#protect yourselves in this time that is ever shifting

[boyczar]

recent words of the day as applicable and accurate as a tarot reading

[hisfavegirl]

Fire and Rose Petals - Daemon Targaryen x Reader

summary : your marriage with daemon is no longer based on duty, but love. you and daemon become more and more inseparable, until good news comes and you both love each other even more.

It’s been nearly a month since you and Daemon married, and you’ve both decided to stay for a while at Dragonstone, where the quiet and solitude allow you both to enjoy each other’s company without the looming pressures of the court. The island feels like a world of its own, a place where the noise of the kingdom fades, and it’s just the two of you.

The bond between you and Daemon has only grown stronger during these weeks. You’ve become inseparable, finding comfort and peace in each other’s presence. Wherever you are, Daemon is there too, and vice versa. It’s as if the two of you were always meant to be side by side. There’s a certain intimacy in this, a closeness that even the eyes of others can’t break.

Today, you find yourselves in the garden of Dragonstone, surrounded by the wild beauty of the island. The sun is setting, casting an amber glow across the sky, and the air is cool, perfect for an evening spent outdoors. You’re seated comfortably in Daemon’s lap, your body relaxed against his chest as he holds you effortlessly.

You’re both at ease, content in each other’s presence. Daemon’s hand rests on your waist, the gentle touch of his fingers grounding you as you chat softly. His presence is warm and protective, and in this moment, there’s no need for words. His eyes are focused on you, but it’s the soft smile he wears that makes your heart flutter every time.

“I never thought I’d enjoy the quiet so much,” you murmur, looking out at the horizon, where the sun dips lower behind the cliffs of Dragonstone. “Back at court, there was always something happening. It feels so peaceful here.”

Daemon chuckles softly, his voice low and soothing. “I’ve always preferred the calm,” he says. “It gives us time to focus on what truly matters.”

You smile and turn your head slightly, catching his gaze. “And what matters most to you?” you ask, a teasing tone in your voice.

Daemon’s eyes soften as he looks at you, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something deeper in his expression. “You,” he replies simply, his voice full of sincerity. “You matter most to me, always have.”

His words settle in the space between you, and you feel a warmth spread through your chest. It’s moments like these that remind you of the strength of the bond between you both, a connection that goes beyond the expectations of marriage or royalty. It’s something entirely your own, something deeply personal.

“You’re quite good at making me feel special,” you say with a smile, resting your hand over his. “How did I ever get so lucky?”

Daemon smirks, his confidence never waning. “You didn’t get lucky,” he says, his tone playful. “You chose wisely.”

You laugh softly, feeling the weight of the moment sink in. In this peaceful space, with the sunset casting a soft glow around you and Daemon holding you close, everything else seems far away. It’s just the two of you, and in that simplicity, you find a happiness you hadn’t anticipated.

As you sit there, gazing at Daemon with a soft smile, you can’t help but notice the way his expression shifts. He’s usually confident and calm, but there’s something in his eyes today that seems distant, almost preoccupied. You catch his gaze, sensing that something is weighing on his mind.

“Daemon,” you ask gently, your voice laced with concern. “What’s on your mind? You seem… lost in thought.”

He hesitates for a moment, then sighs, his eyes meeting yours. “It’s nothing,” he begins, his voice carrying a hint of reluctance. “It’s just… my father asked me today if you were pregnant yet. If we were expecting.”

You blink in surprise, the words catching you off guard. You’d heard whispers about the expectation of an heir, but to have it brought up so directly by his father feels like an unexpected turn in your still-fresh marriage.

“Your father asked that?” you repeat, trying to process the weight of it. The idea of bearing an heir to the Targaryen name had always loomed over you, but the pressure of it suddenly feels more real.

Daemon nods, his jaw tightening slightly. “Yes. He’s… eager for grandchildren, for the line to continue. And I’m sure he thinks it’s time.”

You feel a flicker of discomfort at his words. It’s clear that Daemon, though he is fiercely independent and unwilling to be controlled by anyone, still feels the weight of his father’s expectations. You can sense the subtle pressure he’s under.

“I see,” you reply, your voice quiet, unsure of what to say next. Part of you feels the weight of this expectation too. While you’ve grown closer to Daemon and found happiness together, the idea of bearing an heir for House Targaryen, and the eyes that would be on you because of it, is daunting.

Daemon catches your eye again, his expression softening as if sensing your unease. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, a hint of his usual smirk returning. “I told him we’ll let things happen when they do. But my father’s… persistent.”

You let out a small breath, relieved by his words, but still, the notion lingers in the back of your mind. The idea of starting a family with Daemon, of continuing the Targaryen legacy, feels monumental in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

Daemon leans in slightly, his gaze intense but comforting. “We’ll handle it together, as we always do. Whatever happens, we’ll decide when the time is right.”

His words ease some of the tension in your chest, and you nod, smiling up at him. For now, you remind yourself, you have each other, and that is enough. The rest—whether or not you bear an heir—will come when the time is right.

“You’re right,” you agree, a sense of peace returning. “We’ll figure it out together.”

You gently caress Daemon’s cheek, your fingers tracing the familiar lines of his face as you move closer, pressing your lips softly against his. A small sigh escapes you as you pull back slightly, your eyes searching his for any hint of doubt. There’s a quiet longing between you both, a shared desire that hasn’t been fulfilled yet, despite your efforts.

“I do want to bear your child,” you murmur softly, the words heavy with meaning. “But perhaps the gods have yet to grant us that blessing.”

Daemon’s gaze softens, his hand moving to cup your face gently, as if to comfort you. “Don’t worry, my love,” he says, his voice steady and filled with warmth. “The gods move at their own pace. We have time.”

You smile faintly, nodding in agreement, but deep down, you can’t help but feel the weight of expectation. While both of you are deeply connected and share a powerful bond, the idea of bearing an heir—especially in the eyes of the Targaryen family—is something that looms over you.

But as Daemon holds you close, his words offering reassurance, you remind yourself that love and patience can make even the most difficult paths seem easier to navigate.

At night, the sounds of passion fill the room, your connection growing stronger with every shared moment, every whispered promise. You know that your efforts are not in vain, and while the gods may have their own timeline, you and Daemon will keep trying. Together, there is nothing you cannot face.

For now, you savor each moment, each touch, knowing that in time, the gods may choose to bless you with the family you both yearn for. And when that moment comes, you will face it hand in hand with Daemon, as you always have.

You position yourself to sit facing him, he quickly hugs your waist and looks at you. You smile and kiss his lips, he who understands your intention then lifts your heavy dress to reduce the distance between you.

His hands began to untie your dress enough for you to let out your chest, he slowly squeezed it which made you moan softly. He broke his kiss and started to kiss your neck, then his mouth went down to your chest and devoured it. you gently squeezed his hair and closed your eyes, "are you sure you want to do it here? now?"

You just nodded and started to untie his pants, daemon smiled and kissed your lips again. You held his hard cock, then you directed his cock towards your wet core. Daemon removed your small cloth and began to insert his cock, you moaned as you felt him enter you completely and fill you. "Gods, how can you still be this tight after all the nights we've had?"

you laughed softly before finally moving your hips, you moaned softly. in this position you could feel him filling you, you could feel his hands on your waist following the rhythm of your hips.

"I want you to fill me up, full of your seed, round with your child" you whispered and bit his ear softly, He growled before finally lifting you up and pinning you against the wall, you moaned as he started pounding into you fast and rough. his mouth found your nipple again and sucked on it, you could only moan at the pleasure he was giving you.

"you want to be filled with my seed? you want to have my child?" you just nodded and moaned as his rhythm got faster and rougher. he growled and choked your neck softly, something inside you woke up and made you hotter. "give me your child daemon, i want you to impregnate me"

He growls and you can feel his cock twitching inside you signaling he's about to peak, “Gonna fill you up,” he growls. “With my cum until you're leaking and breed you until I'm satisfied."

you moaned as he continued to hit your sweet spot, "you take me so well, I never thought my sweet wife could turn into a whore when she was with me" Daemon growled softly and thrust his cock inside you before he finally painted your walls white.

Your breath was still, he pulled out his cock and laughed softly as he saw your juices running down your legs.

He then kissed your forehead and helped you adjust your dress before finally putting his pants back on. "If we do this more often, soon we will see little daemons or little you running around this park" you laughed hearing his words.

You let out a small yelp as Daemon suddenly lifts you off the ground, his arms strong and steady as he cradles you against his chest. Surprise quickly melts into laughter, the sound light and carefree as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Daemon!” you exclaim, still laughing as you glance around. “People are gonna watching!”

He tilts his head to look at you, a mischievous grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Let them watch,” he replies, his voice laced with that familiar cocky charm. “Let them see how much I cherish my wife.”

Your cheeks flush, not from embarrassment but from the warmth his words bring. You tuck your face into the crook of his neck, hiding your smile as you feel the steady beat of his heart against you. His confidence has always been something you admired, and moments like this remind you of how much he truly doesn’t care for the opinions of others.

The soft murmurs of servants and the subtle glances from guards don’t faze him in the slightest. His focus is on you — only you. His steps are firm and unbothered as he carries you through the corridors of Dragonstone, his gaze unwavering as if daring anyone to question him.

The cool stone walls surround you as he makes his way toward your shared chambers. Every so often, he presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering longer each time. It’s a gesture so tender, so genuine, that your heart feels as if it might burst.

“You enjoy this too much,” you tease, glancing up at him with narrowed eyes, though your smile betrays you.

“Of course I do,” he says with a smirk, his voice low and smooth. “Carrying the most precious thing in this keep? I’d do it every day if you’d let me.”

You shake your head, your smile never fading. “You’ll spoil me.”

“That’s the point,” he replies, his eyes full of affection.

When you finally reach your chambers, he doesn’t put you down right away. Instead, he lingers in the doorway, holding you close as if unwilling to let go. His eyes meet yours, filled with a kind of devotion that words could never fully express.

“Home,” he says quietly, his gaze unwavering. “Wherever you are, that is home.”

Your breath catches for a moment, but you quickly lean up to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Then don’t ever leave,” you whisper against his mouth.

“Never,” he promises, his voice as firm as the stone around you.

With that, he steps inside, kicking the door closed behind him. No words are needed, only the warmth of his embrace as he carries you deeper into your shared sanctuary — a place where it’s just the two of you, far from the eyes of the world.

You sit comfortably on Daemon’s lap, his arms wrapped securely around you, holding you close. The cool breeze from the sea drifts in from the balcony, carrying the crisp scent of salt and the distant sound of waves crashing against the rocks of Dragonstone. The night sky is vast and endless, stars twinkling like tiny flames scattered across a sea of darkness. The pale glow of the moon bathes everything in silver light, casting a serene glow over the world around you.

Daemon’s hand moves slowly up and down your back, his touch firm yet gentle, like a constant reminder that he is there — steady, unyielding, and yours. His warmth seeps into you, chasing away any hint of chill the breeze may have brought. You sigh contentedly, letting yourself sink deeper into his embrace.

You feel him press a soft kiss to the crown of your head, his lips lingering just long enough for you to feel his breath against your hair. It’s a gesture so simple, yet it makes your heart feel fuller than you ever thought possible.

“Comfortable?” he asks softly, his voice low and rough from the stillness of the night.

“More than comfortable,” you murmur, your eyes fluttering shut as you lean your head against his chest. You can hear the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath you — a sound that has become more familiar and soothing than any song.

A hum of satisfaction rumbles in his chest, and then, without warning, he begins to hum a soft, low melody. It’s a tune you don’t recognize at first, slow and deep, like a lullaby that’s been forgotten by time. His voice, though unpolished, has a certain rough charm to it — raw and real. The sound vibrates through his chest, and you feel it resonate in your bones, warm and comforting.

You smile to yourself, your eyes still closed, letting the sound wash over you. It feels like the world outside has faded away, leaving only the two of you in this quiet, perfect moment. Your fingers trace lazy patterns on his tunic, your breathing slowing to match the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

“You’re humming,” you tease lightly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Is that a problem, wife?” he replies, tilting his head slightly to glance down at you, a playful edge in his tone.

“Not at all,” you answer with a soft smile. “I like it. I think I could fall asleep like this.”

“Then sleep,” he says, his hand moving up to tangle gently in your hair, fingers combing through it with slow precision. “I’ll keep watch.”

And with that, he continues to hum, his voice low and steady, a melody meant only for you. The stars seem to flicker in time with his tune, and for the first time in a long while, you feel utterly and completely at peace.

No thrones. No expectations. No whispers from the court.

Just you, Daemon, and the quiet song of the night.

The soft glow of the morning sun filters through the heavy curtains, casting golden streaks of light across the stone floor and the plush blankets draped over you. Slowly, your eyes flutter open, and for a moment, you remain still, letting the warmth of the bed cocoon you in comfort. But something feels different.

You reach out to the space beside you, expecting to feel Daemon’s familiar warmth, only to be met with cool, empty sheets. Blinking away the last remnants of sleep, you sit up, your gaze falling on the small piece of parchment resting on his pillow.

Curiosity sparks in your chest as you reach for it. His handwriting is unmistakable — sharp, bold strokes with a slight flourish at the ends of his letters.

“You looked far too peaceful to disturb. I’ve gone to the training yard. I’ll return before midday. — D.”

A soft smile tugs at the corners of your lips, warmth blooming in your chest. Typical Daemon. No grand farewell, just a simple note left behind, thoughtful in his own way. Your fingers trace over the ink as if the gesture alone could bring him back to you.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, your bare feet touching the cold stone floor. The coolness sends a small shiver up your spine, urging you to stand and stretch. The quiet of the room is peaceful, broken only by the distant calls of seabirds outside and the faint rustle of the wind through the cracks of the stone walls.

With a soft sigh, you walk toward the washbasin, splashing cool water onto your face to chase away the last of your sleepiness. You glance at your reflection in the polished metal mirror. There’s a softness in your features that wasn’t there before — a glow, perhaps, born from the love you’ve found here.

After dressing in a simple yet elegant gown, you call for your handmaidens. They enter with quiet efficiency, brushing and braiding your hair with practiced hands. All the while, your mind drifts to Daemon. You wonder if he’s still at the training yard, swinging his sword with that sharp precision that always left you in awe.

Once you’re ready, you take one last glance at the note, your fingers brushing over it once more before tucking it into the drawer of your bedside table. It’s a small thing, but you want to keep it — a reminder of the quiet, thoughtful side of the man you call your husband.

With a final glance at the now-empty bed, you head for the door, ready to face the day. Your thoughts linger on the training yard, and you can’t help but wonder if perhaps you should pay him a visit. Seeing Daemon in his element, confident and in control, always had a way of making your heart race.

And maybe, just maybe, he’d be just as happy to see you there too.

You walk through the long, winding corridors of Dragonstone, your footsteps echoing softly against the cold stone floor. The air smells faintly of salt and ash, a scent you’ve come to associate with this ancient castle perched atop volcanic rock. Around you, servants bustle about, their arms full of linens, trays of food, or buckets of water. They nod respectfully as you pass, some offering small smiles. You acknowledge them with a nod, your thoughts focused on reaching Daemon.

As you descend the staircase leading to the training yard, a wave of dizziness suddenly washes over you. Your vision blurs at the edges, and your breath catches in your chest. You grip the stone wall for support, eyes closing as you take a deep breath. The world tilts ever so slightly, and for a moment, you feel the familiar tug of nausea rising in your throat.

Not now, you think to yourself, swallowing hard to push the feeling down. It’s nothing. Just a little fatigue.

You press a hand lightly against your stomach as you steady yourself. Perhaps you hadn’t eaten enough this morning, or maybe you were simply still recovering from the long nights spent with Daemon. The thought of it brings a faint flush to your cheeks, but you shake your head, determined not to let a little dizziness slow you down.

With measured breaths, you push yourself off the wall and continue walking. The fresh air of the courtyard is close now, and you tell yourself that the open sky will help. As you step outside, the cool sea breeze greets you, brushing against your skin and carrying with it the distant crash of waves against the cliffs. The sun feels warmer than usual, and you lift your face to it, letting the warmth ground you.

Ahead, you spot Daemon. His silver hair catches the sunlight like molten steel, and he moves with the grace of a dragon in flight. Every swing of his sword is precise, every movement calculated and efficient. His tunic clings to him, damp with sweat, and his eyes are focused, sharp as Valyrian steel. For a moment, you stand there, watching him with quiet admiration.

He must sense your gaze because he turns his head toward you, his eyes locking with yours. A grin spreads slowly across his face — that familiar, cocky smirk that he wears so well. He lowers his sword and walks toward you, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

“Couldn’t stay away, could you?” he teases, his voice low and playful as he stops in front of you. His eyes scan your face, his grin softening into something more tender. “You look pale, sweet wife. Did you not sleep well?”

“I slept fine,” you reply, managing a small smile. “Just a little tired, that’s all.”

Daemon narrows his eyes, his gaze lingering on you with quiet concern. He raises a hand to your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing your skin softly.

“You’re warmer than usual,” he says, his voice laced with suspicion. “Are you sure you’re not ill?”

“I’m sure,” you insist, placing your hand over his to reassure him. “I just need some air. Watching you swing that sword of yours seems like the perfect cure.”

He huffs a short laugh but doesn’t seem entirely convinced. “If you faint, I’m carrying you straight back to bed,” he warns, his tone only half-joking.

“Then I suppose I’ll just have to stay on my feet,” you reply with a playful tilt of your head.

He stares at you for a moment longer before letting out a sigh, pulling you closer so you can rest your head briefly on his chest. You can feel the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath the damp fabric of his tunic.

“Stubborn woman,” he mutters into your hair, but his arms tighten around you nonetheless. “At least stay in the shade if you’re going to watch.”

“Yes, husband,” you reply, a soft laugh escaping your lips.

You don’t tell him about the flicker of nausea or the way the world tilted for just a moment. It’s probably nothing, you tell yourself. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time you’d ignored something small, only for it to pass on its own.

But as you rest your head against Daemon’s chest, a quiet thought lingers in the back of your mind. What if it’s not nothing this time?

You keep your eyes on Daemon, watching his swift, controlled movements as he trains. Each swing of his sword is a show of precision and power, his muscles coiling and releasing with the grace of a predator. You smile faintly, feeling the warmth of pride in your chest. But then, it happens again.

A sudden, sharp wave of dizziness hits you harder this time. Your breath stutters, and the world around you tilts. Your heart races as your knees weaken beneath you. You blink rapidly, trying to clear your vision, but everything around you blurs into swirling shapes and shifting shadows.

Your hand instinctively reaches for the wall, but it isn’t close enough. Panic flickers in your chest. Not here. Not now. You hear the distant clang of steel hitting the ground, followed by the sound of rapid footsteps.

“Hey!” Daemon’s voice cuts through the haze, sharp with worry. “What’s wrong?!”

You try to answer, but your lips feel heavy, and your tongue won’t move. The pounding of your heart grows louder in your ears, drowning out the world around you. Your knees buckle, and you feel yourself falling. The ground rushes up to meet you, but before you hit it, strong arms catch you.

“Stay with me!” Daemon’s voice is closer now, urgent, commanding. His hands are firm as they hold you, cradling you against his chest. You feel the heat of his body, hear the rapid thudding of his heart. “Look at me, look at me, love.” His voice is strained, as though he’s fighting back fear.

But your eyelids feel so heavy. Your head tilts against his shoulder, and the world slips further away. His voice sounds far away now, as if he’s shouting from across the sea.

“Call the maester! NOW!” Daemon’s roar echoes through the courtyard. You think you hear the hurried footsteps of servants rushing to obey, but everything is growing quieter, darker.

“Please,” Daemon’s voice cracks, low and desperate. His hand presses against your cheek, his thumb stroking softly, as if willing you to stay awake. “Stay with me, don’t you dare leave me.”

But the pull of darkness is too strong. Your eyes close, and the world fades to nothing.

The world comes back slowly — sounds first, distant murmurs that sharpen into voices. You hear someone shouting, sharp and commanding, a tone you know well. Daemon.

“… If you missed something, I’ll have your head on a spike, Maester!” His voice is laced with barely contained fury, each word like the edge of a blade. “Check her again. Now.”

You blink slowly, your vision still hazy, but familiar shapes begin to take form. The ceiling of your chambers, the soft glow of firelight flickering from a hearth nearby. The scent of lavender and burning wood fills your nose. Your body feels heavy, but warmth surrounds you.

Your eyes shift, and there he is. Daemon stands by the foot of the bed, his eyes wild with barely restrained panic, his jaw set tight as he glares at the old maester hovering by your side. His silver hair is a mess, strands falling over his face, his tunic wrinkled as if he hadn’t cared to fix it. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides.

“Daemon,” you call his name softly, your voice barely above a whisper. But it’s enough.

His head snaps toward you so fast you’d think he’d heard a dragon’s roar. His eyes lock onto yours, and all the tension in his face breaks at once. His shoulders drop, and his eyes widen in disbelief. “You’re awake,” he breathes, rushing to your side. “Thank the gods.”

He drops to his knees beside you, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin with the gentleness of a man who thought he had almost lost something precious. His eyes search yours frantically, like he needs to see every part of you to believe you’re real.

“You scared me,” he mutters, his voice thick with emotion. “You terrified me.”

You smile weakly, leaning into his touch, letting the warmth of his hand ground you. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean to cause a scene.”

“A scene?” he repeats, his eyes narrowing as he huffs a short, incredulous laugh. “You fainted in front of half the courtyard, and you think that’s a scene?” His eyes flicker with something deeper — fear, relief, and anger all tangled together. “You could’ve died.”

The maester, still cautious under Daemon’s watchful gaze, steps forward. “Her pulse is steady, my prince,” he says carefully, his hands raised as if to calm a dragon. “I believe it was exhaustion, perhaps a fever. But with your leave, I will check her once more.”

Daemon doesn’t move at first, his eyes locked on you as if afraid you’d disappear the moment he blinked. But when you nod, he releases a breath and shifts aside, still holding your hand.

The maester presses his hand against your forehead, checks your pulse, and hums thoughtfully. He glances at you, his brow raised with quiet curiosity. “My lady, have you felt any nausea as of late? Dizziness? Sensitivity to certain smells?”

Your eyes dart to Daemon, then back to the maester. The memory of the past few days flashes through your mind — the dizziness on the stairs, the waves of nausea you had brushed off, and the exhaustion that had clung to you like fog. Slowly, you nod.

“Yes,” you admit softly. “I thought it was nothing.”

The maester hums again, his expression shifting into something more knowing. He presses a hand lightly against your abdomen, glancing at you as he does so. “It may not be ‘nothing,’ my lady,” he says with a small smile. “In fact, it may be everything.”

You blink, confusion flashing across your face. But Daemon is quicker to understand. His eyes dart to your stomach, his lips parting as if he’s about to speak but finds himself momentarily speechless.

“You mean…” His voice trails off, his eyes narrowing at the maester. “Say it plainly, old man.”

The maester smiles as he steps back, folding his hands neatly in front of him. “It is still early, my prince, but I believe congratulations are in order. The lady may very well be with child.”

Silence fills the room, thick and heavy. Daemon stares at you, his eyes searching your face for any sign of doubt, as if needing to see your reaction before he believes it himself.

“With child,” you repeat, your hand slowly drifting to rest on your abdomen. The realization washes over you slowly, warmth spreading through your chest. Your heart beats faster, a mix of nerves and wonder swirling inside you. “I’m… with child.”

Daemon’s face shifts from disbelief to something you’ve never seen before — pure, unguarded joy. He lets out a breathless laugh, his eyes shining with something fierce and untamed. “With my child,” he says, his voice thick with pride and wonder.

He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he breathes you in. “Our child,” he whispers, his voice trembling just enough for you to notice. “Our blood. Our legacy.”

You can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, his hands cradling your face like you’re the most precious thing in the world. His lips brush softly against yours, slow and deliberate, before he pulls back just enough to look at you again.

“You’re mine,” he says firmly, as if staking a claim. “You, and now this child, belong to me. No one will ever take you from me.”

His words should sound possessive, but you hear the love behind them — the desperation of a man who has lost too much and refuses to lose again. You nod, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

“And you,” you whisper, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “You belong to me too, Daemon Targaryen.”

His grin is sharp and wild, full of pride and love. “Always, love. Always.”

You sit by the warm glow of the fireplace, the soft crackling of the flames filling the quiet chamber. Your hands rest gently on your rounded belly, your fingers tracing slow, soothing circles over the fabric of your gown. It’s been five months since you learned of your pregnancy, and though the changes to your body were gradual at first, there’s no hiding it now. Your belly is firm, round, and undeniable — the unmistakable mark of a child growing within you.

Daemon sits across from you, his eyes never straying far. He leans back in his chair, legs spread casually, one hand holding a cup of wine, the other lazily draped over the armrest. But his gaze is sharp, focused entirely on you. His eyes soften when they meet yours, a small, knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

“You’re staring,” you say, your voice carrying the light tease of familiarity.

He tilts his head, his smirk growing bolder. “How could I not?” he replies, his eyes flicking down to your belly. “You’re carrying the future of House Targaryen and House Tyrell in that little frame of yours. It’s quite the sight.”

You huff a laugh, brushing a hand over your stomach. “If it gets any bigger, I won’t be able to stand without help.”

Daemon raises a brow, his grin wicked. “Then I suppose I’ll have to carry you everywhere, won’t I?”

You shake your head, unable to stop the smile pulling at your lips. His confidence is relentless, but you know his words aren’t empty. He’d carry you across all of Westeros if you asked.

For a while, the two of you sit in comfortable silence. The fire casts dancing shadows on the stone walls, and you feel the gentle thrum of life within you — small movements, faint but unmistakable. You place a hand firmly over the spot and smile.

“Daemon,” you say softly, looking up at him. His gaze sharpens instantly, like he’s ready for anything. “It’s time, isn’t it? We should tell them.”

His eyes narrow slightly, as if weighing the idea. “You’re certain?” he asks, setting his wine aside and leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Once they know, the whispers will spread. Our child will be at the center of it all.”

“I know,” you reply, voice steady but firm. “But I don’t want to hide it anymore. This is our child, Daemon. They will have to accept it.”

Daemon studies you for a moment, his eyes flickering between pride and protectiveness. Then, slowly, he nods. “Very well,” he says, standing and walking over to you. His hand extends toward you, palm up. “Shall we make them bow to our legacy, my lady?”

You smile, placing your hand in his. He pulls you up gently, one arm curling protectively around your waist to steady you. “They will bow,” you reply, your voice filled with quiet determination. “They always do.”

You and Daemon prepare to leave Dragonstone and make your way back to the Red Keep. The journey ahead seems long, but your mind is focused on the upcoming announcement. You know that today, you will finally share the news of your pregnancy with the royal family and the court. It’s a moment you’ve been anticipating, though a part of you feels a bit nervous about the attention it will bring.

The pregnancy, however, hasn’t been easy. The baby seems incredibly active, a constant reminder of the life growing inside you. At night, when the world falls silent, the tiny kicks and movements keep you wide awake, and though the thought of carrying Daemon’s child fills you with love, the exhaustion from sleepless nights weighs heavily on you. You’ve grown accustomed to his reassuring presence, his hand resting on your stomach as he murmurs comforting words whenever the baby moves restlessly.

Daemon, always attentive, notices your fatigue as you pack. “Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks, concern flashing across his face. He steps closer, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his eyes softening. “You’ve barely slept these past nights.”

You smile up at him, grateful for his constant care. “I’m fine, just tired,” you reply, trying to mask the truth. “It’s just that our little one seems to be more active than expected.”

Daemon chuckles softly, his thumb gently stroking your hand. “A fighter, just like their father,” he says with a smirk. “They’ll be strong.”

Despite his teasing tone, you can see the pride in his eyes. He’s looking forward to being a father, though he won’t admit it outright. You’re sure that, deep down, he’s just as eager for the day when you can finally share this joy with the rest of the realm.

As you prepare to leave, Daemon’s hand finds its place on the small of your back, guiding you through the halls of Dragonstone. His presence is a constant comfort, a solid anchor that helps you feel steady despite the whirlwind of emotions and changes that come with your pregnancy.

“Let’s get to the Red Keep,” Daemon says, his voice a soft command. “It’s time.”

You nod, though your mind is full of thoughts and worries about what awaits you. But for now, all you need is Daemon by your side—just as he always has been. Together, you make your way to the waiting ship, and as you board, you take one last look at the land you’ve called home for so long before turning your gaze ahead, to the future that awaits you both in King’s Landing.

The journey by ship proves to be much more difficult than you anticipated, especially while pregnant. Despite the fact that it’s a relatively short trip, the constant rocking of the boat leaves you feeling nauseous and exhausted. The salty air, though refreshing for most, seems to exacerbate your discomfort, and you clutch the railing tightly as a wave of dizziness washes over you.

Daemon, noticing your discomfort, approaches quickly, his face filled with concern. “You should rest,” he insists softly, his hand on your back as he guides you to a seat. “The sea isn’t kind to those with child.”

You give him a tired smile, trying to brush off your unease. “I’m fine, Daemon. Just a bit of nausea. It’ll pass.”

But Daemon isn’t convinced. He kneels before you, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for any sign of further distress. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard. Let me help.”

He places a gentle hand on your stomach, his touch grounding you as he speaks with a soft authority, “Rest, my love. I’ll be here.”

Reluctantly, you lean back against the cushioned seat, allowing yourself to close your eyes and rest. Daemon remains close by, his presence a source of comfort. Though the rocking of the ship doesn’t stop, his soothing words and touch help ease the discomfort. You focus on his steady presence, allowing the steady rhythm of his voice to lull you into a moment of calm.

Time seems to blur as the journey continues, but you’re grateful that Daemon is there, taking care of you. His concern is unwavering, and even though he can’t control the sea, you know he will always do his best to protect you and your child.

After a while, the worst of the nausea passes, and you feel able to sit up again. The horizon begins to show signs of King’s Landing in the distance, and though the trip wasn’t the easiest, the thought of being close to your destination gives you a sense of relief.

“We’re almost there,” Daemon says, his hand gently resting over yours.

You nod, still a bit fatigued but glad to be nearing the end of this journey. “I just hope I can make it through the announcement without embarrassing myself,” you say with a light laugh, trying to push aside the lingering discomfort.

Daemon chuckles, his gaze softening as he looks at you. “You’ll do just fine,” he reassures you. “And I’ll be right by your side.”

As the carriage rolls through the familiar streets of King’s Landing, you feel a sense of anticipation building within you. The city is bustling with activity, and though you are returning to a place filled with memories, this time everything feels different. You are not just returning as a member of the family—you’re a wife, carrying Daemon’s child.

Daemon’s hand never leaves yours, his fingers gently gripping yours as if to reassure both you and himself. He occasionally rests his other hand on your growing belly, his touch warm and comforting. Each gentle caress brings you a sense of peace, easing the lingering discomfort from the journey.

You glance at him, a soft smile on your face, and he looks down at you with an expression of quiet affection. His eyes are filled with a rare tenderness as he watches over you, his usual confident demeanor softened by the love he has for you and your unborn child.

“How are you feeling?” he asks quietly, his voice laced with concern. Though he’s done his best to shield you from any discomfort, you can see the worry in his gaze.

“I’m alright,” you reply with a reassuring smile, “just a bit tired. But I’m happy we’re finally here.”

Daemon gives you a small nod, but his gaze lingers on your face, his thumb brushing along the curve of your belly. “I will make sure everything goes smoothly,” he promises. “You don’t need to worry about anything.

The carriage jolts slightly as it turns toward the Red Keep, and you feel a sudden wave of nerves. The announcement of your pregnancy is fast approaching, and you know that soon, all eyes will be on you. Daemon notices your subtle shift in mood and squeezes your hand gently.

“Whatever happens,” he says, his voice steady and reassuring, “we will face it together.”

You smile at him, grateful for his strength and presence. As the Red Keep looms closer, you feel ready. With Daemon by your side, you know you can face anything the future holds.

You’re taken by surprise as the carriage comes to a halt. Before you can even step down, Daemon swoops you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly. The sudden movement startles you, and you instinctively swat at his shoulder in protest.

“Daemon!” you exclaim, though there’s a mix of laughter and disbelief in your voice. “What are you doing? I can walk on my own!”

But Daemon, with that familiar mischievous smile, simply tightens his hold on you. “You’ve had a long journey. The least I can do is carry you to the Red Keep.” His tone is teasing, but there’s an underlying tenderness in his words. He doesn’t wait for any further protest before he addresses a nearby guard.

“Go,” he commands, “gather my father and my grandfather in the throne room. It’s time.”

The guard nods quickly and hurries off to fulfill the order. Daemon doesn’t hesitate as he continues carrying you towards the entrance of the Red Keep. You can feel the eyes of the castle’s residents on you, some surprised, others whispering, but Daemon pays them no mind. His focus is entirely on you, and you can’t help but smile at the attention, even though you’re still a little flustered by his boldness.

“Daemon, seriously,” you say, laughing as you rest your head against his chest. “I can walk. You don’t have to carry me like this.”

But Daemon only chuckles softly, the sound rich with affection. “You’re carrying my child. The least I can do is make sure you’re comfortable, even if it means looking like a fool in front of everyone.”

You shake your head at his words, but there’s a warmth in your heart that spreads every time he speaks like this. His care for you—and for your child—shines through in everything he does.

As you reach the throne room, Daemon gently places you down, and you both enter, ready to make the announcement you’ve been anticipating. The weight of the moment lingers in the air as the doors close behind you.

When you finally enter the throne room, the air shifts. The room is filled with the sound of conversation, clinking cups, and footsteps echoing on stone. King Jaehaerys sits on the Iron Throne, his wise, tired eyes watching all who enter. Prince Baelon stands nearby, deep in conversation with the Hand of the King — Otto Hightower.

The moment you and Daemon cross the threshold, silence falls. All eyes turn to you.

Daemon’s arm tightens around you as he leads you forward, his steps slow and deliberate, every movement calculated for effect. You lift your chin, refusing to shrink under the weight of their gazes. Every eye is on you, and you meet them all without hesitation.

“Father,” Daemon says as he stops before the king, his voice clear and commanding. “Grandfather.” He looks to Jaehaerys, his tone carrying the weight of unspoken meaning.

