#light soothing sound of mist

[jarofstyles]

Bite

Hello my friends! Here is a vamprry one shot. It’s a darker one but I hope you guys will like it. 🎃

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WC- 6.4k

Warnings- vampire h, blood play, he kinda kidnaps her tbh, dark h, soulmates, mask kink if you squint, oral (f receiving) smut, degrading, h is a vampire so their morals are not human-like you know

Her blood pressure was high. She was sure of it.

Going to a haunted house wasn’t her idea, nor was it her ideal for the weekend of actual Halloween, but her people pleasing ways had gotten her once again. The same with wearing a fucking dress, because they’d decided to go bar hopping afterwards. Not the brightest idea at all, but she wanted to stick it through.

It seemed to be going well enough until they got separated.

She had somewhat of an idea that someone was watching her. She just didn’t know how correct she was- or how much danger she was in. Harry's eyes narrowed as he watched her get separated from the group.

Fate had chosen his fun for the night.

He quickly disappeared into the shadows, his lip quirked under the mask. This was his favorite time of year. He knew these halls like the back of his hand, and he knew exactly where she'd end up. He followed her as she tried to navigate her way back, unaware she had no hope there was no real way back, his footsteps silent on the creaky floorboards. It was thrilling, the muffled screams from other rooms fading to let him hear her breathing, fast and panicked. Little heartbeat pounding away at her chest. She was so alive, and it thrilled him.

She didn’t have a clue.

The dim of the flickering lights cast eerie shadows on the peeling wallpaper as she hurried down the narrow, winding corridor, her heeled boots clicking nervously on the worn wooden floor. Her breath hitched in her throat as she heard a faint, raspy whisper carry through the heavy silence, the air thick with the scent of dust and fake fog.

“Why are you running, pretty girl?” The rasping voice had her turning around, only to be met with empty space. there was no one there. “What’s got you spooked?”

Her heart thundered as she clutched her chest, turning slightly as the voice seemed to move. Like it was circling her, almost. It was suddenly that the lights went out, making her freeze in fear.

What sort of haunted house was this? And could she get a refund?

Harry grinned wickedly as he watched her from the shadows. He had missed this. The thrill of it all soothing an itch he usually couldn’t scratch. Though his usual victims weren’t quite as pretty as her, he noted. They didn’t smell as good either. He ducked into a small, concealed alcove as she whirled around, her panicked breath misting in the sudden darkness.

She could hear the faint drip-drip-drip of water echoing through the darkness, and the distant sound of maniacal laughter from another room. But closer, much closer, she could swear she heard breathing. Slow, steady, and menacing. Her own breath caught in her throat as she tried to pinpoint where the sound was coming from, her eyes straining to pierce the inky blackness.

“Who’s there?” She whispered into the quiet. It dawned on her that there was no party following behind her. She didn’t hear the footsteps, she hadn’t realized she’d veered off course, but she was still in the haunt. This had to be part of it- right? “I- I’m sorry I got off the path. If you turn up the lights I’ll just go back to my friends.”

The breathing paused for a moment, and then it started up again, louder this time. It was definitely coming from right next to her. She could feel the presence of something, or someone, but she couldn't see a thing. Couldn’t feel any body heat. The only thing she could feel were the vibrations when she heard a low, chilling laughter that sent shivers down her spine. "You're lost..." The voice whispered menacingly in her ear. It was when she could feel the cool breath on her neck that everything in her panicked.

She jumped back, her heart racing as she stumbled backwards, tripping over her own feet in the process. She landed hard on the floor, her dress riding up to reveal her thighs. She heard the creaking of floorboards as whatever was there moved closer to her, its footsteps echoing in the darkness. "You shouldn't have come here... alone..." The voice hissed at her. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous?”

“I didn’t mean to! I got separated from my group. I didn’t mean to go off the path.” Her voice was weak and warbled as she felt the sting in her elbow from the fall. “Just let me out and I’ll be on my way.”

The figure loomed over her, its presence oppressive and menacing. "But where's the fun in that?" It growled. She could hear the rustling of fabric, and then a gloved hand reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her to her feet. She struggled, her heels clicking against the floor as she tried to break free, but the grip was too strong. "You're not going anywhere."

He pulled her into the concealed alcove, her struggles turning into whimpers as he backed her into the wall. His gloved hands roamed her face, gripping her roughly as he grinned wickedly behind his mask. "You’re a pretty one aren’t you?” He chuckled. “Such a treat. Let’s play.” He reached out and caressed her cheek gently, a stark contrast to the other hand’s rough grip on her jaw as his thumb brushed over her bottom lip.

"Open your mouth." he commanded, his voice low and menacing. She hesitated, her eyes wide with fear- but he didn’t give. He tightened his grip on her jaw, his fingers pressing into her cheeks. "I said, open your mouth." he repeated, his voice leaving no room for back talk. Reluctantly, she parted her lips, her teeth chattering slightly. He grinned deviously and slowly slipped the glove off and his thumb into her mouth. "Suck. It’s for your own good.”

She hesitated again, but the menacing growl from behind the mask urged her on. She wrapped her lips around his cool thumb, sucking hesitantly at first, but growing bolder as he watched her with a dark, intense gaze. It wasn’t like she could see him, but there was no way she couldn’t feel his stare on him. The metallic taste was unfamiliar to her, but it was what would save her. His grin widened as he slid his thumb in and out of her mouth, mimicking a motion that made her blush furiously even in the darkness. "Lovely girl, finally listening to instruction." He praised, his voice hoarse. "Now, bite down. This is going to hurt, but it’ll feel good afterwards.”

The girl had no idea what he meant until she heard the mask slipping off his face and her head was tilted to the side. She barely had a second to think before she felt it. The sharp bite down on her throat, burning at the site as she let out a strangled scream. The man- or creature- let out a satisfied groan as he sucked at her throat, pulling what had to be blood from her. All her instincts told her to run, but she couldn’t. She was frozen.

He drank with deep pulls, his arm wrapping around her waist to hold her upright as colorful spots danced before her eyes, even in the dark. She felt lightheaded, her limbs growing heavy and sluggish. She could hear the pounding of her own heart, growing slower and softer with each passing second, the sounds of his sucking drowning it out.

The soft plush of pleasure started to hint over her, the pain fading into the fuzziness of warmth in her tummy and between her thighs. Just as darkness began to claim her vision, he withdrew, licking his lips as he admired the two puncture wounds on her neck. "You’ve got lovely blood.” He murmured. “So sweet. Best I’ve had all season.”

He leaned in close, his voice a soft whisper in her ear as he held her up. "I should have you for the full meal... but I have other plans for you." With that, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her deeper into the house, her limp body resting against his chest. She was tired, her mind fuzzy from the blood loss, but she let out a soft whimper as he squeezed her lightly to his body. “I usually finish my meals and let them run off, but I think you’re a bit too good to toss.”

Part of her questioned if she was awake right now as he carried her through because nothing made sense. When her eyes opened again, it was different. The house changed. No longer was it the decrepit source of the haunted house, but it was restored. Like it had shifted all in front of her eyes. She wasn’t sure what was real and what was fake right now, if this was even reality, but it didn’t make any sense. The cobwebs were gone. The smell was lavish, rich, like incense. The haul was lined with velvet curtained windows and hand painted oil art, none of the flashing lights or fake fog to be seen.

What the hell was this? And what was he?

He carried her into a grand bedroom, the four poster bed draped in black silk. It was nothing like her own and she wanted to fight him, ask him what the fuck was happening, but she had no energy to do it. He had taken too much from her.

The monster laid her down gently, smoothing her hair away from her face as he admired her pallid complexion. "You'll wake up tomorrow, thirsty and changed. But don’t worry, I’ll be here for you.” He leaned over her, his ungloved, chilled finger roaming over her cheek as he caressed her. "I’ll be the only one you crave.”

——

The sun streamed through the open curtains, casting a warm golden light over the room. The girl stirred on top of the duvet, her arms reaching out to stretch before she realized she wasn't in her own bed. Her body was stiff, a throb in her joints as she let out a little whimper at the feeling in her body. Everything felt heavy still. Slow. She sat up groggily, rubbing her eyes as she took in the opulent room- one she didn’t quite recognize at first. There wasn’t much time for her to go over who’s room it was, or why she was there though, because she felt a twinge in her neck as she tried to move her head. That's when she noticed the feeling. The thirst. It was unlike anything she'd ever experienced, a burning, aching need that demanded to be quenched. There wasn’t any sort of suggestion about it, it was a need.

Her throat burned. It was a hollow aching in her stomach, the stinging of her throat, her hand reaching up to cover it as she flinched. Pulling it back she looked at the ring snugly fastened to her ring finger, a red gem with a gold band. It wasn’t one she had- or was it?

Her memory was hazy. She needed something, someone, but she didn’t know what it was.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the door creaked open and in strolled a man, one that seemed familiar in the way that unsettled her, a small glass of crimson liquid in hand. He was sans mask, his dark hair disheveled as he grinned at her. Bright white teeth gleamed at her as he stood in front of her, smile softening as he clicked his tongue. Something about his smile was off putting, but she couldn’t look away. "Ah, you’re up. Good. I was beginning to think I’d given you too much.” He held out the glass to her. “Drink."

The girl's eyes widened as she stared at the glass, her parched throat aching with desperation. She reached out, her hand shaking as she took the glass from him. The liquid inside was a deep, rich red, almost burgundy in color and didn’t look like something safe for human consumption as she swirled it to see it much thicker than anything she usually drank, but her body was acting on its own. She brought it to her lips, the cool glass feeling soothing against her dry skin. As she drank, she felt the liquid slide down her throat, the warmth a soothing kind instead of the pain, spreading through her body and quelling the burning ache.

She probably should have thought twice about taking it from the stranger, but she didn’t. All she cared about was getting rid of the pain, getting more of the liquid down her throat so it didn’t sting any longer. The whimper that left her lips was pathetic as he pulled the glass away, his hand reaching out to thumb the droplet that had fallen down her chin back up and into her mouth. There wasn’t hesitation as he pushed the digit in, her hand grabbing his wrist and sucking the remaining drop from his skin.

He let out a low hum, his free hand reaching out to gently tilt her head back, forcing her to keep his thumb inside her mouth. "You're so thirsty, aren't you?" The man murmured, his thumb moving slightly, pushing against her tongue. "Such a pretty little thing, and so desperate for something to quench your thirst."

The thumb was pulled from her tongue, swiping over her bottom lip as he towered over her. She had no idea what the hell it was, what was happening, but her body trusted him and craved more of whatever he’d just given her. “More.” She croaked, lightly digging her nails into his skin. “Please, I need more of it.”

“The newblood desperation isn’t usually this cute. I think I got quite lucky last night, don’t you think?” He chuckled darkly, his other hand reaching up to cup her cheek as he leaned in close. "You'll get more, but first... you have to earn it." His thumb pressed against her lips again, pushing them open as he spoke and tapped her bottom teeth. "I have a game for us to play. If you win, I'll give you all the blood you can drink." His voice was a seductive purr, his thumb sliding into her mouth once more.

“I’ll do it.” She whispered instantly. “Anything. I’ll play.” The girl didn’t even know his name, but she wanted to please him, she wanted more of the blood. It didn’t even click with her that it’s what she was drinking. All she knew was that she needed more and she was willing to do anything to get it.

"Excellent. That’s the spirit I like to see." He crooned. "Now, the game is simple. I'll ask you a question, and you have to answer truthfully. If you lie, or hesitate, the game is over and you don't get any more blood." He pulled his thumb out of her mouth, only to replace it with his other finger, gently rubbing against her tongue.

"First question...what's your name?" His eyes gleamed with amusement as he watched her, feeling the soft suckle she gave his digit. She didn’t seem to comprehend that he was truly talking to her, or she didn’t want to pull her mouth from his finger, but that simply wouldn’t do. "Come on, now. No need to be shy. You can speak around my finger, can't you?" He smiled, his voice firm. "Answer me." His thumb brushed against her bottom lip, encouraging her to part her lips and speak.

“Y/N.” She spoke, muffled around his finger. Her eyes were hazy and soft, body warming up from the blood settling in her system and the attentive stare of the man in front of her.

"Good. That wasn't so hard, was it?" He praised, slowly pulling his finger from her mouth as he spoke. He brought the digit to his lips, sucking the remnants of her saliva from it as he grinned at her. "Now, Y/N...do you know where you are? And how you got here?" His eyes were intent on her, watching every flicker of emotion that crossed her face. "Take your time. Think carefully."

She mourned the loss of the soothing she had from sucking, but she felt the hot zip right between her thighs as she watched him clean off his skin from her saliva. There was something about it that made her reach out for him, gently tangling her fingers in the fabric of his shirt as she peered up at him with wider eyes. It was a good question.

Where was she?

“I… I don’t know.” She finally realized she couldn’t quite place it. “Did we hook up or something after the bar?” It wouldn’t be the first time she did something stupid on a night out.

"No, we didn't hook up. That will come later.” It was inevitable. His perfect creation was made for him. The fates had been so kind to him last night, putting her in his path. “We ran into each other at the haunted house. You got lost. Got into some trouble." He gently unraveled her fingers from his shirt, lifting her hand to press a soft kiss to her knuckles. "You don't remember anything else, do you?" His expression was unreadable, but his voice was gentle, coaxing.

“No.” Haunted house? Her mind felt muddy. Like she was wading through quicksand as she tried to navigate the slow thoughts that seemed to be underwater in her brain. It sounded familiar. “I don’t like haunted houses. I probably didn’t want to go. I don’t… I can’t tell why I don’t remember.”

She had no recollection of him feeding off of her, of him finding her lost from her group and choosing her as his meal. She especially had no memory of him telling her why she was here.

"That's alright. You will, in time." He soothed, bringing her hand to rest over his heart. She didn’t notice it wasn’t beating. "For now, just focus on me. You're doing so well, Y/N. I'm very proud of you." His eyes glowed softly with affection as he spoke. "Here, have a little more. You deserve it." He bared his wrist to her once more, the vein pulsing enticingly. "It’s not the same as the other, but I think you’ll like it just the same. Drink."

Her eyes dilated, pupils swelling to consume the new color of warm gold of her irises as she stared at the offered wrist. Her breathing hitched, chest rising and falling rapidly as her hands trembled with anticipation. She reached out, fingers wrapping around his wrist as she brought it closer, inhaling deeply to draw in the intoxicating scent of his blood. A soft whimper escaped her as she leaned in, parting her lips to sink her teeth into his flesh.

It was all instinct. She didn’t understand why she was doing it, why she was so relieved to have her teeth in him. His finger pet at her hair as she breathed frantically through her nose, sucking the thick, sweet blood over her tongue with a soft moan. He tasted so good. It was going to be hard to stop.

He let her drink, his other hand cupping her cheek gently as he held her to him. His blood filled her, warming her from the inside out, making her feel alive in a way she never had been before. "That's it, my love. Drink. Take what you need." He whispered, his voice low and husky with desire. His thumb stroked her bottom lip, encouraging her to draw more deeply from his vein.

Her jaw ached as she continued to suckle at him, her lips sealed tightly around his wrist as her tongue fluttered against the wound she'd made, trying to draw more of it onto her tongue. She felt the smooth of his blood sliding down her throat, filling her belly, seeping into her very soul. Her fingers flexed against his wrist, nails digging into his skin as her body shivered.

He carefully unwound her arms from around his wrist, prying her fang-like teeth from his flesh with a low chuckle as she let out a mix of a growled whine from the loss. "Easy now, love. Not too much. I need to keep some strength for myself." He soothed, running his thumb along her bottom lip to catch a droplet of blood that had escaped. "Look at me, Y/N." He commanded softly, waiting until her glazed eyes focused on him before he continued.

"There you are." He murmured approvingly, his own eyes dark with unsated desire. He leaned down and licked the wound on his wrist clean, hissing at the sudden spike of pain before it faded. Pain and pleasure went hand in hand. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that?" He teased, his voice barely above a whisper. It would be true, if he could still die. He brought his clean wrist up to cup her chin, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip. "Such a greedy little thing."

She whimpered again, leaning into his touch as her eyes fluttered closed, savoring the feel of his skin against her lips. She could still taste his blood on her tongue, the metallic tang lingering in her mouth and making her want more. When she opened her eyes, they were glowing with a fierce hunger that made him chuckle darkly. "You're insatiable." He whispered, his own desire rising to match hers.

“I don’t….” She stood up, legs slightly wobbly as she faced him. “I don’t know what you did to me, I don’t know where I am, but I want you to stay.” Her hand grabbed his and wrapped his arm around her. The unprecedented need for him to be touching her, it felt just as desperate as the need for blood was. “Why am I feeling like this? I don’t know you.”

His other arm wrapped around her automatically, his large hand splayed across her lower back to support her. Dark eyes searched hers, seeing the genuine confusion in her gaze. He was a stranger to her, and yet her body craved his touch like it craved blood. He brought her flush against him, his other hand cupping her jaw. "Shh, it's alright." He soothed, his voice gentle.

"I'll explain everything, I promise. But for now, just...feel." He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, a soft, slow kiss that deepened into something more passionate. His hand on her back slid down to her bottom, squeezing possessively as his tongue slid against hers, sharing the taste of his own blood. He felt her relax against him, her body molding to his as her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. “Just know that you belong with me. To me. That’s what you need.”

Yes. This was what she needed. It made no logical sense, she knew, but logic was lost when it came to this. Ever since she had woken up she had been squirming, itching for something, and she realized now with his lips on hers and his hand grabbing at her ass, she knew this had been the missing piece.

“What’s your name?” She panted against his mouth, unsure if he had said it. Her mind was a mix of things and none of it logical.

He pulled back slightly, his breath ragged as he looked down at her. "Harry." He whispered, his thumb brushing across her cheek. "And you're Y/N." He handed her the reminder her gently, his other hand cupping her ass and pressing her against the growing hardness in his pants. "We're going to be together, Y/N. Forever." He promised, his voice dark with his promise. “I chose you last night.”

Why did that make her feel good?

She didn’t know him, and yet she was preening over the fact that he was promising forever with her. He could be an awful man. She knew nothing of him other than his blood tasted good somehow, he was one of the most attractive men she had ever seen, and she had gone home with him last night. None of it seemed to matter to her rationally. Maybe she’d lost her mind along the way; maybe he’d taken it from her. Regardless, she didn’t want to fight it. It felt wrong to fight it. “Forever?” She whispered, melting into him.

"Forever." He echoed, his voice a low growl that made her hot between her thighs. "I'm going to take care of you, Y/N. I'm going to give you everything you need. Teach you all you need to know. I created you, and I’ll take care of everything you need." He promised, his other hand sliding up her back and into her hair, tangling in the strands as he deepened their kiss.

He kissed her deeply, his tongue sweeping into her mouth as he held her close. His hand in her hair tightened slightly, tilting her head to the side to deepen the kiss further. His other hand never left her ass, squeezing it gently as he pressed her against his hard length. He broke the kiss for a moment, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he looked down at her. "I want to take care of you, Y/N."

She moaned softly, her eyes fluttering closed as she parted her lips to his expert kiss. Her fingers tightened in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer as she pressed her hips against his, feeling his cock against her belly. When he broke the kiss, she whimpered in protest, her eyes slowly opening to meet his gaze. "Please..." she breathed, not even knowing what she was begging for, only that she needed more of him.

Harry's pride swelled at the sight of her, so needy and desperate for him. He loved it. He loved how much she craved him, how much she needed him. The choice to take her, to make her his mate was the correct one. It was in his bones, he knew it the moment he had heard the panicked pitter patter of her heart in the dilapidated facade of the hallway. He leaned down and captured her lips in another deep kiss, letting them linger. "Don’t fret. I'll give you everything you need, Y/N," He promised against her lips. "But first, I need you to sit on my lap."

The creature guided her with his hands on her hips, helping her straddle his lap. She wrapped her legs around his waist instinctively, her skirt riding up to reveal the softness of her thighs to the creature, against what was sure to be any sliver of self preservation. He groaned softly, his hands running over them appreciatively. He had so much to observe and worship with her- this was just the beginning for them. "Now, touch me." The vampire instructed, his voice low and commanding. "Anywhere you want." He watched as she hesitantly reached out, her hands exploring his chest through his shirt, feeling the hard muscles beneath.

He smiled encouragingly at her, his eyes darkening with desire as she grew bolder, her touch making him sigh as she ran her hands over his abs and chest. He could feel her touch through his shirt, her fingers trailing fire wherever they went. "More..." he encouraged, his voice a low growl. He wanted her touch on his bare skin. As if reading his mind, she began to unbutton his shirt, her fingers fumbling slightly.

He sat still, letting her undo his shirt, his breath hitching as she revealed his chest. He had always been proud of his physique, and the way she looked at him now, with wonder and admiration in her eyes only made him feel more smug about it. Once the shirt was open, she hesitated, looking up at him with a hint of uncertainty. As cute as it was… That wouldn’t do. He reached up and gently pushed the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the side.

"Touch me."

She reached out, her shaky fingers brushing against his bare chest. He hissed at the touch, his abs tightening as she ran her hands over them, feeling the hard muscles. The girl leaned forward, her hair falling over her shoulder as she pressed her lips to his chest, kissing and licking his skin with her lips smearing against the cool skin, falling into the intimacy easier as he held onto her and pushed her dress further up. Harry growled softly, his hands gripping on her hips as he thrust his own upwards at the tongue lathing over the side of his throat, the movement pushing his erection against her core.

Her breathing hitched, her eyes fluttering closed as she continued to kiss and lick his skin, her hips grinding down to meet his thrusts. She was so engrossed in the sensations that she didn't notice his hands sliding up her thighs, bunching up her skirt until his fingers brushed against the hem of her underwear. He broke the silence of panting breaths, his voice hoarse. "S’my turn. I'm going to touch you now, Y/N."

She needed it. Her body was yelling at her to submit, to let him touch, because that’s what was necessary. It was a craving. Words echoed in her mind, his voice telling her ‘When you wake up, I’ll be all you crave’ or something like that, but she couldn’t focus on it when she felt his fingers brush her humid cunt.

Her response was a needy whimper, her head falling back to expose her neck as her hips canted forward, giving him better access. He hummed in approval, his fingers slowly sliding under the lace of her underwear to touch her bare flesh. She was so wet, so ready for him. He rubbed her slowly, his touch gentle, coaxing more needy noises from her. "That's it, love. I know what you need. Let me give it to you."

He slipped a finger inside her, her tight warmth clenching around him. The sensation of it made him groan, his head dipping down to nuzzle against her neck, inhaling her sweet scent as he began to move his finger in and out of her slick hole. Her breathing caught, her fingers clawing at his shoulders as she panted his name. "Harry."

"I know, my love. I know. It feels so good, doesn’t it?" The croon was slightly smug, but she didn’t care. It felt too good to have his finger inside of her, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her neck.

"More." She begged, her body tensing as he curled his finger upward, finding that sweet spot inside her. He nipped at her neck, his fangs scraping against her skin, making her hips buck against his hand. It felt better than she ever remembered a simple finger inside of her feeling, but it didn’t make much sense. Nothing about this did.

"I'll give you more." His hand stilled for a moment, his fingers sliding down to gather more of her essence before he added another finger, filling her more for a few more thrusts. "But first, let me have a taste."

Y/N yelped in surprise as she was flipped, tossing her right on the mattress she had slept on. There was little time to prepare as he gripped her dress, tearing it in two so easily that she gaped at the strength of him. She knew the dress was slightly cheaper- she was on a budget, sue her!- but how could he do that?

The thought had to go on the back burner though, watching as he got to her knees between her thighs and spread them open for his viewing pleasure.

The man looked up at her, his eyes devious as he held her thighs open, preventing her from closing them. "Very pretty everywhere, aren’t you?” Leaning down, his tongue flicked out to taste her, dragging through her folds. She gasped, her back arching off the bed as the sensation of him tasting her rushed through her. "Mm.. and you taste so good here, too... Not just your blood. I did a good job in choosing, didn’t I pet?"

