the moon and back, he loved winter. It was when he was the happiest, cozied up on the couch of the Slytherin common room, sharing a warm blanket with you, limbs tangled as you two were sipping on some hot tea.

It wasn’t the Advent, the Christmas period for him that always seemed to have him in a good mood. In fact, he couldn’t have cared less about the birth of ‘some bloke who conceived without his mother being shagged’ if he’d tried. No. It was the warmth of the fireplace after Quidditch practice, the sweet, cinnamony scents filling the air everywhere, the decorations all around Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, the muggle Christmas songs you kept showing and making him mixtapes of, little snowball fights, and ice skating on the ice of the frozen Black Lake.

But mostly, it was the way you seemed to bud out in flowers as soon as you saw the first hint of snow.

He loved seeing you so happy over something that happens annually.

“You’ve never seen muggle London?” you asked, eyes wide with surprise shining in them before a great, excited smile appeared on your lips. “Let me take you. See the lights, the Christmas market –London’s beautiful now.” Seeing your pretty smile and shining eyes, Mattheo couldn’t (and wouldn’t want to) refuse an offer like this.

So this is how he found himself in the city centre, with you by his side, blabbering about the market and hot chocolate excitedly.

Merlin, he wanted to kiss you so bad. But then you’d stop talking. It was either your voice or your lips.

He tried to focus on what you were saying, but then there came that cute sound – your laughter, a soft, gentle giggle he loved so much leaving your mouth and sending is mind into overdrive, a crooked smile appearing on his own lips, and he finally went in for that kiss he’d been dreaming of for the past few seconds – maybe minutes. He’d always lost all sense of time when he was with you.

Not only sense of time, though. He could put the pressure of being You-Know-Whose son for as long as you were with him aside, and he could relax with you around. And Merlin, did he dread you’d ever finding someone possibly better than him as much as one could cower at the mere idea of facing their own worst enemy. And Mattheo’s worst enemy was time, it always had been. Why? Because before you, it moved so slowly as if he’d been jinxed into numbness, and with you, it moved so fast as a blink of an eye, and he implied it was your effect on him. So, of course he feared the day you’d call it quits.

You reciprocated the kiss, a little taken aback by the sudden action, but smiled nonetheless, knowing that you’d found your one and only in him, that you’d never stop loving him.

And in spite of his fears and doubts, deep down, he knew that too.

It was so sweet, knowing that you loved him.

And it was perfect.

tag list: @mattiesgf @inksoakedparchment @mqstermindswift @girllblogging777 @myysunshine @yelanare @mamartinez @s00ty-feet

[venuswarmlight]

I was hoping to request a jealous Mizu x reader, like maybe she sees reader joking around with Tenzin and she gets really jealous. Idk maybe something along those lines ig. Tbh you can do whatever really, I just want some jealous Mizu x reader stuff. Sorry if this sounds too vague😓, Anyway thank you 🩷🖤

I hope I didn’t read this too late! A lot of things happened but what matters now is that I can keep writing. Hope you enjoyed it, i did it femreader bc I assumed you wanted it that way(I ALSO DIDNT FIND A GIF FOR THIS IM SO SORRY itS BEEN MONTHS I DONT USE TUMBLR)

Warnings: nsfw at the end. Not very proofread. Taigen acting like a man in the 1600’s. BAD ENGLISH.

Notes: Reader is an archer. Idk I’ll be adding more

Jealous!Mizu x Fem!Reader.

Having a mercenary girlfriend was the best thing that happened to you, from the first time you two met until now your only work was following her like a puppy through the villages and kicking asses to the ground like the badass you were, and of course the cozy nights were you both trained your fighting skills next to a lake just to end it by making out until her hands were already in your chest, desperate for blowing off some steam. Your life next to Mizu was great, yeah, but thanks to an unfortunate serious of events you weren’t the only ones in a campfire nearby that forest lake. At least for now.

“I’ll see if there’s another rabbit out there.” Mizu got up from the snowy ground, and looked at you. “Scream if Taigen gets too nosy.” She said as she dead-stared at the man sitting next to you.

“I’ll be fine, but thank you.” You smiled at her and went back to polishing your arrows, while Taigen was doing literally anything but looking at you with curiosity.

After a few minutes you finally broke the ice between you and him, your voice as soft as a feather while you spoke “You’re staring, you know that?”

He immediately realized and turned his head to the campfire smoke, loosing himself in the front view. “I’m sorry, I’m just.. Surprised.” He answered later, hesitant.

“Of what?” Your eyebrows furrowed, and you lifted your gaze to look at him, concerned.

“Well, women like you are not usually seen in these conditions.. Much less with a man like him.” His words intrigued you, what did he meant by this? You inhaled deeply as you kept doing your work, finally storing the arrows in their respective case.

“I find myself very comfortable where I am right now, I don’t know what you m-”You were interrupted by Taigen, he turned himself getting in front of you.