The king leans forward, his brows lifting with curiosity. “Daemon,” he says, his voice slow but firm. “What is this interruption? What do you wish to declare before the court?”

Daemon looks at you then — only you. His eyes soften, and the barest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Turning back to face the king, he says loud enough for all to hear:

“We come with news of House Targaryen’s future. My wife,” he says, tilting his head toward you, “is with child.”

A ripple of gasps echoes through the hall, followed by murmurs that spread like wildfire. Your hand rests on your belly, your gaze steady, unyielding as you watch their faces shift from shock to recognition.

King Jaehaerys’s brows rise high, surprise flashing across his face. His eyes flick to your belly, then to Daemon, and finally back to you. Slowly, a smile begins to spread across his face. “A child,” he repeats, his voice growing louder as he leans back into the Iron Throne. “A child of fire and rose petals.” He laughs, a deep, hearty sound. “You have done well, Daemon. And you, my dear, you have done better.”

Baelon grins broadly, stepping forward with a clap of his hands. “A new dragon is always cause for celebration,” he declares, looking between you and Daemon. “The gods have blessed you both.”

But not everyone is smiling.

Otto Hightower’s face remains stone-cold, his sharp eyes flicking between Daemon and you. His fingers tap lightly against his sleeve, his mind clearly working through the implications. He does not congratulate you, but he does not dare speak out either — not here, not now.

As you and Daemon walk toward your old chambers, there’s a comforting quiet between you two. The weight of the announcement has settled, and now, you can feel the moment becoming more intimate, more personal. Daemon helps you sit by the fireplace, his strong presence beside you grounding you in a way only he can.

He watches you carefully, his eyes soft with concern and affection. The crackling of the fire fills the silence for a moment before Daemon speaks, his voice low and steady.

“I will not leave you for a single moment,” he says, his words filled with such intensity that they seem to echo in the room. “Not now, not ever. You’re carrying our child, and I will be here, by your side, through everything.”

You smile gently, touched by his promise. The weight of the world feels lighter when he’s with you, and the thought of raising a child together fills you with warmth. Daemon’s devotion is clear in his words and actions, and you feel a deep sense of peace knowing that, no matter what the future holds, you won’t have to face it alone.

Daemon reaches for your hand, gently intertwining his fingers with yours. “I will protect you, and I will protect our child. You have my word,” he adds, his voice filled with unwavering certainty.

You look into his eyes, and in that moment, you know that you are exactly where you’re meant to be. No matter what challenges come your way, Daemon will be by your side, just as he promised. The love between you both is unwavering, and with that love, you feel ready to face whatever comes next.

You and Daemon turn to see the door open, revealing Prince Viserys, Princess Aemma, and their daughter, Princess Rhaenyra, who is just 10 months old. The warmth in their eyes is immediate, and you can see the genuine joy as they come forward to congratulate you. Aemma, in particular, seems taken aback when she sees how much your belly has grown.

“Oh, my dear,” she exclaims, her eyes widening. “You’re quite large already! How many months along are you?” She smiles gently as she steps closer, her hand instinctively resting on her own belly. “You may be carrying twins, perhaps?”

Daemon chuckles softly, his hand tightening around yours. He shoots Aemma a playful look, but there’s also a hint of pride in his gaze.

“I don’t think it’s twins, but she certainly makes the pregnancy look easy, doesn’t she?” he responds with a lighthearted grin, though there’s tenderness behind his words as he watches you.

You smile, feeling the love and excitement in the room. Aemma’s question is followed by Rhaenyra, who babbles softly in her mother’s arms, her curious eyes shifting toward you and the growing bump.

Viserys, ever the wise and gentle prince, smiles warmly as he steps forward to offer his congratulations as well. “Congratulations, my dear,” he says, his voice filled with fatherly affection. “It is a joyous occasion for our family, and we are thrilled for you both.”

Daemon gives you a reassuring smile as he squeezes your hand, standing proudly beside you as your family surrounds you with love. The room is filled with joy, and for a moment, it feels like everything is in its right place, the world ahead of you brighter with each passing moment.

After the departure of Aemma and Viserys, you find yourself lost in thought, reflecting on Aemma’s earlier comment about carrying twins. You couldn’t help but wonder if she might be right. The thought lingers in your mind, and the curiosity grows.

You turn to Daemon, who has been beside you, supportive as always, and ask, “Daemon, could you please have the maester check on me? I keep thinking about what Aemma said… could I really be carrying twins?”

Daemon looks at you with concern, but his eyes soften with understanding. “Of course, my love,” he says, his voice gentle but steady. “I’ll send for him right away.”

Not long after, the maester arrives and begins his examination. You hold your breath, waiting for his verdict. After a few moments, he looks up from his work, a slight smile on his face.

“It appears that you are indeed carrying twins, my lady,” he confirms. “Your body is showing signs of it, and the examination has revealed two heartbeats.”

Daemon’s eyes widen in surprise, but there’s an undeniable spark of joy in his gaze as he turns to you. His hand instinctively reaches out to yours, his grip firm, yet tender. “Twins,” he repeats softly, a proud smile tugging at his lips. “Our family will grow even stronger.”

You can’t help but smile at the news, the thought of two little lives growing inside you filling you with a sense of awe and excitement. “Twins…” you whisper, feeling the weight of the news settling in your heart. “It’s going to be quite the journey.”

Daemon nods, his expression one of complete devotion. “Whatever it takes, we will face it together,” he says, his voice firm and full of love. “And our children will be loved beyond measure.”You and Daemon walk hand in hand through the grand corridors of the Red Keep, the soft glow of torches lighting your path. Your heart feels lighter knowing that tonight is a celebration, not just for your safe return but for the lives growing within you. Daemon’s thumb gently rubs the back of your hand, a silent gesture of reassurance and love.

When you reach the King’s private solar, the guards open the doors, revealing a warm, lively scene. The King, Prince Baelon, Princess Aemma, and a few members of the royal family are already seated, their conversation filled with light laughter and the clinking of wine cups. The air smells of roasted meat, sweet honeyed bread, and spices from across the Narrow Sea.

“Ah, there they are!” King Jaehaerys says with a smile, gesturing for you to enter. “Come, sit. We were just speaking of Dragonstone and its rough seas.”

Daemon leads you to your seat, pulling out a chair beside Princess Aemma. She smiles warmly at you, her eyes glancing down at your growing belly. “You look radiant,” she says with a soft voice, leaning in to whisper, “Motherhood suits you already.”

“Thank you, Aemma,” you reply, your cheeks warming at her kind words. You glance at Daemon, who sits beside you, his eyes scanning the room.

Once everyone is seated and the servants have poured wine and served food, Daemon stands, raising his cup with a sharp grin on his face. His gaze shifts from the King to his father, Prince Baelon, before settling on you. His voice cuts through the air with ease, commanding the attention of everyone in the room.

“I have news to share,” he declares, glancing down at you with a soft smile before turning back to the others. “Not only have we returned safely from Dragonstone, but my wife carries not one, but two heirs of House Targaryen and House Tyrell within her.”

The room falls silent for a moment, then erupts into cheers and applause. King Jaehaerys laughs heartily, his voice echoing through the solar. “Twins! The gods have truly blessed you both.” He raises his cup higher. “To the future of House Targaryen and House Tyrell!”

“To the future!” the others echo, their cups raised in unison.

Aemma turns to you with wide eyes, her face a mixture of surprise and excitement. “Twins? No wonder you look as you do,” she says, glancing at your belly with newfound understanding. “I knew it the moment I saw you. You’re carrying them well, truly.”

“Thank you, Aemma,” you say with a smile, resting a hand on your belly. “They’ve been restless, but I can feel their strength. I suppose it runs in their blood.”

Daemon sits beside you again, his hand resting protectively on your lower back. He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “They’ll be strong, like their mother.”

Your heart swells at his words, and as you look around the table filled with smiling faces, you realize that this moment will stay with you forever. The joy of family, the promise of new life, and the unwavering love of your husband — it all fills the room with a warmth greater than any fire.

The moment feels surreal, but there is a deep sense of happiness in the air, and you both know that your lives have just become even more intertwined, not just as husband and wife, but as parents preparing to welcome two new souls into the world.

As you and Daemon sit at the table, the warmth of the fire and the clinking of cups around you create a cozy, intimate atmosphere. Laughter echoes from the king and Baelon as they recall old stories, but your attention is solely on Daemon. His gaze is fixed on you, his lips curled into a sly smile.

“I should have known you were with child the moment Caraxes coiled himself around you,” Daemon says, his eyes glinting with amusement. He leans back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the back of your seat, his fingers lightly playing with a loose strand of your hair. “That beast never lets anyone near him unless I command it, but with you… he acted as if you were his hatchling.”

You laugh softly, remembering that moment. “I thought he was going to eat me,” you admit, shaking your head with a fond smile. “But then he lowered his head and nudged me like I was one of his own. I suppose he knew before any of us did.”

“Dragons always know,” Prince Baelon adds, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “They sense life in ways men cannot. It is why they bond so deeply with their riders.” He raises his cup to you both. “If Caraxes sees fit to protect you, then there is no safer place in the world than by your husband’s side.”

Daemon tilts his head, his grin growing wider. “Safer, perhaps, but not quieter. The twins have made sure of that,” he teases, glancing at your belly. “They’ve been keeping her awake every night with their little war games in there.”

“Already battling for dominance, are they?” Aemma chuckles, resting her chin on her hand. “They’ll make fine Targaryens, then.”

“Or Tyrells,” you add with a playful raise of your brow, earning a round of laughter from the table.

Daemon looks down at you, his gaze softening. His fingers trail from your hair to your shoulder, his touch gentle but firm. “They’ll be the best of both,” he says quietly, his voice filled with certainty.

You lean into his side, letting his warmth seep into you. As the conversation flows back into tales of Dragonstone’s storms and your quiet days by the sea, you feel a sense of peace settle over you. These moments — the love of family, the bond you share with Daemon, and the promise of new life — are treasures you will protect fiercely, just as Caraxes had protected you.

You and Daemon asked permission to go to your rooms first, Daemon said that you needed to rest after the journey you took from Dragonstone to here. As you and Daemon walk hand in hand through the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep, the cool night air drifts in from the open windows. The faint glow of torches flickers against the stone walls, casting long shadows that dance with each step. The gentle breeze carries the fresh scent of the sea, a reminder of your recent journey from Dragonstone.

Daemon’s thumb brushes over the back of your hand, his grip firm but tender. He glances at you, his eyes filled with quiet concern. “Are you tired, my love?” he asks, his voice low and warm, as if he’s afraid to disturb the peace of the night.

“A little,” you admit, resting your head lightly on his shoulder as you walk. “But it feels good to be home.”

He hums in agreement, his gaze fixed ahead, but you catch the slight tug of a smile on his lips. “If I had my way, you wouldn’t have had to sit through all those pleasantries tonight,” he says with a hint of frustration. “The king could have celebrated without us. Your rest is far more important.”

You chuckle softly, tilting your head up to look at him. “You know we couldn’t refuse. Besides, the king was happy to see us.”

Daemon lets out a small, reluctant sigh but doesn’t argue. His free hand moves to your lower back, steadying you as you walk. “I suppose,” he mutters, glancing down at your growing belly. “But from now on, you’ll rest when you need to. No one will dare object, not even the king himself.”

You roll your eyes at his protectiveness but feel a warmth bloom in your chest. He has been more attentive than ever since learning you were carrying twins. No request, no matter how small, was ignored.

As you approach the door to your shared chambers, two guards stationed at the entrance bow their heads respectfully before pushing open the heavy wooden doors. The room is dimly lit with the soft glow of a hearth fire, its warmth chasing away the chill of the evening air.

Daemon steps inside first, his eyes scanning the room before turning back to you. His hands find your waist, steadying you as you step in. “Straight to bed,” he orders softly, his lips quirking into a teasing smile. “No arguments.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you reply, your voice laced with playful defiance.

He raises a brow, his eyes narrowing with mock suspicion. “Hmm, I’ll hold you to that.”

With careful precision, he helps you to sit on the edge of the bed, kneeling before you to remove your shoes himself. His touch is gentle, his fingers lingering on your ankles a moment longer than necessary. When he looks up at you, there’s a softness in his gaze that makes your heart ache with love.

“You’ve done enough for one day,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your knee. “Let me take care of you now.”

You smile down at him, your fingers threading through his silver hair. “You already do, Daemon. Every day.”

He tilts his head into your touch, eyes closing briefly as if savoring the moment. Then, with one smooth movement, he stands and helps you further onto the bed, pulling the covers over you. He joins you a moment later, his arms wrapping around you from behind, his breath warm against the back of your neck.

“You and the twins,” he whispers, his voice laced with affection. “My whole world."

You sigh contentedly, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back. The warmth of his embrace, the soft crackle of the fire, and the steady beat of his heart lull you into peace. Here, in this moment, with Daemon’s arms around you, the weight of the world feels a little lighter.

Time seems to pass in the blink of an eye. Your belly, once a subtle swell, has now grown large and heavy with the weight of the twins you carry. Every movement feels like a challenge, and walking even a few paces leaves you breathless. Daemon, ever the protective husband, has declared that you are to remain in your chambers at all times. No council meetings, no strolls through the gardens — not even a visit to the balcony without him at your side.

Your mother has recently arrived from Highgarden, her presence as comforting as the scent of fresh blooms in spring. She sits beside you now, her hands expertly braiding your hair as she did when you were a child. Her touch is gentle, but her voice carries its usual firmness.

“You mustn’t push yourself, dear,” she says, her gaze focused on her work. “Carrying one child is hard enough, but two? You need all the strength you can gather for what lies ahead.”

You nod, resting your hands on the curve of your belly, feeling the subtle shifts and kicks of your unborn children. “I know, Mother. But I feel so restless. Being confined to one room all day is maddening.”

She hums in sympathy, securing the braid with a small ribbon. “I know it is. I was much the same when I carried you and your brother. But trust me, you’ll be grateful for every moment of rest when the babes arrive. They will demand more of you than any lord or lady ever could.”

Her words make you smile despite yourself. “I can handle it. I have Daemon, and now I have you.”

Your mother leans forward, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yes, you do. And you are stronger than you think, my sweet girl.”

Just then, the door creaks open, and you glance up to see Daemon entering the room. His armor is gone, replaced with a simple black tunic, his hair slightly damp from a recent wash. His eyes scan the room, and when he sees you sitting comfortably with your mother, his shoulders relax.

“How are my three loves?” he asks, crossing the room in a few long strides. He kneels before you, his hands settling on your belly, his palms warm and grounding. His eyes flicker to your mother, and he offers her a polite nod. “Lady Tyrell.”

“Prince Daemon,” she replies with a small smile. “Your wife is growing restless, as expected.”

Daemon smirks, his gaze locking with yours. “Is that so? I warned you, didn’t I? No wandering about, no sneaking off to see the training yard.”

You roll your eyes but can’t hide your grin. “I haven’t stepped a foot outside this room, husband. Not even to the balcony.”

“Good,” he says, his hands tracing gentle circles over your belly. “Our little warriors have been making trouble, I see.” His eyes soften as he feels a strong kick against his palm. “Eager to meet their father, are they?”

You watch him with quiet affection. It’s moments like this, when Daemon’s sharp edges soften with love, that you feel most at peace. Your mother watches the two of you with a knowing smile before rising from her chair.

“I’ll leave you two for now,” she says, smoothing the front of her dress. “But call for me if you need anything, darling.”

“Thank you, Mother,” you say as she departs, leaving only you and Daemon in the quiet glow of the room.

Daemon shifts, sitting beside you on the bed, his arm slipping around your shoulders to pull you against him. You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. His other hand stays on your belly, feeling every small movement of your children.

“Are you afraid?” he asks softly, his voice a rare whisper.

You think for a moment, then shake your head. “Not afraid. Just… uncertain. I’ve never done this before, and there are two of them.”

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “You’re the strongest woman I know. Stronger than any knight with a sword.” His hand tilts your chin up so he can look into your eyes, his gaze unwavering. “You’ll bring them into this world, and I’ll be right here. Every moment. Every breath.”

Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them away, letting out a soft laugh. “If you cry when they’re born, I’ll never let you forget it.”

Daemon grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “If they have your eyes, I just might.”

You both fall into a comfortable silence, the warmth of his embrace lulling you into calm. The weight of the world outside the room melts away. Here, with Daemon’s steady presence and the promise of your mother’s support, you feel ready to face anything.

Even the challenge of bringing two little dragons into the world.

The next morning, boredom settles over you like an unwelcome guest. The same four walls, the same view from the window, and the same well-meaning advice to “rest” have begun to wear on your patience. You glance toward the door, a spark of defiance flickering in your heart.

“I just want some fresh air,” you mutter to yourself, running your hand over the curve of your belly. The weight is undeniable, every step a little heavier than the last, but you refuse to let it stop you.

With the help of your ever-dutiful maids, you rise slowly from the cushioned chair, your body protesting with every shift of weight. One of the maids, a kind girl with gentle hands, offers her arm for support. “My lady, should I inform the prince of your walk?”

You shake your head. “If Daemon finds out, he’ll lock me in this room himself.” Your tone is light, but you know it isn’t far from the truth.

The maid hesitates but nods, her grip on your arm steady as you take your first steps. Each movement is slow, deliberate. The hallways of the Red Keep seem to stretch endlessly before you, but for the first time in weeks, you feel a sense of freedom.

Servants pause as you pass, their eyes wide with surprise. Some bow their heads respectfully, while others glance at one another as if silently debating whether to alert Prince Daemon. You ignore them all, your gaze focused forward, step after step.

The cool stone beneath your feet and the faint draft of air are small reminders that you are not a prisoner, no matter how much Daemon worries for you. You walk further, passing familiar banners and tapestries, the clang of distant swords from the training yard faint but comforting.

“She shouldn’t be out here,” you hear a voice whisper behind you. “She’s due any day now.”

You don’t look back, only lifting your head a little higher. Let them whisper, you think. I am no fragile flower.

As you reach a balcony overlooking the training yard, you pause, leaning against the stone railing. Below, you spot Daemon, his silver hair catching the sun like polished steel. He’s sparring with Ser Lorence Roxton, their movements sharp and powerful. Each swing of Daemon’s sword is as precise as it is forceful, a dance of deadly grace.

Your heart swells with pride as you watch him. He moves as if the weight of the world is nothing to him — unlike you, burdened with the weight of two small lives within you. Yet somehow, watching him move with such confidence gives you strength.

He doesn’t see you at first, too focused on his opponent. But then, as if sensing your presence, his head turns sharply in your direction. His eyes narrow.

“Seven hells,” you hear him mutter before he throws his sword to the ground and storms toward the stairs leading up to you.

Your maids glance at each other nervously. “Should we—”

“Stay where you are,” you say calmly, folding your hands atop your belly.

Moments later, Daemon appears before you, his chest heaving from exertion, a light sheen of sweat on his brow. His gaze shifts from your face to your belly, then back to your face, his jaw set in a hard line.

“You were supposed to be resting,” he says, his voice low but firm.

“And I’ve been doing that for weeks,” you reply with equal firmness. “I needed to walk, Daemon. I’m not made of porcelain.”

He steps closer, his hand cupping the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek with surprising gentleness. “You’re carrying my children,” he says, his voice softer now, though still edged with worry. “You’re more precious than Valyrian steel, and twice as fragile right now.”

You raise a brow at him. “Then perhaps you should forge me into a sword, husband. I’m no frail thing to be locked away.”

Daemon stares at you for a moment before letting out a low, amused chuckle. His hand moves to your belly, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles. The babies respond with a sudden kick, and he blinks in surprise.

“That one’s a fighter,” he says with a grin.

“Like their father,” you reply, your eyes softening.

He sighs, pressing his forehead lightly against yours. “Fine,” he relents. “But if you feel even the slightest pain, you call for me.”

“Always,” you promise.

Daemon’s arm snakes around your back, and he guides you slowly back toward your chambers. No matter how independent you try to be, you lean into him, letting him bear some of the weight. Just this once.

As you two walk slowly through the familiar halls of the Red Keep, your hand resting lightly on Daemon’s arm, you can’t help but voice your frustration.

“I’ve been cooped up in that chamber for far too long, Daemon,” you huff, your tone carrying a hint of playful defiance. “Is it really so dangerous for me to breathe fresh air and feel the sun on my face?”

Daemon arches a brow, his lips twitching as if fighting back a smile. “The sun will still be there tomorrow, wife. You, however, are one slip away from being carried back to that chamber in my arms.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “You already carry me enough as it is. Let me walk.”

His grip tightens protectively on your waist, and just as you prepare to argue further, your attention is drawn to the sound of laughter. A soft, innocent giggle followed by the familiar voice of Aemma.

Turning your head, you spot her in the lush green garden just beyond the archway, sitting on a blanket with little Rhaenyra crawling excitedly toward a cluster of flowers. Her chubby hands reach for them, and she squeals with delight when she manages to grab a soft pink petal. Aemma’s face lights up with joy as she guides Rhaenyra gently, careful not to let her crush the delicate blooms.

Your heart warms at the sight, and you slow your steps. You glance up at Daemon with wide, pleading eyes, tugging lightly at his sleeve.

“Please, Daemon,” you whisper, tilting your head like a cat asking for affection. “Let me stay with them, just for a little while.”

Daemon follows your gaze toward Aemma and Rhaenyra. For a moment, he says nothing, his lips pressed into a line as he considers. His eyes flicker back to you, filled with hesitation.

“You’ll sit,” he says at last, his voice firm but not unkind. “No standing, no walking about. If I see you on your feet for more than a moment, I’ll carry you back myself.”

You nod quickly, a grin spreading across your face. “Deal.”

Daemon sighs in defeat, clearly unable to deny you anything. He leads you toward the garden with slow, careful steps. Aemma notices you approaching and waves cheerfully, her face bright with warmth.

“Look who’s come to join us,” she says with a smile. “I thought you’d be resting.”

“I’ve rested more than enough for one lifetime,” you reply as you lower yourself carefully onto the soft blanket with Daemon’s help. Once seated, you let out a contented sigh, leaning back against a plush cushion one of the maids swiftly provides. “I saw you both and couldn’t resist.”

Rhaenyra, curious as ever, turns her wide violet eyes toward you. Her gaze lands on your belly, and she crawls over with surprising speed. Her tiny hands press curiously against your swollen stomach.

“Ba,” she babbles, tilting her head as if trying to understand. She pats your belly again with more determination, her face scrunched up in concentration.

“She knows there’s someone in there,” Aemma says with a soft laugh, leaning forward to adjust Rhaenyra’s hair. “Or two, in your case.”

You glance at Aemma and smile knowingly, placing your hand over Rhaenyra’s. The baby stares at the motion, eyes wide with wonder. Then, as if on cue, one of the twins in your belly gives a strong, sudden kick right where Rhaenyra’s hand rests.

The little girl gasps, pulling her hand back in shock before letting out a delighted giggle. She claps her hands together and points to your belly. “Ba! Ba!”

Aemma laughs, her eyes crinkling with joy. “She thinks they’re playing with her.”

“Perhaps they are,” you muse, rubbing gentle circles over the spot where the kick came from. “These two are as mischievous as their father.”

Daemon snorts, sitting on the edge of the blanket. “They’ll be clever, not mischievous,” he corrects, though there’s a hint of pride in his voice. His eyes flicker to your belly, his hand briefly resting atop it. “They already know how to get attention, after all.”

“Like their father,” Aemma teases, her gaze flicking to Daemon with playful mischief.

Daemon raises a brow at her but says nothing, his smirk betraying his amusement.

The four of you sit together in peaceful silence for a while, the only sounds being the rustle of leaves and the sweet babbling of little Rhaenyra as she explores the flowers around her. Your eyes drift closed, the warmth of the sun on your skin lulling you into a calm, dreamlike state.

“Are you tired?” Daemon’s voice is close to your ear, soft but attentive.

You hum in response, your head leaning against his shoulder. “Not tired. Just… content.”

He wraps an arm around you, his fingers trailing lightly along your back in slow, soothing patterns. “Good,” he murmurs. “Then stay like this for a while. The world can wait.”

And for now, you believe him.

You tilt your head back to meet Daemon’s gaze, giving him a soft, reassuring smile. His eyes narrow with suspicion, his lips pressed into a firm line.

“I’m not a prisoner, Daemon,” you say lightly, resting a hand on his arm. “Go back to your training. I’ll stay right here, I promise.”

He arches a brow, clearly unconvinced. “You’ll stay seated?”

“Yes, I’ll stay seated,” you reply, your tone sweet but firm. “I won’t stand, I won’t walk, and if I need anything, I’ll have the maids or guards fetch you.” You gesture to the maids and guards stationed nearby as proof. “See? Plenty of eyes on me. I’m perfectly safe.”

Daemon stares at you for a long moment, his violet eyes scanning your face as if searching for any sign of deceit. You stare back with innocent determination, unyielding.

Finally, he sighs heavily, running a hand down his face. “You’re too stubborn for your own good.”

“And you love me for it,” you counter with a grin, earning a short, breathy laugh from him.

“I do,” he admits, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. His lips linger there for a moment longer than usual, warm and soft against your skin. “But if I see you on your feet, I won’t hesitate to carry you back inside.”

You wave him off, feigning exasperation. “Yes, yes, my fearsome husband, everyone has heard your threats. Now, go.”

Daemon snorts but stands, giving you one last look — a warning glance that says, Don’t test me — before turning on his heel and striding back toward the training grounds. His silver hair catches the light of the sun, and you watch him until he disappears from view.

Satisfied, you lean back against the cushion behind you, letting out a soft sigh of relief. Your hand comes to rest on your belly, your fingers tracing small circles over the taut skin. You can already feel one of the twins stirring inside, pressing against you with a gentle but firm push.

“Yes, little one,” you murmur quietly, gazing down at your belly with a soft smile. “He’s always like that. But he means well.”

One of the maids approaches, holding a cool drink in her hands. She kneels beside you, offering it with a polite bow.

“Shall I call for the prince if you need anything, my lady?” she asks, glancing toward the direction where Daemon disappeared.

“No need,” you reply, taking the cup and sipping slowly. “He’s watching even when he’s not here.”

The maid smiles knowingly, stepping aside to give you privacy.

You recline comfortably, feeling the warmth of the sun, the steady flutter of life within you, and the distant sounds of swords clashing on the training grounds. Even though Daemon has gone back to his duties, you feel his presence as if he’s still right there beside you.

You squirmed slowly in your seat, the pain and discomfort returning. You slowly rubbed your stomach and controlled your breathing. Aemma’s expression shifts instantly from serene to serious, her brows knitting in concern.

"Do you feel uncomfortable ot pain?" you nodded and smiled. "Since earlier, maybe because I was walking to the training yard."

She turns to face you fully, her eyes scanning you carefully. “Since earlier?” she asks, her tone gentle but firm. “Where exactly is the pain? Is it sharp or dull? Does it come and go?”

You take a slow breath, pressing a hand against your swollen belly. “It’s more like a tightening,” you admit. “At first, I thought it was just the babies shifting, but it’s been happening more often. It comes, stays for a moment, and then fades.”

Aemma’s eyes widen slightly, and she sits up straighter, her gaze sharp with experience. “Those sound like contractions,” she says, voice calm but with an underlying urgency. “Did your back start aching too?”

You nod slowly, realization dawning on you. “Yes… I thought it was just from walking too much.”

Aemma reaches for your hand, squeezing it firmly. “That’s how it starts,” she says, her voice gentle but commanding. “We need to get you back to your chambers now. It could be nothing, but if it’s something, you don’t want to be far from the maester.” She glances over her shoulder, waving toward one of the guards nearby. “Fetch the maester and tell Prince Daemon his wife needs him. Now.”

The guard bows quickly and rushes off. You can hear the urgency in his footsteps, and it only makes your heart race faster. You grip Aemma’s hand tightly, your breathing shallow.

“It’s too early, isn’t it?” you whisper, a hint of fear creeping into your voice. “They’re not supposed to come for a few more weeks.”

Aemma squeezes your hand again, her eyes meeting yours with a steady, reassuring gaze. “Sometimes babies have their own plans,” she says softly. “But listen to me — you are strong, stronger than you know. You’ll be fine, and so will they.” She places a hand on your belly, her fingers gentle but firm. “Breathe with me, slowly, in and out. We’ll get you back to your chambers.”

Her words steady you, and you nod, exhaling slowly as she helps you stand. Your legs feel unsteady, but Aemma is right there, her arm around you for support. Two more guards approach to help, one on each side.

The tightening in your belly comes again, sharper this time, and you gasp, clutching at Aemma’s arm. “It hurts,” you mutter through gritted teeth, leaning forward slightly as the pain grips you.

Aemma presses her forehead lightly against the side of yours, grounding you with her presence. “I know, I know,” she murmurs. “Just breathe. Slow and steady. You’ll be back in your chambers before the next one comes.”

Your heart pounds as you’re guided back toward the keep. Each step feels heavier than the last, and you’re dimly aware of voices calling for Daemon, the clatter of footsteps on stone, and the worried looks of servants and guards. But your world narrows to Aemma’s calm, steady voice.

“You’re doing so well,” she says, her words soothing even as you feel the panic clawing at the edge of your mind. “Daemon will be there. He’ll be right by your side.”

You nod, your breath hitching as another wave of pain crashes through you. “He… he better be,” you manage to say through the pain, forcing a small smile despite it all.

Aemma smiles back, her eyes filled with pride and quiet strength. “He will,” she promises, her tone unshakable. “He always is.”

The chamber feels warmer than usual, the air thick with the scent of burning candles and fresh linens. You pace back and forth, one hand pressed firmly against the small of your back, the other gripping the edge of a chair for support. The tight, rhythmic pain that pulses through your belly is growing sharper and more frequent. Sweat beads on your brow, and your breaths come in short, strained bursts.

“Daemon!” you call out, voice cracking with urgency as another contraction grips you. Your legs tremble, and you brace yourself against the bedpost, squeezing it so hard your knuckles turn white. “Daemon, now!”

The door bursts open moments later, and Daemon strides in, his eyes wild with alarm. He takes in the scene instantly — the way you’re leaning forward, the strain in your face, and the tremble in your body. He moves to your side in a heartbeat, one arm wrapping around your waist to support you.

“I’m here, I’m here,” he murmurs, his voice unusually soft but firm. His eyes meet yours, and you can see the worry simmering just beneath the surface. “You should be lying down.”

“No,” you snap, breathing hard as you shake your head. “I can’t — it hurts more when I lie down.” You grip his arm tightly as another contraction rolls through you, and a groan escapes your lips. “It’s too soon, Daemon… it’s too soon.”

Daemon’s jaw tightens, his gaze darting toward the doorway. “Where is the maester?!” he shouts, his voice echoing through the halls. “Now!”

The sound of hurried footsteps follows his command, and soon Maester Gerardys enters, flanked by two midwives carrying fresh cloths and basins of warm water. Gerardys’s eyes narrow as he takes in your condition. “Her labor has begun in earnest,” he says gravely, stepping forward with calm authority. “We must prepare her.”

“Prepare me?” you hiss, clinging to Daemon as another wave of pain hits. Your nails dig into his sleeve, and he lets you grip him as tightly as you need. “They’re not supposed to come now. It’s too early.”

“Babes come when they wish, princess,” Maester Gerardys replies gently but firmly, moving to check your condition. “The fact that you’re still walking is a good sign. But you must save your strength.”

Daemon presses his lips to your temple, his hand sliding up and down your back in soothing strokes. “He’s right,” he says softly, his breath warm against your ear. “Come, love. Sit, just for a moment.”

Reluctantly, you nod, letting him guide you toward the bed. Your legs feel weak, and the moment you sit, another contraction wracks your body. You cry out, head bowing forward as the pain takes you. Daemon is right there, kneeling in front of you, his hands on your thighs, his eyes locked on yours.

“Look at me,” he says firmly, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of pain. “Breathe with me, alright? In through your nose, out through your mouth.” He exaggerates each breath, making you follow his lead. “Just like that. You’re doing so well.”

Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and you shake your head, frustrated and exhausted. “I’m scared, Daemon,” you admit, voice barely a whisper. “I’m so scared.”

His hands move up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that have begun to fall. His violet eyes meet yours with an intensity that makes the world feel just a little less overwhelming. “You’re not alone,” he says, voice low but fierce with conviction. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

Another contraction hits, this one even stronger, and you cry out, your whole body tensing. The midwives move to your side, readying fresh cloths and water.

“Steady, princess,” Maester Gerardys says, his tone calm but commanding. “The babes are coming. You’ve done everything right. It’s time now. Let them come.”

Daemon doesn’t leave your side, his hands firm but gentle, his eyes never once looking away from you. “You’ve faced dragons, love,” he says with a faint, crooked smile. “What’s two little babes compared to that?”

His words make you laugh, but it’s short-lived as another wave of pain comes. You grip his hands with all your strength, clinging to him like a lifeline. “I hate you right now,” you mutter through clenched teeth.

His grin widens, his eyes filled with nothing but love. “Then you’re doing it right,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours. “Hate me all you like. But you’ll love me again when you’re holding them.”

With those words, you feel something shift, a pressure that tells you the time is near. Panic threatens to rise again, but you hold on to Daemon’s gaze, his steady presence like a flame in the darkness. You’re not alone. Not now, not ever.

The door swings open with a thud, and your mother rushes in, her face etched with worry and determination. Her gaze locks onto you immediately, and she moves with practiced grace, her skirts swishing as she makes her way to your side.

“My sweet girl,” she says softly, her voice like a balm against the storm raging inside you. She kneels next to you, brushing the damp hair away from your face. Her eyes flicker with both concern and reassurance. “I’m here now. Breathe, darling. Just breathe.”

Another contraction seizes you, sharper and stronger than before. Your back arches, and a guttural cry tears from your throat. Daemon grips one of your hands, and your mother takes the other, both anchoring you as you ride the wave of pain.

“You’re doing so well, love,” Daemon says, his voice low but steady, his forehead pressed to yours. “Just a little longer.”

“Easy for you to say,” you snap, panting as the pain finally subsides, your breath coming in shallow gasps. “You’re not the one being torn in half.”

Your mother huffs a short laugh, though her eyes are misty with unshed tears. “She’s strong, this one,” she says, glancing at Daemon. “Stronger than she knows.” Her eyes return to you, full of fierce pride and love. “You’ve got this, my brave girl. We Tyrell women are made of steel wrapped in silk.”