He didn’t give her a chance to answer, let alone think about what he was saying fully before he began to lick and suck at her, his tongue delving inside her to taste her nectar. Instead, she moaned, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her as she writhed with pleasure. He was relentless, his mouth working her clit with expert precision until she was panting and begging for something. What? She wasn’t sure.

"Please, Harry. I need..." Her brow furrowed as she looked down at him, unable to finish her sentence as his dark eyes looked up at her with his mouth expertly latched onto her, messily slick with her on his lips and chin.

"I know what you need." He snarled against her wet flesh, sending vibrations through her core. “Be quiet and let me give it to you.”

He sucked her into his mouth, his lips wrapping around her clit as he suckled. His tongue lashed against her, his hands gripping her thighs and spreading her wider as he buried his face deeper, licking and nipping at her delicate folds. His tongue plunged deep inside her, withdrawing and surging forward once more, making her keen as she tilted her hips up towards him, trying to write but unable to close her legs with how he held her open for him.

His hands tightened on her thighs as he devoured her, his fingers digging into her soft, warm flesh. She could feel his cool touch on every inch of her, his tongue plunging into her core again and again, his mouth suckling at her swollen pearl. She was helpless against the onslaught of pleasure, her hips bucking against his mouth as she neared the edge. "Harry, please. It's too much..."

He growled against her, the vibrations pushing her even closer to the edge. "No, it's not." The vampire mumbled, his voice muffled against her wet flesh. His arms wrapped around her thighs to hold her down as he continued to feast on her. Golden eyes lifted to meet hers, the possessive look in them making her feel hotter despite the cool touch of his hands. He meant every bit of this. There was no hint of casual about this. The man meant it when he said she was here forever. "You can take more, Y/N. You’ll take what I give you, because you belong to me now. I created you."

His words sent a flash of heat through her, his dominance washing over her like a tidal wave. He continued to eat her out, his tongue and mouth working her relentlessly.

It was simply too much.

The new blood in her veins, the unrelenting pleasure, the claim of ownership, all of it had her losing grip on whatever sense of reality she had left. Moans echoed through the room as she climaxed hard, her entire body shaking with the force of it. He didn't let up, continuing to lick and suck even as she came, prolonging her orgasm until she was a sobbing, shaking mess.

Her sobs turned into screams as another wave of pleasure hit her, his fingers joining his mouth as he pushed three inside her, continuing to pump in and out of her as he drank her release from her core. His tongue lashed against her as he drank her in, his fingers crooking up to find that spot inside her that made her see stars.

With a final lap at her pussy, he pulled back, his face glistening with her essence. His eyes locked onto her thigh, his hand trailing up to caress the tender skin. The creature needed more of her. To solidify their bond even more.

There was no words exchanged as he made the decision for them, spreading her out and finding the spot he wanted, where he could see the pulse still thrumming under her skin. He leaned down, his fangs sinking into her flesh as he drank from her, his hands gripping her thighs possessively. He growled against her, his voice muffled as he took deep pulls, her orgasm sweetened blood flowing into his mouth making him moan and his cock pulse inside of his trousers. She wasn’t a full blood like him. He’d be taking advantage of the human blood flowing through her veins every day for the rest of eternity.

His hands tightened on her thighs as he fed, his touch proprietorial and unyielding. She could feel the pull at her vein, the sensation sending waves of pleasure through her, heightening the sensitivity of her over stimulated body. She whimpered, her hands finding his hair and tangling in the silky strands as he drank from her. He didn’t want to pull off, knowing it made her feel good and knowing she tasted this good because of him, but he wanted to enjoy her in the softness of post orgasm and feed haze. Retracting his teeth, he sighed deeply, licking over the bleeding mark on her inner thigh. It was dangerously close to her cunt- something he liked.

A meal with a view.

The vampire had waited this long to take a mate. He deserved to enjoy it.

He lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers as he licked his lips clean. His face was a stark contrast of brutal and beautiful. Blood stained his swollen mouth and chin, a stark crimson against his pale skin. His eyes glinted with a feral light, his pupils dilated with satisfaction and desire. The creature’s dark hair was mussed from her hands running through it, making him look deliciously disheveled.

It was unsettling knowing something so dangerous could be so beautiful.

“We’re going to have a lot of fun together, little treasure.” He purred, giving her mound a kiss before licking over his bottom lip to chase the taste of her cunt and the blood he had just pulled. “My favorite creation yet. I can’t wait to play with you some more.” His nails dragged down the sensitive skin of her outer thighs, making her squirm in his grip. “I hope I don’t break you too soon.”

[senualothbrok]

Carried Away

Summary: A response to @dekariosclan 's request for some good old fashioned boring bed sex with Gale. (Read the ask as it's a masterpiece of smut in itself). I hope this is boring enough for you, my dear 🫶 (it became more tender than hot, I hope this is ok😅)

Word count: 817

Disclaimers: NSFW. Smut. Vaginal sex / penetration.

AO3 link

When a rustle of cool air tickles your shoulder, you clutch at the blanket. Cocooned in the darkness of sleep, you are vaguely aware of the warmth of his body, his tired heave as he slides into bed beside you. You roll towards him, the scent of his teaching robes still clinging to his pores.

“What time is it?” you croak.

“Four o’ clock,” he breathes. “Go back to sleep.”

You grizzle. As his arm drapes over you, you bury your nose in the silk of his hair.

“So late,” you mumble.

Memory flickers in your slumber. The untouched dinner left on his desk in the study. His brisk peck on your cheek when you wished him goodnight. Your fleeting resignation as you glanced at the Gale-shaped hole beside you before you blew the candle out.

“Forgive me, my love.” His soft lips graze your forehead. “I got carried away with the modifications I was making to--"

A gaping yawn swallows his words. You nuzzle into him, your fingers seeking his. His legs tangle into yours, the tendrils of sleep wrapping around your bodies. He lets out a small sound, half-moan, half-breath, as his nose settles into the crook between your neck and shoulder. 

It could be minutes or hours. You drift through the veil between dreams and wakefulness, Gale’s breathing a soothing rhythm against your skin. From a distance, you feel the firm brush of his toes against your calf, a hard heat whispering against your thigh.

You ignore it at first. But a gentle pressure is circling your nipple, trailing down to your navel. A faint wetness tingles on your earlobe, his rasp trembling through you like a siren. Your lips search the roughness of his beard as you press against him. 

His mouth is open when you find it. His length nestles into your core, firm and insistent. Your tongues are lazy and slow as you savour his taste, thick with sleep and stupor and need. In the blind haze of exhaustion and desire, you do not need speech. Nor do you need light to find the points of each other’s pleasure, imprinted on your senses like an ancient map. 

He does not need to ask when he hooks his knee around your waist, pulling you closer. You do not need to check before your hand dips into his briefs to free the thrust of his cock. It surges against your touch as you skim his leaking tip, tracing the veins that twitch on his girth. You know them as well as the lines on your own palm, the heady fragrance of his musk. You relish each other’s groans as you lift your leg over his, guiding him into your waiting folds. And when, with one long stroke, he fills you to the brim, the ache that flares is like a spell. 

Your fingers fist into his tousled hair, the peaks of your nipples rubbing raw against his chest as he rocks. He clasps the cheeks of your ass in a silent demand, and you whimper as you angle your leg wider, inviting him deeper, into the deepest parts of you, reserved for him alone. You arch your back as he pumps into you with growing urgency. A throbbing hunger pulses with his every pant and plunge. You are fully awake now, and so is he.

“I missed you.” He laps and sucks at your mouth, your earlobe, your chin. “Gods, I missed you.”

“I'm here.” You grind against him, desperate for more. For all of him. “I’m yours.”

You clutch at his muscles, hard and taut as he rolls into you with gathering speed, a raging flood against your banks. There is no reserve, no restraint in him, nothing but love and unbridled need. Your walls clench around his stretching stiffness. 

“I love you."

He spasms, a shaking hand cupping your cheek, his forehead pushing against yours in a mist of sweat and sandalwood and desire.

“I love you.”

Your tongues are a ravenous frenzy, his beard a dizzying rasp against your chin. His hips snap furiously as he bottoms out again and again.

“I love you.”

You can no longer tell if it is his voice or yours, or where his touch meets your own in the darkness. You are one body, one soul, and when you cry out and shatter into each other, you cannot tell where his ecstasy ends and yours begins.

He remains inside you as your chests rise and fall, your breaths slackening. Sated, complete, your kisses become languid and halting. When he pulls out, he plants a feather light kiss on the tip of your nose, and you let out a silent laugh. Your fingers remain intertwined as his arm returns to drape over you, where it belongs.

“I forgive you,” you murmur, and you feel him smile into your skin as you sink back into sleep.

***

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[faith-forgxtten-land]

You haven't written anything NSFW for TMNT so its okay if its not something you're comfortable writing but do you think you could write something for Bay Donnie? I don't really have any preferences of requests other than squirting

Soaked | Donatello

okay, fair warning, i haven't written anything explicitly nsfw for like two years so be nice; i was hesitant in posting this because i have no faith in my writing, especially nsfw, but i hope you like it! bayverse!!

warnings: NSFW, squirting? swearing, mentions of cunt etc., not much else i don't think. everyone is 18+!! awful titles, never proofread

summary: donatello likes it when you soak his sheets

word count: 1691

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The world is bathed in darkness when you finally manage to open your eyes. The lair is quiet, and your head feels heavy as you squint. A hand is trailing your torso softly despite innumerable callouses, fingers sweeping delicately along the length of your spine in some silent rhythm. Your skin is warm, the cool touch of his palms soothing the heated flesh, and you giggle quietly as you imagine puffs of mist rising from where your bodies and their contrasting temperatures meet.

“You awake?”

With a humming reply and languid grace, you raise your head and try to make out his face in the dim light. You can’t see much, just a pair of soft eyes that make you feel more embraced than the blankets piled on top of you, as his other hand cups your cheek and you melt into him. He makes you feel like that a lot; like molten gold, pliant under his assured touches, burning and boneless and so, so precious.

“You fell asleep in the middle of movie night,” he says softly, lips brushing against your forehead in a gesture so tender it makes your heart clench. He traces his mouth down the swell of your cheek, caressing the lines of your face until he reaches your jaw. His kisses are indulgent and full, and you feel gluttonous as your hands seek his plastron eagerly. Even half-asleep, you want him wholly and desperately and you feel him huff a fond laugh, smiling knowingly against your throat.

“So needy,” he teases affectionately, the hand that had been mapping your back now beginning to move further downwards until the flesh of your thigh is in his grip. He squeezes it once, twice, and parts your legs. His beak presses harder into the delicate skin of your neck, and he inhales deeply before biting sharply. The contrast of his gentle hands and the sudden sting of his teeth causes your hips to stutter, and you can’t hold back a whine.

“I can smell you.” His voice is low and you shudder at the rasp in his tone. He pulls back to look into your eyes, and you swallow thickly; his irises have disappeared into blackness, as if they’re drowning in ink with pupils blown wide, and you feel yourself grow wetter at the wild look. You still can’t make out his face, but you know he looks wrecked, and a smug satisfaction settles deep within you.

The thought that your scent alone can ruin him, make primal need overwhelm him, make him look wanton, causes your toes to curl. His large hand, so huge on your body, grasps your thigh tightly again and you gasp as he squeezes hard enough to bruise this time. “You’re soaking already,” he groans, and you buck your hips, silently begging him to pull your sleep shorts down and feel it for himself.

Despite his teasing, he must feel as desperate as you because he’s quick to do exactly that and rub his finger against your folds. He curses loudly, the sound echoing in the quiet, and you spread your legs wider. “So fucking wet,” he chokes out, rubbing your swollen clit as he pushes his first finger inside of you. You’re so warm and tight and you feel yourself flutter around him.

“Donnie,” you gasp as he curls his finger just right. It’s the first word you’ve uttered, and he groans darkly at the desperation that coats the sound. He fucks you faster, his finger stretching you, drawing the most obscene sounds, wet slaps reverberating so loudly you’re sure everyone can hear them. You’re panting and flushed, hips grinding as he pumps in and out, and you moan loudly as he slips another digit inside.

He’s back to pressing open-mouthed kisses against your throat, lapping up the sweat that trickles down. “That’s it,” he murmurs reverently, sucking purple marks into your sensitive flesh and scissoring his fingers faster and harder, forceful pumps bordering on brutal. Your name is a growl on his tongue as he hits that perfect spot over and over, and you can’t stop yourself from mewling as he presses harshly against your sensitive nub, pleasure and pain blending in a way that makes you dizzy.

His pace is unrelenting and unforgiving, and you can feel the thrumming of your pulse, a delirious concoction of sensual agony shooting through your veins as you babble senselessly. “Donnie, please, please—”

He fixes his teeth over an especially delicate part of your throat and bites so hard you see stars, chest heaving and unable catch your breath as your walls clamp around his fingers. There’s going to be an outrageous mark, dark violet bruises and blatant indents of teeth in a place you have no hope of covering up, and the thought only makes you cry louder.

You think you might pass out for a minute or two as Donnie continues to finger-fuck you through your orgasm. You’re shaking and sensitive and sore, but he doesn’t let up even as you shiver and whine. “You can take it,” he tells you simply, and you nod quickly because you can, you’ll take whatever he gives you.

It doesn’t take long for you to reach the edge again, little gasps and whimpers slipping through your lips with every pump. He’s toying with you, a teasing grin pressed against the column of your throat that turns into a low laugh as you curse him for slowing whenever your thighs begin to tremble. Just as you think he’s about to slow again, he pinches your clit harshly and you can’t stop the wail that wrenches itself from your burning lungs.

His fingers fuck you through this orgasm too, spreading your legs wider as they spasm and weakly attempt to shut without his permission. Only when you fall still does he pull out, and you whimper more at the aching emptiness. He makes sure you’re watching as he brings his fingers to his mouth and tastes them; his tongue is playful, thick and flicking, and you feel the muscles of your stomach contract.

“Tease,” you croak, and his eyes somehow darken even further at just how wrecked you sound, your voice rasping and slurred.

“You’re right,” he agrees, brushing your folds again, digits stroking your puffy slit. You gasp as he pushes two fingers back in, squirming at the satisfying and sensitive discomfort shooting along your spine. “You’ve been so good.” He’s making those perfect curling motions inside of you and your back arches, tears gathering on your lashes as that agonising pleasure sparks, lighting up your blood and forcing your eyes to roll back.

“Donnie—”

There’s a pressure building, somehow more intense than before, and your thighs quiver as his fingers continue to fuck you without faltering, even as your legs threaten to snap closed at the unbearable sensitivity when he finds your clit once more.

You’re not sure if the sounds coming out of your mouth are words and you’re pretty sure you’re drooling, tongue lolling, but whatever noises escape your parted lips have Donnie pressing that spot inside you harder and harder, churring darkly. It's a sound that clatters through you as he returns his teeth to your throat like they belong there, like your neck is meant to be a canvas for his marks. “You can do it,” he groans. "You’re always so good for me.”

His fingers curl even more, and you choke on a moan as you realise what he’s asking for, what he’s building towards with every pump. Your own hand desperately grasps his forearm, not sure if you’re begging him to stop or urging him to keep going as you pant and whine, body writhing as he tears a sob from you that rattles your bones. “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” He’s tense, the muscles of his arm flexed and hard under your touch, and you can feel his sweat on your damp skin as he presses impossibly closer, almost lovingly nuzzling your neck now even as his fingers fuck you stupid.

You feel like you’re about to explode, the pressure agonising and tipping over into pain, blood boiling under your skin, and you can do nothing but cry wildly, screaming loud enough for everyone to hear, when you feel that tension inside you shatter like glass.

Donnie holds you as you convulse, shudders racking every inch of you, soft praises rushing from his lips as he presses gentle kisses along your jaw. He groans feeling your wetness gushing against him, soaking his plastron and his bedding, knowing your scent will cling to him and his bed for hours even after he showers and changes his sheets.

It's his favourite part, he thinks privately. It soothes something primal and animal within him, something he didn't even recognise until he had you writhing and coming undone under him for the first time. Making you lose control, satisfying you so good you can't help but squirt… He swallows the thought and scissors his fingers in you, watching the way you whimper with your eyes closed as he glides in and out of your pretty cunt with ease, your body always so responsive for him no matter what state you're in.

You’re certain you passed out this time, and when you come-to, Donnie still has his fingers inside of you, still pressing those feather-light kisses to your skin. You feel heavy and weightless all at once, eyelids fluttering, unsure whether to whine in relief or displeasure when his fingers retreat slowly and he brings them to his mouth again.

It takes you another minute to realise just how wet you are, your thighs glistening even in the low light, and the bed beneath you is completely drenched. You can’t muster any shame, only satisfaction coiling deep in your gut when you see just how soaked Donnie is too.

“Next time,” he breathes, voice guttural and promising, still sucking his fingers clean, “I want you on my face so I can drink every drop.”

You clench your thighs together, sore and aching and still so needy, and lick your lips. “That can be arranged.”

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Steamy Situations 18+ (Alastor x reader)

Alastor x reader Rated: Adults only Warnings: Smut. It's shower smut. Female bodied reader. Careful with your shower sex.

Summary: You're hot and bored and your husband is busy working. If only there was a way you could distract him, get some of his attention and cool off.

Interested in a Audio version of this fic? Part 1 Part 2 PS: https://discord.gg/q8kqx7ss is an Alastor server a friend of mine started and https://discord.gg/HeEbAHju is a vox server another friend of mine started. More friends are always nice to have <3

~~~~~<3 He had been slouched over his fucking desk for hours, working away at scripts for the next week’s broadcasts. They were perfect, probably had been for a while but when he was stressed, the perfectionist came out in full force. 

The summer heat and humidity had sweat sticking to your skin. Though the curtains were closed all day to keep the harsh sun from warming the house any more than possible, it was hot. 

The silk of your slip clung to your back as you crossed the room, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. If you were hot and grimy feeling, he had to be too. 

He huffed at the interruption, making you roll your eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” he mumbled, not looking up from the pages in his hands. 

“I didn’t-” 

“Don’t lie to me,” he set the papers down with a huff. “Can I do something for you?”

“I need a shower,” you said, running your palm up the back of his neck, threading your fingers into the short curls that had grown wild with the humidity.

“Take one?” He leaned back into your touch as tension slipped from his shoulders. 

“You need one as well.” Your thumb rubbed at the drop of sweat rolling down the side of his neck.

“It would appear so,” He said with a laugh, shifting to face you. “Do you have something in mind, my dear?” 

“Well,” you slipped into the space between his torso and the desk that had been newly opened up, “If you need a shower and I need a shower, we should both take a shower.”

“Good thing we have two showers!” Alastor’s grin was wide as you struggled against the urge to roll your eyes again. 

“Or,” you drew out the word as you ran your hand up his chest, “We could take one together.” 

“How scandalous.” He sounded anything but scandalized as he patted your thigh, light reflecting off the simple gold wedding band. “Let’s get on with it then.” 

~~~~~<3

You had innocent intentions, stepping into the bathroom. Honest. 

It’s just, when you saw his warm tan skin under the running water, sending the shampoo down the valleys and dips between his strong muscles, you found yourself feeling rather jealous. 

You hadn’t even intended for this to happen. One moment his shampoo was running down his chest and the next it was your hands. Soft, water cooled skin over firm muscles that spoke of how hard her worked to maintain the property jumped and twitched under your touch. 

The water wasn’t hot but it wasn’t cold either, being somewhere comfortably between to soothe away the heat. It did nothing to cool the heat quickly building between you as his hands went to rest on your hips. His frame blocked the spray of the water, mist fanning out around him, catching the light in a way that made it look like he was glowing. 

“What?” 

“You’re so handsome,” you whisper, hands running up his water cooled skin to pull him to you. 

Standing on your tip toes, you trusted him to hold you steady as you slotted your lips over his. Strong hands wrapped around your hips, thumbs tracing circles over wet skin as your naked front pressed against his. Water running over his shoulder filled what little gaps there were between you. 

With a sigh, he pulled his lips from yours only to leave a trail of kisses along your jaw, “Thank you, my Dear. I am but nothing in the face of the beauty you possess.” 

“You flirt,” you tease, softly slapping his wet shoulder. 

“Hardly,” his chuckle seemed to bounce off the walls of the small room, wrapping you up in it as much as you were wrapped in his arms as Alastor croons, “Your beauty transcends even the brightest of flowers” Alastor croons. 

Your protest died on your lips as his warm tongue ran along your neck, dragging higher until his lips pulled your ear lobe between his teeth. You arch in his arms, trying to put space between you. His thighs were pressed against yours, member twitching to life against you as you half heartedly tried to wiggle out of your husbands arms.

“You’re not slippery enough to get away from me yet,” Alastor teased, arms tightening around you and holding you flush against him.

“Alastor,” you whined as one hand run lower, grabbing a palmful of your ass, “We’re in the shower, stop it’s-”

“Indecent?” Alastor teased, pushing her against the cold wet tile of the wall. “Scandalous, even?” 

“Yes,” your voice was weak as he looked down at you, cock pressing up against your thigh.

“Was it not you,” Alastor’s fingers slipped over wet skin, running up your ribs to cup a breast. Skilled fingers pinched and pulled at your nipple, “who disturbed me at my work with this indecent idea? Wishing to shower together?” 

“Yes?” 

Whimpering, you struggled to keep yourself from sliding down the wall. Alastor’s strong thigh pressed between your knees, pushing until they parted under the pressure. You had no choice but to yield until his thigh pressed tightly against your core, ensuring you would remain standing.

“And now? HA! Now you expect me to keep my mind on something other than having my wife’s wet,” He kissed your shoulder as he pressed his thigh against your slit with every word that followed, “naked, soft, inviting body on full display?” 

“Alastor, I didn’t-” 

“Don’t lie to me,” Alastor pulled your hips forward, grinding your cunt against his thigh. “You think I can’t feel your slick? I know that’s not water. I’m going to give you exactly what you wanted.” 

The dark promise in his voice had your core clinching against nothing. Delicate muscles twitched as a soft moan fell from your lips. Blunt nails ran down your sides as he smiled down at you. Fingers dug into the fat at your thighs as he simultaneously lifted you off your feet and pinned your hips against the wall. 

On reflex, you wrapped your legs around him. Shower spray pelted your legs as you struggled to grip his wet body. His hands seemed to have no issue holding onto you though. 

He ran his cock through your folds, gathering the slick and lubricating himself. Each pass over your clit had you arching, gasping and rocking into him as you sought more friction. There wasn’t much you could do though, pinned to the shower wall as you were. It was just how he wanted you, at his mercy. 

“Alastor,” you whined his name. 

“Just hold onto me,” he said as he lined the head of his cock up with your entrance. You tensed in his arms. “Just relax, this is what you wanted.” 

He breached your entrance slowly. You spread around the fat head of his cock little by little as the unrelenting pressure left your body no choice. Pleasurable pain spread through you as he sank deeper and deeper within you. He was large and your body struggled to accommodate him without preparations. 

A shuddering ran up his spine as he bottomed out, forcing you to take all of him in one long slow thrust. Unstretched and unprepared, your body gripped him, walls fluttering around his cock as they strained to accommodate his considerable size.

You clung to him, arching in his arms as he chuckled against your shoulder. His body was burning against yours in contrast with the cold wet tile. It felt good. 

Rocking his hips, he worked his cock through your walls, ensuing you were spread over ever bit of him, taking all he had inside your walls as if there had been any doubt before. You gasped and twitched with ever shift of him inside you. Once he felt you had relaxed enough, he upped slowly from your body, holding you in place with his hands. 

Though his entrance and withdraw had been slow, what followed was anything but. He plunged inside you with such speed and force that your lower back slammed against the tile. He held you in place as his hips slammed into you again and again. 