“You’re too pretty to be an archer instead of living in an estate with a rich man.”

Oh. So this is what he meant. Your eyes widened and you started laughing, covering your mouth of embarrassment, honestly it was uncomfortable and out of place but you decided to take it as a compliment AND as a dare. Purposely changed the subject to avoid personal questions and scolded him, pushing him playfully. “Hey! My appearance has nothing to do with my abilities.”

Taigen chuckled, not pushing you back but being more confident with his approaching attitude. “I’m just saying the truth, you should-”

“Oh, yeah, that’s enough!” You jumped onto him, making him fall into the snow and taking him by surprise, his head bounced a bit on the ground, disoriented.

“What is wrong with you!?”

“Can’t fight a woman back? You must be shitting your pants right now, what a shame.” You spilled, sarcastically, but that dominance fell when he grabbed your hands placed in his chest and used it as a support to push you to the right, shifting positions, now his body was topping you, his hands immobilizing yours by pressing hard on your upper torso.

“Not bad.. But still not as good as me.” He proudly said, suddenly you kicked his butt with your knee from the back, making him loose his strength in your wrists, you repeated his last movement, ending again in how you started that silly fight, your giggles and laughters filled the forest’s natural sounds, and suddenly you totally forgot that Mizu could come back anytime and find you two in this compromising position.

You and Taigen struggled there for a few minutes, what he thought that would be a stupid kid’s fight turned into a challenge, even if it didn’t look like it, he started recognizing how.. Incredible you were, your smooth but hard blows, the little screams you made when you felt like you were gonna loose, now he understood.

How lucky Mizu was for having a girl like you.

You finished the fight by enlazing your fingers with an iron grip around his neck, and your other hand threatening his face with your fist, but you forgot that Taigen’s hands were still free. He grabbed your waist and managed to make you fall on your back as he stood up from the ground and made you loose your grip on his neck, his legs immobilizing yours and his hands putting your wrists above your head, his uncontrolled breathing crashing against your nose as he laughed. “Defeated.”

Before you could answer, you saw a third person kick Taigen’s body from the side, just in the ribs, making him fall to the ground, almost burning his whole body next to the campfire, you sat up quick and looked at him first, then looked up at your side, a tall figure with a dead bunny grabbed by the ears in front of you, those blue unsettling eyes staring at you with the coldest countenance. You knew right there and then she was mad as hell.

“Training without me?” Mizu got on her knees to the campfire to roast the rabbit, not caring about Taigen’s prolly broken rib (not really). You stood up to clean your clothes and sit next to her, nervous. You weren’t doing anything wrong, but still.

“We were just playing.” You excused yourself, trying to make her look at you, but no. She was ignoring you.

Instead of answering, her gaze turned out to Taigen, who was struggling to recover from that fucking kick that hurt as hell. “You’re getting too comfortable here, aren’t you?” Her tone was noticeably passive-aggressive, her grip on the roasting stick was tightening.

“That wasn’t fucking necessary! Fuck, it hurts..” He yelled, finally sitting a bit far from you two, you could feel the tension building heavier and thicker in the ambiance.

It was so uncomfortable you felt like you had to go. “I’m gonna wash my hands before eating, I won’t be long.” You got up to escape the funeral situation you were just in, but a hand grabbed yours, making you stop, you looked back with concern, Mizu was behind you with that angry gaze, sending shivers down your spine.

“It’s too dark to go alone.” She said, then looked at Taigen “Take care of the dinner, don’t screw it up.” He was about to talk but instantly shut his mouth like he knew if he talked he could end up dead.

You tried to forget her toxic behavior as you two disappeared yourselves into the woods, the moonlight making the path for both, the silence feeding your ‘I’m fucked’ thoughts and increasing more when you felt her grip on your hand tightening, she ended up dragging you to a not so far place, finally letting out your hand. The only thing you could look was her back and her little black bun.

“What was that?” She spat, aggressively turning herself and hoovering over you.

“I told you we were just playing.“You stepped back, but unconventionally bumped with a tree behind you, before you could realize, Mizu had you cornered, your chest rising and falling against hers as she looked down at you.

“It didn’t look like it.” And the jigsaw puzzles connected in your head. She was jealous.

“Are you doing this because you’re-”

”Maybe. Seeing my dove pinned down by a bald monkey it’s not funny.” Her words were sharp, you didn’t even know how to answer.

Your hand gently caressed her cheek, making her gaze softened as she looked at you. “You’re the only one in my heart.” You whispered, dragging her closer to your face, her hands traveling down your curves and grabbing your hips tightly, your heat already increasing its temperature as it mets her knee, rubbing your core tentatively.

“I still want to fuck that pretty smile outta’ you.” Her lips attacked you like an animal, making you whimper and moan against her watery mouth, her knee making you hump on it desperately and your inner thoughts begging for mercy cause’ this night was going to hit you hard and long.