Her words give you strength, and you nod, tears spilling down your cheeks. “It hurts so much, Mother,” you whisper, your voice cracking with exhaustion.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” she soothes, pressing her cool hand to your burning forehead. “But you’re almost there. The pain means they’re coming.”

Another sharp contraction strikes, and you scream, your body tensing as you grip their hands with all your might. The midwives rush to your side, exchanging quick, knowing glances.

“She’s crowning,” one of them announces, her voice firm but excited. “It’s time, princess. You must push now.”

Your heart races in panic. “I can’t— I can’t do this—”

“You can,” Daemon says firmly, his eyes blazing with conviction. His hands cradle your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Look at me. Look at me, love. You are fire and fury. You can do this.”

Your mother nods, her grip on your hand tightening. “We’re right here, my darling. You’re not alone.”

With a loud cry, you push, every muscle in your body straining as the weight of the world seems to press down on you. The pain is unbearable, but Daemon’s voice in your ear, your mother’s hand in yours — they ground you, keep you from slipping into fear.

“That’s it, princess,” the maester says, his voice suddenly more urgent. “Again. Push!”

With a scream that echoes through the chamber, you push with everything you have. Time slows to a crawl, your senses overwhelmed by the weight of the moment. Then, at last —

A loud, piercing wail fills the room. A baby’s cry.

“You did it!” your mother exclaims, tears now freely streaming down her face. “You did it, my love!”

Daemon lets out a breathless laugh, his head falling forward in relief as he presses his lips to your temple. His voice is choked with emotion. “You’re incredible,” he whispers, his voice rough with pride and awe.

The midwife lifts the baby high for you to see — a tiny, wriggling form with a head of damp, silver hair. “It’s a boy, princess,” she says, her smile wide as she hands him over to a waiting midwife to be cleaned.

But the moment of relief is short-lived. Another sharp, searing pain cuts through you, and you gasp, clutching at Daemon.

“Another one?” you choke out, eyes wide in panic. “It’s happening again—”

The midwives move quickly, already prepared. Your mother is instantly back at your side, wiping your brow. “Of course it is, darling. Twins, remember?” she says, her voice gentle but firm. “You already did it once. You can do it again.”

“You were made for this,” Daemon adds, his voice steady as steel. “One more, my love. Just one more.”

With a shaky breath, you nod, drawing on every reserve of strength you have left. Your eyes meet Daemon’s, and you see nothing but love and certainty in his gaze. You nod again, gritting your teeth.

“Alright,” you breathe. “Alright. Let’s finish this.”

“Push, princess!” the maester calls.

With a roar that comes from the deepest part of your soul, you push once more. Every muscle, every fiber of your being strains with effort. The pain is unlike anything you’ve ever known, but you don’t give in. Not now. Not when you’re so close.

Another wail fills the room, this one higher, sharper, but just as strong. The sound of it sends a rush of relief through your chest.

“It’s a girl!” the midwife cries, holding up the second babe, her tiny hands waving in the air. “A strong, healthy girl.”

You fall back against the pillows, utterly spent, tears running freely down your face. Daemon’s hand never leaves yours, and his lips press to your knuckles as he lets out a breathless, joyful laugh. “A boy and a girl,” he says, his eyes shining like twin stars. “Our boy and our girl.”

Your mother presses a kiss to your damp hair, her eyes filled with nothing but pride and love. “You did it, my sweet girl. I’ve never been prouder of you.”

The midwives place the two swaddled babes in your arms, one on each side. You gaze down at them, your heart so full it feels as though it might burst. The boy’s face is scrunched in a tiny scowl, while the girl yawns, her tiny hand curling into a fist.

“They’re perfect,” you whisper, tears still falling. “Daemon… they’re perfect.”

He kneels beside you, his face so full of love that it’s almost unrecognizable. He touches the top of his son’s head, then his daughter’s, his fingers trembling as if he can’t believe they’re real.

“They’re ours,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “You did this, love. You brought them into this world.”

“We did,” you correct, leaning your head against his shoulder. “We did this.”

He presses a kiss to your temple, lingering there for a moment as the weight of everything settles in. Your mother watches with a smile full of quiet pride, her eyes fixed on you as though she’s seeing you for the first time.

Your breathing grows shallow as another sharp, searing pain tears through you. Panic surges in your chest, your heart pounding like a war drum. You clutch Daemon’s arm, your eyes wild with confusion and fear.

“Daemon—” you gasp, your voice trembling. “Something’s wrong.”

Daemon’s eyes snap to yours, his face instantly shifting from joy to alarm. “What’s happening?” he demands, turning to the maester. “Why is she still in pain?”

The midwives and maester exchange frantic glances before one of the midwives moves swiftly to your side, pressing a hand to your belly. Her eyes widen, and she glances up with a mix of shock and urgency.

“Another one,” she breathes, eyes darting to the maester. “There’s another babe still inside.”

“What?” you choke out, your breath hitching in disbelief. “No—no, you said two! You said it was twins!”

The maester steps forward, his face pale but resolute. “Sometimes, princess, one can be hidden behind the others. It is rare but not unheard of. This child is presenting breech.”

Breech. The word echoes in your mind, filling you with dread. You’ve heard the stories. It’s dangerous — for both mother and child.

Daemon’s grip on your hand tightens, his jaw clenching so hard you can see the muscle twitch. “Then fix it,” he growls, his voice like the crack of thunder. “Do whatever it takes. She survives. They all survive.” His eyes are wild, his protective fury ignited like dragonfire.

Your mother moves to your side, her face steady but her eyes sharp with focus. She grips your hand, leaning in close. “Look at me, darling,” she says softly but firmly. “You’ve done this before. You can do it again. This one will be stubborn, yes, but so are you.”

Tears streak down your face as another wave of pain crashes over you, your body tensing against it. You sob, pressing your face into Daemon’s shoulder, clutching him as if he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this world.

“I can’t,” you cry, your voice muffled by his tunic. “Mother, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” she insists, cupping your face with both hands. Her eyes burn with fierce, unyielding determination. “You’ve already brought two dragons into this world. You are stronger than you know. This little one is just as stubborn as you, that’s all. Now breathe.”

Daemon presses his forehead against yours, his hand cradling the back of your head. “You’re not alone, love,” he whispers, his voice rough but steady. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

The maester kneels between your legs, his hands moving carefully. “Princess, we’ll need you to push as before,” he says, his tone urgent but calm. “This one is turned, but I will guide them as best I can.” He glances at you, his gaze firm. “When the pain returns, you must push as hard as you can.”

“Push?” you cry, a wave of terror threatening to consume you. “I’ve nothing left to give!”

“You do,” Daemon growls, his voice fierce as he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You have more. You’re fire, you’re fury, and you are mine. Our dragon needs you now, love.”

His words strike something deep within you — deeper than the pain, deeper than the fear. Your heart thunders with a surge of resolve. You grip your mother’s hand, your knuckles white, and nod.

“Alright,” you gasp, drawing in a ragged breath. “Alright. I’m ready.”

“Good girl,” your mother praises, brushing back your damp hair. “Breathe. When it comes, give it everything you have.”

The next contraction is like a tidal wave, surging through you with a force that takes your breath away. But this time, you don’t fight it. You push, screaming with everything in you, every last shred of will and fury.

“Again!” the maester calls, his voice sharp as steel.

You push again, your vision blurring, the world reduced to the roaring fire of your pain and the steady, grounding weight of Daemon’s hand gripping yours. His voice is in your ear, low and commanding. “That’s it, my love. Again. Again.”

Another push. Another scream. Time loses meaning, the world spinning into a haze of pain and exhaustion. You feel like you’re being pulled apart, but you don’t stop. You won’t stop.

Then, at last—

A cry. Sharp. Strong. Alive.

The room stills for a breathless moment. You fall back against the pillows, sobbing with relief. The weight of it all crashes down on you like a wave, and all you can do is cry, shaking from exhaustion.

“Another boy,” the midwife announces, her voice filled with awe and wonder. She carefully lifts the baby, his tiny fists waving in the air as his loud cries fill the chamber. “A strong, stubborn boy.”

Your tears come faster as you gaze at him, your heart too full to hold it all. Your body feels like it’s been shattered and remade, but none of it matters. He’s here. They’re all here.

Daemon lets out a sharp, breathless laugh, his head dropping against your shoulder. His arms wrap around you, holding you so tightly that it’s as if he’s afraid to let go. “Three,” he mutters, his voice thick with disbelief and pride. “Three dragons. You gave me three dragons.”

The midwives place the third baby on your chest, and you weep as you hold him close, feeling the warmth of him against you. His tiny face scrunches, his cries loud and defiant. Your fingers trace his soft cheek, and you let out a shaky breath of pure, unfiltered love.

Your mother sits by your side, wiping her own tears as she strokes your hair. “Three babes,” she says with a wide, teary smile. “The gods have blessed you greatly, my darling. Greater than most.”

Daemon rests his head beside yours, his gaze locked on the three sleeping babes now swaddled in soft cloth and placed beside you. He shakes his head, his face a mask of awe and disbelief. “They’ll sing songs about you,” he murmurs, his voice filled with wonder. “The woman who bore three dragons at once.”

You turn your head toward him, tears still clinging to your lashes, and give him a tired but triumphant smile. “Only if you tell them,” you murmur, your voice hoarse but filled with quiet pride.

He smiles back at you, leaning in to kiss you softly, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “I’ll tell them,” he says, his eyes shining like molten gold. “I’ll tell them every day for the rest of my life.”

With the weight of his love and the warmth of your three little dragons nestled by your side, you finally let yourself rest. The fire in you has not dimmed — no, it has only grown stronger. You are the mother of dragons, and the world will remember.

You lie propped up against a mountain of pillows, exhaustion still weighing down your limbs, but the sight before you fills your heart with warmth. Daemon sits beside you, one arm draped protectively around your shoulders while the other rests lightly on one of the cradles where your three newborns sleep soundly. Their tiny breaths are soft puffs of air, their small hands curled into delicate fists.

The gentle creak of the door draws your attention. Your gaze shifts, and you see King Jaehaerys enter, his regal presence filling the room despite his age. Beside him walks Prince Baelon, his broad smile impossible to miss. Following close behind are Viserys and Aemma, the latter carrying little Rhaenyra in her arms, her chubby hands clapping with excitement at the new faces in the room.

“Three,” Baelon says, his booming voice filled with wonder and amusement. “Three dragons at once. The realm will be talking about this for years to come.” He steps forward, his eyes shining with pride as he approaches the cradles. “Which one is the fiercest?” he asks with a grin, peering down at the swaddled babes.

Daemon snorts, his smirk lazy but proud. “All of them,” he replies, his voice thick with exhaustion but filled with unmistakable pride. “They’re mine, after all.”

The room fills with soft laughter. Aemma approaches your side, setting Rhaenyra down carefully before leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. “You are incredible,” she says, her eyes filled with admiration. “Three at once… I can hardly imagine it.” She sits beside you, gazing down at the sleeping babes with quiet awe.

“Neither could I,” you murmur, glancing at the tiny faces of your children. Your heart swells with so much love it feels as though it might burst. “I only thought I’d have two. But the gods had other plans.”

Viserys steps forward, his eyes gentle as he kneels to get a closer look at the babes. He tilts his head, a thoughtful smile tugging at his lips. “Do they have names yet?” he asks, his voice soft so as not to disturb them.

Daemon glances at you, his eyes seeking yours for confirmation. You nod, and he speaks with quiet certainty, his voice like the rumble of distant thunder. “Maegon, Vaelya, and Aerion.”

The names settle in the air like sacred vows. King Jaehaerys nods approvingly, his eyes twinkling with delight. “Strong names,” he says, his voice carrying the weight of wisdom. “Names worthy of dragons.”

Rhaenyra toddles forward, her curious eyes fixed on the cradles. She reaches out with her small hands, her face scrunching in concentration as she points at one of the babies. “Bebby,” she says with a little giggle. “Bebby!”

Aemma chuckles, scooping her daughter into her lap. “Yes, sweetling, those are babies. Your cousins.”

Rhaenyra looks from the cradles to you, her wide eyes blinking with fascination. She points at you next. “Mama?”

Your heart melts. A soft laugh escapes you as you reach out, brushing a hand through Rhaenyra’s silver-gold hair. “No, little star,” you say with a smile. “I’m their mama.” You gesture to the cradles. “They’re my little dragons.”

Rhaenyra tilts her head, clearly thinking hard. After a moment, she smiles and points to you again. “Mama dragons!” she declares, giggling to herself as if it’s the funniest thing in the world.

Baelon bursts out laughing, his voice filling the room. “That’s it!” he says, still chuckling. “The Mother of Dragons herself. That’s what they’ll call you now.”

You glance at Daemon, expecting him to roll his eyes at the dramatics, but instead, you find him gazing at you with that look — the one that makes you feel like the most powerful woman in the world. His hand moves to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin.

“They’ll call you that,” he says, his voice low but certain. “And they’ll be right.”

The warmth of his words wraps around you like a cloak, stronger than any fire. The exhaustion in your bones suddenly feels worth it. Every ache, every pain, every sleepless night — all of it was for this moment. For them. For him.

The children sleep soundly, the world quiet except for the soft crackling of the hearth and the murmured conversations of family. You lean your head against Daemon’s shoulder, letting his warmth lull you into a peaceful haze.

Three dragons. Three beautiful, strong, fierce little dragons. And you, their mother, are ready to protect them with every ounce of fire in your soul.

The gentle knock on the chamber door draws everyone’s attention. Daemon rises from his seat beside you, his hand resting protectively on your shoulder before he moves to answer it. The door creaks open to reveal a Red Keep guard, standing beside one of the dragonkeepers clad in dark leathers lined with scales. The dragonkeeper holds a large wooden box, his stance careful and deliberate as if he were carrying something precious — and he is.

The moment you see it, your breath catches in your throat. The box is unlatched and opened slowly, revealing three dragon eggs nestled in soft layers of blackened ash and cloth. Each egg glimmers with an otherworldly sheen, their surfaces glinting in the warm glow of the chamber’s fire.

Gasps echo throughout the room. King Jaehaerys leans forward, his sharp gaze fixed on the eggs, while Prince Baelon lets out a low whistle of appreciation. Aemma presses a hand to her chest, her eyes wide with wonder. Even little Rhaenyra stares in fascination, her small hands clapping in delight.

“By the gods,” Aemma breathes, awe clear in her voice. “Three eggs… for three dragons.” Her eyes shift to you, full of meaning.

The dragonkeeper steps forward, bowing his head respectfully. “Gifts from Dragonstone, my lady,” he announces. His voice is steady but reverent. “Freshly laid from the hatchery. They are yours by right.”

Your heart swells with emotion. Three eggs. Each one is as beautiful as it is dangerous — a promise of power, legacy, and fire. You glance at Daemon, who is watching you with a fierce pride, his gaze shifting between you and the eggs. He nods, his jaw set with resolve.

“Come,” Daemon says, his voice firm but soft as he walks back to your side. “Let them see.”

Carefully, the dragonkeeper places the box on the small table beside you. You lean forward, your eyes drawn to the eggs like a moth to flame. One egg is a deep crimson red, flecked with streaks of black, like molten lava cracking through stone. Another is a pale silver-blue with swirls of icy white — reminiscent of the sea during a storm. The third is a deep, smoky green, its surface marked with flecks of bronze that shimmer like sunlight on leaves.

You reach out with a steady hand, fingers grazing the surface of the red egg. It’s warm to the touch, alive with subtle vibrations, as though something inside is already stirring. Your gaze flickers to Daemon, and he watches you intently, as if witnessing something sacred.

“They’ll bond with them,” Daemon says quietly, his eyes shifting to the cradles where your three newborns sleep. “They’ll grow together.” His voice is filled with certainty, like it is a prophecy already written in stone.

You glance at the sleeping babes. Maegon, Vaelya, and Aerion. Three children, three dragon eggs. Fire and blood. Legacy.

King Jaehaerys rises from his chair, his face thoughtful but pleased. “This is a sign,” he declares, his voice echoing with authority. “The blood of the dragon runs strong in them. They will be great, as their father and mother are.”

Prince Baelon grins wide, his eyes sharp with excitement. “Aegon the Conqueror had three dragons,” he says, tilting his head as he gazes at you. “It seems history has a fondness for repeating itself.”

Aemma steps forward, her gaze moving from the eggs to you. “Have you decided which egg belongs to which child?” she asks, her smile soft but curious.

You look down at the eggs, fingers brushing over each one in turn. It feels as though they call to you, whispering their secrets through the warmth beneath your palm.

For Maegon, you choose the red egg, fierce and untamed, a symbol of strength and fire. He will be a warrior, you think. A flame that will never be extinguished.

For Vaelya, you choose the silver-blue egg, cool yet powerful, like the stillness before a raging storm. She will be steady and wise, but never weak. The sea and sky will answer her call.

For Aerion, you choose the green egg with bronze flecks, vibrant and wild, a reflection of growth, change, and rebirth. He will be a force of nature, ever growing, ever changing.

With each choice, you feel a weight lift from your heart, as if the decision had been waiting for you to realize it all along.

“They are theirs,” you say aloud, gazing at the eggs with quiet reverence. “Maegon, Vaelya, and Aerion. Their dragons will rise with them.”

Daemon’s hand rests on your shoulder, his fingers curling softly against you. “They will,” he says, his voice low with conviction. “And the world will never forget it.”

The dragonkeeper bows his head once more before backing away, his task complete. The box is left behind, its contents no longer just eggs but something far greater. The fire crackles softly, casting warm, dancing shadows across the eggs, as if they, too, are dreaming of the future.

You lean into Daemon’s side, exhaustion settling back into your bones, but your heart is full. Your children have their dragons. Your legacy is secured.

tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @julessworldd

[sundropflowerr]

Trace Your Constellations | Steve Harrington

★ Warnings: no use of y/n, post s3 before s4, fluff, mutual pining, awkward tension, idiot duo in love, light teasing, longing glances, emotional vulnerability, quiet moments, quiet comfort, moments of personal growth, slight self-doubt.

★ Summary: After everything Hawkins put you through, you and Steve find yourselves on the roof of Family Video, stargazing and toeing the line between friends and something more. It’s quiet, it’s soft, and maybe—just maybe—he’s finally seeing the stars the way you do. 2k

★ Pairings: steve harrington x fem!reader

★ Fic Inspiration: “Constellations: Piano Version” - Jade LeMac

★ Author's Note: thank you to @enchanthings for the star divider, it’s greatly appreciated and i love love love it. this is my first writing piece, i can’t believe it! though it might be messy and only a one-shot, i hope you all enjoy it.

You and Steve Harrington were stuck together like glue.

Not by choice at first, but that didn’t seem to matter now.

Somewhere between the Byers’ house, where Steve first swung that nail-studded bat like a maniac to protect everyone, and the tunnels beneath Hawkins, where he grabbed your shoulder and told you “We’re getting out of this. Just keep moving,” something shifted. After Starcourt—after fire, smoke, and holding his hand in the parking lot while you stared at the wreckage—it stopped being just survival.

It was the last-night drives when neither of you could sleep, the lazy afternoons when he’d lean on the counter at the music store you worked at, flipping through cassette tapes just to annoy you.

Steve still insists he just hangs out with you because your music store is “conveniently” across the street. He’ll pop in during his shifts at Family Video, lean against the counter like he owns the place, and pick apart the stack of cassette tapes you’re organizing. “What’s this? Too cool for a little Springsteen?” he’d say, tossing you his signature smug grin. You’d roll your eyes, toss it right back, and remind him he only listens to what you tell him to.

Robin called it weeks ago. “You guys are, like, weirdly close.” Eddie had chimed in too, smirking like he knew something you didn’t: “You two ever gonna admit you’re basically one soft moment away from a rom-com montage?” You brushed them off every time—what did they know?

But it’s harder to brush them off when you’re here, on the roof, the quiet of the summer night pressing in around you. It’s the kind of quiet you only get after midnight in Hawkins, where the cicadas buzz in the distance and the stars shine brighter because half the town’s lights don’t work right. The air smells faintly of asphalt and cut grass, warm but with the promise of cooler hours ahead, and everything feels still—so still it’s like the world’s holding its breath.

It had been Steve’s idea, though he acted like it wasn’t a big deal—like he didn’t spend half his shift thinking it up. Earlier that afternoon, you’d walked into Family Video, the bell above the door jingling like it always did, announcing your presence. The store smelled faintly like stale popcorn and cleaning spray, and Steve was leaning back against the counter, his green vest rumpled, hands shoved in his pockets. Robin, crouched on the floor with a stack of tapes, only glanced up long enough to mutter something sarcastic before diving back into organizing the horror section.

“Finally,” Steve said, pushing himself up with exaggerated relief. “Someone who’s not Robin to keep me entertained.”

“Bold of you to assume I’m here for you,” you shot back, a grin tugging at your lips as you perched yourself on the counter next to him. The surface was cool against the back of your legs, and you kicked your feet slightly, heels bumping the cabinets beneath.

Robin, without looking up, waved a hand in Steve’s direction. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s been staring at the clock for twenty minutes.”

Steve groaned loudly in her direction, rolling his eyes before turning back to you. “Slow day. Feels like we’re in some kind of weird dead zone where no one in this godforsaken town likes movies anymore.”

“Or maybe they just don’t like you.” Robin’s voice was muffled as she slid another tape onto the shelf.

Steve ignored her, squinting at you like he was trying to gauge your mood. “What are you doing later?”

You raised an eyebrow. “That depends. Why?”

He scratched at the back of his neck, looking down like he was embarrassed to even ask. “I was just thinking…” He paused, tilting his head slightly to the side as if he’d decided to go for it. “It’s a nice night. After my shift, you wanna hang out? On the roof.”

“The roof?”

“Yeah. Of this fine establishment.” He knocked his knuckles lightly against the counter like he was showing off prime real estate, a little smile tugging at his lips. “You can see the stars better up there. Plus, it’s quiet. Robin and I go up sometimes. It’s… nice.”

You tilted your head at him, watching the way he shifted his weight slightly, like he wasn’t sure you’d say yes. “The stars, huh? No thrilling Steve Harrington monologue about life and the meaning of the universe?”

He groaned, throwing his head back in dramatic exasperation. “Forget it. Invite taken back.”

You laughed, nudging his arm with your shoulder, feeling the soft warmth of his skin through his vest. “Relax. I’ll come. It sounds nice.”

He looked back at you, his face softening into a crooked smile, his eyes lingering on yours for a beat too long. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And now, here you were. Hours later, the summer night stretching endlessly above you, blanketed by stars that seemed impossibly bright. Steve had climbed up first—grabbing onto the edge of the roof like it was nothing and pulling himself up before leaning down to offer you a hand. His fingers were warm and solid when they wrapped around yours, tugging you up with more strength than you’d anticipated. You’d stumbled slightly when you landed, but Steve’s other hand shot out, steadying you with a muttered, “Careful there.”

The roof wasn’t the most comfortable place in the world, but Steve had brought a blanket—some old, ugly checkered thing that smelled faintly of fabric softener and the inside of a car that’s been baking in the sun. You sat shoulder to shoulder, your knees bent, elbows resting against them as you both stared at the sky. The gravel beneath the blanket shifted slightly every time you moved, the crunch of it loud in the otherwise perfect stillness.

Steve stretched his arms out behind him, fingers splayed against the gravel as he leaned back to look at the sky. The muscles in his forearms flexed slightly, catching in the faint light from the streetlamps below. “Told you the roof was a good idea,” he said, breaking the quiet.

You tilted your head, glancing over at him. His hair—wild as ever—stuck up slightly, the edges catching the faintest breeze. The light shadow of stubble along his jaw was more noticeable from this angle, and you caught yourself lingering on the sight before you could stop.

“It’s alright,” you said, teasing. “Not as magical as you made it sound, though.”

Steve turned to you, lips parting into a look of mock offense. “Not as magical? What more do you want? I brought you here, gave you a prime stargazing spot—this is, like, peak effort.”

You laugh, stretching your legs out a little, the soles of your sneakers scuffing against the gravel. “Peak effort would’ve been snacks. Maybe a soda.”

“Oh, sorry I didn’t roll out the red carpet for you.” He shook his head with a dramatic sigh, though there was a smile pulling at his lips. “Next time I’ll bring a waiter.”

“Next time, huh?”

His shoulders froze for half a second, like he hadn’t realized he’d said it, before he relaxed again. “Yeah, well… if you’re lucky.”

You smiled faintly, looking back up at the stars. The quiet slipped back in, the kind of quiet that feels like a blanket wrapping around you—soft and warm and perfectly still. The cicadas buzzed faintly in the distance, their hum mixing with the occasional rustle of leaves in the trees far below. The sky stretched endlessly above, a wash of navy and scattered constellations, and for a moment, it was easy to forget about everything else.

And when Steve shifted beside you—just barely, so his shoulder bumped yours—you felt yourself still, suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of space between you.

Steve stretches his arms behind his head, breaking the silence. “You know, I still don’t get constellations.”

You look over, amused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, like…” He tilts his head back, gesturing vaguely at the sky. “They say that’s a guy with a sword, or whatever? That’s just dots. Someone’s connecting invisible lines, and we’re all supposed to be impressed.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “That’s Orion’s Belt, and you just have no imagination, Harrington.”

Steve turns to you, his mouth twitching into that lopsided grin he always gets when he’s ready to argue with you. “I have plenty of imagination, thank you very much. I’ve survived monsters and alternate dimensions. I just think stars are trying a little too hard, you know?”

“Stars are trying too hard?” you say, incredulous. “What does that even mean?”

“It means…” He pauses, looking up at the sky again, brow furrowed like he’s actually trying to make sense of it. “I think people try too hard to make them something they’re not. Can’t they just be stars?”

You roll your eyes but smile anyway. “Or maybe you’re just too stubborn to let yourself see them.”

Steve doesn’t answer right away. The quiet slips back in, softer this time, and you watch as he exhales slowly, his gaze lingering on the sky. “Maybe,” he finally says, almost too low for you to hear.

Something about it makes your chest ache a little. You don’t know when it started—this feeling you get when Steve’s around—but it’s been there more and more lately. It’s in the way he drops by the music store to kill time, like he doesn’t have anywhere better to be. It’s in the way he always lets you pick the music, even if he pretends to hate half of it. It’s in the way he remembers the tiniest details about you—like how you can’t sleep without white noise, or how you take your coffee with exactly one and a half sugars because two is too sweet but one isn’t enough.

And now it’s here, in the way he looks so at ease next to you, like there’s no place he’d rather be.

“Do you ever think about leaving?” you ask suddenly, your voice breaking the quiet. “Like, leaving Hawkins?”

Steve hums in thought, eyes still on the sky. “Yeah, sometimes. I mean, how could I not? This place is cursed.”

You huff out a quiet laugh. “No kidding.”

“But…” He trails off, turning his head to look at you. His voice is quieter when he continues. “I don’t know. I think it’s different now. Before, I wanted to leave because I didn’t have anything here. I thought I’d find it somewhere else. But…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, and for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to ask him to. You’re pretty sure you already know what he’s trying to say.

The air between you shifts, subtle but noticeable. Steve’s looking at you now, really looking at you, and it makes you hyper-aware of every inch of space between you—how close your hands are on the blanket, how his knee bumps yours every time he shifts.

“What?” you ask softly, because the way he’s staring at you is starting to make your heart do stupid things.

Steve shakes his head, smiling faintly. “Nothing.”

“Liar.”

“Okay, fine.” He sighs, tipping his head back against the gravel like he’s trying to play it cool. “It’s just… nights like this, you know? When it’s quiet, and you’re here. Makes me think maybe Hawkins isn’t so bad.”

You freeze, your breath catching in your chest. He says it so casually, like it doesn’t mean anything, but you know Steve. You know when he’s being flippant and when he’s saying something real, and this? This is real.

“Yeah,” you say after a moment, your voice quieter now. “I get that.”

You don’t look at him, but you feel his hand brush against yours—barely there, just his pinky against your knuckle. It’s so small you could pretend it didn’t happen, but you don’t. Instead, you let your hand relax, let your fingers rest just close enough to his that you know he can feel it.

Steve doesn’t say anything about it, but you can tell he notices. You can tell because his breathing changes, because he’s suddenly so still next to you.

“Hey,” he says after a minute, voice soft.

“Yeah?”

“I see it.”

You blink, finally turning your head to look at him. “See what?”

He grins, barely there but still so Steve, and nods toward the sky. “Orion’s Belt. The dots.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Took you long enough.”

He doesn’t let go of your hand.

And you don’t seem to mind.

thank you so much for reading! please like/reblog or comment if you did, it would be greatly appreciated. have a great day!

[sosa2imagines]

An Alley of Passion

Warning- Smut, Steve Rogers is a warning, sex in an alley, little bit of tearing of clothes, dominance.

Disclaimer- This is my submission for @mercurial-chuckles writing challenge, "Smutty September Fest" I hope everyone who reads likes it.

The plan was simple, enter the sophisticated nightclub, head to the back room, and collect the data.

But things rarely ever went according to plan. As soon as you and Steve entered the main floor of the club, the two of you were spotted by some goons.

You wore the expensive black halter dress, courtesy of Tony’s money. It was tight against your body, fitting perfectly against every dip and curve.

Steve, your partner on this mission, looked absolutely stunning in a tight black shirt and black pants. It hugged his body in all the right places and made his blue eyes stand out even more.

Despite the odds being against the two of you, you and Steve managed to fight off the goons and retrieved the data you came here for. However, just as you breathed a sigh of relief, more goons arrived, this time armed with deadly weapons, leaving you both cornered.

Steve grabs your hand and runs towards the exit. With the goons high on chase, Steve takes a turn towards an alley assuming it's empty.

However the two of you found yourselves in a surprising situation as you looked around. Instead of the empty, dark alley you'd expected, it was filled with couples. Some were engaged in deep conversation, others were whispering sweet nothings, and yet others were passionately making out.

Steve and you knew that the best way to avoid suspicion would be to blend in.

Steve leaned over and whispered against your ear, “Do you trust me?” You could hear the edge in his voice, the hint of urgency in his words. You nodded, looking into his eyes and hoping he had a plan to get you both out of this sticky situation.

In a swift and unexpected move, Steve pushed you against the wall. His body was so close to yours that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. He then turned, placing his back facing the goons, effectively shielding you with his body, his hand slipping around your waist.

Steve's grip on your waist was firm, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your own. The steady rise and fall of his chest provided a sense of stability amidst the chaos.

Despite the dire situation, the sensation of being held so closely by him was electrifying, both comforting and thrilling at the same time as your heart pounded in your chest.

Time seemed to stretch out impossibly thin as the two of you stood there in silence. You could hear the goons continue their search nearby, their footsteps echoing through the alley, each sound sending a jolt of adrenaline through your system, making your heart rate quicken.

All the while, Steve stood close, his body acting as both a shield and a safety net, providing a sense of security in the midst of chaos.

As the silence continued, you swallowed, attempting to moisten your suddenly dry throat. The close intimacy of your shared space, with your body firmly against Steve's, added a new layer of intensity to the danger that surrounded you.

Every part of your being felt more alive than ever before, and as he shifted and tightened his grip on you, you felt a flutter deep within your stomach, a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

Steve could feel the tension radiating from your body as you leaned slightly into him. He drew in a steady breath, attempting to calm himself. His own heart was beating erratically, and the realization of this took him by surprise.

It wasn't just the adrenaline from the situation that heightened his awareness, the proximity of your body to his had added a new layer of complexity. The protectiveness he was feeling towards you was no longer just professional; it had become deeply personal.

With the goons closing in, checking the couples around them, Steve knew he had to act fast. In a split second, his instincts kicked in, and he acted on impulse, pulling you closer and kissing you.

The action was abrupt, unexpected, but undeniably necessary to sell their cover. He could feel the soft surprise of your lips against his, the taste of your gasp, and the heat that suddenly emanated from your body.

The moment his lips met yours, a rush of heat and electricity surged through your body. Despite the shock of his impulsiveness, you found yourself responding, your body instinctively leaning into the kiss. The world around you faded as the warmth of his mouth against your own washed over you, making your head swim for a brief moment.

As Steve's lips pressed against yours, his body trapping you against the cold, rough wall, the action held a multitude of meanings. On one hand, it was a desperate measure to keep their cover, to blend in with the other couples in the alleyway. But on a more primal, subconscious level, it was also a release of the built-up tension he hadn't even been aware he'd been carrying until that very instant.

The battle between Steve's mind and body was palpable. His body responded in a way that he hadn't anticipated, his mind striving to catch up and make sense of the situation.

The kiss deepened, and he pressed you closer against the wall. While on some level, he knew it was a necessary part of the act to maintain the ruse, the way your body fitted against his, the taste and feel of you, felt intensely real, igniting a sense of awareness that he couldn't deny.

The goons finally moved on, leaving the narrow alley once again secluded. Steve slowly broke the kiss, his breath ragged and his voice a low rumble against your ear as he spoke. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” The words were tinged with a hint of frustration and pent-up desire, suggesting that he was struggling to keep his emotions in check.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension in his taut muscles as he slowly backed up, allowing some space between the two of you. His gaze was intense, filled with a mix of protectiveness and frustration, his eyes burning into yours.

You mustered the courage to speak up, meeting his gaze with a hint of daring. “I don't regret it…” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

A flicker of surprise flickered across Steve's face, replaced quickly with a look of desire that sent your heart racing. “Good.” he murmured in response. Before you could react, he closed the distance between you once again, claiming your lips in another heated kiss.

The kiss was hungry, filled with a raw need that caught you off guard. Steve's hands came up to cup your face, angling it to deepen the kiss, his tongue seeking entry into your mouth. You responded willingly, your bodies pressing closely together, both seeking and taking what the other offered.

The world faded away, the only point of focus being the heady sensation of Steve's mouth on yours. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt, craving the contact. The kiss was primal, filled with an untamed passion that left you both momentarily breathless.

Steve's voice was a low, commanding growl, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. “I. need. you. Now!” he emphasized, his words filled with an possessive intensity that sent heat pooling in your stomach. The need in his voice was undeniable, a demand that was impossible to resist.

You turned around, with your back pressed against his chest. Steve's hands roamed you body, as they slowly guided up your chest.