You could do nothing but hold onto him and hope the water didn’t cause his feet to slip or you to slide out of his grip. Again and again, the head of his cock kissed your cervix with each thrust. 

Gasps turned into moans as he shifted your hips and his, letting the head of his cock rub against the spongy nerves that caused your cunt to flood with slick anew. Your fingers slipped over his shoulders, nails struggling to find grip before winding into his hair. Numb fingers pulled at his wet hair, his broken name all you can say as the coil inside you begins to tighten under his expert touch. 

“So tight,” you can feel his lips move against your neck as he fucks into you savagely. 

“Alas… Alastor,” your head falls back against the tile with a thump that you don’t feel. You’re so close now, so very close. No longer can you feel the cooling spray of the water or the tile. The sound of the shower is lost to you.

All you can feel is your husband’s body pressed against you, the grip he has on your thighs and his cock slamming into you again and again. All you can hear is his breath washing over you, soft praises whispered between moans and the music of his wet body meeting yours. 

With each powerful thrust, you could feel the twitch of his cock against your cervix. He was as close as you were. Knowing that you had the power to reduce the great radio host to rutting into you in the shower sent a thrill through you that was enough to push you over.

Your body clamped down around him as you came undone in his arms. The pull of your cunt trying to suck his cock deeper inside drew a long deep moan from him as his pace grew sloppy. A handful of thrusts later and he slammed himself inside, teeth latching onto your shoulder painfully tight as he tried to stifle moan that always came with his release. 

Rutting his hips into your twitching cunt to continue to stimulate himself, he refused to separate as his cock twitched and spasmed inside, seed shooting to paint your cervix with his essence and claim. 

As both your breathing calmed and he slowly began to soften, you unhooked your ankles from behind his back. His grip went slack, letting you stand on weak legs as his cock slipped out of you, leaving you feeling empty and sore but satisfied. At least for now. 

Alastor hummed as you settled against his chest, arms holding him in a light embrace. There was comfort in the sound of the popular tune and the sound of the shower spray. His strong hands rubbed suds into your body, lulling you further into relaxation. He washed your hair with tender care before allowing you to assist him with his own cleaning. 

Sitting you on the edge of the tub, he dried you with the same tender care. No one would believe he was the same man that so roughly, so quickly took you in the shower. As he rubbed the water from your hair, he tilted your head up and placed a soft chase kiss upon your sleepy lips. 

“I love you,” he said, smile as soft as his words. 

“I love you, too.” 