His palms perfectly cupped your breasts, feeling their weight, he kneaded them. An obscene moan escaped his lips.

Steve's hands were everywhere as he turns you around, rough and impatient, he began to tear the fabric of your dress, creating a perfect slit down the center. The sound of the material giving way was loud in the silence of the alley.

Steve's gaze roamed over the torn dress, a lopsided smirk playing on his lips. “Much better,” he declared, his voice roughened with desire. “I'll buy you a new one.”

You could only shake your head in response, your mind too wrapped up in the haze of desire to form coherent thoughts, let alone speak.

In one swift motion, Steve's hands moved to your hips, lifting you up and bringing you against his body, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. The action left you feeling exposed and vulnerable, heightening the sensation of his hard muscles pressed against your curves.

Steve's mouth claimed yours again, his kiss deep and urgent, his tongue tangling with yours in a desperate dance of lust and need. His body moved against yours, the friction between your bodies igniting a fire within you. Your hips rocked slightly against his, seeking more of that delicious friction.

Steve's hands moved from your hips to your thighs, his fingers gripping the delicate material of your flimsy underwear. Your breath hitched in your throat as he began to tear the fabric in a one swift, possessive motion.

The thought of how much your torn panties had cost flickered through your mind, but as soon as Steve's teeth found your neck, at the sensitive spot that sent waves of pleasure through your body, any concern about the ruined garment vanished.

Your sharp intake of breath was both involuntary and a clear indication that you were entirely focused on the sensations Steve was stirring within you.

His teeth nipped at the skin softly before his tongue soothed the sting, his lips trailing down to your collarbone and sucking gently. You arched into his touch, silently begging for more, your body responding fiercely to his kisses and bites.

Steve's command, delivered in a low, urgent tone broke the silence between you. “Undo my pants, doll, set me free!” he ordered, his voice filled with a raw desire that sent shivers down your spine. Your hands trembled slightly as your fingers worked to undo his pants, your obedience a testament to the power he held over you in that moment.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the restraint he was exercising to keep himself in check. Finally, his pants fell open, giving you access to what you both craved. You could feel the heat of his hardness against your core.

A soft whimper escaped your lips, your body reacting instinctively to the contact. Steve's hips moved against yours, his hard length pressing against your sensitive pussy, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through your body. His mouth claimed yours again, his kiss now more desperate, urgent, mirroring the fire that was burning between the two of you.

Steve dipped his fingers inside you, to see if you are ready for him, before putting them in his mouth, making a show of sucking them making an obscene sound that made you crave him more.

“Steve please…” You moan, gently rolling your hips against him, the anticipation almost driving you over the edge. He pauses as his eyes move over you, drinking in the sight of you, his breathing is heavy. “You're so beautiful...” he says, sliding a hand up your thigh to your hip.

Steve kisses you deeply as he pushes into you, your pussy takes all of him in. His thick length stretches your walls.

“Yes...” escaped your lips, the word a mix of pleasure and relief.

His breath catches in his throat, at the feel of you wrapped around him. His hips soon found a suitable pace, as he starts to move against you slowly. “So tight and perfect...”

You cling to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin. There was no gentleness in his movements, only the primal need to claim you entirely. Each thrust was a testament to his desire, a reminder of the pent up tension between the two of you.

Your bodies moved together in desperate harmony, desperate need driving each movement. The sound of skin against skin, the harsh pants and moans filling the air, created an intimate symphony that was a reflection of the intense connection.

Steve speeds up, making your breath hitch. He presses deeper and your nails slightly dig into his shoulders. “Steve...” you moan his name, as he hits deep in your cunt, making all your thoughts scatter.

“Look at me, doll,” Steve's command was punctuated with a powerful thrust, the words spoken between grunts and pants. He wanted your eyes on him, needed to see your reaction as he claimed you, his gaze burning into yours.

Each movement was a testament to his dominant presence, his desire to take control and possess you entirely. With each breath, the air grew hotter between the two of you, the connection both physical and emotional.

His grip on your hips tightened, his touch a mixture of possessiveness and tenderness. In this moment, you were entirely his, your body responding to his every touch, your desire matching his own. The world outside faded away.

He watched intently, his gaze fixated on every flicker of pleasure that flitted across your face, his name becoming a mantra on your lips, a silent testament to the power he held over you.

He increased his pace, his movements becoming more urgent and desperate. He was losing himself in the feel of you, the way your body responded to his touch, the sounds of pleasure that escaped your lips.

His mouth found yours, his lips hungry and demanding. He kissed you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours in a frenzy of passion.

As he hit a spot deep inside you that made you cry out in pleasure. He smiled against your lips, a smug look of satisfaction on his face.

He continued to move, his movements becoming faster and more frantic. He was lost in the sensations, consumed by the feel of you and the sound of your moans in his ears.

His movements were growing more erratic as his own desire threatened to overtake him. He could feel himself getting closer to the edge, but he forced himself to hold back, wanting to make you come first.

“Just let go, doll…” he whispers in your ear, his hips moving faster, his lips against yours. The words push you over the edge and you cry out his name, against his lips, as waves of pleasure wash over you.

You moaned into the kiss, as you came hard, Steve followed suit as he spent himself inside you. Filling you up to the brim. Catching his breath, he buried his face in your neck.

Steve gently set you down, his hands supporting your shaking legs until you were steady on your feet. Despite the intensity of the moment, his touch was tender, a stark contrast to the fierce need that had consumed him moments before.

As you stood there, trying to get your bearings, Steve smirked, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Can you walk, doll?” He asked, his tone light but filled with a smug satisfaction.

“I...I think you were a little too rough...” you retorted, a playful pout on your lips as you tested your legs, finding them shaky and unreliable.

As you took a few tentative steps, you found your legs still weak and unstable. Before you could even react, Steve scooped you up in his arms with an ease that made your heart skip a beat.

“I know you can walk,” he said, his tone amused but affectionate. “But I'm not done with you yet, doll, and I want you to save your energy.”

You couldn't help but gasp as you saw the look in Steve's eyes. The intensity in his gaze, the fire that burned within him told you that this night had only just begun. A mix of anticipation and trepidation filled your heart, knowing that the night would be long and passionate.

Also dedicated to @rogerbarnesss @buckysdoll85 @caplanbuckybarnes

[binniesbooks]

• YOU DON'T WANT HIM TO KNOW, DO YOU?

SB 000 .F23 2024

wc 4k

pairings brother'sbestfriend!Soobin x fem!reader

warnings lot of curses, mouth to mouth passing of liquid, making out, oral sex, slight somno, degradation, protected sex, pet names, dom!soobin (idk what else did I miss)

faye's note I saw Soobin's ig post last night and the cogs and wheels of my brain started working lmao. But I wasn't able to post it immediately because of power interruption, it sucks. Tsk. Anyway, hope you enjoy this! Oh, btw, fuck Tumblr for messing it up again agh!

You had known Soobin for years now. He was your brother's best friend, the kind of guy who was always around, cracking jokes and lending a hand in whatever task you were working on. Soobin has been the most gentle person you've ever met, or so you thought.

But lately, things have shifted. You found yourself drawn to him in a way that was more than just friendship, a stirring attraction that you couldn’t seem to shake. Soobin is not that dumb to not know and knew how to connect the dots.

From the way you welcomed him even if his best friend was not around, the way you gave him water or food, the gazes he could feel you were throwing at him even if his back was turned to you, the lingering touches you were giving with simple grazes of fingers, the way you changed your hairstyle to a high ponytail, the way you kept on using thin clothes whenever he was around and the way you join them whenever they are playing because you never did these things before.

On your brother's birthday, the three of you had been hanging out in your brother's house. Laughter echoed through the rooms, and the smell of barbecue wafted from the backyard where your brother was busy grilling. The moment felt all too ordinary, yet sparkles of tension crackled between Soobin and you when you found yourselves alone in the living room, the rest of the world felt like it was fading away.

The air thickened with unspoken words as you sat close, the TV flickering in front of you. Soobin was just as aware of the shift, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, his usual carefree demeanor replaced with something more serious.

Your heart raced as your knees brushed against each other, a simple contact that sent electricity coursing through you.“Do you think he’ll be done soon?” you asked, trying to lighten the moment as you rocked yourself back and forth, but your voice trembled slightly.“Who, your brother? He loves taking his time,” Soobin replied with a smirk, but his gaze lingered on your lips for a moment too long.

"I'm done grilling, let's start drinking!" your brother announced as he marched with the container of barbeque in his hand.

The night passed with your brother's blabbering and boasting about things, like how he managed to raise you alone even when it's just the two of you, how he takes care of you and he doesn't want you to be taken by a man who didn't treat you with respect. You throw a few more glances at Soobin who's just sitting across you, and you can tell he's staring at you as well with the simple grins he shows whenever your eyes meet.

Your brother is most likely the kind of guy who can't handle his liquor, Soobin does handle his oddly fine, enough to stay conscious and aware of his surroundings. Aside from the bit of redness on his cheek and ears, you couldn't tell he was tipsy.

"He's out." You muttered as you stared at your brother snoring with his cheek pressed on the table, causing Soobin to snort as he poured the remaining alcohol into his glass. It's almost two in the morning.

"Can you carry him to the couch? I'll grab his blanket and pillows," you said dusting your shorts from anything you have sat on. Soobin just simply nodded.

"Stop staring, you'll end up making a cave in my head." You can feel how he's watching you behind your back as you are tucking your brother to sleep. Giving him pillows for him to sleep comfortably at least.

"Y/n," Soobin called the moment you're done. You replied with a simple "Hmm?" as you started to pick up the bottles, glasses, and plates cluttered around the table.

You turned your head to him when you did not hear him answer. He's sitting on one of the couches across the one you're brother was sleeping on, your eyes meet, the ends of his lips curving up.

"Have you tried drinking?" he asked, swirling the liquor in the glass he was holding. "I haven't. I wanna try though, I'm already beyond my legal age. But this asshole brother of mine does not want me to do so." You pouted as you jokingly raised the bottle you were holding to hit your sleeping brother.

"Your brother does seem to care for you so much." He grins once again, sipping on the alcohol.

"Why, of course. I'm his only family." You say as you sit at the armrest of the couch where your brother sleeps.

"Say, have you broken any of his rules?" he asked, running his hand through his hair. You nodded, causing his plump lips to stretch a bit.

You looked at your sleeping brother, "He used to tell me not to go out at night, but well, sometimes I sneak out, to be with my friends." You chuckled as you bit your lip. "Please don't tell him." You looked back at Soobin again. "Anything else?" He tilted his head to the side, still staring at you. "I...I was told not to be too close or friendly to other guys. He also told me not to like any of his friends because they're total assholes." Your voice slowly becomes faint as you fidget with your fingers.

The clink of glass he picked up on the table made you realize you were straight-out confessing, to one of his friends. You snapped back to him, "I-i mean..." You were out of words as you stared at his mused expression. Scared that he might tell your brother. You're screwed.

"Come here," he motions you to come in front of him. "You don't want me to tell this to him, is that right?" You nodded, embarrassed at what you've said and done. "Only if you do me one thing." He leaned back to the couch he was sitting on, his hand once again running through his hair. "That is...?"

"That is if you break one more damn rule of your brother. For me." He smiled at you, purposely pausing, emphasizing the last two words."I... I'll do it." He feels you're desperate as he watches you ball your fist while he can hear your thumping heart in the dead of night.

"Sit here." He tapped the space beside him as he picked up his glass of alcohol once again, his face painted with pure amusement. Just like being bewitched, you obeyed, sitting beside him.

He places his hand on the space behind you, "Pft, you're so tensed," he snickers. "One more rule, yeah?" He inquired, bringing his face closer to yours. "One..one more. Just one only..." You confirmed voice barely above a whisper.

He sipped on his glass as he held and tilted your face towards his. You breathed, gripping the couch to steady yourself. In an uncharacteristically bold move, Soobin closed the gap between you. You were too stunned to push him away. Hell, you liked it too much you couldn't push him away. He brushed his thumb on your lower lips before pressing his lips on yours, slowly letting the liquid flow out from his mouth to yours. That was it—the final push you needed. Maybe it was the fear you felt that he might tell your brother about your secrets or him being the reason you're breaking the rule, but at that moment, you wanted to break every unspoken rule. You parted your lips, you loved the taste, either his lips or the liquor, you don't know anymore. You place your hand on his chest ultimately clutching on his button-up shirt. His lips danced skillfully on yours, the liquid escaping, dripping to your chin.

He pulled away for a bit to look at you. Only to see you drooling as you look up at him with your hands tightly clutched on his button-up. "More... Please." his smile widened at you begging. "Greedy little girl, aren't you?" You lean unto his hand that is gently caressing your cheek. "Please.." you begged once more. He chugged the remaining liquor in his glass as he held your nape, crashing his lips on yours a little bit harder than last time, his other hand flew up your neck, feeling how you slowly gulped on the liquor mixed with his spit, he gently squeezed your neck, emitting a soft gasp from you as you sightly opened your mouth. He wasted no time shoving his tongue into your throat, practically making the dirtiest and nastiest kiss you've ever experienced.

You rubbed your thighs when he gently pulled at your hair, he's rough yet gentle. He's aggressive but careful. How ironic. You know this is wrong. You're kissing-- no you are making out with one of your brother's best friends, who was sleeping in front of you.

"You like this, don't you?" He taunted as he pulled your hair once more. It takes everything in you to not scream out in pleasure. His lips captured yours once more in a fervent kiss that ignited a wildfire within you. You melted into him, the taste of anticipation on your tongue, the weight of what you were doing fueling the heat of the moment. The kiss deepened, and you felt yourself surrender to what was happening. You pressed your body closer to his, your connection growing more urgent. It was reckless, forbidden—everything that made your heart race. You knew the stakes: if your brother found out, you're done. Yet, that thrill, that desire to break one of your brother's rules, is pulling you closer to Soobin.

He pulled you by your hair once again, a string of saliva hanging on both of your lips, you're panting as you snap your head towards your brother. Thankfully, he's still sound asleep. You looked back at Soobin, plump lips red from the pressure and heat of the kiss. He licked his lips, "Such a good girl for me," he chuckled, his hand still on your nape. "Now, come here, we're not done yet." He stood up and grabbed you by your wrist marching towards your bedroom, turning off the light in the living room in the process. Hearts pounding, adrenaline coursing through your veins as he locked the door behind.

The moment you two stepped inside your room, your mind immediately processed what would happen. You are in your room with a boy, Soobin. Your brother's best friend. Whom you recently grew interested in. You even made out in the living room with him. He even made sure your door was locked. What makes you think this won't reach the most intimate part? There’s no doubt about it—something significant was bound to happen. Why wouldn't it? Soobin is experienced. You've heard him and your brother talk about it multiple times. How they shared the same girl, how he ended up with a one-night stand with the girl from the bar, how he made his enemy's girlfriend sneak out with him, and many more nasty things they've done.

"Climb up the bed, pumpkin." He's ordering you around again, yet you are following him without restraint. He unbuttoned his shirt as he was staring down at you sitting tensely on the bed, with your hands in between your folded thighs. You were staring up at him, eyes blown, maybe you just can't handle the shots of liquor, or maybe you're eyes were just filled with lust. He scoffed, running his hand through his hair for the nth time today. He climbed up the bed, the black piece of cloth he was wearing long discarded.

With his back pressed on the headboard, he motioned you to move closer to him. "C'mere pumpkin. I won't tell, any of your little secrets to your brother~" his voice clearly mocking you with a sing-song tone. "Can't afford to let you get screwed, anyway." You were sitting between his legs. You can't decline to anything he wants. Aside from you being scared of your brother, deep inside you, you also wanted this. You also want to break the rules just to be with Soobin.

Your eyes ran through his long legs, his dress pants comfortably hugging the lean muscles of his legs. "Your hands are pretty, you're actually creative," he was probably referring to the artworks you've been doing, "I wonder what else these pretty hands can do." He unzipped his pants as he grabbed one of your hands, placing it on his aching bulge. He rubbed himself with your hand, humming at the sensation. His other hand flew to your lips, rubbing your lower lip as he stared at your eyes filled with need. "Soft lips that give tender and sloppy kiss," he muttered, "What else can you kiss better, pumpkin, hm?" He pressed his thumb on your lip.

You scoot closer, moving your hand on its own accord as he lets go of your hand, eyes still looking at him with unfulfilled pleasure. He pushed your head down towards his bulge, "Why not try going down on me, let's see what you can do." You carefully stroke him once more within the confinement of his boxers. "Fuck. Your hands are quite good." He moaned as he gripped your wrist. You pulled his boxers to expose his girthy length. You're not bewitched, you want him. He stroke his exposed cock as he pushed you down a little bit more, making you almost kiss the base of his cock.

Your tongue prodded out, licking the base of his cock as both of your hands were holding to his legs to keep yourself steady. "Shit!" His cock pulsated as he flinched, he was unprepared. He chuckled at your quirks. "Start. Your secrets depend here." He taunted.

Your dainty fingers wrapped around his cock got him reeling. You licked the tip of his cock, it's red and it feels burning. You slowly took him in your mouth as he puffed out muffled moans and grunts. He crossed his arms behind his head, " Wondering how your brother will react if he finds out that this precious little sister of his is doing something very very naughty behind his back." You took him whole in your mouth, gag reflex kicking in. "Fuck angel, you'll be the death of me." He huffed as he tightly closed his eyes. He's restraining himself to hold you, keeping his arms behind his head.

You continuously bobbed your head with your tongue occasionally wrapping around his cock. "You're quite skilled. Have you ever done this? You don't look and act innocent at all." His grin grew wider at the thought. You pulled away, shaking your head.

"N-never... But I f-fantasize over you." You admitted. The smug look on his face becomes heavier as he lets out a mocking laugh. "Look at you acting innocent and all. Yet you have a dirty little mind." The shit-eating grin on his face looks devilish. "My little slut." You tweaked at his words. Embarrassed at where you have put yourself into. "Now don't be shy and show me who you really are, kitten." The pet names he's been calling you, you can't react to it other than getting wet. You wanted to be degraded by him. You've wanted this for so long.

You continued giving him head, " shit, you are so dirty," his light laughs makes your heart flutter, and his degrading words make your pussy clench. He started thrusting carefully in your mouth when you started moaning, the vibrations giving him extra sensation. He holds your head to stay still as he started fucking your mouth, you could tell he does not care about hurting you but his thrust was controlled, holding you as if you'll break easily, just letting the tip of his cock kiss your precious throat. "Delicious. Fucking. Mouth." He grunts at every thrust. He stilled, your mouth overflowing with his white sticky cum.

He gently pulled you on his lap, "Did you just swallow it?" He asked, his stares at you were intense. You simply nodded "I did, am I good?" You were seeking validation amidst the forbidden thing you two have done. A playful smile shined on his face, "More than good, angel." He gently lays you on his chest, and you could feel his heart thumping as if it were about to burst out of his chest.

"Rest for a while, I'll wake you up before I leave." He said as his long fingers combed your smooth hair, he hugged you tight, pulling your blanket to cover the both of you.

He was in awe, how can you possibly sleep when it's still dangerous around you? He lays you on your bed, registering in his mind how you look. His hand travels around your body, lightly squeezing your neck as you gasp in your sleep. He pushed your shirt above your chest, scoffing at the sight, did you purposely not wear a bra the whole night he was here? He lightly pinches your nipple, rolling his fingers on it, making you squirm. His eyes traveled from your chest to your waist as he hovered above you.

His warm hands enveloped your tiny waist, smiling at how it first perfectly on his huge hand. His hands moved down, gently tugging your shorts off you. "What a little mess we have here." He mumbled, staring at how your panties stuck at your cunt. The baby blue piece of cloth was drenched with your slick. He moves it sideways, prodding his middle finger in your wet pussy. He touched you achingly slow, causing his cock to twitch inside his pants.

His hot tongue finally comes in contact with your cunt. He knows that you'll wake up anytime. "Wake up, pumpkin," he mumbles while lapping on your pussy. You grunt and squirm, feeling the uncomfortably extra wetness in your cunt. Your eyes fluttered open at Soobin eating you out. Your hands immediately clutched your mouth to refrain from being noisy. His tall nose kept on touching your clit, making it more sensitive. You clutched his blond locks, pulling him closer to your cunt as you chase your high.

"I-i'm gonna cum," you whispered, voice muffled as you were almost biting your hand. His two fingers entered you freely, pressing inside, finding your sweet spot. "Let me have a taste of you, kitten," he kept on lapping and pushing his fingers in and out of you, making you shudder and grip his hair tighter as you came on his tongue. Soobin gently sucked on your clit emitting soft whimpers from you.

He hovers above you once again, his veiny hands propped on both sides, his chest rising and falling, toned abs clenching. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket, bringing out a condom packet. He wraps his cock in one swift motion, as he prepares at your entrance. He penetrates slowly, grunting at how tight you feel on him, he covers your mouth, "Don't you make a noise-fuck, I'm warning you pumpkin." He stilled inside as you gasped for air, "Stay still, I won't move for a while," he muttered as he kissed your forehead.

The once dark and dead night is almost gone. The bluish color of the sky makes the surroundings a little bit easier to see. You two came to your senses when you heard a knock, then the rattling sound of the door knob. "Fuck!" You shout-whispered, pushing Soobin off of you. He pulled out, both of you immediately wincing at the pain.

"Y/n?" Your brother called you, you panicked as you stood against the door instead of lying down on your bed. "What the hell are you doing there?" Soobin's furrowed as he whispered enough for you to hear.

"Have you seen Soobin?" Your brother asked, you were about to answer when Soobin pinned you on the door.

"Hey, is everything fine? I heard a noise." The rattling sound of your doorknob can be heard once again.

You faked a yawn, "I-i'm good! I just fell from bed! Ouch!" You made your voice as sleepy and hurt as possible but ends up shaky. "You sure? Should I come in?" He asked. "No! No need! I'm fine! I'm good!" You panicked.

"W-what were you asking again?"

"I said if you saw Soobin? Or did he talk to you before leaving or something?"

You gasped when you felt something penetrate you once again.

"Fucking tight, pumpkin." Soobin was gripping your waist, penetrating you from behind. He covered your mouth.

"Y/n?" Your brother knocks again.

Your legs were wobbly, about to give up. "Answer him. But be careful, you don't want him to know, do you?" The grin of mockery is once again plastered on his face. He started thrusting in you. "Shit, what a dirty doll. Likes being taken from the back." He pinned you more on the door, no longer muffling your mouth, making you whine and whimper, you clenched on his cock.

"What the fuck? Are you turned on? Oh fuck, you're really dirty." Soobin whispered in your ear.

"Hey, y/n, if you don't answer I'm gonna break this door open." Your brother's voice is irritated.

"Answer him, doll." Soobin taunted.

"I... I did not see h-him.. mmhhh.. maybe..maybe he had gone h-home." Your voice ends up whiny. "Please s-stop banging the door, i-i'm... I'm gonna sleep some m-more.." you tried your best to answer your brother. Soobin smirked.

"Maybe he did go home, his things are in no sight. Well then, I'll just call him later, rest more, I'll go to my room my head is spinning." You heard the footsteps gone faint. That's when Soobin started thrusting a bit harder on you.

You clawed the door, face pressed on the cold wood. Taking every thrust he's giving you.

"Shit, such a dirty slut." Soobin has been gripping your waist for too long, that you're sure it will leave marks later on. You clenched at his words once again. He scoffed, "Wow, you really love being degraded?" His hand wrapped around your neck, squeezing it a little to restrain your lungs from acquiring oxygen. It makes you dizzy. Yet you love it. It makes you dizzy but you want him to cum inside you. It makes you dizzy but you crave for more.

"Good for nothing, cocksleeve." He keeps on pounding into you, bending you on the table near your door. You can't help but clench at his every word as he laughs lowly, enjoying what you two are sharing.

Your knees grew weaker. "Cum on my cock, I know you want it." He taunted. It was your last straw, "S-soobin.." you covered your mouth as you come undone, squirting all over his cock.

He bent down to your ear, licking your earlobe as he kept on pounding chasing his high once more. "Dirty. Fucking dirty. Fantasizing over her brother's best friend. Getting fucked and squirting on their cock." You wanted to cry at his words but it turns you on so much. He pulled out of you, discarding the condom and pumped his cock as he cums on your back.

He turned you around and kissed you, carrying you to the bed as he carefully laid you down. He picked up his discarded button-up shirt and wore it again.

"P-please don't tell him..." You tug at his shirt while he's buttoning it up.

"Your secrets are safe, my pretty slut." He saw how you melt at his words, he heard how you whine at his words. He pulled you for a kiss, a deep and passionate kiss. He removed something on his wrist and kissed your hand. His silver bracelet is now tied to yours, the cold metal kissing your skin makes you remember the heated moment you and Soobin shared.

You watch him peek outside your room as he steps out, tiptoeing to the front door.

@binniesbooks 2024

[leighsartworks216]

I would LOVE to see 28 or 31 from the touching prompt list with Sylus !!

I'm Sorry (I Still Love You)

Sylus x gn!Reader

Prompt from this list

28 - feeling for each other in the dark

I spent half the day making cake pops. I'm so tired ;-;

Warnings: hurt/comfort, no dialogue, established relationship, literal sleeping together, cuddling, arguing

Word Count: 725

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

The argument was stupid. Certainly nothing worth remembering the source of, but its aftershocks rumbled enough to form a crack between you and Sylus. A deep, yawning chasm that neither of you is willing to cross. You’re both stubborn. Too stubborn to admit you’re wrong, let alone that the other is right.

But you’re also too stubborn to go to the guest bedroom. And Sylus isn’t one to give up territory easily.

That is how you found yourselves in his large bed, laying on opposite sides of the mattress, with your backs to each other. It’s not like this doesn’t hurt - you hate it, hate laying there without the warm, solid protection he brings wrapped around you - but this argument isn’t going anywhere when you’re both so pent up. It’ll just deteriorate into another big mess.

You try not to imagine his thoughts as you tug the blankets higher around your neck and shoulders. They do very little to block out the cold chill that is ever-present in his room, but you’d use paper towels if it meant proving a point. The rustling is deafening in the silence. His steady breaths and erratic heartbeat are too far away.

Seconds tick by, drawn out until each one feels as long as an hour or more. Sleep evades you. Mocks you. Taunts you alongside the dim light of your digital clock. Only 30 minutes have passed. You’re cold, emotionally exhausted, physically drained. If you can just fall asleep; if you can just close your eyes and drift away, you won’t have to think about it any longer.

You squeeze your eyes shut and bury your cold nose under the edge of the blanket…

…..

…….

Nothing happens. Time ticks by. You don’t want to be the first one to break. You don’t want to be the one to give in and give him the satisfaction of a victory, no matter how desperate you are.

The sheets rustle, but you remain still. You hate the jolt of panic that runs through your veins. The fear that he’s going to leave, sleep on the couch or even in another room entirely. Leave you utterly alone. Cold.

You jolt again when something touches your back. It pulls away just as quick, but you can feel its radiating warmth just behind you. Right there. A bridge across the canyon that divides this bed, a bed that has a divot in the center after so long.

Time passes, but it remains. You swear you can hear his anticipation. Hear the silent pleas of his heart that beg for permission to touch you again. Even if he can’t hold you, even if you don’t give him that much, all he wants is one small anchor to you.

You wonder how long he would wait there. Wonder if he would keep his hand resting on the bed inches away just for the chance to stay somehow close. Wonder if he’d wait minutes or hours before sliding it away, slinking back to his half of the bed, to his lonely island.

You wonder because you’ll never know the answers.

You slowly reach your arm out behind you, seeking. He stays still, waiting. The first brush of skin is ecstasy. His warm fingers that shift and curl to hold your hand. That slip so effortlessly between your own, like they’ve made a home there that can never be forgotten. He soothes his thumb over your knuckles, a silent message.

I love you. I’m sorry we’re fighting, but I still love you.

All it takes is one little tug to join the walls of the chasm together. One little tug to have this large, imposing man turning over and sliding over to your side.

His hand never lets go of yours as he curls himself around you. He exudes heat like a furnace. It chases the cold away, effectively banishing it out of the blankets, out of the bed. Your intertwined hands rest together on your stomach, adjusted so his palm rests against the back of your hand. You align your other arm along his where it wraps around you, your palm to the back of his hand this time.

The rustling settles for the final time tonight. SIlence blankets the room once more, relieved of its oppressive harshness. The only sounds are your shared breaths and beating hearts.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry

[gel-electrophoresislab]

The Gala

Peter Sutherland x reader fic

Synopsis: You are Peter’s best friend and fellow night agent. You both get invited to the presidential gala and Peter gets to see you in a whole new light.

Warnings: Kissing, a protective Peter, tooth rotting fluff :)

————————————————————————

"Hey, you ready for this?" Peter asked, his voice coming through the speaker on your phone.

"As ready as I'll ever be," you replied, glancing in the mirror one last time. Your reflection stared back at you, dressed in the elegant gown you had picked out for tonight's gala at the White House. The fabric shimmered under the soft glow of the room's lighting, hinting at the chaos of the evening ahead.

"You're going to knock 'em dead," Peter said. “I’ll see you when you get here”. Peter’s voice held a warmth that you had grown to rely on over the years of working together. Best friends and fellow night agents, you two had been through thick and thin, but this was new territory. The president had personally invited the two of you to the event, a rare occasion for agents of your caliber to step out from the shadows.

The ride to the White House was filled with anxiety. You knew that underneath the glitz and glamour, the gala was a minefield of potential threats and diplomatic tension. You also knew that no one had seen you dressed like this before. You knew how to clean up nice, but you weren’t sure what people would think of you. But for now, you allowed yourselves to enjoy the moment. The car pulled up to the grand entrance, and the doors swung open, revealing a sea of people dressed to impress.

As you stepped out of the vehicle, Peter's gaze swept over you. His eyes widened, and his voice hitched. "Wow," he murmured, the compliment hanging in the air unsaid. It was the first time he had seen you in anything other than your usual tactical gear, and you felt a blush creep up your neck. The romantic tension between you had always been there, a subtle dance of feelings unspoken.

Inside, the grandeur of the White House washed over you. Crystal chandeliers cast a dazzling light across the marble floors, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and perfume. You and Peter melded into the crowd, blending in despite the eyes that occasionally strayed in your direction. It wasn't every day a new face graced these hallowed halls.

Other agents began to approach, their gazes lingering a bit too long, their smiles a tad too eager. You felt Peter's hand gently rest on the small of your back, a silent assertion of his presence. It was a gesture that was both comforting and surprising. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, but you kept your cool, flashing a professional smile.

"I'm not used to all this attention," you admitted to Peter, leaning in so he could hear you over the din of the crowd.

"You look amazing," he said, his voice low and earnest. "But you know what? I think you're even more beautiful when you're not all dressed up."

His words resonated within you, a reminder of the friendship that had always been the foundation of your relationship. You felt a weight lift off your shoulders as you looked into his eyes, the unspoken romance between you suddenly less burdensome.

And then, as the evening unfolded, you realized that the night had only just begun. The gala was a whirlwind of handshakes, polite conversations, and the constant scanning for threats. Peter was always at your side, a steady anchor in a sea of unpredictability. Yet, amidst the glamour and the danger, there was a shift in the air—a charge that you couldn't ignore. The night was far from over, and you had a feeling that the real adventure was just about to start.

As you moved through the throng of guests, an agent you had never met before approached you with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He was handsome, you'd give him that, but his hands were a bit too eager. He grazed your arm, and you felt a chill run down your spine. Before you could react, Peter stepped in, his eyes narrowing.

"Everything okay here?" Peter's voice was a low rumble, a warning that didn't go unnoticed. The other agent's smile faltered, his hand retreating from its unwelcome perch on your arm.

"Just admiring the company," the agent replied with a smarmy smile, not quite taking the hint.

But Peter's grip on your waist tightened, a clear message that you were not to be touched by anyone else. You felt a rush of warmth at his protective stance, a feeling that was both comforting and thrilling. "I think she's got enough admirers for one night," he said, his voice a subtle challenge.

The agent took a step back, his smile slipping into a scowl before he turned and melted back into the crowd. You looked up at Peter, your heart racing. "Thanks," you murmured, your eyes searching his for a clue to what he was feeling. But Peter's expression was unreadable, his focus on the task at hand unwavering.

As the night grew late and the gala wound down, you found yourself longing for the simplicity of your apartment, away from the prying eyes and the suffocating formality. "I think I'm going to head out," you told Peter, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I'll walk you home," he offered, his voice steady.

The walk back to your apartment was quiet, the cool night air a welcome respite from the stuffiness of the gala. You were grateful for the solitude, your thoughts racing with the events of the evening. The touch of Peter's hand on your arm was comforting, his presence a balm to the tension that still lingered from the unwanted attention.

Once you reached your building, you turned to him with a smile, your heart thudding in your chest. "Do you want to come up for a bit?" you asked, hopefulness coloring your voice. "Just to hang out, I mean. I know it's been a long night."

For a moment, Peter hesitated, his eyes searching yours. Then, with a nod, he said, "Yeah, I'd like that."

As you rode the elevator to your floor, the silence stretched out between you, filled with the promise of something more. When the doors finally slid open, you stepped into your apartment, the familiar surroundings feeling somehow foreign with Peter by your side. You offered him a drink, which he accepted, his eyes taking in the personal touches that made the space yours.

With a deep breath, you slipped into your bedroom, eager to shed the weight of the gala. You changed into a soft, oversized sweater and a pair of leggings, washing away the layers of makeup that had painted a different version of you. As you emerged, feeling lighter and more like yourself, Peter's gaze found yours. He was sitting on the couch, his tie loose and a small smile playing on his lips.

"There's my girl," he said, the words so simple, yet they hit you like a sucker punch. Your heart skipped a beat, the endearment echoing in your ears. He had never called you that before, not in that way. The warmth of his smile spread through you, chasing away the chill from the evening's tension.

"What do you mean?" you asked, trying to play it cool despite the sudden heat in your cheeks.

"You know, the one who can kick ass and take names without breaking a sweat." He chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours. "But tonight, you got to be someone else, and I kind of missed this version of you."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound mingling with the music that played softly in the background. "I never got a chance to dance tonight," you said wistfully, looking down at your comfortable outfit.

Without a word, Peter set his drink on the coffee table and extended his hand. "Then let's dance," he said, his voice low and inviting.

You took a step closer, placing your hand in his. His palm was warm, his thumb brushing gently against yours. He pulled you into his arms, and you felt his heartbeat against your chest as the music swelled around you. The living room of your apartment was a far cry from the grand ballroom of the White House, but in that moment, it felt like the most luxurious dance floor you had ever stepped onto.

You moved in sync, your bodies fitting together as if you had been doing this for years. The awkwardness of the evening's encounters faded away, replaced by the familiar rhythm of your partnership. Your eyes met, and you felt something shift between you, a current of understanding and desire that had always been there, just beneath the surface.

As the song came to a close, Peter didn't let go. Instead, he held you closer, your foreheads touching. You could feel his breath on your skin, and the closeness was intoxicating. The silence stretched out, filled with the thunder of your own heartbeat.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the quiet hum of the city outside.

"For what?"

"For being you," you said, looking up into his eyes. "For making me feel like this."

And before you could second guess the moment, Peter leaned down, his lips brushing against yours. It was a gentle kiss, filled with the promise of more. It was a kiss that could change everything.

As you pulled back, breathless, the air between you crackled with the tension of what had just happened. But Peter's smile was soft, his eyes filled with the same affection and friendship you had always seen. It was as if he knew that this was just the beginning, and that the real dance was about to start.

Author’s note: Eeeeeep I can’t believe I’m finally posting writing. I’ve been a long time reader and enjoyer of fanfiction, but never a writer so this is all very new to me. If you have any advice or edits, please let me know!

[sxftkxssxs]

Sleeping habits with and without their S/O

Not a request but I had some ideas so I decided to make them into little Headcannons! Hope you all enjoy!

Asra

Because they run warmer they often sleep in silky pants and no top.

He is so touchy in their sleep!! You will never go to bed without him touching you somehow.

If he’s sleeping alone then they won’t move much, maybe shifting occasionally but no more than that.

If you’re going to bed with them however, they’ll end up staying in the same position all night.

When you two are sleeping in the same bed together they like to sleep with their head on your chest, hearing your heartbeat.

Asra doesn’t snore in his sleep at all, but he does occasionally hum!

Julian

He doesn’t like layers at all and this means he’s going to sleep in just his underwear.

This also continues into how many blankets he has, which is just one and it’s pretty thin.

If he’s sleeping alone he has no problem taking up the whole bed. He’ll end up with limbs everywhere and no idea how they got there.

If you’re with him you’ll have to either adjust or figure out a way to get him to relax. He moves almost the exact same amount, somehow avoiding hitting or pushing you most of the time.

Julian runs extremely cold. He likes it cold but he also loves your warmth, and he will touch you will his cold feet/hands in the middle of the night.

Julian does snore but it’s not super loud. His snoring is almost like background noise.

Nadia

Nadia sleeps in a silk nightgown, with short sleeves and that ends near her knees.

She also has a robe to wear over it, which she wears if she needs to get up for any reason.

Nadia runs chilly, though not as cold as Julian nor will she randomly torture you with her cold limbs during the night.

She doesn’t mind who ends up in which role, but she always loves spooning. It’s her favorite way to fall asleep with you.

Nadia doesn’t make any noise in her sleep other than occasional deep breaths.

Muriel

This guy is a personal heater. He still sleeps with pelts due to the forest getting chilly during the night but his hut is always warm and cozy.

Due to how warm he runs he generally sheds some layers ending up in pants and whatever top he’s currently wearing

Muriel always wants to hold you, wants to feel like he’s protecting you even while you both sleep. He also really likes if you face him. He won’t ever verbally express that but the way it flusters him gives it away.

He doesn’t make much noise. Much like Nadia, he might take a deep breath or a heavy exhale. Occasionally, if he’s having a bad dream he might grunt.

Inanna has her own little pile of pelts and pillows next to your bed. Somehow she always worms her way into the bed though…

Portia

Portia sleeps in a sleeveless top and shorts.

She tends to run chilly, but has so many blankets that she gets extremely warm during the night.

She doesn’t care how you two position yourselves for sleep, but she would enjoy getting to hold you!

Portia sleep talks during the night. It’s soft and quiet but definitely there. She’ll be amused if you tell her stories in the morning about what she said.

Pepi can often be found in the bed with you both, near the bottom of the mattress.

Lucio

Somehow this man runs hotter than anyone else on this list. He has no shame in sleeping in just his underwear, even with you around.

Lucio has a robe and thinks it makes him look the royalty role, with its red and gold color scheme he always adores.

He would love to be able to hold you all night but eventually, two bundles of pure white fur end up between you both.

That’s right, the M&M duo aren’t afraid to take what they want even during the night.

Melchior end up on your side, nudging his way into your arms and onto your chest. Mercedes just sits herself on top of Lucio and decides it’s his problem to cope with that.

They’ll push and whine and kick in their sleep. Only if they’re having a very intense dream.

Lucio will snore, grunt, and sleeps insanely light. If you so much as try to leave the bed before dawn he’s snapping his head up asking where you’re going.

[macfrog]

ride it, cowgirl cowboy like me chapter ten

hey dudes. anyone up for some dbf? i seriously can't thank you guys enough for all the love y'all show this series. blows my mind every time. i have been super excited for this chapter for a WHILE. might be my fave so far. who knows. you can grab chapters 1-9 on my masterlist and also my ao3 if ur feeling fancy. love u all sm!!!!!! ✨💘💫

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel picks you up from a girls’ night. you’ve plans for when you get home

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) reader isn't an astrology girlie (sorry), more pining beCAUSE, alcohol consumption + a mention of the devil’s lettuce, very quick bit of unwanted touching, even quicker bit of protective joel, soft!joel, softdom!joel, one tiny mention of daddy, protected piv sex this time (feeling conservative slutty max will return), reader rides him into the sunset, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing

word count: 6.7k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

You lazily drag yourself over and over Joel’s dick, each stroke drawing you nearer and nearer to your high. When your body starts to falter, you feel him shift, and open your eyes to see him leaning over to the nightstand. His fingers grip the rim of the black cowgirl hat you’d worn that night. He lies back, flat against the mattress, and reaches up, placing the hat on top of your head. You smile. Joel speaks in a low, gentle, but commanding whisper. “There you go, cowgirl. Show me how it’s done.”

You never believed much in the power of the universe. Astrology, moons, manifestation. Whatever. None of it ever really meant much to you. You knew your star sign, knew which cool little symbol resembled you, and that was about it. Everything past that was…confusing and, frankly, a little overwhelming.

However.

If the universe were to send you a sign, one huge, fluorescent, multi-colored, in-your-face sign, that it was on your side…this weekend might just be it.

Your dad’s downstairs, finishing up packing for his work trip. His departure is imminent. Sarah’s been in Nashville since last night. A series of texts she sent you at 3AM riddled with spelling errors and heart emojis tell you she’s been having a pretty good time so far.

You are Joel are…alone. All by yourselves. For a whole…twenty hours.

Can’t have it all, I guess.

Your eyes skim down the texts you sent him this morning, texts he is yet to reply to.

You: Merry Christmas!!!

You took his non-reply for confusion – he is almost fifty, maybe he doesn’t get the joke? It’s a pretty lame joke, anyways. Very lame. If your thumb hovers over the send button before you press it, it’s probably not that great a joke. And your thumb had most definitely hovered. So, you’d followed it up.

You: As in, today’s the day

You: I don’t mean it’s actually Christmas

You: I mean like, happy ‘we’re finally gonna be alone again’ day

You: Never mind

“Hello?” Anna’s voice cuts through your train of thought. “Are you even listening to me?”

You drop your phone, shaking your head clear of Joel. “Yep. Sorry. Just didn’t catch that last part. You froze.”

The image of her on your – pretty fucking dusty – laptop screen rolls its eyes, knowing you’re lying. “I don’t know whether to go with the pink or the black boots,” she says.

“Ain’t your dress yellow?”

Her head falls into her hands. She throws herself down onto her bed and slides her laptop closer. “That was, like, ten minutes ago. I’m goin’ with the pink strappy one now.”

“Pink does say rodeo.”

“Fuck you,” she snaps through a giggle. “Remind me what you’re wearin’, again.”

“Black hat, black boots, black dress.”

“You’re so boring.”

“Thanks. Really looking forward to our night out.”

Anna snorts and then stands back up, strides over to her closet and resumes rummaging. “Black jacket, too?” she calls over her shoulder.

“Uhuh,” you reply, glancing back down to your phone. “Although – it has rhinestones. And tassels. Not so boring after all, huh?”

Anna’s silence drags your eyes from the text thread back to your laptop screen. She’s frozen in place, twisted around with a dress in her hands, jaw on the floor. “Show it to me. Now.”

“Hold on,” you roll over and off your bed, your shoulder stiff from the position you’d been lying in, “I think I left it downstairs.”

“Tell your dad I say hey!”

You pad down the carpeted stairs in your socks, toward the sunlit hallway.

“Dad, have you seen my– Oh, fuck.”

As you round the corner at the bottom of the stairs, glancing over your left shoulder to the front door, your chest knocks into something hard. Steady. Strong.

Something you recognize the feel of before you’ve given him a proper look.

“Mind your step, baby,” Joel says, and your heart leaps.

“What the fuck are you doin’ here?” you whisper, peering around his body to look for your dad.

“He’s out front,” Joel tells you, then takes your shoulder and reels you in against his chest. “’m just here to help ‘im with his GPS.”

He plants a kiss on the top of your head and gives you a squeeze. Your head rests safely on his chest, arms link at his back. If you didn’t have plans tonight, and if your dad wasn’t, like, ten feet from you guys right now, you’d never let him go. Just follow him around, vice grip around his waist, surrounded by the smell and feel of him.

Not that that means anything. You’d do other stuff, too. You’re not…you know.

Your dad’s voice streams in through the open door and Joel releases you.

“It ain’t for workin’, Joel, I’m about to throw it at the f– Hey, kiddo.”

“Hey. What’s the matter with your GPS?”

You lean in to the tiny device in his hands. Joel’s elbow comes up to rest on your shoulder.

“Just won’t connect to the car. Every time I plug it in, it just…” He lifts his hands, screen loose in his fingers, and hands you a bewildered look.

You look at him, expressionless. “Why don’t you just use your phone?”

“Because I paid almost a hundred bucks for this thing, and I’ll be damned if I’m– Alright,” he stops himself, eyes shutting in exasperation, “I already explained this to him. I ain’t justifyin’ myself to the two of you.”

Joel’s laughing behind his hand, pretending to scratch his nose when your dad stalks off to the kitchen and throws the device down, snatching the instructions off the table.

The pair of you follow, both still trying to swallow your laughter. Joel wanders around the table and sits down beside your dad, fumbling with the screen. You dive into the coat closet at the bottom of the stairs and fish out your bejeweled, tasseled jacket.

“You lookin’ forward to your girls’ night?” Joel asks, eyes flitting up and down the leather jacket in your hands.

“Mhm,” you reply, opening your mouth to continue when your dad butts in.

“S’posed to be a girls’ night, but that boy Sam’s crashin’ it, ain’t he?”

“Well, we asked him.” You shrug. “It’s his night off.”

Your dad scoffs, shaking his head to Joel, who looks up to you with a confused expression. “’s the big deal with that?”

“Oh, wise up, Miller. He’s only goin’ ‘cause of…” He wags a finger in your direction, and a smirk peels across Joel’s lips.

“Is he, now?”

“Uhuh,” your dad replies, intense stare still on the instructions in front of him. “Makes no damn sense. I plugged it in using the cable they gave me in the box. Stupid thing…”

You shake your head to Joel, who’s still looking at you, bemused. He knows you and Sam are just friends. Also knows your dad is the most oblivious theorist to walk the planet. Just aiming his gun at the wrong target, is all.

“I’m gonna let you two get back to…that,” you say, turning to head back upstairs. “Anna says hi, by the way.”

Your dad’s eyebrows rise once, his eyes never lifting from his GPS. “Hi, Anna.”

“Hey, Anna,” Joel echoes, smirk on his lips.

“Not to you,” you throw back, hopping up the first step. You hear his chuckle as you disappear.

----------

Anna’s reaction to your jacket in person matches that over Facetime: a deafening squeal. A squeal which she repeats almost every damn time she sees you throughout the night.

“So – fucking – cute!” she exclaims for the fifth time, fingers dancing through the tassels. “And it goes so well with your hat.”

You sip on your cocktail, nodding enthusiastically, pushing your eyebrows up underneath the brim of the black cowgirl hat on your head. Trying to match her energy. Your mind’s elsewhere.

Joel texted you a few hours ago. Told you to have a good night, said something about Sam, but you were stood right next to the dude, so you quickly locked your phone and slipped it back into your clutch.

Now, standing with your back against the wall of Franks, watching Sam play pool with Eve, you feel safe enough to read over the message.

Joel: Have fun baby. Be safe. Tell Sam good luck from me.

You squint at the screen, pulling it away from your face and leaning back in to read it over. Good luck? The fuck does he mean –

You: Good luck??

He replies almost instantly.

Joel: Yeah. Good luck winning you over. Took me, what, a week?

Oh, fuck off. You roll your eyes and throw your phone facedown onto the table where Anna and Kara sit, about twenty minutes deep into a conversation you missed the beginning of.

Your attention turns to the room before you – brick-walled, metal dome lightshades hanging over each pool table. Glass-paneled door to your left leading back through to the main bar. For being a tiny bar on a backstreet, Frank’s is pretty lively. There are bodies everywhere, bumping by each other, drunken arms slung over shoulders, hips swaying with the soft rock song blasting from out front.

You imagine your dad here with Joel, maybe Hank and Bill, too. Playing pool, beer bottles resting on the felt while they take their shot. Or sat on the rooftop, sipping on a whiskey. Talking about you and Sarah. What does Joel say about you when you’re not around?

And what does he want to say, but can’t, ‘cause it’s your dad? What does he think, and bite back when it bubbles to the surface?

Your straw gargles, slurping up the last few sips of your drink. You lean over to Anna and Kara, holding your empty glass up.

“Another?”

They both shake their heads, and you nod, turning on your own back to the bar.

You squeeze between two older women, both dressed smart and sharp. One of them – clutching a Manhattan – shifts out of the way as you pass.

“…one more conversation with him about squash,” she tells her companion, “and I am gonna blow my brains out…”

You edge over to the bar and slot into a free space, propping your elbows up on the wood. One of Sam’s coworkers – her name escapes you – notices you and shuffles over, smiling sweetly.

“How you doin’?” she asks, running a damp cloth inside a tumbler.

“Good,” you reply. “Could I just get a Bud, please?”

“Sure thing,” she says, and reaches behind to grab one. You slide her a note and she hands you change, and then you’re on your way back to the pool room.

As you slink by the two women, a weight knocks into your shoulder, almost sending your beer flying out of your hand.

“Sorry,” a rough voice sputters on your left, and you glance in its direction. Some broad dude in a tight t-shirt.

“’s fine,” you mumble, clutching your hat; a smell of weed choking your throat.

He passes by behind you, one hand lingering a little too long on your waist, and you saunter back over to Anna and Kara.

“That dude stinks, right?” Anna whispers behind a cupped hand, and you snort.

“He smells like he’s having a good night.”

“We’re talking about Romeo and Juliet over there. We’re basically third, fourth, and fifth wheeling,” Kara says, nodding over to Sam and Eve, who’re finished their game of pool and have now graduated to darts.

“I don’t…think that’s a thing.”

“Eve asked me if Sam was single earlier,” Anna says, lifting her straw to her red lips.

“What?” Kara spits out, choking on her drink. “Eve has a boyfriend!”

Anna giggles. “He’s kinda an ass, anyway. Look at them, they’re so sweet.”

“You say sweet, I hear morally wrong.”

“Who says it’s morally wrong?” you chirp, alcohol pushing the words over your lips before your brain’s had time to stop them. Your fingers clutch your phone, still laying on the table where you left it. “You?”

“Uh, it’s cheating, dude. What if Nick found out?”

“’s not that big a deal,” you reply, phone screen lighting your face in a blue hue, “they’re just having fun.”

Anna points to you, lifting her glass. “Here’s to havin’ fun, I guess.”

Kara lifts her own reluctantly and they clink, but you’re distracted. Already typing a message to Joel. Bored. Drunk. Morally wrong.

You: What you doing?

Joel: Watching TV. What you doing?

You: What ya watvhin ?

Joel: None of your business. Go get another drink. Looks like you’re not drunk enough.

You lift your head with a giggle, almost ready to turn your phone around to Anna and Kara and say, look what the dude I’m sleeping with just text me. And then, thankfully, your good sense kicks in and you bring the screen closer to your chest.

You: Kinda bored. Wanna come home now please

Bored, horny. It all means the same.

Joel says he’ll be at Frank’s in twenty minutes. You rest your chin on your palm and watch as Sam cheers Eve for hitting bullseye.

“I think they’re cute,” you whisper.

Anna and Kara are already preoccupied, taking photos of one another across the table. Kara leans into you and you smile, flash blinding your hazy eyes for a few minutes afterward. A few more pictures, couple boomerangs of your glasses cheersing, and then your phone’s vibrating.

Joel: Outside. No rush.

That last part is where he’s wrong. There most definitely is a rush, and it’s in the form of the heat that starts to pool between your legs.

“Alright,” you shimmy off your barstool and stretch your back. “My ride’s here.”

“What?” Anna almost screams, her hand slapping down on the table. “You’re leavin’?”

You nod. “Sorry, babe.”

“Don’t babe me, traitor. It’s, like, midnight.”

“Uh, it’s, like, almost 2AM. I’m tired. I don’t know how y’all do it.”

She sighs, conceding, and agrees to walk with you to the front door. Kara and Eve stop off by the bar to grab another drink. Sam holds the door open for you and Anna and you’re hit by a wave of cold night air, instantly cooling your hot, sweaty skin.

“Is that…Mr. Miller?” Anna asks, mouth falling wide open.

You glance down the street and notice his black truck, parked up by the curb. “Mhm,” you reply, “my dad’s out of town, so he’s picking me up.”

“Can he take me home, too?”

Sam snickers. “Wow, Anna. That’s just…Wow.”

She shrugs, lips closing around her straw as she stares at Joel’s truck. Something inside you lurches at the idea of Joel sitting there, his eyes glued on you, watching everything you do, everyone around you. And then again at the thought of Anna and her doting gaze on him.

“Alright, I guess that’s my cue to skip.”

Anna pouts. “One more drink?”

“I’m good, thanks,” you scoff, patting her head affectionately. I got business to attend to.

You give her a quick kiss on the cheek and Sam wraps an arm around your shoulder, giving it a squeeze before you’re wandering off toward Joel’s truck.

“Hey.” Something – someone – hooks around your elbow, and you turn back. It’s that same guy who stank of weed.

“Hi,” you reply, as sweet as you can, but trying to loosen his grip.

“Saw you inside, you out with friends?”

“Mhm. I’m just leavin’, my–”

“Few of us are headed upstairs. You wanna come?”

You glare at him a few seconds, before yanking your arm from his grasp. “Nah, no thanks. I’m leaving. Have a good night.”

You stagger off, feeling his eyes on you as you go. Joel’s truck headlights switch on, dazzling your eyes, and you quickly click around to the passenger side, throwing yourself in beside him.

Joel doesn’t say hey, doesn’t squeeze your thigh, doesn’t even look at you when you settle into the seat. Just asks –

“Who’s that kid?”

“Uh…not sure. Bumped into ‘im in the bar.”

“He give you trouble?”

“No,” you lean over the console, pulling your seatbelt over your body, and flash him a tipsy grin, “thought that was my job. Givin’ trouble.”

Joel doesn’t reply. Doesn’t take his scowl off the dude outside Frank’s, either. Your eyes meander across to his hand, locked in a tight fist around the wheel. Your smile drops.

“Joel. It’s fine. Can we go?”

When you lift a hand to the crook of his elbow and he feels your warmth on his skin, he tears his gaze away and it lands on you. Soft, gentle. His lip isn’t curled anymore. His brows lift.

His eyes watch your lips as you whisper the words to him.

“Want you to take me home.”

“’s go, pretty girl.”

----------

Joel refuses, no matter how many times you ask, how hard you bat your eyelashes, how many promises you make, to stop by a drive thru.

“Please?” you ask one last time before he’s pulling in to his neighborhood.

He shakes his head. “Look at that, we’re already home.”

“I ain’t takin’ no for an answer, Miller, not until the engine’s off. We’re still driving.”

He doesn’t reply. Just pulls up in his drive, cuts the engine, and looks at you. Shrugs. “Oops.”

“Fuck you,” you groan, sliding down in your seat. “I’m starvin’.”

“Make you a big breakfast in the mornin’, how’s that sound?”

“Wanted a Big Mac, but whatever.”

Your fingers fumble for the door handle, clicking it open. You roll out of the truck and stroll around to meet Joel at the driver’s side. He snakes an arm around your shoulders, steadying you as you walk up his porch steps and into the house.

“I’m fine,” you murmur, glancing around his living room.

“Alright,” he says, tossing his keys and kicking his boots off.

Your eyes settle on the TV screen, paused. Probably around the time you text him. There’s a crowded hospital room onscreen, doctors in dark blue scrubs, all surrounding someone lying on a bed, someone who looks pretty familiar…

“Is that…fuckin’…Grey’s Anatomy…?”

Joel chuckles, peeling your jacket from your shoulders.

“That’s Meredith! When she–”

“She fell in the damn river,” Joel mutters, placing the tasseled leather over the back of his couch. “Derek had to go in after her. Intense stuff.”

“Right? I told you it was good!” You smack his arm. “I can’t believe you’re watchin’ it without me.”

“I ain’t watchin’ it,” he protests, “it was just on, ‘n I needed something to keep me awake. I’m still rooting for Meredith ‘n George.”

“We can watch it from the beginning.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, moving over to him. “And then I can be over here all the time, and you can make me all the grilled cheese I want, and we can lie in bed and…do stuff.” Your chin rests on his chest, flashing him a toothy grin. Hands swinging in his at your side.

Joel’s eyes narrow, but there’s a smirk on his lips. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk. I had a couple drinks. I’m not drunk.”

“H’many fingers am I holdin’ up?” Joel asks, raising his fist. You punch it away.

“Ha-ha,” you say tonelessly, and wander away from him.

“Baby,” he calls you from behind. Sure, you’re tipsy, and he can be a cocky asshole – especially when he has to take care of you, but that’s a sound you’ll never get tired of hearing. Baby. You’re his darlin’, his sweet girl.

You spin around, very nearly losing your footing, and he’s standing with an arm out, ready for you to take.

You smile dumbly. Meander over, and take his strong hand in both of yours, wrapping your fingers around two of his to let him reel you in against his body.

“C’mon,” he whispers, as you lean against his frame. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

You follow him up, knowing where he’s leading you. You’ve spent more time in there the last few weeks than you have your entire life.

His room is cool, not cold, but comfortable. It’s Joel all over; the muted colors, the décor, the smell that calms you as soon as you stumble over the threshold.

He sits you down on the edge of his bed and kneels, pulling your boots off one by one.

You giggle.

“You laughin’ at me?”

“You’re like my own personal tr…No, not trainer. Wait. Personal ch–”

“Chef?” he says, snorting. “Not chef. Try again, soberhead.”

“Oh, I dunno.” You throw your arms up as he sits your boots against the wall, then stands and takes your hat off.

“This,” he says, placing it on the nightstand at your side of the bed, “is very cute. I like it.”

“I’m cute, too, y’know,” you whisper, pouting.

He smiles, and leans down to give you a quick kiss on the lips, pointer finger under your chin.

“The cutest.”

“Ha!” you roar. Joel twists around you to undo the zipper at the back of your dress. “Joel Miller thinks I’m the cutest. Take that, Anna…”

He laughs. When he unzips you, he pulls the dress off your bare chest and down your legs. You don’t shy away, used to the idea now of him seeing you naked. Used to the idea of him seeing you in any vulnerable state; drunk, or naked, or in a sobbing mess on day two of your period.

You notice, even though you’re a tad dizzy with what alcohol is left in your system, that his eyes linger on your panties a moment before he turns and grabs a tee from a chair.

And something inside you ticks.

“Joel?”

He’s pulling the shirt over your head. It smells like him. Intoxicates you much more and much quicker than any drink you could order from Frank’s.

“Mhm?”

You feed both arms through the sleeves, swallowing the question you were about to ask. He’s standing up now, telling you to get into bed.

He walks over to his dresser and begins removing his own clothing. He only sleeps in boxershorts. Your eyes track him as he yanks his t-shirt up over his toned shoulders; fingers undo his belt, unzip his jeans. Everything is discarded to the side for now; he has something more pressing to attend to.

His best friend’s daughter, laying in his bed, a pool of wet forming in her panties.

He just doesn’t know it yet.

As he slips under the covers beside you, you pull off your underwear in one quick movement. Joel doesn’t seem to notice, or so you think; his arms immediately take hold of your waist and pull you against his body. You’ve gotten into the habit of sleeping pressed against his torso, his thigh between your legs. Joel settles comfortably with you draped over him, and lets out a deep sigh.

“Joel?” you whisper again into the darkness, growing braver.

“Hm?” he replies, starting to fall asleep.

You toss ideas over in your head. None of them good, you’re sure, but you’re getting desperate. How he can’t feel your damp core on his thigh, you’ve no idea.

But then, maybe he can? Joel doesn’t miss anything, especially not where you and your…arrangement are concerned. Can he feel you? Is he deliberately ignoring it?

Maybe he has something up his own sleeve?

“I…was just wondering…”

“Wondering what, darlin’?” His voice is muffled, spoken through unmoving lips. You glance up at his face. His eyes are closed.

You grow more desperate.

“…wondering what your body count is?”

You ask it as innocently as you can, your voice wavering on the words body count. It gets him, though, as his eyes blink open a few seconds after you say it.

“I ain’t tellin’ you that. Go to sleep.” He closes them again.

“I wanna know.”

He ignores you.

“Joel,” you moan.

He calls you by name now, and you’re not sure if you’re pissing him off or turning him on – or both.

“Go. To. Sleep.”

“I’m not tired, though. Not yet.”

In response, Joel lets go of his hold on you and rolls over without another word. It’d sting if you weren’t soaking wet right now, and didn’t have a strong hunch he was hardening under the sheets.

“Joooel…” you whine, sitting up on your elbow. No use.

You take hold of his shoulder and tug him back toward you, rolling him onto his back. Like a deadweight, he remains frozen.

“Ugh,” you groan, and drag yourself on top of him, knees either side of his waist, ass hovering. When you sit back onto him, your core lining up with his crotch, your suspicions are proven right.

He’s hard.

Not as hard as he can get, as you’d like him to be, as you’ve felt him before…but he’s hard.

“Joel…” you mewl into the darkness, starting to grind your bare center over his boxers. The friction feels good, so you apply more pressure.

“If you don’t stop that,” Joel’s voice finally grumbles, “I’ll be sleepin’ downstairs.”

“Sex in the living room sounds good to me.”

His eyes open. “We,” one hand comes up to point between the both of you, as if he doesn’t expect your sobering self to understand which pairing he means, “are not having sex. No sex tonight.”

You sigh, shoulders dropping dramatically.

“Huff all you want, baby, it is not happening.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because you’re a few drinks too deep and it’s three in the morning. I’m tired, it’s been a long night waitin’ for you, I–”

“So let me make it up to you. I ain’t even drunk anymore.”

“No?”

“Nuh-uh. Could count any number a’ fingers you put in front of me.”

“Funny.” He closes his eyes.

“Joel.” You drag your hips again. If anything, he’s harder than he was when you first sat down on him. “I had a few drinks, I’ve sobered up. C’mon…”

You bend your waist and lower yourself to align your lips with the side of his head, peppering the skin under his ear with soft kisses.

“I wanna ride you, daddy.”

This gets him. His eyes open again, staring up at the ceiling. His hands slowly come up to rest on your hips.

“Don’t– That’s low, even for you, kid.”

You giggle and straighten up. When your hands lightly trace down his chest, onto his midriff and follow the trail of hair to his boxers, he doesn’t stop you. Just watches from beneath hooded lids, tensing at each point your fingers touch.

You raise your eyebrows, watching his expression for any sign to stop, and it never comes. He remains in place when your fingertips hook around the waistband of his underwear, slowly pulling down.

Joel breathes in deep when you reveal the tip of his cock, springing up to rest on his lower stomach. You feel your core clench. If he’s not inside you in the next five minutes, you might scream.

Well, you’ll be screaming either way.

You look back into his eyes and tilt your jaw, asking for permission.

“Go on,” he whispers.

Your hands take him eagerly, pumping up and down his shaft, and his head falls back onto the pillow with pleasure.

“Uhuh,” you mumble, focusing on his solid dick, but desperate for more. You give him a gentle squeeze and a groan passes his lips, his grip tightening on your body.

You let go of him and grind your hips along his length, folds coating his shaft in your wetness. Joel’s humming, watching as you pull yourself up and down him.

Then, you lean forward, and your hands take hold of him again. You give him a couple more strokes, eliciting a deep groan, and then line his bare cock up at your entrance, practically foaming at the mouth to sink down on him already.

“Woah, woah,” Joel takes hold of your wrist, “slow down, cowgirl. I gotta get a condom.”

You huff as he leans over to his nightstand and opens the drawer. “Don’t want one, Joel, I’m on the pill.”

“No way, baby,” he says through a chuckle, silver wrapper in his fingers. “We already did that, one too many times.”

“So just pull out?”

“Nope.”

You sigh, frustrated.

Joel holds the packet out to you, smirk on his face like he doesn’t expect you to take it.

So, you do.

You steal it from him and tear the wrapper, fishing the rubber out between your two fingers. Pinching the top, you roll it down his shaft and pump up and down for good measure.

“Ready?” you ask, head tilted, cocky smile on your lips.

“Wait, wait,” he whispers, shoulders lifting off the mattress. He lifts the hem of your shirt, telling you, “Off,” before pulling it over your head, exposing your bare breasts.

He stares you down; legs wide open, straddling him, completely naked, nipples hardened, figure silhouetted against the slivers of light peeking through the shades from the streetlights outside. You’ve never felt so confident, mounted on top of Joel fucking Miller.

His eyes roll back and his head falls against the pillow. “Fuckin’ – knock yourself out, baby.”

You steady yourself with one hand on his chest, the other taking hold of his cock and guiding it to your entrance. You push his head through your folds a couple times, and Joel hisses at the feeling, before you sink down.

You stop after the tip the first time, but it draws the same reaction from you both. Joel groans even louder than before, and you moan as you push yourself back up.

Then, without warning, you sink the whole way down.

He’s so deep it brings tears to your eyes, so big that he’s stretching you out more than you thought possible, hitting all the right spots already before you’ve even begun.

Joel’s eyes are screwed shut, his grip on your hips digging into your skin so tight it almost hurts. His jaw is tight, holding back what you can only imagine are the neediest moans he could sound.

So, you decide to draw them from him.

You lean forward and begin bouncing, feeling his thickness pull out and push back into you, both hands on Joel’s chest now for balance. You’re whimpering, the burn of his cock stretching your tight cunt so good and borderline painful at the same time, but you don’t stop.

“Good girl, good fuckin’ girl,” Joel moans, opening his eyes to watch you ride his dick. “’attagirl, just like that.”

“Joel…” you cry, letting him bottom out each time, feeling his balls slam into your ass with each bounce.

“Yeah? You like that? Tell me, baby, use your words.”

“So – good – Joel – oh!” you shout.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl for me, huh?”

You fight against the urge to close your eyes; the pleasure between your legs and the knot beginning to tighten in your stomach are all you can see, hear, feel, but you want to watch him some more. You want to see what you do to him.

You lean forward even further, moving your hands to the pillow either side of his head, so you’re directly above him now. One of Joel’s hands comes to the back of your head, pulling you down until your foreheads are together, moans escaping your mouths only to be inhaled by the other.

Joel speaks to you quieter, through gritted teeth.

“Like ridin’ me, do ya? Like the way it feels?”

“Mhm,” you moan back, and he brings a hand down to slap your ass. You yelp. “Fuck…”

“You look so good, baby, so good. Such a fuckin’ whore for me, hm?”

Another stinging spank pulls a whine from you so filthy, so loud that you’re sure the neighbors will hear, even at this hour. Joel smirks back, resting his hand back on your hip, where he has a grip of you.

Then, he bucks his own hips, pushing into you deeper than before, so deep you see stars. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, panting through the searing pain so good that you never want it to end.

“Joel – I’m gonna – fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

“That’s it, sweet girl, cum all over me. Let go, baby, I’m here.”

That does it. The coil snaps, your walls clench. Joel lets out a guttural moan as you throw your head back and ride him through your orgasm. He coos you through it, squeezing your hips, whispering, That’s my girl, doin’ so good, baby as your body rocks back and forth on his cock.

When you come back down to earth, your lids heavy and breathing staggered, you swear your body can’t take anymore. You feel so fucked out that you’re not sure you can sit up straight on top of Joel.

But he’s always been able to read your mind, and this is no different. He pulls himself up and into you, propped up with one strong hand on the mattress behind his back, the other wrapping around your waist. His cock is still buried deep inside you.

“Joel…” you whimper pathetically. “Can’t do it anymore…”

“That’s okay, baby, we’re gonna do this one together, alright? I got you. Can you do that for me? Just one more?”

You link your arms around his neck and lean into him; his strong form doesn’t shift, just takes on your weight and keeps the both of you upright as he starts to bounce you on his length again.

You’re overstimulated; your cunt swollen, fucked-out, drenched in cum, but Joel makes you feel so good that it’s impossible to let him stop. Your arms pull him in closer to your chest to steady yourself, and his groans echo in your ear.

“Good girl, that’s– that’s it, so fuckin’ tight for me, pretty girl.”

When it all becomes too much to take – Joel’s hand squeezing your waist, your clit rutting against the bottom of his stomach, his fucking cock buried so deep inside you that you swear you can feel him splitting you open – you push him back down onto the bed.

Once when you still lived in New York you read something in a Cosmo about spelling the word ‘coconut’ with your hips when riding a guy. You’d tried it a couple times with hookups, and it’d never done anything for you. They’d never done anything for you.

But here you are, nearing your second orgasm, on top of someone making such a mess of you that you brain can hardly compute to spell coconut, never mind your hips being able to round the shape of the word.