“Let’s get you to bed my Dear, so I can get back to work.” 

~~~~~<3 TagList: @catticora, @alastor-simp

[yourmomsawh0r3]

expecting

pairing: benedict bridgerton x f! wife reader

The soft morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, casting a warm glow across the grand bedchamber. Y/N stirred beneath the covers, her mind slowly rousing from the depths of sleep. She stretched her hand to the other side of the bed, expecting to find the familiar warmth of her husband, but instead, her fingers brushed against cold, empty sheets. Benedict had already risen, most likely absorbed in his work within the confines of his study.

She lingered in bed, her thoughts muddled by the lingering remnants of slumber, until a sharp pang of anxiety tightened in her chest. For several days now, a persistent worry had taken root within her, growing with each passing hour. She hesitated before throwing back the covers, her heart heavy with apprehension. Y/N’s gaze fell upon the bed linens, scrutinizing them with bated breath.

The sheets were immaculate, untouched by the crimson hue she had half-expected, half-dreaded to see. Her heart sank, frustration welling within her as she realized the implications. Another morning, another check, and still no sign of her monthly course. The absence of blood was both a blessing and a curse, for she knew what it likely meant.

They were still newlyweds, just months into their marriage, and while they had spoken of starting a family, Y/N had envisioned more time to enjoy their youthful union before the responsibilities of parenthood descended upon them. The thought of carrying Benedict’s child filled her with equal parts joy and trepidation. Was it too soon? Would he be ready for such a change, for the duties and demands that would come with fatherhood?

She rose from the bed, her movements languid as she wrapped her robe around herself. The silk fabric felt cool against her skin, a stark contrast to the warmth she yearned to feel. Y/N padded down the long hallway, her feet silent on the plush carpet as she made her way to Benedict’s study. She could hear the familiar sound of his pencil scratching against parchment, the melody of his creative process.

She paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of her husband. Benedict was bent over his work, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sketched, utterly absorbed in his task. Despite the seriousness of his expression, there was an undeniable gentleness about him that made her heart swell with love.

For a moment, Y/N considered turning away, letting him remain in his world of art and imagination, but she knew she couldn’t delay the conversation any longer. The uncertainty gnawed at her, and she needed to confide in him, to share her fears and hopes.

“Benedict,” she called softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up immediately, his features softening the moment his eyes met hers. A warm smile spread across his face, and he set his pencil aside, rising from his chair to greet her.

“Good morrow, my love,” he said, his voice filled with affection as he crossed the room to her. “I did not intend to wake you so early.”

“You did not wake me,” Y/N replied, attempting a smile as she stepped closer to him. “I simply found myself alone in our bed and wondered where you might be.”

Benedict wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into his embrace. He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering against her skin. “My mind was alight with ideas,” he explained, his tone light and teasing. “I had to capture them before they faded away like the morning mist.”

Y/N rested her head against his chest, her ear pressed to his heart. The steady rhythm soothed her, but the anxiety in her own chest remained. She knew she couldn’t keep her secret any longer. “Benedict, I must speak with you about something of great importance.”

He pulled back slightly, concern flickering in his blue eyes. “What is it, dearest? You seem troubled.”

Y/N took a deep breath, her hands gripping the lapels of his dressing gown as she gathered the courage to speak. “I have missed my monthly course,” she confessed, her voice trembling. “It has been late for several days now, and I believe I may be with child.”

The words hung in the air, a delicate truth that had the power to alter their lives forever. Y/N braced herself for Benedict’s reaction, her heart pounding in her chest. She feared he might be taken aback, that the prospect of fatherhood might overwhelm him, especially so soon after their marriage.

But to her surprise, Benedict’s expression changed not to one of shock or apprehension, but to one of pure, unadulterated joy. His eyes widened, and a broad smile broke across his face as he processed her words.

“You think…?” he stammered, his voice laced with wonder. “You believe you carry our child?”

Y/N nodded, tears welling in her eyes as she watched the happiness unfold across his face. “I did not know how to tell you… I feared it might be too soon, that you would be unprepared…”

Benedict’s hands cupped her face, his touch tender as he gazed down at her with all the love in his heart. “Too soon?” he echoed, his voice filled with emotion. “My love, there could be no greater news in the world. You have just given me the most precious gift I could ever receive.”

Before she could respond, Benedict swept her up into his arms, spinning her around in a joyful circle. Y/N’s laughter mingled with his, the sound of their happiness filling the room. When he finally set her down, he held her close, his forehead resting against hers as he whispered, “We are to be parents, Y/N. I can scarcely believe it.”

Y/N’s tears spilled over, but they were tears of relief, of joy, of overwhelming love. She pulled him into a deep kiss, pouring all of her emotions into the tender embrace. When they finally parted, she looked up at him, her heart full to bursting. “I love you, Benedict,” she whispered. “And I am so grateful that we will embark on this journey together.”

Benedict’s arms tightened around her, his voice a soft murmur in her ear. “I love you more than words can express. You will be the most wonderful mother, and I will strive every day to be the father our child deserves.”

As they stood there in the warmth of the study, wrapped in each other’s embrace, Y/N knew that whatever fears she had harbored had been unfounded. Benedict’s love for her was unwavering.

A few weeks had passed since Y/N had first shared the news with Benedict, and their excitement had only grown with each day. Though they had reveled in the secret together, they both knew it was time to share the joy with their families. The Bridgerton clan was nothing if not close-knit, and such news was sure to be met with elation.

The day was sunny, with a pleasant breeze that made the leaves rustle in the grand trees lining the estate. The entire Bridgerton family was gathered in the drawing room of Aubrey Hall, the laughter and chatter filling the air as the siblings exchanged stories and playful jests. It was a rare occasion when they were all together, and Benedict couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth as he looked around the room.

Y/N sat beside him, her hand resting in his, their fingers intertwined. She was calm on the surface, but he could sense the slight tremor in her hand, the only sign of her nerves. He gave her a reassuring squeeze, meeting her eyes with a smile that spoke of all the love and support he had for her.

Finally, when there was a lull in the conversation, Benedict cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the room. “If I may have your attention, everyone,” he began, his voice carrying a note of seriousness that was unusual in their light-hearted gatherings.

The room quieted, all eyes turning to Benedict and Y/N. There was a mixture of curiosity and concern in their expressions, each sibling wondering what news might be so important.

“We have something we would like to share with you all,” Benedict continued, his voice steady but filled with emotion. He glanced at Y/N, his gaze filled with encouragement. She nodded, and together, they turned back to the family.

“We are with child,” Y/N announced, her voice soft but clear.

For a moment, there was silence as the words sank in. Then, as if on cue, the room erupted in a chorus of exclamations, cheers, and laughter. Daphne, ever the nurturing one, was the first to rush forward, her face alight with joy as she embraced Y/N.

“Oh, Y/N! That is the most wonderful news!” Daphne exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine happiness. “You are going to make such a wonderful mother.”

The rest of the siblings quickly followed suit, surrounding the couple with congratulations and hugs. Even Anthony, who often took on the role of the stern eldest brother, couldn’t hide the smile that spread across his face.

“Well done, brother,” he said, clapping Benedict on the shoulder. “You’ve managed to outdo yourself this time.”

“Thank you, Anthony,” Benedict replied with a grin, knowing that beneath his brother’s teasing exterior, there was deep affection.

Violet, their mother, had tears in her eyes as she enveloped Y/N in a warm embrace. “My dear, I am so happy for you both,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You are bringing such joy to this family.”

Y/N felt overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and support. She had known that the Bridgertons would be thrilled, but the reality of it was even more touching than she had imagined. Benedict stood beside her, his arm around her waist, his pride and happiness evident in every gesture.

The rest of the day was filled with celebration. The family insisted on toasting the couple’s happiness, and there was much talk of the future, of names and nurseries, of the roles each sibling would play in the life of the new addition. Colin, ever the joker, made a grand show of predicting whether it would be a boy or a girl, while Eloise teased that she would teach the child all the ways of mischief.

As the evening drew to a close and the family began to disperse, Benedict and Y/N found themselves alone in the garden, the quiet night a stark contrast to the lively atmosphere of earlier. The stars were beginning to twinkle in the sky, and the soft rustle of the leaves provided a gentle melody to their solitude.

Benedict turned to Y/N, his expression tender as he took her hands in his. “Are you pleased, my love?” he asked, his voice low and intimate.

“More than I could ever put into words,” she replied, her heart full to bursting with the love she felt for him and for the family they were building together.

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “We are going to be wonderful parents, Y/N,” he murmured against her skin. “And our child will be surrounded by so much love. I cannot wait to begin this new chapter with you.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears, not of sadness but of overwhelming joy. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close as she whispered, “Nor can I, Benedict. Nor can I.”

And so, beneath the canopy of stars, they stood together, holding each other close as they looked forward to the future, their hearts filled with the promise of the life they would share a life of love, of family, and of unbreakable bonds.

[novaursa]

Legacy (cold winds)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: The canon timeline is altered to fit the narrative of the story.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: winter is coming

- Next part: the march

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi

The cold stretched endlessly in all directions, an oppressive blanket of darkness broken only by faint whispers of light. Snow swirled in the air, glittering like shards of glass, and the ground beneath you was hard, frozen, unyielding. The world was quiet—too quiet. You took a step forward, your breath misting before you in the bitter chill.

The horizon loomed with a storm, black as night, and from it came a sound that chilled your blood: the shriek of wights, the groaning of the dead, and the steady thrum of them. The Others.

You shivered, though not from the cold. As you looked around, shadowy figures began to appear—half-formed memories or specters of the past. Faces you knew, faces you loved, flickering like distant stars. And then, standing amidst the snow, his silver hair flowing like a banner in the wind, you saw him.

"Rhaegar," you whispered.

Your elder brother turned toward you, his face calm and untroubled, as though the storm did not rage around him. His indigo eyes softened as they met yours, and he held out a hand. “You are afraid,” he said quietly, his voice soothing, like a harp string vibrating through the cold air.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. “Is it true? The Long Night? Is this what’s coming?”

Rhaegar nodded once, solemn and knowing. “It is coming, sister. The darkness. The fire and ice that will clash.” His voice carried the weight of prophecy, of something inevitable. “But you will not face it alone.”

Your brow furrowed as you looked at him, your breath ragged. “How? How can I stop it?”

Rhaegar said nothing for a long moment. Then his gaze flicked past you, toward something in the distance. You turned your head slowly and saw a figure emerging through the swirling snow—a man grown, tall and broad-shouldered, with silver-gold hair and deep violet eyes flecked with green. He stood proudly in armor that gleamed faintly with red and gold, his expression unreadable as he looked back at you.

“Damon,” you breathed, recognizing your son, though his features were blurred, shadowed by the mist. He was older, perhaps a man of ten-and-seven, but there was something regal, something powerful about him.

The storm roared louder, a cry of wights and shadow descending. Damon turned toward it, his hand reaching for something at his side. A sword—a blade of black glass and shimmering steel—appeared in his grip, and as he lifted it, light radiated from the weapon, breaking through the gloom.

“Protect him,” Rhaegar’s voice came, soft but firm. “He is the flame in the dark. He is your legacy.”

Tears stung your eyes as you looked back at your brother. “I don’t know how,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“You will,” Rhaegar said gently, stepping toward you and placing his hand on your cheek. His touch was warm, a stark contrast to the freezing world around you. “You are stronger than you know, Y/N.”

The storm surged closer, the shadows rising like a tidal wave, and you felt a surge of panic. “Rhaegar—”

“Wake up.”

The storm cracked like thunder, and suddenly, everything went black.

You gasped awake, your chest heaving as you sat bolt upright. Your entire body was trembling, your skin slick with sweat despite the cold air around you. For a moment, you could still see the storm, hear the cry of wights, feel Rhaegar’s hand on your cheek. But it was gone—fading like a dream.

“Y/N!” Arya’s voice broke through your haze. The girl was crouched at your side, her face pale and wide-eyed, her hands gripping your arm. “You’re awake—you’re awake!” she said quickly, as though to reassure herself.

You blinked, trying to steady your breathing. “Arya?” Your voice was hoarse, raw. “What happened?”

Arya let out a shaky breath. “You were… shouting. Thrashing around. You woke me up, and I thought—” She cut herself off, her expression a mix of fear and relief. “Are you alright?”

You took a deep breath, rubbing your hands over your face. “It was a dream. Just a dream.”

Arya sat back on her heels, studying you warily. “You don’t look like it was just a dream.”

You looked at her, considering whether to explain, but the vision was still too raw, too real. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

Arya scowled at you, the sharpness of her gaze reminiscent of her father’s. “Don’t lie to me. You’re sweating like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Your lips twitched faintly at her stubbornness, though your heart still raced. “I saw my brother. Rhaegar.”

Arya’s frown deepened. “The one they said started the war?”

“Yes,” you replied softly, your mind still lingering on his face, so calm amidst the chaos. “He spoke to me. And I saw my son… older. A man.”

Arya’s expression softened slightly. “Damon?”

You nodded, glancing toward the sleeping bundle in the corner of the room. “He was strong, Arya. Stronger than I’ve ever seen. But…” You swallowed, the words catching in your throat. “The world around him was dark—so dark.”

Arya glanced over at Damon, her face conflicted. “What does it mean?”

You shook your head, forcing yourself to calm. “I don’t know yet.” You exhaled, letting the tension in your shoulders ease. “But I will find out.”

Arya shifted closer to you, her voice quieter now. “Do you think it has something to do with the dragon? With Viserion?”

“Maybe,” you admitted. “Viserion brought me here for a reason. Everything that’s happened—everything I’ve seen—it’s leading somewhere.”

Arya was silent for a moment, then nodded firmly. “We’ll figure it out. You’ll figure it out.”

You managed a faint smile, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “You sound like Jon.”

Arya looked away at that, her expression tightening. “I miss him,” she admitted quietly. “If he’s alive, we’ll find him.”

“We will,” you promised, though the weight of the dream still lingered in your heart like a shadow.

You lay back down as Arya settled beside you, her watchful gaze never leaving you. The vision of the Long Night, the storm of ice and darkness, and the sight of Damon with his sword burned in your mind like a brand. You didn’t yet know what it meant, but you would not ignore it. Rhaegar’s voice still echoed in your ears: “He is the flame in the dark.”

And you would protect that flame—no matter what it cost.

The sun was low on the horizon when the gates of Casterly Rock swung open. The distant sound of hooves clattering on stone echoed through the courtyard as Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, rode into his ancestral home. He sat tall in the saddle, his golden hair catching the waning light like a banner. At his side, his polished sword gleamed, though his right arm hung noticeably light and empty where his hand once was.

Soldiers paused to glance at him as he passed, whispers rippling through the ranks. Jaime paid them little mind, his sharp gaze fixed on the looming doors ahead as he dismounted. He handed the reins to a stable boy, who stumbled over himself as he took the stallion.

“Where is my lord father?” Jaime asked curtly.

One of the guards stepped forward. “In the great hall, Ser Jaime.”

Without another word, Jaime strode forward, his boots clicking purposefully against the stone floors of the Rock. The weight of the fortress, the history of his family, felt heavier here than it had ever been. His return was no triumphant homecoming; instead, it was shadowed by the unease of rumors that had reached King’s Landing. Whispers of dragons and magic beneath the Rock.

He found Tywin Lannister seated at the long table in the great hall, a candlelit map stretched before him. Papers and ledgers were scattered alongside goblets of wine. Tywin looked up as Jaime entered, his pale green eyes narrowing ever so slightly. His expression, as always, was unreadable.

“Jaime,” Tywin said with little warmth. “I expected you sooner.”

“Then you’ve been waiting for me,” Jaime replied, his tone carrying its usual flippancy. “Rumors tend to travel faster than I do these days, father.” He stopped at the edge of the table, his left hand resting on his belt. “I came to see for myself.”

Tywin’s brow furrowed faintly. “See what?”

“The dragon,” Jaime said bluntly. “Or whatever it is the smallfolk are whispering about.”

The hall fell into a brief silence, the crackle of the fire filling the void. Tywin didn’t flinch, nor did he look away. “And what do you make of it?” he asked, his voice cold, testing.

Jaime tilted his head, giving his father a hard look. “I didn’t believe it at first. Thought it was nothing more than bard’s nonsense. But the stories... they’re too many to ignore. A cream-and-gold beast seen circling above the Riverlands, and now people whisper it lives beneath the Rock. Tell me, is it true?”

Tywin sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he regarded his son. “What difference would it make if it were true?”

“It makes a great deal of difference,” Jaime shot back. “You’ve built your entire life on power, on order. Now the world is whispering that a dragon—a Targaryen’s dragon—is under your feet. That your wife is missing and has vanished on its back. And you’re sitting here pretending all is as it should be.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed at the edge in Jaime’s tone, though his composure didn’t break. “Control your tongue.”

Jaime huffed a humorless laugh. “I’m not one of your bannermen, Father. I came here to know the truth. Is there a dragon, yes or no?”

For a long moment, Tywin said nothing. The firelight danced across his sharp features, shadows deepening the lines on his face. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and measured.

“Yes.”

Jaime froze, his flippant demeanor faltering just slightly as the word hung heavy in the air. He blinked, as though trying to reconcile what he’d just heard. “There really is a dragon.”

“There is,” Tywin confirmed, his tone matter-of-fact. “And my wife, your stepmother, rides it.”

Jaime paced a few steps away, running his hand through his golden hair, clearly unsettled. “Gods, what’s happened to us? First you marry a Targaryen, now we’re harboring dragons?”

Tywin’s gaze sharpened. “Mind your words. This is not a cause for jest.”

Jaime turned back to him, his expression serious. “You’re harboring something the realm will fear. The North is lost in snow, and now you’ve got a beast the size of a warship lurking beneath your feet. Do you even know where she’s gone? Your precious Targaryen wife?”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “She will return.”

Jaime raised a brow, mockery lingering in his tone. “Will she? You don’t sound convinced.”

“I am,” Tywin snapped, his voice low but filled with steel. “Do not mistake my silence for uncertainty.”

The two men stared at each other, the tension in the air palpable. Finally, Jaime broke the silence, shaking his head with a tired sigh. “I hope you’re right. For your sake. For the boy’s sake.”

At the mention of Damon, Tywin’s expression softened a fraction, though his demeanor remained composed. “This is about more than whispers and rumors, Jaime. This is about legacy.”

Jaime’s expression darkened. “Legacy. Always legacy.” He met his father’s gaze with a flicker of bitterness. “Tell me something, Father. Do you trust her? Your silver-haired bride?”

Tywin stared at him for a long moment. “I trust her to understand the weight of what’s at stake.”

Jaime said nothing, his silence speaking volumes as he turned and strode toward the door. Before leaving, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “I hope your faith isn’t misplaced, Father. Because if you’re wrong... you’re bringing fire and blood back to this world.”

And with that, he disappeared into the shadows of the corridor, leaving Tywin alone with his thoughts. The faint crackle of the fire was the only sound that remained as Tywin stared at the maps on the table. Jaime’s words lingered in the air like smoke.

Fire and blood.

The old words of House Targaryen echoed in his mind, and for the first time in years, Tywin felt the weight of uncertainty press against his chest. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, his face carved in stone.

Wherever Y/N was, she carried with her something that could change the world. And now, Tywin had no choice but to continue to wait.

The evening air around the Brotherhood’s camp crackled with an uneasy calm. Smoke curled lazily from the firepit, curling into the canopy of the gnarled oaks above. You sat beside Arya, the rough edge of the log biting into your legs as you watched Gendry hammering a new contraption together—a crude saddle meant for Viserion. The boy worked diligently, his face glistening with sweat despite the chill in the air. The other men of the Brotherhood murmured around him, either offering advice or casting wary glances toward the clearing where Viserion rested.

The dragon’s golden-cream scales glimmered faintly in the low light, her hulking form a shadow in the growing dusk. Though she had settled for now, every flick of her tail sent ripples of unease through the men. A Targaryen’s dragon, beneath the stars of the Riverlands. It was a sight that had no place in this world—yet here it was.

“Almost done,” Gendry grunted, wiping his brow with the back of his arm. “This will hold better than your cloak ever could.”

Arya glanced up from where she sat beside you, still running a cloth over Needle in a near-ritualistic motion. “About time,” she said, though her tone was more impatient than critical. She turned to you with her sharp grey eyes. “When are you going to leave, Y/N? You have a dragon. You can just fly to the Wall. Burn the Others before they come.”

You sighed, staring into the fire as the flames flickered and danced. “It’s not that simple, Arya.”

“It is!” she snapped, stubborn as always. “You could end it before it starts. That’s what dragons do, isn’t it? Burn things?”

“Not everything can be burned,” a deep voice said. Beric Dondarrion emerged from the shadows, his scarred face catching the firelight. “Dragons may have conquered men, but they are not the answer to all battles.”

Arya scowled. “Why not? She has the power. She should use it.”

Beric sat on the log across from you, his one good eye pinning you with a knowing look. “The Wall is not merely ice and stone, girl. There is magic there—old magic. Queen Alysanne once tried to fly her Silverwing beyond it, and the beast turned back every time. It refused.”

Arya looked incredulous. “A dragon refused?”

You nodded faintly, your voice soft but firm. “Dragons know things we don’t, Arya. They feel the pull of the world. The Wall… it holds something back. A force greater than fire alone.”

Beric tilted his head, still watching you. “And yet, you’ve seen beyond it, haven’t you?”

You stiffened slightly, the memory of the Long Night flashing in your mind—the cold, the screams, the endless dark. “I’ve seen glimpses. Shadows and fire. But if I tell anyone…” You shook your head, bitter laughter escaping your lips. “No one would listen. They would call me mad, just as they called my father.”

Arya bristled at that. “You’re not mad, Y/N. You’re not like him.”

“Not yet,” you muttered darkly. The fire cast shadows across your face, making the thought seem heavier. “But to the world, the name ‘Targaryen’ is enough to sow doubt.”

Arya turned to Beric and Thoros, frustration clear in her voice. “Then she has to make Tywin listen. Everyone listens to him.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that—sharp and humorless. “Tywin Lannister believes what he sees and nothing more. I would sooner teach a fish to march across Westeros than convince him of my dreams.”

Thoros chuckled from where he sat, swirling his cup of wine. “If you give up before you start, you’ll never know what can be done, my lady.”

Beric leaned forward, his tone more serious. “You underestimate yourself, Y/N. You are the blood of dragons, and fire runs through your veins. That is no accident.”

You stared at him, feeling the weight of his words press against your chest. “And what does that matter if no one will believe me? The North will freeze, the dead will rise, and the realm will fight itself to the end.”

“Then you must make them see,” Beric said simply. “You are stronger than doubt. Stronger than them.”

Arya tugged on your sleeve suddenly, her voice quieter. “You’re going back, aren’t you? To him.”

You glanced down at her, her grey eyes so much like Jon’s it made your heart ache. “I have to, Arya,” you murmured. “I can’t stay here forever. My son is waiting for me.”

Arya turned her face away, the flickering firelight catching the glint of tears she stubbornly refused to let fall. “It’s not fair. You just got here.”

You reached over and brushed her hair back from her face, forcing a faint smile. “I’ll come back. I promise.”

“You’d better,” Arya muttered, her voice wavering just slightly. “You always keep your promises.”

For a long while, the camp fell silent except for the crackling of the fire and the occasional deep rumble of Viserion in the clearing. The men were settling down for the night, but you remained seated on the log, watching the embers glow. Beric’s words echoed in your head: You are stronger than doubt. Stronger than them.

You looked toward Viserion’s looming silhouette, her massive wings tucked neatly at her sides. A creature of power and fire, waiting—like you—for what was to come. 

The attack came with no warning. The Brotherhood camp, peaceful under the canopy of ancient oaks, was suddenly filled with the thunder of hooves, the screams of men, and the clash of steel. Shadows moved in the darkness—soldiers, brigands, or perhaps both—ambushing the camp with ruthless precision. Brotherhood men scrambled for their weapons, hastily drawing blades and bows as enemies flooded in, cutting down tents and scattering supplies.

Arya stood frozen for half a heartbeat as chaos erupted around her. “Gendry!” she yelled, spotting him near the fire. He swung his hammer with all the strength of a blacksmith, but he was outnumbered.

“Get back!” Gendry shouted at her, teeth gritted as he swung his weapon into an attacker’s chest. “Run, Arya! Now!”

Arya grabbed Needle, its familiar weight grounding her as her instincts kicked in. She darted through the melee, slipping between bodies and swinging her blade at anyone who came too close. The air was thick with the copper tang of blood and the acrid smell of smoke. Men shouted, some calling orders, others screaming their last breaths.

From a distance, Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr fought side by side, flames licking from Beric’s sword as it cut through the darkness like a beacon. “Hold the line!” Beric roared, his voice carrying above the din. “They’re breaking—stand your ground!”

But Arya knew the Brotherhood was outnumbered. This wasn’t a simple skirmish; it was a slaughter.

And then, just as the night seemed ready to consume them, the air itself split open with a sound unlike any other—a thunderous, bone-deep shriek that rattled the earth. The attackers faltered, their eyes snapping upward, faces going pale with terror.

“Dragon!” someone screamed, pointing toward the sky.

Arya turned just in time to see Viserion.

The dragon descended like a storm from the heavens. You were seated firmly on her back, your cloak streaming behind you, and the firelight reflected in your violet eyes. You were a vision of fury—a dragonrider born from fire and blood.

“Y/N!” Arya shouted, her voice lost in the growing roar of wings.

Viserion swooped low, and the air erupted in a wall of fire. It burst from her jaws, a torrent of golden flame that consumed everything in its path. The ambushers screamed in terror as the dragonfire crashed into the earth, engulfing men, horses, and trees alike. The flames roared hungrily, crackling with an otherworldly heat as they turned the night into day.

Thoros had stopped in his tracks, standing amidst the swirling smoke and cinders. His face was illuminated by the firelight, eyes wide and unblinking as he stared at the divine force unleashed before him. “It’s the fire of the gods,” he murmured, voice trembling. “By R’hllor…”

Beric grabbed Thoros by the arm, shaking him from his stupor. “Move! We need to regroup!”

But Thoros stood frozen, watching as the golden flames licked the earth clean of their enemies. He looked like a man glimpsing prophecy in its rawest form.

Above the battlefield, you guided Viserion higher into the sky, your heart pounding in your chest as the dragon’s mighty wings beat against the air. The fire below died out in scattered embers, leaving blackened earth and smoldering ash in its wake. You dared to look back one last time.

On the ground, you saw Arya. She stood apart from the others, her face tilted upward as she watched you rise into the night sky. Even from this distance, you could see the grief etched into her young face—grief and awe. She raised a hand as if to wave, though she knew you couldn’t see her clearly.

For a brief moment, guilt clawed at your chest. You had promised to stay. Promised to come back for her. But you couldn’t wait any longer. Damon needed you. Tywin needed to know what was coming.

“Goodbye, Arya,” you whispered into the wind.

Viserion shrieked again, the sound splitting the sky like a blade. Arya flinched but didn’t look away, her grey eyes locked onto you until you disappeared into the horizon, swallowed by the black night.

On the ground, the Brotherhood began to gather what remained of their camp. Thoros still stood amidst the ash, staring into the dying embers with awe. Beric came up beside him, his face shadowed with worry.

“She’s gone,” Beric muttered, glancing toward the sky. “Back to her world.”

Thoros did not look away from the flame. “She rides with fire. It is her path.”

Arya said nothing as she turned from the smoldering field, Needle still clutched in her hand. She felt cold despite the heat of the fires that had raged moments ago. She hadn’t called out to you as you flew away; there was no point.

She swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as her fists clenched at her sides. “She’ll come back,” Arya said, more to herself than anyone else. “She promised.”

But as the cold night air settled over the ruined camp, Arya wondered if promises could survive dragons, war, and the dark future that loomed over them all.

Tywin Lannister sat at the head of the war table, his expression as carved and unreadable as ever. Lords, captains, and advisors filled the chamber, gathered for yet another council—reports of the Riverlands unrest, whispers of winter pressing further south, and rumors still murmured from the North. Jaime Lannister stood to the side, arms crossed as he leaned against a column with his usual air of irritation.