You lazily drag yourself over and over Joel’s dick, each stroke drawing you nearer and nearer to your high. When your body starts to falter, you feel him shift, and open your eyes to see him leaning over to the nightstand.

His fingers grip the rim of the black cowgirl hat you’d worn that night. He lies back, flat against the mattress, and reaches up, placing the hat on top of your head. You smile. Joel speaks in a low, gentle, but commanding whisper.

“There you go, cowgirl. Show me how it’s done.”

It’s all you need. It’s all it takes, by this point.

You brace yourself against his chest again, positioning yourself just right, and bounce on him until your vision starts to blur.

The noises slipping out of Joel’s mouth each time your bodies connect at the base of his cock push you closer and closer; every groan and whimper which passes his lips makes you sink your hips down even harder, pushing him deeper and deeper with every bounce.

“So – fuckin’ – big – inside me,” you slur, and Joel moans in response.

When he takes your hips in his hands again, you know he’s there. He’s just waiting for you to fall first.

You give in to him, feeling yourself close around his length, throwing your head back in pleasure as your second orgasm washes over you, igniting every inch of your body.

Joel’s groans meet yours as you lean forward again, slowly rolling your hips to coax him through his own orgasm. Watching him release, buried deep inside, he looks so good that you feel like you could cum again just at the sight.

You feel his cock start to go limp inside you and when he opens his eyes, panting, you smile sweetly at him.

“Fuck, darlin’.”

You giggle, hips still driving gently against his. “Good?”

“So good, baby, did so well. You’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispers with a trembling breath, taking your waist in both hands and giving it a tight squeeze. You roll to the side, letting his cock slip out of you, condom full of his seed.

You tumble onto the mattress beside him, both heaving, moaning messes. Your chests rise and fall in sync, fingers tangling and untangling by your sides.

Then Joel gets up, and wanders over to the bathroom, where you watch him through the open door as he pulls the filled rubber from his soft dick. He bins it, then runs a facecloth under the faucet, dabbing it across his own forehead as he makes his way back over to you.

You can’t hide your grin as you watch his naked form approach; tan lines where his t-shirt must end, dark hair decorating his arms, legs, chest, the base of his cock. He sits at the edge of the bed, arm outstretched with the flannel in hand.

You go to take it from him, but he doesn’t loosen his grip. Just pats it over your face gently, soft gaze on yours, your fingers intertwined around his wrist. Your eyes fall closed, the cold cloth a relief against your warm, sweaty skin.

“Feel nice?” he whispers.

You nod in response. Your chest swells at how soft he’s being, how tender. When he stands to throw the flannel back into the sink, you almost find yourself reaching out to hold him down.

He climbs over you, springing back down onto the mattress with a heaving sigh.

You prop yourself up and shimmy over, positioning yourself on top of Joel, chest-to-chest. He looks down and smirks, running a lazy hand across your cheek.

“You’re so good to me,” he mumbles.

You tilt your head with a smile and lay down on his chest. You can hear his heartrate slowly calming down. His fingers twist through your messy hair.

“I have no idea what you’re laced with,” he says, “but you got me.”

You smile. “Yeah?”

Joel nods. You shift positions, adjusting your aching hips safely between his thighs. “You hurtin’?” he asks.

You nod. “Mhm. But I like it. It’s you.”

Joel’s hands run through your hair and his fingertips trace your shoulders. His touch is so light it almost tickles. You turn your jaw and kiss the back of his hand.

“My dad gone, Sarah out, free house…” you mutter.

“Hm.”

“So, you invite your mistress over.” You lift your head, smirking at him.

Joel’s chest vibrates with laughter. “You ain’t my mistress.”

“Oh really? What am I, then?”

“I am not having this conversation at 4AM, kid. Ask me again tomorrow.”

You’d think of something to throw back at him, messing with him, but your entire body aches, and your heavy eyes are starting to fold closed with how sleepy you suddenly feel.

You pull Joel’s sheets over yourself, turning your back to him. Joel instantly follows suit, pulling up right behind you, your back tight to his chest, his thighs cupping the back of yours, then slipping one between your legs.

His arms lock around your torso under the sheets. Safe. Secure. Nothing can happen to you as long as he’s got you.

“Ten,” his voice mumbles against the back of your head.

You turn so your ear is pressed against his lips. “Huh?”

“Ten. That’s my number. Includin’ you.”

Oh.

He doesn’t ask to hear yours. You wouldn’t mind if he did, but he doesn’t. You don’t think he’s telling you to hear yours in exchange. He’s telling you because you asked. He’s telling you because, whether in attempt to turn him on or simply to know something about him that you didn’t before – something nobody else knows – it mattered to you.

He’s telling you because you matter to him.

You nuzzle back into him a little, a form of reply, and, as you start to fall asleep, you feel him place a gentle kiss to your ear.

----------

taglist: @yvonneeeee @subconsciouscollapse @leahlovestwd @peqchsoup @whorror-s @k1ttybean @whichwitchwanda @abuttoncalledsmalls @anner--nanner @jpbplvr @laysmt @ankhmutes @bookishhella @cannolighost @luvrking @mellymbee @yourwinchesterbros @nostalxgic @scottstotts @daiseygriffithx @letsgroovetonighttt @huffle-punk @unbotheredbeeeee @iluvurfather @wildcat116 @godisawomansblog @55vvaa55 @koshkaj-blog @initforthebooks @theywhowriteandknowthings @thatgirljayy@sasakipsposts @casa-boiardi @milla-frenchy @aim-formyheart @taeslarityy @lxstbxyscave23 @joelmillerxapologist @capt-rex @giixo @capricorngf @feministfanboi @fifia-writes @darleneslane @theplumsoldier @sharp-cheekbones-locked @suzmagine @endlessthxxghts @ivebeenflagged @blognametakenn @jessahmewren @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul @ranahx @pedropascalsbbg @cartoon-garbage04 @caatheeriinee07 @kngslayr @hopplessilse @vickywallace @gracieispunk @regalwhovianbrowncoat774 @casa-boiardi @earthtogrogu @sexygaypalpatine @serenaxpedro @brittmb115 @pascalpvnk @jediknightjana @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi

(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

[changetyre]

Size isn't everything (P2) II Carlos Sainz x Bodyguard!Reader

SUMMARY: The tension between Carlos and you continues and it takes one scary moment to bring your feelings to light. Part 2 of this

WARNINGS: Injuries.

A/N: Over on wattpad people requested a part 2 ;)

The following weeks after the club incident were different. Carlos, ever the charmer, had cranked up his flirting to full throttle. He teased you at every turn, leaning into that spark that had flickered between you. His cocky grin was now a near-constant companion, and while you maintained your professional composure, there were moments, brief moments, where Carlos could see your defenses waver.

"Careful, Sainz," you'd warned him one afternoon as you saw him to his hotel room. "You're treading on thin ice."

He leaned closer, his voice a low whisper, "What if I like the cold?"

Your eyes had flicked to his lips before quickly looking away, but he'd caught it. That tiny slip gave him hope.

Despite your best efforts, his persistence was wearing you down. He wasn't just some spoiled racer he was genuinely fun to be around. And though you hated to admit it, you liked the banter. There was a warmth to him, a charm that went beyond his good looks and fame. 

Still, you constantly reminded yourself that this was a job. You couldn't get involved with him, no matter how much he made your stomach flutter when he flashed you those big brown eyes.

But Carlos wasn't making it easy.

One evening, after a particularly intense race where he had secured a podium finish, you'd found yourselves on the balcony of his new Monaco home. The sun was setting, casting an orange glow over the city. He leaned against the railing, a glass of champagne in hand, watching you with that familiar playful glint in his eye.

"I have to ask," he began, his tone teasing, "what do you do for fun? Or are you always this serious?"

You'd been scanning the area like you were used to, but turned to him and gave him a deadpan look. "My job is to keep you alive, Sainz. Fun doesn't exactly factor into that."

He laughed, taking a sip of his drink. "Come on, you've got to let loose sometime. You can't be all uptight, all the time."

You rolled your eyes, trying to remain unaffected, but the truth was, you could feel your walls crumbling, piece by piece. There was something about him, something disarming, that made it harder and harder to keep up your professionalism.

"I know what you're doing," you said turning away from his intense gaze. "And it's not going to work."

He raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "And what is that?"

You turned back to him, stepping closer, your eyes narrowing slightly. "Flirting."

His grin widened, shameless. "Oh, that? I thought I was being subtle."

This time you failed to hold back the smile. "Ha ha"

He laughed again, that warm, genuine laugh that always made your heart skip a beat. You shifted uncomfortably, trying to suppress the emotions stirring inside you. You couldn't afford to lose focus. Not with him.

"I should go, lock the door." You stepped away before you let your feelings control you. 

_____

The race day was a blur of noise and speed. Carlos was locked in a fierce battle for the last podium place, weaving through the track, every muscle in his body tense with focus. You watched from the paddock, your attention split between the live race feed in the garage and the bustling crowd. You never let yourself get too caught up in the race itself though. Your job was to protect Carlos from everything offthe track.

But as the final laps unfolded, an uneasy feeling consumed you. You scanned the crowd, your eyes narrowing when you spotted somone who didn’t quite fit. He was standing just behind the barriers at Parc Ferme, his eyes locked onto Carlos's car as it zoomed by for the cool-down lap.

As the the roar of the crowd filled the air signaling the end of the race you watched as the man moved through the people, his eyes steady on that 3rd place position Carlos would eventually pull into. His body language was tense, and suspicious as he inched closer to where Carlos would soon be.

Your instincts flared. You moved quickly, pushing through the multitude of people running to the podium, your eyes locked on the man.

Just as he climbed out of his car, the man made his move. He broke through the crowd, something glinting in his hand. You reacted quickly, rushing toward the man, and grabbing his wrist firmly. You would do your best to avoid causing a scene, costing Carlos his moment so with a firm grip on the man you quickly shoved him away. 

But the man was stronger than he looked, as soon as you'd gotten him away from the crowd, away from the cameras, calling for security, he managed to momentarily slip out of your grasp, the sharp object emerging from his pocket as it came to slice your arm. You had no time to react to the pain as you quickly subdued him, security there soon after ready to cuff the man. 

Carlos had embraced his team, he tried to remain happy and cheerful as he received pats and congratulations from those around him but as he looked around not seeing you around set off alarm bells in his head. You were good at your job, and you were good at sticking around unnoticed but he always knew you were there, he always felt your presence and this time he couldn't

He was rushed to give the interviews and proceed to the podium ceremony but that didn't take away from the fact that he was worried, where had you gone? 

After the ceremony, Carlos wasted no time asking about your whereabouts only to be informed that "a situation had occurred" which you had to attend to. 

"What does that mean?" Carlos tried to learn more only to be shut down. 

"She needs stitches she's heading to hospital now." he heard security from the track talking to his team. 

"Who needs stitches? Where is she?!" A great feeling of dread invaded Carlos's body. The silence of those around him was enough of an answer to him. 

_

“Y/N!” Carlos rushed to you, his voice tight with panic.

"Carlos, what are you doing here?" You asked surprised to see him rush into the hospital room. 

"What happened?!" He looked at your blood-soaked sleeve. 

“It’s fine,” you said through gritted teeth, cradling your arm. “It’s just a scratch.”

He wasn’t convinced. “You’re bleeding.”

"Not that much, they'll come to fix it soon. Carlos, you need to get back to-"

"I'm not going anywhere" Carlos didn't let you finish. 

“I said I’m fine! I’m still alive, aren’t I?” you tried to joke, but there was a slight tremor to your voice.

Carlos wasn't laughing. He held your uninjured hand, his fingers locking with yours. “You shouldn’t have had to do that. You could’ve been-.” he didn't dare finish the thought. 

Your defenses kicked back in, but this time, you could see the fear in his eyes. “It’s my job, Carlos. This is what I signed up for.”

He shook his head, he kneeled in front of you. “You got hurt because of me.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding as the truth settled between you. He was right, you'd done this form him. But not because of the job. But because the thought of something happening to him terrified you more than getting hurt yourself.  

“It wasn’t your fault,” you said softly. 

The doctor arrived, ready to stitch you up. Carlos stayed by your side the whole time, his usual cocky attitude replaced by a quiet, anger. Carlos paced the room but when you'd occasionally wince in pain you saw the way Carlos's eyes increased with sadness. 

“Stop blaming yourself,” You said as soon as the doctor left. “This...it happens.”

He stopped pacing and turned to you, frustration evident in his eyes. “You think I’m just supposed to be okay with this? That you can get hurt- because of me? and I’m supposed to just let it happen?”

You sighed, getting up and walking towards him. “It’s not about being okay with it. It’s about understanding that I’m here to do a job, and sometimes that job comes with risks!” Your voice was once again stern. 

He closed the distance between you even more, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I don’t want you risking anything for me.”

You looked away, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze. “Well, that's not how this works.” 

There was silence, thick and tense, before he spoke again. 

“I care about you." he confessed. 

"No-" You avoided his gaze.

"More than you think. And I can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt because of me.” he didn't allow you to interrupt him as he approached you forcing you to face him again. 

You froze. This was exactly what you'd feared, why you had tried to keep your distance. 

But the look in his eyes, raw and honest, was breaking down every wall you'd had built.

“You're not supposed to care,” you whispered. “This is my job.” You sighed defeated. 

He cupped your face. “You think I’m just going to stop caring because you tell me to? You don't have a problem getting hurt for me, but why can't you admit you care about me too?”

Your breath hitched. You opened her mouth to protest, to shut this conversation down before it went any further, but the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, Carlos tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His thumb brushing over your cheek in the softest of touches. 

“Let me in.” He pleaded. 

Your heart pounded in your chest, every instinct screaming at you to pull away, to keep things professional. But as he leaned in, his breath warm against your lips, you couldn’t move. You couldn’t think straight, standing so close, his presence was overwhelming.

And when his lips finally brushed against yours, it was like every wall you'd built crumbled in an instant. The kiss was soft at first, hesitant as if he was giving you a chance to pull back. 

But you didn’t. You leaned into him, deepening the kiss, letting yourself feel something you'd been trying to deny for so long. His hand slid around your waist, pulling you closer, and you let yourself get lost in the moment, the warmth of his touch, the softness of his lips.

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: Simon had wondered what any of it had meant. Maddie's death, why he'd been the only one who could see her. And then he'd learned that, perhaps, everything that had happened...it hadn't been about him or Maddie at all.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.25

A roaring white noise erupted in the theater, smothering all other sounds. A TV static howl that seemed to come from within your own head, building and building until it was unbearable. You slapped your hands over your ears, gritted your teeth, pulse thundering almost as loud as the unnatural noise in your ears.

Muffled as if through cotton fluff, you heard someone yell, "What's happening!?" but no more than that, the voice swept away by the bellow. You lifted your head away from Xavier's shoulder and turned your body as much as you could within the tight band of his arms. Where the trapdoor should be, rising like a nightmare from its grave, the farmhouse door materialized in the middle of the stage. Your eyes widened in horror as the familiar screams from behind it began to gnash at the edges of the noise like teeth, "LET. ME. OUT! YOU CAN'T KEEP ME HERE! YOU'RE DEAD, YOU HEAR ME!? DEAD!!"

You cast around, saw Maddie and Wally huddled together, Charlie tucked between two rows of seats, Ajay shielding Mina with his body, and Rhonda with her arms crossed in front of her face as the noise crashed through the theater like a physical force; a tempest of rage and violence that pierced the veil. The ground and walls shook, windows rattled, a stage light fell and smashed on the stage. The quake vibrated through your bones, motivated you to act, but you couldn't move. Xavier clung to you both protectively and in terror, his eyes pleading as he seemed to figure out what you planned to do. He trembled, fingertips bruising into your flesh through your sweater.

You'd never seen him so scared. Not once. Not ever.

Driven by adrenaline, "I'm sorry," you shoved Xavier off you, spun and rose in one fluid motion, and charged at speed down the center aisle toward the stage. The wind was sharp and stinging, pieces of glass and metal from the shattered stage light picked up and whipped about, but you didn't stop. Hurdled into it. Leapt onto the stage. Close, so close. Hand extended, fingers brushing the knob, about to brace against it to keep the monsters from escaping.

The door ruptured at its center, fragments of wood bursting outward and immediately captured by the storm. The force of the sudden explosion sent you sailing backward, followed by a tsunami of blinding, iridescent light that fell from the breach in the door and reached toward you. Cold. Clutching. You barely made out your name being shouted in varying degrees of desperate concern and fear. But it didn't matter. It didn't matter. Because as soon as you landed, hard—enough to knock the air from your lungs into your throat and choke you—the world shifted on its axis and went black.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Question 1.

Why did Frankenstein create the Monster?

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Simon lay in bed and stared at the ceiling above him, cracked and pillowed, a yellow-brown rash bloomed in patterns that he tracked in meditative circles with his eyes. He needed to shower, he thought dully. He hadn't had time that morning before being chauffeured to the station for another damning interrogation by Deputies Hayes and Stewart.

"Where is she, Elroy? Where's Maddie?"

"I don't know."

"Don't lie to us, kid, it'll only make things worse for you."

"I'm not lying, I don't kn—"

"God dammit, quit playing dumb!"

"That's enough," Mrs. Grace had snapped before Stewart's jaw had shut with an audible click. "Without substantiated evidence, this is all hearsay. Simon has given you everything he knows in his statement. Unless you intend to further make fools of yourselves, we're leaving."

Simon needed to get up. Get up. Get up. Get. Up.

He didn't move. Couldn't; his limbs grafted to his sheets, muscles like stone, bones elastic. His back was sore, his skin ached and he wanted to move around, stretch the discomfort out of his body, but...he didn't. Instead, he kept staring at the ceiling as the morning looped in his mind. Questions and suppositions, two manilla folders, one map, and then a tense drive home where he'd felt little-boy scared of his parents—his father—for the first time in years, their disappointment and anger palpable in the tight confines of the car.

Simon had been shown Maddie's file. A couple of graphic photographs that looked staged for a prime-time procedural drama. His best friend's blood splattered on the boiler room wall, evidence of the pain and torture she'd incurred when she'd been killed. Murdered in the bowels of the school while Simon had been three floors up in homeroom, bored and bleary-eyed, dozing on his backpack, mentally preparing for a night at the APEX with a group he felt a little on the outskirts of.

"Fuck." He choked, eyes stinging, rubbing over them with his wrist.

The photographs were seared into his retinas; there even when he tried to distract himself or ignore them or pretend that Maddie was still within reach and not one resolution away from vanishing forever.

Blood. Her blood. From a swing so violent that it'd projected onto the wall when the weapon had been hitched for another strike. How many blows had been delivered before Maddie's eyes had dimmed and her breath had stopped? His stomach lurched, but still, Simon didn't move.

The deputies thought Maddie was out there. Not enough blood on the scene to warrant a murder investigation, Stewart had informed Simon as if suggesting that Simon and Maddie might've tried to fake her death so no one would look for her. It was half-assed and ridiculous. Even Hayes seemed to think so, though she wouldn't have admitted it aloud.

Desperate to repress the images, Simon tried to remember the other file he'd been shown. The deputies insisted the cases were linked: Maddie's "escape" and a string of break-ins that spanned two neighborhoods that would've been one if it weren't for a railway track splitting it down the middle like a stapled wound. Simon had recognized the first immediately. Riverden Heights. A low-income area that had been chosen by the town council for regentrification, spearheaded by none other than Claire Zomer's stepfather.

The other, Warren Meadow, had taken him a moment to recognize, but when he did, it'd been a feat to conceal his surprise. He'd been there the night he'd found Mr. Anderson's stash, sat on a swing in the play park behind the house you called home.

What did it mean?

As he pondered the possibilities, a crisp gust of wind coasted over him, disturbing the curtains and ruffling the posters on his walls. At last, he moved, prompted to investigate because he was sure— He swallowed thickly, tense, heartbeat ratcheting up a notch. Propped on a hand, he looked in confusion and dread at his closed window.

A slow, eerie creak snapped his attention toward his closet, the door open a sliver when he knew it'd been closed. The darkness within seemed even blacker than was natural. Inexplicable. Otherworldly. A shiver ran down his spine. Similar to the feeling he'd had when he'd caught Maddie's reflection in the classroom window on Monday.

The floorboards squeaked when he stood. Simon took one cautious step after another, muscles flexed, not prepared at all for an attack but willing to be brave. Two. Three. Four. Five steps. His chest was tight. Hands shaking. Breathing shallow. As he hooked his fingers on the door to open it further, it started. The sound was faint and he had to strain to hear it, but it was unmistakable. Wet and rattled, punctuated by thick sniffles.

Someone was crying.

Someone was crying in Simon's closet.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Rhonda remained couched, braced against the wild, unholy wind until, bit by bit, she realized it'd stopped. When she opened her eyes, she gasped in shock, collapsing forward onto her hands. The world around her had changed; the theater was replaced by a span of paved ground enclosed by a chain-link fence, painted games bright against the black asphalt. A tingle crept down from her scalp to her nape, goosebumps pebbled her arms, and she panned her head to glance over her shoulder.

Panicked, she spun, landed on her ass, shoving herself backward with her feet to put distance between herself and the eerily suspended door. The void at its center flickered. It felt like a black hole trying to drag her into oblivion.

Rhonda flipped over and pushed herself up. Ran. Ran harder and faster than she'd ever done in life or death. Down the side of the building she'd found herself behind to skid around the corner and come to an abrupt, stuttered stop.

She turned this way and that, disoriented, chest rising and falling quickly as she tried to suck in enough air to keep her upright.

"What the hell is happening?" She wheezed, every alarm in her brain going off at once as she began to process her surroundings: Outdoors. Too dark for how early she felt it should be, the air thin and cold, biting, and the sky obscured by a dense layer of gunmetal grey clouds. It was raining in heavy sheets so thick Rhonda could barely make out the line of British inspired maisonettes on the opposite side of the street. "Where—?"

She cut herself off when the wide, double-door entrance to the building opened, releasing a soft glow from within that illuminated the pathway ahead of it. Children in raincoats and rubber boots bounced down the front steps, giggling as they jumped and splashed through puddles on their way to join clusters of adults who waited under umbrellas on the sidewalk.

"No. Fucking. Way." Rhonda walked toward the pathway, jaw slack, gaze fixed on the words etched into the stonework. She nearly tripped over her own feet, only just managing to correct herself as she turned fully toward the building.

Anabelle Meheive Schoolhouse for Boys.

The brick and mortar was as old as Split River itself, named after one of the town founders' wives. The school had been reestablished as Anabelle Meheive Elementary in the early '40s, ten years before Rhonda's family had moved from rural town Romania to Wisconsin. Rhonda had still been curious then, unjaded and excited and eager to learn. Her fourth grade desk had been right there, beside that window. Where she'd daydreamed as she'd stared at the houses across the street and had wondered what it'd been like to live somewhere so unlike her own home in the shanty district that bordered the factories.

Pressure stuffed her nose, her vision blurred, and suddenly she was overwhelmed by the memory, instantly missing her parents, her sisters, her grandmother in a way she hadn't in countless years. Unfortunately, she didn't have more than a moment to grapple with it before her attention was forced back to the school's entrance.

Two figures emerged, one was small, obviously a child. A little boy, Rhonda discerned, with a Spiderman backpack and rainboots to match. The second was taller, slender, the hood of their sweater up so it concealed their face. They hauled the little boy by the hand as they complained, "Come on, stop messing around, I want to go home," as the little boy kept trying to gleefully splash his way through every puddle on his way to the front gate.

A spike of foreboding shot through Rhonda as she watched the pair. Swiftly, she found herself trailing after them as they turned onto the sidewalk. That sense of unease continued to worsen, churning in her stomach like a premonition of ill tides. Although it felt like every other bad gut feeling she'd experienced in her young life, it was somehow distinguished. And when the taller figure got so frustrated by the little boy that they pushed their hood off and threatened, "I'm so serious right now, I will leave you here and tell mom you ran away," Rhonda was once again stunned into stillness.

The taller figure was a girl, no older than eleven or twelve with features identical to ones Rhonda had seen mere moments before the theater had turned into a category 5 hurricane zone. Your hair was longer and your face was rounder, softer, yet simultaneously you looked exactly as you had when Rhonda had joked about getting Wally a new wardrobe.

You began to tug the little boy along again, your foul temper tween-girl extreme to the extent Rhonda questioned whether or not it was really you. Regardless of whether or not it was, Rhonda decided, she needed help, needed an explanation. Where the fuck was she? When the fuck was she? How did she get here?

"Hey!" Rhonda yelled after you, "Wait!"

You didn't notice Rhonda. In fact, she was entirely nonexistent to you as you yanked and heaved your brother every single step forward. He enjoyed being a pain in your ass, always elbowing his way into every sleepover, usurping attention, whining until you gave in and put on movies for babies because he didn't like what you and Xavier and Hana wanted to watch.

You'd already been grumpy when your mom had called to ask that you collect Aiden from school on your way home, consumed by thoughts of Xavier and Hana ditching you to hang out with another couple because, apparently, that's what boyfriends and girlfriends did.

Your face twisted in displeasure, jealousy seeping into your veins like toxic sludge as you barked again, "Aiden, come. on. Stop it!"

Xavier and Hana hadn't even kissed on the mouth yet, you grouched internally. Plus, they were still going to Dave & Buster's with Mrs. Baxter like all three of you did. As a group. Every Friday since first grade. It wasn't fair that just because you didn't want to be kissed or have some gross boy who smelled like B.O. and gym bag hold your hand like that, you weren't allowed to go too.

The rain came down harder, thunder rumbled overhead and lightning cracked across the sky. Aiden continued to resist, stomping in and out of the stream that flowed along the curb. Stupid mom being held up at work. Stupid Aurora being at university. And stupid, stupid Aiden, not listening to you when you were obviously in a bad mood.

"Aiden!" You yelled, tugging him back onto the sidewalk, "I said stop it!"

Your clothes were drenched, your limbs were frozen, and all you wanted to do was go home, rant to Nanna, and have her comfort you and tell you to forget Xavier and Hana and their dumb relationship had ever happened. Just as you were contemplating how upset your mom would be if you abandoned Aiden right then and there, you heard a car pull up behind you and a male voice call, "Hey, can I give you a ride?"

Rhonda stopped when she saw the car stop. More specifically, when she saw the face of the man behind the wheel. She didn't recognize him and he looked normal enough. Buzzed, military brown hair and a friendly smile and eyes that crinkled charmingly at the corners. Rhonda moved to peek into the open passenger window, squinting at him. Despite how NPC-normal he appeared, there was something inside her soul, a niggling feeling that made her gums itch, that told her that the man's aura was several shades of wrong.

Clumsily, she reared back and turned to urge you, "Don't go with him," as that prickly sense of unease increased, blaring like an air raid siren in her brain. Rhonda couldn't tell if you were familiar with the man and decided quickly that it didn't matter, "I know we aren't exactly besties," She said, standing directly in front of you now, "But you have to listen to me."

You looked right through her.

Leaning across the console was a man wearing a uniform like your dad's, his face familiar though you couldn't quite place it. Your grip tightened around Aiden's hand and you narrowed your eyes at him. A thousand and one speeches had been delivered throughout your life on the subject of which strangers are good and which are bad. And random men in cars were at the top of the "who to avoid" list.

"You don't remember me?" The man chuckled and then explained, "We met at the barbeque on base. I'm Christopher." He raised an amused eyebrow, "You got me with your water gun a few times."

Rhonda's gaze ricocheted between you and Christopher as you hesitated, tilted your head, and chewed your lip, studying Christopher like a Wanted poster. That nagging feeling in Rhonda's gut swelled into a sick panic when the tension bled out of your shoulders, showing signs of finally recalling who Christopher was.

"Oh yeah," You grinned and stepped closer. Christopher was in the same unit as your dad. He'd been at the barbeque with his wife and daughter, the latter having hung out with you and Xavier all afternoon while the adults drank beer and got rowdy. "Xavier pushed you in the pool."

Christopher snorted and hung his head in mock shame, "That's me."

Rhonda shook her head, her mind screaming at her to stop you from going with him. That if you did, all the happiness and joy and pure, unconditional love in the world would be snuffed out as easily as the flame of a candle. Rhonda had felt similarly when Mr. Manfredo's demeanor had shifted in the split second before he'd revealed his true intentions for her.

"Don't go with him," She repeated, trying and failing to grab your hand, shoulder, face, anything. But her hands kept missing, sliding away, your energy and hers two like poles that would never connect. "You need to believe me!"

You smiled down at Aiden, "A ride would be great, right Aid?"

Aiden wasn't paying attention, staring off into space. He did that whenever you asked him to stop being annoying. Acted like he hadn't heard you or that you weren't there. Glaring at him, you repeated the question, only for Aiden to tug your hand so you had to bend to his level to hear him.

"What?" You demanded under your breath.

Aiden whispered, "I don't think we should go with him."

Relief flooded through Rhonda, however, it was short-lived.

You rolled your eyes, "Seriously, Aiden?" God, could he just not? For once, one time, could he be on your side instead of making everything difficult? You knew he was complaining just so he could keep splashing in the puddles, but you were over the wet and the rain and the cold.

Aiden stubbornly stared into space again, refusing to budge until you poked him in the cheek. He reluctantly dragged his eyes to yours, looking up at you with a pout, "I don't want to, Sissy." Lip wobbly, brow furrowed. The same expression he pinched his face into when you refused to let him use your Switch.

You heaved a careworn sigh and put your hands on your knees as you spoke to him, forcing your voice to a sensitive register, "How about this: If you get in the car, I'll make you mac 'n' cheese with chicken nuggets when we get home. Alright?"

Rhonda lurched forward, "No no no!" She begged you to change your mind, to hear what Aiden was trying to tell you, her voice strangled, throat closing. "Don't!"

Aiden chewed his lip as he considered your proposal, eyes on the ground. At last, with one last glance into the middle distance, he nodded. It was a small gesture, almost disappointed, and he mumbled, "Okay."

You grinned and hugged him, praising him for listening to you as you opened the car door and helped him into the backseat. Once he scooched over, you climbed in after him, thanked Christopher for his kindness, and made Aiden do the same.

"Thanks," Aiden muttered, staring at his lap, looking for all the world like he'd just been told he wasn't allowed dessert ever again.

Though she knew it was useless, Rhonda bodily flung herself at the car when you closed the door, banging and slapping the window with her palms until they stung bright red. "Don't! You have to get out! GET. OUT!"

You buckled your seatbelt, then Aiden's, and the car pulled away.

Rhonda stumbled into the street, shouting after you. Her hands gripped her head in panic, pulse racing. She watched the car stop at the corner and saw Aiden rise to peer out of the back window, chubby hand up as if he was waving goodbye. The emotion in his big, green eyes— She inhaled sharply. Without any doubt, Rhonda understood that she'd just witnessed a child's future turn to ash. And she felt in her bones that Aiden knew it, too.

"Come back." She begged, tight and weak. "Please, come back."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, an ominous creak drew her attention behind her. The farmhouse door. The deep, black void at its center. Eyes wide in fright, she shifted to run after the car but didn't get even a step before the blackness shot out, wrapped around her arms and legs, and wrenched her into its depths. The door slammed closed and disappeared.

In the backseat of the car, you asked Aiden, "What're you looking at?" when he continued to stare out of the rear window. You peeked over the seat in confusion, not seeing anything worth that much scrutiny.

Aiden slowly slid his gaze to meet yours and what you saw in them made your stomach twist, the look in them far too old for a six-year-old boy. Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to brush it off, fixing Aiden in his seat after he'd lowered himself to sit properly.

"Nothing," Aiden responded, tone solemn. He began to draw a little stick figure in the condensation on the window, and then an upright rectangle with curly cues coming out of it.

You watched him for a moment, suddenly feeling uneasy. "You sure?"

Aiden nodded.

You wouldn't have believed him anyway.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Question Two.

Does Frankenstein learn from his mistake in creating the Monster?

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

You roused in pained stages, groaning as you hoisted yourself onto your hands and knees. The world was spinning, vision cloudy for a moment before the room settled around you. The damp and dark didn't feel right against you, pushing in from all corners like pressure in the depths of the ocean. Heaving a breath, you wobbled to your feet, blinking rapidly as your eyes adjusted to the dim light.

Even in the thin light filtering through the high windows, you recognized that, wherever you were, it wasn't the theater.

"Wally?!" You called out, "Maddie!?"

No answer.

"...anyone?"

It took a minute for your eyes to adjust. The space was wide and empty, the ceiling low, walls exposed slabs of thick stone. A cellar, you realized, stepping carefully across the packed dirt floor. Faded Persian carpets had been placed down in the center; thinner, longer ones like runners led from the base of the polished wood steps to the back wall, the tail end of the last carpet disappearing beneath the stone.

"Where am I?" You wondered, glancing about.

A few items of furniture stood against the wall directly opposite the staircase. A tall, fat cabinet with glass windows that displayed a variety of trinkets that reminded you of curiosities Victorian nobles had collected to be admired by their unworldly peers. Beside it was a sarcophagus, Egyptian-inspired but certainly not original. It was far too dark, menacing, the face demonic with ruby eyes that seemed to burn from within.

You kept a wide berth around it, its aura unsettling. Like walking into a forest after nightfall with no flashlight.

On the other side of the cabinet were wrought iron hooks nailed into the stone, neat rows of ten across, seven down. Most of them were bare, though a few still held gruesomely painted masks in the Venetian style. Some with long, pointed noses; others without, more feminine. The eyes in all of them were netted.

"What the hell is this place?" You murmured to yourself as you reached out to run your fingers delicately down the smooth nose of one of the masks.

It felt familiar. The exposed beams, the packed dirt floor, the draft that chilled you to the bone. You followed the runners to the back wall, turned, looked out the window above you. Twisty, naked branches speared the sky, a large gap in the middle where...where the road... Oh, God.

Your breath caught and you began to feel queasy, bile burning the back of your throat. This wasn't just any cellar. It was the farmhouse cellar. The place you'd been when you learned exactly how many minutes it took for a human body to die.

The room swam as your vision blurred and all at once, you doubled over, retching into the dirt, swaying on weak legs when it was over. Breath after breath felt like ice as you tried to get air into your lungs, your heart to calm down, your head to stop spinning.

"It's not possible," You choked, collapsing against the wall, "I shouldn't be here, this isn't right." You sank to the floor, completely devoid of energy in the wake of your realization. As if the darkness had sucked it all out. You sat there for minutes that dragged into each other, hitched little inhales and drawn, stuttered exhales. "I want to go home," You whimpered, but there was no one around to hear you.

In that instant, voices rose and the floorboards above creaked under the weight of several people. Panicked, you shot to your feet, casting about for something to protect yourself. Nothing good had ever happened in this farmhouse, you knew, and you doubted that now would be any different.

There was nothing. And when you tried to open the cabinet, a taser-like shock jolted through your arm and knocked you backward onto the floor. However, you didn't have time to question it, the door above opening—that door, the door, the one that had haunted you for six years—and the voices getting closer.

"Surely, Lord Althan, you jest. A stablehand!" A woman's voice spoke, sounding giddy as much as disturbed. "How on earth did that happen?"

A deep, male voice answered, that of Lord Althan assumedly, "I haven't a clue, Marjorie." He sounded dismayed, "He took off with all the money and my daughter, the wretched bastard." A pause before he growled, "I tell you, never trust a Clark."

"Certainly not." Marjorie agreed. "I had two in my employ, sisters. Irish though they weren't Catholic, and I wish I had known such an important detail before I had Beaty hire the little rats. They stole the diamonds right off one of my necklaces. Had they the fear of God in them, they wouldn't have done so."

"And they were Clarks?" A new voice asked, another male, though thick with an accent you could only describe as South Asian.

Marjorie answered, "Indeed. You'll have to be careful during your visit, Your Excellency. The poor have become a problem in recent years, I'm afraid."

You listened with half an ear as you scouted for a place to tuck yourself into. The sarcophagus was latched and the effort it would take to break the lock off would be both too loud and too obvious. You searched along the walls, in the shadowy corners. The best place would've been under the stairs but a large cord of chopped wood had been piled in front of the space.

The footsteps got closer as the group descended, talking amongst themselves. Swallowing thickly, you pressed yourself against the side of the cabinet, crouched beneath the rows of hooks, hands over your mouth to muffle your harried breathing.

A strange sensation passed through the cellar as the group stepped one by one onto the carpet at the bottom of the stairs. The air stilled and the shadows seemed to part for the group as they moved across the space. A man held out his hand to help a woman down her final few steps and then escorted her with her arm through his. The next man did the same for the next woman, and then the third man for the third woman.

All were dressed elegantly, the men in tuxedos with white ties and polished boots, and the women in beaded dresses that fell past their knees, gloves to above their elbows, and furs around their shoulders.

"It's truly wonderful that you were able to attend at last, Your Excellency," A new voice said, female, heavily accented. Eastern European, you believed, "My husband and I have been eager to introduce you to the leader of tonight's gathering."

"I appreciate it immensely, Lady Botezatu," His Excellency replied, "I was delighted to have received the invitation."

If you'd had the presence of mind to be curious, you would've noted the name, turned it over in your head, snapped the piece into place where it belonged. Because you knew that name. However, the sound of the men and women nearing made your pulse rush like a roar in your ears. You squeezed your eyes shut, turned to tuck yourself as close as you could to the wall, back against the cabinet, pleading that you wouldn't be found.

Closer. Closer. The footsteps and voices were right above you now.

"Here you are, Raj" Lord Althan said pleasantly as he claimed one of the nosed masks and handed it to His Excellency. "Your lovely bride can help you attach it, I'm sure."

With big, terrified eyes, you watched Lord Althan remove another mask, one without a nose, and hand it to the woman beside His Excellency. And no one—your brow furrowed—seemed to notice you. Not even the slightest acknowledgment that you existed. You didn't want to push your luck, staying put with your hand remaining clapped across your mouth. However, you couldn't stop yourself from glancing up at the faces of the group gathered in front of you, helping each other tie the ribbons of the masks at the backs of their heads.

His Excellency turned around after helping his bride with her mask and you almost collapsed in shock.

"Ajay!?" You said before thinking about the consequences. You rose quickly and stumbled forward, attempting to clasp your hands around his forearms as he fiddled with the ribbon on the nosed mask he held. "Ajay, where are we? What's happening?" But...your hands passed right through him, his image distorting, coming apart like whisps of smoke before letting in again. "A-Ajay?"

With a strained whine, you studied his face and the longer you stared, the less he looked like Ajay. The resemblance, as uncanny as it was, was only that. A resemblance. And, furthermore, Not-Ajay, it appeared, couldn't see you. Couldn't hear you. In fact, none of the men and women paid you any mind whatsoever. To them, you were as real as a ghost.

"Fuck." The word punched out of you as you staggered back. The faces that hadn't been covered were eerily identical to ones you knew until you stared too long. Rhonda. Wally. Ajay. Maddie. And then the resemblances faded and left behind just the most subtle of like features. "What's happening?"

You were going crazy. Trapped in a nightmare of your own making after you couldn't keep the farmhouse door closed. God only knew where the others were. If the light that had ripped out from behind the farmhouse door had trapped them too. If they were experiencing the same thing. Or worse.

"Come along, Marjorie dear, we're already behind schedule." Lord Althan remarked, holding out his arm for her to take. He led the group to the back of the cellar, following the line of carpets before he paused at the wall. Not knowing what else to do, you trailed after them, observant though feeling faint as you tried to accept that you might never make it out of whatever coma or conjuring the farmhouse door had unleashed.

If this was a nightmare, you thought, there was only one way out. You had to see it through to the end.

You saw Lord Althan produce a pen-shaped piece of silver from his pocket. Sleek, smooth, nondescript, and rather unremarkable until Lord Althan pushed it tip-first into a tiny hole in the mortar that you never would've noticed on your own. When it was halfway in, you heard a heavy clank of metal and stone scraped against stone. Your jaw dropped as part of the wall sunk inward and then moved aside, revealing a steep rock stairwell lit by a line of low-burning torches.

The group herded into the stairwell, continuing their conversation, the men attentive to the women as they descended down down down into whatever was below the farmhouse cellar. The stairs were uneven, some tall, some short, and you briefly marveled at the ease the men and women ahead of you exhibited as they gracefully carried themselves to the bottom of the staircase.

You openly gaped at what lay beyond the staircase, taken aback by the sheer extravagance, so out of place for where you were. The narrow walls on either side of the staircase opened into a massive cavern that had been built and decorated to mimic a European palace. Italian marble floors, a grand fireplace with detailed carvings in the wood of the mantle, portraits of dour, aristocratic men and women kitted in ceremonial costume.

Your attention lingered on the portraits, particularly what the figures in them wore. Yes, the clothes were ceremonial as was usually the case when the rich were painted, but they were also...religious. In a way you had a difficult time putting your finger on. Not typical of the Abrahamic religions or Dharmic or Taoic. More Pagan. Celtic or Nordic, you weren't sure, but definitely Pagan. The figures in the portraits wore cloaks and were ornamented with etched daggers and wooden laurels bent and shapen into antlers. The one thing they all shared were the broaches pinned under the notches of their collars. Large, silver things with a symbol you'd seen in the pages of a book housed in your family's library. Three interlocking spirals. A triskele.

A tinkling sound, fine metal tapped on hollow crystal, echoed through the cavern, a man's voice calling out to announce, "Welcome all!"

You turned, gaze searching the crowd of what you guessed was about fifty or sixty people. Masked and in fine dress, all of them. They stood in a semi-circle facing you though their focus was on the man who spoke. You couldn't see much of him since he had his back to you, poised proudly in front of his flock. He was tall, broad-shouldered yet lithe, and had hair that had clearly once been blond though was turning grey.

"I am overjoyed that so many of you could join us on such an important and exciting night."

"Hear, hear!" The crowd exclaimed, lifting in unison their champagne coupes.

"My only regret is that my lovely wife seems to have gotten lost."

The crowd tittered at what you figured was meant to be a joke. Stepping closer, you tried to get a better look at the man, wanted to see if, like the men and women who you'd followed down here, he held any resemblance to someone you knew. Together, the crowd's focus shifted to something behind the man. He turned, a wide smile spreading across the part of his face that wasn't covered by his mask.

You went completely still as his eyes, unobscured unlike the others, settled on you. They were striking; bright seafoam green that within them held a wisdom and respect that transcended time. You shivered as those eyes, far too old for the face they belonged to, burned through you, heart hammering behind your ribs.

Slowly, the man reached out his free hand, smile softening, and said, "Ah, there you are," in a quiet tone. Private.

Just for you.

"We've been waiting."

💀___________________________

PART TWENTY-FOUR - PART TWENTY-SIX

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[bedoballoons]

─⊰💕𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤💕⊰─

VALENTINES EVENT DAY 1

{༻~Neuvillette X Reader: Love at first sight~༺}

Genre: Smut and fluff headcanons! (separate)

Valentine's Masterlist 💕

CW: Fluff: Pre-relationship, confessions!

Smut: NSFW! MDNI!! GN! Reader whos afab!, consensual somnophilia, cream pie, nipple play, slight yandere vibes, no protection, fingering, and mentions of wet dreams~

ੈ♡˚~Neuvillette~ੈ♡˚:

(Fluff version)

Neuvillette had never gone out searching for love, yes he'd seen couples on the daily and yes sometimes he wondered if he'd ever find someone, but it wasn't his biggest concern...until the day you'd first bumped into him.

It had been a long day for him, many cases piling up and Furina being almost impossible to calm down. He was exhausted and by the time he'd started heading home to rest it was past dark. The cold of the night had started to set in and even with the streetlights you could still find it hard to see, but he'd walked this road for hundreds of years, so he was confident in his steps.

You knocked that idea right out the window though as you came crashing into him with a loud thud, the two of you tumbling onto the cement ground and entangling yourselves together.

He was fast to recover, helping you get back on your feet and lifting himself off the ground,...only to be caught off guard by your appearance. In the matter of minutes you sent him through a rollercoaster of emotions and now you were standing in front of him apologising...while he was looking at you like you might actually be the angel of the water.

He didn't even get to speak before you hurried away, leaving him utterly baffled and in love.

(Smut version)

Neuvillette sat up in your shared bed, thinking about the dream he'd just had...the way you'd looked in it, the sounds the two of you made. He was in love, with the temptation, with you, but still unsure if it was truly okay to try anything with you asleep...even with consent.

He leaned in closer to you, placing a soft kiss on your cheek like he normally would...like that was all he was going to do and truthfully it was originally, but then he felt your creamy skin against his lips...heard your breath catch in your sleep when he shifted his weight above you. You weren't even awake and you still had him obsessing over every small detail of your attraction to him.

He could feel your body under the blanket, feel where your thighs rubbed against his hard length and just like that he was to far gone. His hands reaching for the covers so he could see you fully and the second they were pulled away he fell in love all over again. Oh he was so lucky, he could feel his heart racing as his fingers slowly slid in between your legs and under that thin little line of clothing keeping him from you.

He trailed kisses down to your nipple while his digits rubbed circles into your soft folds, enticing moans from you that only made him grow needier. His mouth clamped around your sensitive bud as his free hand rolled the other between the pads of his fingers, pinching it whenever you got louder. He knew you loved this, he almost hoped you'd wake up and grab strands of his hair like you usually do...but he also didn't, he liked the risk of this...it was new and fun.

A muffled groan escaped him as you coated his fingers with your slick, your cheeks visibly red even in the dim light, you looked so good, felt so good...he just couldn't hold back anymore. He slowly pulled himself away from you, his breathing growing faster as he freed his cock from it's confines and watched your legs quiver. So close he thought as pulled your underwear down to your knees and rubbed his tip against your sensitive area.

Oh lord he could have came right then from the dirty sound you made, your cunt pulsing around even the smallest bit of him, were you just as eager as he was...even asleep? He leaned back over you, his hands on either side of your head as his sunk fully inside your walls, your pussy drenching him in the way that left him groaning into the crook of your neck.

He moved his hips slowly, his long white hair swaying behind him as he tried desperately to stay quiet and not wake you...he'd gotten this far after all. Your hands clenched at the sheets and in between moans he swore he heard you say his name, only making his pace grow faster until he was ruthlessly thrusting his hips into yours. So close, so close, so close, "mmHg!"

He bit down on your shoulder as his cum shot into your heat, sticky white drops dripping down onto the bed as finished along with him. He could see your eyes fluttering open as he grunted, your cunt pulling him back in every time he thought about stopping...

"Neuvi-llett-te? Mnh!"

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚~Have a nice day!~*⁠.⁠✧

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

Unexpected Flames | Dabi/Touya x Reader

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Dabi/Touya Todoroki x AFAB Reader 💋

Summary: AU where you and Touya have been life long best friends and are about to graduate from UA together. He's still a dramatic, possessive goof but he wants to focus his talents on being a Pro Hero. And sleeping with you. You're surprised (and delighted) when your typical Friday movie night takes a sexy turn with your best friend.

Genre: Smut, Romance, S*xual Tension

CW: MDNI!, A18+, kissing, romance, sexual tension, dry humping, grinding, oral sex, smut, dirty talk, hair pulling, PIV, penetrative sex, teasing

💕Link to My Master List 💕

Unexpected Flames

You were watching a horror film with your best friend from UA, Touya “Dabi” Todoroki.  You both have been friends for what seems like forever – well since grade school You’re currently seniors in your class, freshly 18 and itching to graduate into the world so you can be Pro Heroes together.

The two of you have a lovely group of friends – your hero class is unusually close and often spends the weekends together socializing and studying. But Friday nights are sacred and reserved for just you and Touya. Ever since you were kids you’d meet up for your weekly movie night – a festive affair for just the two of you spent in the basement of your parent’s house. Touya’s family is super large and he craves time alone, away from his little brothers and sister where he doesn’t need to be “the responsible one.” On these special nights together you can just be two goofy kids – sharing junk food, laughing at stupid films and dreaming about your futures as Pro Heros. On Friday nights your strict hero-in-training diets fly out the window as the two of you feast on popcorn, candy and whatever weird soda flavor Touya manages to dig up at the local Seven Eleven.

Tonight, you’re parents are out at a dinner party so the two of you have the house to yourselves. You’re watching a slasher flick - the kind that makes you squirm in your seat. You didn’t really want to watch this one, but Touya’s let you pick the last 3 movie night films so it’s only fair that you let him choose this time around. He knows you hate scary movies, and he smirks each time you jump in your seat. Over the course of the last hour, you’ve moved closer and closer to him on the couch until you’re buried in his side. His arm is stretched out on the back of the couch behind you. Whenever a particularly gruesome scene presents itself, you squeak and bury your face in his well-loved punk band t-shirt. Touya laughs at you each time.

Here’s the thing about Touya – he’s an acquired taste. He’s moody and possessive and sometimes can seem more villain than hero, but you know deep down in your gut that he’s a good person. He’s fiercely loyal and deeply protective of his friends and loved ones. He’s just immature with a bad temper – you’re certain he’ll grow out of the more volatile parts of his attitude with time and training out in the real world. He can be kind of a mess sometimes – and you’ve got the biggest crush on him. It’s never something you’d act on, of course. You’ve been best friends for the better part of a decade, and there’s no way in hell that you’d jeopardize your friendship with this angsty but wonderful boy.

The film continues and takes an unexpected turn – the heroine gets the upper hand and manages to defeat the ghostly villain. You swear under your breath when the credits roll, thankful that the bloody film is finally over. You’re still folded into Touya’s side. This isn’t an unusual position for the two of you – you’re close and fairly touchy. But the mood shifts when Touya brings his arm down from the couch to curl around you as the end credits continue to play. You feel goose bumps rise across your arms as his large hand pulls you close.

���That was pretty good – I kind of wanted the ghost to get her in the end, though. You up for another?” He asks, his voice husky. He deliberately doesn’t make eye contact with you, staring straight ahead at the screen.

“Yeah, but let me get some more popcorn. Can we watch something a little less dark this time around?” You breathe out shakily, moving so you can get to your feet so you can get more snacks. He reluctantly lets you out of his grasp, and you rise to your feet and shuffle to grab the empty bowl. You trip over Touya’s shoes which have been abandoned on the floor. The checkered vans fly across the room and you tumble onto the couch. Your friend’s lightening fast hero reflexes save you from hitting your head – one hand splayed out behind your back, the other bracketed above your head.

You realize with a start that Touya is straddling you, hovering a breath away.

“You okay?” He whispers as you struggle to catch your breath.

“Y-yeah. Shit, I’m sorry. Let me get up and refill the pop corn.” You try to shift out of his arms but he holds you underneath him.

“No – ugh – stay here a sec.” He shifts nervously above you.

“Touya?” You say breathlessly, a question working its way up your throat. You’ve never been in a position like this before – you feel vulnerable, at his mercy. Your heart drums in your chest as you look up into those bright, endless eyes. His own eyes dart down to your lips and back up at your face. Is he going to…?

You think he might kiss you, but instead he drops most of his weight down onto your body. You feel his lanky form relax gently on top of you, he lets his legs and arm relax so that he’s resting flush against you.

“There’s something I want to do…something I’d like to try.” He says in a hoarse whisper. You don’t say anything as you look up at him with wide eyes, nervous but feeling electrified at the feeling of his body against yours.

He keeps his eyes locked on you as he slowly grinds down into you. You let out a small moan of surprise - absolutely seeing stars as you feel his hardening cock grind into your sensitive pussy between several layers of clothing.

You need to stop this before it goes too far. You’re best friends after all. Sure – Touya can be a possessive freak. But deep down he’s sweet. He’s known you practically forever and he’s your go-to person. You can’t cross this line with him, you won’t.

“Touya, I -“

He cuts you off with a hiss. “Shh.” Then he grinds into you again, finding the perfect angle that the tip of his cock lines up with your clit through the soft fabric of your tiny shorts.

“Fuck.”

He grins wickedly down at you. You open your mouth to protest again, but he shuts you up with a kiss. His lips melt into your own and you can’t help but sigh at the contact. You’ve secretly wanted him like this for so long. His mouth feels even more amazing than you’d ever envisioned, and when he bites your bottom lip and then slips his tongue inside your mouth it truly feels like heaven.

You make out furiously as he rolls his hips against you. Every point where your bodies meet feels charged, and when he forces you to turn your head to the side so that he can kiss his way down your neck your eyes practically roll back in your head.

Your breath comes out in pants, an overwhelming pleasure in your belly pushing you over the edge. His hot hands sneak up your shirt and jam under your bra. You cry out as his fingers grip the soft flesh of your breasts and he quickly finds your nipples and squeezes. You grasp desperately for a fistful of his skinny ass, slipping your hands into the back pockets of his jeans for leverage.

“Touya! Touya, you idiot – we should stop. You’re gonna make me – “

“Cum.” He says it short and to the point.

And you do. What neither of you expect is the way you whine out his name as you finish. It’s so pitiful and needy, and it makes your friend flush bright red when he hears it. His eyes are large and unbelieving. He’s practically salivating at the way your tongue rolls around his name.

He holds you for a moment, letting you come down from your high. You feel jittery and embarrassed that he’s taken you apart fully clothed and so easily. He buries his face in your shoulder for a moment, trying to keep you from seeing the intense blush that’s dominating his aristocratic pale features.

“Touya, what the hell was that?” You breathe, arms winding around his muscular back.

“I couldn’t help myself.” He groans into the flesh of your neck, leaving a light kiss on the sensitive skin. “You were just laying there looking so helpless, practically begging for me to have you.”

“But Touya…what if this makes things weird between us? Everything has always been so easy. And now…” You trail off, unsure of what comes next.

“I can’t stay just friends with you anymore. Haven’t you noticed how much I fuckin’ want you Y/N? You’re so fucking gorgeous and I just need you to be all mine.” He pulls himself up so he can look you in the eyes, blush be damned.

His gaze is so intense it sends shockwaves of want through your body.

“Tell me that didn’t feel right? Tell me you want me back just as badly.” He practically commands.

“I mean… of course I want you, Touya. I’ve wanted you like this since our first year. But I value our friendship so much. What if we ruin everything – our plans to be Pros together, our dream to start the best Hero agency in Japan? Isn’t that more important?” You can tell he’s mulling this over, choosing his next words carefully.

“Fuck it. Why can’t we have it all?” He says fiercely, moving down to kiss your neck and nip at your earlobe. You groan at the hot contact. “Plenty of Pros date and work together. You know me better than anyone. Hell, you’re the only person who can truly put up with my sorry ass. If anyone can make this work, it’s us two.”

It might just be the hormones coursing through your veins, but his words seem to make a lot of sense. Why shouldn’t you be able to have it all? You know Touya inside and out. If anyone can make something crazy like this work, it’s the two of you. Together.

“Well I guess it’s worth a try at least.” You say slowly, still not totally convinced.

“That’s all I ask.” He grins, letting his right hand wander under your shirt again so he can squeeze at one of your breasts. “Your tits are just as amazing as I pictured they’d be, by the way.”

“Wow, thanks. The highest of compliments.” You say flatly, but you can’t stifle the moan that escapes your mouth as he pinches at your nipple. He smiles down at you roguishly, continuing to roll your tit between his capable fingers.

You can feel that he’s still hard against you. You long to slip your hand underneath his waistband so you can feel his hardness for yourself and maybe offer him some relief, but Touya has other plans. He pushes up onto his elbows in one swift motion and rises up from the couch.

“Now let me clean you up.” Before you have a chance to say anything else, he hooks his thumbs around the waistband of your tiny shorts and slips them down your legs along with your panties. You’re shocked as you lay there half naked in front of him, totally exposed. He pushes up your shirt and bra, exposing half your tits as well.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous.” He sighs out, haphazardly throwing your legs over his shoulders and reaching out to grab your hips to pull you into a better position. “Have you ever been eaten out before?”

He pauses to look up at you questioningly, that familiar possessive look clouding his eyes. You dumbly shake your head “no” as you look down at him. He looks absolutely sinful between your legs, and he gives you his characteristic Touya smirk as he leans over to plant a kiss on your inner thigh.

“That’s good, that means you’re all mine.” He licks his lips as he looks down at your bare pussy, drinking you in. “Now this might feel a little strange at first, but just sit back and relax. I’m going to take care of you princess.”

You feel your core flutter at the term of endearment. No one’s ever touched you like this before, but you know Touya so well. You trust him so intimately, but you’re still fucking nervous as hell.

He wastes no time diving between your legs and lapping at your wet pussy, his tongue ring dragging against your clit in a way you couldn’t have imagined. At first you feel completely over stimulated at the feeling of his tongue buried in your folds. But after a few minutes you get used to the feeling and can feel pressure begin to build inside you again. You roll your hips experimentally into his face, matching his pace. He comes up for air for a moment to groan “that’s a good girl, riding my face so nicely.”

Shit. He’s so hot that you almost forget to breathe. You take short, gasping breaths and moan as he slips a finger inside of you. It’s clear that Touya has ample experience at oral sex by the way that he’s playing you like a violin. You briefly wonder at how many times he’s done this, and with whom. But you quickly try to refocus because right now all that matters is he’s doing it to you. And he’s fucking amazing at it.

The visual of Touya’s head bobbing up and down as he pleasures you is enough to get you off on the spot. You run your fingers through his thick white hair and hold on for dear life. He pauses for a moment and looks up at you, mouth dripping with saliva and eyes ablaze with an inner fire you’ve never seen before.

“Pull on my hair, beautiful.” He rasps out. Experimentally, you tug at the hair at the back of his head. His eyelids flutter shut and he groans. You repeat the motion, transfixed at the way you seem to be giving him pleasure with little to no effort. You tug harder, more abruptly. He growls softly and dives back between your legs for more. His fingers slide easily through your entrance and he curls them to hit a special spot deep within you.

You try to hold out a little longer, but something about the drag of your friend’s tongue ring on your pussy is just too much to handle. He’s eating you out like a man starved and you can’t hold on any longer. You cum loudly, your voice reverberating in the dark basement as you cry out his name again and again. Your legs are shaking as he guides you through your second orgasm, making sure to draw out every bit of pleasure that he can from your quaking core.

You gasp as you try to catch your breath. Touya lifts his head from your dripping pussy, saliva and slick dripping down his chin. “Deep breaths, princess. Take it slow.” He models a deep breath for you, exhaling slowly through his nose. You match him, breathing in and out at a steady pace until you’ve mastered yourself once more.

He’s smiling down at you so openly, so lovingly you feel your fast beating heart might actually burst out of your chest. He leans down and plants a kiss in the hollow beneath your ear. He continues to kiss down towards your collarbone.

“All mine.” He growls lowly, sinking his teeth lightly into your neck.

“So possessive!” You say, still a little breathless. “Chill out, Touya.”

“Of course I’m possessive. You’ve been my best friend since we were kids. I’ve been waiting for this to happen forever. I gotta claim you so no other douche bag can mess around and get in your pants.” He snorts at the thought. “Actually…I know one way I can be sure you’ll never want anyone else but me.”

 Your head is clouded with oxytocin and all you want to do is hold him and kiss his face and nuzzle into his lanky frame. He starts to move and you think he’s going to shift around so he can spoon you, but in typical Touya fashion he’s going to push things a step further.

“You ready for one more round?” Despite all his dramatic bravado, he’s a little clumsy as he tries to get up off the couch. He looks pussy-drunk and his eyes are fuzzy. You laugh, thinking he’s kidding.

“Nah, Touya. That was already so good. I think we should really talk through all of this, though. Figure out what it means for us.”

“What’s there to talk through?” Touya asks as he extracts himself from between your shaking legs and starts to unbutton his pants. “You’re all mine. We’re together now. And one you feel my cock inside you, you’re never gonna want anyone else.”

“Huh?” You ask with a start. He unzips his skinny jeans and pushes the dark material to the floor alongside his boxers. His hard erection springs forth and you admire his beautiful, sizeable dick. His cock is the perfect length – probably about 6 or 7 inches with some weight to it. The head is already leaking with pre-cum which sparkles in the glow of the TV.

“I was thinking this time you can cum around my cock.” He smiles mercilessly as he raises your legs and teases your entrance. You’re so incredibly over stimulated but the contact feels so deliciously good. He rubs the head of his dick against your abused clit and watches as your eyes roll back in your head.

“Touya!” You cry out as you feel his head catch in your entrance. “Touya you always take things too farrrr – oh!” He pushes against you, preparing to fill you up.

“I’m not hearing any complaints.” He grins down at you, absolutely wicked. “Once you feel me inside of you, I promise you’ll want to be my girlfriend so desperately no other man will ever measure up.”

“Bold words for someone who ate paste well into grade school.” You say, trying to keep your cool as he continues to nudge at your entrance with his rock hard cock. You want him so badly, but you’re not going to let him get to you so easily.

“Hey!” He says harshly, but he’s laughing. He likes it when you talk back to him and you know it. “You’re such a little brat – looks like someone needs to teach you some manners.”

“Oh, yeah. I bet Endeavor could really straighten me out. Can you call your dad and ask him to come over? My parents won’t be back for a few hours.” You grin evilly up at him – his dad can be a sore subject. Touya loves and looks up to his dad, but he’s constantly comparing himself to the Number 2 Hero and worrying that he won’t measure up. This taunt seems to erode at his swagger a bit.

“You little jerk.” He pushes the head of his cock into you and you cry out at the foreign sensation. He laughs at your discomfort. “Don’t bring my dad into this!”

But when he realizes how intimately the two of you are connected, he settles down a bit. He looks at you with icy blue eyes.

“Just tell me to stop and I’ll stop.” He says softly, pushing into you steadily.

You look up at him and say one, needy word: “Touya.”

That’s all he needs to hear. He continues to slip inside and you both groan at the way your pussy easily sheathes his thick member. You’ve cum a few times already, loosening your pussy up perfectly to receive his perfect cock.

“Holy shit Y/N.” He sighs as he settles between your thighs. He experientially thrusts into you. “Your pussy is so goddamn tight. It’s just how I imagined it would be.”

“You’ve imagined my – ugh!” You grunt as Touya thrusts hard into your core, the head of his cock hitting your cervix with practiced precision. “-my pussy?”  

“Of course I have.” He grins as he presses one of your knees into your chest for a better angle. He shifts his hips and starts thrusting at a slow and steady pace. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you for, like, years.” He groans and shuts his eyes as he feels your cunt flutter around him. “I’ve been practicing so I can make you feel good.”

“You’ve done this before?”

“A few times.” He says, looking a bit abashed. “With a girl from the support course.” He continues to thrust into you firmly, sliding a hand up your body to play with your breasts again. He rolls a nipple between practiced fingers and grins down at you. “Does that make you jealous?”

You concentrate on isolating your muscles so that your pussy clenches around him. He looses his train of thought and slips his hand off your breast so he can brace himself on the couch.

“It doesn’t really matter – because I’m the one you’re fucking so desperately right now.” You lift up your hips to meet him as he plunges into you and he moans despite himself. You decide it’s time to take control. You execute a judo move you picked up in combat class – pulling him into you, hooking your legs around his back and shifting both of your weights so that you both roll off the couch and onto the ground. Touya lands on his back and almost gets the wind knocked out of him. You, however, land squarely on top of him, dick still fully sheathed in your slick heat.

You whip your t-shirt and bra off in a swift motion, now completely naked and riding on top of Touya Todoroki.

He looks up at you, absolutely gob smacked.

“Come on, Touya. I thought you were going to fuck me so good that I’d never want any other cock?” You say, taunting. You brace your feet on the ground on either side of his slim hips and bring your hands to rest on his chest. You shift your weight and begin to bounce on his dick, reveling in the sensation of being completely in control.

He smiles up at you openly, clearly thrilled to have met his match. After a moment, his hands find your hips and guide you up and down. When he wants you to go faster he moves his hands to rest under your ass so he can give you an extra boost.

“Do you like how I fit so perfectly inside of you, doll?” He asks breathlessly, pounding up into you. “Do you like being filled with my cock?”

“Shut up, Touya.” You throw your head back as his blunt tip hits your cervix in the most delicious way. “Shut all the way up.”

“In your dreams.” He says, sliding a hand up to grasp at your breasts as they bounce.

You feel so full and turned on that you can’t speak. You close your eyes and arch your back as he hits a particularly good spot. He quickens his pace, hips haphazardly pistoning into you as he chases his high.

He brings his hand down to your clit so he can rub desperate circles around you, bringing you to the brink of pleasure. You cry out as you feel another orgasm rip through you, your muscles contracting and rolling deep around Touya’s fit cock.

“Touyaaa!” You call out desperately, thankful that no one is home to hear you sounding so pathetic as you ride your best friend’s cock. “Touya, I - ” but your brain is fogged over and you can’t think of what you meant to say. His hands find your ass again and he continues to bounce you as your fluttering pussy tries to drain his hard cock.

A moment later, he cums hard. You feel hot ropes of ejaculate fill you up and hit the most intimate parts of you. Your pussy milks his cock for all its worth and he looks dazed, spent. He rasps out your name as he comes down from his high, followed by a soft “Fuck!” as your pussy continues to pull pleasure out of him.

When he’s finished, he rolls the two of you over on the floor so that he can let himself lay on top of you. He wraps his arms around your naked body and sinks his face into your soft hair. You lay like that for a moment, letting him stay inside you as you both come down.

“Wow.” You breathe out, and Touya laughs into your shoulder.

“Sex all you thought it would be?” He teases, finally shifting to pull out of you. He gazes at your pussy, transfixed as he watches his seed spill out and onto your plush thighs.

“It was just…wow.” It’s all you can say. Your body feels exhausted and spent, and you can feel some soreness start to creep into your legs and abdomen after all of the activity.

“Well we should go find a convenience store or something. If I’m anything like my dad, I’m probably hella fertile. We’re going to need a morning after pill for you or something.” He reaches for his phone and pulls up his maps app, trying to recall where the closest open pharmacy is. “We can get some condoms, too. How late will your parents be out again? We can probably fuck one or two more times before they get back.”

“You claim to have been into me this whole time and yet you don’t have the decency to fuck me with a condom on?” You say distastefully, looking down at the way his seed is still dripping out of you. You look so slutty like this, filled with Touya’s cum and completely naked on the floor.

“What can I say, babe? I got caught up in the moment.” He leans down to kiss you full on the mouth. “And I thought you’d enjoy the full cream pie treatment.”

“Ugh! You’re such an idiot.” You bat him away and reach for your discarded clothes, hoping that you can find a pharmacy that’s still open this late at night.

“Yeah, but now I’m your idiot.” Touya says with satisfaction, reaching to pull you into his arms. “And you’re all mine.”

[tadpolesonalgae]

On The Wrong Side of History: The Queen of Hybern

Azriel x Hybernian!Reader

synopsis: Reader is one of Hybern’s generals, fighting for her freedom after Prythian turned her back. Born with no magic, she was forced to cultivate a different kind of power, one that could prove deadly to the inhabitants of magic-blooded fae of Prythian. But when she’s captured and thrown into the scarred hands of the Spy-master, which side of history will prevail? Will Hybern’s story be told, or will it be covered up and concealed before the suffering of her people ever makes it to the light.

warnings: miscarriage at the end, war, general suffering and grimness, slight torture(?)

a/n: I had this idea yesterday and wanted to write something so fair warning it’s a little rushed! It also lightly brushes over miscarriage which might be a delicate subject for some so please take care of yourselves 🧡💛

word count: 3,810

——————————————————————————————————————————————

The war is coming, and not a single inhabitant of Hybern will stand by and let the chance for freedom pass. It’s been five-hundred years since you were confined to that island, cut-off from the mainland and left to rot and starve. Now is the time to reclaim the ground you were deprived of. War is coming, and she is starving for revenge. Starving like your people have for centuries, and nothing will stand between you and fighting for your right to life. Not even the baby you know is growing inside of you.

The air is fresh and damp, and you take the time to inhale its freshness before hot blood is spilled, turning the ground to a mushy, fleshy soup. The day is overcast, heavy grey clouds that look like the mould on bread swelling in the sky, ready to start leaking, dripping down into the open fields. Grass stomped into a muddy mush as feet frantically fight for ground, desperate to keep steady before they’re trodden down into the dirt, trampled and crushed beneath the weight of an army.

If you fall, you cannot rise. Not with a writhing mass of violence crowding the land, oozing bloodlust so thick it won’t matter which army you fight for. A body shouldn’t rise from the mud, any attempts to would be met with steel slicing down in a frantic jolt.