“Riverlords refuse to cooperate, my lord,” Kevan reported. “Our garrisons hold for now, but morale is strained. The men—”

The words were cut short by an earth-shaking roar.

Every head in the room turned sharply, stunned into silence. It was not the sound of a man or a beast of this world, but something ancient and terrible—a sound that rattled stone and made hearts clench with primal fear.

“What in Seven Hells was that?” Jaime’s voice broke the silence, though he pushed himself away from the column as though ready to fight.

Another roar followed, louder this time, echoing off the walls of the great castle, sending a cascade of dust from the ceiling beams. Tywin’s eyes narrowed as he rose from his seat. “Out. Everyone. Now.”

Lords and soldiers scrambled in confusion, shoving back chairs and bolting for the door as the roar sounded again. The ground quaked faintly beneath their feet.

Kevan stepped to Tywin’s side, his face pale. “Could it be…?”

“It is,” Tywin said sharply, his voice betraying no fear, only simmering frustration. “Jaime, with me.”

Jaime drew himself up, his face contorted with disbelief, though there was a flicker of awe buried beneath it. “A dragon?”

Tywin shot him a hard look. “Move.”

Together they strode out of the chamber, flanked by guards and advisors who whispered nervously among themselves. The halls of Casterly Rock were alive with commotion—maids screamed and darted for shelter, while soldiers rushed to man the walls, their swords and spears rattling in their hands.

The massive double doors leading to the courtyard were already open, and Tywin stepped out into the light. The moment he did, he came to a halt, and every man around him froze.

Viserion loomed above the castle.

The she-dragon descended from the heavens like a herald of the gods, her scales blazing against the sun. Her wings beat the air with force that sent banners whipping and sent men staggering back. Horses reared in terror, their panicked shrieks mingling with the booming sound of the dragon’s wings.

“Hold your ground!” Tywin barked, his voice sharp and commanding. Soldiers faltered but steadied themselves, their weapons shaking as they watched the beast circle once more.

The dragon shrieked—a sound that struck deep into the hearts of every man present—before she tucked her wings and swooped low. Jaime swore under his breath as the dragon descended, massive claws kicking up dust and stone as she landed in the center of the courtyard with a reverberating thud.

Everything fell silent.

The dust began to settle, and Tywin’s gaze remained fixed on the dragon, whose molten gold eyes surveyed the gathered men like they were little more than ants. Then, from the creature’s back, you appeared—your violet eyes sharp, your silver hair wild from the wind, your cloak stained from weeks of travel. You held your back straight, regal, even as your hands pressed carefully against Viserion’s scales.

The courtyard gaped.

“Seven bloody Hells,” Jaime muttered, taking a step back. “It’s true.”

Tywin’s gaze didn’t waver as you swung yourself down, landing firmly on the ground. You winced briefly as your boots hit the stone, the wounds from your earlier ride still tender, but you said nothing. Viserion shifted behind you, her massive head hovering just above your shoulder as she let out a low, guttural growl.

The men around you shuffled nervously, swords halfway drawn but held steady under Tywin’s iron glare.

“Stay where you are,” Tywin commanded, his voice cutting through the tension. He moved forward slowly, his steps deliberate as his piercing green eyes fixed on you. “Y/N.”

You stood your ground, chin lifted, though the exhaustion in your limbs weighed heavy. “Lord Husband,” you said smoothly, though your voice carried the faint edge of someone who had not rested in days. “I trust I haven’t caused too much of a commotion.”

Tywin stopped a few paces from you, his sharp gaze flickering between you and the dragon behind you. “Where have you been?” His voice was low, deadly calm.

You hesitated, feeling the dozens of eyes on you—guards, knights, lords, servants—all waiting, hanging on your words. “Where I was meant to go,” you said cryptically. “The High Heart.”

Tywin’s expression tightened. “You vanished without word, left your son behind, and now return astride a dragon. What exactly am I to make of this?”

Jaime stepped closer to Tywin’s side, his one hand resting on the pommel of his sword, though he made no move to draw it. “You’ve caused quite the stir, Lady Y/N. What in the world possessed you to—?”

“I did what needed to be done,” you interrupted sharply, your eyes snapping to Jaime before turning back to Tywin. “And I have returned to fulfill what must come next.”

Tywin studied you for a long moment, his gaze as cold and calculating as ever. “The men are frightened. The people will talk.”

“Let them talk,” you said evenly, stepping forward. “They will talk of dragons. And they will listen when we speak.”

There was silence for a beat as Tywin considered you, his expression unreadable. Behind you, Viserion let out another low rumble, her tail curling protectively along the ground.

Finally, Tywin straightened, his face carved into stone. “You will explain everything. Inside.”

You inclined your head. “As you wish.”

Tywin turned sharply, barking orders to his guards. “Clear the courtyard! Stabilize the horses—send word that all is well.”

Jaime lingered for a moment longer, his face a mixture of awe and disbelief as he looked at you. “I always thought the stories were exaggerated. I see now they weren’t.”

You met his gaze, unflinching. “The world is far stranger than any story, Ser Jaime.”

With that, you turned and began to follow Tywin back into Casterly Rock. Behind you, Viserion watched silently, her golden eyes fixed on the retreating men as if daring them to make a move. The courtyard began to empty, the air still thick with the smell of smoke and the lingering echoes of chaos.

As you walked past Tywin’s side, his voice dropped low enough for only you to hear. “You have much to answer for.”

“And much to show you,” you replied quietly.

For the first time in years, Tywin Lannister felt the weight of something greater than power itself pressing against his mind—something he could not control. A dragon had returned to Casterly Rock, and the world, he knew, would never be the same.

The great halls of Casterly Rock echoed faintly as Tywin Lannister led you through the winding stone corridors. The heavy doors to the courtyard had slammed shut behind the both of you, sealing away the chaos and whispers. Tywin’s steps were brisk, his presence imposing even in silence. You kept pace, though the weight of exhaustion pulled at your limbs with every step.

Guards and servants lingered against the walls, their eyes flicking nervously toward you before darting away. No doubt the sight of you astride Viserion was now spreading like wildfire through the castle. A Targaryen wife, returned on dragonback—it was the sort of story that men would turn into legend.

Tywin said nothing until you reached the door to the nursery. He pushed it open with a firm hand, the soft glow of candlelight spilling into the corridor. “In here,” he commanded, his voice low but resolute.

You stepped inside the nursery, the air immediately warmer and more comforting than the cavernous halls. The faint sound of a baby’s soft coos greeted your ears, pulling a gentle smile to your lips. Damon, now around seven moons old, sat upright in his crib, propped by cushions to keep him steady. His silver-gold hair caught the candlelight like spun silk as his chubby fingers clumsily gripped a small wooden lion. He turned his head as you entered, his wide violet eyes blinking with innocent curiosity.

Tywin’s demeanor softened, ever so slightly, as he moved to stand beside the crib. He regarded his son—his heir—with quiet pride, though his face remained as composed as ever.

“You should not have been gone so long,” Tywin said finally, breaking the silence. “He missed you.”

You moved to the crib, running your fingers gently over Damon’s soft cheek. He cooed, his small hand reaching for yours, and you smiled faintly. “And I missed him,” you said softly, the ache of separation lingering in your voice. “Every day.”

Tywin regarded you closely, his sharp eyes studying your face as you continued to watch your son. “Where did you go, Y/N? What madness compelled you to leave?”

You didn’t look at him, your voice steady as you replied. “To the High Heart, as I told you. Something… someone called me there.”

“Who?” Tywin’s question cut through the air like a blade.

You finally turned to meet his gaze, your violet eyes unwavering. “A voice from my dreams. From my bloodline, perhaps. I do not yet fully understand it myself.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, his skepticism plain to see. “Dreams. Whispers. That is what you risked everything for?”

“I risked everything to protect this,” you said sharply, gesturing toward Damon. “To protect him. To protect you. You may not believe me, Tywin, but you will listen.”

Tywin’s expression darkened, but there was no retort. He simply watched you, as though weighing the truth of your words.

Damon let out another soft sound, his small hand wrapping around your finger as he grinned toothlessly, oblivious to the tension in the room. For a moment, the heaviness between you and Tywin eased, replaced by the quiet hum of the nursery and the warmth of your son’s presence.

“He looks stronger,” you murmured, brushing Damon’s silver-gold hair back gently. “You’ve cared for him well.”

Tywin’s gaze softened, though his voice remained steady. “He is my son. My heir. I would not allow harm to come to him.”

You looked up at Tywin, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across his sharp features. “Then trust me when I say that harm is coming. You don’t have to believe my words, but the signs are already here. The winds from the North grow colder. The Wall grows restless. The world will burn or freeze, Tywin. I have seen it.”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line, his frustration barely concealed. “I cannot build armies on whispers and shadows, Y/N.”

“Then what will you do when shadows turn into an army of the dead?” you challenged, your voice quiet but firm. “What will you do when the Wall is not enough? When this castle—your precious Rock—is nothing more than rubble beneath snow and ice?”

Tywin stared at you, his jaw set, his silence betraying the faintest crack in his certainty. He was not a man given to imagination, to prophecies or legends—but you could see the flicker of doubt in his gaze.

Before he could answer, his eyes darted lower, a flicker of something sharper—concern or curiosity—crossing his face. “What is this?”

You frowned, following his gaze as he reached toward your side, where the hem of your gown hung uneven. Tywin gently caught your wrist and turned your arm to examine the faint red lines beneath the fabric, some scabbed, others only just beginning to heal.

“They’re nothing,” you said quickly, trying to pull your arm free, but his grip tightened, careful but unyielding.

“Nothing?” Tywin’s tone turned cold, his pale green eyes snapping to yours. “These are not ‘nothing.’ How did this happen?”

You hesitated, knowing Tywin would not relent until you answered. “The scales,” you admitted quietly, looking away. “Viserion’s scales cut me when I rode her. It’s my fault for not being prepared.”

Tywin exhaled through his nose, the faintest trace of irritation in his expression. “And you didn’t think to tend to this?”

“It is nothing,” you repeated stubbornly, pulling your arm back as you met his gaze once more. “I’ve had worse.”

“Worse or not, it is reckless,” Tywin said curtly, his eyes narrowing. “You do not risk yourself like this—not when your son needs you.”

“I did what I had to,” you replied softly, but firmly. “And I will do it again if it means keeping him safe.”

Tywin said nothing, but his gaze lingered on you for a long moment. It was not anger you saw in his eyes, nor disappointment, but something else—something harder to name. It was as though he were seeing you anew, taking the measure of the woman before him, one who rode dragons and spoke of nightmares made real.

Finally, he straightened, his composure settling back into place. “The maester will see to those wounds.”

You almost laughed. “I’ll manage.”

“You will see him,” Tywin repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. He turned back to the crib, brushing his fingertips over Damon’s small blanket with unexpected gentleness. “For his sake.”

You sighed, relenting. “Very well.”

There was silence for a moment, the flicker of the candlelight throwing your shadows across the nursery walls. Tywin’s presence, as always, filled the room—but this time it was less oppressive, softer, as though something unspoken lingered between you both.

“Rest,” he said finally, his voice quieter. “There will be much to discuss tomorrow.”

And with that, Tywin Lannister turned and left the room, his steps fading down the corridor. You sat down carefully beside Damon’s crib, exhaling deeply as the weight of your journey and the future yet to come pressed against your shoulders.

You ran your fingers gently over Damon’s tiny hand as he sat, his wide eyes now starting to flutter closed, exhaustion overtaking him. “For you, my son. Always for you,” you whispered softly.

You stood by the window, watching the ocean waves crash against the cliffs far below Casterly Rock. The air was crisp and salty, carrying a faint chill that clung to your skin. Damon cooed softly in his crib behind you, watched carefully by the ever-diligent nursemaid, who hummed a lullaby under her breath.

You were half lost in thought when a knock came at the door.

“Enter,” you called, turning away from the window.

The door opened, and Jaime Lannister stepped inside, his gilded armor glinting faintly in the light. His single hand, as always, rested against the pommel of his sword, but his posture was far from threatening. There was something unusual in his expression—hesitation, perhaps, or curiosity—as he regarded you with his piercing green eyes.

“Ser Jaime,” you greeted, arching a brow. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Jaime tilted his head slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Pleasure? I doubt my presence here is that pleasant.”

“True,” you replied smoothly, turning fully to face him. “We’ve never truly spoken, despite… circumstances.”

Jaime glanced at the nursemaid and nodded toward the door. “Leave us.”

The woman looked to you for confirmation. You nodded, and she gathered her things, retreating with a bow. When the door clicked shut behind her, Jaime’s smile faltered. He looked uncertain now, his gaze flickering briefly to Damon in his crib before settling back on you.

“I suppose that’s true,” Jaime said finally, crossing his arms. “It’s strange, isn’t it? You’ve been in this family for long now, and yet we’re little more than strangers.”

“Perhaps we preferred it that way,” you remarked, folding your hands before you. “What is it you wanted to say, Ser Jaime?”

Jaime seemed to weigh his words carefully, a rare sight for him. He paced a few steps, looking down at the ornate rug beneath his feet before stopping abruptly. “I came to speak of… the past.”

You felt the tension in your shoulders stiffen. “Be specific.”

“The day I killed your father.”

The words hung in the air like a blade suspended by a thread. Your breath stilled, but your face remained composed, years of royal upbringing keeping your emotions hidden. “I do not wish to speak of that day.”

“You think I do?” Jaime retorted, his voice edged with bitterness. “That day—what happened—will follow me to my grave. Kingslayer, Oathbreaker—call me what you will. But I need you to understand something.”

“I understand everything already. You want forgiveness of a daughter, an absolution for your soul,” you replied, your voice steady but quiet. “I can't give you that and I don’t want to remember the man you killed. I want to remember the man who once cared for me as a little girl.”

Jaime blinked, caught off guard. “Your father?”

“Yes,” you said softly, your gaze distant. “Before the madness. Before the fire. I want to remember the man who lifted me onto his knee and promised I would always be safe. The man who placed a crown of flowers on my head and called me his little princess. That is the memory I choose to keep.”

Jaime’s expression shifted, his usual wit and sarcasm subdued. “You were lucky to know him that way,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. “By the end, there was no man left in him.”

You looked away, your jaw tightening. “And I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

There was silence for a long moment. Jaime let out a slow breath, and when you finally turned back to face him, you saw something resembling regret in his eyes. Perhaps not for what he did, but for the weight it left on you.

“You’re here because of Cersei,” you said, breaking the quiet. “That’s why you came. She sent you to see if the rumors were true.”

Jaime’s lips twitched into something between a smirk and a grimace. “She’s worried about a dragon, yes. But she’s even more worried about you.”

“And what will you tell her?” you asked, your voice carrying an edge of challenge.

Jaime shrugged one shoulder, though the movement was deliberate. “The truth. You’ve returned. You brought a dragon with you. I’m sure she’ll make of it what she will.”

“Do not underestimate her,” you said sharply. “She sees enemies everywhere, even in those closest to her. I’ve no doubt she will see me as no different.”

Jaime’s smirk faded completely. “Cersei isn’t always wrong about enemies.”

You tilted your head slightly, your violet eyes narrowing. “And what am I, Ser Jaime? A threat? A sister? A rival? Or perhaps something else entirely?”

Jaime hesitated, then let out a dry chuckle. “You’re Tywin’s wife. And now, the mother of his heir. That is more dangerous to Cersei than anything else in this world.”

You didn’t reply, but your gaze didn’t waver either. There was truth in Jaime’s words—a truth you already knew. Cersei’s resentment toward you ran deeper than mere rivalry; it was a matter of power, of legacy, of bloodlines that neither of you could control.

Jaime turned slightly toward Damon’s crib, watching the infant as he grasped at his small blanket. “He’s… a handsome boy. Strong.”

“He will need to be,” you replied softly. “The world he will inherit will be cruel.”

Jaime turned back to you, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. “Cersei believes this child threatens her. You threaten her.”

“And do you?” you asked, searching his face. “Do you see me as a threat too?”

Jaime was quiet for a moment, then shook his head. “No. I see you as someone who survived.”

You met his gaze, understanding more in that moment than you had in all the months of knowing him. Jaime Lannister was a man shaped by the world he fought in, much like you—a survivor of choices, fate, and fire.

“Tell your sister whatever you wish,” you said finally, turning back to Damon’s crib. “But remember this, Jaime: no matter what Cersei fears, I will protect my son.”

Jaime nodded faintly, as though he expected no less. “I’ll leave you to it then. I imagine we’ll see each other again soon.”

He turned on his heel and strode toward the door, pausing only for a moment. “For what it’s worth,” he added quietly, “the world would have been better if your father had stayed the man you remembered.”

You didn’t respond, but as the door closed behind him, you sat beside Damon’s crib, brushing a gentle hand over his silver-gold hair. You whispered softly, “The world would have been better still if none of this had come to pass.”

Tywin Lannister sat in his private solar at Casterly Rock, his gaze fixed on the crackling hearth before him as he waited. The quiet within the chamber was unusual, tense. He’d dismissed the usual guards and servants, wanting no distractions as he considered the days that had unfolded since your return. There was too much chaos, too many uncertainties—dragons, rumors, and now your wounds.

The sound of the door creaking open broke his thoughts, and Maester Aldren, an older man with a gaunt face and pale blue eyes, entered the room. He carried a leather-bound satchel and walked with a slightly uneven gait, his chain of office clinking softly against his robes.

“You summoned me, my lord?” Aldren said with a slight bow, his tone hushed with a nervous undercurrent.

Tywin turned his sharp gaze to him and gestured to the seat across from his desk. “Sit. Tell me what you have found regarding my wife.”

Maester Aldren settled himself with care, his satchel resting across his lap. “I examined Lady Y/N as you requested, my lord. The wounds she bears are… peculiar.”

Tywin’s brows narrowed. “How so?”

“They are not the wounds of war,” Aldren replied carefully. “Shallow cuts, some scabbed and others still raw, caused by the dragon’s scales, I suspect. What is concerning, however, is that they are not healing as quickly as one might expect. The dragon’s hide is sharper than any blade, it seems, and its presence may carry an unnatural effect.”

“Unnatural,” Tywin repeated sharply, the word tasting foul on his tongue. “Is it poison?”

“No,” Aldren said quickly, shaking his head. “The flesh is clean of any venom or festering. But I believe prolonged exposure to the creature—riding it as she has done—takes its toll. The cuts are many, and she requires rest. Your lady wife is resilient, my lord, but even she has limits.”

Tywin leaned back in his chair, his hands folding before him on the desk as he considered this. The words lingered in the air, and a long silence followed as Aldren waited for Tywin’s response.

Finally, Tywin spoke. “She will not stop. She has made it clear. If she continues to ride, she will need a saddle designed to protect her.”

Aldren blinked, visibly startled. “A saddle… for a dragon?”

“Yes,” Tywin said curtly, his voice brooking no argument. “And not some crude contraption patched together by peasants. A proper saddle. A Targaryen woman who rides a dragon will not be seen injured and bleeding like some common fool.”

Aldren hesitated, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “My lord, the knowledge you seek is scarce. What little we know of dragons—of their saddles, their riders—comes from the days of House Targaryen. The lore, the records… they were lost. Burned.”

Tywin’s gaze sharpened, his voice dropping dangerously low. “What do you mean, burned?”

“After Robert’s Rebellion,” Aldren explained cautiously, “King Robert ordered all written works concerning dragons destroyed in King’s Landing. The Citadel still holds fragments of knowledge, my lord, but much has been lost to time.”

Tywin exhaled sharply, his displeasure evident in the slight tightening of his jaw. “Foolish. Destroying knowledge does not destroy the truth. Send word to the Citadel. Whatever remains, I want it sent here immediately.”

“I will write to the Archmaesters at once, my lord,” Aldren said, bowing his head. “Though I must warn you, the Citadel has little love for dragons or the Targaryens. They may be reluctant to part with such knowledge.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “The Citadel serves the realm, and I serve the realm. If they require convincing, I will see to it personally.”

“Yes, my lord,” Aldren replied quickly, bowing his head again to avoid Tywin’s piercing gaze. “And Lady Y/N?”

“She is to rest,” Tywin commanded firmly. “Do whatever is needed to see her well. But ensure she understands that this must not happen again. If she rides, she does so prepared.”

Aldren stood slowly, clutching his satchel. “Of course, my lord. I will prepare the necessary remedies and make inquiries at the Citadel.”

Tywin waved him away. “Go.”

Aldren bowed deeply and exited the room, the door shutting softly behind him. For a moment, Tywin sat still, the only sound the faint crackle of the fire. His fingers tapped against the desk in thought.

A saddle for a dragon… the very idea gnawed at him. He loathed how quickly the world had turned. He had spent decades carving order out of chaos, reshaping the realm to his will. Yet here he was, a dragon sleeping beneath his house, a dragon-rider wife whose blood carried the fire of old Valyria.

And somewhere deep within him, a quiet voice whispered that this fire could not be tamed.

He rose slowly, walking to the window and looking out across the horizon. The sun sat low, its light spilling over the cliffs like molten gold. Tywin’s face remained hard, his thoughts locked away.

“Knowledge is power,” he muttered to himself. “And I will have it.”

The roar of the distant sea rose up to meet him, but in his mind, he heard the cry of a dragon—ancient and unstoppable, and a herald of something he could not yet name.

[moonstruckme]

Hello! First I wanted to tell you how much I love your work, I think I almost read them all ! Second, I wanted to request, if that’s ok, a poly!marauders or any marauder with a reader insecure about her small chest. I thank you for the time you’ll take reading my request, and hope you’ll continue writing !

Thank you lovely :)

cw: smut mdni, reader has insecurities around breast size and makes a joke about looking like a boy

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 797 words

The sky outside is a pale gray, and droplets of rain cling dearly to leaves and flower petals. You’ve left the bedroom window open, letting in the cool breeze that smells of green and freshness. It licks over your skin like a fine mist, sweet and earthy. 

But you like Remus’ licks better. 

His mouth is warm on your breast, both of your books turned over and forgotten at the end of the bed. You have one hand burrowed in his hair, extra fluffy from the damp air, while your other runs up and down his back, beseeching. Remus kisses and sucks at you so gently you don’t even suspect the hickey he’s leaving behind until he moves to a different spot and you see the mark. You don’t let him get very far on his next project. 

“Rem,” you plead, giving his hair another little tug. 

He chuckles but complies, stretching up for a syrupy, lingering kiss. You sigh into his mouth. He devours it happily, slipping a hand around to the small of your back and starting to press you downwards onto the pillows. But that’s a position you haven’t taken for a reason, and you push back, covering your resistance with the guise of kissing Remus harder, forcing you both upright. 

Remus’ mouth curves against yours. He goes along with you, nipping playfully at your lip and gripping you tighter, rougher. 

But it’s not long before he tries again, urging you horizontal so he can get on top of you properly. This time, when you don’t go, he takes notice. 

“Something wrong?” he asks casually, still tending to the corner of your mouth with soft, sweet kisses.

You hum a denial and go for the distraction, clutching at the muscles of his back and trying to maneuver yourself into his lap. Not particularly easy, since he’s currently in your lap, his body spread over you with his legs on either side of your hips. 

Remus sets a hand on your shoulder. A restraint. “Sure you don’t want to tell me?” he asks softly. “I can tell something’s bothering you.” 

Your lips still on his. For a few moments, the only sounds are bird calls and the tinkling of raindrops falling from trees like silver coins. Remus doesn’t pull away. He waits for you. 

“I don’t really want to lie down like this,” you admit. 

“That’s fine.” Remus’ hand slopes down your shoulder, thumb beginning to draw circles into your arm. He’s always had a sense for when you might need soothing. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah.” You laugh at yourself, a light little puff of air that sounds as forced as it feels. “I’m being vain.” 

His eyebrow twitches upward. “How’s that?”

It’s an effort not to look down at your chest. “I’m just not really feeling my boobs lately,” you say simply, trying once more for insouciance. “I don’t even want to think about how they’d look concaving back into me, so I’d rather avoid having to see it.” 

Remus grins, a small, crooked thing that lets you know he’s playing along with your levity even if he doesn’t buy into it. “They do not concave,” he sneers teasingly. “And you don’t have to be the one feeling them, dovey. I’ve been feeling them for about a half hour now, and I’d say they feel excellent.” 

“Ha ha.” You direct your smile just over his shoulder. 

Remus hums and plants a hand in the middle of your chest. “Now, that didn’t sound very sincere,” he says, pushing downward. 

There’s a bit more force to the motion this time, and you can’t resist for long. You go down giggling, even as unease twists peskily in your gut. 

“See?” Remus bends over you, laying a kiss on your cheek before creeping downwards. “Still lovely.” 

“I’ve become a young boy,” you lament jokingly, but squeak when Remus nips admonishingly at your neck. 

“They’re perfect,” he says, mouth marking a trail down into the valley of your chest. He presses his lips to the inside of one breast. Lets them linger there, emanating a tenderness you can feel seeping into your core. When he lifts them, it’s with a soft suctioning sound. “Perfect.” 

“Remus,” you whisper. 

His eyes flick up to yours, eyelashes nearly brushing his eyebrows from the angle. “Yes?” 

“You…you don’t have to.” 

He looks back down, tsking. He sets another kiss on the same breast, moving slowly closer to the stiff peak of your nipple. “Still doesn’t believe me,” he mutters as if to himself. Another press of his lips, this one almost directly on the bud. 

Remus sighs, and goosebumps skitter over your skin. You shiver.

“I think you may have to get comfortable, darling. I’m going to be busy here for a while.”

[utterlyotterlyx]

The Fox and The Fawn

High Lord Eris x Rhys!Sister!Reader x Azriel

Part Eight

Summary - Eris and your court grapple with the realisation that you left in order to protect them, whilst in Velaris, it becomes clear that you aren't as clueless as you seem.

Warnings - angst, depression, slight fluff, mentions of wing clipping, manipulation, slightly possessive Eris, unhinged Rhys, soft Az and Cass.

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven

The morning light drifting through the pulled back curtains was the catalyst of Eris' groan, he threw an arm over his face to shield himself from the pale yellow light fluttering through the room, a room that felt off somehow.

Frowning, Eris removed his arm from his face, squinting through his sleep-ridden eyes to peer at the person who was supposed to be curled into his side, head resting on his chest, and palms idly drifting over his skin. No one was there.

Had the night before been a dream?

Had he not basically confessed his love for you whilst you confessed that despite the distance that separated you, that you had knowingly chosen to soothe him Under The Mountain despite your own pain?

Eris tugged on that golden thread in his chest, wincing as it withered back to him, shivering in pain within his soul. Rubbing the spot over his heart, Eris realised that the bond hadn't snapped for you like it should have, like he thought it had.

Throwing the sheets from his frame, Eris' gaze darted about his former chambers, searching for any sign of you. He inhaled deeply, expecting your scent to flood him, but found his heart in his hands when only the faintest of trances of you lingered in the air.

Before Eris could truly lose his mind, he glanced toward the vanity, to where a singed square of parchment lay propped up against a bottle of perfume with his name delicately inscribed on the face.

He didn't need to read it to know what it said, but he had to, he had to see it for himself.

I can't let him hurt you. I'm sorry.

The page had wrinkled and darkened in places, and droplets of your tears stained the parchment in his fingers. The words on the page told him the answer to his previous thought, that the bond hadn't fallen into place for you, which in a way was better, it meant that everything you had felt and admitted was because you wanted it, not because you felt like you had to accept something.

Shuffling sounded from below, a smash of glass and a screech for Nesta, he moved to the noise, quickly fixing his briefs from the night before around his waist, his bare feet padding against the wood as he headed toward the commotion.

He heard Elain's words, he heard her mutter something about her vision, about snow-capped mountains and the dress that had vanished from its place draped over the mirror in your room. Red shrouded his vision like thick mist, his entire soul was threatening to rip itself apart, hating itself for not only letting you get away, but for also for not being able to feel you.

Every single fibre of his essence was searching for you, holding onto any speck of your scent that lingered in the air. He didn't even see Lucien through his haze, he only focused on the one person who knew for certain where you had gone.

Eris knew, but he needed to hear someone else say it.

The fox prowled ahead, fists clenched and eyes low, his molten bronze pools swimming with tamed fury as his soul remembered the touch of your lips against his, how you tasted of midnight skies and honey, it was peaceful. It was perfectly you. Dark but beautiful.

Nesta had frozen in place, the eldest Archeron surprisingly void of any words. Apparently you hadn't told a soul, that much was clear from the shock and hurt on their faces.

“Where is my mate?”

Eris’ palms lay flat against the countertop, the same one where he had held you only hours before, kissing you and telling you how badly he wanted to be worthy of you. It dawned on him that throughout that entire conversation, from your joint confessions to the kiss that confirmed everything he already knew, to sleeping in the same bed, you had already known that you were leaving.

Pain and sadness radiated on Elain’s features, her bottom lids pooled with unshed tears, and she fell back into Lucien who had crossed the room after Eris had brushed past him, “Wait, your mate?” Nesta took a step forward, her eyes growing wider as her mind span with the news.

Eris hummed softly, his eyes still cold and stoic, “I thought it had snapped for her last night, after we spoke, after the kiss,” his gaze softened slightly, “She’s gone back, hasn’t she?”

Nodding, Elain answered, “Yes. In the night,” after Eris had fallen asleep with you wrapped up in his arms, leaving him to wake up alone with a spot beside him void of life.

"Hold up. Your mate? Since when?"

Eris rolled his eyes at Nesta, running his hand over his face, "I think I've always known, but it was Under The Mountain when I accepted it. When she was walking the halls singing to herself," when in actuality you had been singing to him.

None of them could be angry or upset with you, you had done it to protect them, to make sure that they stayed alive and safe, away from any form of war or conflict.

“I can invoke the Blood Duel.”

It wasn’t an act that was taken lightly. The Blood Duel was a rarity, but it was also made for situations just like the one they found themselves in. Rhys thought that you were unmated, it was his main argument of focus, but he had no idea that your mate was itching to tear him apart. Eris could invoke it, and maybe, just maybe, Rhys would have no choice but to honour the bond and set you free before it was too late.

Lucien inhaled sharply, “She wouldn’t want that.”

“I can’t leave her there, Lucien.”

“We won’t,” Nesta moved to stand before the arched window, peering out at the pond which was shimmering in the sunlight, glittering even, “If I know her well, which I do, she wouldn’t have gone back without some kind of plan in place. That woman is the best tactician that Prythian has ever seen.”

“Why wouldn’t she tell us?”

Nesta turned to Elain who was equally as confused, they had left Velaris to follow you blindly, they were devoted to you, “She didn’t want us to get caught up in it,” a guess, but probably true. Nesta turned to Eris, “Don’t invoke the Blood Duel yet. I know it’s not ideal but maybe she knows what she’s doing.”

They could only hope that Rhys’ greed would glamour his senses, “And if she doesn’t?”

Eris couldn’t imagine it, what they’d do to you in that prison of a city. That other part of you had retreated each day, the darkness bowing to the warmth and light of him.

Nesta felt Ataraxia call to her and she flexed her digits in return as if she was holding it, “Then we go to war.”

“It’s for your own good, y/n.”

Rhys was waiting with open arms the moment you had stepped up to where Autumn met Winter, Azriel must have told him of your movements.

Your heart ached in your chest, everything was screaming at you to turn back and find another way, but you had to protect them from the monster stood before you.

The winter chill caused you to shiver, the skirt of your dress tugging you backward, willing you to move away, to go back to where you were safe and loved, “Promise me that you won’t hurt them.”

Smiling, Rhys extended a hand toward you, “If you cross that line, they will be spared.”

“Promise me. Promise me that you won’t hurt them, and if you do, the price will be your life.”

Rhys wasn’t stupid, he knew what you were doing, “I promise,” a familiar burning coiled up your right forearm and you glanced down to see a fresh tattoo inked on your skin, “Now, come.”

A shuddering breath moved through you, you stepped over the threshold into Winter and his hands were on you immediately. They were cold and calloused, there was no softness or love in his touch, just pride to have won.

“I apologise,” you frowned slightly, “I had to take some precautions.” Before you could ask about what he had done, you felt cold rings lock around your wrists and neck, you felt the power evaporate from your body, and you fell to your knees.

Clawing at the collar moulding with your flesh, you whimpered, “What is this?”

“A gift from a friend,” Rhys crouched down to your level, taking your chin on his fingers, “I told you that your power was unnatural, now you can’t use it at all.”

The voices in your mind had wailed, they screamed in protest as the power of the collar consumed them, the air fell still and you felt weak, almost mundane as Rhys’ power pulsed around you, relishing in being the strongest thing to now walk the earth.

“It’s a blessing,” he cooed to you, ignoring the cries coming from your lips, you tried to hook your fingers under it, to rip it off of you, but you had no strength, and the collar was already embedded into your flesh, “We can be happy,” his eyes shimmered and yours dimmed, “No more fighting.”

Drowning. You were drowning and no amount of air that you were gulping down was saving you. You were lifted from the ground and cradled to a cold chest, and all you could do was glance backward at the border, at where Autumn called to you before the world before your eyes vanished in a swirl of colour and you found yourself looking upward at a sky full of stars.

Nothing felt real.

Every step he took filled you with dread, you recognised the incline of the path, you’d know it with your eyes screwed shut. Shuffling entered your ear shot as well as the sound of gasps, you were sure you must have looked tiny in his arms, your face was stained with tears, your skin had gone pale, your eyes had darkened and stared blankly downward to your hands bundled in your lap.

Black veins snaked from the stone cuffs melted into your wrists, angry and poisonous, devouring you with each passing moment.

“Az. Take her will you?”

The room stiffened, but the Shadowsinger moved to you, he slid you from Rhys’ grip and held you delicately. The change of your scent was undeniable, and Azriel was sure that Rhys commanded that he take you so that he didn’t have to smell Eris for one moment longer than he had to.

Velaris could do nothing to soothe you, the looming mountains could only watch sadly as Azriel carried you to your room at the River House, the stars blinkered away entirely at the solemn atmosphere that coated the city in your silent fury. The princess had returned, but she was powerless, a lone bunny stalked by wolves.

Cedar used to be your favourite smell, but all it did was make your stomach churn and twist in agony, everything inside of you wanted that scent to be one of pine and cinnamon, they wanted it to belong to the person who had never been afraid of you even when you had given him every reason to be.

The knots in your shoulders writhed, your scars screamed as your power depleted, but you couldn’t bare to soothe it, it was the only thing you could feel aside from nothing.

“It’s alright, y/n. Everything is going to be okay,” Azriel kicked your door open as softly as he could, and his heart shattered into a million pieces when a single look inside sent you struggling against his embrace.

Nothing had changed, it looked the exact same as it had the night you had left, like it was waiting to you.

“Please, don’t do this. Take me back to him. Please.”

You knew that he couldn’t defy Rhys so openly, so foolishly. Azriel set you down on the comforter and knelt before you, his fingers drifted along the edge of the black stone collar, where the stone met the newly marred flesh beneath it, “I didn’t know that he was going to do this, I swear.”

So that explained the gasps. It wasn’t due to just seeing you in the flesh again, it was because of the collar and cuffs burnt into your skin. None of them knew of what Rhys had planned to do, that being to drain the life from you bit by bit, starting with your power, until you bent to his will and became his submissive monster.

Hazel connected with your own, and Azriel saw nothing but a wilting rose inside of you, broken with no chance of springing back to full bloom. Sat before him was a shell of the woman he used to know, and he had dealt a hand in your state, contributed to it, and it disgusted him.

“Get away from me,” your words struck him like Truthteller had become lodged in his heart, you had never asked Azriel to go away, you had always welcomed him with open arms and soothing words.

But the captured animal in front of him wasn’t y/n anymore, it was the frightened creature that Rhys had plucked from the forest and condemned to a life of solitude.

“Please, y/n-“

“Don’t say my name,” your eyes welled, “You don’t ever get to say my name. You’re not him, you don’t get to call me that.”

Hold on.

A shudder flew up your spine, the first bit of comfort you had experienced in what felt like a millennia, “Get out.”

Sighing, Azriel rose to his feet, he knew that there was no consoling you, no words that he could muster to make the situation better. As soon as Azriel left the room, closing the door with a soundless click, you found yourself staring out of the window at the stars that used to lull you to sleep but were now glowering in warning.

The valley sang with golden light, it drifted along the streets where childish laughter blossomed, it should have been comforting, but nothing about the moment was good. Nothing about Velaris felt safe. Gone were the days where you would stroll along the Sidra with Azriel by your side, gone were the days of harmony.

Hugging your knees to your chest, your mind floated elsewhere, wondering how Nesta, Elain, and Lucien would react once they realised that you had left. How hurt they would be by your abandonment. And Eris, you were sure that he would be feeling the worst out of them all, wondering why his words and admissions weren't able to convince you to stay.

All that mattered was that they were safe, protected by the bargain inked upon your flesh.

The reflection in the window wasn't of anyone that you recognised, she was pale, her eyes a shade of almost onyx bar the circle of wildfire in the irises, black veins protruded from the collar embedded into the flesh of her neck, her hair was loosely strewn over her shoulder. The life had been sucked from her soul and she had been left empty.

"Don't think about it," a shaky whisper racked through your body and you hugged yourself tighter. You couldn't allow yourself to crumble at the pain and grief, "You can do this. They're safe. You can do this, for them."

For Eris and the Autumn Court, for your friends, for the continent, you could confine yourself to Velaris if it meant sparing them all.

Time passed, time where the world beyond the window darkened and the golden hue of the valley evaporated into the night air, and it was during that time when another soul deemed itself worthy enough to find you.

You didn't feel him at first, for you were too dumb to feel anything, all of your fae senses had depleted, you couldn't feel anything. It was as though Rhys had locked you in a prison of darkness, where no feeling resided, where there was no knowing of who was coming to see you or what was coming next. A prison of solitude that even the fire couldn't touch.

Cassian sucked in a harsh beath as he stepped into the room, the entire space was freezing, soft whisps of air flew from your lips, and you shivered on the bed as you held yourself tightly in your arms. The Lord of Bloodshed crossed the room, perching on the edge of the bed, wincing when you angled your body away from him.

In that moment, Cassian knew that Rhys had lost his gods damned mind.

"I'm sorry," he wasn't looking to you, no, he was peering out of the window, wondering at what point life had gotten so fucked up. Anger bubbled inside of him as the stone collar around your neck sang with the power it had trapped inside of it. A monumental act that proved exactly how far Rhys would go to contain you.

"Is this how it's going to go? Rhys sends you in one by one to apologise, do you think that's going to wash away everything that's happened?"

Heavy eyelids greeted him just as the scent of you mixed with another had the moment he had stepped foot into the room. "Rhys doesn't know that I'm here."

Interest piqued, you glanced to him, noting the slouch in his shoulders, the messily thrown together low bun on his head, how his wings drooped lower than they had before, you noted the paled hue to his skin and how he sat with his elbows resting on his knees and staring at the floor, "Nesta misses you. She says she doesn't but I know that she does."

"Is she alright?"

"She's safe. I made sure of that."

Unlike you, you seemed to say, and your eyes confirmed the message.

"If it helps, none of us knew that Rhys was going to do this. Feyre is horrified."

"It doesn't help me at all actually, but thank you for wasting your breath."

It was astounding how a voice could be so vacant, like the last of the autumn breeze before the winter pierced through it. Cassian wanted to know more, he wanted you to tell him about Nesta, about everything you had found, but he knew that you wouldn't tell him, because you no longer trusted him or saw him as anything but one of your captors.

"Did you know that he threatened to kill her? All of them?"

A low growl emitted from him, "He told me of the others," and left out the threat on his own mates life, "That's why you came back. To protect them from him."

"When are you going to realise that the real monster is the one that lurks under your own roof and not the one who ran away to be free of it?"

The silence was enough, Cassian wasn't blind to the information, his hard gaze softened and he tentatively placed a hand on yours, his rough fingers coiling around trembling bone. You wouldn't survive whatever Rhys had planned for you, you were going to die in Velaris and Cassian would have to stand there as Rhys explained to the world how the darkness had consumed you.

It would be Cassian who would have to stand across from his mate and the people you had come to recognise as your true family whilst Rhys told them of your demise. He could see their faces in the forefront of his mind.

"I think I already am," no one could deny how the ways of the Night Court had shifted since you had chosen to leave. Rhys had become a feral beast prowling in the night on his hind legs, obsessing over the thing that had run away from him. "I'll find a way to get you out of this."

Cassian rose from his perch without another word, his calloused fingers slid from your own, and he left. Silence fell on you, but you looked back to the reflection in the window, to the woman that was undeniably you, and smirked.

Playing too many games might get you in trouble, Fawn.

Rising from the comforter, you drifted over to the glass, lifting the latch and opening it a few inches, allowing the songs of crickets and rippling waters to flow to you.

The rich tone of the voice made you shudder, and you could have sobbed at the sound, at how close it felt to the shell of your ear, so close that the ghost of his breath fanned over your shoulder.

I wondered how long it was going to take you to figure it out.

You could hear his smirk through his words, Nesta. A pause. Are you alright?

Swallowing hard, you replied, I'm holding on.

You're not going to tell me what he's done, are you?

No.

The stone of the collar shone in the moonlight, the shrillness of the night air brushed along it and cowered at the ward placed on its surface.

Has he hurt you?

Finding your reflection, you exhaled shakily, struggling to find the mask you had become so accustomed to wearing, Yes.

The place that you had folded Eris into began to unwind, Y/N.

I can do this, Eris. I can survive one last performance.

Eris was no doubt pacing the length of his bedroom, hair wild and eyes simmering with leashed violence. It was a blessing that Rhys was clueless to the carranam bond between you and Eris, a bond that not even his collars could touch or absorb, it was other-worldly and transcendent, something moulded to your very soul, not your power.

Pushing the rumbling pain back inside of you, channelling it to be something much more monstrous, you felt the talons of your other mind rise from the well inside of you, water sloshing over the edges and flowing through your veins like a disease.

It was the only way to do what you needed to do, what had been so masterfully done before. The mask settled onto your features and you rolled your shoulders, welcoming the monster back to the forefront of your essence, grinning at the demon that had come to say hello once again.

The kindred spirit. The one who pitied you enough to instead harmonise with you rather than take over entirely. The one who gave her power to you to wield, who was now shaking angrily inside of you by the mere act of having such power stripped away.

You have set the stage so well, my pure thing. The talons scraped against your mind, breaking through the cracks and seeping into the emptiness inside of you. Let me take it from here, let me tuck you away into the brightest part of us where no one can hurt you.

Did they really believe that you had no idea what Amarantha had done to you all those years ago Under The Mountain?

It had been your greatest kept secret.

Smiling, you let the Queen take control, you let her guide you to the warmest place of you, where the people you loved most rested and you watched on as a bystander as she got to work.

The monster wasn't just you and never had been. You shared your body and consciousness with a queen of sorts, a demon contained in a small onyx stone that had been sewn into you whilst your body had tried to heal itself from the clipping of your wings. And instead of taking over completely like it should have, instead of devouring you, the demon sought to mould with you, it sought to become one with you, and you had let it.

And all you could do was hope that there would be enough of you left to bring back once you were both done.

Authors Note

Also realised that I really need to update my master list oops xo

Enjoy! Love you all 🫶🏻

Taglist

@mybestfriendmademe @jesskidding3 @rosewood-cafe @fandomarchiveilyd @brujitafantomatico @crazylokonugget @mai-adaptive-dreams@magicstrengthandcourage @acourtofmoonlightandstars @ysmttty @lilah-asteria @circe143 @xyzmeh @paleidiot @namelesssav @amberlynn98 @acourtofbatboydreams @azrielsmate3 @ivy-34 @mp-littlebit @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @ifonlyiwerefiction @pirana10 @donttellthecats @padbaeamidla @oucereeng @andreperez11 @demonicbusiness @megscabinetofcurios @superspideyparker @usernamesarelies

[midnightarcheress]

you panic.

pairing: bodyguard!ghost x actress!reader cw: reader's pov. panic attack, simon in protective mode, hurt/comfort ig? 6 | gold rush masterlist.

you couldn’t breathe. the room seemed small, walls closing in and trapping your limp figure inside of an endless nightmare, compressing your lungs until no air reached your alveolus. the mirror reflected the terror stamped on your face, bloodshot eyes staring at the terrifying warning that froze your blood flow and the trembling hands clutching to your arms, wrapping your torso like a straightjacket, desperately trying to pressure your body into disappearing from that reality.

up to this point, you’ve managed to control your fear. shove your worries aside, trust that nothing would trespass your walls and infinite security measures, promise yourself that it would never infest your brain, but that was the last straw. it was your home. you weren’t safe anywhere and it was just a matter of time until you’d be ripped to shreds in your own garden, crimson painting the destroyed flower beds and a golden crown placed on your head like a perfect corpse-bride.

your knees dropped to the frigid floor with a thud, dreadful mist clouding your vision as tears rolled down your cheeks. you couldn’t think, you couldn’t speak, and the alcohol in your veins only managed to heighten the panic. your soul was floating out of your form, knocking on the bars of the prison, looking for a way out of the ordeal and hoping that it was just a hallucination. the loud thumps of your heart ringed in your ears, muffling Ghost’s attempts to get your attention.

the knot in your throat kept tightening, constricting your vocal cords until the only sounds that could be heard were your strained sobs. being in your own skin was overwhelming and you’d give it all to escape the well you were stranded in, but the water was rising quickly, covering your head and drowning any attempt at tranquillity.

“hey, i’m here,” Ghost said, trying to coax you back to the present, “just focus on my voice, can you take a deep breath for me?” 

your dilated pupils take the sight of him crouched on the floor and follow the movement of his chest, letting his low timbre pierce your eardrum and soothe your heartbeat. you mimic him, feeling the crisp air cursing through your nostrils, down your trachea and bronchi, finally having enough oxygen in your system. 

“can i touch you?” he asks, and you notice the concern behind his hazel irises. you can’t ignore the shame that came with your panicked state, breaking down in front of someone you barely know and who must’ve endured so much worse in his life. you hate feeling weak, frail, like you’d crumble by just one look, but you need comfort. need it so badly that you nod, allowing him to take your quivering hand in his.

his grip is firm, and despite the roughness of his palm, the touch is delicate, tender, enveloping you in gentle heat. you melt in his arms, pitiful sobs leaving your lips when you turn in nothing more than putty in that moment. “shh, i got you, everything will be alright,” he coos, doing his best to calm you, but you couldn’t believe him.

how could everything be alright? the last ounce of safety you had was just taken from you. “it’s my– it’s my home, Ghost,” you stutter, lifting your head to look at him, “i’m not safe in my own home anymore, i can’t–” another wave of tears flood your waterline, and you stop before finishing your sentence. the anxiety was still bubbling in your stomach, it was still too much to handle at once. 

“i know, love, i’ll get you out of here, trust me. nothing will harm you. now just breathe, okay? slow and steady.” his tone is light, almost ethereal, but unmistakably determined. it sounded more than just a phrase to pacify you. it was a promise. a vow. one made with his whole heart and he wouldn’t die before making sure you’re safe.

it takes a while before your brain settles back, slipping out of the hysteria. Ghost lifts you to your feet, taking a step back to give you some space. you sense him studying your expressions, wanting a hint of how to proceed. “what do you need?” he questions softly.

what do i need? the query lingers on your mind while he gazes at you. you're not sure. you never had an attack like this, never had an emotional collapse, never needed so much comfort. “i... don't know,” you gulp, glancing around the room and viewing the bathroom door, “i guess i could go for, uhm, a bath? it might help, right?”

he nods, pacing past you and walking through the door. you faintly hear the running water filling the bathtub and you strip off your heels, your clothes, let your hair fall down and your skin feel the cool air of the room. you shiver, but the tingling of the cold reminds you that you’re still alive, so there’s still a flimsy hope of peace in your future. 

you put on a robe and head to the bathroom, tip-toeing on the chilling tiles. Ghost moves to the exit, allowing you privacy in your vulnerable state, but your meek request makes him freeze on the spot. “can you... stay?” you sigh, “i’m scared of being alone right now.”

he pauses, not knowing how to answer, and you shift your weight from one leg to another, fingers fidgeting with the fluffy belt that holds your covering in place, regretting even asking for such a thing. “sure.” he clears his throat, taking a seat in the tiny wooden ottoman in the corner. the image is quite comical, the bulky man slowly leaning down to the stool as if one glance from him would crack the material, and a timid chuckle escapes your mouth.

his face turns to the side when you undo the knot of your robe and you feel the heat coming to your cheeks when you come to your senses. what the fuck did i ask? you’re bare, slipping into the warm water that was supposed to relieve your anxious mood, but that mainly swells your chest with embarrassment. 

you don’t know if you should be grateful that he’s not making a big deal of it, or sink in the tub due to the quiet – too quiet – atmosphere. Ghost is nothing but a gentleman at that moment, maintaining his head down and eyes away from your blurred naked body, so different from every man you’ve been near. they all seem to think that because you’re known, famous, whatever, you’re merely a doll on display for public use. it’s nice to not feel like an object.

after a long hour of letting the water purge your anguishes, you find yourself draped on a blanket on the sofa, sipping on a cup of chamomile tea that he, so heartily, prepared. he’s on the phone in the next room, and you don’t want to pry, but your ears unconsciously perk up to catch some of his words. he’s talking to someone named Price? something about a safe house? 

a few minutes later, he’s back, sitting on the coffee table in front of you. “so, we’re gonna move,” your brows raised, confused by his statement, “talked to an old friend and i got you a safe place, you can stay there as long as you need, the bastard won’t find you. and i’ll be there with you all the time, okay?” he’s gonna stay with me?

rationally, you know it’s a good idea. you don’t feel protected in your house anymore, and having him constantly by your side would probably give your heart a rest and unburden your shoulders. but moving is a big thing for a life so regulated. “Dan–” 

“i’ll talk to him tomorrow, don’t worry,” he assures, putting a hand on your knee and giving you a small smile. your vision was so hazy before that you didn’t even notice that he had his mask down, and you find yourself musing on the curve of his lips. 

“thank you, Ghost.”

[emoerotica]

Rainswept Confessions

・❥・Geto x Reader Soft Smut・❥・

On a stormy night, you find yourself in a car with Geto, driving through heavy rain toward Gojo's place. As the storm intensifies, the tension between you grows, leaving the two of you alone in the thick atmosphere. Eventually, the mounting pressure gives way to a moment of intimacy.

・❥・ ・❥・

Rainswept Confessions

The rain hammered against the windshield in rhythmic waves, each drop splintering into rivulets that streaked across the glass. Streetlights glowed in hazy halos, smeared by the water and the speed at which we cut through the night. The roads were slick with puddles that reflected bursts of neon signs and distant headlights, turning the wet streets into a patchwork of fleeting color. Tires hissed over the asphalt, splashing through the rain-soaked pavement. Inside the car, the storm became a lullaby—a steady drumming on the roof mixed with the soft hum of the radio, filling the space with a soothing, melancholic kind of music.

I glanced sideways at Geto, feeling a familiar, unspoken pull. His long black hair spilled over his shoulder like silk, the ends slightly damp from the dash through the rain earlier. Strands clung to his neck, framing the curve of his jaw. He held the steering wheel with one hand, fingers curled just enough to convey his usual effortless ease. His other hand rested on his thigh, the slight tension in his knuckles drawing your gaze. He always seemed calm, but there was a quiet power in the way he held himself, as if every movement he made carried unintentional grace.

God, he looked perfect. The slope of his nose, the way his eyelashes cast delicate shadows under the dim light, the quiet intensity in his gaze that never wavered. His presence was magnetic—like he didn’t belong to the world beyond this car, only to the moments where time slowed around him. You knew him as your best friend, along with Gojo, but there was always something more beneath the surface when it came to Geto. Something that kept you lingering a second too long, thinking of him in ways you never did with anyone else.

The storm outside seemed endless, as if the road ahead had been swallowed by rain and mist. The car cut through it steadily, but with each passing mile, the destination felt more like a distant dream. Soon, Geto eased the car off the road, pulling into an empty parking lot. The rain battered the roof harder now, a constant drumming that made it feel like the world outside had vanished into water and sound.

“We’ll stop here for a bit,” he said, voice smooth and unhurried. “Can’t see the road in this mess.”

He draped his arm over the back of his seat, turning slightly to face you. His gaze lingered just long enough to make your heart catch. You nodded, feeling your breath hitch as the weight of his presence settled in the small space between you.

“We were supposed to meet Gojo,” you whispered, though the thought felt distant now, swept away with the rain and the night.

Geto gave a faint smile, his lips curving at the edges in a way that made your stomach twist. “He can wait. He always does.”

There was a softness in his voice, like he knew Gojo would be fine—because he always was. But with Geto, it felt different. Here, alone with him, the world felt quieter, smaller, like this moment was carved out just for the two of you.

You tried not to stare too long, but the way the faint light traced the curve of his cheekbone, the slope of his throat, and the line of his collarbone kept drawing your eyes back to him. The sound of rain filled the silence between you, but it only made his gaze feel heavier, more deliberate.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low, as if not wanting to break the delicate stillness.

You swallowed, your voice softer than intended. “Yeah.”

The tension between you wasn’t sharp—it was tender, lingering, filled with things left unsaid. His eyes searched yours for a beat longer, and you knew this wasn’t just another rainy night. This was a moment caught between friendship and something more, a moment where, for once, neither of you had to pretend it wasn’t there.

The radio hummed softly in the background, and then the song shifted—something slower, deeper. The bass throbbed gently under a sultry melody, and the singer’s voice dripped through the speakers, low and smooth like honey. The shift in music felt deliberate, as if the night itself was conspiring to heighten the tension already thick between you two.

Geto’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, like he noticed it too. His hand slid down from the back of the seat and rested near your shoulder, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your jacket—a fleeting touch, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. The air between you buzzed with unspoken curiosity, something heavier than the simple comfort of old friends.

He leaned closer, just enough for you to catch the faint scent of rain on his skin, mixed with the subtle spice of his cologne. His voice dropped an octave, softer, more intimate. “So, tell me,” he murmured, “if you could have anything right now, what would it be?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question—and the way his gaze didn’t waver, like he was waiting for an answer that wasn’t just small talk. The rain outside drummed steadily on the roof, but it only seemed to amplify the moment between you, the quiet hum of possibility filling the space like a slow-burning fuse.

“What would I want?” you echoed, stalling as your pulse quickened. Your heart beat so loudly you were certain he could hear it. “I don’t know. Maybe… something simple. Something that makes me feel good.”

The words felt dangerous as soon as they left your mouth, teetering on the edge of playful and suggestive. His dark eyes flickered with amusement, and that damn half-smile tugged at his lips again, like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“That’s vague,” he teased, tilting his head slightly. “You’ve gotta be more specific than that.”

You bit your lip, the warmth in your chest spreading to your cheeks. “What about you?” you countered, trying to regain some control over the situation. “If you could have anything right now, what would it be?”

He considered your question, his gaze trailing over your face, lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch. Then, with a deliberate slowness, he ran a hand through his damp hair, pushing it back from his face. The movement was so casual, yet so deliberate, that it felt like a show just for you.

“I think I already know what I want,” he said, voice smooth, almost lazy—but there was an edge to it, a quiet intensity simmering just beneath the surface.

His eyes darkened slightly, glinting with something playful yet predatory, like he was testing the waters to see how far you were willing to go. His hand drifted from his thigh, just a few inches closer to yours, a silent invitation hanging in the charged air between you.

You swallowed, suddenly very aware of how close he was—how easily the boundaries between you two could blur, right here in the warm cocoon of the car, with the storm raging just beyond the windows. The storm outside might have felt endless, but so did this moment, stretched taut between desire and hesitation, daring you to take the next step.

His lips brushed against yours, soft at first, testing, as if waiting for permission. But the moment you leaned into him, everything shifted. The kiss deepened, becoming hungry, urgent, like he’d been holding himself back for far too long.

His hand slid to the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, gripping it firmly but not painfully. A shiver ran down your spine as he gave a subtle tug, tilting your head just enough to claim you fully. The pull sent sparks down your body, making your breath hitch against his mouth.

The rain outside seemed to roar louder, drumming against the roof as if trying to match the rhythm of your racing heart. The kiss grew more fevered, his lips moving against yours with an intensity that stole every thought from your mind. His breath was hot and ragged, mixing with yours as the kiss became a dance of need, tongues brushing and teeth grazing just enough to leave you aching for more.

His hand on your thigh now—when did it get there?—gripped just a little tighter, his thumb drawing slow circles through the fabric, grounding you and setting you alight all at once. The warmth of his touch bled through your clothes, sending heat pooling low in your stomach. Every brush of his lips, every tug of your hair, only stoked the fire building between you two, as if the storm outside wasn’t enough to contain it.