You turn from the entrance of your tent, making for the bed, moving slowly, peacefully, to the protective coatings you’ll be wearing in a couple of hours. The leather that will stick and slide over your skin, wet with blood and sweat, hopefully some rain, too. Heat gathers quickly in the midst of battle, and between the stink of gore and the sweltering sweat that greases any soldier’s grip, rain and wind are much appreciated for their gentle touches.

Your nose twitches as a breeze passes through the camp, quiet in the early hours of misty, grey dawn. Even beneath the cover of your tent, the smell of the battlefield can reach you—damp and bloody, contaminating the fresh air you’d been treating yourself to.

Something shifts inside of you, and you glance down at yourself, hesitantly raising your palm to your lower stomach. You only found out about your condition mere weeks ago, but even had you only found out this morning, you would still be here, preparing for your freedom.

The baby won’t survive, anyway. Not with what your body has turned into.

————

“You’re ready for today?”

A wry smile curves your lips, settling deeper into the chair that’s been set to one side of his room, the large bed in the centre already made despite him having risen as recently as yourself. Neither of you have ever particularly been ones for sleeping in, having so much to do at all times of day. “I’ve been ready for the past five hundred years,” you answer, leaning your chin on the heel of your palm.

The King of Hybern reflects your smile—the slightest twist of his lips. “Perhaps I made a mistake sending Amarantha to seize control of Prythian,” he muses, slipping the shirt over his head, pulling his dark, shoulder-length hair free of the collar once it’s on, making to tighten the laces that can be used to close the V of the hem. A note of dissatisfaction slides beneath your skin as his amulet is obscured—a hollow iron circle, his crest welded from the dark metal inset to its centre.

“Perhaps,” you agree lightly, watching as his fingers tighten the ties of his trousers, noting the distinct lack of armour—he’ll be watching over the Cauldron today. “Though in that case she might still be alive,” you murmur quietly, a little smile dancing in your eyes.

“You disgrace her,” he chuckles lowly, pulling the thick coat from his bed, leather on its exterior to keep out the bite of wind or the lick of rain, while lined with a warm fleece. “You trained beside her for a good portion of your life, at least honour her memory.” The King of Hybern shucks on the coat, the hem of leather coming down past his knees, and he adjusts the cuffs before making for the large, wooden chest at the foot of his bed.

“There was little to honour,” you counter, straightening in the chair as you watch him decide on which daggers to hide beneath the coat. “She was brash and brazen at the best of times, too quick to grow comfortable on her throne. And I never liked her bedside manner. She was always too grabby and rough for my liking.”

“She was ambitious,” he counters, strapping a small blade to the interior of the coat, hidden away in a pocket on his left side. He pauses, briefly considering something, then glancing over you, how you’re lazily sprawled across his chair, “though her nails could have been a bit shorter. They were an unpleasant surprise, at times.”

Your lips curve at one corner, sharing a look with him, before he returns to selecting his daggers, settling on one with a jagged, serrated edge, a wicked hook to its tip.

It’s then he turns, blades concealed beneath his coat and he silently walks to you, charcoal eyes glittering as you sit straighter. “How long have you been serving me now?” He asks, pausing at your side, so you have to incline your chin to look at him, baring your throat. “Five centuries? Six?”

“Six and a half,” you reply, “if you’re counting foot soldier duties as serving.”

He smiles a strange smile, glittering teeth showing briefly beneath familiar lips. “Loyalties are rewarded,” he says cryptically, his palm settling beneath your jaw, inclining your chin—it would be easy for him to snap your neck with the slightest snap of his hands. “Have you thought about what you want?”

“It seems greedy to ask for something before I’ve even succeeded at winning this war,” you reply.

“Consider it a show of assurance,” he remarks, “I have no doubt you’ll prove instrumental to Prythian’s ruin. Now, what would you like, upon your victory?”

Your eyes gleam with hunger, and you wonder if it’s at all possible he might not already know what you desire, more than anything. And looking at the way those charcoal eyes of his are gleaming, as if goading you on, urging the words to spill like honey from your velvety tongue—you feel it’s impossible. He knows what your request will be. And he’s practically dragging the desire from your throat, with the grip he has on it.

“Make me your queen.”

———

Darkness pounds at your mind, eyes aching as if the blood vessels are bursting, hot pressure building, ready to splash out through your pupils. The air is cool…cold, skin hypersensitive to the slightest shift in temperature, telling you there’s a layer of sweat over your exterior, alerting you to each swish of air.

Your thigh stings, the laceration taking its time to heal, longer than others of your kind would. The small cuts you’d been given the day before—a few inches long—have scabbed over, no longer in danger of leaking blood, but there’s going to be a definite pucker around each cut. A shiver traces up your spine, an involuntary shudder passing through your lungs as coldness sweeps across your skin, like a winter’s breeze.

Slowly, keeping your breathing as even as possible, you crack an eye open, only to be met with darkness. Hesitantly, the other slides open, and you peek at your surroundings but the dark seems impenetrable, thick and absolutely solid. Your nostrils flare, and the faint smell of ammonia and iron waft up along with the sharp tang you associate with stomach acid, the air itself thick and damp, slightly humid. Fertile and rife, perfect for things to start growing.

Casting your gaze downward, you can spot the stitching that’s covering the split in your right thigh, jaggedly stitched up, and from the looks of it you’re quite glad you weren’t conscious for it. You also notice the grime that’s already begun settling on you, dirt and mud and gore still layering your skin, save for the small perimeter that’s been cleaned around your thigh. The thought of how you must smell is a grim one.

“You’re awake,” a voice observes from the darkness, making your ears twitch.

You keep your mouth tightly sealed, waiting to hear what the observer has to say. Let them speak their part first, before you start making your own moves. Already you can tell this one is different from the previous ones—yesterday’s one had a lighter voice, squeaky and dragging. This one sounds like the first roll of thunder before a storm breaks.

“You’ll forgive me for the haphazard stitching. Healers are needed elsewhere.”

So this one’s to blame for the child’s-quilt on your thigh. It’s more than likely it was done intentionally carelessly, rather than simply poorly—poor stitching could lead to further infection, while careless stitching just might leave a trace of a scar. On a regularly healing body, at least.

Straightening in your chair, you try to pick out where the voice is coming from, but the darkness is so thick, and your eyes have barely had a chance to adjust, and with the faelight bobbing above your head there’s little chance they will anytime soon. Keeping them shut would be the quickest way, but it would be leaving yourself open. More open than you already are, that is, with your arms bound at your back. They haven’t bothered to shackle you to the chair itself today, the ties from yesterday are gone, and you can feel the weight of the stone around your wrists: Gorsian shackles—utterly useless on you.

“What do you want today?” You ask into the darkness, stretching your fingers to keep them awake and ready. It’s already been at least three days, and you suspect whoever has come to visit today isn’t just any old torturer. You can tell from the silence they keep, how undetectable they are despite your honed senses, sharper than most’s. They had to be, for you to survive.

“The same thing anyone might want from a prisoner of war,” the voice replies, ghosting through the room, bouncing about in the darkness so it’s impossible to tell its root. “And what is that?” You ask, following the script, familiar with the direction of the conversation—unaccustomed, however, to be on this side of it. “Information,” the voice replies, and there’s less than a second of detectable presence before your hair is wrapped around a fist and dragged back, your throat exposed as you’re positioned over the back of the chair, making it impossible to swallow. The faelight glares down at you, beaming into your adjusted eyes, and you’re forced to squint as your vision blurs from the sting of the light and the grip on your scalp. Cool steel settles just below your jaw, the tip of a blade spiking into the soft flesh just beneath the hollow of your mouth.

Your teeth grit together, hissing sharply at the roughness of the touch, thigh aching from the tension that shot through your body. A laugh forces its way from your chest, ragged and strained as you peer up into the faelight, pupils tightening to slits in the face of the brightness, “give me something in return. I can’t very well go back empty handed, can I?”

Your captor roughly tugs on your hair, your lip twitching a little from the pain but otherwise unruffled. “You might go back with no hands at all, unless you’re careful.”

“Threats already? You haven’t even told me what you’re after,” you bite out, voice heavy and grim.

A beat passes between you, then the steel is flipped away between deft fingers, removed from your throat in favour of pressing to your sternum—a warning before the cuts begin, gradually skinning you alive until they get what they want. Fury simmers quietly inside of you, but you keep it tucked away. That’ll only come in useful once the pain starts setting in. A fuel to fall back on when food would become a problem. But it’s high time you return to your king. You’ve spent long enough here, all because of a stupid, foolish…

“Would you like to hear something interesting, then? In the name of compromise?” The voice asks, low and rasping, and you sit silently, waiting for what they have to say.

“The one who visited you yesterday, the day before that, and the day before that…each one refused to come back the next day. Insisted there was something wrong with you.” The hand tightens on your hair then releases, the presence vanishing like a flame snuffed out, leaving your skin tingling with awareness. “Once is by chance, twice is a coincidence, but three…three’s a pattern.”

Something hisses past your ear, and you jerk in your seat, not foolish enough to stand. You glare into the darkness, peering deep from beneath your lowered brows, lips turned down in the corners as you try to pick out even the faintest shadow, but they all blend together so seamlessly, like one giant, blank wall. Not a single shape to be found.

Something whispers to your left, then cracks to your right, your pulse beginning to pick up involuntarily form the confusing stimulus, attention split between both directions.

A figure steps into the grey shift in light, silent and menacing as it prowls forward, one military-grade boot in front of the other, and you take in the towering silhouette, the great wings looming in deeper shadow. Your eyes follow the light as it glides up his frame, revealing long legs clad in Illyrian leathers, scarred hands within easy reach of visible weapons, a lean waist and broad chest, the Night Court insignia clear over his heart. Cold, cutting hazel eyes, with a glint you recognise. After having spent so many centuries gazing into eyes like that, it would be strange to not be able to place the intense glint of honed reproach, the look that desires utter eradication of the thing that’s causing suffering.

Calm and deadly, he is your exterminator.

“We’ll start with an easy question,” he says, gaze unfaltering as he meets your own.

“What is it that makes all kinds of magic recoil from you, General?”

A slow smile breaks across your lips, delicately curving in a mocking grin. You should have known this would be his question, that they would have figured something was wrong with you by now—the slowed healing, the way their magic leans back from you, as if trying to scuttle away.

“And you?” You ask, a gleam in your eye. “What’s your title?”

His mask doesn’t shift, not even the slightest hint of emotion in his dark eyes. Just silence. Patient, grating, silence.

“Not even the name of my captor?” You push, smile slipping away, settling back into a wall of ice to match his own—you can play that game, too. “Or are you nobody? You don’t seem like you’re nobody, though.” You angle your chin, shifting in the chair slightly, re-flexing your fingers, testing the gorsian shackles. “You’re clearly important, if you were sent in to investigate after three turned away, and considering the insignia you’re wearing, with those wings…master torturer of the Night Court?”

He inclines his head, “Spymaster. Shadowsinger.”

“And how do your shadows like me, Spymaster?” You murmur, able to guess the answer.

His dark eyes narrow on you almost imperceptibly, then his right hand is wrapping around the hilt of one of his blades, inset with strange markings, as dark as obsidian. The hairs on the nape of your neck rise as he thumbs the blade free, a sharp glint in his eye being the last thing you see of him before he steps away into shadow, falling seamlessly back into the darkness.

“How long had you planned to let this war go on for?” He rasps from the darkness, the question bounding in and out, coming from different sides that make it impossible to track his position. All while he’s free to observe from the shadow. “You ask that like we have control over the nature of war,” you reply neutrally, keeping your gaze sharp, but all it looks the same. If you could find a way to put the faelight out, or to lure him to stand before you… Getting some information first would be preferable, though.

“But maybe we had an idea.”

The sound of steel slicing through air comes from your right, and you instinctively follow the familiar hiss of a blade, body tensing, as if expecting it to come flying out from the darkness.

“You’d have to be confident in a victory to have a timeframe in mind.” His rasp echoes throughout the room you’re kept in, whispering in varying volumes as it’s bounced off shadow. “We’ve had a long time to prepare,” you reply vaguely, features remaining blank, despite being unable to so much as feel the weight of his attention. If it wasn’t for the fact you’d seen him, and were having a conversation, you wound’t believe he was in here with you. You hate to admit it, but it’s impressive.

“And I suppose you believed you’d win?” He questions.

“I know we’ll win. Whether I’m in here or not.”

The steel tip of a blade grazes the top of your back, slowly tracing the length of your shoulders, occasionally pressing deep enough to disrupt the skin, but mostly remaining as a taunting reminder—he could choose to cut you at any moment, as deeply or as slowly as he pleases. “What made you believe that? Numbers? Experience? Speeches?”

“We have the cauldron,” you reply, keeping apprehension clear from your voice, the tip of the blade pressing a little too deeply into the back of your left shoulder. “What was it like, by the way? Seeing your soldiers wiped from existence in the blink of an eye?” The blade bites into your skin, probably pushed in to about an inch of flesh, and you grit your teeth as he twists the steel, opening the wound up. “I’m fairly certain we targeted your aerial armies on the first day,” you grit out, remembering the wings at his back. “I’m guessing you knew some of that scum?”

The blade retracts calmly, but he makes no further incisions, walking back around to stand in front of you. He’s strangely under control, considering how badly the war will be going for his side.

“Why are you so repulsive to fae magic?” He repeats. Unruffled by the comment. Good. “Why don’t you come closer and figure it out yourself?” You reply, noting the living shadows that are gliding down from his shoulders. “See if your shadows can answer that question.”

He regards you silently, then slides the blade back into its home at his hip, walking forward until he crowds your space, scarred fingers biting brutally into your cheeks, squeezing as he leans down. “I don’t think I need an answer. Not anymore.” You keep your mouth shut, confused by what he’s saying. “You see, despite your certainty, you were proved wrong. Two days ago. I would like to know what it is about you that makes magic react the way it does, but at the end of the day, it’s ultimately of no importance.”

You glare up at him, muscles tense from the grip he has on your cheeks, squeezing your jaw.

“You lost the war,” he says, quietly. “Your king was decapitated by one of the humans he used as a test subject. Felled by his own creation.”

There’s no falsity in his gaze, just ugly, unforgiving, truth.

And he’s in reach.

You twist your wrists in a snappy movement, harsh enough the already weakened gorsian stone crumbles away, allowing you to launch from the chair, hand seamlessly wrapping around the hilt of his blade, sliding it free with the familiar sing of steel.

He’s caught off guard—it’s impossible to break out of those shackles—his moments of surprise allowing you to use his weight against him, pushing into the frame of muscle in the places you’re familiar with, tripping him up. His wings thrash as they’re caught beneath him, shadows vanishing at your proximity, shoved away to some godsforsaken pocket as you aim the blade for his throat, his own scarred hands wrapping around your wrists to loosen your hold. But fae are made of magic, their very strength dependant on it. Encountering a creature that nullifies any and all types…his muscles tremble beneath you, shaking with the force of keeping you from plunging the blade into his throat.

“I’ll kill you, and your High Lord,” you hiss, leveraging your own weight, so the blade sinks down toward the bare, unprotected part of flesh. “I’ll end every single one of you, and I’ll save that abomination for last,” you snarl, in regard to the human who he’d told you decapitated your king.

His strength is draining swiftly, and he knows you can sense it, can feel the tremble in his muscles, and the steel inches closer, spurred on by his weakness.

The Spymaster grits his teeth as he shifts suddenly beneath you, allowing you to gain precious inches so the steel scratches the swell in his male throat, but in turn allowing him to raise his leg from the ground, stomping his boot into your stomach, sending you flying back, crashing into the chair you’d been sat on, the faelight flickering above.

Your lips part, eyes going wide as nausea rises up swiftly, having only seconds before you’re vomiting onto the floor, heaving up chewed food and saliva, a dizzying feeling sweeping through your entire body.

You’re flipped over not even a second after you get the first clear breath down, the Spymaster over you, dark eyes cold as ice as the steel of that blade glints in the unnaturally pale faelight. The blade hisses down, aimed to slice up beneath your ribs, cutting into your heart, but his eyes have dropped to the hand you have over your abdomen. Nostrils flaring at the slight tang of blood.

His features slack. “You’re—”

You take the chance, knocking the blade from his hand, reaching to wrap your hands around his throat, but something impacts with your temple, a second figure coming from the darkness that you hadn’t noticed, and you feel as the hit registers.

A fresh wave of dizziness slams into you, the world tilting dramatically before you’re slumping, heading for the floor before hands catch you. Making sure you don’t land on your front.

The world goes silent.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya

[bullet-prooflove]

New Year's Bingo Card 2024: Bang - Eddie Diaz x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @gatefleet @tigolebittiez @mckinleysbones @totalstitchlover19

Companion piece to:

Box Breathing - Eddie's been struggling since Christopher left.

Always - You make a promise to Eddie.

Real - Eddie tells you he wants something real.

A Future With You - Eddie makes a realisation during a one on one game of basketball.

Cash - Eddie discovers your secret Instagram profile.

Snake - You receieve a surprise gift from your ex at Halloween.

Midnight - Eddie makes you a promise.

Cherry Lipstick - Eddie gets better insight into you during a social event.

Eddie’s new year starts with a bang literally because a firework goes off in his face. He’s lucky at the time because he’s wearing his helmet and face guard. The glass protects him from the brunt of the explosion, casting a spattering of tiny red burns across his nose and cheeks instead of melting off part of his flesh.

“They look like little red freckles.” You tell him as he sits on his assigned bed in the empty bunkroom while you apply an antiseptic cream across the marks. You’re gentle with your touch, massaging the substance into his skin until you cradle his face in between the palms of your hands.

There’s something in your eyes, something he’s not seen before and it takes him a moment to realise that you were scared tonight. When you’d heard that explosion and he’d hit the deck, the glass of his mask cracking you’d been the first one there, tearing it off, searching for injuries.

“I nearly lost you today.” You whisper and before he sees it coming your mouth lightly  covers his and Eddie, he’s drowning.

All of that emotion he’s been keeping at bay, it breaks through the dam, spilling over until his hands tangle in your hair, drawing you down into his lap. The press of you against him, the sensation of it ignites something inside of him, something primal, something passionate. He’s not sure how you end up on the bed underneath him, only that his hands are roaming underneathe your LAFD t-shirt, caressing your bare skin and you’re making that noise, the one he hears in his fucking dreams.

It's the clearing of a throat that brings him back to reality. He looks up to see Buck standing there, his cheeks flushing pink as he lingers in the doorway.

“I’d ask you to join.” You sass from underneath Eddie. “But I really don’t think this bed can handle a third person.”

Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever seen Buck’s ears turn red before you utter that comment.

“The others are thinking about turning in.” He tells the two of you, already half way out the door. “I’ll stall them for a minute or two so you can get yourselves together.”

For a second Eddie has no idea what he means but then he looks down at you and sees those beautiful swollen lips, the hair he’s pulled loose from the braid. His hand is still inside your shirt, fingertips trailing over the elastic of your sports bra.

“To be continued?” He asks you because as much as he wants this he has to make sure you want it too, that what’s just happened tonight isn’t a reaction to him almost losing his life.

“We get off in twelve hours.” You tell him as you shift into a sitting position and start to rebraid your hair. “Maybe you should home with me so we can explore this a little more.”

“Yea.” He says, his voice husky at the prospect of picking up where you left off. “It’s a date.”

Love Eddie? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[crow-raven-crow]

𝐅𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐞

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 - [𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝟏𝟖+]

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐀𝐥𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐃𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐮 𝐱 𝐟!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: ~2.9k 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: ✨claws✨, fangs <3, blood, established relationship, NSFW, voice kink, praise kink, slight degradation, vaginal fingering, biting, slight marking kink, slight edging, begging, mommy kink, possessive tones, overstimulation

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: There was a sacred world found within books, something that the two of you shared together as the air grew colder, as the nights came earlier, whisking you both away and into the arms of the ever calling warmth found within the castle. But when your voice became too much, when her warmth became all consuming, you found it harder and harder to focus on anything else but her..

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

AO3 link in title

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

The castle had run cold tonight, the crisp prick of the night air piercing through the fabric of your gown and threatening to dig into your skin as though it were a delicate needle. Each breath you drew in was infused with a chill, seeping into your lungs yet escaping your lips as if it was a raging fire as you read aloud to the countess.

"A love like no other blossomed in secret between the two, hidden away from the watchful eyes of a world that refused to accept it.." Your words flowed out like silk, each syllable translating a tenderness that seemed to manifest the delicacy of the moment between the two characters, bringing the essence of their connection into the physical world.

Your voice, in this moment, served as her sanctuary, much like her presence was your haven - a protective blanket of warmth that shielded you from the outside world, a safety that could only be found in her arms. You reveled in each other's company - untouchable, unseen, undisturbed - as a new world between the pages came to light. Nights like these were dedicated to the safety of the library, tossing the cares of the outside world aside - quiet, serene, home. The flames of the fireplace danced across your forms, casting a warm, golden glow that shifted against the pages you held, casting small flickers to spark against the other shelves found within the dimly lit room.

Her bare hands delicately traced along your sides, the gloves she had once worn now a forgotten memory, discarded and abandoned long ago. Your back was flush to her front as her hands smoothed along your skin, the smallest of shivers retreating from your body every so often. You rested your head against her chest, feeling her every exhale and each beat of her heart as your voice rumbled back to her.

"Though, their hearts were intertwined by the gentle rhythms of the ocean waves, linking themselves along as they pulled each other like the moon.." You loved moments like these, acts of mindless intimacy stuck within a moment in time. Acts that happened behind closed doors, held with a gravity that only was exposed to the castle's stone walls, kept like an item within a locket that sat close to your hearts.

In some moments, her hands would come into view, bathed in the golden embers of the fire, revealing the descend into blackened fingertips that were always hidden behind a thick, black leather, away from prying eyes. They would travel along the contours of your arms, against your smooth thighs, down the length of your sides, fueled by the need to feel the tender skin hidden beneath the thin layer of your dress. Fingers laced with desire, laced with lust, laced with the urge to devour you upon first sight..

It was a difficult task to keep your hands to yourselves after years of being together, the insatiable hunger never dying within your beings. It was a need that made your bones ache, your body tremble, your soul beg and plead for a fill that would send you over the delicious edge you craved. Every touch promised a dive into ecstasy, a feast for the senses that you both welcomed with open arms.

Hands toyed with the bottom hem of your nightgown, fingers like the night sky that shined above you heavily contrasting the whiteness of the fabric that lit up like the moon. Warm fingertips met the expanse of your cold thighs, engulfing them in a welcomed warmth that sent a fresh wave of desire down your body.

"Alcina.." You paused, drawing your thoughts away from the fictional world you had gotten used to and quickly catching up to the current one. It rang out soft, flustered unlike moments before, though the warmth it always held for your lady was evermore present.

"Yes, draga mea?" Her accent ran heavy, her voice deep like the thick liquid of her crimson wine, doused with the alcohol, doused with the blood you both knew all too well. You felt her lips ghost against the shell of you ear, a welcomed heat rising to your face as she awaited your response. Her breath fell down against your skin, swirling around you and claiming you whole.

"Wh-What are you doing?" There was desire found there, within the question you already knew the answer to, within the tone that quickly morphed into a whimper. The sound made a smile rise to her lips, the plush skin found there painted a deep red, ready to lick, ready to suck, ready to devour…

"Enjoying the story, my love.." There was a long pause between her statements, her actions carrying the weight of her true emotions behind the words that left her lips, overcasting them with the feeling you knew like the back of your hand. Her fingertips moved their way up, deliberate and with purpose, teasing and controlled, pushing the fabric up and out of the way as they met the barrier of your undergarments. "And admiring just how perfectly we fit together.."

Her lips kissed down the side of your neck, her fangs coming out and gracing your skin as she met the junction between your shoulder and neck. It caused goosebumps to wake along your skin, your thoughts to slow, your mind to allow the haze of lust to sweep in and take over. Her words melted into your flesh, carrying a promise you always loved to get lost in. You felt her hands move, one continuing to shift up, cupping your breast while the other started rubbing against the fabric left between your thighs. Your breath hitched at the contact, your body subconsciously tilting your head to the side to give her better access to the canvas of skin you'd always hand over to her. "Focus for me, darling.. Keep reading - You know how much I love to hear you.."

Your breathing grew heavy, a thickness settling in your lungs and making your breath hot, making it hitch, making it lost to you as you struggled to find the words.

"O-One, a vibrant artist, ta- taking down words, mapping out worlds, that was fueled by a- mph- fuck-" Your worlds easily trailed off, your mind choosing to focus on the wonderful ministrations of your lady's fingers. It became broken, a plummet into a stutter, a drop into a moan as her movements were just enough to feed the fire. She worked slow, feeding on the reactions of your body. The way it squirmed, jolted, ached for the feeling of her.. And she'd barely even touched you..

"You might have to repeat yourself, darling.. I didn't quite catch that.." Her lips left marks in their path, the crimson flesh creating marks just as red, just as dark as they painted your skin. There was a deep purr to her voice, the husk found there a tease, a demand, a praise within the sound itself, beckoning more out of you.

You pushed on, the will to please your lady only adding to the pleasure that she placed upon you. Her fingers slowed, the touch becoming featherlight and absolutely torturous in order for you to speak. "One.. a vibrant artist, taking down words, mapping out world that was fueled by a heart full of dreams that wished to come to life.."

"See? That wasn't so hard.. Continue.." Her voice rang out in a tease, thick and gravelly with lust, as is ghosted over your form. Her fingers squeezed your breast, feeling your nipple form into a hard peak against the palm of her hand and causing your back to arch into her touch.

Her body was large under your form, something that enraptured you from the first moment you had laid your eyes on her. It kept you safe, kept you warm, and felt oh so delicious..

Her actions picked back up, her hand moving to your other breast while the other slowly moved up, slipping past the fabric that proved to be an annoyance to the raven haired goddess.

"The o-other- hmn.. a g-guardian of wis-wisdom.. and a keeper of stories, a quiet w-woman who got lost wi-within- f-fuck.. the worlds s-she created, the worlds she.. shared with.. the other.." You struggled to finish the chapter, your breath hitching as you felt one of her fingers travel slowly through your folds, now aware of the pool of arousal that had settled itself there.

"You're doing so well, darling.." You felt her finger meet your entrance, circling your slick core and collecting its juices before moving back up, being sure to repeat the motion over and over.. It grew harder to keep your eyes open. The way she moved felt like pure bliss, but it wasn't enough.. You needed more, more of her touch, her voice, more of her.. But you always aimed to please, especially as the next words left her mouth. "Just a few more sentences, love.. Could you do that for mommy, hmm?"

Oh..

Of course, you could..

It was as though your mind stopped, all thoughts leaving, any beginnings of reading leaving your brain. It echoed in your head like a prayer, chanting itself to anything holy as though the woman beneath you were the goddess you worshipped. "Yes-"

Your voice came out breathier than you would've liked, something that you ignored, something that was still present as you did your best to finish the chapter. "They set-set s-sail one night, leaving the village t-that had held them close for far too lo- ngh-*"

Her finger met your clit, swirling around the sensitive bud and giving you a promise to look forward to. Slow, insufferable, merciless. You just needed to finish the chapter..

"They faced it, faced e-every-fuck.. ev-everything that came at them.. They welcomed a world where t-their love co-ohm.." She added pressure, added speed as she watched how you began to come undone, the thought that she could make you feel this good, that she was the one touching you was ever so prevalent in her mind.

"Just a bit longer.. You're doing so good for me.."

Your breathing grew heavy, one of your hands leaving the structure of the pages to grip onto her forearm, seeking some way to ground yourself as you tried to remain focused on the task at hand.

"..wh-where their love c-could flourish-hmng, their hearts beat- mph- beating i-in tandem as they sailed into- into the night-" You finished.

"Good girl.." Her finger quickly moved down, easily pushing itself into your entrance as you finished the last words. It curled in the most perfect way, making a guttural, broken moan escape your lips, making your fingers latch and dig into the fabric of her own dress beneath you, scratch into the skin beneath it, making your walls clench around her digit and beg for more.

“Again.. say that again-mph- please, please-" Your body begged for her voice, craved for it to take you in its hold and plunge into you with each thrust of her fingers. Her voice was the mere crash, the mere wreck through your body as it got high on the praise, her voice the extra push to have your walls clench around her fingers, hopeful, desperate, eager for more, more, more- “pl-please, mommy- I-“

"Look at you.." The tease in her tone was back, tightening the coil within you and making your pleasure vicious and greedy.

"So eager for mommy like a good girl.." The moan you let out was loud, deep, translating the lust and desire that had built itself up to be near overwhelming, taking over your body and making it hers.

There was a small shuffle beside the leather seat you both were on, the sound of the book that once had your undivided attention hitting the floor, intertwining with the sound of your moans and whimpers that clawed their way out of your throat. Your body squirmed, thrusted, wreathed under her touch, chasing a peak, chasing the feeling of being so utterly filled by her that it would envelop your entire soul.

All your shifting had caused your dress to move, the fabric becoming an even bigger problem as it got in the way of the countess’ lips. You felt sharp, cold claws appear from her fingernails, tickling your skin, running along it so gently that none would pierce unless she wanted them to. “It’s seems there’s an issue that needs to be fixed..”

Her voice had become a low rumble omitting itself within the quiet library, making your body keen, making your body chase it as if it were your own impending orgasm. Your body ached with the weight of your ecstasy as your body fought for a high that it needed to earn, rooting itself within her voice, surging though a body that needed to be broken and pleased.

A finger had made its way to the base of your neck, tracing the claw along the tendons, along your collarbone, down to the hem of your nightgown before adding more pressure, tearing the fabric down the middle and making a chill erupt onto your skin. "Much better, beautiful girl.."

Her tongue darted out against your neck, leaving a warmth in its path before teeth bit into the skin. Your head fell back, a near pornographic moan leaving you as the burn settled into a deep rooted pleasure. Her finger moved at a brutal pace, picking up speed as she aimed to give you what you very well deserved.

You could feel your thighs begin to tremble, your nails scratch into the skin of her arms as the palm of her hand met your clit. You felt her lips turn into a satisfied smirk against your neck as she watched your eyes roll back, your eyelids fluttering shut just moments after.

Her finger curled, putting pressure against the sweet spot that had you seeing stars. Your hips moved with her thrusts, your walls clenching around her finger as the coil tightened more and more.

"Are you going to cum? Be a good girl and cum for me.." Her palm against your clit, her finger curling against your sweet spot, her voice consuming you whole all played out at the same time, your peak crashing into you as the coil snapped. Her pace didn't slow, successfully helping you ride out your orgasm while also bring you to another, brutal high.

Your core grew sensitive, your nipples into hard peaks as her other hand continued to smooth over and pinch them, you back ached as it arched into the overstimulation she was throwing at you, your thighs sore from the next wave of pleasure threatening to consume you. You felt her fangs at your neck again, sharp, delicate, hungry, before they pierced into your skin. The warmth that washed over you, from the bite at your neck to her finger plunging into your core, was captivating, hurling your body towards another edge that would turn your body into putty within her arms.

"That's it, sweet girl.. One more for me. You can take it, hmm? You can take it for mommy, can't you?"

Oh god..

You could, you could, yes, yes, anything for her, anything to make her keep thrusting, anything to make her finger curl in just the right spot, anything to have you moaning her name in the dark of night.

"Y-Yes! Gods, yes- please just- mph-" You were gone, your body, your soul captured in the hands of a lustful woman that would feast on you whenever she got the chance. Your mind grew hazy with the feeling of her tongue against your neck, lapping up the thick crimson that pooled out, with the chase towards euphoria.

You came hard, your body shuddering against hers, your breath labored as her name tore through your throat in a moan. Your eyes were screwed shut, your brows furrowed as her actions finally started to slow down.

Gentle kisses were placed against your neck, your cheek, behind your ear as you tried your best to catch your breath. She pulled out of you, the action causing a loud whimper to leave your throat and your eyes to open for just a moment. Her hands were massaging you in an instant, creating a blanket of warmth and security within her arms.

"You did so well, so so good for me, sweet thing.."

You turned around, arousal dripping down your thighs, body trembling as her lips met yours. She kissed you as though you were her desired prize, again, again, again, stealing the breath from your lungs and claiming you as entirely hers. Your body, your blood, your soul, your love: hers.

She held you in her arms, your head nuzzled in the crook of her neck, giving you a small moment to catch up with the world around you. She rose from the leather seat, the loss of weight causing a muted creak to emit from it. You savored the warmth of her presence as she gently bowed to grab the book that had been forgotten due to her actions, placing it on the side table next to her gloves and the empty glasses of wine.

Her heels were heard echoing off the stone as she left the library. The moon's gentle glow illuminated the hallways, casting a grey sheen and dark shadows over her path as she made her way to your shared quarters, deciding to add more comfort to you as you came back to earth. Her head turned down to you slightly, taking in your form with a soft gaze before whispering, "We can continue the story another time, draga mea.. Maybe next time we'll both be able to focus."

~~

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐚/𝐧: EHEHEHEHHHHHEEEHHHH I MISSSSEEEEDDDDD HEEEEERRRRRRR AHHHHHHH. LISS I DID IT SHES HEREEE

so i've actually never written for her before BUT she was literally my hyper fixation before Larissa and i just missed her so much. i knew i was going to write for her some day

this was one of the personal ideas i had when i made a little update about a month ago. i originally said it was going to be one of gwen's character, but then i remembered her and it just had to be done

this was a WONDERFUL indulgence fic for me. i needed a little break from doing request because i was feeling more mechanic which was ass!! this also was just me writing unrestricted - i just let everything flow and brought back my old writing style (how i wrote before i started posting) and i literally don't know why i stopped writing like that because i love it A LOT and i think it really shows how much passion i really have for this craft.. so expect more stuff like this out of me because it was fun and reviving and definately brought a big passion back

hope you all liked it ! i definately expect to write for her more too so she has a section in my masterlist already hehe

if you saw this get posted like five minutes before this no you didnt

xx,

~ 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: (tagged anyone who asked/wanted to be on the "all works" taglist)

@autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @weemssapphic @readingtheentrails @finnja555 @barbarasstar @vendocrap8008 @gwendolinechristieiscute @lilfartbox1 @agathaandgwenslesbian @lvinhs @elvira-dear @kimiinou

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