You let out a soft whimper against his mouth, and that seemed to unravel him. His grip on your hair tightened, pulling your head back just enough for him to break the kiss and hover, panting, his lips ghosting over yours. His dark eyes burned with something raw—desire, frustration, and something deeper, something dangerously close to devotion.

“Say the word,” he whispered, his voice rough, almost pleading, as if this moment could break either of you if it wasn’t real. The rain pounded relentlessly outside, but in the charged, hazy warmth of the car, it was the farthest thing from your mind.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him back toward you—and he came willingly, crashing into you like a wave finally allowed to break. The storm outside howled, but the real tempest was right here, between the two of you. And neither of you had any intention of stopping.

The kiss broke just long enough for Geto to breathe, his forehead pressed against yours, both of you panting like you’d been caught in the storm outside instead of sheltered from it. His hand lingered on your cheek, thumb brushing your skin in a way that felt too intimate, too real—like he wasn’t just kissing you; he was memorizing you.

Before you could say anything, his hand slipped to your waist, and with a smooth, effortless motion, he tugged you toward the back seat. The leather squeaked softly under your weight as he guided you into the cramped space, his long legs following right after. His body crowded yours, but instead of feeling trapped, it only heightened the strange thrill twisting in your chest.

This was Geto. Your best friend. You’d been driving through the rain minutes ago, and now his lips were on yours like this was something inevitable—something both of you had been waiting for without realizing it.

The car was warm, humid from your breaths and the rain clinging to your clothes. The scent of him—faint cologne, rainwater, and something distinctly *him*—wrapped around you like a second skin. And then, just as the weight of it all settled into your chest, the radio shifted again, the soft opening notes of Art Deco by Lana Del Rey filling the air.

"You're so Art Deco, out on the floor... Shining like gunmetal, cold and unsure."

The slow, sultry beat seeped into your bones, each note vibrating in the space between you two. Geto smiled against your lips as if the universe had set the song just for this moment, and you felt him hum low in his throat, pleased.

“Lana,” he murmured between kisses, his breath warm against your skin. “Perfect timing.”

His favorite. Of course it was. And just like that, everything clicked into place—Geto’s lingering touches, the way he looked at you like he saw something more than just a friend. All the moments between you two that you had brushed off suddenly felt too significant to ignore.

As the slow rhythm pulsed through the car, Geto’s hand slid beneath your shirt, fingers skimming your waist, slow and deliberate. His touch was gentle but insistent, like the beat of the song—a steady, intoxicating rhythm you couldn’t help but follow. His mouth found yours again, softer this time, the hunger from earlier replaced by something slower, deeper.

He kissed you in time with the music, each press of his lips a note, each graze of his teeth an echo of the lyrics swirling around you. His hand drifted higher, fingertips brushing against your ribs, making you arch into him without thinking.

"A little party never hurt no one..."

The irony of the lyrics didn’t escape you—this was definitely not what you had expected when the night began. But now, with his hands on your skin, the rain drowning out the rest of the world, you couldn’t imagine wanting anything else.

Geto’s hands slipped under your shirt, palms warm against the cool skin of your waist. His touch was slow, deliberate, as if savoring every inch of you. His fingers traced the curve of your sides, the drag of his hands light enough to make you shiver. He took his time, sliding them higher, brushing along your ribs in a way that left goosebumps in his wake. Each movement was unhurried, like he wanted to learn your body through touch alone, committing every detail to memory.

The slow beat pulsed around you, filling the small space between your breaths.

"You want in, but you just can't win. So you stay in the lights....."

The song's hypnotic rhythm matched the pace of his hands, teasing you with every subtle touch. Geto leaned in closer, the scent of rain and cologne swirling with the heat of his breath against your neck. His lips brushed your ear as he murmured, “You feel even better than I imagined.”

Your heart stumbled at his words, a flush spreading down your neck, your skin alive under the soft glide of his fingertips. His thumbs traced slow circles along your hips before moving higher again, brushing over your ribs like he was exploring uncharted territory.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you, his dark eyes half-lidded and hazy with desire. The flickering light from the dashboard reflected in his gaze, making him look like a dream, unreal in the dim confines of the car. His hair had slipped free from its loose tie, falling around his face in dark, wet strands. You could feel the weight of his gaze—intense, wanting, and entirely focused one you.

His lips found yours again, slower this time, tasting, savoring—like he had all the time in the world. His hands slid further up your torso, palms grazing your sides before brushing just under the curve of your chest, the pressure light but electrifying.

You gasped softly against his mouth, and he smiled into the kiss, the corner of his lips quirking like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. His fingers curled slightly against your skin, teasing you with the barest hint of what he could do if you let him.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispered, his voice low and velvety, a subtle challenge in the way he asked—like he already knew your answer but wanted to hear it from you.

The rain drummed relentlessly on the roof, the song wrapping the two of you in its dreamlike haze. In the dim, private world you’d created in the back seat, with the storm outside and his hands on you, saying no was the farthest thing from your mind.

Geto’s lips drifted down your neck, each kiss soft but deliberate, making your breath hitch as he slowly mapped the curve of your throat. His hands roamed your body with practiced ease, fingers dragging over your ribs, your waist, like he was savoring every second. Then, without a word, he shifted lower, his body pressing into yours.

The leather seat squeaked as he moved between your legs, using his own to nudge them apart, spreading you with a slow, deliberate pressure. The heat between you was suffocating now, every point where your bodies touched burning through the thin layers of clothing. His palms gripped your thighs, thumbs brushing over your skin with a tenderness that felt at odds with the hunger simmering beneath it.

"Cause you want more... Why?"

The lyrics melted into the atmosphere, slipping through the charged air like a whispered confession, amplifying the tension building between you two.

"You want more... Why?"

Geto’s breath was hot against your collarbone as he leaned down, settling himself between your thighs. His hands ran over your legs, sliding higher until his thumbs pressed into the sensitive flesh just above your knees. The pressure was light but firm, grounding you as the heat pooling in your core threatened to consume you.

The rhythm of the song, slow and hypnotic, matched the steady, unhurried way he touched you. His hands drifted higher, spreading you further, his dark eyes locked on yours like he was watching for every little reaction—every stuttered breath, every shiver that ran down your spine.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice low and velvety, sending a shiver down your back. “I’ve got you.”

Your heart raced as his hands slid further up your thighs, teasingly slow, his fingers brushing against places that made your breath catch. His gaze held yours, steady and deliberate, as if daring you to look away—daring you to stop him, even though he knew you wouldn’t. The rain outside pounded against the car, drowning out the rest of the world, but inside, the only thing that mattered was the heat and pressure building between you two, rising steadily with each touch.

The song’s haunting refrain circled back again, wrapping you both in its dreamy haze.

"Cause you want more... Why?"

Geto smiled then, just the faintest curve of his lips, like he already knew the answer.

With an agonizing slowness, Geto's fingers slipped under the waistband of your bottoms, dragging them down over your hips. His touch was deliberate, lingering just long enough to make your skin tingle. The cool air inside the car brushed against you as the fabric was peeled away, leaving you exposed, raw, and vulnerable beneath him. He discarded the clothing without a word, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

He paused for a moment, eyes dark and half-lidded as they roamed over you, taking in every detail—the way you trembled beneath him, the way your breath hitched at the absence of his touch. There was no pretense in his gaze, only hunger, and something even deeper: reverence.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his voice low and raspy, the words slipping out like a confession meant only for you.

The rain outside beat steadily on the roof, its relentless rhythm grounding you even as the heat between you both threatened to unravel everything. Then Geto dipped his head, a soft hum vibrating in his throat as he gave you exactly what you craved.

His mouth pressed to your inner thigh, feather-light kisses teasing their way upward, making you squirm beneath him. His hands spread your legs wider, holding you firmly in place, and then—without warning—he kissed you where you ached the most. The sudden contact made you gasp, fingers gripping the leather seat beneath you, your body arching into his touch.

"You want more... Why? You want more... Why?"

The lyrics played like a knowing echo in the haze of your thoughts, perfectly synchronized with every slow, deliberate movement of his mouth. He worked with maddening precision, every kiss and flick of his tongue designed to pull soft moans from your lips. The tension inside you coiled tighter with each passing second, the world narrowing down to the warmth of his breath and the feel of his hands gripping your thighs.

Geto’s dark hair brushed against your skin as he delved deeper, each movement slow and indulgent, like he had all the time in the world. The final notes of Art Deco faded into the background, leaving only the sound of rain—a steady, soothing beat that contrasted with the storm building inside you.

His name slipped from your lips, breathless and broken, and he smiled against you, his tongue teasing in response, as if answering a prayer you hadn’t dared to say aloud. The sound of the rain pounded harder on the roof, as if the storm outside knew it was merely a reflection of what was happening inside this car—of what Geto was doing to you, and how completely he had you under his control.

Geto’s mouth worked against you with renewed urgency, the teasing caresses of his tongue igniting the tension coiling tight within you. He picked up the pace, each flick and swirl more insistent, a melody of pleasure that made your breath come in sharp gasps. His hands held you firmly, fingers digging into your thighs as if he were anchoring you to the moment, keeping you grounded while everything else spun wildly out of control.

The rain outside thudded against the car like a frantic heartbeat, echoing the rhythm he set, intensifying with every second. He seemed to know exactly what you needed, his movements a perfect blend of teasing and relentless, coaxing you closer to the edge.

Every kiss was deliberate, each soft suck drawing out soft whimpers from your lips. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his body moved against yours, a sensual dance that had you teetering on the brink of release. With every passing moment, the world outside faded further away, leaving only the intoxicating sound of the rain and the delicious friction between your bodies.

His tongue curled around you, pressing with just the right amount of pressure, while his fingers dug deeper into your skin, holding you in place, preventing you from squirming away from the overwhelming pleasure. You could feel your body responding, every nerve ending lighting up like a firework, an electric current surging through you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Geto,” you gasped, your voice a desperate whisper, the heat pooling low in your belly, tightening with each movement.

He responded by speeding up even more, his mouth moving with a fervor that made your head spin. The sensation was dizzying, almost too much to bear, and yet you craved more. You could feel the heat of your impending climax building like a storm within you, a tidal wave crashing toward the shore.

“Please,” you breathed, fingers tangling in his dark hair, pulling him closer as if that would somehow draw you to the precipice faster. The plea escaped your lips without thought, raw and honest, and he seemed to take pleasure in it, the corner of his mouth lifting in a sly smile against you.

The tension coiled tighter, your body arching instinctively toward him, begging for release. Just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, his fingers found the sensitive spot that made your breath catch, applying pressure in just the right way. Your back arched, every muscle in your body tightening as the pleasure reached a fever pitch.

You could feel the world around you begin to blur—the rain, the music, everything fading into a haze as you spiraled closer to the edge. A gasp left your lips, the sound mixing with the drumming rain and the fading notes of the song, creating a symphony of need that filled the car.

“Let go,” he murmured against you, his voice low and sultry, urging you on, sending you tumbling over the precipice.

And with that, the world exploded around you, every nerve ending igniting in a brilliant flash of ecstasy as you succumbed to the wave of pleasure that crashed over you, drowning out everything else—the rain, the music, even the world outside—leaving only you and him in that stolen moment, lost in the heat of the storm.

With one last lingering kiss to your core, Geto pulled away, his lips glistening from the heat of your body. He moved back up, his dark eyes locked onto yours, an electric current crackling between you as he closed the distance. His kiss was urgent yet tender, the taste of you lingering on his tongue as he explored your mouth, the intimacy of the moment deepening with every brush of his lips.

You could feel the remnants of pleasure still pulsing through you, the heat radiating from your skin as he pressed closer, his body molding against yours. His hands slipped down your sides, fingers tracing your curves, grounding you in the moment as he poured his desire into the kiss.

Then, with a practiced movement, Geto shifted slightly, unbuckling his pants, the sound of the belt clasp echoing in the confined space of the car. Your breath caught in your throat as he released himself, the anticipation heavy in the air, thickening the tension that hung between you like a live wire.

He didn’t break the kiss, though, his mouth moving against yours with a slow, deliberate hunger, as if he wanted to consume you entirely. You could feel him hard against your thigh, the heat radiating from him as he pressed closer, drawing you deeper into this moment.

You could hardly think, the rush of emotions and sensations clouding your mind as he continued to kiss you, exploring the depths of your mouth, his hands roaming freely over your body, familiar yet exhilarating.

“Are you ready?” he whispered against your lips, his breath hot and laden with desire. There was a hint of mischief in his voice, the question both a promise and a challenge.

Your heart raced at the implications of his words. You nodded, breathless, caught in the intensity of the moment, ready to dive deeper into this wild, beautiful chaos with him.

With a swift movement, he positioned himself between your legs once more, the weight of him pressing against you, the world outside forgotten as he closed the distance again. The storm raged on, rain hammering against the car, but in this small, intimate space, nothing else mattered but the two of you—the heat, the desire, and the thrilling unknown that lay ahead.

Geto's body pressed against yours as he began to move gently, taking his time to savor every moment, every soft gasp that escaped your lips. His movements were deliberate, coaxing you into the rhythm, allowing your bodies to find their own pace. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, the way your bodies fit together seamlessly, and it sent a shiver of pleasure coursing through you.

Each thrust was slow and measured, filling you completely, as if he was trying to imprint every sensation into your memory. He watched your face intently, gauging your reactions, that smirk returning as he saw the pleasure etched across your features. It was intoxicating, every breath and whimper drawing you closer to the edge again.

As the moments stretched on, the air thick with tension and desire, you could feel the ache within you growing, craving more. And just as the gentle rhythm began to lull you into a blissful haze, Geto shifted, picking up the pace.

The change was sudden, yet exhilarating. He moved with more urgency now, thrusting deeper, harder, the sound of your bodies meeting filling the car with an intoxicating rhythm. The car rocked slightly with each movement, the tension in the air crackling like electricity.

You gasped at the sudden intensity, every thrust driving you closer to the edge. The overwhelming pleasure built inside you, spiraling outwards with each powerful movement. His breath came in ragged bursts, the muscles in his arms flexing as he anchored himself above you, the heat between you rising to a fever pitch.

“Just like that,” you gasped, your fingers gripping his arms as you tried to pull him deeper, to feel every inch of him.

The rain continued to hammer down outside, each drop a reminder of the storm still raging beyond the confines of the car, but inside, everything else fell away. All that existed was the two of you—lost in the rhythm, the passion, and the electric connection that bound you together in this wild moment.

Geto leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “You’re so beautiful like this.” His voice was low, rough with desire, and it sent another wave of heat through you. You could feel the tension building inside you again, coiling tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.

With each thrust, each flicker of pleasure, you felt the world outside blur into insignificance. The only thing that mattered was the way he moved against you, how every rough thrust sent you spiraling closer to that precipice of ecstasy, a beautiful, chaotic release waiting just beyond your reach.

Geto’s movements became more fervent, a primal urgency driving him as he picked up the pace even more. Each thrust was harder, more intense, the rhythm pounding like a heartbeat echoing in the confines of the car. You could feel the heat rising between you, the tension coiling tighter with every stroke, threatening to unravel you both completely.

In a moment of passion, he leaned down, biting gently at your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as if to quiet the sounds spilling from his lips. The sharp sensation sent a jolt through you, igniting every nerve ending and making you clench around him tighter. The sweet mix of pain and pleasure made your heart race, a delicious thrill that heightened every feeling coursing through you.

“God, you feel incredible,” he groaned against your skin, his breath warm and ragged. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he thrust into you with unrelenting force. You could feel him everywhere, the overwhelming connection intensifying with every movement, every gasp that escaped your lips.

Your bodies moved in perfect harmony, the heat radiating between you building toward a boiling point. You were both so close, teetering on the edge of release, the world around you fading away into nothing but the rhythm of your bodies. The sound of the rain pounding against the car was a mere backdrop to the symphony of pleasure playing out between you.

“Geto,” you breathed, your voice shaky and desperate as the tension within you reached its peak. Your nails dug into his back, urging him on, pulling him deeper, craving that sweet release.

His grip tightened on you, his pace becoming more erratic as he felt you clench around him, the pressure building as he whispered your name like a prayer. “Almost there,” he murmured, his voice low and hoarse. The intensity in his gaze burned into you, igniting something primal and raw as he pushed you both closer to the brink.

And then, in one final surge, it happened. The coil inside you snapped, a wave of pleasure crashing over you like a storm, consuming you entirely. You cried out, the sound mingling with the rain as the world shattered into brilliant colors, every nerve in your body igniting in a blaze of ecstasy.

Geto followed right behind you, his thrusts becoming more frantic as he spilled into you, the force of his release matching the intensity of your own. The two of you finished together, bodies entwined in a beautiful chaos, the storm outside echoing the tempest that had just unfolded within the car.

As the last waves of pleasure washed over you, the world around you slowly came back into focus. The rain continued to pour, drumming a soft rhythm on the roof of the car, a soothing lullaby after the storm. You both lay there, breathless and intertwined, caught in the afterglow of what felt like an eternity.

As the last echoes of pleasure faded, Geto gently pulled away from you, his movements tender as he removed himself from your warmth. A soft sigh escaped your lips at the sudden emptiness, but he quickly drew you back into his embrace, wrapping his arms around you as he brushed a few strands of hair from your face.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, his dark eyes searching yours for any hint of discomfort.

You nodded, a shy smile breaking across your face, the warmth of the moment still lingering. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, the sweetness of it a stark contrast to the wild passion you had just shared. “You did so good,” he praised, his voice low and husky. “I can’t believe how incredible you felt.”

The sincerity in his words sent a flush to your cheeks, and you melted against him, the intimacy wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Time seemed to stretch in the quiet, both of you basking in the afterglow, savoring the peaceful moment and the connection that had deepened between you.

But then, the tranquil atmosphere shattered as a loud knock echoed against the car window, jolting you both upright. You glanced over to see Gojo standing outside, soaked from the rain, his hair slicked back and droplets glistening on his skin. A gigantic smirk played on his lips, his usual mischievous demeanor on full display.

“Hey, you two lovebirds! Should’ve let me join!” he called out through the glass, his tone teasing, eyes sparkling with amusement.

You quickly covered your face with Geto’s chest, embarrassment flooding through you as you felt your cheeks heat up. “Oh my god,” you mumbled, mortified, wishing you could disappear into the fabric of Geto's shirt.

Geto sat there dumbfounded, staring at Gojo with a mix of disbelief and amusement, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he was fighting back a smile. “What are you even doing here, Gojo?” he replied, trying to regain some composure, though the humor in his tone betrayed him.

You could feel Geto’s chest vibrating with laughter beneath you, and it only made your face burn hotter. The comfortable intimacy of the moment felt completely shattered, replaced by the embarrassment of being caught in such an intimate act. You peeked up at Geto, who was still trying to process the interruption, and then back at Gojo, who was leaning against the car, clearly enjoying the moment far too much.

“Seriously,” Gojo continued, shaking his head as he wiped some rainwater from his brow, “I didn’t know you two were into the whole 'rainy day' thing. Next time, let me know! I’ve got some good ideas to make it even more fun.”

You buried your face deeper against Geto’s chest, unable to hold back a soft laugh despite the embarrassment. The playful banter was familiar territory, but the blush on your cheeks reminded you that you weren’t just friends anymore.

Geto finally shook his head, a chuckle escaping his lips. “Shut up, Gojo. Just… get lost for a minute, would you?”

Gojo raised his hands in mock surrender, still laughing. “Alright, alright! Just remember, next time I want in on the fun!” With that, he stepped back, his laughter ringing in the air as he turned to walk away, leaving you and Geto in a bubble of both laughter and lingering tension.

As the rain eased up, the soft patter on the roof became a gentle reminder of the storm that had just passed. You couldn’t help but smile, the warmth of the moment returning as you sank back against Geto, feeling safe and cherished, even amidst the chaos of your friends.

[falafelluva]

I love your work so much!

I don’t know if you take requests but if you do can you write something with Kenan who has to do his 2 year old daughter’s curly hair? 🫶🏾

; 𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐋𝐒 - 𝘬.𝘺𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘻 ✮

summary: when a nasty cold hits you, kenan is left in charge of the parenting duties— that includes taking care of your little girls wild curls.

warnings: idk, illness ig? help? tangled curly hair (very triggering)

author’s note: i do in fact take requests for now I can still write them quickly but after this week i have to focus on school bc #examyear, i love this one cs i have curly hair myself but excuse the way this is written- i myself have a mixture that ranges between 3a-3c and kind of went with what i know about my hair even tho i don’t know shizzle about curly hair care💔 also i just named her Ayla bc I don’t know how to write with those y/d/n things [sad]

The afternoon sun streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. You lay in bed, bundled under a soft blanket, battling a nasty cold.

Your head throbbed, and your throat felt like sandpaper, leaving you utterly drained. You could hear the soft sounds of your two-year-old daughter, Ayla, playing in the living room, her laughter breaking through your fog of illness, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to join her anytime soon.

Kenan stepped into the room, his expression a mix of concern and determination. “Hey, love,” he said softly, checking in on you. “How are you feeling?”

You managed a weak smile. “Not great, but I’ll be okay. Just tired.”

He nodded, glancing toward the living room where Ayla was happily babbling to herself. “I have to take her out for a bit, but I don’t know what to do with her hair.”

You chuckled softly, even though it hurt. “She’ll be fine, just leave it for now.”

But Kenan shook his head, his brows furrowing. “Nein, I can’t let her go out like that.” He paused, then added, “Besides, she needs to look..not this uh… wild? people will think I don’t know what I’m doing.”

You watched him, a mix of admiration and amusement. Kenan had always been determined to be an involved dad, but when it came to Ayla’s hair, he was a bit out of his element.

“Okay, just give it a try. You can do this.”

Taking a deep breath, Kenan nodded and headed to the bathroom to gather supplies. He emerged with a small basket filled with the essentials:

an edge brush, edge control, gel, water, curling cream products, and a random wide tooth comb/denman brush. You couldn’t help but smile at how determined he looked.

“Alright, Ayla, come here, Kleine” he called out, trying to keep his voice light and playful. Ayla wandered over, her beautiful but wild curls bouncing with every step. (little one)

Kenan knelt in front of her, brushing his fingers through her hair to assess the situation.

“Alright, let’s see what we’re working with here,” he said, his tone serious as he misted her hair with water from the spray bottle.

Ayla giggled as the droplets landed on her forehead, but then she wrinkled her nose, unsure of what was happening.

“Easy, it’s just water..damn,” Kenan said softly, his tone soothing as he muttered the last word.

“We’re just going to make you look pretty.” He squirted some curly hair product into his hands, rubbing them together before working it through Ayla’s curls.

“This will help keep your hair nice and bouncy, just like how mommy does it for you” he explained, trying to channel the routine he’d always seen you do.

Next, he picked up the Denman brush, the brush glinting in the light. But as he began to gently brush through her curls, Ayla’s mood shifted.

“No, Baba! No!” she whined, shaking her head and pulling away from him.

Kenan paused, glancing at you with wide eyes. “Was mache ich falsch?” he muttered in confusion, clearly at a loss. (what am I doing wrong?)

“It’s okay, just take it slow. Maybe try using your fingers instead,” you suggested, wanting to help him navigate the moment without adding to his frustration.

“Okay, okay,” he replied, his voice still calm but edged with uncertainty. He set down the Denman brush and began to use his fingers to separate her curls gently.

With each careful tug, he began to see the way her curls twisted and spiraled, their natural shape coming to life.

“See, we can do this,” he encouraged, but Ayla still squirmed in his grip, her little face pouting.

“it’s just a little bit of..hair care,” he said, trying to keep his voice cheerful. “You’ll look even more like a princess when we’re done.”

“Baba, no!” Ayla whined again, crossing her arms defiantly.

“Ach, digga,” he murmured, trying to keep the mood light. “We can go get ice cream after this, I promise.” (oh, bro)

Her little face lit up at the mention of ice cream, but she still squirmed, trying to pull away.

Kenan watched her, biting his lip, and then he grabbed the edge brush, hoping it might give him better control over the styling process.

“Okay, let’s try something else,” he said, taking a deep breath. He gently brushed back the front curls to smooth them down and began working on her edges.

He carefully applied a small amount of edge control with his fingers, rubbing it into the baby hairs around her hairline.

“There we go,” he said, concentrating hard. He picked up the edge brush, using it to create little swoops and curves that framed her face—Ayla giggled, her curiosity piqued by the new sensation, and for a moment, the tension eased.

“Pretty, Baba?” she asked, tilting her head to the side, and Kenan felt a surge of pride.

“Very pretty,” he confirmed, a smile spreading across his face. “You’re going to be the cutest girl at the park.”

Encouraged, he continued to work on her edges, and as he styled, he found his rhythm. “See? Isn’t this fun?” he said, still maintaining the cheerful tone he knew she loved.

“Fun!” she echoed, her little hands now playing with the edge brush while he worked.

“Just a little more,” he said, carefully applying some gel to set the style in place. He lightly spritzed her hair with water again, letting the curls bounce back into their shape—with his fingers, he fluffed the curls, giving them definition and volume.

“Baba, I want to help!” Ayla exclaimed, reaching for the brush again.

“Okay, okay,” Kenan said, chuckling at her enthusiasm.

He let her take the brush, guiding her little hands to help. “Just like this, we go from the bottom to the top. Can you do that?”

Ayla nodded, her focus entirely on the task. As she brushed through her curls, Kenan felt a wave of warmth wash over him.

It wasn’t just about getting her hair done; it was about sharing this moment together.

As they both worked on Ayla’s hair, Kenan quietly reminded himself that he was doing this for her. “Wir schaffen das zusammen,” he whispered under his breath, his determination shining through. (We can do it together)

After a few more minutes of playful styling, Kenan finally finished. He leaned back, taking in the sight of his daughter’s beautifully styled curls. “There you go, all done!” he exclaimed.

Ayla turned to look in the mirror, her eyes wide with excitement. “Pretty!” she exclaimed, running her fingers through her curls.

Kenan grinned, relief flooding through him. “You look like a little princess, just like I promised.”

“Baba, I want to go!” she said, tugging at his hand, eager to head out.

“Alright, ice cream it is!” he laughed, ruffling her hair one last time before they headed toward the door.

As they stepped into the bright sunlight, you settled back into your pillows, content in the knowledge that your little family was navigating life together— Kenan pointing at you through the window, the two of them waving at you as you blow a kiss at them.

Watching Kenan hold Ayla’s hand outside, you couldn’t help but smile.

Even though you were feeling under the weather, knowing that Kenan was trying to up his game as a dad made your heart swell with pride.

The way he approached parenting, with such tenderness and determination, filled you with gratitude.

You closed your eyes for a moment, thankful for the life you were building together, one day at a time.

[vroom--vrooming]

Sihtric Kjartansson x Reader

Sihtric is badly injured and Uhtred and his gang of bastards takes him to the nearest healer available

The sky is overcast, and a light drizzle falls over the small village as Uhtred, Finan, and Osferth lead a barely conscious Sihtric through the narrow, muddy streets. His injuries are severe, and the urgency to find a healer weighs heavily on them. The village is quiet, with only a few villagers braving the rain, and they quickly direct the group to the healer’s house at the edge of the settlement.

You’re in the middle of preparing herbs when you hear a knock on the door. The soft murmur of voices tells you it’s urgent. You open the door to find the three men, soaked from the rain, with one of them slumped between the other two, barely able to stand.

“He’s hurt bad,” Uhtred says, his voice thick with worry. “Can you help him?”

Your eyes quickly assess Sihtric, noting the blood and the deep cuts that need tending. Without hesitation, you nod. “Bring him inside.”

They carry him into your home, gently laying him down on the bed. Sihtric’s eyes flutter open as you begin your work, though his gaze is unfocused, and he’s only semi-conscious. He catches a glimpse of you—your dark hair framing your face, your soft eyes filled with concern as you move with practiced care—and even in his pain, he feels a strange warmth spread through him.

You work swiftly, cleaning his wounds, applying poultices, and wrapping bandages around his torso. The other three watch with bated breath, their trust in your skill evident in their silence. As you work, Sihtric mumbles incoherently, his words slurred and soft, but his eyes never leave your face. You glance at him, noting the odd mix of pain and something else—something like awe—in his gaze, but you dismiss it, focusing on your task.

“He’ll need to rest,” you say, turning to Uhtred. “The wounds are deep, but with proper care, he’ll recover. You can leave him here. I’ll make sure he’s looked after.”

Uhtred, Finan, and Osferth exchange glances, clearly reluctant to leave their friend behind, but they trust your expertise. “We’ll return in the morning,” Uhtred says, his voice firm yet grateful. “Thank you.”

Once they’ve left, you make sure Sihtric is comfortable, adjusting the blankets around him. The rain outside intensifies, pattering against the roof in a rough rhythm. You sit by his bedside, watching him drift in and out of consciousness. His mumbling continues, and though you can’t make out his words, the sound of his voice is strangely soothing.

As the night deepens, you light a small fire in the hearth, its warmth filling the room. Sihtric’s breathing steadies, and you finally allow yourself to relax, watching the flames dance. You remain by his side until your eyelids grow heavy, eventually drifting off in the chair beside him.

Morning comes with a gentle light filtering through the window. The rain has lessened to a fine mist, and the air is fresh with the scent of wet earth. You wake to the soft sound of rustling and see that Sihtric has woken up, his eyes slowly focusing on his surroundings. He looks down at the bandages wrapped around his chest, then up at you, watching you as you prepare a fresh batch of herbs at a small table nearby.

You feel his gaze on you and turn with a soft smile. “Good morning,” you say, walking over to him with the prepared herbs. “How do you feel?”

He blinks, as if unsure whether he’s still dreaming. His voice is rough with sleep and pain as he answers, “Better… I think.”

You smile at him, a warm, genuine smile that makes his heart skip a beat. “You will be,” you assure him. “I’ve made something to help with the pain and to aid your healing. You should rest for a few more days.”

As you sit on the edge of the bed to apply the fresh herbs, Sihtric can’t take his eyes off you. He’s still weak, but the pain seems distant now, overshadowed by the softness in your eyes and the care in your touch.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse.

“You’re welcome,” you reply, looking at him with a mixture of kindness and amusement. “It’s my duty to help, but I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

He watches you work in silence, his heart swelling with something he can’t quite name. It’s as though he’s known you forever, as though he’s been searching for you his whole life without realizing it. In that moment, he vows that once he’s healed, he’ll find a way to express what he’s feeling.

As you finish applying the herbs and stand to leave, he reaches out, gently catching your hand. You pause, looking down at him in surprise.

“Stay… please,” he whispers, his eyes pleading.

You hesitate, then sit back down, your hand still in his. “I’m not going anywhere,” you assure him, your voice soft.

Sihtric smiles faintly, his grip on your hand loosening as sleep begins to pull him under again. His heart is full, and even in his weakened state, he knows he’s found something special, something worth fighting for.

As he drifts off, he whispers something so quietly that you barely catch it—a word, maybe a name, lost to the sound of the rain and the steady rhythm of his breathing. You stay by his side, watching over him as he sleeps, and wonder what it was that made him hold on to you so tightly, what it was that made him look at you as if you were the most important thing in his world.

And as the day wears on, you realize that you, too, are looking at him in a way you never expected to look at a patient—with hope, with warmth, and perhaps with the beginnings of something more.

[moonlightazriel]

Prologue /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: Y/N Blackbeak keep dreaming about the same male for decade’s now, she wonders what this all could mean.

Word Count: 751

Warnings: None for this part.

Notes: Welcome to my new series, i hope you guys enjoy it just as much as i do. I was so excited to share this with you all.

Main Masterlist

Worlds Apart Masterlist

The sound of leathery wings sounded above her head, she looked up expecting to see the black wyvern hovering over her head. She blinked a couple of times, landing in front of her was the male, he had onyx hair, brown skin and the prettiest hazel eyes she had ever seen. His sharp jaw and plush lips were forming a smile, he was smiling at her. 

She tried to touch his face, retrieving her hand quickly before her iron claws could do any damage to his smooth skin. The male shook his head, marred fingers grasping her wrist. He lifted her hand, pink warm lips ghosting over her cold skin, a kiss of midnight on the back of her hand.

She closed her eyes, feeling warmth spread across her chest, that thing skipping a few beats as he pulled her closer by the waist, still holding her hand. She waited for the kiss, feeling his breath fanning over her face, he smelled like night chilled mist and cedar. The scent wrapping itself around her and calming her wild heart.

“You have plagued my dreams for centuries.” She spoke, her voice hoarse like she had been silent for so very long. “Will I ever see you one day?” Her eyes watered. 

The same dream, the same male, but she never found him, and she had spent so long looking for him. She knew he was different from her lovers, from anyone she had ever met. She knew she had to find him, see him at least once, to bring peace to her tortured mind. 

With all the gentleness in the world, he cradled her face in between his hands, the rough skin brushing against the sides of her jaw. Those beautiful hazel eyes, tinted with specs of gold looked into hers, like they could see the fractured soul underneath the brave facade she tried so hard to keep together.

“Don’t wrap your pretty head around it.” His lips touched her forehead, and she leaned into that feeling, the only time she actually had peace was in the arms of the stranger that walked on her dreams. “You won’t have to wait much longer, but please..” She watched as worry laced his features.

She wanted to soothe the furrow of his eyebrows, with a cold hand, she brushed the tip of her finger against his cheek, slowly going upwards until she traced his eyebrows, the left one and then the right one.

“Whatever you want to say, do not worry, please.” She begged and the male nodded.

“Do not be hurt if I don't remember you, I'm not even sure you will remember me.” He chuckled, the sound lighting something within her heart.

“Like I could ever forget you.” She traced his lips.

“The Mother works in mysterious ways, all I know is that our time is coming soon.” He warned and her heart filled with hope, would she finally be able to feel his arms around her waist and his hard chest against her for real? No more play pretend, just reality.

“I can’t wait to meet you.” She allowed herself to feel that love, slowly taking roots in her heart, taking her by surprise.

“Soon, my love, soon.” He promised, his lips capturing hers in a delicate kiss.

She woke up, sweat coated her forehead and her heart hammered against her ribcage knocking the air out of her lungs. She felt dizzy, her fingers touching her tingly lips. The early rays of sunshine invading her room, forcing her to shut her eyes tightly together, the image of him burning bright as she did so. 

Y/N got up, her body protesting but she had things to tend to. She was able to relax under the scalding water of her bath, but the dark circles still marked her eyes, giving her a tired aspect. She inspected the bumpy scar on the left side of her face, two smaller ones marred her eyebrow, missing the eye for an inch, and the biggest one was from the beginning of her hairline to her cheek, irregular skin patched together forming that monstrosity on her once beautiful face.

But just like her, the male also had his scars, and he never seemed disgusted by hers, he always looked at her with love and admiration, she was sure that when they found each other for the first time, he wouldn’t judge her. Nothing would be different between them, her heart just wondered when that meeting would happen.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Taglist: @fieldofdaisiies @blackgirlmagicforever @a-frog-with-a-laptop @going-through-shit @asweetblueberry2

@roses-r-red54330 @mis-lil-red @sheblogs @hibye02 @impossibelle

@glitterypirateduck @zeroangelo13 @sekiro1310

[rebelliousmuse]

Reassurance – C. S.

Warnings: cute at first, smut at the end; insecurities, "cheating", unprotected p in v (don’t do that), oral.

---------------------------------------------------------------

A sudden shake went through the mattress. Chris muttered something incoherent. The room was silent except for the rhythmic hum of the air conditioner and the sharp gasps escaping his lips. In the dim light filtering through the blinds, you could see him twist and turn, his brow furrowed in distress. He must be having a horrific nightmare. With a soft sigh, you reached out and gently ran your fingers through his long hair, whispering soothing words you hoped would reach him in the depths of his sleep.

Chris nightmare:

The familiar warmth of their living room bathed in the soft glow of the nightlight. Chris's heart skipped a beat as he saw you sitting on the couch, a radiant smile illuminating your face. But his joy dissolved faster than mist as he saw who you were talking to. Matt. He lounged comfortably across from you; his arm casually draped over the back of the couch. The air crackled with intimacy that made Chris clench his fists.

Memories flickered through Chris's mind like a slideshow. The way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you genuinely laughed at his jokes, not the way they did now at a throwaway comment from Matt. The warmth of your hand slipping into his as you watched movies on this very couch. A wave of nausea washed over him as he saw you lean in, your eyes sparkling with a happiness that used to be reserved for him.

Chris tried to call out to you, a desperate plea stuck in his throat. He was a ghost in his own home, unseen and unheard. The scent of your lavender shampoo, a scent that used to fill him with comfort, now felt like a cruel mockery. The sound of your laughter, a sound that once filled their house with joy, now scraped against his raw nerves. As Matt closed the distance and your lips met, a sob escaped Chris's lips. The pain was so intense it felt real, a physical ache in his chest.

Chris woke with a gasp that ripped through the quiet room. His eyes snapped open, wide and unseeing, as he stared at the wall opposite the bed. His body trembled slightly, and he threw the covers off in a single, jerky motion. Fragments of the nightmare flickered through his mind - the kiss, the way you looked at Matt, the feeling of being invisible. Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision. "Not again," he thought, his throat constricting. "Why do I always come second to Matt?" Remembering the times he was used by other girls just to get his brother. Just then, a gentle hand began to caress his back, a soft movement that slowly brought him back to the present. “y/n?" he whispered; his voice raspy. You leaned closer, your voice laced with concern as you asked, “What's wrong, Chris?”

Chris shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flitting away from yours. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again with a sigh. A flicker of vulnerability crossed his face, quickly masked by a strained smile. "It was just a bad dream," he finally mumbled, the words barely audible.

You watched him closely. "I can tell," you said softly, with empathy. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head, his jaw clenching slightly. The thought of revealing his nightmare, of you even considering Matt in that way, was unbearable. He couldn't bear the thought of you questioning his worth, of even entertaining the idea of Matt. "No," he said definitively, his voice a touch sharper than he intended.

You squeezed his hand gently, acknowledging his distress. "Okay," you murmured, leaning against his shoulder. With a soft sigh, Chris allowed himself to be pulled back into bed. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as if sheltering him from the storm raging inside. Your fingers began to thread through his long, brown hair.

The dream's images flickered behind his eyelids, the sting of Matt's imagined presence still fresh. He winced at the thought of voicing his insecurities. Were they even valid concerns, or just the echoes of the past? A fierce protectiveness for this newfound happiness welled up within him. He couldn't risk putting it in danger with insecurities. He loved you too much, the thought of losing you was too terrifying.

The internal fight had finally drained him. With a shaky breath, Chris blurted out, "You kissed Matt… you loved him." His voice was barely a whisper.

You cupped his face in your hands, making him look at you. "Oh Chris, no," you whispered, brushing a tear from his cheek with your thumb. "That will never happen. It was just a horrible nightmare, but it’s not real, never. I love you, Chris. You, with your infectious laugh. You, with your thoughtful nature. You, with those captivating blue eyes that seem to hold a whole summer sky within them."

With each declaration, you leaned in and placed kisses on him. A soft kiss landed on his forehead for his laugh, another one on his cheek for his thoughtfulness, and a final, passionate kiss on his lips for his eyes.

As your love washed over him, you felt him relax in your embrace. His shaky breaths calmed, replaced by a slow, steady rhythm. A smile, genuine and relieved, spread across his face. His captivating blue eyes, no longer filled with worry, locked onto yours with a depth of love that mirrored your own.

You stayed tangled in bed, the warmth of your bodies chasing away the chill of the nightmare. A low rumble from his stomach made you both chuckle.

"Sounds like someone's ready for breakfast," you teased, brushing a kiss against his temple.

Chris cracked a tired smile. "Maybe," he mumbled, his eyes still closed.

"Pancakes sound good?" you suggested.

He finally opened his eyes, a spark of gratitude flickering within them. "Perfect," he rasped, his voice thick with sleep.

As you spent the day together, you marveled at the way the sunlight danced in his captivating blue eyes, a silent compliment that brought a blush to his cheeks. Later, during a playful game of mini-golf, you cheered him on, genuinely impressed by his unexpected trick shot. "You're such a natural!" you exclaimed, squeezing his hand. With each compliment, each touch, you felt a wall crumble within him, replacing the insecurity with the reassurance of your love.

At night, laughter still lingered in the air from shared stories over a delicious dinner you'd prepared together. With full bellies and empty plates, you decided to set the mood for a night of cozy intimacy. You browsed through a playlist on your phone, familiar tunes filled the air as you sang and danced with your boyfriend. Elvis Presley's "Can't Help Falling in Love" started playing, Chris smiled, he knew how much you liked old songs.

Chris cleared his throat, a nervous flutter in his eyes that instantly melted your heart. He hesitantly extended a hand towards you. A smile bloomed on your face as you slipped your hand into his. He pulled you close, swaying gently to the rhythm.

Lost in the world of Elvis's melody, you swayed gently, your foreheads joined. Your eyes were locked. A universe of emotions swirled within – gratitude, love, a newfound sense of security.

The final notes of "Can't Help Falling in Love" faded into silence, replaced by the unmistakable sound of a Lil Skies song. You blinked, pulled back slightly, the warmth of his touch still lingering on your hand.

Chris's gaze followed yours, a playful glint in his eyes. "Should we watch a movie?" he suggested, his voice a husky murmur. Though the mood had shifted slightly, there was an unspoken tenderness that hung in the air.

Nestled comfortably on the bed, you scrolled through movie options with a playful smile. "How about this one?" Chris suggested, pointing at a sci-fi thriller.

"Hmm," you hummed, reading the synopsis. "Not sure I'm in the mood for aliens tonight."

"Okay, how about this action one?"

You snorted, shaking your head. "We watched that one last month, remember?"

The laughter lines crinkled around Chris's eyes as he continued browsing. Finally, he landed on a film you both recognized – a comedy you'd both enjoyed in trailers. "This one?"

"Perfect!" you exclaimed, snuggling closer to him as he pressed play.

You curled up against him, your head resting comfortably on his shoulder. As the movie unfolded, a comfortable silence settled between you, broken only by the occasional laugh. At some point, you felt his eyes on you. You turned your head, meeting Chris's eyes. His gaze held an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. There was a depth of emotion in them, a look that spoke volumes about his feelings.

A smile spread across his face, warm and genuine. He leaned in, and you met him halfway. The kiss was soft, filled with a tenderness that sent a wave of warmth through you. He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. "You're incredible," he murmured.

With a contented sigh, you snuggled back into his embrace, the glow of the movie screen painting a warm light on your faces. The movie continued, but your focus had shifted.

The movie became a mere backdrop, the sound muffled by the growing hum of desire within you. You stole a glance at Chris, his profile bathed in the soft light of the screen. You bit your lower lip as your gaze lingered on the curve of his jaw, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. Unconsciously, you traced a finger along his arm, the warmth of his skin sending a jolt through you.

Suddenly, a loud laugh erupted from Chris. The scene on the screen displayed a character in a hilarious situation, but you barely registered it. Your attention was solely on him, on the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the joy radiating from his smile.

He turned to you, expecting you to share his amusement. But your serious expression made his playful glint falter. "What's wrong?" he started to ask, but the question died on his lips.

Before he could finish, you captured his lips in a kiss. It was a hungry kiss, fuelled by a yearning that had been building throughout the night. Chris melted into your touch, a surprised gasp escaping his lips before he responded with equal fervour. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your bodies pressed together in a silent plea for more.

Suddenly, you feel his playful smile against your lips as your fingers gently tugged the hem of his shirt. Chris understood instantly. A low groan rumbled in his chest as he lifted himself slightly from the bed, allowing you better access.

His shirt slipped away easily, breaking the kiss, revealing the expanse of his torso bathed in the moonlight streaming through the window. You started kissing again, your hands moved with a newfound confidence, tracing the defined lines of his muscles. Your fingertips lingered on the smooth skin of his chest, sending a sigh escaping his lips as you explored every delicious inch.

He stopped kissing you to take your shirt off as well, revealing no bra on you, letting him see your tits as he bit his lower lip, bringing his hands up to grab your right boob, playing with your nipple. Meanwhile, his lips trailed a path of fire down your neck, lingering on the sensitive skin just behind your ear. A gasp escaped your lips, half a moan, half a laugh. His hands, cool against your heated skin, skimmed down your arms, sending shivers chasing each other. They reached the edge of your shorts, gently grazing the exposed skin before dipping teasingly beneath the fabric.

A surge of heat shot through him as he shifted, taking control and positioning himself above you. With practiced ease, one hand went to take your shots and underwear off, slowly teasing it downwards, revealing a glimpse of creamy skin before discarding it entirely. His gaze swept over you, lingering on the curve of your hip, a flicker of possessiveness crossing his features before settling into a smug smirk. His own breath hitched in his throat, mirroring the quickening pace of yours. He licked his lips, a slow, sensual sweep of his tongue.

A smile spread across his face as his gaze drifted down your figure. "Fuck, babe," he murmured, his voice a low and raspy, "you are perfect." His eyes devoured you.

The words were barely out before you were yanking him in for another kiss. It was urgent, a collision of lips fuelled by a desperation that left you breathless. Tongues tangled fiercely, a battle for dominance that left you both lightheaded.

With a low groan, you surged forward, instinctively throwing yourself on top of him. His playful facade faltered for a moment, replaced by surprise that quickly morphed into amusement as he raised an eyebrow playfully.

Dipping your head, your lips brushed the sensitive skin of his neck, sending a shiver through him. A playful bite, the sharp press of your teeth, drew a gasp from his lips, the sound swallowed by a moan that vibrated against your ear.

His hand shot up, tangled in your hair, anchoring you to him as you continued your descent. Each kiss was a spark, a deliberate exploration down his torso, his muscles hardening beneath your touch. You lingered on the sharp angles of his hip bones, feeling the heat radiating through your fingertips and lips. A choked moan escaped his lips, his voice husky when he finally spoke.

"Don't tease," he pleaded, his eyes meeting yours, a mixture of desperation and amusement. With agonizing slowness, you moved a fraction closer, the anticipation hanging heavy in the air.

You took his dick in your mouth, tracing circles with your tongue, feeling the heat on his skin. His head tilted back, exposing his throat. His eyes fluttered shut, then squeezed tight, lines crinkling at the corners. A low groan rumbled from his chest, growing deeper and more urgent with each stroke. As you shifted your movements, a gasp escaped his lips, his breathing heavy. "I-I'm about to..." he stammered, his voice thick with desire. You could feel his muscles tense beneath you, a response to the increasing intensity. You welcomed his release in your mouth, swallowing his cum, and started leaving a trail of wet kisses, you moved upwards, your tongue lingering on the taut skin of his torso.

Your voice dipped low, a husky whisper against his ear. "You taste so sweet, baby," you said with desire. Your hand trailed down his spine, fingers digging lightly into the heated muscles beneath. He met your gaze, a flicker of hunger danced there before he leaned in, his lips brushing yours tentatively at first. Then, as if a dam had broken, the kiss deepened, his mouth hot and demanding against yours.

With a groan, Chris shifted, his weight settling possessively on top of me. Your breath hitched, a choked plea escaping your lips. "I need you, please," You whispered, your body arching up instinctively. He met your gaze, a dark fire burning in his eyes. "My needy girl, don't you want me to..." he began, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. You cut him off, your voice trembling with urgency. "No, please Chris, I really really need you, please." His smirk widened, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Begging for me? Damn baby, you know what it does to me," he said, his voice a low rumble. He moved with deliberate slowness, positioning himself between your legs, drawing out the anticipation before finally claiming what you both craved.

Chris began to move slowly, you could feel the heat radiating off his body. "Faster, Chris, please," you gasped, the words tumbling out in a desperate plea. His response was immediate. He surged forward, his jaw clenching tight, a low growl escaping his throat. Your nails dug into his back, carving lines that you knew would turn red later. He didn't flinch, his grip on your thighs sending a delicious shiver down your spine as he thrusted deep and fast into you. "God, you're doing so good for me, babe," he rasped into your ear, his voice thick with desire “So fucking good”.

A wildfire appeared in your stomach as Chris's dick grazed your g spot, sending shivers cascading down your spine. His voice, usually deep and steady, was now a husky rasp that sent goosebumps erupting over your skin. "Damn, love," he breathed, pulling you impossibly closer. "You're so tight," he finished in a strangled whisper, his body tensing on top of yours.

"C-Chris," You stammered, your voice barely above a whimper. "I'm g-gonna…" The words caught in your throat as the feeling intensified. A smirk played on his lips, his eyes burning with desire.

"Cum for me, pretty girl," he commanded in a husky growl. The world dissolved around you in a wave of pure pleasure, sending you soaring to your peak, wetting the bedsheets.

A shudder racked Chris's body as he released, followed by a sigh of contentment. He rolled onto his side, pulling you close so you could feel the warmth of his skin against you. Drowsily, you traced lazy circles on his chest.

"You were incredible, my love," You mumbled, your voice thick with sleep and satisfaction. A sleepy smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he looked down at you.

"I love you, honey," he murmured, his voice husky but tender.

"I love you too," You whispered back, snuggling closer, content to simply exist in the comfortable silence that had settled between you.

[syndrossi]

Resonant Trick or Treat Fill #12: Jon tells scary stories by candlelight

This was one of the prompts I saved, since we were lacking many Halloween-themed ones and I wanted at least one or two for Halloween itself!

There will be a couple of these coming out today, so stayed tuned for more fills!

x~x~x

“He closed the door behind him and barred it from within, gripping his ax as he waited for the wailing from outside to end,” Jon said, leaning closer to the candle, so that it lit his face ghoulishly from below.

Jace and Luke stared back at him, eyes wide and unblinking. Beside them, Rhaegar was sitting straighter than Jon had ever seen him, hands clutched in his lap.

“It grew quieter. And quieter. Until he couldn’t tell whether the noises outside were merely the groans of the wind. Finally he dragged himself to the hearth. A fire had been lit before, but it was nearly dead, only the embers glowing orange. He stirred them with his ax, then held his hands close to warm them.”

Jon mimicked the motion with his hands over the candle, then pretended to shiver.

“But the room grew colder with each passing moment, until his breath turned to mist. He heard a creak then.” Jon cocked his head and paused as though listening, barely able to hold back a smile as Jace and Luke mimicked him. “He peered into the shadows in the far corner of the room, where they were blackest, and saw the outline of a man. ‘Who goes there?’ he asked, but the shadow did not respond.”

Both young cousins looked toward the corner of Jon and Rhaegar’s bedchamber, which was nearly impossible to see—except for the shape of the tunic Jon had draped over the chair he’d dragged there before. They gasped, Luke grabbing for Rhaegar’s hand.

“The shape did not move,” Jon continued, “but the shadows seemed to grow, swallowing the dim light of the hearth, until he could see nothing but the deepest, darkest black around him.”

While their attention was occupied, Jon pinched the tip of the candle, snuffing its light and plunging the room into darkness. Two high-pitched shrieks pierced the sudden quiet, along with a muffled squeak from Rhaegar’s direction.

The sound of footsteps followed, and then the door swung open, light spilling into the room from the main chamber of the apartments. Daemon stood in the doorway, Laenor and Rhaenyra just behind him. Luke released Rhaegar to beeline for Rhaenyra instead, wrapping burying his face into her skirt while she combed fingers through his short hair.

“These are bedtime stories you are telling, are they not?” she asked.

“The very ones that were told to me,” Jon said innocently, before amending, “to us.”

Rhaegar gave a weak nod. “Jon—always enjoyed them more.”

Jace tugged at Jon’s sleeve, voice small as he asked, “Did he get eaten?”

“The shadows dragged him into the dark, and he was never seen again,” Jon said, then kissed him on the cheek.

Jace’s lower lip wobbled, but he gave a brave little nod before fleeing for the comfort of his parents. Laenor lifted him into his arms, casting Jon a baleful look that then he transferred to Daemon. “If they have nightmares, I am summoning you to sing them to sleep.”

“Are your Velaryon shanties not soothing enough?”

“They are as soothing as your son’s notion of bedtime stories, I would venture.”

The tunic propped up on the chair in the corner slid off, the ripple of movement in the back of the room causing Jace to throw his arms around Laenor’s neck, accidentally striking Daemon’s cheek in his wild flailing.

“I don’t want to go to bed!” Jace said with a hint of panic.

Rhaenyra raised a hand to his cheek. “We will keep the candles burning, dearest.” And when he shook his head, unconvinced, she kissed his temple. “Brave Caraxes and Syrax guard us from the yard. They will allow no harm to come to you.”

Jon felt a twinge of guilt now. He remembered enjoying Old Nan’s stories when he had been their age, him and Robb tensing beneath the covers at strange noises in the night afterward. But he supposed it was different when you had grown up hearing them. The stories Rhaegar told when it was his turn were usually of brave knights vanquishing evil, or legends of magic and dragons.

Tales of unruly children who disobeyed their parents and suffered a cruel fate for it abounded amongst Old Nan’s rotation of stories. Such lessons were perhaps deemed unfit for a prince.

“I did not mean to frighten them so badly,” Jon said, meeting Princess Rhaenyra’s gaze with a fluttering apprehension, but he found no condemnation there.

“I am not afraid,” Jace protested.

Jon stooped to pick up the carved wooden dragons the boys had brought with them, handing Jace his two favorites, Vhagar and Syrax. “The woodcutter did not have dragons to protect him, like we do.”

Dragons for Jace, and Kingsguard for Rhaegar, when he had been a child. Jon supposed there was no need to instill a fear of danger in a young prince, when he would be guarded his entire life by knights sworn to die for him.

Rhaenyra smiled at him. “Just so.”

“And—” Jon glanced over at Rhaegar. “We can sleep in your chamber tonight and protect you too.”

Jace blinked, surprise overtaking his upset, and Luke wriggled in his mother’s arms, all vestiges of fear replaced with excitement.

“You will stay with us?” Jace asked. Then his expression turned crafty. “We would be safer with Qelebrys and Shadow too.”

Rhaegar looked amused by the less-than-subtle attempt at manipulation. “Who better to safeguard against shadow than Shadow himself?”

Luke turned pleading eyes upon Rhaenyra. “Can they sleep with us, mama?”

“That is up to their father,” she said, angling so that he could turn the power of his begging upon Daemon instead.

Jon had expected their father to readily agree, but he frowned, looking almost reluctant. This will be the first time we are away from him for the night, Jon realized. They spent hours at a time apart during the day, of course, but it was not only in stories that the night was different.

Dark and full of terrors.

There were far more chilling tales he could have told, drawn from his own life. But Old Nan’s stories were safe, their horrors rooted in fiction.

“Of course,” Daemon said thinly, as though the very words strained him. “For the night.”

“I can return at dawn, if you like,” Jon teased, hoping to lighten his mood, but their father seemed to take the offer in earnest, snagging him for a hug and kiss atop his hair.

“I should like that.”

“I shall do no such thing,” Rhaegar said haughtily, his own attempt at levity, and Daemon caught him with his other arm.

“You will if I drag you with me,” Jon singsonged back.

The scary story seemed entirely forgotten as their young cousins jabbered excitedly about their bedchamber, and where the hatchlings could sleep, and whether visitors meant they could call for a treat from the kitchens.

“No,” Laenor said firmly, immune to his sons’ chorus of pitiful whines.

The disappointment lasted for no more than a few seconds, their attention turning next to what Jon and Rhaegar should bring other than their hatchlings. Jon’s wooden ships, they agreed, deeming the rest of their possessions too boring.

When they were finally ready to leave, Jace paused at the door, glee dawning upon him. “Aemond is going to be so jealous.”